Crown of Fire Chapter Nineteen: Spellstorm Coming

[masterghandalf]

MG: Well, everyone, it’s time to continue our journey through Ed Greenwood’s Crown of Fire as we hit the penultimate chapter (not counting the epilogue). Last time, after slogging through some sewers and a few more deaths, Shandril, Mirt and some new friends finally managed to escape the Citadel of the Raven. Today, Shandril wants to go back to the Citadel to finish what she started, while Fzoul lays a trap. Joining us today will be Errezha and Calassara!

Chapter Nineteen: Spellstorm Coming

Errezha: *glances at the title* Oh. This bodes ill. Our chapter quote today is apparently from a fictional character, Nimrith the Old Warrior from the play Much Ado in Sembia who says Dragons, lad? Let me sleep… no, I’m not impressed – not even if the sky was full of ‘em. I’ve seen a spellstorm, lad – and I’d have to see gods walking the Realms to top that. On the one hand, old man, it might behoove you to take the dragons more seriously; no matter how unimpressed with them you are, it won’t stop them from eating you. On the other, I’m not looking forward to whatever it is Shandril is going to do to earn this title and that quote. We open the chapter proper with Shandril taking a bath in Tessaril’s bathroom, which is surprisingly luxurious. Why, exactly, is that surprising? Tessaril is a noble, she’s presumably rich, she holds a reasonably important fief, and she’s the king’s mistress – why wouldn’t her bathing chambers be luxurious? After luxuriating in the water for a bit, she asks Belarla, in the next tub over – excuse me, I thought Belarla and Oelaerone went to the inn last chapter, not Tessaril’s tower? – why she became a Harper. Belarla says she wanted a bit of adventure, which confuses Shandril, since Belarla is a pleasure queen. Excuse me, but you are aware that there is more to adventure than sex, aren’t you Shandril? And, for once, a character in this book says something sensible, as Belarla notes that any task can become tedious if done too often… not that I have much experience in this particular area… A moment later, Tessaril herself comes in and starts massaging Shandril’s back, and for a noble to do something like that my every instinct screams that there must be a catch. Belarla, meanwhile, compliments her host. Lady – oops, Lord, I’ll never get used to that – you have a lovely bath here. Flattery never did steer one wrong when dealing with the powerful, I do believe. Tessaril then asks Shandril to tell her what happened in the Citadel, starting with the beholders, to which Shandril responds that I’m going back, and everyone else in the room groans as loudly as I feel like doing right now.

MG: And also, “Lord” is Tessaril’s official title as a noble who holds a fief (it’s a gender-neutral title in Cormyr) but I’m pretty sure “lady” as a more general polite address works too, so you should be fine, Belarla.

Calassara: Well, we then cut back to the Citadel, where Sahrthor and Fzoul have turned away from the sheet of ice they’re using as a scrying surface and let it collapse into water all over the floor – likely ruining Sahrthor’s carpet, if he has one. For his sake, I hope he draws a decent salary from the Zhentarim. The two of them sit down, and immediately start talking about things I’m fairly sure they literally just experienced, no doubt for our benefit. Sarhthor says that they lost all trace of Shandril very suddenly, and Fzoul adds that She – or someone aiding her, more likely – has used magic to cloak her. Based on last chapter, that would be Myrintara, I believe. He then whirls on his underpriests and starts berating them for not having brought Shandril to him yet, since this is their fortress, and she should have nowhere to hide. Thousands of Zhentilar, scores of priests – and we haven’t even brought her to bay, cornered somewhere? Well, she does have a tendency to incinerate anyone who finds her… that might put a damper on your search. He and Sarhthor then yell Must I do everything myself? At the same time; when they realize what they both did, they turn to grin at one another and then stalk from the room together. We then cut back to Eveningstar, where Shandril has evidently made up her mind to return to the Citadel. Narm tries to talk her out of it, to no avail. You’ve killed Manshoon and other Zhentarim galore and half a hundred beholders. Isn’t it time to stop? I quite agree that it is, and should have been long ago, but Shandril evidently disagrees. Also, everyone is now gathered in Tessaril’s audience chamber, and Mirt is sitting with an arm around each of the pleasure queens, because of course he is. Shandril protests that she wants to stop – citation needed, I’m afraid – but that the Zhentarim will never stop hunting her so long as they can put down their defeats to bad luck or Elminster’s aid, and that Mirt and Tessaril have told her that even Manshoon will be back from the dead before long. I’ve got to strike at them first, before they can spin another dozen traps and plans for me. Dear girl, I beg pardon, but I thought that’s what you were just doing? I supposed “half a hundred” beholders are just not enough for the Zhents to take the hint?

MG: And, I mean, beholders aren’t dracoliches or anything, but they’re still nasty pieces of work and to add roughly fifty of them to your kill count in one go – yeah, I wouldn’t want to mess with someone who I knew could do that! Gods.

Calassara: I had a feeling. Well, Tessaril says there’s no place Shandril can run that the Zhentarim can’t find them, leading Narm to wish that Shandril had never had spellfire and that the Zhents had never heard of them. And, after what I’ve been reading so far... I wish that, too. For your sakes especially, and theirs, and admittedly for my own. Mirt, and this point, tells Narm to stop complaining because everyone has been dealt a bad hand in life by the gods. But the best of us go out and do something about it. Can’t ye see yer lady’s trying to do just that? Mirt… Shandril and Narm have been dealt a rather worse hand than most, and Shandril’s idea of “doing something” apparently involves even more killing. In short, you’re not helping, so be quiet. Narm then proposes an actually helpful idea – make a run for Silverymoon while the Zhentarim are distracted. And I must say, you are currently staying in the home of a wizard who can cast teleportation spells who might be able to help with that. He then adds that whoever ends up taking over from Manshoon will surely want to focus on other things than throwing away more lives and resources going after spellfire – and, I believe, Fzoul intended to do just that, before Shandril assaulted his Citadel and made herself a target, which would seem to indicate her attacks are having the exact opposite effect she wants. Mirt insists that the Zhents would never turn down a chance at power, not even after the battle at the Citadel. 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, whate’er their losses. At this, Narm gives in, telling Mirt that he is more experienced, and he shouldn’t be arguing with him. Well, Narm, I’m reasonably certain that I am older than you, Shandril, Mirt and Tessaril put together, and I’m taking your side.

MG: Also, wow, I can really see that these books, and others by Greenwood, have contributed to the reputation of the Zhentarim as being stupid evil. Because at this point, yes, when going after Shandril they’ve just been throwing lives away for no reason, and Mirt seems to think they’ll keep doing it. But the thing is, I’m pretty sure the Zhents as they’re supposed to be depicted, and as they are depicted in better-written books, aren’t this dumb. Let’s take stock for a moment, shall we? Technically, we’re dealing with two separate bodies – Zhentil Keep itself and the Zhentarim as an organization – that are tied together because they’re largely run by the same people. Zhentil Keep probably has the worst reputation among the major city-states of the Moonsea region, but it’s still only one ambitious city-state among many, not a full-fledged evil empire. The Zhentarim – well, the closest real-world comparison I’ve made is probably that of an international criminal syndicate. The thing is, neither of these groups has infinite resources to throw away on this. They can’t afford to have Shandril keep killing their people for no return on their investment. All those Zhentilar troops? They need those to maintain their position in the Moonsea region and, potentially, keep from getting annexed by Hillsfar or Mulmaster or someone. All those Zhentarim agents and wizards and priests have their own assignments they’re on and pulling them off them is going to weaken the Black Network as a whole. Wasting resources like this weakens both Zhentil Keep and the Black Network and exposes them to potential retaliation from rival states like Cormyr or Waterdeep or the other Moonsea cities or opposing organizations like the Harpers or the Cult. The Zhentarim’s power isn’t in “being able to throw troops at a problem until we kill it,” it’s money and connections and guile and the magic of their priests and wizards. Throwing indefinite troops at Shandril in the hopes of getting lucky isn’t how they’d go after her spellfire, they’d be sneakier about it, and I’ll talk more about how that might have worked in my final thoughts. But no, we can’t have any of that. And even if Shandril did destroy Zhentil Keep, it still wouldn’t be enough to put the Zhentarim down because they’re fairly decentralized – we know this because eventually the Shadovar did sack Zhentil Keep in canon, and instead of destroying the Zhentarim the removal of their central leadership just caused them to factionalize. Long story short, nobody’s got a good plan here, except maybe Narm, who gets shot down for daring to question one of Greenwood’s self-inserts.

Errezha: Mirt reassures Narm that he’s never known a wizard who didn’t argue, and that he’s just trying to give them the advice Delg would have… and I don’t disagree that’s what he’s doing, but it’s not a good thing! Shandril, meanwhile, is adamant she wants to go back to the Citadel to bring things to an end, once and for all. Mirt and Narm both say they’re going with her, and Tessaril adds that she has a scroll of mass teleport that can bring them all to the Citadel at once. This time… the battle must be for all. Or nothing. Oh, I have a very bad feeling about this. Mirt, meanwhile, declares he wants to eat first; on the way to the dining hall, he takes Narm aside and gives him a warning – should Shandril lose control and start behaving like another Manshoon his task will be to stop her. Now, now. Shandril becoming like Manshoon doesn’t seem to be the risk here. Manshoon, ostensibly, is a careful, calculating schemer (we’ve not seen much evidence of that, admittedly, but supposedly). Shandril seems on the verge of becoming a full bloodthirsty maniac, killing anyone who looks at her wrong. It is not the same. Narm is horrified and can’t believe Mirt is asking this of him, and Mirt just tells him that ye married her. Narm protests that he doesn’t know how he’d stop Shandril – I have to agree; sending a wizard against a person who literally devours magic is a terrible idea – but Mirt just tells him he’d better figure it out, and repeats that he married her, and the scene ends. Mirt, you are, and remain, terrible at this. And, frankly, terrible in general. We then cut back to Fzoul and Sarhthor, who are scrying on this little meeting; Fzoul thanks Sarhthor for his hunch on where Shandril might be, and I could call it implausible but on the other hand they did know that Shandril was at Eveningstar recently, so I suppose it’s not that much of a stretch to think she might have returned there. Fzoul then dismisses his priests to go gather their warriors, and tells Sarhthor to get some rest, since he’ll be needing him soon. Fzoul himself then heads down to a courtyard, where Elthaulin, the Banite priest from a few chapters ago, is currently leading a group of lesser priests in a ritual invocation. “Who speaks for Bane?” “The darkness of night…” “Who walks the night?” “Those who are faithful…” “How shall they be known?” “By the blood that they spill…” At this, Elthaulin presents a bowl of blood and dips his ritual scepter into it. At once, the level of blood begins to drop, seemingly as the scepter is absorbing it. When the bowl is empty, Elthaulin holds it up and declares that Bane is satisfied by the offering; Fzoul then interrupts him and tells him he needs all the priests ready for battle within the hour. This Shandril is coming for me, and no doubt she’ll find her way here, all too soon. The priests fall to their knees, praying to Bane to renew their spells, and Fzoul turns and coolly stalks away without breaking his composure – but once he’s out of their sight, he breaks into a run, and the scene ends there.

Calassara: Back at Eveningstar, Tessaril approaches her herald and tells him that he’ll need to take over running the town for a while. I’m going to the Citadel of the Raven – to war. The herald and all of the guards are stunned by this – as am I; as questionable as some of Tessaril’s actions in this book have been, I at least thought she had more sense – and she tells them that if she doesn’t return, she has a message for King Azoun. That she did what she had to do (not really, no…) and that I have always loved him… it has been an honor to serve the Purple Dragon. She then turns and hurries back into the tower, not even looking at Eveningstar for what she fears might be the last time. We then cut back to the Citadel, where Fzoul is in his armory – I suppose that must be where he was running to earlier – and has selected a mace, a hammer, and a javelin as his weapons. He then opens a secret compartment and removes a vial of a yellow liquid from it, sampling it to see if it’s still potent. It is, and it's apparently a deadly poison, but one Fzoul has immunized himself to. He uses it to tread his weapons, then heads down to the tower’s main hall, where he stops at a particular paving stone and speaks an incantation Manshoon had taught him. An almost inaudible singing sound answered him as the hidden spell engine Manshoon had prepared spun silently out of another plane into solid existence in Faerun. Apparently it can only be summoned here, but that’s fine with Fzoul, since he knows Shandril will be coming after him anyway, so he can use himself as bait to lure her here. Well, he’s no coward, I’ll give him that much. The engine appeared behind Fzoul, so he can’t see it, but he knows what it looks like and what it does: a great wheel that would begin to spin if spells struck it, absorbing the magic to power itself. Manshoon’s greatest work. It drank all magic cast at it. Well, that is a fearsome thing, yes? But how effective is it against spellfire, I wonder? Fzoul then summons a squad of Zhentilar archers he’d had waiting outside and orders them to conceal themselves in the hall, after making sure none of them are carrying any magic items that might be vulnerable to the engine. At his signal, and only at his signal, they are to fire at any intruders in the hall, and no one else. I don’t need to warn you what your fate will be if you should happen to send an arrow my way. The wizards of our Brotherhood are running short of people to test new spells on. That you have to specifically order your men not to shoot you does not speak well of their loyalty or discipline, I think. Once the archers take up their positions, Fzoul is left alone; to pass the time before Shandril arrives, he pulls out a deck of cards and starts playing a game against himself. At first, he draws the best hand in the game, and then the weakest (which is apparently two priest cards, which annoys him), and then another winning hand. As he’s shuffling the deck for another round, suddenly a group of figures appear in the courtyard outside. Fzoul recognized the slim and curvaceous Lord of Eveningstar – slim and curvaceous, now? – a fat, aging man whom Fzoul knew to be a Lord of Waterdeep – hmm, not keeping that secret well, are we, Mirt? – two pleasure queens of the citadel; a young mage – and his mate, the lass who wielded spellfire. An odd band of heroes to be sure. Fzoul raises his hand and gives his signal, and the chapter ends on a cliffhanger as the hidden archers open fire.

MG: And I’ll note that, despite the title, there was a distinct lack of spellstorms this chapter, which mostly involved a lot of people getting things into position, and Shandril demonstrating once again how obsessively, pointlessly bloodthirsty she’s becoming. Sigh. Well, next time is the final normal chapter of Crown of Fire, in which everything comes to a head, Fzoul finds he may have bitten of more than he can chew (surprise surprise) we finally find out what Sarhthor’s deal is, and we learn just what the book’s title is a reference to. We’ll see you then! No pics today.