"Useful power, that," he commented as they swept out past the guards and went down to feast.
They shared no further conversation, falling quickly into a somber mood. The passages were empty, their footfalls echoed in a waiting, wary stillness. The keep felt like a cowering prisoner waiting for the executioner.
At the doors of the great hall, a dozen guards stood, a tired-looking Ergluth Rowanmantle in their midst. He gave them a grim smile and waved the doors open.
The hall looked very much as it had on Storm's first night-save that most of the seats now stood empty. Shayna Summerstar's seat was vacant. At the point of the table, Uncle Erlandar and the Dowager Lady Zarova Summerstar faced each other. Erlandar was flanked by Thalance and then the wizards Insprin and Corathar. Beside Zarova was Shayna's empty seat, and beyond that the two aunts.
Broglan conducted Storm to the seat beside Nalanna, who favored the new arrival with her usual cold and haughty glance. Smiling faintly, the war wizard took the seat across from Storm. Both of them found themselves looking down the empty tables. From them, two wings of empty places stretched out into gloom. They exchanged rueful glances.
Broglan turned his head in the other direction and said smoothly, "I apologize, Dowager Lady, for the lateness of our arrival. We had business of state to conclude before dining."
"Bedded her at last, did you?" Erlandar muttered under his breath, in tones just loud enough to carry clearly to them all.
Margort and Nalanna smirked in unison, but Zarova said quietly, "No more such words, thank you, Erlandar. You should not judge others by your own vices."
Erlandar flushed and seemed about to say something, but shrugged and reached for his goblet instead.
"Is the Lady Shayna unwell?" Storm asked gently, ignoring Erlandar's remark.
"She has chosen to dine in her chambers," Zarova said firmly, "and, as heir of this house, is entitled to her eccentricities." Her tone made it clear that further discussion of the subject would be unwelcome.
"Roast rothe in white wine and 'shroom sauce," the understeward murmured as platters were set down in front of the diners.
"So," Erlandar growled. "Have you found out who murdered Pheirauze yet?"
Steely silence fell as Broglan and Storm looked at each other. He spread his hand, indicating she should reply.
"We have a shapeshifter in our midst," the Bard of Shadowdale announced calmly, "of unknown origin. It, or he, has slain Lord Athlan, the seneschal, some of the war wizards, and many of the armsmen."
"You forgot the steward," Erlandar boomed.
Storm shook her head. "No, Lord Summerstar," she said, "someone else killed Ilgreth Drimmer."
"Oh? Well-d'ye know who?"
"The Lady Shayna," Storm said quietly.
"What?" The startled roar came from both Thalance and Erlandar, who half rose from their seats. All of the Summerstars stared at Storm with barely checked shock and rage-and Storm saw that Broglan was gazing at her in open-jawed dumbfoundment.
"Brawn in cinnamon sour sauce, with onion tarts," the understeward murmured imperturbably, gliding between them all at the head of another cluster of servers.
"Stay your swords, gentlesirs," Storm said with just the slightest snap of command in her voice. "Her mind was not her own when she did the deed, but in the thrall of the foe. I tell you this so that you may all be warned in case he takes control of her mind again while you stand near."
"I don't believe it," the Dowager Lady Zarova said, her voice trembling.
"Yes, you do," Storm said gravely, "or you'd not be so desperate to deny it. I apologize unreservedly for all the outrages I have offered you, both now and previously, but you of the blood of Summerstar must awaken and realize that you now dwell in a battlefield-or the next time we gather for a feast, there'll be a few more vacant seats."
In shocked silence, they stared at her.
Storm added, "Go nowhere without guards, none of you-even you, Thalance: invite them along, man! — and carry weapons if you know how to use them. Linger nowhere alone, even in garderobes. Bathe together, or not at all-'tis better to stink unwashed than to own the stink of death."
Thalance shook his head, a half-disbelieving, half-admiring smile on his lips. "You're serious, aren't you?"
Storm leaned forward. "Lad," she replied, "I am very serious. The Lady of Mysteries gave me powers that have kept me alive for centuries, in far more perilous lands than this. I fought this shapechanger and only just prevailed. If I fall, I charge you in Azoun's name: get to horse, and ride as hard as ever you can to the king-or, better, to the Lord Vangerdahast, and tell him all. Don't rest on the way, or you'll never awaken-and be ready to fight beast after beast on your ride."
"I'll not listen to more of this," the Lady Zarova said grimly, rising from her seat. "Thurdal, serve me the rest of my dishes in my quarters!"
"And ours!" the aunts said in outraged chorus, flinging the contents of their glasses at Storm. She nodded to them, ignoring the wine coursing down the side of her face, and said, "The pleasure was mine, charming ladies."
"Trollop!" Nalanna snarled as the three ladies whirled away from the table to storm out.
Erlandar shook his head and reached across the table to take up the decanter from beside Zarova's glass.
"Uncle Erlandar?" Storm asked with a smile. "You, too?"
"No," he said gruffly, fixing her with a look, "I'm staying to hear it all-whatever you've got to say. After that bit with the flaming platter in here the other night, lady, I believe what you say about battles."
He plucked up Zarova's unused dabble-linen and tossed it to Storm. "For the wine you're, uh, wearing," he said.
As Storm thanked him and wiped her face dry, the understeward glided in again to announce, "Lambs' kidneys in a sherry sauce, set about with chestnut and parsnip fritters."
It only took one taste of this most recent dish for the familiar oily fire of poison to spread out through Storm's chest. Grimly, she called on the silver fire to purge it, having no choice but to weaken the barrier for a moment.
Broglan saw her eyes flicker and close for a instant. The rise and fall of her breast halted, and sweat glistened suddenly at her temples, but he said nothing as she slumped back in her chair, opened her eyes again, and gave him a grim smile.
"Stuffed stags' heads with sage, apples, and sandalwood," Thurdal continued serenely, as more platters arrived.
"As the ladies have left us," Thalance said carefully, "I find us poised on the threshold of a unique opportunity: the chance to speak openly and plainly for once, laying the usual courtesies and silent subjects aside. Lady Storm, I must confess that I am eager to hear more about this foe you speak of-and something of your own experiences, down the centuries."
Storm smiled thinly. "As with most lives, the bits others find exciting are few and far between, set in long stretches of more mundane things. I break a lot of harp-strings."
"No, really," Thalance said, frank admiration showing in his eyes. "If you are centuries old, how is it that you look no more than twice my cousin's age? And is it true, what I heard about your being a marchioness of Cormyr?"
"The divine fire of Mystra keeps me young," Storm replied quietly, "and I should add that at the moment it is also protecting the realm-but endangering everyone at this table-by keeping Firefall Keep enclosed in a barrier to keep the foe within."
Erlandar looked around, as if he expected to see a flaming wall dancing in the air. "Barrier? Where, and for how long?"
"As long as we need it, I hope," Storm replied. "And yes, Thalance, I am the Marchioness Immerdusk-so I fear I dare not go out on the battlements to watch a moonrise with you. Ladies of exalted station, I must remind you, have reputations to protect."