When it saw its doom, it had time only to acquire a look of terror in its strange golden eyes. Then Shargrailar gave it death, literally plunging through it in velvet silence, raking with razor-keen claws and biting with long bone fangs to tear it to wet scraps and cantles. Casting them away, the dracolich whirled again and soared westward, as if nothing had befallen.
Behind it, unregarded, the riven wyrm fell, dwindling as it tumbled. Smoldering tentacles feebly clutched at the uncaring air … and Architrave of the Malaugrym struck ground in a series of wet, spattering crashes.
Shargrailar flew on. Ah, but that had felt good. Now to the puny humans. They could not be much farther west, unless—
Ah! There below, on the road. Two human riders with mules … one female …
Silently Shargrailar descended, skeletal head peering. Yes … yes, this must be her. And if not, what matter? What pair of humans could hurt Shargrailar?
Like a gigantic arrow, the great dracolich plunged out of the sky. Silent death comes for you morsels.… As it descended, Shargrailar could see that the she-human was beautiful. It opened bony jaws wide to give her death. Silently, patiently …
A bright net of stars blossomed in the shade of a roadside tree. Motes fell away, drifting and darkening. A slender figure stood amid the smoking gore and tangled, twitching tentacles. Her white hand darted down, stretching impossibly long, to pluck something from the heart of steaming Malaugrym flesh.
A dull, dark gem was cradled to a breast that trembled with sobs. “You fool, Architrave. I warned you!”
Blue fire flashed. Another net of stars whirled up to enshroud the weeping woman and flared to snatch her back to a tower in Waterdeep, before a certain Old Mage could catch her.
Stars faded and were gone, leaving only tears.
Magusta watched those stars dwindle. She laughed, gloating. “So they both earn themselves the fate of fools.”
Her brother shook his head. “Who was the woman? Kin to us, or some human she-wizard?”
“Someone who wanted a magic trinket back, not one of the Blood—or she’d have tarried to do the usual things.” Magusta turned away from the whirling brightness of her scrying spell. “With them both dead, we’ve all Faerûn to ourselves to play in—thanks to the Dark Decree. So long as we watch out for Elminster.”
Stralane’s eyes flashed. “I believe I’ll pay that Old Mage a visit to test his vaunted vigilance and magical might. It could be that he dodders or has dwindled to half the mage he used to be. If I take a suitably innocent human guise, there’ll be little danger. After all, he’s only human.”
Magusta shrugged. “Your peril, Stralane. I’d stay far from that wizard and keep him busy with meddling humans whom we set a-striving with a whisper here and a murmur there.…”
Her brother snorted. “So you forge your own cage and climb eagerly in! Not me.” He strode away—and then turned, his tentacles curling toward her. “Or are you playing a darker game, Sister? Are you going to snatch spellfire for your own the moment my back’s turned?”
Magusta shrugged again. “Hardly. See what that seeking earned Sintre and Architrave? More than that: Two score Zhentilar ride hard after the spellfire maid right now.” She turned back to the scrying-sphere. “I wouldn’t want to miss watching the fun that’ll befall.”
“Zhents? I thought they were Dragon Cultists!”
“The dragon lovers were riding down little Lady Spellfire, too—but the Zhents butchered them even as Architrave was dying.” She turned the sphere so he could see its other side, where tiny warriors rode hard along a rising road. “Thunder Gap’s going to be a crowded place soon.”
“Someone follows us,” Narm said, peering back over his shoulder.
“Someone?” Shandril asked him. “One? Alone?”
“Yes … a child, or someone short, on a mule,” Narm said doubtfully. “An odd traveler to ride alone through wilderlands!”
“Well, ’tis an open road—it can’t be unused, by any means!” Shandril turned in her saddle. Behind them, the land fell away in gentle hills to dark woods and Deepingdale. Peering, she thought she could see the Rising Moon, or where it must be. Tears touched her eyes—and then she saw bony death gliding coldly down out of the sky.
“Narm!” she screamed, kicking heels to her mount and climbing onto its neck in wild urgency. “Get down!”
Narm looked—and saw. He frantically tore Torm’s gift from his neck and threw it away.
Shandril had one glimpse of his white face before the world exploded.
“What in the name of the Soul Forger was that?” Delg stood openmouthed in his stirrups as the great skeletal bulk arrowed down out of the sky. ’Twas like a dragon, but … ’twas a skeleton! ’Twas … oh, by the lode-luck of the Ironstars, it must be one of those dracoliches Elminster spoke of!
Delg swallowed and sat down in his saddle again. “I’m getting too old for this sort of thing.…”
No dwarf stood a chance against that! Nor, he thought grimly, did little Shandril, even with fire magic and a boy who could cast spells.
The mule had slowed to a walk. Delg booted it mercilessly in the ribs, waving his axe so that it flashed in the sunlight.
“Get you going!” he snarled into its ears. “I’m late for a battle, and they’ll be needing me, never fear!”
Thiszult flew low over the trees to one side of the road. The wind of his flight whipped past his ears. He had to find them and get ahead of them. Soon …
There was a flash and roar of flame ahead. Startled, Thiszult veered to one side, rising for a better look. Were they in a fight? This might prove even easier than he’d thought!
A vast, dark skeleton wheeled in the air. Thiszult gasped. A Sacred One! But how came it here? And who was it?
He’d never seen one so large and terrible before! As he stared at the dracolich, its cold orbs met his own, and it turned toward him. Its skeletal jaws looked somehow amused.
Blue-white lightning leaped and crackled from the great dracolich’s maw.
Thiszult had no time to protest that he was an ally. It struck. All his limbs convulsed. He was dead, mouth open to begin his speech, even before Shargrailar’s bony claws struck his body and tore it apart. His secret, long-guarded magic fell to earth, lost in the endless trees below.
Far away, Salvarad of the cult sighed and turned from his scrying font. Thiszult would never take the Purple now.
Shandril rose grimly. The stink of cooked horseflesh was strong; faithful Shield had lived up to her name. Shandril’s arms tingled, but she was unharmed. The dracolich’s flames had poured strength into her.… But how had Narm fared?
She ran across the smoking road, seeking him. Lightning cracked overhead, but she did not look up. Where was he?
A heart-twisting, blackened tangle of horse’s legs and smoldering mules met her gaze. She swallowed and ran forward, peering anxiously into the smoking slaughter.
“Narm! Oh, Narm!”
He had no protection against dragon fire. He could well be dead, and their child would never know its father.… None of that! Find him, first!
There he was, moving weakly, half-buried under scorched baggage. He was alive! Oh, gods be praised!
Shandril crashed down on her knees beside him, tearing aside smoldering straps and scorched cloth. Narm moaned. His hair smoked, and the left side of his face was black and blistered.
“Oh, Narm! Beloved!”
Cracked lips moved. Lids that no longer had lashes flickered open. Watery eyes met hers, lovingly—and then looked past her and widened.
“Look out, love!” Narm hissed hoarsely. “The dracolich comes!”
Shandril looked up. The legendary Shargrailar wheeled directly above them, vast and dark and terrible. Though it was only empty bones, the undead creature was awesome. Shandril shivered as she gazed at its fell might. Soaring lazily, it turned and dived down the sky.
“Run, Shan!” Narm croaked from beneath her. “Get you hence! I love you! Shandril, go!”
“No,” Shandril said, through threatening tears. “No, Lord, I’ll not leave you!”
Great bony jaws opened, above.
Shandril lay gently atop Narm’s blackened body, shielding him as much as she could. Narm groaned in pain. She braced herself to lift her weight off him. “I love you.”
As the roar of the dracolich’s approaching flame grew in the air, Shandril put her lips to Narm’s and gathered her will.
Searing flame swallowed them.
“Clanggedin aid me!” Delg muttered. His mule bucked under his aching thighs.
The road ahead was one great smoking ruin. A cone of flames had just raked it—and in a moment the swooping dracolich would be above. The mule bucked again.
“Oh, blast!” Delg burst out. He found himself somersaulting forward through the air. His frantic grab for the saddle-horn missed. At least he still had hold of his axe. He tucked it close against him so it wouldn’t be chipped in the hard landing.
The mule’s saddle was empty when raking claws swept the poor beast skyward, rending and tearing.
The dracolich let out the first angry sound it had uttered in many long years—a long, loud hiss of frustration. Shredding the mule as if it were a rotten rag, Shargrailar wheeled. Destroying foes had never taken this long before.
Once more … just one last dive …
In the heart of the inferno, Shandril strained to draw in the dragon fire that ravaged Narm’s helpless body. Through their joined lips she felt the fierce energy flowing; sluggishly at first, then faster and faster. Gods, the pain!
Her lips were seared as if by hot metal; tears blinded her. Her tormented body shuddered. Bright agony clawed and snarled through her. She held fast to Narm until the last of the flames swept over them and were gone.
Energy flowed into her. Narm’s own life force streamed into her; she was draining him to death!
Hastily she broke their kiss and stared down at his slack, silent face. His eyes were dark, unseeing. Oh, Narm! She’d no Art to heal him!
What had she done?
Bitterly, Shandril felt the surging energy swelling within her. Her veins were afire; she was bloated with more than she could hold for long. The pain …
Into her mind came Gorstag’s voice, telling of her mother: “… to heal or harm …!” Heal! Could she heal as well as burn?
She gathered her shaking limbs, lay tenderly on Narm again, and set her lips to his. Closing her eyes, Shandril willed energy to flow out of her gently … slowly, like cooling water.…
Energy flowed into Narm. She willed it into him, fiercely, and felt his feeble heartbeat strengthen. He moved under her, struggling to speak.
Shandril shed fresh tears as she poured more energy into her beloved. Let him be once more whole and strong and—
Bony claws raked agony across her back.
Shandril was torn free of Narm and flung to the road beyond by Shargrailar’s angry strike. Pain almost overwhelmed her. She shrieked aloud, flames gouting from her mouth.
Ohhh, Tymora, the pain!
She had ignored another bolt of lightning from it as she healed Narm—but the great dracolich could slay her with claws as surely as if she had no spellfire.
Pain tore at her. She twisted and thrashed in the dust of the road. She could feel her blood pour out. Blood, blood … she’d seen more spilled this tenday than in all her life before, and she was heartily sick of it. Well—now she could do something about it!
Shandril opened her eyes and looked for the dracolich. A fierce anger filled her, and exultation rose to join it.… She could heal! She could use spellfire to aid as well as to slay!
Crawling on hands and knees, Shandril saw Shargrailar sweep down again, eyes glimmering at her from its cruel skull, claws outstretched.
The onetime thief of Deepingdale met that chilling gaze and laughed.
From her eyes, flames shot forth, two fiery beams of spellfire that struck the bone dragon’s eyes.
Smoke rose from its skull—and Shargrailar screamed. Bony wings sheared away to one side.
Shandril laughed in triumph, and a white inferno of flames roared from her mouth into the blinded dracolich.
It reeled in the air, blazing, and crashed to the ground.
Ignoring its snaps and thrashes, she turned to finish Narm’s healing. As she crawled back to him, she bent her will to heal herself. Soothing relief spread across her torn back, and the pain faded.
Narm’s skin was cold under her fingers, and he lay unmoving. Shandril poured energy into him … but the fires in her were much lessened. She shouldn’t have healed herself … she had too little left—and the dracolich was still dangerous. It wasn’t wasting spells on her any longer, so she couldn’t gain more spellfire. Oh, Tymora! Was her luck always to be bad? No, it could be fatal, just once—now, perhaps—and all her worries would be over.
Shandril scrambled up, looking wildly around for the dracolich. If it clawed her now …
She heard a strange smashing and splintering sound. Peering cautiously over the smoking mules, she saw an axe rise and fall in Shargrailar’s shuddering rib cage. Bone chips flew. The dracolich had already lost its wings and two claws, and was trying feebly to turn its head to blast its attacker. The bones of its neck were smashed in two places, and smoke rose from its blackened skull. A hearty kick sent more pieces of bone flying. The descending boot was planted firmly on one of Shargrailar’s claws ere its owner chopped brutally downward.
“Delg!” Shandril cried in happy astonishment. Racing toward the burly dwarf, she laughed and cried at once. His gleaming axe hacked tirelessly on the dracolich’s splintered bulk.
Through whirling shards of bone he grinned at her. “Well met, Shan! Long days pass, and you’ve gotten into trouble, as always … only this time you’re in luck: Delg’s here to lay low your pet!”
Shandril swept him up in a happy embrace, clear off his feet. She let out a whoop of effort and staggered to set him down again. “Delg! Delg, I thought all the company were dead!”
The dwarf nodded soberly before his fierce grin came again.
“Aye. So did I,” he told her, beard bristling. “But I’ve found you at last.”
“Found me? Do you know what’s happened to me? This dracolich’s but the latest. Scarce a day passes without someone trying to slay us because of … that which I wield.”
“Spellfire, aye, so they’ve all been telling me.”
“All?”
“Aye, Elminster an’ Storm an’ the Knights an’ Harpers an’ all. I rode the legs of my mule a few finger-widths shorter following you! You’ve become important indeed, lass, in less time than I’ve seen most heroes and legends rise.” The dwarf waved his axe. “So let’s see this spellfire again, before we move Narm somewhere safer.”
“Well enough,” Shandril said, and waved at the dismembered dracolich. “Do you know this one?”
“Never seen it before I buried my axe in it. Does it matter?”
“No, I suppose not,” Shandril replied, and let fly with roaring spellfire that blasted Shargrailar’s flopping skull to bone shards. As the smoke died away, Shandril looked at Delg, saw fear lurking in his eyes, and shrugged. “I’m not safe to be near, these days. So much killing, since first I left the Moon … Is butchery what all the legends are built on?”
“Aye,” the dwarf said gruffly. “Didn’t you know?” He stomped toward Narm. “Let’s drag your lord a good distance from all this carnage and see what we can salvage before sunset.”
She walked beside him. “ ‘We’? You’ll come with us?”
“Aye, if you’ll have me along on your bridal journey an’ all.” The dwarf looked embarrassed. He squinted up at her almost defiantly, hands twisting on his axe. “We’re friends, lass. I’ll stand true by you an’ your lord. Few enough such you’ll find, mark you … an’ one needs little more in life than good food an’ good friends. The company’s gone now, all save for you … so old Delg’ll ride with you.” He swung his axe onto his
shoulder. “If you make it to Silverymoon an’ are sick of me, we’ll part ways. I hope you won’t be … ’tis a trial indeed, when you be my age, befriending pretty girls anew. Folks get all the wrong ideas, y’see.”
The old dwarf handed her his axe. “Hold this, while I carry your mage down the road apiece. Easy, lad, you’ll feel better soon enough; I know, I’ve lived through battles enough to tell. Come, the sun waits not for all my talking!”
Nor did it, but it was a happy camp that sunset.
In the morning, the dwarf walked with the young couple as they headed west into the mountains. It was a clear day, and the green dales spread out behind them as they climbed to Thunder Gap. All was peaceful. A lone black falcon soared high above in clear blue air. The day passed with no attack nor hurling of spellfire.
Delg told Narm fierce tales of Shandril’s daring with the company, and Narm told Delg of the struggles in Myth Drannor and Rauglothgor’s lair and how his Lady Spellfire had blasted apart the mountaintop. The dwarf looked at Shandril with new respect, chuckling, “I’ll not ask you to hold my axe, next time!”
Near sunset on the heights, they turned and looked back over the marching trees. The road dwindled down, down from where they stood to Highmoon, hazy in the distance.
“Who could know, looking at it, that this beautiful land could be so dangerous?” Narm asked quietly.
Delg smiled and said nothing.
“Never mind,” Shandril replied, putting a hand on her man’s arm. “We found each other, and that’s worth it all.”
They turned and walked into the evening together. As soft stars came out above them, they thought of many mornings to be shared ahead and were very happy.
CONTINUE YOUR ADVENTURE
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