Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [21]
As forks flashed into boar, Broglan Sarmyn of the war wizards cut into the silence with a hearty sally. "Pray, forgive me, Lady Silverhand, if this is a question one does not ask, but why were you 'Chosen' by the Divine Mother of Magic as one of her mortal servants? You're not-so far as we know-of the first rank of archmages, or even particularly powerful in magic.
Storm raised an eyebrow. "There is never a crime in asking such things… but seldom a clear response, either I truly don't know how much I should reveal of the nature of the Chosen. Why don't you offer a prayer to the divine lady I serve and we both-I presume- worship, and see what she makes clear unto you?"
"Of course," Broglan said politely, unsurprised. "I shall do so later this night." He lapsed into silence with a satisfied air, his purpose accomplished. As they'd spoken, the Lady Pheirauze had leaned over to hiss something in Erlandars ear-something about adopting a less confrontational manner.
Erlandar leaned forward, raised his glass to Storm to get her attention, and said in coldly polite tones, "I'd forgotten that as a guest here, you may be unfamiliar with your surroundings. You've probably wondered where the name 'Firefall Keep' came from, for example…
Storm, who knew very well how the keep had won its curious name, said nothing, but favored Erlandar with an encouraging, wordless smile.
"Well, this great fortress we Summerstars call home is named for the vale it stands in-but the vale got its name centuries ago, when our house was founded. A nest of red dragons laired high in the nearby peaks- wyrms so fierce and hungry that elves dared not dwell in the vale, despite whatever bargain had been struck between the old Purple Dragon and the elven Lord of Scepters."
Erlandars voice rose in volume and passion as he chanted the well-known sentences that followed-and he rose with it, standing with arms spread. He stared almost defiantly across the table at Storm. "Dragons that suffered no elf to stride uneaten in the vale welcomed men even less-or perhaps, welcomed them into their gullets even more. When the founder of our house, Glothgam Summersstar, led his men into the vale, he won past repeated swooping attacks. In time the dragons retreated to their caves high in Mount Glendaborr-caves you can still see today, if you don't mind facing the ghosts of dragons! There, they worked a mighty magic."
Erlandar leaned forward, fixing his eyes on Storm as if his very glare could slay her. "Then, as now Turnwyrm Brook flowed down the heart of the vale to join the Immerflow, and Glothgam was camped beside it. As he and his men were watering their horses and bathing, the brook's flowing waters became a roaring river of flame! Many died screaming in this Firefall, but Glothgam did not quail. The wyrms swept down from on high to see what death they'd wrought-and he called on the powers of the enchanted blade he bore the Sword of the Summer Winds, and soared aloft to meet them, slaying three before the others fled. Twould make a handsome ballad, Harper!"
Storm nodded. "It has."
"What?" Erlandar cried in astonishment. "So why've I not heard of such a song?"
"The song centers on the sword, not on Glothgam," Storm said quietly, "and speaks of the greatness the blade could bring Cormyr. Years after minstrels first sang the song, rebels borrowed its words so they could recognize each other at midnight meetings. When the rebellion failed, the king of the time outlawed the ballad-and the Summerstars of the day were only too happy: they'd grown very tired of visiting thieves tearing down every third panel and tapestry in the keep looking for