Silverfall: Stories of the Seven Sisters

'Oh, have done!' Alustriel moaned to herself in amused despair. 'Enough of teasing and preening and hot and avid eyes. You came here to be alone, idiot, not pose and imagine yourself slinking along in something that will be the height of fashion from now until per shy;haps. . dusk. Think of what you have wrought, not whom you've touched.'

The High Lady rolled her eyes, then let them wander again. They followed that plunging vault rib once more, pausing at the arch of the still thankfully closed door. She'd not yet had any arms put up over that arch, despite the eagerness of the palace heralds. Realms were more than names and banners. They were folk thinking themselves part of a place, and she hadn't managed that, yet. This was still, first and foremost, Silverymoon, a haven in the wild and savage North.

There came a single knock upon the door-light, almost apologetic-then it swung open. She knew that knock, and permitted herself a mirthless smile, for just a moment before the man entering the room could see her face. Late for its cue but not unexpected, fresh trouble had come at last.

Taern Hornblade was Master Mage of the Spellguard of Silverymoon and Seneschal of the High Palace, but even the heralds had to think to recall those precise titles. To one and all in Silverymoon he was simply Thunderspell (or, less respectfully and at a safe distance, 'Old Thunderspells'), Alustriel's faithful right hand and counselor. He was an astute if stodgy diplomat who ran with calm efficiency what passed for the Shadow Watch- what some southerly realms called 'secret police'-of Silverymoon. The problems he brought to his beloved High Lady were never minor, and in recent years Alustriel, accustomed to conducting friendships and intimacies with many folk, had been surprised to realize just how much she'd come to love him.

And to know that it wasn't nearly as deeply and hopelessly as he loved her.

'My lady,' Taern began, and turned away to clear his throat. Alustriel's one glance at his face, as it spun away, told her that this matter, whatever it was, was something bad.

'My lady, I bring grave news that requires, I fear, your immediate attention.' Taern was too upset to reach for subtleties or delay his blunt message. 'The envoy from Neverwinter, Tradelord Garthin Muirtree, lies dead within our walls-murdered. He was, of course, our guest. His remains lie where they were found, in the Red Griffon Room.'

'In the magic-dead area?' Alustriel asked calmly.

Taern nodded heavily. 'I've seen them-him, My lady. He looks like a man I saw once on a hunt, torn apart by some great fanged and clawed beast. His head is entirely gone.'

A wizards' duel in the wake of a MageFair created a 'spell shadow' at a certain spot in the palace. This was a place where no magic worked. After a long consulta shy;tion on her knees with the divine lady she served, Alus shy;triel had deliberately maintained the shadow so as to give the folk of Silverymoon a way to readily strip away magical disguises, 'hanging' spells, and other spell-traps or undesirable enchantments. To keep its use under control, she'd caused a chamber to be built around it, with secure walls pierced by no secret pas shy;sage, message chute, or air vent.

When the work was done, the palace had two new, smaller rooms where a larger one had been. The one that held the shadow was a quiet, stately room of pol shy;ished duskwood paneling. Its sole ornaments were a small company of carved, scarlet painted griffons crowning the posts of the chairs surrounding its pol shy;ished meeting table. The griffons soon gave the cham shy;ber its name-and so it was to the Red Griffon Room that the High Lady of Silverymoon now hastened, with Taern striding anxiously at her side.

Their route seemed deserted-Taern's doing, no doubt. There was a stiffening in the air, and a rising, eerie sound as of many voices shouting wordless alarm. The sudden swirling up from nothingness of a cloud of sparks told Alustriel that her Seneschal had laid a powerful ward before the closed door of the Red Griffon Room.

She broke it, deliberately, before he could lift it, ignoring his reproachful look. She had to be sure-absolutely certain-that no hand besides his had been casting or altering wards while he was away fetching a silence-loving High Lady.

Alustriel strode to the door despite Taern's wordless protest. He could not, for all his years, have seen nearly as many horribly mutilated bodies as she had, in hers, and this was her city, and her castle. She fixed her mind on the most powerful slaying spell she had ready, and firmly swung the door inward.

The stuffiness-no vents, the only flow of air coming from a copper heat-turned fan suspended from a rod curving over the candle lamp that stood by the table-was familiar. The slaughterhouse smell, and the riven thing that had once been a man, now so thoroughly butchered that only one raised, clawlike hand and a hairy knee could still be recognized as human, was horribly, indecently unfamiliar.

Alustriel looked down at it expressionlessly. Nothing that dwelt in the palace could have torn apart flesh like this. It reeked of a challenge, a signal of defiance and warning from someone or something that wished to say: 'See what I can do at will, High Lady? What is your power to me? If I can do this, so easily, how can you hope to defend the peace and safe haven your people look to you for?'

The seneschal made another anxious, motherly sound in his throat, and tried to step between her and the corpse. 'Now, my lady,' he protested, 'there's no need for you to have to look upon this. I can whelm the Spellguard a-'

A slender arm barred Taern's way. He rebounded from its surprisingly immobile strength with a blink and a swallow.

'Taern,' Alustriel said into his astonished face, 'you've served me well for all these years. I thank you for it too seldom, so I'm thanking you now. I'm also telling you far more politely than I feel like being that you can serve me even better by taking yourself back the other side of that door now. Close it, and await without, patient and with thoughts of whelming the Spellguard or rousing the palace to scurrying alarm very far from your mind. Stray nowhere; I shall need your counsel very soon.'

She was shepherding him to the door by now, almost driving him before her despite his red and worried face and anxiously flapping hands. 'Lady, is this wise? Think you: we know not what has savaged this man so thorou-'

'Taern,' Alustriel said severely, 'I need to think and to feel. . without you hovering.'

Taern seemed to be on the verge of exploding. She wondered, for a flashing moment, if his oaths would impart any colorful expressions new to her. She hoped to keep from her face all trace of the mirth that thought awakened in her.

'I–I-lady, guard yourself!' her Master Mage almost roared, as her inexorable advance backed him to the door. 'A hidden beast may be lurking, or a spelltrap left behind to strike at you. Danger can erupt from a gate or teleport focus in the space of but a passing breath.'

He took a stand, as if he'd not be moved farther. With a serene smile she stepped into him, her bosom thrust shy;ing against his chest. Taern blinked, swallowed, backed hastily away, and lost the battle.

'Thunderspell, you're a dear,' Alustriel told him with a sidelong smile, as she swung the door closed. 'Please don't be angry. I'll only be a little while.'

The door settled into its frame, and she reached out with a fingertip to set her own magical seal upon it, but no familiar, momentary fire enshrouded them. Her eyes narrowed, and she spun around, willing radiance to burst from her entire body. The familiar tingling began, but no light burst forth. Magic within beings, magic that affected them but nothing of their surroundings, still functioned, but nothing else.

Holding her will to the task of making light, Alustriel strode quickly around the room, feeling the extent of the unseen shadow. Neither the corpse nor anything else stirred, beyond her own dark gown swirling around her hurrying feet. Not only was the magic-dead area intact, it had expanded-had been expanded, that is-some time ago, by someone with the power to make a spell shadow grow to encompass the entire chamber. The walls showed no sign of forcible entry or secret ways in or out, and the hollow griffon, after she unscrewed it from its chair post, was uncharred inside. The little flaming coin hidden there remained cool and unblackened, its enchantment in abeyance as before. The spell shadow hadn't been banished then replaced. It had remained in effect at the heart of the room since there had been a room, and griffon-topped chairs in it. Alustriel looked at the door. It didn't look changed either, and certainly not as if something large and long-clawed had ever torn it open. She swung it wide again, meeting Taern's anxious gaze, and said gently, 'Master Mage, please come in. I've need of your wits now.'

Taern opened his mouth to say something, remem shy;bered who he was speaking to, and closed it again without uttering a sound. His face darkened with embarrassment at the thought of what he'd meant to say.

'Oh, gods above, Taern, get in here,' Alustriel mur shy;mured, taking hold of him by the shoulder and half