Dragons didn't fly about Faerun as ghosts … they just didn't. Something about their magical nature, he supposed. Wherefore this phantom dragon must be magically compelled, or shaped, or created. . Vangerdahast's eyes narrowed.
His hand went to a certain shelf, and found something that he touched to the staff. Hitherto-hidden runes up and down its slim length gleamed. Vangerdahast patiently let the power build as he linked with the crystals again and searched along the line of his first scrying, until he found the phantom dragon again. When he could see it clearly, Vangerdahast unleashed the spell that would make it also able to see him.
Spectral eyes widened in fury and spectral jaws gaped to gout flame.
The floating head and shoulders of the royal magician said firmly, 'Be as you were again. Go down.'
His own sending faded and was gone, and the furious dragon craned its neck this way and that, looking for the mage who had appeared to it. The wyrm did not find him, but did not tarry to search.
Through his crystals, Vangerdahast watched it approach Suzail, slowly growing fainter and fainter, until at last it was … gone.
The royal magician of Cormyr let his crystals sink down, and shook his head to clear it of the spell, yawning wearily. There was Aundable to see to, and Laspeera to placate: he did not remain to see the last spark of the dragon's sentience falling to earth, a dragoneye gem once more.
A gem any citizen might prize, and take up, and keep hidden. Amedahast had always done good work.
Moonlight awakened him at last. Broglan Sarmyn was almost beginning to wish the gods would just take his miserable life instead of letting him waken into new nightmares-and more pain.
Stiffly, fearing something would be broken but again finding nothing, the war wizard sat up and looked around at the devastation. He was alone; either Shayna Summerstar had freed herself and left, or someone-something? — else had carried her off. The now-familiar rubble was everywhere, in this part of the keep that was more ruin than fortress. Moonlight lanced down in a hundred places, peering through holes to bathe the stone beneath.
Somewhere high in the mountains, a wolf howled mournfully. Broglan was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the sweet stink of death, wafting faintly to him from the many corpses that lay among the rubble. He found himself staring at a certain pile of broken stone and fervently hoping the shapeshifter lay under there.
Or could the mad villain have somehow taken over Lady Shayna's body, and be walking around the keep seeking more victims even now?
Broglan had to find out-and whatever the fate of the Summerstar heiress, he had to find Storm Silverhand.
Gods, there was a lady! A woman he'd follow to the end of his days and cheerfully serve as a drudge for every waking moment of them! To see her fighting on fearlessly, or laughing at them all unashamed of her nakedness, or joking with the two Summerstar men after all the rudenesses and cruelties the family had offered her.. Broglan shook his head, the feeling of admiration ebbing as he stumbled through the rubble to where she must lie. His mind showed him that broken body tumbling end over end through the air. Who could live through that, Favored of Mystra or not?
He saw her at last, the silver swirl of her long hair spread out on the stones as she lay sprawled. One bare shoulder gleamed in the moonlight, mouth open in a last gasp of pain. She was dead … she must be.
Broglan shuffled toward her, grief rising within him-and then he froze in horror.
A shambling shadow moved in the darkness, stepping out to where he could see its slack-jawed, drooling face. No intelligence glimmered in those dead, dull eyes. Like black pits they seemed. The shuffling man swung around, sniffing at the sprawled bard as a dog might, and then stretched out what Broglan could only describe as a paw to prod her.
Storm's body rocked slightly but did not respond, and after a slow, cautious breath or two, the mindless thing advanced again.
Broglan stared at it, face pale and mouth soundlessly working. Deep within him red fury was building. He felt hot, and restless, and suddenly energetic.
Drawing himself up, he snapped out a word-and blue-white bursts of energy streaked from his fingertips to strike the shambling man.
It flinched and grunted as each magic missile struck, whimpering and cowering by the end of the barrage.
When no more came, however, it rose again, cautiously-and reached out for Storm again. Broglan quivered with rage and strode forward, shouting. 'Get away from her! Just get away!'
The man turned a blank, expressionless face toward the source of the loud sounds, and then reached out again for the pretty thing.
Broglan was trotting now, knowing he had no useful spells left but determined to do something. His hurrying feet struck the legs of a crushed, half-buried table and sent one spinning. He hopped in pain for a moment, and then-whirled, snatched up the table leg, and ran on.
'Stop it! Leave her alone! Leave her alone!' he cried as the mindless man lifted Storm's limp arm and then plucked at her leg. It looked like he was going to tear her apart!
Broglan screamed out his revulsion and swung the table leg with both hands.
Bone cracked. The shambling man staggered back, roaring with astonishment and pain. He dragged the limp body with him, and shook it in bewilderment. How had the sleeping thing hurt him? How?
Broglan Sarmyn, leader of the Sevensash, leapt high into the air and swung his improvised club with all his might. The man flung up an arm, and the blow that might have crushed his skull glanced down and into his chest. He staggered back, winded but unhurt-and a furious Broglan brought the club back up under his chin.
The shambling man went over backward, letting go of Storm and consciousness at the same time. Back and down-down through a hole in the floor. He tumbled bonelessly to rubble far below.
For a long time, Broglan stared, panting, at the sprawled man. The fury slowly ebbed from behind his eyes. Wearily, he tossed aside the bloodied table leg. He turned back to Storm and took her gently in his arms.
She was so still, and so beautiful…. Grief rose like a choking lump in his throat. He lifted her in his arms, staggering under her weight. He almost fell twice in his first few burdened steps, but set his jaw and walked on through the moonlight. If he did nothing else right in this whole accursed visit to Firefall Keep, he would do this. He would carry this woman, who'd fought so hard for them all, to a place of greater dignity, where she could rest undisturbed by mindless men or hungry wolves. And he was going to tell Lord Vangerdahast how they all owed the safety of Cormyr to this one brave Harper.
The moonlight bathed Storm and the grimly staggering Broglan in blue-white glory. It also shone down into the hole where the shambling man had fallen. There, a broken, disheveled figure limped out of the shadows a few moments after Broglan had turned away. A half-naked man, somehow misshapen, lurched and crept forward to reach and touch the sprawled Hungry Man at last-with one anxious tentacle.
NINETEEN
SHAYNA.
The voice was a caress in her mind, an echo of its former self. Shayna Summerstar swallowed, wincing in pain as she rose, and looked around at the night-drenched keep. SHAYNA, COME TO ME. The voice sounded stronger. With it came the familiar hunger to be near him … to be part of something powerful again.
Yes, Master, she said firmly-and found herself trembling. Where are you?
GO DOWN. SEEK ME BELOW. Shayna looked up regretfully at the blue-white moonlight and then turned her back on it, seeking an intact stair she'd seen earlier.
Since falling on-and killing, she hoped-the horrible war wizard, she'd remembered where one of her mother's robing rooms was, not far from here, and had been limping cautiously toward it. To get into proper boots again! Her feet were in ribbons from these stones, and she'd just ruined this dress….
Rats around a partly buried armsman scattered reluctantly as she went past. She shuddered-and then, seeing
