Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [78]
Too soon. Mirt saw the flicker of its flight. Groaning in his haste, he leapt between Shandril and the attack, throwing up both his own blades to knock the dagger aside.
At the same time, words of soft anger came out of the night beside the puffing merchant. The strongest spell Narm could hurl-one that always left him utterly drained of wits and strength-rent the night, exploding in the air right in front of Unthlar.
Mairara shut her eyes and flung her head to one side as wetness splattered the rocks around. She looked back in time to see Unthlar's lower half-all that was left of himstagger backward and fall heavily among the rocks beside her.
She heard curses and scrambling sounds from behind her as the few surviving Zhentilar fled in terror.
Then Mairara looked down again-straight into the hard eyes of the maid who bore spellfire.
Shandril stood staring up at the Zhentarim sorceress. Her hair was moving about her shoulders with a life of its own, curling in slow menace.
"By Mystra's mercy," Mairara whispered, looking at Shandril with wide eyes, "make it quick."
Shandril granted her that last wish. When the roaring had died away, all that was left was drifting smoke and the cracking of overheated rock White-faced, Shandril looked down at Delg's still body, and then turned to look east. The tears that fell from her cheeks burned the ground they touched. "Right, then, Lord Manshoon," she said, voice brittle and quavering. "I've done all the running I'm going to do. Now you will learn what it is to be hounded!"
A skull that floated unseen in the darkness near the top of Irondrake Rock looked down and chuckled, the teeth of its perpetual grin chattering hollowly.
"It's not as though I've naught else to do, look ye," Elminster said, spreading his hands. Released from his grasp, the pipe floated off by itself to hang ready in the air nearby.
Storm glanced up from the strings of her harp. "More important than spellfirc?"
Elminster's expression was sour. "Who’s to say what's more important – my giving a little boy a scroll to play with so he grows up to become an archmage-or passing on word of a foe to a nomad chieftainor telling a Waterdhavian guildmaster of a plot against him? I've done all these in the last few days, and there's always much more still to do – the untended garden grows weeds best"
Shandril needs help now," Storm said quietly, her eyes in and troubled. "I can feel it" “And she shall have it," Elminster said, hands moving in the opening gestures of a spell. "Why d'ye think we rode out of the dale, if not to keep it safe against spells I need to hurl-or the careless cruelty of those who might come looking to hurl spells at me? But know ye, timing is all-important in affairs of power-and tier moment is not come."
He cast a stern look at Storm's harp, and she obediently stilled the strings and shifted it to her shoulder.
"I spent much of the night serving the Realms as ye slept, and saw-too much. Matters that must be dealt with now, l tell thee! The lass must find her own wings to fly with while I deal with Dzuntabbar of Thay-and the wizard Vlumn's plans to create ice golems the size of mountains in the High Ice-and a little matter of twisting awry some poison-creating spells that certain Calimshite satraps are perfecting before they get the idea such deadly craziness might work."
"All that, before highsun?"
"Aye, and more. Come!" The Old Mage squinted at the night sky and muttered, "With luck, we'll have time to look in on Shandril by now tomorrow."
"If she's not dead by then," Storm murmured in reply, just before Elminster’s spell swirled around them both.
Irondrake Rock trembled, melted. and slid down into liquid ruin. The stars around it wavered and fell, as Shandril looked away from the spire. She blinked, and fresh tears came. Again.
Mirt knelt beside