Spellfire ss-1

by Ed Greenwood

  "I'm married, Gorstag," Shandril said quickly. "He's-Narm's with the horses."

  Gorstag threw her a surprised look, but he never slowed his step. By the light of the fire, Shandril saw tears wet upon his cheeks, and then he was gone.

  Lureene threw her arms about Shandril. "Lady Luck be praised, Shan! You're back and safe! Gorstag has been so worried about you, ah, but now… but now-" She burst into tears and held Shandril tightly.

  Shandril felt tears of her own stinging her eyes, and she gulped quickly to forestall a happy flood. "Lureene… Lureene…" she managed, voice breaking. "We cannot stay. Half the mages in Faerun are after us, and we're a menace to you even by being here."

  Fearfully, she stared at the barmaid. She was touched that Lureene had missed her so-she'd always thought the older girl must find her tiresome. Now she feared to lose what she had so fleetingly seen, swept away by fear. Lureene met her gaze and smiled, shaking her head slightly.

  "Ah, little kitten, you have been hurt indeed, to fear these doors shut to you," Lureene said sadly. "If to see you again, we must entertain a few thousand angry mages, entertain them we shall, Gorstag and I, and think it a small price to pay.

  "Ah, Shan, thank you! Thank you! You've made Gorstag so happy, he's like a youngling again-did you not see him stride and spring to the door? You've made him happy again, the way he has not been since you left."

  "But we must leave again, on the morrow," Shandril said, teetering on the edge of tears. "How-?"

  "He will understand, Shan. He knows you are not ours any more-I don't doubt that he's taking the measure of your man right now! It's just that he didn't know what had befallen you. Could you not have left a note or some word?"

  Shandril cried uncontrollably, emptying out all the fear and regrets and homesickness of the days since she'd fled the inn, seeking adventure. Lureene held her tightly and rocked her wordlessly, until at last Shandril's sobbing had died away to shuddering breaths.

  Then she kissed Shandril's bent head and said softly, "Do not be so full of sorrows, little kitten. I am most grateful to you." The body in her arms made a sort of bleating, questioning sound. Lureene hugged it still more tightly and said, "Gorstag was so upset over you, one night, that he could not sleep. I came to comfort him. He'd never have permitted me to do as I did, if he'd not been so in need of comfort. And he would not have asked me to be his wife."

  Shandril looked up, hair all across her reddened eyes in disarray. "He did? Gorstag? Oh, Lureene!" Her tears were happy this time, and she hugged Lureene with bruising force. Ye gods, Lureene thought, stepping back to hold her balance, if this is what adventure does for a woman…

  A woman? Shandril? But-aye! She is a woman, now, Lureene thought, holding her by the shoulders and meeting her delighted laughter with a fond smile. This was not the girl who'd slipped away from the kitchen.

  This was a lady with a lord of her own-and something else. Something beyond the weapons worn so easily at hip and boottops… a quiet sort of confidence, of power hidden. Yet none of the loud arrogance of the adventurers who came to the inn for a night of revelry and often left, made wiser by Gorstag's hands and tongue, shamefacedly.

  "Shandril, what has happened to you?" she asked quietly.

  Shandril gave her a strange, almost haunted look. "Oh," she said in a whisper. "You can see it so clearly then, can you?"

  Lureene nodded. "Aye. But I know not what it is." She raised a hand to Shandril's lips. "No… tell me not, if you would not. I do not need to know."

  "But you should know," Shandril said simply. "It is not something easily believed, though. I hope Gorstag will be able to tell me more about why I have it."

  Lureene grinned at her suddenly. "Then it can wait until after you've sat down and soaked your feet and eaten. I'll wake Korvan."

  "No!" Shandril said sharply. Lureene turned to look a question at her. "No, please," Shandril pleaded. "Wake him not. I cannot trust his cooking-no offense to you-for my own good reasons. I'll cook, if you will have me."

  Lureene nodded, looking troubled. "Did Korvan… bother you?" she asked with a little frown.

  "It is not that," Shandril said. "Please trust me, and wake him not. I'll tell you, but it is better not to rouse him."

  "Then I'll not leave your side unless your man or Gorstag is at hand to protect you while you are here," Lureene said firmly. "You can tell me what you like after you've rested." She reached out her hand. "Come here by the fire."

  Shandril let herself be led and sat in a warm chair with a high back. Lureene poked the fire up into new flames and set fresh, dry wood on it, and went for a bowl. When she returned, Shandril's head had fallen onto her shoulders, and she was asleep.

  Narm held the bridles of both horses, tense-ready to flee hurriedly if need be. He looked about him in the moonlit mist of the road, but he heard no creature moving in the rolling silence. Wait, Shandril had said. Come after me only when you have stood so long that you grow cold-and if you wait that long, mind you come most careful, ready for war. Narm shifted nervously. Was he cold enough, yet? There was noise within.

  Then the door that Shandril had entered was flung wide. A burly, craggy-faced man with gray-white hair and level gray eyes wet with tears strode out. He stretched out a strong arm to Narm and said, "Well met, and welcome to the inn! I am Gorstag. You are Shandril's Narm?"

  Narm met his gaze squarely and swallowed. "Yes. I was here almost two months back with the mage Marimmar. Shandril has told me of you, sir. I am at your service."

  Gorstag chuckled. "Well, you can be of service," he said gruffly, "by leading one mount around to the stables with me." He set off with a horse and three mules in tow.

  Narm followed him into a place where a sleepy boy on night watch unhooded a lantern for them and fetched water, brushes, and feed. In companionable silence, they set to work.

  "You know the art?" Gorstag asked softly, as they both bent to the same bucket. Narm nodded.

  "I was trained in Shadowdale as a conjurer. Shandril and I have come straight from there, where we were wed under Tymora." Narm felt suddenly shy under this old man's stern, clear eyes. He said no more, then, as he turned back to Warrior, who rumbled appreciatively. He turned from the horse's flank a few breaths later to find his gaze collected by Gorstag's. Unconsciously, Narm took a step back, but he said nothing. At last, Gorstag nodded and turned back to the first of the three mules.

  "Tell me, if you will, how you met Shandril Shessair," he said softly. The mule pricked its ears at him, but it was clear that he expected no answer from it. Narm studied the innkeeper's broad shoulders for a moment.

  "I saw her first here and… liked what I saw, though we did not speak. In the morning, I left with my master, and we made our way to Myth Drannor."

  Gorstag's arms stopped their rhythmic brushings for a moment, and then resumed. "We met with devils, and Marimmar, my master, was slain. I was rescued from the same fate, by the Knights of Myth Drannor, who patrol there.

  "Later I returned to Myth Drannor and saw Shandril from afar. She was the captive of a cruel mage, The Shadowsil, and I tried to free her. I called on the knights for aid, and we ended up in caverns where a dracolich laired. Shandril and I were trapped together when the cavern collapsed during a mighty battle of art. We thought we'd never get out, so…" Narm paused, studying the mule before him, and then sighed and turned to face Gorstag. "We came to care for each other. I love her. So I asked her to marry me."

  To Narm's surprise, Gorstag nodded and chuckled. "Aye. It is the same for me." He made a clucking noise, and the stableboy reappeared immediately. Gorstag nodded. "See to them all… the very best, mind, as if a fine lord and lady rode them." He waved to Narm to follow him out, and then turned back to the boy and added, "Because they do."

  As they went back around the side of the inn in the moonlit, misty night, Gorstag said, "My house is open to you both, but you seem in much haste. How long can you stay?"

  Narm hesitated. "We must leave on t
he morrow, sir," he said quietly. "Many have tried to slay us-slay Shandril, actually-these past days, and they will no doubt try again. We dare not tarry. Elminster told us to be sure to call on you, and Shandril insisted too, but there is danger to us here, waiting, and we would not bring it upon you."

  "Can you say more?" Gorstag asked. "I will not stay you, and Elminster is a name I set great store by, but I would rest easier, Narm-and call me Gorstag, mark you! — to know where and why the little girl I raised these years passing is riding, and who would do her ill, and why."

  "I have not the right to answer you, Gorstag," Narm replied. "Only my lady should speak on this. I can say that those who pursue us are of different causes, but all, it seems, are powerful in art. Therein lies your peril and Shandril's secret."

  They went inside the inn, only to find Lureene regarding them with a finger to her lips, as she knelt beside a chair before the fire. Narm raced forward at the sight. Behind him, Gorstag smiled.

  "She sleeps," Lureene said softly as Narm bent anxiously near. Shandril moved her head and murmured something.

  They all came close to listen.

  "Narm," she said. "Narm, we're here. We're home. Wait here… wake Gorstag… come carefully, ready for war…"

  Narm kissed her cheek, and in her sleep she raised a hand slowly to pat at his head, smiling. Then, suddenly, she was upset. "She went for you," Shandril cried faintly. "She went for you, and there was not time! I had to burn her!"

  "Shan! Shan!" Narm said urgently, shaking her awake. "It's all right… we're safe."

  "Yes, safe," Shandril said, awake now, looking up at him. "Safe at last." She kissed his hand on her shoulder.

  Then her eyes moved to Gorstag, who stood looking gravely down at her. "I am sorry," she said slowly. "I did not wish to be such a trial to you. I should have told you where I'd gone. I was a fool."

  "We all play at fools," Gorstag said with a smile. "You are back safely, and nothing else matters now."

  Shandril thanked him with her eyes and said, "We cannot stay, I fear. We are fleeing from far too many to vanquish or avoid if we stand and stay. We must ride on in the morning."

  "So Narm said," Gorstag replied. "And he said it was for you to tell us why. Will you, lass?" Shandril nodded.

  "Have you ever heard of spellfire?" she asked.

  Gorstag nodded, sadly. "Your mother had it," he said softly. "Oh, lass. Oh, Shandril. Beware the cult."

  "Beware the cult, indeed" Narm said ruefully. "We have fought them half a dozen times or more already, if you mean the Cult of the Dragon."

  "Aye," Gorstag said, "I do." But he said no more, for Shandril was gaping at him, flame flickering in her eyes.

  She calmed herself and asked quietly, "Please, Gorstag, who were my parents?"

  "The sage did not tell you?" Gorstag asked, gaping at her in his turn. "Why, your mother was a companion-at-arms of mine. We were adventurers together, long ago: Dammasae the Incantatrix. If she had a last name, I never knew it. She was born in the Sword Coast lands. She would not talk of herself."

  "Are you-my father?" Shandril asked softly. Gorstag chuckled.

  "No, lass. No, though we were good friends, Damm and I, and often held each other by the campfire. Your father was Garthond. A sorcerer he was, by the time he died, Garthond Shessair. I never knew where he was born either, but in his youth, he became apprentice to the mage Jhavanter of Highmoon."

  "A moment, if you will," Lureene said gently. "This grows confusing. Let me go to the kitchen. Gorstag, pour ale, and tell your story as a story. If you ask question upon question, Shan, it grows as tangled as a ball of wool.

  Shandril nodded. "You have told me the two things I wanted most to know. Unfold the rest as you see best, and I'll try not to break in. By the gods, master, why did you not tell me all of this before? Years I've wondered and worried and dreamed. Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Easy, lass. And I am not your 'master.' You are your own master, now." Gorstag was solemn. "There were good reasons. Folk were looking for you, even then, and asking me where you came from. I never wanted to tell you a lie, girl, not since I first brought you here. Oh, you had wise eyes from the first. I could not say false to you. I knew that these same prying folk asked you and the other girls questions when I was not about. If you knew the truth, they'd have tricked or drawn it out of you.

  "So I said nothing of it to you, and let the rumors of my fathering you pass unchallenged, and waited for you to be old enough to tell. You are that, now, and past time. I'm sorry you had to run away to find your adventure. The fault was mine, not to have seen your need sooner, and made you happier."

  "No, Gorstag," Shandril said. "I've had nothing but good from you, as the gods witness all, and I blame you not. But tell me the tale of my parents, please. I've waited many a year for such news."

  "Aye. Well, then. Enough of dates, and all. We can puzzle that out later. Here's the backbone of the tale. Garthond, your father, was an apprentice of the mage Jhavanter.

  "Jhavanter, and Garthond with him, fought several times against the Cult of the Dragon in Sembia hereabouts. Jhavanter held an old tower on the eastern flanks of the Thunder Peaks, which he called the Tower Tranquil. Garthond dwelt there with Jhavanter until mages of the cult destroyed Jhavanter in a fight. After that, Garthond continued his studies-and his feud with the cult.

  "At every turn he would work against them, destroy their lesser mages, and terrorize any among them not protected by art. He grew in power, Garthond did, and survived many attempts on his life by the cult. Eventually he rescued the incantatrix Dammasae from cult captivity-they had her drugged, bound, and gagged, in a caravan heading to one of their strongholds.

  "Dammasae had adventured with me and others before this. She had become known for a natural power she had-a power she wanted to develop, by practice and experiment. She could absorb spells and use their force of art as raw energy, held within her. She could use her power to heal, or to harm in the form of fiery blasts. The cult took her to learn the secrets of spellfire for their own use, or at least control her use of it to further their own schemes. No doubt, if they seek you now, it is for the same reasons."

  "That," Shandril agreed softly, "or my destruction. But please, Gorstag, say on!" To know her life at last! Her eyes were moist as Narm put his arms around her shoulders comfortingly.

  Gorstag took down his axe from behind the bar and lowered himself into a chair facing hers, laying the axe near at hand on a table beside him. He turned his chair so as to better see the front door. Outside, moon-dappled mist drifted past the windows.

  "Well," the innkeeper continued, "Garthond rescued Dammasae and protected her and worked magic with her… and they came to love each other. They traveled much, seeking adventure as many of we fools do, and pledged their troth before the altar of Mystra in Baldur's Gate.

  "Here I must leave what I know occurred and relate to you some guesswork-of my own, of the sage Elminster, and of some others. We believe that a cult mage, one Erimmator-none know where his bones lie now to question him-cursed Garthond in an earlier battle of art. The curse bound a strange creature called a balhiir from another plane of existence"-Shandril gasped, and Narm nodded grimly-"in symbiosis with Garthond. Perhaps it was a cult experiment to find the possible powers of any offspring of a spellfire wielding incantatrix's union with a mage 'ridden' by a balhiir."

  "I fear so," Narm replied. "But your tale, Gorstag… what happened after they were wed?"

  "Why, the usual thing betwixt man and maid," Gorstag said gruffly. "In Elturel they dwelt, then, in quiet. In due time a babe-a girl, one Shandril Shessair-was born. They did not return to the Tower Tranquil and the dales, where the cult waited in strength and the danger to their babe was greater, until she was old enough to travel. Eight months, that wait was."

  Gorstag shifted in his chair, eyes distant, seeing things long ago. "They rode with me. East, overland, we went, and the cult was waiting for us, indeed." The innkeeper sighed. "Somehow-
by art, likely-they knew, and saw through our disguises. They attacked us at the Bridge of Fallen Men on the road west of Cormyr.

  "Garthond was thrown down and utterly destroyed, but he won victory for his wife and daughter, and for me. That day he took nine mages of the cult with him, and another three swordsmen. He did not die cheaply.

  "He was something splendid to see that day, Shan. I've not seen a mage work art so well and so long, from that day to this, nor ever expect to. He shone before he fell." The old warrior's eyes were wet again, as he stared into dim night and saw memories the others could not.

  "Dammasae and I were wounded-I the worse, but she could bear hurt less well. She carried less meat to lose and twice the grief and worry, for she feared most, Shan, for you. The cultists were all slain or fled from that place, and we rode as fast as we could to High Horn for healing. We made it there, and Dammasae had some doctoring. She needed the hands and wisdom of Sylune, though, and we could not reach Shadowdale in time.

  "Your mother is buried west of the dale, on a little knoll on the north side of the road, the first one close to the road west of Toad Knoll. A place holy to Mystra, for she appeared there to a magister once, long ago."

  Gorstag looked down at the flagstones before his chair. "I could not save her," he added simply, old anguish raw in his voice. Shandril leaned toward him, but she said nothing.

  "But I could save you," the warrior added with iron determination. "I did that." He caught up his axe and hefted it.

  "I took you on my back and went by way of the woods from Shadowdale south to Deepingdale. It was in my mind to leave you with elves I knew and try to get into the Tower Tranquil to get something of Garthond's art and writings for you, but I was still on my way south when elves I met brought word that the cult had broken into the tower and plundered it, blasting their way into its cellars. Then they used the great caverns they'd created as a lair for a dracolich-Rauglothgor the Proud-whose hoard had outgrown his own lair.

  "So I counted on my obscurity in the eyes of the cult-that few who had seen me riding with Dammasae and Garthond yet lived to tell the tale-and came openly to Deepingdale, where I used some gems I'd amassed on my travels to buy a run-down inn and retire.