Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [82]
The High Lord of Zhentil Keep strode toward him.
"M-Master? Lord, what have we done? Why have you slain all my men?" Ghaubhan's mouth was suddenly very dry. He licked his lips, swallowed, and tried again to speak. "Lord Manshoon? It is you. isn't it?"The sorcerer's eyes narrowed. "Or are you Elminster using Art to look like my lord?"
Manshoon's lips twisted. "Elminster!" he spat. "Try not to insult me more than you have already, Ghaubhan. Traitor."
"Traitor? Never, Lord! I swear t-"
Manshoon gave him another wintry smile. "I found Asklannan's book." He watched a sickly look grow on Ghaubhan's face, then added, "I know the orders you've given, and the plans you've made. Ramath was my creature from the beginning."
Ghaubhan stared at him in despair-and then, suddenly, grabbed for the wand at his belt.
With two fingers, Manshoon made a very small gesture.
The Dread Master felt the tingling and twisting, and looked down. His hand was shifting, turning green-and hissing. His arm now ended in the head of a serpent, which rose, reared back, and showed him fangs as it prepared to strike. Ghaubhan stared into its glittering eyes. looked up in horror at Manshoon's grimly smiling faceand then whirled around and ran with a despairing scream.
The edge of the cliff was very near, and in a moment, Ghaubhan Szaurr was gone.
Manshoon walked to the edge, looked out for a moment at Cormyr spread out below him, and then peered clown at the broken body on the rocks far, far beneath the height on which he stood.
A dusty gray bone vulture had been disturbed into flight by the sorcerer's dying plunge. It circled, thick wings flapping, and began its slow spiral down to the remains.
Manshoon watched it and sighed. So we all, in the end, feed the carrion birds… or the worms. Then he stirred. slid the rod into its sheath at his belt, smiled, and turned away. What need had lie of flying skulls, zombie hosts, or incompetent underlings? He'd wasted enough time here. It was past time to seize spellfire.
The High Lord of Zhentil Keep walked past the sprawled corpses without even looking at them. He had quite enough zombies already.
As they descended through ravine after ravine, Mirt tried again to talk some sense into Shandril. "Will ye not change yer mind about this craziness of going up against Manshoon? Ye'll be killed, lass."
Shandril stared at him, eyes burning and chin lifted, and said slowly and very clearly, "I will not run away any longer. If foes seek me, they shall find me, before they expect to, and hearing less mercy than they might hope to find. If that is not the Harper way-too bad! Now guide me to Zhentil Keep-or I'll walk that way, whatever the clangers. and Narm with me."
Narm nodded, and echoed quietly, "I'll be with you." Mirt shook his shaggy head and sighed. "If you must rush to your death, Shan, the fastest way is still south and west, a little ways more, to Eveningstar.
It may take us the rest of this day-but it'll save ye a tenday of walking in dangerous backlands. What say ye?"
For a moment, Shandril stared at him with those blazing eyes, then nodded. "Start walking."
Mirt made a noise that [night have been a chuckle, and turned without another word to lead the way to Eveningstar.
Elminster frowned and set down the small crystal orb he'd been staring into. "Hold still, Storm," he said, striding over to where Storm sat by the campfire.
The Bard of Shadowdale froze obediently, the pan she'd been about to pack away still in her hands.
Elminster put a hand on her head and muttered a few words.
Storm tingled all over. A whirling light seethed to spin and snap in her mind. When his hand was gone, she looked up cautiously, and asked, "What was that?"
"A spell to make thee more powerful at sorcery. It lasts only a little while-but that's all the time we should need it for." Elminster took hold of her shoulders and knelt facing her. Eyes bent on her own, he uttered some harsh, sliding words, and touched the first two fingers of his left hand to the bridge of her