Stormlight

SEVEN

Dark and savage rage was rising in Broglan Sarmyn as he stalked up to the closed door of Storm's bedchamber.

Murndal had never returned to the study.

It was early indeed for insistent servants to be rousing Broglan from the chair where he'd finally fallen asleep, waiting for the young wizard's report. They rushed him down chilly corridors, heedless of his stiff, aching limbs and urgent need to relieve himself. All of it was at the behest of a shameless outlander Harper who hid her insolence behind the title of Chosen of Mystra! Hah! He could style himself First Prophet of Azuth if he'd happened to have so brazen an ego, and take on the same airs….

He was a dozen angry paces from Storm's door and the expressionless Purple Dragons flanking it when a shadow stepped away from the wall in front of him.

With a start, he recognized Ergluth Rowanmantle, the boldshield of Northtrees March.

"What is this-a court meeting?" Broglan snapped. "This had better be worth rousing me at this hour." Close on the heels of his words came the faint cry of a rooster from the vale beyond the keep walls. "Bloody Harpers," the wizard added-and of course, the bedchamber door in front of both men swung open at that moment.

"A favorite expression of mine, too," Storm agreed mildly, waving at them to enter. She wore a fine court gown, complete with earrings to outdazzle those of the old Summerstar aunts. A pectoral flashed and gleamed all down the low front where her gown was cut away.

Broglan found himself looking where that pectoral was designed to make him look. He harrumphed and fixed a gimlet eye on the Bard of Shadowdale. "You summoned me, Lady Silverhand?"

"Both of you, actually," Storm told him calmly. "You'll find the reason why in the bed there. Lord Rowanmantle, if you'd be so kind?"

Ergluth gave her the weary look of a man who knows just what unpleasant thing is coming. With one hand, he turned back the bedclothes. Murndal Claeron lay on his back, spread-eagled on the linens, his head dark, burned out, and hollow.

Broglan stared, openmouthed, and found no words to say. Empty, sightless eye sockets stared up at him, and the mouth was a similar gaping void. Something with talons had shredded the enchanted cloak, but he could see no sign of the false scepter.

"Suppose you tell us," the boldshield said, after a swift glance at the white-faced leader of the war wizards, "just how this mage came to be here."

"I'd also like to know that," Storm replied. "Whoever sent this unfortunate to me in the wee hours-he appeared in midair, and fell right on top of me-must be familiar with a spell unknown to me: magic that can teleport the dead."

Broglan made a wordless sound of denial and disbelief

"He was on a mission for you?" Storm asked quietly. "Where was he going when he left your study?"

They waited, but Broglan merely shook his bowed head and covered his eyes. The boldshield made a certain gesture; his men withdrew and closed the door, leaving the three of them alone in the bedchamber with the sprawled corpse.

"All the younger magelings found it necessary to go and do urgent things at the same time yestereve," Ergluth said grimly. "No doubt their scurrying was to achieve one purpose: allowing this luckless boy his chance to slip away unseen. Where did he go, Broglan?"

The war wizard shook his head again.

"He went into the Haunted Tower, didn't he?" Storm asked quietly.

Broglan's head snapped up; his eyes were wild. "No!"

"He may have been heading elsewhere " Storm continued relentlessly, "but to get there he had to avoid Ergluth's guard posts. And to do that, he got himself into the dark ways where he could travel unhindered." She sighed. "He was heading for the crypt, wasn't he?"

Broglan said nothing, but they could tell from his sudden stillness that she'd hit upon the truth.

Storm shook her head. "Well, another wizard is dead, and can tell us nothing." She walked away from the bedside, adding, "I doubt he can be restored, short of direct divine intercession…Mystra doesn't tend to do such things even for great mages, to say nothing of ambitious novices. He's gone."

She turned to face them both, and asked with exasperation, "Sir Broglan, isn't it about tim e we started to work together? While you indulge in your little plots and secrets, your magelings go on dying. I can't fight to protect someone I don't know is out there, roaming the keep like a thief."

That stung. Broglan's head jerked around to face her fully, and his eyes blazed. Still he kept silent. The Purple Dragon commander put his hand on the hilt of his sword, took a slow step away, and turned to watch the wizard narrowly.

"I worked on Murndal's body most of the night," Storm said, "trying to learn something-anything-from it. His cloak bore magic before someone-our slayer, no doubt-tore it to ribbons, and he carried the usual components for spellcasting. His boots say he walked in dusty places, and he tried to defend himself with a dagger that's gone, now … and that's about all he can still tell us."

"Shall I order the scouring of the Haunted Tower?" Ergluth asked.

Storm shook her head. "From what I've seen, our murderer would not be found. . and could roam the keep while your armsmen were searching the tower. It is a place with its own phantoms, and thus would give chances for them to mistakenly hurt each other. You were going to issue crossbows, were you not?" Ergluth nodded silently, and she shook her head. "A recipe for disaster," she told him, "though I admit I haven't thought of anything much better."

"So you have no counsel for us?" the boldshield asked.

Storm spread her hands. "I'd like to cast some silent watch spells on you and your senior officers, and on Broglan and all of his war wizards."

Ergluth raised an eyebrow. "And just what do 'silent watch' spells do?"

"Allow me to see out of the eyes of anyone I cast it on, for about a twelve-count, when they call my name aloud," the bard told him. "Once only, and only if they call desiring to summon me, not if they merely say my name in normal converse."

Ergluth nodded. "This seems wise," he said. "Will it take you to the person calling on you?"

Storm shook her head. "I'm afraid not," she said. "If they look around, I may be able to see enough of their surroundings to teleport to them. Otherwise, it at least lets me see who's attacking them."

"You don't sound all that hopeful," the Purple Dragon commented.

Storm gestured to the bed. "What length talons did that? I think we're dealing with a shapeshifter."

"A Mai. . Malinaug-er, Malaugrym?" Ergluth asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

The bard shrugged. "I can't tell that yet, one way or the other." Her eyes went to the war wizard. "Well, Broglan? What say you?"

"To your spell? No. Absolutely not," the mage replied. "No war wizard of Cormyr dares allow someone else to spy on him!"

"Ah," Storm said, "but it's quite all right for you to spy-to use your word-on others?"

"What d'you mean?" Broglan snarled, eyes afire again.

Storm waved a hand at the man-high oval mirror on the wall, its frame still bristling with daggers. "Which of your men was watching me last night? Did he like what he saw?"

Broglan flushed scarlet. "Madam," he began icily, "I assure you-"

"I doubt you can in truth assure me of anything," Storm said quietly. "Yet it is not my purpose to humiliate anyone or argue; I merely want us all to be better protected by working together. What can I promise, or do, to make your 'absolutely not' become a 'yes'?"

"I-nothing," Broglan said heavily. "I must protect my men and myself against possible treachery. If Lord Vangerdahast ever heard of my allowing a possibly hostile outlander to gain any magical influence-or even potential influence-over a war wizard …"

"He'd huff for a few minutes and then tell you never to do it again," Storm said smoothly, "without clearing it with him first. Am I right?"

Broglan shook his head. "A reprimand would be the very least I could expect," he muttered.

"Broglan," Storm said crisply, "worrying about your career prospects is a bit pointless if you wind up dead-forever dead-because you ran around afraid of offending rules. If you want to die blindly for your realm, go join the soldiery. I've seen plenty of Purple Dragons do just that."

Ergluth Rowanmantle's brow darkened. He shrugged. A tiny smile plucked at the corners of his mouth, and he turned away, murmuring very softly, "The worst lashing a man can suffer-under the tongue of an annoyed lady bard …"

Neither of the others paid him any heed. Broglan's voice was rising in anger. "Since you arrived, Lady Silverhand, you have persisted in ignoring the rightful authority vested in officers of the Crown of Cormyr, treating us as lackeys-or ridiculing us as fools and empty blusterers, trusting in your Harper rank and your gender to escape the consequences of such insults! I've had quite enough of it, and my patience is now at an end! Either you'll show a little deferential obedience and cooperation, or you'll be shown some shackles and a cell to wear them in! Now, tell us straight: who is this murderer? You recognized that image you conjured up from the seneschal in the crypt. Who is it? I command you to share that information with the boldshield and myself. We are the only lawful investigators of the unjust and protectors of the right in Firefall Vale."

Ergluth Rowanmantle waited for the stormy reply that was sure to come. In the terse silence, the mage's hands tightened on a certain wand at his belt.

Surprisingly, Storm smiled. "Ah, you're awake at last. Good. Are you listening?" As Broglan sputtered, her eyes went to Ergluth. He nodded.

Storm walked to the bed, put her arm around one of its ornamental posts to lean against it, and told the nearest wall, "Long ago, I came to love a man-the man whose likeness you saw last night. Maxan Maxer was his name, a good and law-abiding man from Turmish. He was quick with a blade, and one of the most thoughtful beings I've ever met. He was always anticipating, thinking ahead, and arranging things to flow easily."

The bard's voice grew husky. She stared off through the wall, seeing things far away and long ago. "We lived and laughed and adventured together for years, until he fell… in the Year of the Bright Blade."

"You thought him dead?" Broglan snapped, every inch the inquisitor.

Storm looked at him coolly. "I saw him die. We were in a ruined city north of Escalant, fighting tanar'ri. Cambions and dretches had been scouring the countryside, seizing farm folk and bearing them off to an old temple there."

"For some sort of dark ritual?" Broglan asked, sounding disgusted. "I must have heard this tale a hundred times."

Storm shrugged. "Do you want to hear my words, or not? If I offer truth and you dismiss it, war wizard, there is very little I can do to help you. If you think me false, there are spells that can detect lying, and-unlike some-I'd gladly submit to them."

She looked at him in clear challenge and kept silent until Broglan dropped his eyes and muttered, "Go on."

Storm nodded her head as if she were a queen solemnly agreeing to something distasteful. She said, "All of the foul ones served a marilith who sought more power. She believed-perhaps rightly-that the ritual she'd discovered or devised would yield to her the life-forces of sacrificed humans so that she could grow far more powerful than others of her kind… and come to dominate them. We fought our way into the temple and disrupted her ritual."

"Was that ritual the cause of the spell storms I've heard about, that made southern Thay perilous?" the boldshield asked, frowning.

"Not the ritual, but our breaking of it," Storm said. "It had been going for a long time, and the energies burst out in waves of enchanted fire and wild magic. The temple roof fell. Many humans and tanar'ri alike died. My beloved hewed his way almost to the marilith, striking ahead where I could not reach, being engaged with too many foes."

Old anguish made her voice harsh. She looked away, eyes falling to the silent body on her bed.

"A tanar'ri drew six blades and fenced with him. I heard her hiss in glee: 'A worthy opponent to slay!' Maxer proved a worthier opponent than she'd thought, lopping off several of her arms. As I cut my way free of the last cambions around me, I heard her shriek with rage, and saw her writhing, racked with pain. She stopped toying with my beloved."

Storm took a deep breath and turned to face them again. "She ran her snakelike tail up around his neck from behind. . and tore his head off. I saw his body jerk and spray out lifeblood. … I saw his head roll across the temple. Before I could avenge my love, the marilith fled in spell-smokes, still clutching his body. When all was done, I could find no trace of his head, either."

"So if this is not him, risen from that death," Ergluth said slowly, "it is someone or something who knows you-and that seeing your man's likeness will cause you distress."

Storm nodded grimly.

Broglan stared at her, and then at the Purple Dragon commander, drawing back from the boldshield almost as if he'd been betrayed. "So now we're chasing phantoms!" he roared angrily. He turned in a swirl of rumpled robes and stormed out.

The lady and the soldier stood looking at each other for a moment. Ergluth said softly, "Our war wizard hates and fears what he can't understand or overmaster."

Storm shrugged. "Being human, how could he do otherwise?"

That tiny crook reappeared at the corner of the Purple Dragon's mouth. "How could he not, indeed? Cast your spell on me, Lady Silverhand-we two, at least, will work together in this."

Storm smiled suddenly. "It's nice to meet someone reasonable in this keep," she said, laying a hand on his arm.

" 'Sweet reason oft in short supply,' " he wryly quoted a famous Cormyrean poem, and sat down on the blanket-chest at the foot of her bed. "If you don't mind my boldness," he said carefully, "there are things I'd like to know, about-the fate of Gondegal, and how Cormyr really turned back Sembia from invading in the early days, and if Princess Alusair has joined the Harpers, and. ."

"Hold, Lord Rowanmantle!" Storm broke in with a smile. "We've too much at hand to sit about talking now. Perhaps when all this is over. For now, don't thrust as Broglan did-or, I warn you, I'll become a lonely, flustered woman and forget all my answers."

"Flustered?" Ergluth snorted. "Lady, you are near to being a goddess! You've walked these lands for centuries, and seen and done more than I'll ever do. Right, I'll behave, and not probe like a lord high inquisitor. And in return, pray, spare me your talk of being 'flustered' or a weak woman. I sit here in awe of you!"

"Really?" Storm said, giggling and bouncing like a little girl. "That's nice!"

Ergluth rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, and was rewarded by her full, throaty chuckle. "If you'd like the body removed now," he said carefully, "my men …"

Orling the Bold proudly touched the silver harp pin on his breast, his heart full. High Lady Dragonbreast herself had pinned it there, and kissed him, not an hour past. He could still taste the cinnamon of her lip glaze.

Reflectively running a tongue over his lips, he closed his eyes and rocked in pure pleasure. Soon the celebratory revel for the new-honored Harpers would begin, and Twilight Hall would be plunged into dancing and drinking and dalliance. And he must be ready.

He hefted the harp in his hands and ran a gentle finger over its strings. Two were badly out of tune, and a third just a trifle. He opened his eyes to start tightening, looking at the silently glowing glass display case that rose proudly on its plinth in the center of this little antechamber. Within was a ring. It had always floated there, turning slowly. It winked at him as some curve of its sculpted dragon caught the light. Something from Cormyr, wasn't it?

Orling smiled at the ring, noting silver, gold, and electrum in it as it turned. He plucked at his lowest string. Then he blinked, gulped, and nearly dropped his harp.

The ring was gone. The case still glowed, as brightly as it had before, but now it was empty. Completely empty. He peered at its bottom to be sure the ring hadn't just fallen, but before he really looked, he knew the ring had vanished. Silently, without flash or fuss-it was gone, right before his proverbial eyes.

Orling the Bold drew in a deep, unhappy breath. Whom was he going to tell? And would they believe him?

There was a sharp rap at the door. Broglan looked up. "No armsman nor servant knocks like that," he said softly. "Be ready for trouble."

Insprin nodded and took two wands from the table by his elbow. He handed one to Corathar and the other to Hundarr. By the time he'd joined the two younger wizards in a rough semicircle around the door, Insprin had his own wand out.

Broglan took the center position in the curved line of mages and drew his wand. Satisfied that all four wands were trained on the door, the leader of the war wizards called, "Enter!"

The door swung open. Storm Silverhand took a step into the room, earrings glittering above her gown. Out of the corner of his eye, Broglan saw Hundarr look at her with new respect. She swung the door shut behind herself.

"Come no closer," Broglan said coldly. Storm turned, one eyebrow raised-to face four ready wands. "We would know why you are here."

Storm squarely met his gaze. "It is imperative that we work more closely together, Sir Broglan. None of us can afford more deaths. You-all of you-must agree to my placing silent watch spells over you, as Lord Rowanmantle has done."

"Rowanmantle's a fool for a pretty face," Broglan snapped, "and such blandishments fail here. I've given you my refusal already; be aware that each time you force me to repeat it will bring a sharper and more hostile reception. Things would be much simpler if you were not here, Lady Harper."

"I agree," Storm told him, every inch a court lady as she took two smooth steps nearer. "They'd be much simpler indeed: you'd all be dead by now." She shook her head. "You may soon be anyway if you refuse even this simple measure of protection."

"The answer remains no, lady" Broglan said coldly, "and the door remains there, awaiting you. Pray, begone, or you'll force me to banish you from Cormyr in the name of the king! What's going on in this keep now is far too important for us to listen to silly and dangerous requests to submit to your spellcasting!"

"Oh," Storm said quietly, "were you under the misapprehension that I was requesting anything, sir? Allow me to correct that: I am not now asking you to submit to my spells. I am commanding you to do so."

Broglan stiffened. "You're in Cormyr now, Harper," he snarled. "You have no authority to command anything! You've already shown us that you can threaten … war wizards of Cormyr ignore threats!"

"Pardon me, sirrah," Storm told him smoothly, "but I do have that authority. I speak to you now not as a Harper bard, but as Marchioness Immerdusk-of Cormyr."

Broglan frowned. "What nonsense is this?" Beside him, Insprin opened his mouth to say something, but the leader of the war wizards quelled him with a dark glance.

"That is the title given me by the king of Cormyr," Storm said calmly. "Is there some problem with your hearing, sir, or comprehension?"

"The Lord Vangerdahast schools us well in what ranks and titles are borne by citizens of the realm," Broglan said icily. "In particular, when new titles are created-for the suddenly ennobled sometimes let things go to their heads, and create trouble. Lady, desist in this falsehood: all of us here would know if King Azoun had created you a marchioness-a rare rank in any case; why, I believe there are no more than eight marchionesses in all the realm."

"Azoun did not name me to any noble rank," Storm told him, gliding forward. Four wands lifted as one, and she looked coolly along them and came to a smooth halt. "My title was conferred upon me by King Baerovus Obarskyr."

"Baerovus?"

"It was some time ago," Storm said, "but Lord Vangerdahast's lore-learning should bear me out. I adopted the king's bastard son, Casplar Hundyl Immerdusk, as my own. I reared him, versed in the principles of law and loyalty. By ennobling me, Baerovus was able to give his unacknowledged son a senior rank at court. Casplar became the first lord chancellor of Cormyr, scribe of the laws-and so the noble house of Immerdusk was founded."

Broglan looked like a man bewildered. He frowned, shook his head as if to clear it, gabbled for a moment incoherently, and then said grimly, "Whether this be true or not, the wizards of war have never taken orders from the nobility of the realm, lady!"

"Oh?" Storm said. "They certainly did in my day."

Broglan gave her a wintry smile and a little shrug, and said lightly, triumph in his tone, "Times change, madam. Sad, isn't it? Now, if you'll excuse us, we've a few things to do that are slightly more urgent than standing about arguing matters of rank-the door, as I recall, still lies in that direction." He drew himself up and smiled at her.

Storm matched his grim smile and said, "As Vangerdahast is wont to say: not quite so fast, Sir Broglan." She saw Insprin and Hundarr both hide grins at that, as she put her hand very slowly into her bodice and drew forth something small. A ring.

She held it up. "Azoun did give me this," she said, "to use if I ever needed to command any lord, officer, official, or common citizen of Cormyr, in his name. It compels you to obey me as if I were the king."

Four pairs of eyes bulged in astonishment. Vangerdahast had seen to their training properly; they all recognized it, though there could scarcely be more than a dozen such items in all Faerun.

What impressed the wizards so much as it gleamed on her palm was a Purple Dragon ring. She held it up, turning it so they could all see what adorned the gold band: a tiny sculpted dragon of electrum, heat-tinted to a delicate mauve and surrounded by a disk of silver. "Will you test its veracity, Sir Broglan?" she asked, almost reverently.

Broglan's face held awe as he stretched forth his hand to take it. The three other wizards drew in close to watch as he held the ring in his open palm, touched it with one finger, and said hoarsely, "Azoun rules."

Immediately, a clear and cultured voice-King Azoun's-arose from the ring. "As the war wizards guard," it responded.

Eyes widened among the watching wizards. They looked at Storm with more respect than she had ever seen in their eyes before. She crooked two fingers in a beckoning motion, and Broglan reluctantly tipped the ring back into her hand. "Are you prepared to obey me, Broglan?" she asked him quietly. "Or will you be forsworn before your king?"

"I–I. . what precisely do you want? I have very specific instructions on some points," Broglan said, face twisting anxiously. "I–I can't just…"

With a firm hand Storm pushed aside the wand that was leveled at her chest, stepped up to him, and said, "You have a speaking-stone hidden away hereabouts. Use it."

Broglan blinked at her. "Pardon?"

"Confer with Lord Vangerdahast," she said briskly. "Get his permission to work with me, if you feel you need it. Or talk to His Majesty, if you'd prefer-but in the meantime, it can hardly hurt to show me Athlan's notes, which I know you've hidden here somewhere…"

Storm had turned to survey the faces of the watching mages as she spoke her last sentence-and was rewarded by Hundarr Wolfwinter, who glanced involuntarily at a certain tome on the bookshelves behind Broglan's chair.

Without another word, she stepped around the senior war wizard, the skirts of her gown hissing past. She snatched down the book Hundarr had looked at. It was the work of but a moment to thumb its latch, flip open the cover, and discover that it was a hiding-tome rather than a real volume. Curled up in its central well were a few pages of ink-scrawled parchment.

Storm flicked the topmost page open between her thumb and finger, seeing only the words, "Beware the Walker of the Worlds," before book, parchment, and all were roughly snatched away from her.

Broglan stared at her, eyes blazing. "Lady Silverhand! Kindly wait until I have spoken with Lord Vangerdahast, if you don't mind!"

She sighed theatrically and said, "Well, get on with it, then."

Behind them, one of the younger war wizards snorted in amusement. When Broglan swung around to see which of them it was, Storm pounced on the black velvet bundle that now lay on his table.

By the time he turned back from glaring at both of the younger mages, the fist-sized sphere of obsidian was already rising smoothly up from its cushion at the center of the black velvet circle. A slight smile on her face, Storm sat in his chair, her arms folded on the table.

"What do you think you're doing?" he almost screamed, lunging at the table-and then bringing himself to a halt, inches away from crashing into the furniture. The speaking stone came to its own stop not a breath away from his nose, and began to turn lazily in midair.

Storm lifted amused eyes to meet his. "Is this some sort of trick question, Sir Broglan? What does it look like?"

"Broglan?" a voice rasped, out of the stone. "Is that you?"

"Vangey!" Storm barked. "Good to talk to you again! Why don't you ever swing out to Shadowdale to see me?"

There was a moment of silence, and then the sharp voice spoke again, in tones of cold dignity. "The Lord Elminster and I did not part on the best of terms," it informed her, "and I've no wish to sneak into his very yard and perhaps bump into him."

Storm made a rude noise. "He's forgiven you, Vangey-he forgave you the very same nightfall, and that was years ago. Forget it, man!"

"The question is not whether he has forgiven me," Vangerdahast's voice came out of the stone very precisely, "but whether I have forgiven him."

Storm rolled her eyes. "Well, if you haven't, you should have. Isn't it about time you set aside all this overblown pride and grew up?"

The obsidian stone in front of her sputtered and then snarled, "Whatever you wanted me for, good lady, this interview is at an end!" It quivered once, and then sank toward the tabletop.

"What have you done?" Broglan roared.

Storm made a gesture. The speaking stone stopped and floated back up to its former position again.

"Not until I'm finished, Old Thunderspells!" she told it crisply. "Your team has a serious problem. None of us-from ambitious young Hundarr, here, to you at court and Azoun up at the palace-can afford to have you getting up on your high horse and overplaying the high-and-mighty old wizard role. The safety of the realm is at stake. Even if it weren't, you'd do well to set aside the nose-in-the-air, fit-me-for-a-statue stuff, or you'll start to believe the role. Worse, you'll start to shrink and gnarl down to fit it! Royal Magician of Cormyr, indeed!"

All of the wizards were staring at her now, aghast. Hundarr was quivering in the grip of a rage even greater than Broglan's. The leader of the war wizards stepped back one deliberate pace-half to keep himself from throttling this outrageous woman, and half because he expected the stone to spit lightning around the room.

The stone flickered and pulsed with sudden light. Then the four wizards heard Lord Vangerdahast's voice say quietly, "My apologies, Storm. What is happening at Firefall, and how can I help you?"

Jaws dropped in disbelief all around her as Storm said crisply, "We're facing an entity who can shapeshift and burn out the brains of its victims. They're blind-barred to all magic we've tried thus far. Since the two initial deaths, it's slain two of your junior wizards and the seneschal of the keep. On my arrival here, I enjoyed a feast that was one long parade of poisons and magical traps, too. You've got problems with a rotten noble house, and this slayer who can walk right through the ranks of the noble and powerful in Cormyr and keep going. The boldshield-Ergluth-is willing to do whatever it takes, but Broglan here has to have your permission before he'll even be civil to me. Will you tell him I'm his commander for a tenday, so we can get to work.. before it's too late?"

"Lord High Wizard!" Broglan shouted. "There's-"

"Broglan, I presume you heard her," the voice rasped out from the stone. "Obey her as you would me, and tell all of the mages under you to do the same."

"I-yes, Lord High Wizard," Broglan said with a sigh.

"May I cast spells on your mages?" Storm asked.

"Gods, woman," the stone said, a hiss of exasperation in the voice, "I can see why you want to, but that's one rule I never break… only war wizards can enspell other war wizards, and then only for certain specific things-else the Dragon Throne would've faced attacks from hostile mages long since.. "

"These are not normal times," Storm said quietly, "and I'll not misuse this grant of power. More than that, I'll drop in on you soon and scratch your ears and the small of your back the way you like, and dare not trust anyone else to-"

The stone harrumphed very loudly, and said, "Consider both the offer and the grant of power accepted. I don't think we need say anything more about such matters, do you?"

Storm smiled. "I guess not. Fare thee well, Thunderspells."

"Don't call me that, blast it! A man has to have some dignity," the stone said, quivering. It started to sink down toward its cushion, "And keep safe, Storm. Deliver our kingdom to us and save the day and all that wind and roar … but keep safe."

"You, too," Storm said gently as the stone settled onto the black velvet. She gave it a last smile, and then looked up at the four silent men above her and said brightly, "Now, this won't hurt a bit…."

Orling the Bold unhappily strummed his harp, eyes on the bright-and empty-display case beside him. This was the last string that needed tuning. When it was done, he'd have to go tell someone about the ring vanishing. That would be the end of his night of revelry, over before it began-and perhaps of his career as a Harper. Or even his life, if they took it really amiss.

Orling gulped as he plucked the last string repeatedly. He certainly didn't feel 'Bold' right now, or even just 'bold.' No one would believe he'd not even touched the case, and the ring had just up and-

He blinked at the case again, and let out an uneasy laugh. His forehead was suddenly wet with sweat, and outside the room he heard the first trumpets echoing through Twilight Hall to start the fun. He looked in wonder at the case, shaking his tense fingers to loosen them and hardly daring to believe his eyes.

The ring was back. Floating there, turning slowly, as it had been for years. The little electrum dragon, the silver orb under it, and the plain gold band. Orling smiled.

The ring was back, as silently as it had gone. It winked almost mockingly at him-turning just as it had been turning for years.

The poison was rather more subtle this time, but it was still there. In the stuffed pheasant, the lemon juice and the pepper overwhelmed the burning, oily taste that Storm'd come to expect from the kitchens of the keep. There was nothing wrong with the good, sharp stonemountain cheese on her side dish, and the white sauce for the birds was simply exquisite.

Storm ate with gusto, washing down bird after bird with wine, and enjoying the sniping attacks of the Summerstars down the table. It was good entertainment-even if the chilly atmosphere was made even colder by the retention of the same seating arrangement, with empty seats where the seneschal and the two dead wizards had sat. Uncle Erlandar had also decided to miss the meal for some undisclosed reason or other. Pheirauze was preoccupied, and that left the mice free to play.

Just now, the two maiden aunts were taking turns sharpening their tongues on the outlander guest.

"Have your. . kind. . lived in Shadowdale long, dear?" Margort asked with kindly condescension.

"Humans?" Storm asked brightly. "Oh-for centuries, now."

"Oh, surely not as long as there have been Summerstars in Firefall Vale, dear," Nalanna put in. "We're a very old family, you know."

Not far from them, Thalance rolled his eyes, favored Storm with a sympathetic look, raised his glass to her, and drained it, all in one smooth motion. He got up from the table. Both of the dowager ladies favored him with frowns, but neither said anything as he loped down the feast hall and departed.

"A Summerstar was at King Galaghard's side when he went in to see the Last Elf, on the eve of the battle where he broke the power of the Witch-Lords," Margort said haughtily.

Storm nodded. "I remember that," she said, tapping her goblet. "I wanted to see Othorian myself. He was very rude to Thanderahast, as I recall."

"You don't expect us to believe that you were there, dear? I mean, really!" Margort said in pitying tones.

Pheirauze said coldly, "I'm sure this could go on all evening, but in defense of our. . distinguished lady guest, it must be said that all she has done is answer your questions, Margort and Nalanna. Is there some point to this. . inquisition? The lineage of our house is a matter of record, you know."

Margort darted a glance down the table, and hissed, "Not in front of her, Pheirauze!"

"Yes, in front of her," the elder dowager lady said with a sigh. "I'm tired of this. Next you'll be telling me that old tale about her sleeping with Pyramus again!"

"Yes!" Nalanna squeaked.

Margort nodded, and said fiercely, double chin quivering, "That's it exactly! She's here to try to steal the vale and the keep and all away from us!"

"What?" Pheirauze shot an incredulous look down the table at Storm, who shrugged and spread her hands in a baffled gesture.

"There she goes!" Margort cried, bouncing up and down in agitation and pointing with a wrinkled hand whose wrist dripped long ropes and hoops of gems. "Acting all innocent! Why, I caught her sitting up in the Twilight Turret with Pyramus-late one fall, it was, when the sunsets were long. And they didn't even act ashamed!"

Heads turned all along the table to look at Storm, who smiled faintly, and waved a polite reply to all the curious stares.

"I confronted him, later, with Nalanna, and-"

"Yes!" Nalanna said, bobbing her head up and down in violent assent. "With me!"

"— he said they were lovers, and that he was going to marry her!"

"So you fear we have a Lady Storm Summerstar in our midst," Pheirauze mused aloud. "I'm sure the aunts have only the interests of our family at heart," she said to her guest. "To save a lot of time and sidelong comments, could you satisfy them-and, I confess, the rest of us-by telling us straight out if any such wedding ever did take place?"

Storm looked down the table, from the fascinated faces of the war wizards to Shayna's fearful gaze, and saw the young heiress clasp her mother's hand. She smiled inwardly at the two aunts, who were practically falling into their platters as they leaned out impatiently to hear what she'd say. Then she shrugged. In cases like this, the whole truth, however brutal, was best.

"Pyramus was very kind, and both a good man and a good lover," she announced clearly, "but we did not marry. How could we, after he'd secretly wedded Princess Sulesta, Rhigaerd's daughter?"

In the uproar that followed, the Dowager Lady Zarova quietly fainted and fell on her face into her soup. The Dowager Lady Pheirauze looked as if she wanted to, as well. Across the table, Storm could see at least three war wizards struggling not to laugh.

"S-Storm, help me!"

The scream cut through her reveries. Storm leapt out of bed, thrust both feet into her boots, and sprinted for the door, snatching up blade and gown from the table as she went.

She was well along the passage, with startled Purple Dragon armsmen pounding along in her wake, when she looked down at herself and realized that she wasn't yet wearing anything to belt the scabbard to.

Not that she was going to be in time. Her spell had shown her a dark and dusty room somewhere in the keep, and a beautiful woman's face-for just an instant, before flames leapt from both its eyes. The magic was shattered.

Shattered with a backlash that made her head nearly split. Hundarr Wolfwinter's brain was now ashes.

She sprinted on into the darkness anyway, snatching her blade out of its scabbard just to be safe. A moment later, she tripped over the wizard's sprawled body.

Parchments flew from Hundarr's dead hand-some of Athlan's notes, by the look of them-and as she rolled over and came up running again, Storm twisted and snatched one out of the air.

"The dragon of the keep, watching over me," she read-and then flung it away as something large slashed at her with talons. She dodged and ducked and drove her sword through glowing nothing. It was an illusion.

Cold laughter welled up ahead of her. She sprinted toward it. A moment later, the floor gave way beneath her boots. She was falling. A deep, grating rumble overhead told her that the stones tumbling down on top of her were no illusions at all.

There were six-no, seven. All of them were as big as she was. Storm hit rough stone, and bounced bruisingly. She struck once more and felt ribs splinter like kindling. Then the first of the huge blocks crashed down on top of her.

As bones shattered and the breath was smashed out of her, the last thing she knew was the sword shattering in front of her face.

Then the other blocks came down.