by Ed Greenwood
After a moment, another sound joined it. Slobbering, the Hungry Man began laughing, too.
THIRTEEN
Dragons In The Keep
"All of this is edible," Storm said, looking at the grim-faced men around her. "Take it, just as it is, to some place in the keep you can defend. Go to the pantries and take what raw foodstuffs you can find, too. You'll need water more than anything. Erlandar, where in Firefall Keep are a few secure rooms-no secret passages and no cracked walls or ill-fitting doors? The rooms must have water, and space enough to improvise a privy."
Lord Summerstar frowned, looked at Thalance, and then said, "Well, there's a pump-room by the kitchens…."
He looked a question, but Thalance shrugged. "The only other pumps I know of are by the stables. There're wells in the Haunted Tower and in the courtyard, but I don't suppose we could defend either of those."
"The kitchens it'll have to be, then," Storm said, "but try to choose rooms that you can't be smoked out of if our foe sets the ovens or pantries alight with everything that'll burn."
"So we build ourselves a cage and cower in it," Thalance said, acquiring a frown of his own. I can see how that'll prevent this shapeshifter from catching us alone… but doesn't that give him free run of the keep, and keep us all in a known space he can hurl magic into whenever he pleases?"
Storm nodded. "All of that, yes. Consider warriors expendable-as most Purple Dragons already believe their commanders do-but necessary to guard the few war wizards we have left."
Thalance glanced at the two mages, wondered briefly what horrible fate might have already befallen the third. "And what will they be doing?"
"Trying to identify and keep track of our foe by means of wizard eye spells, so that I can shrink down my barrier around him and put him in a trap. This won't be quick or easy, especially after he guesses or learns what we're trying to do. The mages will need to sleep in shifts and be watched over constantly … we don't know how far the foe's mind powers can reach."
"Into our midst, you mean," old Insprin said calmly.
Storm nodded.
Broglan shook his head. "I don't like it," he said, looking around at the tureens and platters, "but I can't see any better way of doing things. We should act like we're taking this food back to the kitchens to start with, and all go to these rooms together. Then we'll have to shuttle our spellbooks and all down from our rooms."
He looked at the two Summerstars, and added, "If I may presume to give orders to you two, my lords, you're going to have to learn how to use wands that hurl magic missiles, so that you can defend us while we're packing up, dismantling, and such."
Thalance and Erlandar both nodded soberly. "We can take orders," the younger Lord Summerstar said quietly. "I'm just glad to have some sort of plan to follow, at last."
He looked down at the silver-haired woman at their feet, where she was settling the last lid onto a tureen, and asked, "Lady Storm, will you lead us?"
"No," she said, rising smoothly. "I have to go and think-and, to cover all of you, hunt shapeshifters while I'm at it." She smiled at them all, and then said briskly, "I believe that side table over there, if you upend it, can bear all the food at once; if two of you carry it like a litter, the rest can guard. Just remember to set it down at once if you're attacked."
"You're going off by yourself?" Broglan asked. "Lady, is that wise?"
Storm rolled her eyes at him. "Broglan, if I'd stuck to what was 'wise' down the years, I'd be long dead. Mystra would have given up on me, and I'd have lived and died a house drudge in some village or other in the North, safe and growing daily more bent and crabbed and frustrated. If I were wise, I'd never have come here-I'd have stayed safely at home working on my farm until word came that Cormyr was awash in blood, and the king and Lord Vangerdahast were able to change their shapes at will, and the realm was whelming for war! Speak to me not of 'wise,' all right?"
"Yes," Thalance told Insprin, "she's definitely a marchioness."
"Definitely," the thin, gray-haired elder wizard agreed.
"Right," Storm said. "Be about it, then. Broglan, before the lot of you leave this chamber, tell Ergluth or whichever officer is at the doors where you're going-and ask him to tell Corathar where to find you when he returns." She started away.
Storm turned, silver hair swirling about her shoulders, and added, "Of course, bear in mind that when you see him again, it might be the foe walking into your midst-but then again, it might just be a scared young mage, of lesser powers than the rest of us."
"I'll test him by asking about his noble past," Erlandar offered.
"If the foe can take the memories of those he slays," Storm reminded him, "he already has those of Athlan, and Pheirauze, and the gods know who else in this kingdom!"
"Get gone," Broglan growled, "before you raise our spirits too high, and make us overconfident!"
They chuckled hollowly, and Storm turned away again.
Thalance watched her go and murmured, "There goes a woman I'd go on my knees to wed …"
"After me, boy," Erlandar told him. "I'm th-"
"No," Broglan said firmly from beside them, startling them both into silence. "After me."
With unhurried confidence, the Bard of Shadowdale strode past the guards-after all, if your enemy can be anywhere, why run? She went up the first flight of stairs she found, and then down the next staircase toward the cellars, only to double back and climb again. There was an unused closet she'd seen on her way to the fire … a gown-room, by the looks of it.
There it was. Storm looked up and down the deserted passage. She cautiously hooked open the door, and found herself looking at the dead, burnt-out husk of a Purple Dragon. She sighed and caught the corpse as it toppled past her, cradling the dead warrior to lay him gently down. The sightless eyes of an empty skull stared up at her.
"Helm or Tempus guard you, soldier," she murmured, and dragged him into the nearest room along the passage-a dusty, sheet-draped guest bedchamber. It would not do for anyone to find him right outside the closet she'd chosen.
She cast swift glances up and down the passage again, but the fear that now gripped servants and armsmen alike meant that they went nowhere alone. No one had even replaced the burned-down torches along this hallway. She wondered briefly if the foe had subsumed the servant who usually did that task, and then shrugged and started to undress.
When she was bare, she dropped her pectoral into one boot, snatched up the scabbarded sword and bundled everything else up around it, and stuffed them all down behind a bucket at the back of the closet. Then she stepped into the small room after them and firmly closed the door, shutting herself into the darkness.
She did not need light to work her spell, just a moment of peace to call it forth. In a drifting moment, she would become an unseen, flying phantom that could wander at will around the keep, spying out shapeshifters and their mischief.
A moment of unguarded dreaming… she was adrift amid fire, both amber flames and silver. Out of them swam the red-scaled head of a dragon, watching her. Its great, dark eye blinked at her … and then seemed to dwindle through the mists … no, it was growing smaller, and turning to become-a vivid, glistening. teardrop on a brassy handle: an ornate metal scepter surmounted by the dragon's eye. She slid past it. It was gone in the mists, and she was starting to be able to see the dark walls of the gown-room around her.
As she rose, featherlike, to fly out into the keep, Storm shook her head in puzzlement. What did the dragon have to do with this?
"Saw through my scheme, did she? Hah! 'Twas but an idle tactic! No one shall escape me! None shall leave Firefall Keep alive! Hahahahahahaha!"
The figure shouting those echoing words lashed out with hands that spat lightning from each finger, scorching the stones of the dark chamber around him. A phantom flew away, as if startled by the outburst, and was chased by deep, bellowing laughter.
The capering, tentacled man making that sound suddenly fell silent, and asked in the icy, pa
trician tones of Pheirauze Summerstar, "What buffoon disturbs my home?"
He whimpered for a moment, and then said in quite a different voice, "Have they fallen yet? Well, see to it, man! See to it!"
And he raised his hands and hurled fire-a raging, white-hot ball that roared across the chamber and crashed into the far wall, sending flames flying about the room. The man sighed.
"Please," he said in infinitely bored tones, examining nails that swiftly grew into talons. "Spare me."
Then he howled like a hound in despair. He set off at a run, cackling and howling by turns, blasting stone walls, steps, and statues around him with golden-green flame. Stone exploded into rubble on all sides as he raged, trying to sing and bark and spit out words all at once.
"I'm rich, sire, and you cannot trouble me anymore!" he called to a mirror that had gathered dust for over a century-before he shattered it with all the fire he could muster.
"Yes," he breathed a moment later, voice hushed but trembling with emotion. "A Summerstar would do this…"
"All I know is," he snarled, interrupting himself with a harsher, deeper voice, "we as wear the Dragon spends all our spare time dyin' for the king, that's all!"
"What gods-accursed plan …?" he asked the empty air as he capered down a hall.
He whirled around. "He made it," he told the passage with quiet fury, "as if we had never been."
"I–I-" he said in anguish, and went to his knees. His face melted and ran like butter in the sun. He howled with all the strength in his lungs, "Why can't I remember my name?"
That agonized shout echoed down the empty rooms for a long time. "Name, name, name" came faintly back to him, as he held his head in his hands and sobbed.
Or tried to. As he clasped his cheeks, his head melted away from between his cupped hands, and ran down onto the floor, glistening like blood. Though the room was dark, it reflected back a dancing radiance as it flowed across the floor: the flickering shadows of silver flames.
"Take it," Insprin Turnstone told the young noble. "We can worry later if that's mold."
Thalance Summerstar nodded, turned awkwardly with the heap of long, curl-ended bread loaves the wizard had thrust into his hand, and started back on his way. Insprin waved four of the Purple Dragons to follow him and turned back to the dusty corners of the pantry.
Everything was a mystery. Why can't people label their jars?
It's not as if they'd wizardly secrets to keep, Insprin thought sourly, running his fingers through his graying hair. The question before him right now was-is this oil that's gone off, or is Calishite olive oil supposed to smell and taste like this?
Urrgh. Forget it; the Calishites could keep it! He put the stopper back and reached for the next jug-only to freeze in midreach as a merry giggle sounded from just over his left shoulder. He turned slowly, fearing each breath would be his last.
Shayna Summerstar was leaning against the pantry wall, a dusty bottle in her hand. Chestnut hair spilled down over her ivory shoulders, and the old wizard almost licked his lips. Gods, but she was beautiful. "The kitchen wine cellar's around here, silly!" she said, friendly mirth in her eyes. "What're you trying to drink the fish-oil for?"
"F-Fish oil?" was all old Insprin could think to say, as he felt for his wand.
Shayna's emerald eyes went down to it as he tore it forth. "Is anything wrong, sir wizard?" she asked. "I'm sorry if I startled you-I only wanted to offer you some wine! You looked so hot and bothered after Thalance left, and …"
She frowned. "How'd you manage to get him to fetch and carry, anyway? It's more than I've ever managed to get him to do!"
"Forgive me, Lady Summerstar," Insprin said gravely, holding the wand trained at her from about two paces distant, "but I must ask this: is your mind your own?"
She gave him a puzzled smile. "Is it what?"
They looked at each other in silence for a long moment, and then she said quietly, "You're serious. Well, of course it's my own. This isn't some strange ritual greeting war wizards use, is it?"
Then she seemed to notice the bottle of wine in her hand for the first time, and added, "Well-do you want some wine, or not?"
"No, thank you, Lady Shayna," Insprin said, taking a careful pace away from her. "Forgive me for being suspicious," he added, "but in my admittedly brief time here at the keep, I've never seen you be so-ah, forward. Outspoken, instead of shy, and open and easy with a war wizard you've scarcely met." He looked at her narrowly. "I'm not sure I'm speaking to the real…"
Her smile fled. "I see now," she said. "Lady Storm met with me, yes, and spoke to me of the shapeshifter loose in the keep. You think I might be some sort of monster." She shrugged. "I don't know how I can prove myself to be the real Shayna. If, as you say, we knew each other better, you could ask me questions about my younger days, and so be sure, but…"
She sighed, and turned away. "This isn't turning out the way I meant it to," she said in a low voice. "I waited until you were alone, thinking this would be a wonderful chance…"
"Chance?" Insprin asked quietly, wand still aimed steadily at her. "Chance for what?"
Shayna Summerstar turned back to face him, and then peered quickly past. Assured that they were still alone, she said in a low voice, "I must now lead House Summerstar, and put away thoughts of gowns and feasts and. . handsome men. I–I'll lose those things before I ever even get to touch them with my fingertips! Snatched away, so I can never have a lover, never-"
Insprin raised a graying eyebrow. "Why not?" he asked. "Being head of a noble house doesn't mean setting the world aside, lady! Not in Cormyr, anyway!"
Shayna looked up at him. "You don't see, do you?" She took a step forward, and he raised the wand tensely.
A pained look passed over her face. She snatched at the tip of the wand and thrust it firmly between her breasts, where her gown was cut away to show a fall of lace. "There! If I'm some sort of monster," she told him fiercely, "blast away!"
He looked into angry green eyes that were very close to his, swallowed, and asked carefully, "Lady, what is it you want?"
"You, Insprin Turnstone!" she hissed furiously. "Do I have to go to my knees and beg you? I need a man to teach me what loving and kindness and comfort are all about… a man who dares not carry tales around the realm, and who has magic to keep unwanted children from me! The only man I've ever really loved and admired was my father-and you are so like him! Kind, and thoughtful, and yet quiet, keeping your own counsel until those around you really need it. I think I could love you… and yet I know I can't wed you, so I'd like to be in your arms for-for whatever times we can steal from the world together!"
She gazed into his eyes and almost whispered, "Of course, if you find me repellant, or my asking ridiculous, I'll understand, and say nothing… except to beg you to forget I ever spoke these words. Only please, please don't laugh at me, or call me a child!"
Insprin lowered his wand and put one hand to her magnificent hair, stroking it with infinite gentleness. "Lady," he said softly, "no lass who thinks such things can be anything but a woman, whether she's known a man yet or not. I–I do find you young, and I confess I'm more startled than flattered, but if you'll allow me to walk with you awhile, and talk, perhaps you can persuade me that you really want me, and know what you're getting yourself into. . this keep is not the safest of places right now, you know."
"Precisely," Shayna said, "and if I die this night, or on the morrow, or the day after, I'll never even have known a kiss from any man who was not my kinsman, and just being polite or kind!" She took his arm firmly, set down the dusty bottle, and said, "Right then-walk, you said, and we will. I'll walk to the end of Firefall Vale and back, wizard, so long as you take me!"
"Ah … I was thinking more of a tower where we could be alone," Insprin replied, holding his wand down by his side. Abruptly she caught hold of his sleeve and turned him, trying to kiss him-only to feel the point of the swiftly raised wand hard against her breast.
She glared into his
eyes, her quickening breath warming his chin. "Fire the damned thing, I said," she whispered fiercely. "Find out that I am Shayna Summerstar, and then heal me, wizard, and then make love to me!"
He never knew, later, if he bent his lips to hers, or if she thrust her mouth forward, but her kiss was hot, and tremblingly eager, and sweet.
When he drew away at last to breathe, he said very quietly, "You mean it, don't you?"
"I do," the young noblewoman in his arms said simply. "Do you still doubt it?"
"No," he said, just as plainly, and took her arm. "Let us leave this place, and go wherever you want."
Shayna sighed as if a great weight had been taken from her, and smiled, her eyes bright. "Now we're getting somewhere, Insprin! I know just the place!"
"Oh?" Veteran war wizard that he was, Insprin still had hold of his wand and his presence of mind-but the lady in his arms giggled and said, "No, it's not my grandmother's bedroom or some dungeon cell! Come on!"
They hastened through the wine cellar, avoiding the pantry and its gathered guards, and past the granaries to a back stair. Three halls and a passage later, the way ahead turned dark-and the wizard slowed.
"Isn't this the Haunted Tower?"
Shayna gasped with exasperation. "Wizard," she hissed, "this is my home! Mine, now that I am head of House Summerstar-and I can't help it if folk call this whole central bit haunted! We just have to pass through it here, to reach the far wing!"
Insprin's eyes narrowed, and he stepped back from her and cast a quick spell. She made as if to interrupt, and then said, "Finished? Satisfied? Come on!"
The shield was a feeble one, but it would keep off the first slap of a tentacle or stab of a tail-sting. . unless it came from her. Insprin sighed-we all have to take some risks in life, after all-and drew Shayna into his arms once more.
She laughed softly in delight and anticipation, and led him into the darkness. "It won't be long now," she said, guiding his arms around her slender waist, to where her gown seemed to have come undone. "I want to feel your hands … no, don't stop, I want to get there … I've a cabinet full of sherry, and a fire laid ready to light, and-"
