Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [79]
He – somehow she knew it was a "he" – sought to drink spells, to gorge himself on the magic she'd freed to empower herself, but Ieiridauna spun bright fire out of the energies surging through her, feeding it to him, then calling it back to her like savage claws to rake him and shred him. It took but a few whirling, shrieking seconds to drive him howling away…
Moaning and whimpering to himself in spinning silence, Evaereol Rathrane drifted torn and ravaged across Waterdeep, helpless once more and hurting.
Below him magic winked and flared, a field of glittering flames to his gaze. He gasped and let himself fall toward this well of so many magics, warring and flashing or slumbering on all sides.
None of them so bright as the two ladies of the Weave, but one thing, at least, hadn't changed since his dimly remembered days in Jethaere: If you came too close, bright flames still burned you.
Before whatever it was had attacked him, slashing at him with too much power to master in so short a time, the Laeral-she had spoken with others about "real power," and the word "spellfire" had been uttered. Now, that was something to seek, surely. An amount of power that the Laeral-she spoke of with respect must be great indeed… and just what he needed.
Yet his approach must be cautious, lest bright flames burn him once more.
The shadowy thing that had been Rathrane of Jethaere sank into the glittering carpet of small magics that was Waterdeep's Castle Ward, dreaming of spellfire… and greatness.
13: Death and Dark Surprises
Life holds moments of joy and glee and glory. Try to brand them into your memories, to take out and clutch close and comfort in when life serves up its far more abundant harvests: of fear, cold, loneliness, rage, death and dark surprises.
Tessaril Winter, Lady Lord of Eveningstar
No Greater Honour: My Service To the Dragon
Year of the Crown
The wagons were rolling along the Trade Way into the bright morning of another day. Arauntar and the other guards spurred their horses up and down the rumbling line with renewed vigor after an uneventful night. The Black-rocks looked as wild and windswept and empty of beasts as ever on all sides of Voldovan's caravan, as Narm sat on the wagonperch beside Shandril and gave her his four hundred and sixth anxious sidelong look since awakening.
This time, Shandril looked back at him and snapped,
"Are you going to do that all the way to Waterdeep?
Tis me! Shan, not some crawling, shiny-scaled monster!"
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, by way of reply.
Shandril abruptly looked away, saying nothing, and they sat side by side in silence for a time as the wagon bounced and rumbled on.
There came an especially violent crash and lurch, and Narm flung his arm around his lady as he always did. This time Shandril clung to him when the rocking of the wagon subsided and murmured into his chest, "The spellfire: I'm starting to dream of it, now, just blazing away endlessly. It boils up in me, making me hot, and drives me awake… and when I waken, I find it leaking out of my fingers, as little flames."
"I know," Narm replied, even more quietly. "That's why yon blanket was wet this morn. It started to smolder and woke me. I dunked it in the firebucket."
"Without waking me? The bucket must've been right beside you!"
"That's where it's been these last few nights… ever since you scorched me."
Shandril gasped and stared up into his face. "I – you never told me!"
Narm gave her a thin smile. "Why? To keep you awake worrying about it, or have you insist on sleeping outside the wagon or somewhere else where I couldn't touch you or guard you? How would that help either of us?"
They stared at each other for what seemed like a very long time, as the wagon rocked and rumbled, before Shandril asked pleadingly, "Narm, what am I going to do?”
Narm opened his mouth twice, then closed it again before uttering a word. They both knew he had no answer to give her.
*******
"Patience," Korthauvar