Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [2]
And then, as it always did, despite her moan, the grisly thing leapt into her lap, hissing wetly, "I love you!" Still trailing blood, it sprang at her face, lips pursed to kiss her
*****
Storm Silverhand awoke screaming, cradling nothing in front of her mouth. Her silver hair stood out arrow-straight from her skull, and her bare body wee drenched with sweat.
"No! Oh, gods, no!" she sobbed, sliding down the far wall of the room where she somehow always ended up. Her trembling body was as wet as if she'd been for a swim, and as always, her skin had shed blood as well as sweat. Sylune was hovering anxiously over the empty bed, surveying sheets and blankets that had been slashed as if by frantic swings of a sword.
As she always did, Sylune watched silently as Storm panted her way back to coherence, rolling over onto her knees and sobbing. "Why did he have to die?" she cried out. "Why?"
Wisely, her sister kept silent, even when Storm raised her tearstained face. "I was so close! So close! And I could not save him!"
Fresh tears choked her for a time, and she crawled blindly back toward the bed, crying, "I should never have left his side/ I should have been there! I-ohhh, Mystra, aid me!"
That last, despairing wail took all the energy she had left with it; the Bard of Shadowdaie fell on her face on the floor and wept her way into slow oblivion.
When she awakened once more, Sylune's hair was softly brushing her bare shoulder. "Storm," the gentle voice came from above her, "a warm bath awaits you, and the sun is coming up. Rise, and put Maxer behind you once more."
“My thanks," Storm whispered, not moving, her cheek against the cold stone. She shivered, suddenly, and added, "Sylun6? Stay with me just now.. please?"
"It was a bad one," her sister said soothingly. "They seem to be the worst when they herald doom."
Storm sat up, her face pale but calm. "Oh, yes," she said wearily. "Somewhere, and soon, there will come another death that will matter greatly-another that I cannot stop." She gained and sighed. "A murder, of course. One more Harper will die."
One
STARFALL
"Look!"
The cry burst forth from one of the Purple Dragons as the honor guard stood back from the pyre. Heads jerked up, wearing the annoyed expressions of folk embarrassed by an unseemly outburst. Frowns melted away in awe. Athlan's sister even broke off her sobbing to give a cry of near-delight. In the dusky sky over the distant Stonelands, a solitary light was plunging to earth: a falling star.
"Praise be," one guard muttered, "a good sign."
The Harvestmaster of Chauntea drew breath thunderously acclaim this mark of divine favor. The old priest raised his voice in a tremulous declamation.
The gods-some god, at least-saw good or at least important times ahead for the noble House of Summerstar, here on the very edge of Cormyr. The assembled family members looked suitably gratified.
A moment later, the crackling flames rose with a sudden roar, hiding from them all the shrouded form that had been Athlan Summerstar.
The seneschal's gaze went from the racing flames to the icily beautiful face of the dowager lady. Even before he could have tactfully suggested such a thing, the matriarch of the Summerstars-Dowager Lady Pheirauze Summerstar-had ordered her grandson burned by holy handfire to banish any harmful magic. She now stood watching-calmly, even haughtily. But then, she did everything haughtily, carrying herself with the smooth sophistication that sixty winters of high station and great beauty had brought.
She stood at the center of the gathered family, tall and slender, and the firelight that found her danced on a face that showed more annoyance than sorrow. Athlan had failed her, tearing asunder her schemes of greatness for the Summerstars. She'd probably not live to see another male Summerstar heir ready to ride to Suzail and impress whichever king sat the Dragon Throne then. Worse than that, he'd failed her in a way that left her unable to get even with him… and Pheirauze Summerstar always