Эд Гринвуд - Stormlight

“I got this close to her,” the old wizard said directly to the two Summerstar men. The guards around them drew back silently, watching the blood drain out of the nobles’ faces. Insprin added quietly, “She tried to lure me into the Haunted Tower—but when we got there, she started to howl and bark like a dog, and then ran off—to him . I tried to hold her back, but …” He shrugged. “I dared not follow; if I fell with none of you knowing her fate, or that she belongs to the foe.…”

“No,” Erlandar whispered hoarsely. “No.” Then he spread his hands slowly, and turned around, gazing at all the grim men gathered there.

“If any hand must slay Shayna Summerstar,” he said slowly, “let it be mine. None other must take her—not even you, Thalance. If you get out of this, it must not be with blood-guilt riding your shoulders for the rest of your days. Let it be bad old Uncle Erlandar.”

To Storm he said, “Lady, I never thought to beg any woman for anything … but if you can bring our Shayna out of this—the Shayna we know—anything you ask shall be yours. The vale, the keep, all of it, if you want!”

Storm shook her head slightly. “I’ll restore Shayna to you all, if I can. If, I said; Harpers don’t make promises they cannot keep.” She turned to the guard whose halberd she still held. “Bring all the torches.”

Then she set off into the darkness.

“Storm—what’re y—” Broglan began, and she turned around.

“How else do you expect to rescue our strayed ones?” she asked simply. “Come with me, all who will. Those who remain behind, be free in your choice and without shame.”

Then she turned her head to lock eyes with Erlandar, and said, “One more thing, lord—if my hand does save Shayna, there will be no price. Saving things for their own sake is what Harpers do.” She smiled faintly and headed back into the darkness.

There was a general roar as the men at her back scrambled to follow her.

“Ah, they come at last,” the man who was not Maxer purred. He perched on the broken edge of a room that was no more. “Full of fear that makes them desperate, willing to face even the fabled phantoms of the Haunted Tower— we know what makes them run, though, don’t we?”

Shayna opened her mouth to reply—and closed it again in horror as the unmistakable voice of her grandmother Pheirauze came out of the shapeshifter’s mouth. “Of course we do, Gallant One. Make them truly fear the Summerstars, so that none dare set foot in Firefall Keep without our leave! Let them taste the fire I did, my Dark Master!”

The laughter that followed veered sickeningly from the cold, brittle mirth of Pheirauze to the hearty bellow that was the shapeshifter’s own.

“They call me the foe,” he mused aloud, breaking off his laughter abruptly. “Astonishingly apt.” He smiled thinly, and said, “Yet if I am to prevail against them when they’re finally sensible enough to come at me all together, I’ll need to burn me another wizard or two.”

He leapt up. His eyes went vacant, the way they looked when he was impressing commands on the Hungry Man. This time, no doubt, the Dark Master would be sending him away from the coming fray.

The shapeshifter swung around so that his lips could brush hers. “You, my pretty one,” he murmured, “must be the lure that endangers Storm. Do not mind-speak to me unless she brings clear doom to you; she can hear when we talk so. Lead her on a dance—topple stones upon her, appear where she cannot follow, wear her out running … but take her away from the stalwart men of Firefall Keep, after I split them. Slay her not—for that is to be the finale of our feast.”

“It shall be my pleasure, Master,” Shayna whispered in his ear, and kissed it. He gave her a savage grin, slapped her shoulder, and growled, “Let us be about it, then! To war, for the bloody joy of it!”

He grew a tentacle that soared across the open area of his devastation. The limb snapped around the end of a roof beam. Another tentacle took her by the waist, and then the air was rushing past their ears as they swung across the emptiness of the night.

Shayna saw a few stars glittering above them, and then felt stone and tile under their feet again.

Her master said, “Don’t mind-speak now, but heed: if you see Storm, cry out her name—sob, as if you’re terrified—and run toward her. The moment you get behind cover, stop and dodge away. Once you’re both away from the others, just try to stay ahead of her. I’ll do the rest. Hold still.”

He murmured something, touched her eyeballs with cool, feather-gentle fingertips, and said, “There. Now you can see in darkness.”

She could. “How long does the spell last?”

He shrugged. “If it fails and Storm’s close behind you, feign collapse, and I will free you when you awaken.”

She looked down at her hands and her tattered gown. “Shouldn’t I have a weapon? I—I’m all but naked.”

“And that will be a weapon, if any of the men ever get close to you. Don’t worry about who sees you. Save for Storm, none of them will see another dawn.”

The torches wavered. One of the men cried out and swung his blade at something that moved in the gloom beside him. It faded away almost mockingly: a ghostly helm on the shoulders of a spectral warrior striding along a corridor that was no longer there.

“Easy,” Ergluth said, his voice deep and calm. “We’re in the Haunted Tower, now—there’ll be other phantasms.”

No one lowered a weapon. The two war wizards had their wands out, and only Storm walked barehanded, her blade riding ready on her hip.

The flickering torchlight showed them chaos ahead. Stone rubble was strewn everywhere, in some places heaped almost to the ceilings of chambers it had flowed into. The twisted, half-buried form of a chambermaid spoke silently of how swiftly and violently the collapse had come.

“Gods,” one of the men muttered, “what’re we fighting?”

“One who is insane,” Storm told them all in level tones. “If he strikes, don’t flee, but attack from all sides, repeatedly. We might push him howling over the edge, and he would cease to be a real threat.”

“Is that a Harper’s promise?” one of the armsmen asked almost slyly. There were hollow chuckles from those around him.

As if the mirth had been a cue, a sudden flash and roar came from above and ahead. The standing stump of a lone pillar toppled into their midst, showering jagged rocks in all directions as it came.

“Scatter!” Ergluth roared, scant seconds before the crash came. They all heard one agonized scream before the deafening thunder smote them.

Almost immediately, lightning cracked and snarled through the dust cloud above the tumbled stones of the pillar, reaching into the area the armsmen in the rear had fled to. There were more cries.

“Fall back!” Ergluth roared out of the darkness. “Back into the open hall—Redgarth Hall, where the stair had fallen!” He took two steps forward, holding his sword carefully upright so as not to stab anyone and reached down to where he knew a man lay.

His fingers encountered something shattered and sticky. He straightened with a sigh—only to stiffen, cold fear stabbing at his heart, as a voice said in his ear, “I’m the one he wants. I’ll skulk off by myself and see if I can draw him away.”

“Ye gods, woman!” he snarled. “Don’t scare me like that! Why …” And then he fell silent. She was gone.

He stood still for a moment, breathing hard, staring around into the darkness and trying to see. There were no torches left alight hereabouts—only over there, beyond where the pillar had crushed a dozen men or more.