The man staggered, squealed in astonished pain, and grabbed blindly at the edge of a nearby tapestry, trying to claw his way erect.
The old, rotting tapestry tore away in his hand, and he fell on his face into the water. The fire flashed again, and Mathom Drear, cellarer of the ewer, shuddered once and lay still.
Delicately, the shapeshifter seared the brain, burning away all thoughts but obedience and love for … a certain mind like this. He smiled, turned, and hastened back to the Haunted Tower, his mindless slave dripping along in his wake.
'Mathom Drear,' he muttered, surveying the empty-eyed face. 'Gods, what a name.' He'd have to strengthen his control over the mind that now held only thoughts of him, and no memories of its own; an exacting task….
He made the cellarer sit on the stained high seat. He stared thoughtfully at the mindless man. Once the shapeshifter's newly gained memories surged and swirled, threatening to overwhelm him, but he snarled, bit his lip until the blood flowed, and fought the maelstrom down.
'Let there be two enemies seeking Storm Silverhand,' he said aloud, his voice echoing in the dark, dusty room. 'The Foe, and … Hungry Man.' He laughed. 'Aye, I'll make you hungry for her doom!'
He stroked his chin, considering just how to feed the mindless husk with spells and energy, to make it capable of striking a Chosen of Mystra and holding her- just long enough for her true foe to overwhelm her!
'Yes!' he shouted. YES YES YES! The memories swelled up with a roar and burst through his tattered control….
An observer, had one dared to venture into the dark and lofty hall at the heart of the Haunted Tower, would have seen a slack-jawed man sitting in a chair, staring endlessly at nothing. Another creature danced around it, cackling in wild, deranged glee … a creature who was sometimes a darkly handsome warrior, and at other times a stout, nude woman of mature years. Then again, it was also a warrior in the armor of the Purple Dragons, and at other times a young, sly-looking man in plain robes-and a war hound, or a water snake, or a griffon, or a handsome, imperious young man, or a grim old seneschal, or another young man, or …
The shifts in shape became faster and wilder, with tentacles and glossy black biting mouths rearing up out of a dancing blur. Always, the cold laughter went on, high and wild and free from all reason.
What was it about this Haunted Tower?
TWELVE
When a weary Storm Silverhand returned to her chambers, the Purple Dragons at the door saluted her as a fellow warrior, clapping their hands to their chests. She smiled, matched their salute, and strode in through the open door-to find a war wizard waiting for her. He smiled tentatively, looking every bit as tired as she.
She raised an eyebrow. 'Broglan Sarmyn? Smiling at me, an ancient marchioness?'
He sighed. 'Aye, Harper tricks and all. We dare not go further, lady, as uneasy allies. No sooner had you left us than the beast attacked in the shape of a Sharn-' Storm raised both eyebrows at once, truly surprised. '-and all I could think of, as we fired all our wands to beat the thing off, was that if you'd been there to hurl a slaying-spell or to hold it where we could empty all our magic missiles into it, it would be dead now, and our troubles over.'
Their eyes met, and Broglan continued slowly, 'Lord Vangerdahast did tell me to obey you as I would him … but, lady, I have measured him, many times, and it has taken me longer to measure you.' He extended his hand, looking even more worried than usual. 'Will you-command me?'
Storm took that hand. 'Only if I have to, Broglan. I'd prefer to stand shoulder to shoulder with you, not distantly bark orders through a speaking-stone, like a certain Royal Magician of Cormyr.'
Broglan smiled ruefully. 'Yes, I'm one of Vangerdahast's tame dogs, and-as we all do-I sometimes chafe at glib orders from afar.'
Storm smiled. ' 'Tis the human thing to do,' she replied, taking off her gloves. 'What is your counsel now?'
Broglan drew himself up. 'Lady, the first dishes have already been served, but if you'll have me do so, I would escort you to evenfeast.'
'I'd like nothing more!' Storm said heartily, feeling suddenly how hungry she was. 'Let's go!'
'But, lady,' the war wizard said, blinking. 'No gown? No gems?'
Storm waved a hand dismissively. 'I feel better dressed like this,' she told him, 'but if you'll be more comfortable…'
She hauled her tunic off over her head. Broglan beat a hasty, embarrassed retreat-not fast enough to avoid receiving the wadded-up garment in his face. He caught it reflexively, in time to see Storm dabble perfume behind her ears, down the open front of her shirt, and up her sleeves to the elbows. Winking at him, she snatched out a pendant from a coffer and hung it down her breast.
She strode toward him. He extended his arm to her and swallowed as her hair shaped itself, a smooth forest of silver snakes moving in unison, into a spectacular upswept high-court plume.
'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
