Hand of Fire Sporking Chapter Ten: Small Secrets, Large Swords

[masterghandalf]

MG: Well, everyone, it’s time to continue our journey through Ed Greenwood’s Hand of Fire! Last time, Shandril treated the caravan master like a servant, we met a couple more undercover Zhents, and Sharantyr got threatened by some very rape-y bandits. Yay. Today, the caravan comes under attack. Again. Joining us will be Calassara and Caelum!

Chapter Ten: Small Secrets, Large Swords

Calassara: *raising an eyebrow* Oh, my. Surely, I can’t be the only one who finds that title rather… suggestive, can I? Not that I’m complaining. Though then we get to our chapter quote, from Alusair Nacacia Obarskyr in Why I Ride Men and Not Thrones – oh, that is not helping, surely Greenwood is doing this on purpose? – which reads There’s nothing like a sharp sword for opening men and letting their secrets run out. Now, that, on the other hand… *she looks faintly queasy* my dear, whoever you are, I think you have “secrets” confused with entrails. They are not the same thing, and a disemboweled man seems unlikely to have the time to share any secrets of any sort. *still looking queasy* Not that I’d know from personal experience.

MG: Alusair, who I believe was last mentioned way back in Spellfire, is King Azoun’s younger daughter (iirc, at this point in the timeline she’s almost twenty); following the events of the Cormyr Saga and the deaths of her father and elder sister, she would end up becoming regent for her infant nephew (which makes the bit about not riding thrones kind of hilariously premature, though since this book, while set before the Cormyr Saga, was written after it, so it might well be deliberate on Greenwood’s part…) And, for one, Alusair is canonically neutral good, which is not the alignment I’d expect from someone who seems to be getting rather… excited at the prospect of disemboweling a guy. And, maybe it’s just me, but that title really makes it sound like she’s bragging about her sex life in the title of what sounds like it’s probably a memoir or autobiography. TMI, Alusair, TMI.

Calassara: Well, we open the chapter proper with someone named Malivur, who I don’t believe we’ve met before; we find him in his wagon, so I presume he’s part of the caravan, as he complains that the guards are still searching while they’re all still in reach of whoever has been killing people. Malivur keeps complaining to his partner, Krostal, demanding to know what Voldovan is thinking – whatever he needs to think to prevent himself from being blasted with spellfire, I’m fairly sure – but Krostal just says whatever he’s doing must seem right to him. Malivur wonders if Voldovan is in league with the bandits, but Krostal tells him to be quiet. “He’ll only hear us and set his dogs to listening at our flaps … and who knows what they might hear before you master your temper?” Malivur nearly explodes at that, but Krostal makes him calm down and we then learn that Malivur is, in fact, a wizard. Have a care, gutter-thief. I can destroy you at will and hear no word of protest from our superiors for doing so. They told me to keep a very careful watch on you—for the treachery they fully expect you to work when spellfire’s within our grasp. Ah, yet more antagonists, then. Because clearly, we had not enough already. Who do these two serve, I wonder? And indeed, we quickly find out that while Krostal poses as a seller of clockwork devices, he was indeed a master thief for the Cult of the Dragon in his off hours and has some choice words for his accomplice. “You think I wasn’t told the same thing about you? Really, Malivur, you’re very much the self-important child at times! Have some more alanthe and master your raging or I’ll make sure the far more powerful wizard the Followers sent along on this admittedly cursed caravan sees and hears you. If his ears fill with one of your indiscreet tantrums, it’ll take him about two breaths to muzzle you properly and permanently, without any direction from me.” Ah, Savored Sting, another one!? How many antagonists can a book this short even hold? And no, Greenwood, that’s not a challenge!

Malivur demands to know who the other wizard is, and Krostal admits there’s probably more than that, though he only knows the one personally. This causes Malivur to pause, and finally demand if Krostal thinks they have any chance of seizing spellfire from the wench and avenging the dracoliches she’s destroyed, and I have to say… I sincerely doubt it. And Krostal agrees with me; alas, it seems even this book’s antagonists have begun to doubt their own competence! However, Krostal does think it will be easier to just kill Shandril, if they can take her by surprise – apologies, friend, but I saw the amount of damage she shrugged off during her attack on the Citadel of the Raven, and that will not be an easy task! But he doesn’t think anyone could hold her once they’d captured her, which leads Malivur to wonder if that even includes a zulkir of Thay or the one called Larloch, and Krostal admits that nobody really knows what people like that can do. Malivur, for his part, is glad enough to not have a reputation like that, which only invites attack from other powerful parties. We must close our hands around this Shandril cautiously, lest, say, the infamous Elminster appear and destroy us at the moment of our victory, which does seem a problem for antagonists in these books. Krostal rather long-windedly explains that they’re far below the concerns of such people – which just seems like tempting fate – leading Malivur to toast here’s to obscurity. Krostal admits that if he had spellfire, he’d use it to stealthily kill his enemies rather than drawing attention to himself, and when Malivur disparagingly calls that the way of thieves, Krostal sarcastically asks how many old, powerful wizards do you know? And on that note, the scene ends.

MG: As for old, powerful wizards… not a great example Krostal’s using, there, because Faerun is crawling with those types (and in general, regardless of setting, wizards tend to get more powerful and skilled as they age, so old wizards are more likely to be powerful). Elminster, Khelben Blackstaff, all Seven Sisters, Szass Tam, Larloch, Ioulaum, Halaster Blackcloak, Queen Amlaruil of Evermeet, King Zalathorm of Halruaa, Gromph Baenre, Manshoon, Vangerdahast, Aumvor the Undying, Sammaster… all of these people are very powerful wizards who measure their age at least in centuries, and in some cases in millennia – and it’s not an exhaustive list, by any means! Also, for a note on Thay, “zulkir” is the title for members of the council of eight archmages who rule over both the Red Wizards and Thay in general; each seat on the council corresponds to one of the eight core schools of arcane magic, with Szass Tam in particular being the Zulkir of Necromancy.

Caelum: Pretty sure we’ve got a few like that at home, too, though I think Errezha’d be the one to ask there… anyway, we now find ourselves back with Orthil Voldovan, as he tells both Shandril and Narm to come with him. “There could be walking skeletons or clawing-at-us corpses or even helmed horrors under that floor—and yon bastard get of a serpent would stand there smiling at me while his little surprises tore my men apart!” It turns out they’re going to Sabran and Mhegras’s wagon, where some guards heard suspicious noises last chapter; both merchants – or Zhents, I guess – are spluttering indignantly about this, but Voldovan tells them they should’ve been honest with him about what they’re carrying. Sabran shows them how to open the secret compartment in the wagon, and it turns out to contain armored plates – specifically, for barding, or horse armor. Voldovan then has Narm cast a magic detection spell Jhessail taught him on the barding to make sure it’s not carrying any hidden enchantments, and it turns out to be clean. Huh; that was kind of a letdown. So Voldovan just makes Sabran fork over the charge for carrying additional goods, warns him not to make a habit of lying to caravan masters or he might find himself left behind, and storms out, Shandril and Narm in tow.

Once they’re gone, Mhegras demands to know why they didn’t attack them, and Sabran tells him the time to go after Shandril hasn’t come yet, and whilst a possibility of capture remains, we must strive for that greater goal. Yeah, buddy, if you tangle with Shandril and get out alive at all, you’re pretty damned lucky in my book. Mhegras just thinks that Sabran was afraid and based on what we’ve seen Shandril do so far, I’d say that if he is, he’s right to be. Sabran just smirks and points out that Mhegras’s own hands are trembling with fear, and the scene ends with him glaring back at him, but backing down when he sees Sabran is ready to cast magic of his own. Well, that whole scene was kind of pointless, wasn’t it? Well, we then cut to sometime later, with Shandril and Narm driving a wagon down the Trade Way together with Narbuth (wait, wasn’t he the guy who knocked Narm out a few chapters ago? Not who I’d want to be riding with…). Narm says that the horses are getting tired, and Shandril says that he should tell Voldovan that, not here. Apparently they’ve not met any other travelers today, and that has everyone worried. And, sure enough, out of nowhere someone starts shooting crossbow bolts at the caravan. Have we had this scene before? I’m pretty sure we have. Narm grabs Shandril and throws her back into the wagon out of the way (I don’t think she’s the one around here who needs protecting…) and gets grazed by a bolt across his back for his trouble. The two of them manage to right themselves, just in time to see Narbuth take a quarrel in the face. The drover’s head exploded in a burst of blood and brains ere the force of the striking shaft snatched him off the wagon, out of sight. *looking faintly ill* For Iomedae’s sake, Greenwood! Why did you think we wanted to see that, anyway?

Calassara: Because Greenwood seems to have a particular fondness for gory deaths, regardless of whether they fit the tone of the story he’s writing? This time, it’s Shandril’s turn to pull Narm out of the way, and, for once, she actually demonstrates restraint. “I can’t burn down every tree between here and Waterdeep,” she snapped, “and I don’t dare try. Every time I call on my fire ’tis stronger, wilder … harder to control. Narm, what are we going to do?” Well, I suppose Shandril is finally learning that she can’t solve all her problems with uncontrolled blasts of spellfire… alas, too late to be much comfort to the people of the Citadel of the Raven, or of Scornubel… Suddenly, something strikes their wagon, causing it to overturn and leaving them trapped in the wreckage. Shandril advises that they play dead; “Lie still. For now we play dead and wait. Let someone else be hero—and crossbow target—for a change.” *shaking her head* Shandril, Shandril. You seem to have gone from one extreme to another. Instead of laying waste to all before you, you’ve apparently now decided to do… absolutely nothing, and let other people die for you, when you could almost certainly rout the attackers singlehandedly (and we all know they’re here for you, so in a way, this is your responsibility). Dear girl, that is not an improvement! Surely there must be a happy medium between "unconstrainted destruction" and "hiding from your problems completely?" Narm looks like he’s about to protest, but then agrees; the two of them lie still, listening to the sounds of battle outside while Shandril checks to see if Narm is bleeding. It turns out to just be water from a broken barrel that’s leaking on him, and Narm asks what to do if someone burns the wagon. “We’ve got to lie still, love lord of mine. If flames do come, I can pull them into me and so both quench them and warm my spellfire. We’re in what passes for a ditch, and by the sounds of it there are plenty of other crashed wagons. Now, quiet. We’re dead, remember?” I’m reasonably certain that Shandril can only absorb magic to use to fuel spellfire. What does she plan to do if someone starts a fire by mundane means? I don’t think this is a particularly well-thought-out plan. And so Shandril wormed her way into his arms and made herself comfortable. They lay together and listened to the sounds of men dying all around them. *applauds sarcastically* Lying there in hiding, “comfortable” in each other’s arms while people fight and die for your sake and you have the power to do something about it but won’t. No, I don’t think I’ll be writing “The Ballad of Shandril and Narm Hiding Under the Wagon,” thank you very much. Finally, they hear voices asking whose wagon this is; another voice answers that it’s Voldovan’s, and the first speaker then asks if it’s “Her’s”, to which the second says that the only people who will be after Shandril now are the sort of crazed robe-wearers who hunt folk down after they’re dead, to twist them into unlife to menace us all for an extra lingering lifetime or two! So, I suppose they do think Shandril is dead… without even having found the body, tsk tsk.

Caelum: Well, no sooner have those speakers gone than a couple of other people her literally stumble into the ruined wagon; one of them tells the other that this was the one the spellfire wench was riding and that someone named Gorthrimmon wants her taken alive.

MG: This is the only time the name “Gorthrimmon” is mentioned in the book, by the way.

Caelum: So at least we’re spared yet another pointless antagonist, I guess? “What does the Cult want with one slip of a lass, anyway? So she knows a fire spell or two. Haven’t we got mages enough already to fight Luskan to a standstill or scour out Darkhold if they’re ever foolish enough to want to die screaming in spell-battle?” Huh; sounds like somebody wasn’t properly briefed on what they’re after! The other speaker says that “This spellfire, Holvan, is something special. It can cleave spells so fast it wipes the sneer off an archmage’s face and makes him tremble! Whoever grabs it’ll be able to slaughter the Red Wizards himself, chase the Blackstaff into hiding, and melt down old Elminster and the Seven Sisters, too!” Huh, if only. Well, this makes the first man – Holvan? – stunned that their superiors are expecting them to stand up to that, and I’ve got to agree there. The other speaker says he expects their superiors are expecting them to die trying, but he thinks he’s got some plans that might work. I hear a Cult wizard called Lharass has found some ancient spell or other that can chain mages with their own magic! I wonder if this Shandril can be held by chains of her own spellfire? Holvan’s still not happy, and just misses robbing rich merchants for treasure to give to dracoliches, and honestly, I can’t really blame him. The other speaker, Brasker, admits he preferred that too, but when the high-ups change the rules, people like them just have to live with it. Suddenly, they spot Voldovan coming back and bolt, leaving Shandril and Narm behind, but Shandril commits the names “Holvan and Brasker” to memory, just in case.

Suddenly outside they hear Voldovan shouting, and then suddenly the wreckage gets torn aside and two bandits find themselves staring right at Shandril and Narm. “Well, well, two lovebirds,” the first brigand said in delight, as his blade swept down. “Greet you the gods together!” And, of course, now that her own life’s on the line, Shandril blasts them.The man’s blade melted to nothing ere it could touch them, and his head followed, leaving a wavering, headless thing of ashes. Eeesh; Greenwood, why? The second bandit then tries to stab Shandril, but Narm gets him with… some sort of spell and blasts him back out through the wall. And, standing right outside the wagon, is none other than Voldovan. “Well met,” the caravan master said sarcastically. “I was wondering where ye’d gotten to. In case ye haven’t noticed, we’re fighting a small war out here!” Gotta say… I’m with him. Shandril marches right out of the wagon and past Voldovan without acknowledging him, and over to something flopping around on the ground which turns out to be Arauntar, with a couple of crossbow bolts sticking out of him, trying to crawl over to Beldimarr. It turns out that Beldimarr and Arauntar had made a deal, if one of them was ever mortally wounded at the other was nearby – that the survivor should give him a last drink, and then a quick, clean death. Shandril, however, orders everyone else away from Arauntar, and Narm says they should do it, because he knows what Shandril’s about to do since she did it for him once. She kneels down beside Arauntar and asks if he wants to live; he says not in this much pain, but otherwise, yes! Can’t blame the man for that, I suppose. She then tells Beldimarr and Voldovan to pick Arauntar up, and Shandril threw herself down into the blood, on her back, and wormed her way under Arauntar as if she was a lover embracing him. So. Uh. That’s… different. “Right,” she gasped, struggling for breath. “Let him down, and let go of him. Now, get back!” And so, with that last barking of orders, the chapter ends.

MG: And if you ask me, it’s a cliffhanger, but not a very good one. It ends on the question of “can Shandril save Arauntar?” but… she saved Narm’s life after he got mauled by a damned dracolich. Does Greenwood really expect us to believe she’s going to have trouble with Arauntar’s far less severe wounds (spoilers, he’ll be fine)? Anyway, that’s the chapter… and it mostly seemed to consist of yet more villains scheming (the Cult wizard Lharass is another person who’ll never be mentioned again, by the way), and Shandril apparently deciding her best course of action is to do absolutely nothing while letting other people die in her place, and then popping out to heal that one guy whose name she knows. What a hero, am I right? And the chapter title, once again, was pretty irrelevant; I suppose Mhegras and Sabran smuggling horse armor counts as “small secrets” but “large swords” of any kind, literal or metaphorical, never really came up. But the good news is, as this book is twenty proper chapters, plus a prologue and epilogue, with chapter ten out of the way, we’re now exactly halfway through (in terms of chapter count, not quite by page count, but since I’m organizing my sporking by chapters, that’s the one that matters). Yay! And we still haven’t actually met either of the trilogy’s two main end bosses yet, and one of them we’ve not even heard of. Anyway, next time, Shandril performs a healing, the Zhents and the Cult both scheme, and we finally resolve Sharantyr’s cliffhanger from last chapter. We’ll see you then! No pics today.