Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [38]
The woman in purple was stronger than her slim frame suggested. By main strength she was holding her captI’ve upright. It was a girl, who was struggling violently. The rope that bound her seemed to move by itself to fight her. She managed to tear its coils free of her face and throat. Narm could scarcely believe it-he knew her!
She was the girl from the inn. That beautiful face had stared at him from the shadows. The kitchen-slut, Marimmar had dismissed her. But he had been wrong. Narm knew that, even then. But how came she to be here?
The woman in purple let go of the rope, laughing mockingly, and the girl fell hard to the cavern floor, still struggling. Seeing her face so set as she battled the rope made anger burn within Narm, and he raised his hands and pointed at the woman in purple and spoke the word of the spell Marimmar had forbidden him to study, the spell he had studied while his master slept. The magic missile burst from his finger like a bolt of light and flashed at the lady.
It struck her, and she turned, startled, and then laughed, her hands already moving. Narm dodged aside, thinking how feeble the rest of his art was. The mage stopped her casting and locked her fingers in Shandril's hair. As Narm watched in dismay, she dragged the struggling girl through the oval of radiance and vanished.
Then, with a shattering roar, the fireball exploded all around him.
5: The Grotto of the Dracolich
There in the darkness many a wyrm sits and smiles.
He grows rich and lazy and fat as the years pass, and there seems no shortage of fools to challenge him and make him richer and fatter. Well, why wait ye?
Open the door and go in!
Irigoth Mmar, High Sage of Baldur's Gate
Lore of the Coast
Year of the Trembling Tree
The radiance faded and left her somewhere cold.
She was lying on stone again. Shandril sighed inwardly as she twisted against the ever-tightening, ever-slithering rope.
"Where are we?" she hissed at her captor, almost in tears. The relief she had felt when the power to move her own limbs had returned was gone.
The Shadowsil shrugged. "A ruined keep. Come."
The rope had shifted backward to more securely bind Shandril's arms to her torso; she found she could get to her knees, and, painfully, to her feet. The mage led her down a curving stone stair, but not before Shandril got a good look out the window. She saw mountains that looked cold and jagged- and many days' journey from Myth Drannor. A snow hawk glided across the scene, but she could see no other life before she was dragged down a dark, curving, stone stairway. It was narrow and steep and littered with old feathers and bird droppings. There was no sound or other sign of life now. Shandril was propelled ahead down the stairs with a firm hand.
"I told you he'd poke his nose into something straight away, and buy a swift grave before we'd even got to your next sausage!" said a familiar voice, swimming somewhere above Narm. "That's why I followed, not for treasure."
"Well, ye'd be the one to know about poking one's nose," said another. "By the gods, but he caught it squarely! Do ye think he'll live?"
"Not if you don't use some healing magic quickly, leviathan-belly! Don't wag your jaws-waggle your fingers! He grows weaker with each breath you waste. Look at the smoke coming off him; he smolders still! No, lie still, Narm. I can hear you."
Narm struggled through excruciating pain to tell them of the girl from the inn and the woman in purple, but all that came out was a twisted sob. Torm spoke gently in reply.
"Lie down, Narm. You want us to rescue the pretty girl bound in the rope of entanglement that the mage-with our good fortune she's an archmage, no doubt-just pushed through that gate. Well, lie still; rest easy. You're lucky enough to have found the greatest reckless fools in all of Faerun, and we'll do it for you. Oh, by the stars, don't cry! It gI’ves me the shI’vers!"
"Hush," said Rathan. "How can I work healing when