Ed Greenwood Shandril's Saga 02 Crown Of Fire

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"now that I've destroyed Manshoon."
Tessaril looked sidelong at her and murmured, "Be not so sure Manshoon's gone,
Shan. Others have been sure they destroyed him before,"
Shandril turned, "Then where is he?" Tessaril shrugged. "Perhaps you
succeeded, at that. Fzoul's never been this bold before."
The man in black seemed to suddenly become aware of their scrutiny. He rose
and came around the table toward them, his face angry, With glittering eyes,
he suspiciously looked their way.
His hands came up, and Tessaril's face suddenly tightened. She took a wand
from her belt and held it in front of Shandril, drawing her back a step from
the window,
White lines of force sprang from Fzoul's hands, spiraling toward them across
that far-off room-and then there was a sudden flash of blinding white, The
window in front of them suddenly burst asunder, Glass shards flew in all
directions, parting in front of Tessaril's wand as if before the prow of a
ship.
In the empty, dark frame, only smoking ruin was left. The two women stood
together looking at it for a long moment, and then sighed heavily.
Amid the broken glass that scrunched underfoot as they moved was something
slippery, Shandril bent to look at the floor. Molten glass from the window had
already hardened into droplets on the flagstones. A few were rather beautiful;
they knelt to look at them together, Tessaril touched one, and then snatched
scorched fingers back from it,
"I'm sorry about your window," Shandril said as the Lord of Eveningstar sucked
her burned fingertips, "But there's nothing to keep me here longer, now, I'd
like to strike at this Fzoul right away."
Tessaril sat up and looked at her gravely, "Shan, you're not ready yet,"
Shandril nodded, smiled softly, and inclined her head toward the ruined
window, "Neither," she said quietly, "is he."
Sixteen
BLOOD, BLADES, AND BITTER WORDS
Some kings sit upon more bloody thrones than this one, mind, When they talk
business, 'tis all blood, blades, and bitter words
Mirt the Moneylender
Wanderings With Quill and Sword
Year of Rising Mist
"Ill-prepared Fzoul may or may not be," the Lord of Eveningstar said quietly.
"but if you rush in without plans and swords at your side, you will certainly
be ill-prepared-and doomed."
"I think not," Shandril replied, eyes flashing. "Forgive me, Tess. but that's
where you-and Storm, and everyone else except maybe Elminster makes a mistake.
You think of going up against Zhentil Keep with an army, That sort of thing
the Zhents know well, They've had much practice smashing down such attacks.
I'll do much better if I go alone."
She strode to the bedroom closet and took out her battered pack, The few
clothes she had left hung forlornly above it, With a determined air, she
started to take them down.
"Alone? It'll mean your death, Shan." Tessaril shook her head. "Aren't you
even going to take Narm and Mirt with you?"
"No," Shandril said quietly, "You and Storm just gave him back to me-I'm never
going to lose him again if I can help it, I'm certainly not going to drag him
to his certain death," She turned, a patched and dirt-stained gown in her
hands, and added with the ghost of a smile, "And I can't sneak anywhere or do
anything agile without a lot of noise if I'm saddled with the Old Wolf."
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An involuntary smile came and went across Tessaril's features, "I'm not sure
he'd be pleased to hear that," she said slyly, "Shall I go tell him?"
"No!" Shandril whirled and took the Lord of Eveningstar by the shoulders,
flames leaping in her eyes. "Don't tell any of them, or I'll never be able to
go."
Her hands fell away, and she stepped back, drew a deep breath, and then looked
up at the lord.
"Forgive me, Tess-after all you've done for me, I hate to do this. But I must
go, now, while I still have nerve enough. Before Fzoul's arranged things just
as he wants them and I'm doomed to die in the thirtieth trap he set for me, or
the sixty-fifth ambush, or the-"
"Shandril," Tessaril said, looking into her eyes, "calm down, and think-is
this wise? Well, is it?"
Spellfire blazed in the depths of Shandril's eyes, which were so close to her
that Tessaril gasped, shuddered and drew back, face pinched in pain.
Shandril gulped, She let go of her and turned her head way, "I'm sorry, Tess-I
didn't mean to hurt you, I'm as dangerous to you as to my foes," Tears shone
in her eyes as she turned back to the white-faced Lord of Eveningstar.
Impulsively, Shandril threw her arms around Tessaril and kissed her, "You must
realize, Tess-wisdom is something for priests, and sages, and wizards,
and-normal folk. It's no good to me."
"Are you that lonely, Shan?" Tessaril whispered, holding her.
Shandril angrily shook tears away and said, "No, Not anymore. You-and Mirt,
and Elminster, and Storm, and the knights-and most of all, Narm - have given
me friends along my road, That's why I must go up against the Zhentarim now.
If I run and hide again, they'll come after you and all my other friends, to
draw me out into battle ... like they did to those poor soldiers at
Thundarlun."
She stuffed the gown into her pack in a wadded, wrinkled mass and said
angrily, "I have all this power and I can't do anything with it but fend off
wizards who toy with me, attacking whenever they feel especially cruel. What
good is spellfire if I can't strike at them when I want to?"
"Shandril," the Lord of Eveningstar whispered. "Be careful, Very careful. The
last time I heard words like that, they came from the lips of the sorceress
who trapped you in Myth Drannor-Symgharyl Maruel."
"The Shadowsil?"
Tessaril nodded, "Whom you slew,"
Shandril shook her head angrily. "I am not like her, Never, She enjoyed
killing,"
"Do you?"
Shandril stared at her, white-lipped. Then she bent forward, eyes blazing
again. "Get me to that citadel!" she snapped, -Now!"
"Or?" Tessaril stared sadly into her eyes, "Will you use spellfire on me?" she
asked quietly, sitting motionless. "Here I am," she added, gesturing at her
breast, "Strike me down." Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes as she added
softly, "like the lich lord did,"
Shandril snarled in frustration, Flames chased briefly around one of her hands
as she clenched it into a fist. "No," she said, turning away, "I will not-and
you know it." She drew breath, let it out in a shuddering sigh, and then asked
quietly, "Must I beg you to help me, Tess?"
"No," Tessaril said quietly, "I just don't want to lose a friend so quickly. .
. . I'll be sending you to your doom." "Please," Shandril hissed, "Just do
it!"
"Why?"
Shandril swallowed, "For the first time in my life," she said, in a voice that
trembled, "I want to be free! Spellfire has ruled me-and I'll never learn to
master it unless I use it as and when I want to ... just once." She glared at
the Lord of Eveningstar and shouted, "Weren't you ever young? Didn't you ever
want to do as you pleased?"
Tessaril shook her head, "That's no good reason," she said with quiet scorn,
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"Every child wants to have her own way,"
"I've another reason. Shandril said coldly, bringing her chin up, "The Zhents
killed Delg. My last companion from the Company of the Bright Spear, a Harper
who laid down his life for me, I swore to avenge him. And my unborn child. And
by the gods, l will!"
Her shout echoed in the small room, She stared at the Lord of Eveningstar, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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