Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [29]
Mourngrym continued. "Her mentor, Jhessail Silvertree, for another. Other, lesser workers of art in the dale may also welcome you."
He inclined his head. "Illistyl trusts you. You have the freedom of the dale and are welcome, here in the tower, to our table and a bed. May the gods smile upon you when you return to Myth Drannor."
Narm bowed and placed his arm firmly on Illistyl's.
"Thank you, lord," he said to Mourngrym and turned to go. "My lady?"
Illistyl nodded, winking at Mourngrym.
"Adventurers and fools walk together, eh?"
"Yes," Mourngrym agreed. Only Illistyl saw a sparkle glimmering in his eye. "But which is which?"
4: Meetings
Always we hurry through our lives, we who travel.
Only folk tied to the land wait for danger to come to them. All others blunder ever onward, swords at the ready, through many meetings-and each may be the last, for in the wilds only the dragon waits for his meals to walk into him. The wolf, the ore, the gorgon- these hunt and smile much when they meet dinner. What is more dangerous even than these?
Why, any man you meet.
Jam Tiir of Lantan
A Merchant's Tale
Year of the Smoky Moon
Shandril flung herself desperately to the floor, landing with bruising force. Moaning aloud, she scrambled on hands and knees away from those terrible claws. She recognized the creature from a carved chest that had once been carried through doors she held open. Gorstag had pointed them out to her: gargoyles.
This was a gargoyle. Shandril wished briefly she was back in The Rising Moon washing dishes, as she leaped to her feet and ran full-tilt out of the glowing circle she had appeared in, down the dark cavern toward the far end. Ahead there was another area of glowing light, a doorway outlined in dim radiance.
Behind her she heard leathery wings snap as the gargoyle leaped from where it had been crouching and swooped after her. Whether it was guarding the magical gate that the bones had taken her through or was just waiting to attack anyone using it, she neither knew nor cared. The bony hand clutched in her fist flopped and bounced as she sprinted precariously down the uneven cavern floor. Tiny finger bones broke free and clicked on the stones about her as they fell. Shandril slipped on one and righted herself only with an agonizing wrench. The gargoyle was eerily silent behind her.
Panting, Shandril knew as she ran that she'd never be able to get the door open before the gargoyle caught her. She was sobbing for breath when she got close enough to see the place where she would die.
The cavern ended in a narrow cleft choked with bones and fallen rock.
In midair before her was an oval of radiance, standing upright and flickering slightly. There was no door at all, only the empty air of the cavern and this strange frame of light. Shandril had no time to turn aside or even slow, as she felt a plucking at the already torn back of her old tunic. She ran straight at the magical radiance, hoping it was some way out, even as the next rake of the gargoyle's claws cut across her back. Shandril fell through the glowing doorway screaming, burning wetness across her back.
She was elsewhere again, landing hard on her knees and forearms on a stone floor littered with dust and rubble. Dim sunlight crept in from somewhere off to her right. Shandril rolled over and got up hastily to look behind her.
She was alone in a vast, high-ceilinged chamber or hall. No gargoyle, no doorway of light. In the dust she could see the marks of her landing. She had simply appeared here, wherever here was. Shandril could see nothing living in the chamber, although its far end was lost in gloom. She had no desire to explore at the moment. Instead, she sank to the floor, cursing softly at the pain as she bent her back, and sat still, catching her breath.
The inscribed bone was still clutched in her hand, although most of the other bones of the hand had fallen off. Shandril dropped it in her lap and sighed.
Here she was, lost