Greenwood, Ed - Shandril's Saga 01 by Greenwood Ed

Author:Greenwood, Ed [Greenwood, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-05-30T15:31:39+00:00

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not if ever she had been an adventurer. They were good people."

He stared into nothingness for a moment, and Shandril laid her hand upon his.

His face was sad, but it was wistful, more than upset. "They are both dead, of

course," he added calmly. "Slain in a sorcerous duel in Baldur's Gate when was

eleven—burned up in flames when the ferryboat they were on was struck by a fireball flung at the mage Algarzel Halfcloak by a Calishite archmage, Kluennh

Tzarr. Algarzel flew out of the way; the ferry could not. All aboard who had no

part in the dispute perished. Algarzel was slain later, or escaped into another

plane, some in the city said. Whatever, he has not been seen since.

"Kluennh Tzarr left for his citadel in triumph. It is said that dragons serve him, and that he has many slaves. One day, if another does not get there first,

I will be his death." His soft, cold tone chilled Shandril as he walked slowly

around the chamber, arms swinging easily, eyes remote. Under the bed, the cats

nodded approvingly.

P *

"Ib defeat an archmage I needed magic—or at least, needed to know its ways. I knew not, then, that one cannot hope to separate them. So I tried to become an

apprentice." He laughed, a little bitterly, at the memory.

"Imagine it, love—a ragged, barely lettered boy, alone and with no wealth to buy

a mage's time or trouble, in Baldur's Gate where there are a dozen homeless boys

on every street in the docks, pestering every mage that passes! I only escaped

being turned into a toad—or just burned to ashes— by Mystra's will. . .

nothing

else can explain it.

"One day, two years after I started, a mage said yes. A pompous, sour mage—Marimmar, my master His pride weakened him. He never worked to strengthen

his art where he lacked spells or technique, in those places where he couldn't—or wouldn't—see that he was weak. But I learned much from him, perhaps

more than from a smooth and masterful worker of the art. He had a temper, yes,

and little patience—and he was perhaps the laziest man I have ever met, so he needed an apprentice to do all the drudge-work. Yfou know the drudge-work;'

Narm

added with a sudden smile. Shandril matched it ruefully.

"Marimmar disliked conflict, so he never fought mages to gain their spells—and

he was obviously shining-proud that no mage ever challenged him. Those of real

power saw him as a posturing know-nothing, with no spells worth seizing.

Those

of lesser power feared always that he must have something up his sleeve, he seemed so confident and fearless. His confidence killed him, in the end. He nearly took

me with him.

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