Stormlight h-14

by Ed Greenwood

  A gem any citizen might prize, and take up, and keep hidden. Amedahast had always done good work.

  Moonlight awakened him at last. Broglan Sarmyn was almost beginning to wish the gods would just take his miserable life instead of letting him waken into new nightmares-and more pain.

  Stiffly, fearing something would be broken but again finding nothing, the war wizard sat up and looked around at the devastation. He was alone; either Shayna Summerstar had freed herself and left, or someone-something? — else had carried her off. The now-familiar rubble was everywhere, in this part of the keep that was more ruin than fortress. Moonlight lanced down in a hundred places, peering through holes to bathe the stone beneath.

  Somewhere high in the mountains, a wolf howled mournfully. Broglan was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the sweet stink of death, wafting faintly to him from the many corpses that lay among the rubble. He found himself staring at a certain pile of broken stone and fervently hoping the shapeshifter lay under there.

  Or could the mad villain have somehow taken over Lady Shayna's body, and be walking around the keep seeking more victims even now?

  Broglan had to find out-and whatever the fate of the Summerstar heiress, he had to find Storm Silverhand.

  Gods, there was a lady! A woman he'd follow to the end of his days and cheerfully serve as a drudge for every waking moment of them! To see her fighting on fearlessly, or laughing at them all unashamed of her nakedness, or joking with the two Summerstar men after all the rudenesses and cruelties the family had offered her.. Broglan shook his head, the feeling of admiration ebbing as he stumbled through the rubble to where she must lie. His mind showed him that broken body tumbling end over end through the air. Who could live through that, Favored of Mystra or not?

  He saw her at last, the silver swirl of her long hair spread out on the stones as she lay sprawled. One bare shoulder gleamed in the moonlight, mouth open in a last gasp of pain. She was dead … she must be.

  Broglan shuffled toward her, grief rising within him-and then he froze in horror.

  A shambling shadow moved in the darkness, stepping out to where he could see its slack-jawed, drooling face. No intelligence glimmered in those dead, dull eyes. Like black pits they seemed. The shuffling man swung around, sniffing at the sprawled bard as a dog might, and then stretched out what Broglan could only describe as a paw to prod her.

  Storm's body rocked slightly but did not respond, and after a slow, cautious breath or two, the mindless thing advanced again.

  Broglan stared at it, face pale and mouth soundlessly working. Deep within him red fury was building. He felt hot, and restless, and suddenly energetic.

  Drawing himself up, he snapped out a word-and blue-white bursts of energy streaked from his fingertips to strike the shambling man.

  It flinched and grunted as each magic missile struck, whimpering and cowering by the end of the barrage.

  When no more came, however, it rose again, cautiously-and reached out for Storm again. Broglan quivered with rage and strode forward, shouting. "Get away from her! Just get away!"

  The man turned a blank, expressionless face toward the source of the loud sounds, and then reached out again for the pretty thing.

  Broglan was trotting now, knowing he had no useful spells left but determined to do something. His hurrying feet struck the legs of a crushed, half-buried table and sent one spinning. He hopped in pain for a moment, and then-whirled, snatched up the table leg, and ran on.

  "Stop it! Leave her alone! Leave her alone!" he cried as the mindless man lifted Storm's limp arm and then plucked at her leg. It looked like he was going to tear her apart!

  Broglan screamed out his revulsion and swung the table leg with both hands.

  Bone cracked. The shambling man staggered back, roaring with astonishment and pain. He dragged the limp body with him, and shook it in bewilderment. How had the sleeping thing hurt him? How?

  Broglan Sarmyn, leader of the Sevensash, leapt high into the air and swung his improvised club with all his might. The man flung up an arm, and the blow that might have crushed his skull glanced down and into his chest. He staggered back, winded but unhurt-and a furious Broglan brought the club back up under his chin.

  The shambling man went over backward, letting go of Storm and consciousness at the same time. Back and down-down through a hole in the floor. He tumbled bonelessly to rubble far below.

  For a long time, Broglan stared, panting, at the sprawled man. The fury slowly ebbed from behind his eyes. Wearily, he tossed aside the bloodied table leg. He turned back to Storm and took her gently in his arms.

  She was so still, and so beautiful…. Grief rose like a choking lump in his throat. He lifted her in his arms, staggering under her weight. He almost fell twice in his first few burdened steps, but set his jaw and walked on through the moonlight. If he did nothing else right in this whole accursed visit to Firefall Keep, he would do this. He would carry this woman, who'd fought so hard for them all, to a place of greater dignity, where she could rest undisturbed by mindless men or hungry wolves. And he was going to tell Lord Vangerdahast how they all owed the safety of Cormyr to this one brave Harper.

  The moonlight bathed Storm and the grimly staggering Broglan in blue-white glory. It also shone down into the hole where the shambling man had fallen. There, a broken, disheveled figure limped out of the shadows a few moments after Broglan had turned away. A half-naked man, somehow misshapen, lurched and crept forward to reach and touch the sprawled Hungry Man at last-with one anxious tentacle.

  NINETEEN

  When Gods Dare, Harpers Fall

  SHAYNA.

  The voice was a caress in her mind, an echo of its former self. Shayna Summerstar swallowed, wincing in pain as she rose, and looked around at the night-drenched keep. SHAYNA, COME TO ME. The voice sounded stronger. With it came the familiar hunger to be near him … to be part of something powerful again.

  Yes, Master, she said firmly-and found herself trembling. Where are you?

  GO DOWN. SEEK ME BELOW. Shayna looked up regretfully at the blue-white moonlight and then turned her back on it, seeking an intact stair she'd seen earlier.

  Since falling on-and killing, she hoped-the horrible war wizard, she'd remembered where one of her mother's robing rooms was, not far from here, and had been limping cautiously toward it. To get into proper boots again! Her feet were in ribbons from these stones, and she'd just ruined this dress….

  Rats around a partly buried armsman scattered reluctantly as she went past. She shuddered-and then, seeing his dagger lying by itself among rubble, she snatched it up. The stair was just ahead, here…

  By the time Broglan reached what was left of the courtyard, he was certain the woman in his arms was alive.

  Twice Storm had murmured something. Once she'd twitched, just for a moment. He laid her down gently by the well, and then sat beside her, shaking with exhaustion; she was taller and probably heavier than he, and he was not overly young or overly fit.

  When he could trust his arms and shoulders to stop trembling, Broglan drew up a bucket of icy water, drank, and then tried to get some into Storm. It gurgled between her parted lips but just sloshed there; he sat her up, and then held her hand in the bucket. It numbed his fingers to do it, but she did not react.

  "Storm!" he hissed, not wanting to shout. "Storm-wake up!" He rubbed her wrists briskly, and then on an impulse pinched one arm. Nothing. Her head lolled as limply as ever. He dashed cold water across her face, and watched it run down her; she sat unmoving.

  "Storm!" He slapped her gently, and then drew back his hand and stared at it. What was he doing?

  What could he do?

  He looked around wildly in the moonlight-and then remembered the box of leavings he'd found in the stables on his first survey of the keep. Rusty old bells, a lot of discarded pursestraps and single boots, filthy shreds of blanket-and an old, gnarl-stringed harp in a much-patched leather case. Gods willing, it was still there!

  It
was. With a feeling of triumph, he bore it out into the moonlight, undid the case, and drew it out. Three of the strings were broken, and he knew nothing about harping, but-

  He brought his fingers down across the strings, strumming them as he sang," 'Sleeping maidens wake! Lovers hearts do break! As for me, I seek-a love who'll…' oh, gods' spit, but I can't remember the rest of it!"

  In lower, less exasperated tones, he added the observation, "And I can't sing, either, but-"

  "You did well enough," the bard's voice said by his ear, soft and low.

  "Storm!" he cried, flinging his arms around her and kissing her while tears of joy and relief sprang forth from his eyes. "You're awake! You're-"

  His babblings were stopped by a firm kiss. Then two fingers were on his lips, bidding him be silent. She quietly finished his sentence: "-almost as glad to see you again as you are to see me!"

  She gave him a smile and added, "By the grace of Mystra, I've been in fire trance, slowly coming back from, well, a sword's edge away from death. You've been carrying me and defending me, and Mystra knows what else." She gave him a smile of thanks and admiration, and squeezed his shoulder. Broglan winced; that shoulder had already been hurting.

  The bard looked around. "So here we are, in the moonlight. How stand things in the keep?"

  "Horrible," Broglan muttered. "The place is a ruin, with most everyone dead-except, I fear, the shapeshifter. Will you lower your barrier so I can call Lord Vangerdahast? If that… fiend is still alive, we'll need all the war wizards we can get here!"

  "If we do that," Storm said quietly, "they'll be needed all over the realm, wherever they came from. .because our murderous foe will be there, and everywhere, on the loose. No, the barrier stays up."

  "But what then do we do?" Broglan asked, almost pleading. "The moon'll go down soon, and we'll be at his mercy! We dare not hunt through the keep again, or we'll be slain!"

  "We use me as bait," Storm told him, smiling weakly. "Care to light the lamps of a lady's bedchamber-and then wait in the closet like any young lover? They're sure to check under the bed…."

  Broglan rolled his eyes. "If we get out of this, I'll have tales to tell my grandchildren. …"

  "If we get out of this, Sir Broglan, I'll send you Harpers to wed those grandchildren," Storm told him sweetly. "I take it by your tone that my bedchamber survives?"

  "There's been no great damage at that end of the keep," he said, reaching out slowly to stroke her silver hair. Then he looked away, embarrassed.

  "I'm sorry," he mumbled, "but I've wanted to do that for a long time."

  Storm put her arms around him. "Go ahead," she said softly, "stroke my hair. Kiss me." Her eyes flashed. "Anything to stop you trying to play the harp!"

  They clung to each other in the moonlight, laughing weakly, as the wolves started to howl again at the head of the vale.

  SHAYNA, NOW.

  The young heiress paused in the doorway of a wardrobe she'd happened upon, a new gown in her hands. She sighed, let the dress fall, and went back to the passage outside.

  She found the Hungry Man standing there like a silent statue, his face vacant.

  Master?

  YOU HAVE A NEW TASK. TOO MANY PURPLE DRAGONS ARE ABOUT. ELIMINATE THEM.

  I've been lucky thus far, but I can't use a sword, and they're stronger than-

  BE THE LURE. MY HUNGRY MAN WILL DO THE KILLING.

  Yes, Master. Shayna Summerstar looked once at the slack-jawed servant and then marched off down the passage. There were armsmen to slay.

  The moon had gone down by the time the master called on her again. In the meantime, Shayna had gotten truly sick of killing. Her ribs burned where a guard's sword had slid along them in the darkness, and her hands were sticky with the blood of men she did not know. The Hungry Man lurched tirelessly along behind her; Shayna stole a glance at him and shuddered. Together they'd sent nearly twenty men to face the gods, and she was trembling with weariness.

  There had been one bright thing. One of the guards had been carrying the wand of lightning she'd seen Corathar wielding before the master had claimed him. It rested reassuringly in her hand, now, and-

  SHAYNA, GO UP TO STORM SILVERHAND'S CHAMBERS WITHOUT DELAY. BOTH OF YOU SHALL RECEIVE MY ORDERS THERE.

  Something inside the heiress of House Summerstar almost broke at that moment, but she fought down an inner scream, straightened, and smiled as she made the mind-reply, Yes, Master.

  Gods, would the slaying never end?

  It was a long and rubble-littered way up to the bard's guest room. The silence was eerie. This area of the keep seemed undamaged, and someone had even lit the torches along the walls.

  Shayna's eyes narrowed. When she could see Storm's door, she stopped and looked at the Hungry Man.

  He stared back at her. There was no comprehension in those dull eyes, but-as she'd expected-his orders drove him finally to shuffle past her and lay hands on the door himself.

  There was a silent flash as he grasped its handle. The mindless man staggered back. Shayna watched him moan soundlessly as pain stabbed through him, but two breaths later, he was back at the door again.

  This time it opened without incident, its magic gone. Flickering light spilled out into the passage. Shayna raised her wand and slipped soundlessly forward to peer through the doorway.

  The Hungry Man was walking steadily toward the bed, obviously under the master's direct control, but Shayna could see past him.

  The room was lit by many candles, and they seemed to have been arranged to display the room's lone occupant. Storm Silverhand lay asleep-or dead-on the bed, her body arranged under a linen shroud as if for burial.

  "It's some sort of trap," the Summerstar heiress murmured, darting suspicious glances right and left at the corners of the room. The Hungry Man shuffled over to Storm and put his hands around her throat. Shayna expected him to twist his hands until she heard the crack of bone, but he froze.

  Shayna swallowed. The bard was not dead, then; the mindless one was there to break her neck if she roused.

  USE YOUR WAND. STRIKE UNDER THE BED, AND THROUGH THE CANOPY.

  The master's mind was very loud; he must be near, Shayna thought, as she bent to send lightning under the bed.

  At the back of the closet that led off the bedchamber, where he crouched under a heap of Storm's discarded gowns and hosiery, Broglan's fingertips tingled. Someone was hurling lightning bolts. Had it begun? He waited tensely in the darkness, straining to hear.

  The canopy fell away in tatters as lightning crackled and smoked along the ceiling. There was no one there.

  The noblewoman lowered her wand and looked down at the bard. Storm did not awaken. Shayna was close enough now to see the shallow rise and fall of the Harper's breast. The master must be coming to feed, and take the bard's life at last.

  "Well done, Shayna," his compelling voice came from just behind her. "Go now and guard the door. Blast anyone who tries to enter or strike at us from outside."

  Shayna gave the shapeshifter a weak smile. She moved mutely out of the way. On her way to the door, she looked back and saw him wrap two tentacles around the posts of the bed and haul himself up onto it almost impatiently. A delicate tentacle probed down, stroking the woman from knee to chin in what was almost a caress, drawing the shroud aside. There was no reaction.

  "She's in a trance at last," he murmured aloud, and lowered himself to straddle her. Shayna took up her stance by the doors, crossed her arms, and then risked another glance back at the bed. What would it look like when the master subsumed the powers of someone who was almost a god?

  The master's eyes gleamed with sudden fire. Shayna almost looked away-but suddenly Storm's own eyes were open. The Hungry Man's hands whipped up from her throat in a blur, reaching for the master!

  The shapeshifter reared back with a choked, startled sound. The meaty smack of a fist striking flesh snapped across the room as the Hungry Man, tortured fury blazing in his own eyes now, punched his master with
all his force.

  The shapeshifter reeled. Storm's long legs rose up to hold him in a scissors lock. Tentacles flailed and grew bony spurs to stab with, but the Hungry Man surged forward, punching and throttling….

  SHAYNA! The thought was furious, clawing at her will almost frantically. Shayna brought the wand up without thinking, in fascination watching the unfolding battle on the bed.

  Something washed over her like cool, perfumed water. She found herself blinking, a hazy picture of the war wizard Broglan's face floating before her eyes. The Dark Master's mind touch was gone! She was-free!

  The shapeshifter grew tentacles in a frantic forest of eel-like wrigglings. The doors of the robing-room burst open, and Broglan emerged, his head adorned with a tangle of lacy lingerie and gauzy stockings. He ran grimly at the bed.

  A tentacle shot out in a blur. Shayna found herself reeling back, head ringing from a slap that had almost broken her neck. Her fingers were burning where friction had stripped the flesh from them-from the blow that had shattered her wand. As she stared at them, its fragments spilled from her nerveless fingers. The tentacle reached for her again. Broglan laid on it a hand that blazed with sudden fire.

  Smoke curled up from the eel-like member. The master roared out his pain, but dared not spare more attention to whatever was melting away his flesh. He had more pressing problems.

  Through a bucking forest of tentacles, Shayna saw the shapeshifter and the Hungry Man staring at each other, nose to nose, muscles rippling and trembling as they strained to throttle each other.

  Then flames raced out from the Master's eyes in a fiery plume.

  Storm was twisting out from under them both as the flames roared, blinding-bright. When they died away, the Hungry Man was headless.

  The body of the servant toppled, truly mindless now. Shayna screamed and ran, brushing past a startled Broglan, to get her own slim fingers around the shapeshifter's neck. She struck him from behind, digging in her nails to draw blood, howling, shaking him back and forth in a sudden frenzy of pain and rage and loss. . but he was flowing out from between her hands, changing shape, his head melting away!