Ergluth Rowanmantle looked out at blackened bones and cursed again, not caring if he raised echoes this time. How was he ever going to get to sleep after this?
Highsun came and went, and the four guards grew restive.
"Gods, but I'm hungry," one of them growled. His stomach added a wordless roar of agreement. His companions smiled ruefully.
"It won't be empty bellies we'll have to worry about," one of them said, "if he comes back and finds us gone from our posts. It'll be our throats-after our backsides do a dance or two with the lash."
There were weary murmurs of agreement.
A quietly amused voice from behind them asked, "What if I go with you to the kitchens? Will he lash my behind, too?"
The armsmen whirled around. Storm Silverhand was sitting up in bed, her wards dissolving around her in twinkling, drifting motes of light.
"Beg pardon, lady," one of the Purple Dragons began hastily, "but-"
She raised a hand. "None necessary. I've had sleep, and now food is my need. Stand clear now; I'm going to do something with magic that I don't want you to get caught in."
She watched them back warily away, closed her eyes, and felt for the rushing stream of silver fire. Yes! As she'd thought, it couldn't restore spells she'd cast. . but if she diverted just a touch of it, for just a moment, it could duplicate a spell she was still carrying, if her mind could hold the extra load. She might be no great realms-shaker as a mage, but one thing all Chosen of Mystra had were minds that could carry heavy loads. They learned to, or soon went insane. Hmmph; perhaps the less thought along that line, the better….
"Done! Thank you, Mystra," she murmured aloud, watching silver fire that only she could see swirling around her. Now to do it again….
She'd already decided she'd need one for Ergluth Rowanmantle's room, another for the wizards' study, and a third for Shayna Summerstar's bedchamber. The heir of House Summerstar was the most important being to protect in this place, after all-even if the boldshield was the most useful. She called on the fire to make herself a third watchful eye, leapt off the bed, and snatched up her boots.
"Food!" she bellowed, "and then your commander, to release you from your orders while you still have strength to yawn."
Good-natured chuckles answered her. The guards drew in protectively around her as she hauled on tunic, sword belt, boots, and gloves once more, and set forth.
In the passage outside, they stumbled across signs of fresh carnage. Stumbled across, literally; the smoking, headless bodies of two sprawled Purple Dragons, limbs twisted in agony, lay underfoot as Storm stepped out of the bedchamber. No one chuckled after that.
"This keep has become a battlefield!" Corathar snarled, eyes large with fright. "We dare not step outside without an armed escort and all our spells ready, for fear this shapeshifter could be anywhere!"
Insprin Turnstone shrugged. "Our duty to the Crown is clear; we must do whatever we can to destroy this murderer. See to your spells, and let us all be glad there's but one monster, and not an invading army of them!"
"Are your veins full of ice?" Corathar snarled, voice rising in horror. "Don't you know what I'm saying? Death waits for us in the jakes, in our beds, at any step we take in the passages-everywhere! — and all you can do is-"
"Enough, Corathar," Broglan Sarmyn said severely, coming out of his sleeping-chamber with an old, brass-bound grimoire in his hand. "Fear is as deadly a weapon as a foe's spell or blade, Resist it, as Insprin does, by keeping your mind on what must be done." He sat down, reached for the decanter and a glass, and added, "Speaking of which-"
He broke off as there came a rap upon the door. All three mages caught up their wands, and Broglan called, "Yes?"
The door opened a cautious handspan, and a Purple Dragon they knew said, "The Lady Storm Silverhand to see you, gentlesirs."
"Oh?" Broglan exchanged wary glances with the others, and gestured at them to stand on either side of the door, well back. "Show her in."
The door opened wide. He could see six Purple Dragons outside. Out of their midst stepped the silver-haired Harper, clad as if to go hunting in the forest. She gave him a calm nod as she stepped into the room, hands spread wide and empty.
"Well met, Broglan," Storm said. Without pause, she turned to look at the two mages on either side of her, and repeated her grave greeting, naming them both.
Three sets of eyes narrowed. "How do we know," Broglan asked slowly, setting down his glass untasted, "that you are truly the Bard of Shadowdale-and not some deadly shapeshifter?"
Storm shrugged. "You don't. On the other hand, I doubt our deadly shapeshifter would know just where I promised to scratch old Vangey when next we met-do you recall?"
"Yes," Broglan said with a sigh. "Forgive my ill manners, Lady; pray sit down. The doors, Insprin?"
"I'll gladly sit and chat in a moment, Sir Broglan," the lady bard told him, "but there is a casting I must do first." And without further ado, she raised her hands and made a complex series of passes in the air, murmuring words the wizards could not quite hear.
Broglan flushed in anger, and opened his mouth to protest-but she was done, and smiling sweetly at him. He shrugged, reached for his glass, and said in acid tones, "I suppose you'll get around to telling me just what you've done when you have, say, some idle hours?"
Storm chuckled. "You war wizards certainly lack for fun," she told him merrily. "All this grim silence and snapped orders, and keeping your laundry lists deathly secret! Aren't you even going to offer a lady a drink?"
The worried-looking senior war wizard sighed. "On one condition, Lady Storm: that you drop this giggling maiden act. I'd appreciate the teasing more if I wasn't scared witless, and facing the first truly important threat to the realm that I've seen in years. Treat us as equals."
"Will you in turn accept the authority Lord Vangerdahast gave me over you?" Storm asked quietly, meeting his eyes.
Broglan sighed again, and then said quietly, "Lady, I will. Corathar? Insprin?"
"We will," they said in rough chorus.
"Then let us drink to seal it," Storm said, extending her hand.
"There's only the one glass," Broglan protested.
"So fill it, and we'll share," Storm told him crisply. "The spell I just cast here is called a 'watchful eye.' Like a magic mouth spell, it is triggered by certain conditions-in this case, by any attack in this room that unleashes fire or draws blood, or by entry into this room through any way but the doors I know of. I'll write down the word of activation for you; don't speak it aloud until you really need to."
"What does uttering the word bring?" Insprin asked from close behind her.
"The spell creates sound and moving images of what befell in its area of effect when it was triggered-hopefully showing us just what was said and done after an attack occurred."
"So the survivor can see who killed the rest of us," Corathar said sarcastically.
"Corathar!" Broglan snapped angrily, but Storm held up her hand.
"A fair reaction," the lady bard said quietly, "being as you've given this mage under you no comfort." She sipped from the glass Broglan was holding and then offered it to Corathar.
"Drink, sir," she said quietly, "and know this: giving in to fear doesn't help. Let it keep you awake, and wary, and thinking, yes … but don't let it master you. Watch old Insprin, instead of envying and hating him; he knows this."
Corathar's eyes blazed, but he sipped from the cup carefully, and then passed it to Insprin, who murmured in mock-quavering tones, "Eh, Storm! Not so much of the 'old,' hear ye?"
It was just the right thing to say; they all burst into sputtering laughter, and rocked together in shared mirth for a moment.
Broglan took back his glass before the last of the wine got spilled. "We know we face a shapeshifter-something called a Malaugrym, Lord Vangerdahast ventured-so what will seeing a shape assumed by this killer tell us? Why set the spell?"