Nothing. Not even a flicker of her eyelids.
He slapped her cheek gently, once, and then again. She slept on, breathing steadily. He frowned. Magic? He rolled her over and slapped her behind so hard that his fingers stung and her body shifted on the stones. Still she slept.
Magic. He carefully cast his last, precious dispel.
Dusty lashes fluttered, and Shayna Summerstar looked up at him rather warily.
He waited, a wand raised to blast her face. When she recognized him, she managed a weak smile. "Sir Broglan? Who-what's befallen?"
"I know not, lady," Broglan said gently, lowering his wand. "This ruin around us is your home, 'tis morning, and since awakening I've found only death until I came upon you."
He put a gentle arm around her shoulders, and helped her sit up. "You are the heiress of House Summerstar," Broglan told her gravely, "and my duty is to protect you as best I can. I hope to take you out of this place, find a horse, and get you to court, if we find none else alive."
Shayna looked around wearily, and then down at herself, and made a face. "Who dressed me?"
Broglan flushed. "Ah-I did, lady," he said carefully, fearing an angry response.
She merely nodded, and smiled thinly. "I thought so. You've put this gown on me back to front."
Broglan was relieved to find that he could still laugh, if hoarsely, and even more relieved to hear her merry laugh join his.
Cold laughter, which sounded like it was booming from the mouth of a nearby giant, drowned them out. It rolled around the stones of Firefall Keep and echoed back at them. Bolts of lightning started to flash through the keep, crackling down from the uppermost floor to an unseen target below.
Broglan was afraid that those bolts were seeking the life of Storm Silverhand. As he glanced at the avid face of the Lady Shayna, who was bent forward to get a better look at the distant leaping lightning, he was very much afraid he'd just awakened a willing hand of the foe.
Another man's scream broke off abruptly as the rolling pillar made a horrible wet crunch. The gathered warriors winced.
A grim Ergluth Rowanmantle looked up at the shuddering keep. Tiles and stone blocks tumbled all around. He said simply, "I was mistaken to think we could stay. We're getting out."
He walked steadily across a riven room and bellowed, "Follow!"
Ahead of him, a statue toppled from its plinth, struck the stony ground, and shattered as if it had been plaster. The boldshield ignored it, striding on through the tumult of booming, rolling stone.
"Where're we going?" Erlandar Summerstar called.
Ergluth did not turn his head, but every man there heard his deep roar of command. "To the dungeons under the gate tower-as far and as deep as I can get from this battle. Those two are like gods, smashing at each other up there. We go down and cower until they're done-and pray as we've never prayed before that Storm triumphs."
The keep shook and quivered around them as they ran on. The morning sky above was covered by a flickering curtain of rushing silver flames; men muttered, ducked their heads from this eerie sight, and hurried along. They were rushing down a dark, precipitous stone stair before the boldshield asked Erlandar, "Who've you got locked up down here?"
The eldest Summerstar shrugged. "No one, so far as I know."
Ergluth nodded and began to snatch down the unlit torches from each wall bracket they passed. When he couldn't see to go on he cried a halt and had an armsman light two of them.
Ergluth took one himself and ordered the other passed to the back of the group of grim warriors and fearful servants. He went on, selecting the deepest of the large cells.
Swinging the rusting but massive barred door wide, he boomed, "Our new home! In, everyone!"
Thereafter they sat in the close, dank darkness and together thought fearful thoughts. The keep shook and quivered above them. After what seemed a long time, a particularly violent blast made dust sift down on their heads, and was followed by a strange, hesitant series of louder and louder crashes.
Thalance Summerstar stepped out of the cell to see what could be causing the noise. In a moment, he scrambled in again and yelled at everyone to stand back.
Behind him, a boulder that was taller than a man came slowly crashing down the stairs, end over end. Advancing with the slow but inexorable stagger of a wounded giant, it came to a final thunderous halt against the bars of the cell, bending them inward as if they were mere threads.
"Gods," Thalance swore, "and the lady, she's up there, standing alone against him!"
The Purple Dragon commander nodded, his face as gray as the boulder. "And our only hope," he rumbled in a voice that made the crowded cell fall silent, "is that she defeats him." He turned his head to look at them all. "Keep only one torch lit, and gather the others to light from it, one by one; there's a bracket here. Those of you who aren't seeing to that can start praying."
EIGHTEEN
The royal magician of Cormyr looked up at her. "Nothing until the moot at highsun? Good. Sit down, pray-we never have time enough these days to talk about things." Lady Laspeera Inthre gave him a warm smile, patted his hand, and took the seat facing his. A tray that bristled with bottles and decanters of exotic liqueurs rose smoothly from the table to offer itself to her. His second-in-command waved a politely dismissive hand at it-and then chuckled and shook her head in surrender as she found a full glass of her favorite Old Rubythroat settling into her other hand.
"None of this nonsense about not drinking during the day," Vangerdahast told her gruffly. "You've been at that survey until I thought your finger'd wear through our best set of maps!"
Laspeera smiled. "Long work, yes, but 'tis done. The work was not all such drudgery, nor the end prospect so gloomy, that I can in all honesty claim any rightful need to this." She raised her glass.
"So stop protesting and drink it," Vangerdahast growled. "As if fine spirits needed an excuse to be drunk!"
She gave him another amused smile and obediently tilted the glass to her lips. The lord high wizard of Cormyr sat back in his chair, swirling smoking blue wine about the bottom of his own fist-sized glass, and gazed around Salantrin's Hall.
A moment of private peace was a rare thing for either of the two highest-ranking mages of Cormyr. Vangerdahast took care that few servants had both the keys and the knowledge to reach the luxurious inner chamber known as Salantrin's Hall. A tray floated obligingly into his lap. He cut a slab of sharp old bluelick cheese, with a smiling glance thanking Laspeera for her levitation. He sat back to enjoy the Tavilar Tapestry.
Said to have been given to his long-ago predecessor Amedahast, for her (unspecified) services to the elves, the hanging stretched along the entire north wall of the chamber. It was a glowingly vivid deep woodland scene whose lighting kept pace with the day outside, from bright morning through each day to the deepest gloom of night-though in the tapestry it was always summer, and never rained.
The magic of the tapestry often made birds and animals move through the scene, and from time to time, stags would bound through the trees, and a splendid elven hunt would ride soundlessly after them. It was a rare treat to see the shining white moment when a lone unicorn would appear and pause briefly to look out into the room. One was doing so now, and Vangerdahast raised his glass to it.
It turned its head toward Laspeera, for all the world as if it could really see both mages. She smiled and nodded. Then it tossed its head, and was gone.