Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [100]
Aye. Pillaged by one man.
Or rather… one monster. The foe was probably still alive. Broglan could not bring himself to believe that the shapeshifter was dead. Nor would he-not until he saw either the death or the remains with his own eyes.
The rubble here was almost roof-high, fallen across his path in drifts. He dug his boots into it and climbed, waving bis hands awkwardly to keep his balance, trying to make no more noise than was necessary.
At the top of the pile he found the reason for its height: the stones had cascaded down a still-intact stairway, leading up onto the floor above. He ascended, rising warily into similar devastation to what he'd seen below. Still there was no sign of life.
Could he be the last one alive in all Firefall Keep? Gods, what would he tell Lord Vangerdahast?
For that matter, how would he find his speaking stone to tell Lord Vangerdahast anything?
He was crossing a room, that thought eating at him, when he saw Shayna Summerstar at the base of a pillar, under three fallen timbers. She lay curled up on her side barefoot, wearing little more than dust, the tatters of a gown trailed from her limbs. It was a miracle none of the timbers had crushed-no, he saw, they’d been laid over her, to protect her against collapses.
He lifted them aside and peered at her. She was breathing slowly and deeply, but her eyes were closed. “Lady Shayna?”
There was no response. Broglan reached to his belt to take off his overrobe and lay it over her. His hands drew back. No, he needed the spell components his pockets bore.
He recalled a wardrobe fallen on its face a few rooms back. Retracing his steps, he found it, failed in his attempt to overturn it, and used his dagger to lever its splintered back up.
It was full of women's clothes, all twisted together in dusty disarray He found a gown and a night cloak. The next garment he lifted away uncovered the lifeless hand of a chambermaid who'd been crushed under the fallen furniture. Above the neck, she was only bloody pulp.
The wizard recoiled, shuddered, and hastily bore the two garments back to the Lady Shayna.
She'd turned on her back and flung her limbs wide, but was still sleeping soundly. Broglan looked at her bared limbs, swallowed, and then awkwardly dressed her. He lifted the limp, warm body to put her arms into the sleeves of the gown, slid its lower half underneath her, and then buttoned and tugged until she was more or less covered. He laid the fashionable light cloak over her, took hold of her shoulders, and shook her. "Lady Shayna?"
Nothing. Not even a flicker of her eyelids.
He slapped her cheek gently, once, and then again. She slept on, breathing steadily. He frowned. Magic? He rolled her over and slapped her behind so hard that his fingers stung and her body shifted on the stones. Still she slept.
Magic. He carefully cast his last, precious dispel.
Dusty lashes fluttered, and Shayna Summerstar looked up at him rather warily.
He waited, a wand raised to blast her face. When she recognized him, she managed a weak smile. "Sir Broglan? Who-what's befallen?"
"I know not, lady," Broglan said gently, lowering his wand. This ruin around us is your home, 'tis morning. and since awakening I've found only death until I came upon you."
He put a gentle arm around her shoulders, and helped her sit up. "You are the heiress of House Summerstar," Broglan told her gravely, "and my duty is to protect you as best I can. I hope to take you out of this place, find a horse, and get you to court, if we find none else alive."
Shayna looked around wearily, and then down at herself, and made a face. "Who dressed me?"
Broglan flushed. "Ah-I did, lady," he said carefully, fearing an angry response.
She merely nodded, and smiled thinly.