Ed Greenwood - Crown of Fire

The beholder floated above the human Zhentarim gathered in the room. Deep in its shadow, Fzoul replied, "Aye. Manshoon is dead."

"For how long, this time?"

"Forever, we believe." Fzoul blinked his newly healed eyes, but was unable to keep a smile entirely from his face. "He may find it difficult to come back from death without any bodies to possess."

"He had six or seven waiting."

"Aye." Fzoul bowed. "Unfortunately for our esteemed high lord, 'had' is the correct word."

"I see," the beholder said softly, drifting away. "The price of spellfire grows high indeed."

Fzoul nodded. "I've ordered Sarhthor to call our magelings back from pursuing spellfire. Brotherhood trading concerns have been neglected, and immediate steps should be taken. Certain trade officials in Melvaunt, Ordulin, oral Priapurl, for example, have lived too long."

"Undoubtedly," said the beholder. It sounded amused. "Is the hunt for spellfire over then?"

"Rather than becoming an attractive addition to our power, spellfire could well become the doom of the entire Brotherhood. It would certainly have done so, the way Manshoon was going about it. Its capture became his private obsession."

Fzoul paused and looked around the chamber-at the upperpriests and Sarhthor, at the head of the surviving, senior mages. His mouth tightened as he recalled Manshoon's traitor agent, Ghaubhan Szaurr. He wondered briefly if the wizards had discovered his own agents among their ranks.

"Nonetheless, spellfire is too important to ignore. At the very least, we must destroy its source-how much longer can one young girl have such luck, after all? — or prevent our rivals in Mulmaster, Thay, Calimshan, and the Cult of the Dragon from seizing it. With or without us. the hunt for spellfire will continue."

Fzoul turned and pointed at a certain mage as if coming to a sudden decision. Let them all think him as headstrong and arbitrary as Manshoon; it would lead to traitors revealing themselves before their plans were ready. The wizard Beliarge was too ambitious by farand capable, too. It would be best to eliminate him now.

You are our next chance, Beliarge. This Shandril is weaker now than she has ever been-and word has come to me that Elminster and the Harpers are no longer guarding her. All you need overcome is the Lord of Eveningstar, a woman who thinks herself something of a wizard. I'm sure you can prevail against the likes of her"

Sarhthor stirred, but said nothing. Beliarge bowed and smiled.

With cold pride, the High Priest of the Black Altar looked around the chamber. At last the Brotherhood was under his command. It would be best not to make the same mistakes Manshoon's arrogance had led him into. He gave them all a cold smile and asked, "Is there counsel anyone here would like to add? Ideas, disputes, or other business? I would like everyone to speak freely, without fear of reprisal-for we are truly a Brotherhood, out a tyranny."

There was a moment of silence, and then Sarhthor spoke. "There is one thing more: a report from one who survived the failed attempt for spellfire in the Stonelands."

Fzoul raised an eyebrow. "I did not know anyone had survived."

Sarhthor nodded and gestured, dismissing a spell, The features of a mage standing behind him flowed and shifted-and Fzoul found himself looking at a woman who must have been stunningly beautiful before she became so burned and disheveled. Now she looked like a victim of a leprous infection that had eaten cruelly at her. Bristles of short hair adorned one side of that ruined head and locks hung long and silky down the other. Someone in the room hissed in revulsion.

"Who are you?" Fzoul asked briskly. Frightened eyes met his for a moment.

"Tespril, Lord. I'm-I was apprenticed to Gathlarue." Fzoul nodded. Gathlarue the Wonder Wizard, he'd heard that one called, who thought women should rule the Brotherhood but was so feeble-witted that she thought she could conceal her gender from her fellow Zhentarim. She'd led the attack at Irondrake Rock, hadn't she?

"Greetings, Tespril," he said coldly. "Tell us what befell at lrondrake Rock."

She raised startled eyes for a moment-did the high priest know everything? — and began. "My mistress, accompanied by myself and her other apprentice, Mairara, was in Marsember on Brotherhood business, with ten and six Zhentilar as escort. We received orders to hunt Shandril Shessair after she entered Cormyr, and chased her through the Hullack Forest. She reached Irondrake Rock in the Stonelands before we caught up with her. It seemed to be her destination; I don't know why."

Fzoul raised his eyebrows but silently waited for her to continue.

Tespril stared at him uncertainly, then said, "My mistress decided the confined area Shandril and her companions had reached offered an excellent chance to defeat them."

"How many companions had she?" an upperpriest asked sharply.

Tespril turned tired eyes on him. "Three." she said. "The young mage who is her male-he has no power to speak of — a dwarf, and a man named Mirt, whom we believe to be the same Mirt widely believed to be a Lord of Waterdeep."

Fzoul's eyes gleamed. Here was a chance for a fat ransom-or better, an agent in the City of Splendors under the magical control of the Brotherhood. He asked calmly, Did they speak of meeting anyone?'

Tespril spread her hands. "Not that I heard. Dusk fell while they were still exploring the area, and my mistress decided to attack."

"You failed," Fzoul said flatly. "Why?"

"My mistress believed that the gargoyles she commanded-by means of rings she'd crafted-could defeat Shandril and her companions. Only Mirt, we believed, carried an enspelled weapon." Tespril shook her head, remembering the horrors of the fight. "I–I fled after my mistress was slain. I think we killed the dwarf, and the Brotherhood should know that Gathlarue's forcewall spell seemed to thwart the spellfire for a time. I saw most of the warriors killed; I doubt any of the Brotherhood survived but me."

"How did you escape?" Sarhthor asked coldly. "You doesn't have the power to use a teleport spell."

Tespril looked at the floor. "I–I used one of the Brotherhood's teleport rings."

"Only Gathlarue among you was given such a device,"

Fzoul said softly.

Tespril nodded. "I… stole it from her, before the fight. I was sure we'd lose." Her gaze fell to the floor.

Fzoul turned away. "The Brotherhood thanks you for your foresight and your report. Sarhthor, you know what to do."

Sarhthor nodded, face expressionless, and turned, waggling only one finger. Tespril made a short strangling sound in her throat before her body hit the floor.

"This meeting is ended," Fzoul said smoothly. "I thank you for your attendance and your efforts thus far. Diligence in the service of the Brotherhood is always"-he paused to give everyone time to look down at Tespril's sprawled body — "justly rewarded."

"It worked!" Shandril said through delighted tears, embracing Storm. Narm's chest rose and fell again steadily. "Gods thank you! Was this your idea?"

"No," the bard replied very softly. "It was Sylune's." Shandril's eyes widened. "That long ago you spoke of me?"

"No," Storm said. "Svlune does not live as she did before, but her spirit is sometimes with me." She smiled slowly. "Harpers have secrets upon secrets-do you think it was an accident you were married on the site of her home?"

Tessaril bent and kissed Shandril. Her eyes were very sad. "It would be best, child, if you got pregnant again as soon as possible."

"Again?" Then the blood drained from Shandril's face, and she whispered, "What's happened to my baby?" "The skull's draining," Storm said gently, "was too much for the life inside you. Iliph Thraun killed your unborn child."

Shandril stared at her in horror. "Gods aid me." Her words were so faint that they could scarcely be heard. Wordlessly, the women embraced her. They stood pressed together for a long time, but Shandril did not cry. For now, at least, she had no tears left.