himself both unbroken.
At last his tumbling in the gloom came to an end, and he staggered to his feet and peered up and down the passage. The damned coronet was still blinking and winking. Where the moonlight had been he could see nothing- that way must be blocked.
'Mystra spit on it all!' he snarled, fear stoking fury.
He was trapped, and would have to go back into the cracked and lightless keep to dare one of the unsteady stairs and somehow find a way around all this. And was the mad foe dead? Or was the shapeshifter still lurking close by, in the dark-?
Something stumbled at him, and he shrieked and flung up the coronet in his hand. It flashed, obligingly. He briefly glimpsed a dust-smudged, wild-haired face, above a gown torn half off to reveal one gleaming white shoulder-and emerald eyes that were large and afraid and beseeching.
'Gods!' he swore hoarsely. It was the Lady Shayna Summerstar.
Or was it?
'Stay back,' he shouted, in sudden, frantic fear, holding up the coronet in front of him as if it was some sort of weapon.
'Who … who's that?' her quavering voice came out of the darkness-a weak and frightened voice that ended in a cough. It was followed by another, and another. Judging by the racking sounds, her coughing fit had taken her to her knees. Corathar stepped back and pulled a sleeve over the flashing coronet, unsure of what to do.
'Thalance?' she asked weakly, out of the darkness. It certainly sounded like the noble lady he'd watched down the feast table….
Impulsively he stepped forward, wanting to see again the beauty he'd looked at so longingly that first feast night. He held out the coronet.
It blinked, and so did a pair of eyes very close to it-bewildered green eyes, that had trailed tears across the dust on her cheeks. That settled it. If this was the shapeshifter, it was an actor worthy of an easy meal.
'Lady?' he asked, reaching out into the darkness. 'Will you tell me your name?'
The coronet flashed again, and he had another glimpse of her frightened, dirt-smudged face, eyes brighter now with hope.
'Shayna,' she said. 'Shayna Summerstar.' The coronet winked. By its radiance he saw her lower lip tremble. She wiped dust and tears away from her eyes with one hand. 'Who are you?' she asked as darkness descended again.
'Corathar, lady. Corathar Abaddarh; one of the war wizards.'
'Wizards,' she said slowly, as if it was a word she'd never heard before. 'Not… Insprin?'
'Insprin is one of my companions, yes,' he said eagerly.
He froze as a gentle hand tentatively touched him. It probed, ran up his arm-and the coronet flashed again, showing him fresh tears of hope. She looked up at his face, seeing him clearly for the first time, and opened her mouth to cry. He smiled at her reassuringly, and reached out.
'Thank the gods,' she sobbed, clutching him, and dissolved into helpless weeping that shook them both. Corathar cradled her awkwardly, suddenly very aware of the gently spicy smell of her hair and of the softness of the body she was pressing against him.
She was a long time crying. She sobbed her way into silence and started trembling against him. He wasn't expecting the lips that found his, or the raw hunger with which she embraced him. He made a brief, wordless protest as he lost his balance and fell backward, but she clambered atop him, and the next flash of the coronet showed him her face as she bit her lip and tugged at his robes, panting.
'Corathar,' she almost snarled. 'Yes. Yes. Give me…'
Corathar reached out and gently set the coronet on her head. She responded by kissing him wildly and running her hands all over him, searching for buckles and lacings and openings, and …
Suddenly she stiffened, came to an abrupt halt with one delicate hand tugging her gown down and the other busily exploring its way down his bared chest. She sat up and pulled away from him.
'L–Lady?' Corathar whispered in sudden foreboding. 'Have I… offended?'
The next flash of the coronet showed him a face that was somehow both sad and triumphant.
'No,' she told him, in a voice that trembled a little. 'No, you haven't. It's just-'
She was silent for so long that he dared to prompt her. 'Just?'
Shayna Summerstar gave him a smile, and leaned close to him again. 'I.. you'll be my first,' she whispered, eyes very close to his, 'and there's a family tradition I must uphold. We must use my bed-and, as we won't be able to wed, you must claim a gift of me. There's a spellbook none of us can use in the strong chest under my bed; one of the treasures my father gave me. It shall be yours … if you can use your magic to get us to my bed.'
Corathar sat up slowly. A spellbook! Was this truly happening?
'Where is your bed?' he asked, looking up and down at her slender, gowned beauty. Shayna pointed down the passage where he'd seen the roof come down. . hours ago, it seemed, though it couldn't have been more than half an hour….
'There,' she said, and smiled weakly. 'Or somewhere under there.'
'Lady,' the young mage said, his lust ebbing, 'are you sure-'
'Corathar,' she said, making his name a caress. The coronet flashed again. Her eyes were very large and dark. 'Please? For me?'
She got off his legs, and he struggled to his feet. 'Of course,' he told her. 'Yes. Just show me … I've a spell that can lift the fallen stones aside.'
Soft hands stroked his cheek, and then took his arm. She leaned against him, and they walked together along the rubble-strewn passageway, moving slowly, her hip pressed against his with every step. 'Do this for me,' the noblewoman said softly into his ear, 'and you'll always be welcome at Firefall Keep. Sometimes wizards need patrons.. .'
'Lady Shayna,' Corathar protested weakly, 'I'm not a great wi-my magic's not that good.' He cursed himself inwardly for a dolt….
'And how do I know that?' she purred. 'You are kind, and modest, and a mage who'll grow to be powerful and wise-what more can a woman ask for?'
What else, indeed? The coronet's flash became a steady glow, now, and as Corathar cast a startled glance at it, she gave him an encouraging smile and pointed. 'The bed must be just about there … about a dozen feet in, I'd guess.'
'What if it's crushed?'
Shayna shrugged. 'I don't think tradition demands that the bed be a certain size or condition-we'll make do.' She flashed a dazzling smile, and then leaned close and whispered, 'Hurry, my lord to be. Hurry.'
Corathar smiled, nodded, and drew back his sleeves. 'I'll need a little room,' he said apologetically. She peeled herself away from his side and stepped back with another slow smile.
The youngest wizard of the Sevensash swallowed, collected his wits carefully, and then worked the most precise and exacting telekinesis spell he'd ever cast.
First that rock… no, think of Shayna's smiles later: rocks first… now that one … and that one …
Block after shattered block rose from where they'd fallen and swayed through the air off to one side, to clatter down into a shattered chamber beyond. About a score or so of rocks into this work, Corathar lifted a stone block that was almost intact, and thought he saw a hand lying under it. He blinking, feeling a sudden chill-but when he peered again at what he'd uncovered, it looked like the edge of the headboard. The bed!
He moved another stone, and another, with renewed eagerness, tumbling them out of the way, tossing and smashing them aside as sweat broke out on his brow-until a battered bed lay bare. With a flourish, he swept the last of the dust and rubble from its coverlet, and turned to the Lady Summerstar.
Shayna laughed delightedly and scrambled over the stones to reach it, coronet flashing. Corathar dismissed his spell and watched her, mouth suddenly dry. She reached the bed, lay down with slow grace, ran a hand up one hip of her gown, and beckoned to him.
'Come, my wizard,' she called softly, opening her arms. Corathar obeyed.
His last memory was of how sweet her lips tasted as her eyes flashed in sudden triumph. The bed grew hands that sank iron-hard fingers into his throat, and strangled him.
He struggled for breath, but Shayna kept her lips pressed to his. It was from lower down that he felt sudden
