Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [147]
"For their dominion;' the ritual reply answered him, more or less in unison. Naergoth looked about the large, plain, underground chamber. All were present save the mage Malark. Well enough. To tongue-work, then, the faster to feast in some fine festhall of Ordulin, above, and then bed and then sleep. The ruling Council of the Cult waited expectantly.
"Brothers," he said, "we are gathered to hear of an affair that preoccupies your mages: this matter of spellfire and all that is drawn into it. Brother Zilvreen, what say you?"
"Brothers," Master Thief Zilvreen said with soft, sinister grace. "I have learned little from your loyal followers of the fates of the dracolich Rauglothgor and the mage Maruel. But it appears likely that Rauglothgor, its treasure, the she-mage, and even another sacred night dragon, the wyrm Aghazstamn, whom Maruel called on for aid and rode upon back to Rauglothgor's lair, have all been destroyed.
Destroyed by the accursed archmage of Shadowdale, Elminster, a group of adventurers who call themselves the Knights of Myth Drannor, and by this young girl we have heard of, this Shandril Shessair, who can cast spellfire!"
"All?" rumbled Dargoth of the Perlar merchant fleet.
"I can scarce believe they can all have been destroyed. What is so powerful, save an army of a size that we could see gathering for many days?"
"No such swords have been raised," Commarth, the bearded general of the Sembian border forces, added dryly.
"Men sent back by Malark have described the site of Rauglothgor's lair as a pit of freshly strewn rubble,"
Zilvreen answered. "Draw your own conclusions."
"So just what is this spellfire," Dargoth asked, "that it can destroy great mages and great wyrms alike?"
Naergoth shrugged. "A fire that burns and can be hurled as a mage casts bolts of lightning," he said,
"and that affects magical items and spells as well as things not of art. More than that we do not know-which is why we sent Malark."
"What of him?" Commarth asked. "Has he spoken to you more recently than we know?"
Naergoth shook his head. "No, I have heard no more than I have told you. He is in or about Shadowdale now, as far as we know, seeking a time and a way to get at the girl."
"Shessair," one of the others mused." Wasn’t that the name of the mage that your brothers of art who preceded Malark slew at the Bridge of Fallen Men, in the battle that bought them their deaths?"
"Aye, it was," Naergoth said, "but no connection is yet apparent. We have at least three eyes in Sword Coast cities who have the last name of 'Suld' that I know of… and none are blood-related or even know of each other."
"What boots it?" Dargoth said. "Ancient history only warms long tongues-it can have no bearing on what we decide to do in this matter."
"It certainly won't, if we do nothing," Commarth agreed in dry tones. "Have you any plans in mind, brothers?" Naergoth and Zilvreen shrugged.
"You first, brother," Zilvreen prompted.
Naergoth nodded and spoke. "The price of getting our hands on this spellfire seems far too high, and others-the Zhentarim, and the priests of Bane outside Zhentil Keep, for two-are known to seek it.
Yet it is we who have already paid a price, and I am loath to turn away empty-handed. The price may seem too high to you… and yet we cannot afford not to gain spellfire for our own. No one can. I expect much bloodshed yet." He looked around the table.
"How we go about getting it, I leave to you, brothers."
"Let the mages win it for us" said Zilvreen smoothly.
"Waste no more swords-and especially no more of your bone dragons-on this."
"Well enough," Dargoth agreed. "But spellfire or no, we must not let this girl, or the knights, go unpunished for what they have done. We must never forget that we have lost much treasure, two dracoliches, and The Shadowsil over this. The girl must pay. Even if she becomes an ally, she must die after we have gained her secrets and her power. This must ride over all."
"Well said, brother,"