Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [7]
She kicked at a stone, which rolled over obligingly to reveal nothing of interest, and added, "Fm in a cage, and my death – or the deaths of all who seek spellfire – are the only doors out."
Narm sighed. "Shan, don't talk like that," he pleaded.
"I'll be here for you, I'll fix things somehow…"
Shandril's eyes were swimming as she looked back at him and shook her head, ever so slightly. "Don't think I don't love you or want you with me, Narm.
You're all I have to cling to – but you're not Elminster or the Simbul or dread Larloch, and you never will be. It might take all of them together to smash down every last seeker-after-spellfire, even if such folk could be known on sight and obligingly thrust forward to be seen and struck down. And what if Elminster or the Simbul or Larloch suddenly decides that they want spellfire?"
She drew in a deep breath and added in a small voice, "I'm not going to live very long, Narm, so if I want something, please give it to me or get it for me.
It may be the only chance I’ll have to enjoy it, ever."
"Shan," Narm said roughly, taking her by the shoulders and swinging her around to face him,
"please! Don't talk like that! Doom doesn't stand so close!"
"Oh?" Shandril asked him, in a voice that trembled on the edge of tears. "How so? Can you answer me this: Is there anywhere in all Faerun for someone who wields spellfire to hide?"
2: A Little Trouble Lately
If I had to list the dangers that have done the worst to humans of Faerun down the years – beyond their own pride, greed, and folly – I'd look first to the weather and the floods and famine it's caused, second to the hunger of hunting dragons and the swift breeding of bloodthirsty ores and goblins, and third to wizards. Or perhaps first to wizards. These days, certainly first to wizards. Pillage a dozen Realms with a spell, anyone?
Arathur 'Wise Eyes'
Sage of Athkatla
What One Man Has Seen
Year of the Lion
Years ago they'd discovered that this one small stretch of passage was safe. It ran between the archway whose pillars were carved into the likenesses of many writhing gargoyles and the little hall where four passages met, where it was rumored a hidden portal opened betimes to admit something large, dark, many-clawed and lurking that liked to hunt mages. Safe, that is, from sending echoes – even of whispered converse – elsewhere.
It was always chill and dark, and as cold as stone everywhere that never sees sunlight, but those wizards who knew about it often tarried here to murmur words back and forth, like guilty young wastrelblades discussing secrets whose careless revelation would mean swift and harsh punishment.
Their conversations were usually low-voiced, cryptic, and short – for even Zhentarim wizards have no love for slow deaths in torment.
Two wizards were standing in the safe stretch now, facing each other with their backs to the rough stone walls, where each could look down one direction of dark passage and see the slightest intrusion or approach when it was yet far away.
"If I have anything to say about such things," the taller wizard was saying sharply, "there'll be no more chasing about after useless, overly dangerous mightbe's like this spellfire. We've strayed very far from being a fellowship founded on coins and power for all, with a hierarchy intended merely to keep peace amongst us and keep the ambitious from blasting the rest of us or betraying all our secrets in their eagerness to command all. Now we're venturing into an overboldness that's going to get us badly burned.
Why make foes of Red Wizards, or even come to their notice at all, when there's no cause for it or gain in it? Why? Do our leaders now see themselves as Great Ruling Archwizards of the Realms or some other such fools' fantasy?"
"Don't let Manshoon or Fzoul or their like hear you speak like that, Korr," the shorter, stouter Zhentarim murmured, waving his hands toward the floor in a mute appeal for quieter speech. "We're very far from holding rank high enough to make such judgments or decide any policies."
"No,"