radiance in his direction.
'Oooh,' Rammast said in appreciation. 'My, my.' And he faded away, leaving her spell with nothing to slay. It rolled out over the lake, vainly seeking something to do to death.
Abruptly the darkly handsome Lord of Grand Then-tor was standing beside her, a mocking smile on his face, as his second serpent flashed down over her shoulder to sink its fangs into her bodice.
Aerindel screamed.
'On your knees, Lady,' Rammast suggested gently. 'Remember?'
He waved a hand, and she felt an unseen force pressing her down. With a snarl she hissed her last dispel, wiping it away along with the sharp-fanged serpent.
He smiled even more broadly, and opened his hand again. Another serpent flapped its wings in his palm, eyeing her with glittering amusement.
'Perhaps one eyelash,' her foe said calmly, 'to remember me by.'
And as the serpent sprang from his hand, Aerindel found that she had no spells left. Clapping her hands protectively over eyes that streamed tears of rage and despair, she snarled a certain word.
On the wall beside the shattered window, the Storm-staff flashed into life-and lightning lashed forth like great tentacles to encircle the Thentan intruder, and drag him up into the air.
Even as he struggled in the grip of its awesome energies and the white fire of its fury burst forth from his skin, Rammast smiled down at her. 'So that is how paltry your spells are-and those are the words that awaken your father's staff. My thanks, Aerindel. You've been most helpful-if far more feeble a foe than I thought. Don't bother taking your own life; I shall merely bring you back from death to serve me.'
The lightning was beginning to tear him apart now, but the lord of Grand Thentor showed no pain as he added, 'You could fix your hair and change your gown, though. I will come for you.'
And then, with a last sneering smile, his false body faded away, leaving her lightning nothing to ravage.
The Lady of Dusklake sent the lightning racing out over the lake before it could do any harm to the hall or any of her folk, and then went to her knees and wept for a long time in the shattered chamber.
When she could weep no more, Aerindel fell silent and threw herself full-length onto the floor. Lying with the smooth stone cold and hard against one cheek, she murmured the words that would bring the comforting length of the Stormstaff into her hands.
It flew to her, and she clutched it like a drowning sailor clings to a spar as she went down into haunted darkness…
'L–Lady? Lady Aerindel?' one of the chambermaids called tentatively.
The lady who lay curled up like a child moved her head and murmured something.
'Lady Aerindel? Great Lady… are you well?'
Abruptly the wild-haired figure in the tattered black gown sat upright and stared into the moonlight. The staff in her hands thrummed once, and tugged at her grasp.
Aerindel screamed in anguish. Rammast must be calling it from afar!
It was her last weapon… her last hope. The staff moaned and wrenched at her numbed fingers again, and Aerindel came to her feet with another raw scream, wrapping herself around it.
She stood panting in the pitiless moonlight, staring around the ruined hall and wondering just what she could do against the ruthless Lord of Grand Thentor. The staff snarled against her bosom again, and Aerindel snarled back at it in frustration.
In the brief silence that followed, she heard the frightened sobs of the fleeing chambermaid echoing back to her down one of the kitchen passages, and drew in a long, shuddering breath.
She had fought, and been overmastered with contemptuous ease. There were no hidden tricks or lurking spells left to her; she was doomed, and Dusklake with her.
As her father had once said to an excited Dabras, looking down from the wind-lashed top of Mount Glim- merdown at a battle in the pass below, 'It's all over now, but the praying.'
But the praying…
Well, what else could she do?
Aerindel tucked the Stormstaff under her chin and rushed from the hall, padding through the darkened passages of the castle toward a certain dusty and neglected back stair. Many of the torches were unlit, and there were neither guards nor servants to be seen. Had they all fled? Or had some dark magic sent by Rammast slain them all?
Their fates were worries for later. Right now, she had to find, in the deepening darkness beyond the pantries, the way down to the family crypt.
In the end, though she feared to awaken it, Aerindel was forced to use the Stormstaff to conjure a faint radiance-or break her neck falling down unseen steps to the gate adorned with the split oak Summertyn badge.
Her father's staff made a strange, muted sound, like many voices chanting a wordless, endless chorus. It obeyed her even so, with none of the tugging it had displayed in the feast hall. Perhaps Rammast's spells couldn't reach it down here.
Aerindel lacked the key that others would need, but she was of the blood of Summertyn, and a quick bite of her hand brought forth red blood that she could dab on the badge. At its touch, there was a faint singing sound, and the gate opened.
The door beyond had no lock or fastening, and she pushed it inward with her foot, smelling the familiar damp, earthy smell that always clung to the resting place of her forebears.
There was the long, slender casket of Haerindra, the mother she'd never known. Beyond it, the high-canopied tomb of Orbrar, and to the right, the great black coffin of her father.
The Stormstaff suddenly hummed, a deep groan that was echoed by the black stone that enclosed her father's ashes-and Aerindel nearly turned and fled. This had never happened before.
A light-a faint glow of the air, not a spark or flame- occurred suddenly in front of her, in the open space between the three caskets she knew. By its brightening radiance she saw other coffins, stretching back into dark, vaulted distances… and the source of the light: a blue-white star glowing on a simple stone marker.
The altar of Mystra. It had been a long time-too long-since she'd knelt here to pray for guidance. She went to her knees in a rush. Drops of blood from her hand fell upon the stone and startled her by flaring instantly into smoke that drifted around her, and then faded away as abruptly as it had come.
'Mother of Mysteries,' she whispered, 'I have neglected you and failed in my diligence at crafting your holy Art of magic… but I need you now, and am come to beg forgiveness and plead for guidance. Holy Mystra, aid me!'
'Aid is at hand,' a faint whisper promptly came out of the darkness to her right. Aerindel was so startled that she almost dropped the staff.
A moment later, she realized that the staff was sinking… sinking into the solid stone she was kneeling on!
She tugged on it, but was as overmatched as if she'd been trying to hold back a surging stallion. The staff moved powerfully downward, burning her clutching fingers as it slid between them, going down into stone that had no hole nor mark… and was cool and hard under her fingertips after it was gone.
Mystra had taken-reclaimed-the Stormstaff. What sort of aid was this?
Kneeling in the near-darkness, Aerindel heard the faint whisper again: 'Set aside fear, and put me on.'
She peered into the gloom, seeking the source of that softest of voices. It repeated its message, and by the rasping words she located it: a crown, lying atop her father's coffin.
A chill touched her heart. The black stone resting-place of Thabras Stormstaff had been bare of all but dust when she'd first looked at it, moments ago.
And yet she knew this crown. She remembered seeing her father wearing it once or twice, when she was young. Aerindel frowned. It was no part of the regalia of Dusklake, and had disappeared before his death. So far as she knew, it had never been in the coffin of Thabras.
She stared at that black stone casket for a moment, considering, but knew she dared not try to open it, even if she'd commanded strength enough to shift its massive lid.
On the altar before her, the blue-white star flashed once and then started to fade. At the same time, the
