Ed Greenwood - Crown of Fire

Shandril found herself suddenly crying into his chest. "I–I don't know," she managed to say, between happy sobs.

"Well. come in, and we'll find out," Tessaril said from the doorway, and wrinkled her nose, "And you can both have a bath-or three."

Tessaril's bathroom was surprisingly luxurious. Shandril sighed blissfully as the warm, scented water sluiced away the filth of the citadel's sewers, She ran weary fingers back through her hair, opened her eyes, and found Belarla grinning at her in shared contentment from the next tub, soap suds sliding slowly down her front.

"What made you choose to become Harpers?" Shandril asked curiously.

Belarla smiled. The two Harpers had been delighted at Tessaril's invitation. Across the room, Oelaerone was soaping her hair with quick, expert motions. She flung her head back to keep soap out of her eyes, turned, and said, "We wanted a taste of adventure."

"Adventure? But you're"-Shandril fumbled for words for a moment-"pleasure-queens." Belarla raised an eyebrow, "Any task grows boring, Shan, if you do it over and over again." With a contented sigh she settled back down into the water and added, "How can we make others excited and give pleasure if we're not excited and enjoying it ourselves?" She nodded at the floor they'd entered the baths by, "-Tessaril casts spells, We're pleasure-queens; we work magic of another sort."

"And who's to say which of us makes the most changes in Faerun?" Tessaril put in as she swung the door open, hung her robe by it, and joined them.

A moment later, Shandril was groaning in satisfaction as the Lord of Eveningstar scrubbed at the small of her back. Tessaril looked over at Belarla, and drew down her brows in a mock frown. "Going to the Tankard when you could have come straight here to me! I'm hurt."

Belarla spread her hands. "Lady-oops, Lord; I'll never get used to that-you have a lovely bath, here, My heartfelt thanks. We needed a dip in the river first, though. and a horse trough-and Dunman's inn has both of those."

Tessaril chuckled, "So," she said to Shandril, as her skillful fingers kneaded knots and sore spots on the maiden's back, "are you going to tell me what happened in the citadel?"

"Start with the beholders," Oelaerone teased, soap running down her shoulders.

"Well," Shandril said, taking a deep breath, "I'm going back."

The echoing chorus of groans that greeted this was so loud the servants came running to see if anything was amiss.

Sarhthor and Fzoul wearily turned away from the watery scrying disc. The high priest gestured, and there was a collective gasp from the white-faced, exhausted underpriests as they released their concentration.

The disc collapsed, Water crashed to the floor, and smoke rose where it hit some of the runes, Sarhthor and Fzoul strode through the resulting sparks and dancing radiances without even looking down. The wizard wiggled a finger, and a pair of stools glided out from the corners of the room. The two rulers of the Brotherhood sat down, not happily.

"We lost all trace very suddenly," Sarhthor said.

Fzoul nodded grimly. "Someone aiding her, more likely-has used magic to cloak her." He turned to the underpriests, who leaned wearily against the walls of the room, and demanded angrily, "Why hasn't the roused might of the citadel brought Shandril to us yet? This is our fortress, not an open city-no one here should defy us." He glared around at them. "Thousands of Zhentilar, scores of priests-and we haven't even brought her to bay, cornered somewhere?"

Priests traded unhappy glances and spread their hands helplessly, not daring to speak.

"Must I do everything myself?" Sarhthor and Fzoul snarled in unison, They stopped and looked at each other in the sudden silence. Then, very slowly, they traded cold smiles, and strode to the door together.

"Are you resolved then, lass?" "I am," Shandril said firmly. Narm looked at her with pleading eyes. "You've killed Manshoon and other Zhentarim galore and half a hundred beholders. Isn't it time to stop?"

He looked around Tessaril's audience chamber for support, but found none, Mirt sat with a friendly arm about each of the Harper pleasure-queens. Tessaril was behind her desk-and Shandril sat on it in their midst. Her long hair tossed behind her as she shook her head and leaned forward.

"I want to stop, love-you know how much I do-but they'll never leave us alone as long as they can put this defeat down to a mageling's carelessness, that defeat down to ill luck, and everything else down to Elminster's aid," She waved one hand in exasperation. "None of them saw Manshoon die-even Mirt and Tess keep telling me he'll be back from the grave in a few days, And all of them still think they can get spellfire if they can only catch me asleep or worn out or with my pants down in a privy. The worst of it is, they're right. I've got to strike at them first, before they can spin another dozen traps and plans for me."

"There's no place you can run to that the Zhentarim can't find you," Tessaril added softly. The three Harpers nodded.

"All right," Narm said grimly, "we'll see this through. I just wish you'd never had spellfire, and the Zhentarim had never even heard of us."

"My, lad, but don't ye wear the crown of martyrdom well," Mirt said sarcastically. "All of us gripe at what the gods have given us in life-but the best of us go out and do something about it. Can't ye see yer lady's trying to do just that?"

Narm glared at him and then nodded reluctantly. "I still think it'd be wiser to run for Silverymoon now-our best chance for a safe trip is while the Zhentarim are still disorganized."

"Giving them time to rebuild and try for you again," Oelaerone put in, — 'as Shan says."

"A new leader will take them after new things-not throw more wizards away in going after spellfire when it's cost them so much already," Narm argued.

Mirt growled. "Bah! Where's Elminster, now that we need him to talk some sense into ye? Ye would turn down spellfire if ye led the Zhents-but power draws them, as moths flutter about a flame, and they will snatch again and again at the flame, even after they've been burned a time or two."

Narm looked thoughtful, "After all the deaths and the citadel laid waste around them? You really think so?" Mirt's expression was exasperated. "Lad, lad-never credit the Zhents with too much good sense. What have they been doing to ye since Shadowdale, eh? Trying for ye again and again, whale'er their losses."

Narm stared at the far wall for a moment and then said, 'You're right That's exactly what they've been doing," He looked at Mirt. "I'm sorry-I haven't your experience, and shouldn't be arguing with what you've seen to be true."

Mirt reached a long arm around Belarla and clapped Narm s shoulder with enough force to make the young sage bounce in his chair, "That's all right, lad. Never known a young wizard that didn't argue, Besides," he rumbled gently, "I lost ye Delg. The least I can do is give ye half the good advice he would have."

"Come what may," Shandril said to her husband, "I'm going back to the citadel-now, while most of the Zhentarim are gathered there hunting for my blood-and bring all this harrying to an end once and for all. This time, at least, I'll have some friends with me."

"Aye,' Mirt rumbled. "We're all coming," There was a chorus of agreement.

Narm nodded finally and said, "Agreed," Then he looked at Tessaril, a question in his eyes.