by Ed Greenwood
"What if it's crushed?"
Shayna shrugged. "I don't think tradition demands that the bed be a certain size or condition-we'll make do." She flashed a dazzling smile, and then leaned close and whispered, "Hurry, my lord to be. Hurry."
Corathar smiled, nodded, and drew back his sleeves. "I'll need a little room," he said apologetically. She peeled herself away from his side and stepped back with another slow smile.
The youngest wizard of the Sevensash swallowed, collected his wits carefully, and then worked the most precise and exacting telekinesis spell he'd ever cast.
First that rock… no, think of Shayna's smiles later: rocks first… now that one … and that one …
Block after shattered block rose from where they'd fallen and swayed through the air off to one side, to clatter down into a shattered chamber beyond. About a score or so of rocks into this work, Corathar lifted a stone block that was almost intact, and thought he saw a hand lying under it. He blinking, feeling a sudden chill-but when he peered again at what he'd uncovered, it looked like the edge of the headboard. The bed!
He moved another stone, and another, with renewed eagerness, tumbling them out of the way, tossing and smashing them aside as sweat broke out on his brow-until a battered bed lay bare. With a flourish, he swept the last of the dust and rubble from its coverlet, and turned to the Lady Summerstar.
Shayna laughed delightedly and scrambled over the stones to reach it, coronet flashing. Corathar dismissed his spell and watched her, mouth suddenly dry. She reached the bed, lay down with slow grace, ran a hand up one hip of her gown, and beckoned to him.
"Come, my wizard," she called softly, opening her arms. Corathar obeyed.
His last memory was of how sweet her lips tasted as her eyes flashed in sudden triumph. The bed grew hands that sank iron-hard fingers into his throat, and strangled him.
He struggled for breath, but Shayna kept her lips pressed to his. It was from lower down that he felt sudden fire. He twisted, or tried to, and arched. . and then a chaos of memories that were not his own flooded into and over him. With a despairing cry that he never voiced, Corathar Abaddarh rolled over into darkness, forever…
"Spells, more spells," the man who was not Maxer muttered, and grew a tentacle to embrace the young woman beside him. WELL DONE.
He was so kind, Master. She sighed as she watched the husk fall back into ash and scatter on the rocks beneath them. The handsome head beside hers snorted and grew a long, long arm that reached up into a shattered room far above, and drew them up toward the moonlight.
"Kindness," the shapeshifter said aloud, scornfully. "Is that what you want me to give you?"
It would be a change, Master.
He stared at the young noblewoman in his arms, and suddenly shook with laughter. Gods, what spirit! He was beginning to feel the glimmerings of some respect for the nobility of Cormyr after all. 'Twas a pity, really, he'd have to destroy them all… including this one.
IF I HADN'T TOUCHED YOU WHEN I DID, he asked, suddenly and acutely aware that this young woman had chosen to rescue him from helpless death, and fought down strong urges and emotions to do so, WOULD YOU HAVE JOINED WITH THIS WIZARD?
She turned her head away from him, and he did not bother to grow an eyestalk to force a meeting of gazes. It was a long time before she said simply, Yes.
YOU HAVE MY THANKS, he told her gravely, wondering how soon it would be before he dared to destroy her. No one he might depend on could be permitted to survive. He must never lower his guard-and so, no one must be in a position to betray him … as she had betrayed another for him.
It was an even longer time before she said, in the depths of his mind, You're welcome.
She sounded so humble that he did not become alarmed at how deeply into his defenses she'd penetrated.
They sat together on the broken edge of a riven chamber and looked out over the moonlit rubble. The dust had largely settled, and they could see far into the Haunted Tower-and through it, trudging forward in answer to the master's call, the Hungry Man.
The Dark Master was in a hurry to transfer the puny spells he'd just subsumed to his mindless servant; the shambling husk hastened its tireless walk. It never saw what lay just beside one of its footfalls: a scepter whose metal shaft caught the moonlight and winked back from the watchful eye that surmounted it.
The dragoneye swiveled to watch the Hungry Man pass, and blinked once or twice as the shapeshifter stretched down his head so that two pairs of eyes faced each other from a pace apart-and blue-white beams of magic began to flow.
"Hold hard!" barked one of the guards at the doors, swinging a halberd up from the floor to menace her.
Storm raised an eyebrow. "To what?" she asked tartly. From somewhere beyond the ruined door at the guard's back, she heard Erlandar Summerstar laugh.
"It's her," the boldshield and the senior war wizard told the guard in unison, and he scowled and lowered his weapon.
"The way she came running up here …"
"You'd do more than run, man," Thalance Summerstar told him crisply, "if you were trying to make it through all those blasts and falls of stone!"
Broglan stepped forward a pace ahead of Ergluth Rowanmantle. "Are you-well? Did you meet with the foe?"
"I'm fine," Storm said, stretching. "Just a little weary-I'd grown unused to doing things without Mystra's power. No, I didn't see him, but I watched him bring down an entire turret, and it wouldn't surprise me if he didn't stop with just one, eith-"
She broke off and spun around. Someone was running toward them in the darkness, someone panting and not young and fit to begin with. Storm took two quick steps and put her hand on the guard's ready halberd, forcing its point down to the floor.
"What're you-" he snarled at her, straining with all his brawn to wrestle his weapon up again, and finding it as immobile as stone.
"Stand easy," Ergluth ordered gently, putting a hand on the Purple Dragon's shoulder.
Storm raised a hand. Everyone there fell suddenly silent as they saw a lone silver flame rise slowly from it. She held her palm up by her shoulder as if she held something she could hurl, and asked the darkness, "Who comes in such haste?"
The running steps halted, staggered, and then came on more slowly. "Insprin Turnstone, lady," a breathless voice called back.
"The dragon watches!" Broglan snapped.
"And never smiles," a reply came wearily out of the darkness. The speaker came forward into their torchlight. The senior war wizard relaxed; Insprin had obviously given the correct password to his challenge.
The older mage came up to them, still gasping for breath. He was covered with dust, and his sparse hair was in a wild twist of disarray.
"Are you all right?" Broglan demanded. "Did you see Corathar? Or Lady Shayna Summerstar?"
Insprin shrugged. "Corathar's out there somewhere-we'd best look for him if we want to find him before the foe does."
He looked down at his hand, and held up what was still clenched in his fingers. Erlandar made a wordless sound as he recognized the tatters of Shayna's gown.
"I got this close to her," the old wizard said directly to the two Summerstar men. The guards around them drew back silently, watching the blood drain out of the nobles' faces. Insprin added quietly, "She tried to lure me into the Haunted Tower-but when we got there, she started to howl and bark like a dog, and then ran off-to him. I tried to hold her back, but …" He shrugged. "I dared not follow; if I fell with none of you knowing her fate, or that she belongs to the foe…."
"No," Erlandar whispered hoarsely. "No." Then he spread his hands slowly, and turned around, gazing at all the grim men gathered there.
"If any hand must slay Shayna Summerstar," he said slowly, "let it be mine. None other must take her-not even you, Thalance. If you get out of this, it must not be with blood-guilt riding your shoulders for the rest of your days. Let it be bad old Uncle Erlandar."
To Storm he said, "Lady, I never thought to beg any woman for anything
. . but if you can bring our Shayna out of this-the Shayna we know-anything you ask shall be yours. The vale, the keep, all of it, if you want!"
Storm shook her head slightly. "I'll restore Shayna to you all, if I can. If, I said; Harpers don't make promises they cannot keep." She turned to the guard whose halberd she still held. "Bring all the torches."
Then she set off into the darkness.
"Storm-what're y-" Broglan began, and she turned around.
"How else do you expect to rescue our strayed ones?" she asked simply. "Come with me, all who will. Those who remain behind, be free in your choice and without shame."
Then she turned her head to lock eyes with Erlandar, and said, "One more thing, lord-if my hand does save Shayna, there will be no price. Saving things for their own sake is what Harpers do." She smiled faintly and headed back into the darkness.
There was a general roar as the men at her back scrambled to follow her.
FIFTEEN
Cat, And Mouse, And Dark Lord
"Ah, they come at last," the man who was not Maxer purred. He perched on the broken edge of a room that was no more. "Full of fear that makes them desperate, willing to face even the fabled phantoms of the Haunted Tower-we know what makes them run, though, don't we?"
Shayna opened her mouth to reply-and closed it again in horror as the unmistakable voice of her grandmother Pheirauze came out of the shapeshifter's mouth. "Of course we do, Gallant One. Make them truly fear the Summerstars, so that none dare set foot in Firefall Keep without our leave! Let them taste the fire I did, my Dark Master!"
The laughter that followed veered sickeningly from the cold, brittle mirth of Pheirauze to the hearty bellow that was the shapeshifter's own.
"They call me the foe," he mused aloud, breaking off his laughter abruptly. "Astonishingly apt." He smiled thinly, and said, "Yet if I am to prevail against them when they're finally sensible enough to come at me all together, I'll need to burn me another wizard or two."
He leapt up. His eyes went vacant, the way they looked when he was impressing commands on the Hungry Man. This time, no doubt, the Dark Master would be sending him away from the coming fray.
The shapeshifter swung around so that his lips could brush hers. "You, my pretty one," he murmured, "must be the lure that endangers Storm. Do not mind-speak to me unless she brings clear doom to you; she can hear when we talk so. Lead her on a dance-topple stones upon her, appear where she cannot follow, wear her out running … but take her away from the stalwart men of Firefall Keep, after I split them. Slay her not-for that is to be the finale of our feast."
"It shall be my pleasure, Master," Shayna whispered in his ear, and kissed it. He gave her a savage grin, slapped her shoulder, and growled, "Let us be about it, then! To war, for the bloody joy of it!"
He grew a tentacle that soared across the open area of his devastation. The limb snapped around the end of a roof beam. Another tentacle took her by the waist, and then the air was rushing past their ears as they swung across the emptiness of the night.
Shayna saw a few stars glittering above them, and then felt stone and tile under their feet again.
Her master said, "Don't mind-speak now, but heed: if you see Storm, cry out her name-sob, as if you're terrified-and run toward her. The moment you get behind cover, stop and dodge away. Once you're both away from the others, just try to stay ahead of her. I'll do the rest. Hold still."
He murmured something, touched her eyeballs with cool, feather-gentle fingertips, and said, "There. Now you can see in darkness."
She could. "How long does the spell last?"
He shrugged. "If it fails and Storm's close behind you, feign collapse, and I will free you when you awaken."
She looked down at her hands and her tattered gown. "Shouldn't I have a weapon? I–I'm all but naked."
"And that will be a weapon, if any of the men ever get close to you. Don't worry about who sees you. Save for Storm, none of them will see another dawn."
The torches wavered. One of the men cried out and swung his blade at something that moved in the gloom beside him. It faded away almost mockingly: a ghostly helm on the shoulders of a spectral warrior striding along a corridor that was no longer there.
"Easy," Ergluth said, his voice deep and calm. "We're in the Haunted Tower, now-there'll be other phantasms."
No one lowered a weapon. The two war wizards had their wands out, and only Storm walked barehanded, her blade riding ready on her hip.
The flickering torchlight showed them chaos ahead. Stone rubble was strewn everywhere, in some places heaped almost to the ceilings of chambers it had flowed into. The twisted, half-buried form of a chambermaid spoke silently of how swiftly and violently the collapse had come.
"Gods," one of the men muttered, "what're we fighting?"
"One who is insane," Storm told them all in level tones. "If he strikes, don't flee, but attack from all sides, repeatedly. We might push him howling over the edge, and he would cease to be a real threat."
"Is that a Harper's promise?" one of the armsmen asked almost slyly. There were hollow chuckles from those around him.
As if the mirth had been a cue, a sudden flash and roar came from above and ahead. The standing stump of a lone pillar toppled into their midst, showering jagged rocks in all directions as it came.
"Scatter!" Ergluth roared, scant seconds before the crash came. They all heard one agonized scream before the deafening thunder smote them.
Almost immediately, lightning cracked and snarled through the dust cloud above the tumbled stones of the pillar, reaching into the area the armsmen in the rear had fled to. There were more cries.
"Fall back!" Ergluth roared out of the darkness. "Back into the open hall-Redgarth Hall, where the stair had fallen!" He took two steps forward, holding his sword carefully upright so as not to stab anyone and reached down to where he knew a man lay.
His fingers encountered something shattered and sticky. He straightened with a sigh-only to stiffen, cold fear stabbing at his heart, as a voice said in his ear, "I'm the one he wants. I'll skulk off by myself and see if I can draw him away."
"Ye gods, woman!" he snarled. "Don't scare me like that! Why …" And then he fell silent. She was gone.
He stood still for a moment, breathing hard, staring around into the darkness and trying to see. There were no torches left alight hereabouts-only over there, beyond where the pillar had crushed a dozen men or more.
Time to start earning the tall stacks of coins a boldshield was paid-tall if they were coppers, at least.
As Ergluth turned that way, he saw under the shattered stone the agonized face of a veteran, a man he knew well. The armsman's back was broken; the pillar had crushed him below the waist, and now he was twisting and contorting in soundless agony, drumming one fist vainly against the ruined floor tiles.
Without hesitation, the boldshield said gravely, "You shall be avenged," and drove his sword in deep through that gaping mouth, to end the pain.
Time indeed to start earning those coins.
Storm went forward like a soft shadow moving through the gloom. Her eyes could see as well as those of any cat. Sometimes it was useful to be a Chosen of Mystra. The foe had been above them, and just about … there. If she took that stair-
The night behind her suddenly lit up with a burst of flame, and she heard more screams and groans. More Purple Dragons down. She set her teeth grimly. Still, if they'd stayed in the rooms by the kitchens, the shapeshifter could have strolled up and cooked them all at leisure by hurling that same spell into their laps … At least this way the armsmen would die with swords in their hands. Still-they died.
There was a second flash, a little nearer. This one showed Storm a lone figure standing two rooms away, staring at her: Shayna Summerstar.
"Storm!" the young woman screamed. "Lady Storm! Save meeee!" She broke into a run, bare feet slapping on the stones in her frantic haste.
"Shayna!" the bard cried. She took twelve quick strides to th
e right, into deep shadow, and drew her sword.
It would be a bright sunset and a royal visit here, both, before she'd believe that lass was anything but a pawn of the foe.
She waited, still and silent. As long, wary breaths dragged by, she knew she'd been right. Shayna would have reached her by now if that terrified run had been genuine.
As if that thought had been a cue, there were scattered shouts from far off behind her, and one despairing wail. The foe was on the loose.
Storm glared into the darkness and then set forth like a panther on the hunt. If she let this go on, she might be the only defender still alive by the time the sun rose over the ruin of Firefall Keep. Yet she could do nothing to stop it that would not endanger her friends even more.. and all this death was coming down on them because of her.
They died just as Maxer had died.
Sometimes it was a terrible thing to be a Chosen of Mystra.
Enough brooding. Somewhere off to the right should be the outermost passageway, and a stair that would take her up. Then she could circle back toward the foe. Shayna Summerstar, pretty little lure that she was, would have to start following, not lying in wait here, there, and everywhere.
A lance of ruby light split the darkness behind her. Storm threw herself headlong through a door, onto rubble, and smelled burnt leather from her right boot as the ravening radiance sang on down the passage. Calling up a shield spell, she stepped back out into the hallway. Ruby fire stabbed at her again.
She had a brief glimpse of Shayna's smiling face, chestnut hair plastered to an ivory forehead beneath a coronet whose upswept tips were emitting the ray-and then ruby death struck her shield, splashed out a spectacular shower of rosy sparks, and rebounded back down the hall.
There was a startled cry and then darkness and silence. Tasting her own weapon was not something a Summerstar heiress welcomed, it seemed.
"That's a Battlestar circlet," Storm murmured aloud. "Did she slay Zarova to get it?" She turned and ran lightly down the passage, heading for the stair she'd intended to use. No skulking. No little miss was going to dictate where she could go in this battle.