Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [112]
Shandril giggled at his tone. "You will want to watch the two of us, then, to further your investigations?"
Elminster looked up past his brows at her disapprovingly, as he waggled his fingers. "It may not surprise ye to learn," he said gravely, "that in over five hundred-odd winters, I have seen such things a time or two before." He grinned. "I'd have seen far more, too, if I'd had the courage to keep my eyes open at a younger age than I did."
He turned, in a swirl of robes. "But enough of such unsuitable topics for an old man to be discussing with a young lady when they are alone in the dark.
Turn thy spellfire here, upon this wall-nowhere else, mind; this cavern may not be entirely stable!
Let us see what befalls."
Again Shandril set her will, and spellfire flamed out from her hand. It struck the wall with a hollow roaring and burst in all directions, sparks and tendrils of flame leaping among the rocks. The cavern wall held, despite Shandril's fierce efforts to hurl all the heat and flame she could at it. When Elminster patted her on the shoulder again to desist, the cavern wall was red-hot and sooty black.
"How does it feel to hold such power in thine hands?" Elminster asked softly.
"Eerie, indeed" Shandril answered truthfully.
"Exciting and fearsome. I-I never seem to be able to relax anymore."
"Could ye at the inn?"
"Well, yes. Short moments by myself, now and then.
But it's not just the adventure… nor the spellfire…"
"It's Narm," Elminster said dryly. "Would ye try something else for me?"
"Yes… what is your will?"
"See if ye can hurl spellfire from thy knee, or forehead, or foot, or behind… or your eyes, again.
See if ye can hurl it in a spray, or curve the flames around sharp bends, or hurl small balls or streamers of flame. Knowing the accuracy of thy aim would also be useful."
"How long do you-never mind. How shall we proceed?" Shandril mopped her sweating forehead with one hand; her fire had made it hot in the cave.
Elminster held out his pipe wordlessly. She pointed one finger and pushed, just a little, with her will, and a tiny spurt of flame shot out. The mage sucked on the pipe and turned its bowl adroitly all at once to catch the flame, puffed contentedly, then nodded to her.
"Aye… we'll start so…"
It was quiet in the hall that night, despite the gathered band of knights. They sat at the trestle table that stretched at least thirty paces down the center of the room. It was warm and smoky, and the remains of a good feast were still upon the table. The guards who usually lined the walls and the servants always scurrying between table and kitchen were absent, barred from the chamber by Mourngrym.
Mourngrym and Shaerl sat at the head of the table.
At the foot sat Elminster. Down one side of the long board, from the head, sat Storm Silverhand, Shandril, and Narm. The knights lined the other side. All other places were empty.
Jhessail was on her feet, addressing the assembled company. "My lords and ladies," she concluded,
"Narm Tamaraith has advanced his art considerably since first he came among us. He lacked not aptitude or dedication, but merely suffered from poor and insufficient prior training." She smiled, and to Narm’s intense surprise continued, "He was a joy to train. Illistyl and I have no hesitation in presenting Narm before this company as an accomplished conjurer. It is my understanding that Elminster wishes to examine and train Narm yet, to further him for the special task of art required in supporting the unique power of his betrothed. I yield to my master."
Elminster rose, even as she sat smoothly, and said,
"Aye. I will talk to Narm of that before long. But I am here tonight in answer to Mourngrym's request"-His subtle emphasis on the last word brought a smile to the edges of the Lord of Shadowdale's mouth. "I will report to ye on what I have learned of the powers of Shandril Shessair, specifically that