Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [117]
"You hope?" Broglan asked, hesitantly.
"What was once a part of Bane is gone-destroyed, not driven out," Storm told him firmly, "but what is left behind could be a mindless thing, or something half-witted… or a Maxer who hates me for what I've done to him."
EPILOGUE
The hour was late, and the torches were guttering low. Storm watched them flicker toward smoky deaths. She glanced at the, bedchamber door for perhaps the thousandth time. Its closed surface told her nothing. She sighed, struck a chord on her harp, end let her fingers wander gently over the strings in an old, old song of wistful hope. She'd long since played all of her favorite ballads, several times, and then all the others she could remember or half-remember, and was on to the tunes-or snatches of them-that her fingers remembered when her mind could not. This one had lyrics of the half-remembered sort; she sang the few words that came to her…
"In the morning when the mists steal away, I'll still sit and softly play. I sing for you, every night, every day, the long years through…"
She was groping for the refrain when the door opened. Her fingers froze on the thrumming strings.
He stood there in a pair of her old breeches, barefoot and barechested, with one of her night cloaks thrown around his shoulders. He was smiling the way she remembered. His blue eyes were merry and bright.
Storm stared at him, unable to utter another sound.
"All these years you waited for me," Maxan Maxer said with a smile, his eyes shining. "I knew that, somehow, if I was ever set free, 'twould be my Storm that'd do it. Yes, my lady-'tis truly me, and not some last trick of the Dark One wearing my smile. Shall we carry on where we left off?"
Wordlessly Storm nodded, shaping his name with lips that trembled. She flung the harp down as if it were worthless kindling and leapt into his arms. Tears burst from her in a waterfall, and she could not speak.
"There, there," Maxer said soothingly, as he stroked her hair and shoulders, and felt her clinging to his ribs with bruising force. "Gods," he added huskily, a moment later, as his own eyes grew moist, "I've missed you. The feel of you, the smell of you… the warmth of your love."
They cried together for a time, and then looked into each other's eyes and laughed, and then cried again.
"Enough of this leaking all over the passage floor," Maxer growled after a time. I'm much more interested in doing this." His lips met hers hungrily, and bore down.
Storm moved in his arms and murmured, and silver fire swirled around them as they embraced. Maxer cried out in wordless wonder at its cool, cleansing touch… and then it died away, and they were somewhere else.
Somewhere with cold flagstones under their feet, and a woman hissing, "Gods above!" in shock. A sword rang from its sheath.
Storm and Maxer stood with their arms around each other and smiled at Shaerl Rowanmantel, the Lady of Shadowdale, who stared back at them in disbelief over the bright point of her drawn sword.
"Storm?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "Maxer?"
"Be at ease," said a musical voice from the empty air across the table. "They are truly what they seem to be. Welcome back, both of you."
Maxer stared around the low-beamed kitchen with a happy smile, scarce believing that he was in Storm's arms again, and would never have to leave. He cleared bis throat several times before he managed to say, "My thanks, Sylune… and my apologies, Lady Shaerl, for our precipitous arrival."
Storm smiled at them with very bright eyes, and then buried her face in Maxer's chest again and cried. Wearing an expression of amazement, Shaerl watched her shaking shoulders.
"So success managed to find you again, Sister," Sylune said briskly. They saw the kettle lift