curious stares.
'I confronted him, later, with Nalanna, and-'
'Yes!' Nalanna said, bobbing her head up and down in violent assent. 'With me!'
'— he said they were lovers, and that he was going to marry her!'
'So you fear we have a Lady Storm Summerstar in our midst,' Pheirauze mused aloud. 'I'm sure the aunts have only the interests of our family at heart,' she said to her guest. 'To save a lot of time and sidelong comments, could you satisfy them-and, I confess, the rest of us-by telling us straight out if any such wedding ever did take place?'
Storm looked down the table, from the fascinated faces of the war wizards to Shayna's fearful gaze, and saw the young heiress clasp her mother's hand. She smiled inwardly at the two aunts, who were practically falling into their platters as they leaned out impatiently to hear what she'd say. Then she shrugged. In cases like this, the whole truth, however brutal, was best.
'Pyramus was very kind, and both a good man and a good lover,' she announced clearly, 'but we did not marry. How could we, after he'd secretly wedded Princess Sulesta, Rhigaerd's daughter?'
In the uproar that followed, the Dowager Lady Zarova quietly fainted and fell on her face into her soup. The Dowager Lady Pheirauze looked as if she wanted to, as well. Across the table, Storm could see at least three war wizards struggling not to laugh.
'S-Storm, help me!'
The scream cut through her reveries. Storm leapt out of bed, thrust both feet into her boots, and sprinted for the door, snatching up blade and gown from the table as she went.
She was well along the passage, with startled Purple Dragon armsmen pounding along in her wake, when she looked down at herself and realized that she wasn't yet wearing anything to belt the scabbard to.
Not that she was going to be in time. Her spell had shown her a dark and dusty room somewhere in the keep, and a beautiful woman's face-for just an instant, before flames leapt from both its eyes. The magic was shattered.
Shattered with a backlash that made her head nearly split. Hundarr Wolfwinter's brain was now ashes.
She sprinted on into the darkness anyway, snatching her blade out of its scabbard just to be safe. A moment later, she tripped over the wizard's sprawled body.
Parchments flew from Hundarr's dead hand-some of Athlan's notes, by the look of them-and as she rolled over and came up running again, Storm twisted and snatched one out of the air.
'The dragon of the keep, watching over me,' she read-and then flung it away as something large slashed at her with talons. She dodged and ducked and drove her sword through glowing nothing. It was an illusion.
Cold laughter welled up ahead of her. She sprinted toward it. A moment later, the floor gave way beneath her boots. She was falling. A deep, grating rumble overhead told her that the stones tumbling down on top of her were no illusions at all.
There were six-no, seven. All of them were as big as she was. Storm hit rough stone, and bounced bruisingly. She struck once more and felt ribs splinter like kindling. Then the first of the huge blocks crashed down on top of her.
As bones shattered and the breath was smashed out of her, the last thing she knew was the sword shattering in front of her face.
Then the other blocks came down.
EIGHT
The pain drove her back to wakefulness-raw, shattering pain. Tears glimmered in Storm's lashes as she tried to see past the rock that had crushed her chest. Every breath was a searing, tearing agony of bubbling froth and grating ends of bone. Her back was broken, and her right leg seemed to be either missing or shattered to rubbery nothing just above her knee.
Into every life, a little pain must fall…By the gods, fall was right. She'd had a bad one.
Patiently, Storm called on the fire within her-rising, cool, cleansing, divine fire of Mystra. She sent it flowing into places where pain throbbed, or stabbed … or where she felt nothing at all.
The fire went where she bid, rushing into crushed and mangled places. The sudden, sharp jabs of agony made her hiss bloody huffs of breath, shouts such as an angry, wounded badger might make.
She smiled at the thought, her eyes dark with pain. From just beyond the crushing rock, Maxer-or something that wore Maxer's face-grinned back at her. Seeing that face hurt most of all. Tears blinded her.
'Not quite dead yet?' It-no, he; the manner as well as the voice were male-laughed, and said, 'An oversight easily corrected. Give me a kiss for old times' sake, Beloved.'
With those mocking words, the face of her dead lover leaned down over hers … giving her the revulsion and anger she needed.
Storm blinked back tears and glared up at it. 'You're not my Maxer. Your charade disgusts me, whoever you are. Such tricks won't make me lower my guard.'
That brought on a real laugh. 'Lower your guard? Why bother when you're smashed like a hurled egg? Oh, that's rare!'
The false face of the man she'd loved so much, and missed so terribly, mastered its mirth and leaned close again to whisper, 'Your back is broken, isn't it? Who'd have thought kicking a wedge away from a few blocks of stone would destroy one of the legends of Faerun? You're going to die, my pretty one. . and I'll feed on all you have been, and all you would have been. Just as soon as you're weak enough….'
Storm closed her eyes, shuddering as fresh agonies blazed out within her. Boast and taunt just a little longer, shapeshifter. Give me the time I need to grow whole again … and then strong once more. …
'Ah, but you still hope for a rescue, I see,' the murderer said. 'You Chosen have always been so arrogant, so secure in your power-and so unused to hiding that triumph in your eyes. I saw that look!'
Brutal hands rocked the stone atop her chest, forcing half-knit bones to grind and turn in their sockets. Storm shrieked in torment, tears bursting from her eyes and blood from her nose and mouth.
Cold laughter rolled around her again as the stone rocked back and forth, back and forth. The false face leaned close over her again.
'Dying yet? Not quite? No? Time for a little more fun, then!'
As the stone jostled more violently, Storm gasped, opened her eyes, and flexed the fingers she'd need. They moved slowly, still numb, but-well, they'd have to do.
She waited, gathering her will. As that face bent over her again-and actually opened its jaws to bite her! — she whispered the phrase that unleashed her Galkyn's bolt spell. Silver fire leapt within her as the magic surged forth.
At this range, she could not miss. The shapeshifter was lifted off his feet, squalling. Magic thundered into him, tore open his front, and rushed down his body and out his nether end.
Storm watched him crash against the far wall of the rock-filled pit. With more satisfaction than she'd felt in the fall of a foe for quite some time, she called again on the silver fire.
It roiled and cascaded within her. She set her teeth and pushed with all the strength she had. Tears came, but the stone block atop her stayed where it was.
She sank back with a groan, lips trembling. Perhaps the stubborn immobility of the stone was a good thing. Sudden shouts came from overhead, and a rock whistled down into the pit, cracking off the wall just beside the shapeshifter's head.
The murderer ducked away-straight into the path of another slung stone. He reeled, gasped out a curse, and crawled toward the rocks that lay atop Storm, seeking their shelter.
Storm heard a barked command, and almost smiled. The pursuing Purple Dragons must have found the pit and decided this stranger was the murderer. They were busily employing their slings right now-and buying her the
