For what seemed a long time, he cowered in the darkness of the Haunted Tower. At last, his body obeyed him again, flesh flowing and shifting with its old ease. The stabbing pains were gone, but his feet and shoulders still ached. Damn that woman! She'd seemed such an overconfident, overkind idiot, too….
Not like that cold-as-a-blade dowager, who. . well, now: Pheirauze Summerstar! Well, why not?
He grew eyes that gleamed in the dark. He shrugged and became the black, sleek body of a panther. Looking around once, the great cat stretched, sniffed the air, and padded off into the keep, seeking a certain bedchamber.
'That will be all, Narlargus,' the Dowager Lady Pheirauze murmured, the crack of command surfacing once more in her voice.
The old servant bent his lips to kiss her hand-a gesture he knew she loved. As he rose from the bed, he kept his eyes downcast. Daring to survey her as she lay at ease among the candles, with their light dancing over her jewelry, would earn him a whipping.
Catching up his robe from the floor, he bowed low and backed away from the bed. Surprisingly, she spoke again when his hand fell upon the door ring.
'My thanks, Narlargus.'
He froze, but no more words came. After a moment, he turned. She'd never bothered to thank him before.
Still keeping his head down, the old servant knelt, touched his forehead to the floor, and then rose and withdrew, closing the door carefully-and very softly-behind him.
Pheirauze felt something like regret as she heard the door settle into place for what would undoubtedly be the last time. She would miss those long sessions with her loyal dresser-even if it had been years since they'd loved the night through to watch the sun come up, when she'd used a candle flame to burn her mark on his thigh.
But if there was one thing the cruel gods had taught her in her long life, it was that all things, however precious, must pass away.
She stretched among the candles, and raised her eyes to regard the cat-headed man who stood silently in the shadows. Narlargus had not even noticed him, but Pheirauze had felt the feline gaze upon her. The cat head turned swiftly to regard the now-closed door, and then back to meet her gaze once more.
'I know who you must be,' she calmly told the silent shapechanger. 'And what you've come for. If I promise I'll not scream, or plead, or fight, or raise any alarm, will you tell me what you hope to gain by my death?'
'I hope to learn from you where old gold lies hidden,' the voice out of the shadows came smoothly. 'The wealth of the Summerstars. Yet I confess that I am here now, when it seems that I face true battles ahead, to gain the wits and drive and cunning I see in Pheirauze Summerstar.'
'It is almost all I have left,' she replied calmly, watching those cat eyes roam up and down her still-beautiful body. 'Almost.'
He lifted an eyebrow that no cat would have possessed. 'You do not fear me?'
She lifted her smooth shoulders in a shrug and said, 'A little. But I fear a slow, lingering death more.' She spread her hands in welcome, gestured up and down at herself, and added, 'Come. I've been expecting you-and if I can't run from you, perhaps I can live on in you. My hips and shoulders pain me almost constantly, now, and my hearing on the left side is almost gone. I want to feel youth and vigor once more. So come to me now. Slay me-but let it be slow, so that I can teach you of what I wield before I'm gone. You won't be sorry you did.'
'Can I trust you?' the cat-headed man asked, rough wonder in his voice.
'The bellpull is there,' Pheirauze told him, her eyes very large and dark. 'Loop it up out of my reach if you prefer. Behind yon hanging you'll find a bar to keep the door closed. There are two concealed ways into this room, and the doors to both are locked.' With one finger, she lifted a swirl-shaped golden pendant from her breast. 'Their keys-the only keys-are here.'
Warily, the cat-headed man took a step forward, his eyes darting about the room. Slowly he grew a tentacle and reached for the bellpull, and two more to seek out the door bar; Pheirauze watched in fascination, swallowing once.
'Does any magic await me?' he asked softly, gesturing with one circle of a tentacle at the bed. The bellpull rose up to the ornate canopy above her bed, and the bar settled into its sockets.
'I keep no magic in my bed,' the dowager lady told him calmly, 'but if you fear traps, choose a spot on the floor yourself.'
He shook his head slowly. 'That will not be necessary. Lady, you will be remembered with honor.'
'It is all I ask,' she whispered as he rose over her and grew gentle fingers to encircle her wrists. 'It is more than many can expect.'
His grip was like immovable iron on her wrists and ankles. Pheirauze shuddered then, at the first, tentative touch of fire-but the firebringer found that he could be gentle and slay slowly. What was even more surprising was that he truly wanted to.
Gods, but she'd been willful! Briefly he'd had to fight down her wants and schemes to keep hold of his own. He forgave her that, and almost any villainy she might have planned, for what she'd yielded unto him. Pheirauze Summerstar had always been able to speak to the minds of humans near her, and even dominate some of them!
He laughed exultantly and looked down almost fondly at the shrunken husk that lay beside him, limbs spread but somehow still proud. Not wanting to crush any part of it, he bent with infinite gentleness to kiss the fire- scorched lips before rolling up off the bed.
In silence for a time, he looked down at all that was left of Pheirauze Summerstar. He half smiled, shook his head, and swept a row of guttering candles onto the bed.
Two strides took him to more candles. A funeral pyre was only fitting for a lady of such splendid spirit; matron of her clan and wielder of such power. Power now his!
He laughed aloud, threw aside the door bar, and ran out into the passage, becoming a hound as he went down the hall. Behind him, the bed burst with a loud roar into sudden, towering flames. The Purple Dragons would have to scramble to save this part of the keep. By then, of course, the man who was more than a man would be long gone.
Storm toweled the last of the bathwater from her limbs and strode toward the bed, where she'd laid out fresh clothes. On the way, she glanced at the tall oval mirror on the wall, and saw that her cheek looked as smooth as it felt; the deep burn was gone. Well, thank Mystra for the small things as well as those that shake all Faerun…
Linen briefs and halter, green hose and stays, her traveling boots-who knows where her hunt for a shapeshifter might lead her?
White shirt, leather tunic, sword belt, and gloves. Gods, but she looked like she was off to some forest war! Storm shook her head and sang softly, 'Forth went the maiden, sword by her side. .' Striking a pose, hand on hip, she stretched like some great cat and went to the door.
'Too fair to crawl, but too 'fraid to ride….' she continued. Mouth open to sing the next line, she paused, sniffed the air-and snatched open the door.
Smoke. She was out and down the hall at a run before she'd even selected a curse. Somewhere in the keep, there was fire.
Running feet pounded past the door, and men shouted. There was a distant crash, more shouts-and then more hurrying, booted feet.
'Move, damn you!' an officer barked right outside the door.
The noise brought Shayna Summerstar awake. She sat up, blinking, in the close darkness of her canopied bed. There was a sharp smell in the air. She sniffed. Smoke.
Smoke?
Gods, was the keep afire? Since the Harper lady had come, men had been dying and there had been tumult and much whispering among armsmen and wizards alike… what else would the days ahead bring?
She rolled out of bed, put a bare foot on the soft rug, and took a step sharply to the side, to bring her other foot down on cold stone and jolt herself fully awake.
