Elminster nodded. "Look into the eyes of any creature ye meet, from squirrel to horse, and every man. If ye see a golden light there-or the blue glow of my spell ye're facing a Malaugrym. Strike then to slay, speedily, and stop not until all has been burned away." He waved his hands, and an oval of flickering blue light appeared in the air before the two knights-a magical gate that would transport them to the region where Shandril Shessair toiled on.
Torm sighed. "You make it sound simple enough… but simple orders have found their ways onto tombstone carvings often enough before. What if it happens that we really need you-will you come?"
"Soon enough to save thy life, if ye are beset?" Elminster's eyes were sad. "Ye're old enough to know that no answer I give ye will serve as a sure shield. Death watches always, waiting, and has a swifter hand than I"
The slim, handsome thief waved a hand with a theatrical flourish. "Granting all that-are we on our own in this?"
Elminster looked up at the ceiling of the spell chamber, where an old enchantment made the stars wink and glitter as they drifted across an illusory night sky. "The gods above know I am a busy man," he told the stars innocently, pretending not to hear the resulting snorts of the knights, and am beset at present with matters even weightier than spellfire-but I should not be overmuch surprised if I find myself sparing time for a charge over the hill or two, when my business takes me that way. What say ye, Storm?"
The bard inclined her head and patted the hilt of the well-used long sword scabbarded at her hip. "I, too, will do what I can-and there are my fellow Harpers along the way. One of them does nothing but wait for Shandril and Narm. To say nothing of Delg the dwarf, I'll be surprised if he has not caught up to them already. We will all of us do what we can."
As the knights nodded and started toward the gate, checking their weapons, Elminster added quietly to Rathan, "Ye might pray to Tymora that our efforts will be enough."
Torm rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me," he said, putting the back of his hand to his brow in a mock swoon. "'The future of all Toril hangs in the balance. Again."
Elminster raised one of his own eyebrows in a parody of the thief's own manner. "Of course."
Two
MUCH TALK, AND EVEN SOME DECISIONS
Try as we may, none of us can be in all places at all times. Not even the gods can do that. So we do what we can and measure our success, if we are wise, by what our hearts tell us at the end of a day, and not what our eyes tell us of how much we have changed Faerun.
Storm Silverhand To Harp at Twilight Year of the Swollen Stars
Their last glimpse of Thunder Gap, far behind, was blocked by dark, sinister winged shapes in the sky. Narm watched them flapping out of the mountains, found his mouth suddenly dry, and swallowed with some difficulty.
"Delg," he managed to croak.
The dwarf did not even turn to see where he was pointing. "I've been ignoring them," Delg told him sourly. "It's easiest."
"Ignoring them? That's all?" Shandril asked incredulously, looking back at the dark, hunting shapes as they grew ever larger, ever closer.
"You've a bright scheme of some sort, lass?" The dwarfs woe was sharp as he hastened on, an errant skillet banging on metal somewhere inside his pack.
"Well, we've got to hide," Shandril said hotly. "I haven't spellfire enough to-"
"That's why I've been saving my breath and not stopping to look back," the dwarf said in dry tones. "It brings the trees closer, as fast as I can make them move… See the little dip ahead there? It's a ravine: the branches'll be thick, and there'll be a stream to hide our own noises – arguing with wise dwarves, for instance…"
Narm and Shandril exchanged glances, then hurried after the dwarf toward the ravine he'd indicated. Only after they had reached cover did any of them speak again.
"What are they?" Narm's voice was low. He'd never seen such ugly things before-huge, fat, scaled things with bat wings, claws, and horselike heads that ended in two probing, twisting snouts. Each snout held sharp jaws; even down here Narm could smell the rotting reek of their breath.
"Foulwings," Delg said. "Well named, aye?"
Narm watched the heavy, ungainly things flap over them, wheel, and dart this way and that, searching along the road and the edges of the forest for signs of a maid, her man, and a dwarf. He shivered as a foulwing turned overhead, and the head of the robed and hooded rider pivoted, scanning the forest. For a moment it seemed that the foulwing rider looked right at him. Fear rose in Narm. Frantically he searched his mind for some spell that wouldn't reveal their location to the foes above.
And then the foulwing wheeled in the air, belching and snorting angrily as its rider struck it cruelly with a metal goad. In the man's other hand, a wand glinted for a moment before he flew onward, out of sight. His companions, some ten or twelve others, followed afterward.
"Who rides foulwings?" he asked, trying to sound calm. "Evil folk," Delg said brightly. When Narm looked at him in disgust, the dwarf added a savage grin. Narm folded his arms and waited for further explanation.
Delg rumbled, "If you must know, lad: the Zhents; the Cult of the Dragon; I've heard the Red Wizards of Thay do, too; I saw the private army of a lich riding 'em once, in the Vilhon-and the tavern-talk in Suzail, when last I was there, had some lord or other of Westgate using them, in league with a pirate. For all I know, half the rich merchants in Sembia keep 'em as pets."
"If they're as common as all that, why've I never heard of them before?" Narm protested.
Delg rolled his eyes. "D'you know how many folk I've heard say that down the years, lad? Most of 'em had been adventuring longer than you have, too-and the things they hadn't met with before killed 'em just as dead as if they'd been old friends. Had you seen or heard of spellfire before you met with your lady? D'you think I could stand in the midst of it, protesting I'd never heard of it before, and thereby escape being burned?"
Narm opened his mouth to reply, but another voice spoke first: Shandril could move very quietly when she wanted to. They'd left her lying silent and still under spread cloaks in the ravine-but neither Narm or Delg was surprised to find her beside them on their perch on a low, gnarled bough of an old phandar tree. Her eyes smoldered a little as she asked softly, "Could these foulwing riders be the darker, greater foes Elminster warned us about back in Shadowdale, do you think?"
Narm spread his hands. "He never said enough about 'Those Who Watch' to tell us how to recognize them." Delg shrugged, and added, "I'd rather not call those bat-horses down to ask." He squinted up at them and asked, "Does it matter? Whoever they are, they're bold enough to fly openly into Cormyr in broad daylight. Just one of those foulwings could tear all of us apart if it catches Shan by surprise, with no spellfire ready. It's the forest for us, from now on."
And so it was that the only known wielder of spellfire and her companions turned off the road into the vast and deep Hullack Forest. They rested after several hours of struggling through thick stands of duskwood. While they sat, Shandril managed to eat some cheese, preceded by some rather old milk, and followed by some rather winestrong broth. Delg insisted on doing all the cooking. "1'd probably starve if I left the food to you or your husband there" was the gentle way he put it when she'd protested. Shandril was just as glad not to handle their provisions – too much had been salvaged from the ruin of Thundarlun, bringing memories of its slaughter back into her mind. She was growing tired of the killing-and of seeing fear in the eyes of folk she was fighting for, or alongside, when they looked at her.