"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?