Crown of Fire: Shandril's Saga, Book II
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The second book in Ed Greenwood’s first Forgotten Realms trilogy.
Author Ed Greenwood continued the story of Shandril of Highmoon in this second volume of the Shandril’s Saga trilogy. This mass market edition of the trade paperback features new cover art by Jon Sullivan.
AUTHOR BIO: A resident of Ontario, Ed Greenwood created the Forgotten Realms setting nearly 30 years ago and has written hundreds of novels, articles, and game products in the setting. His most recent novel is Elminster’s Daughter.
found himself staring at the bare bones of his arm. The smoking remnants of the dagger fell from them an instant before they collapsed, pattering to the ground in a grisly shower. Alorth found breath enough to whimper for a moment before the world spun, and he crashed down into darkness.… “Are there any left?” Narm was peering back through the trees as they stood gasping for breath in a little hollow deeper in the forest. They had run from the gully of smoking Zhentilar corpses for what seemed
Spear—the much-patched homespun tunic and breeches of a down-on-his-luck thief. That bold first step into adventure seemed a long time ago now. “Why so tense?” Narm asked, coming up beside Delg. “I haven’t seen any Zhents about—and I’ve looked as far off as I can, too.” “Eyes, lad,” the dwarf growled up at him. “I can feel them, every moment. We’re being watched, again.” “Should I tell Shan?” Narm asked quietly. “Not just after she’s been off in the bushes, lad,” the dwarf said, looking
his mouth. His wife knelt on the stones. Shandril shook her head, waving him feebly away. She was being thoroughly and wretchedly sick. “The smell,” she gasped. “Gods, how vile!” “Vile, indeed,” said a new voice from beyond her. “Were I younger and less—’hem—stout of stomach, I’d be doing that too. Which should serve ye as a warning, girl, not to be hurling flames about at just everything that moves. Ye’ll burn up something ye value, one o’ these days. Phew! Come away, come away, all of ye—that
silence that followed. Shandril was too apprehensive to reply. She had been looking constantly here and there into the trees around for signs of the Zhents who must be following them, but Mirt’s I don’t know had snatched her attention back to him. The wheezing old merchant in tattered leather chuckled easily and pointed ahead into the trees. “It matters not exactly where we walk, look ye—as long as we keep alongside the road through the forest toward Arabel, and not too close to it. I hope to
for a moment, rising above the cascading stones, and then flew to another rocky height, robes rippling. A Zhentarim! Shandril bared her teeth and hurled a gout of spellflame, blasting the rock where the dark-robed mage stood. Her foe rose above the shattered stone and hung in the air, mockingly. Arms raised, the Zhent began the gestures of spellcasting. With a shriek of fury, Shandril dashed her hands towards the ground, hurling spellfire downward. A moment later, she rose on columns of