Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [79]
Shandril nodded. She was crying freely now, tears raining into her empty hands.
Mirt looked at Delg s body, shook his head sadly, and said, "We haven't even time to bury him. Shan, will you take him to ashes? He'd prefer that to Zhentarim spell pestering, I'm sure."
Shandril nodded, trying to still her tears. "H-He was trying to give me something, when he died… in his hand…"
Mirt looked at Delg's fist, outthrust still in the agony of death. The broken ends of a fine golden chain hung from between the tightly clenched fingers. Mirt tried to pry them open, but he could as well have clawed at the fist of an iron statue. Pitting all his strength against the cooling hand, Mirt managed to ease the dwarf's fingers apart. Saying a silent prayer to Moradin in apology for this desecration, he slid out what lay within.
It was a silver harp pendant the badge of a Harper, torn from around the dwarf's neck. Mirt stared at it, openmouthed-and his vision blurred.
Shandril looked at the shaggy old warrior sharply. A thin, wheezing noise hissed from his bent head.
She realized suddenly that the old merchant was weeping.
At her shoulder, Narm asked wonderingly, "Delg was a Harper too?"
Shandril nodded slowly. Mirt abruptly thrust the harp pendant into her hand, rose, and said gruffly,
"Burn him, Will ye?"
Narm reached out a hand to him, and the two men embraced in the night like scared children.
Shandril stared at them for a moment. "then she carefully set down the pendant, raised her hands, and gave Delg a warrior's funeral, engulfing the dwarfs body in a pyre of spellfire by the red anger and grief that burned inside her. Flames roared up at the stars, even as the spellfire in Shandril's hands faltered, sputtered, and died.
They watched the dwarf burn to ashes. When all was done, Mirt said grimly, "Now, we walk-before all the rest tithe Zhentarim come down on our heads here. I carry a ward that shields us against magical mind-prying and scrying. With that and thy spellfire, we can win our way on, as long as we give them no more chances to gather against us."
"No," Shandril said softly.
"What then, lass?" Mirt asked, peering at her in the night.
"I'm done with running away," Shandril said in a cold, resolute voice. "We stand and fight."
"Here? Shan, every outlaw and prowling beast in the Stonelands heard the battle-and saw the pillar of flame ye just raised, burning Delg. Yer spellfire's gone for now, an' all Narm's spells-and without Delg, I'm too old and fat to wave swords enough to defend both of ye. We must be gone from this place!"
"Yes. Gone-to Zhentil Keep." "Lass, are ye crazy?"
"Probably," Shandril said, her voice very steady. "Mirt, will you guide me there?"
"Before all the gods, why?"
"My days of running and skulking are done. I'm going to make Manshoon pay for-for Delg, if it's the only thing I do before I die. Manshoon, any other Zhentarim wizards I can find… and anyone else in that city who stands in my way. I'll probably have to kill everyone in the whole Brotherhood to make up for Delg's death. They should pay in blood for those soldiers in Thundarlun, too." The eyes that looked up into Mirt's were like cold, dark iron. "Are you with me?"
The old merchant sighed. "Aye, Shan," he growled. "I'll stand with ye. But I'll do it in the morning, mind-and if ye're in such a whirling hurry to get to Zhentil Keep, I know where we can get a teleport there, instead of stamping across the Stonelands and Daggerdale for days upon days, fighting every beast of the wilds and Zhentilar patrol."
"Where?" Shandril's voice was quiet and calm.
Mirt fought back a shiver when he heard it. "In Eveningstar, south and west of here. In the spells of a good lady by the name of Tessaril."
"Another old friend?" Narm sounded on the edge of tears, but managed a hint of the wry tone he usually adopted when sparring with the Old Wolf.
Mirt bowed his head. "Aye, and I am honored she calls me so. No jests now, lad-I'm busy