When no foes remained in the chamber, Shandril walked out into the Spell Court-Many of the Zhents had already fled, hearing and seeing the holocaust within the tower. Those brave or stupid few who had stayed at their posts realized their mistake immediately. Shandril's crown of spellfire lashed out again. A web of fiery rays leapt around the courtyard, felling the warriors there. The power roared out of her-and wherever she looked, men died.
In moments, Spell Court was cleared except for smoldering corpses. Shandril turned toward the nearest wall, her eyes blazing, and blasted the first doorway she found. Inside was a hallway filled with burnt bodies-wizards who'd been watching through slits in the door. no doubt. With roaring spellflames, Shandril sheared away through the corpse pile and stepped into the hall beyond, The heads of many an evil wizard peered out of doors and then hastily vanished. There were shrieks of fear.
Shandril smiled and sent killing spellfire after them, Faerun would be a better place without the Zhentarim. She strode on, sending flames swirling around the walls of every room she came to.
Ahead of her, a door slammed. Shandril sneered at it and let fly, The door and the man hiding behind it were immediately wreathed in spellflames. They turned to outlines of ash and fell-first the door, crumbling away like a torn curtain, and then the outline of the terrified man behind it.
Shandril shivered at what she'd done-and then remembered Delg, and the men of the Company of the Bright Spear who'd fallen before him, Laid low by wizards' spells. Deliberately she walked on, hurling balls of roiling spellfire into rooms right and left.
She came to the end of the hall; stone stairs ascended in a dark spiral, and she went up. The crown of fire still raged around her head and lit the way.
Dark armor gleamed in the light of her flames. A desperate Zhentilar suddenly leaned down from around the curve of the stairs, swinging a heavy morningstar. Spelllight twinkled and pulsed along its length; Shandril threw her hands upward and embraced the spiked end as it came, The weapon smashed her against tire wall. She crashed hard into the stone. Breath hissed out of her in plumes of flame, but still she clung to the weapon. The soldier above tried to tug the morningstar free, but Shandril smiled grimly al him and held on.
The magic of the enspelled weapon surged into her, the metal in her hands glowed white, melted, and ran through her fingers.
Cloaked in rising spellflames, she melted the sword that the terrified Zhentilar now swung at her-and then blasted into his helm, leaving it empty, blackened metal, The headless body fell limply to the stairs and rolled past her. She climbed on, hurling fire in all directions.
Fresh shrieking told her she'd come to another floor full of wizards. Futile spells lashed out, clawing at her in vain attempts to take her life; arrows of magic sizzled into nothingness as they leapt at her; balls of acid hissed into ash; and illusions of snarling dragons and diving beholders lunged at her, thrown by those who had nothing else to fight with, She blasted their upraised, spell-casting hands, the doors they tried to hide behind, and the floor they stood on, sparing none of them.
One overconfident Zhent flung open a door and flashed a sinister smile. Dark beams leapt at Shandril from his leveled wand. The spellfire Shandril unleashed swept away beams, wand, wizard, and all, smashing a hole in the side of the building, Flames rolled out of the fortress in a boiling ball, The torn and smoking contents of the room fell from tire scattering flames and rained down on Spell Court.
Zhentilar warriors had been flooding into the courtyard, frightened officers snarling orders and lashing those who lagged. In awed unison, they stared up at the rolling flames.
Something black and burning fell from the midst of the scattering fire and landed at one warrior's feet, It was a shriveled human hand, smoke rising from the exposed bones of its fingertips, The Zhentarim ring that had adorned one finger was only a melted star of metal now. The Zhentilar warrior looked up at the jagged hole in the side of the fortress, shivered, turned, and started to run.
An officer snarled an order, but the arrow that should have taken the fleeing soldier's life was never fired, The archer, too turned and ran-and then another, and another, until the square was emptying-shouting, fleeing men spilling out into the streets.
An explosion rocked a nearby spire of the citadel, It slowly cracked and fell, to shatter on the stones of the courtyard. Nearby, air old and crumbling balcony was tarred loose by the impact and broke off, Screaming priests tumbled into Spell Court with it.
Inside the citadel, Shandril climbed on, A group of desperate wizards took a stand on the stairs, using spells to hurl stone blocks down on her, As Shandril smashed the first few blocks to hot, flying sand, an avalanche of stones thundered down the stairs and swept her away.
Wizards cheered. Shandril cascaded helplessly down the stairs, fetching up against the wall after tumbling a floor or two. Blood ran from her mouth and from a gash on her forehead; her face and arms were dark red with bruises. Finding her feet among life tumbling stones, she snarled and held up her hands, Spellfire blazed; her blood turned to flame, and her cuts sizzled. glowed, and were gone. Then she waved both hands angrily, and a column of spellfire roared up the spiral stair.
In its smoking wake Shandril climbed again, on steps that cracked and groaned with heat. Teeth crunched underfoot as she reached the place where the wizards had been; the only other trace left of them were ashes, spattered thickly on the walls, Shandril saw the outline of an outflung hand, a dark bulk that must have been a spread-eagled body, and a large area of black, oily ashes where many hands and bodies had thudded into the wall together. The smell of cooked human flesh was strong in her nostrils.
She shook her head and climbed on, emerging in a high hallway that led to the next tower of the fortress. She followed it to a high-vaulted room where beholders floated down out of the darkness to hurl futile magic against her. Shandril sent them spinning in flames, They one by one shattered against the walls of their chamber and fell, eyestalks writhing feebly. From there she followed the stink of burning flesh down a passage-and found herself again in Spell Court.
Frightened citizens of the fortress-city were staring in awe at the devastation there, So many of the cruel men who'd lorded it over them lay dead and broken, so suddenly laid low. Carrion birds were already wheeling watchfully in the sky high above.
Shandril surveyed the death she had wrought, then pointed at a few men who were going through the clothing of the sprawled Zhentilar archers.
"You," she said. They looked up, blanched, and fell on their knees, crying for mercy, "I don't want to kill you," she said wearily, "I want your service." She pointed into Wizards' Watch Tower and said, "Inside that place, you'll find three women, a young man, and an older, stouter man who are not clad as Zhentarim. You'll also find the wizard Sarhthor, he's dead. Bring all of them out to me, as carefully as you can-your lives depend on it." She watched them scramble up eagerly, "Oh-and take nothing from their pockets."
This was done, Mirt and company removed well away from the Tower, Then Shandril raised her hands-and blasted Wizards' Watch Tower.
Her fire roared into the open doors of the fore hall and burst out of a hundred windows, The tower shook. Cracks appeared here and there, widening with frightening speed as smoke spewed out of them. There were small green and pink explosions of flame in upper windows as the flames reached magic items there. And then the tower came apart.