The Shandrils Saga 02 - Crown of Fire by Forgotten Realms

Author:Forgotten Realms [Forgotten Realms]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-01-08T17:48:04+00:00

freedom she'd never reach. Her fingers reached, twitched feebly, and then fell still. Puffing. Mirt rose from atop a rocky knob, the blood of Zhents all over him. The meadow was empty of living enemies at last. He raised his eyebrows and spared breath enough to mutter, "So young... so much power..." "Gods," Mairara whispered to herself, crouching whiteknuckled behind a rock in the heights above the meadow. Then her eyes widened in horror as the veteran Zhentilar beside her stood up and calmly hurled a dagger at the maid below, putting all the strength in his shoulder behind the smooth throw. Steel spun through the night. The venomed blade had served Unthlar Highsword well over the years, slipping into many a rival's back or unwary eye. Its touch meant death. Unthlar watched his deathfang hurtle toward Shandril's stall, unprotected back, and he started to smile. Too soon. Mirt saw the flicker of its flight. Groaning in his haste, he leapt between Shandril and the attack, throwing up both his own blades to knock the dagger aside. At the same time, words of soft anger came out of the night beside the puffing merchant. The strongest spell Narm could hurl-one that always left him utterly drained of wits and strength-rent the night, exploding in the air right in front of Unthlar. Mairara shut her eyes and flung her head to one side as wetness splattered the rocks around. She looked back in time to see Unthlar's lower half-all that was left of himstagger backward and fall heavily among the rocks beside her. She heard curses and scrambling sounds from behind her as the few surviving Zhentilar fled in terror. Then Mairara looked down again-straight into the hard eyes of the maid who bore spellfire. Shandril stood staring up at the Zhentarim sorceress. Her hair was moving about her shoulders with a life of its own, curling in slow menace. "By Mystra's mercy," Mairara whispered, looking at Shandril with wide eyes, "make it quick." Shandril granted her that last wish. When the roaring had died away, all that was left was drifting smoke and the cracking of overheated rock White-faced, Shandril looked down at Delg's still body, and then turned to look east. The tears that fell from her cheeks burned the ground they touched. "Right, then, Lord Manshoon," she said, voice brittle and quavering. "I've done all the running I'm going to do. Now you will learn what it is to be hounded!" A skull that floated unseen in the darkness near the top of Irondrake Rock looked down and chuckled, the teeth of its perpetual grin chattering hollowly.

"It's not as though I've naught else to do, look ye," Elminster said, spreading his hands. Released from his grasp, the pipe floated off by itself to hang ready in the air nearby. Storm glanced up from the strings of her harp. "More important than spellfirc?" Elminster's expression was sour. "Who’s to say what's more important - my giving a little boy

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