Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [24]
"We do not," Pheirauze observed frostily, "have many guests here in the vale."
"Aye," Storm Silverhand replied, tossing a stray lock of long silver hair back over her right shoulder to join the rest of the glossy flow there, "that I can well believe "
One of the war wizards snickered, and Pheirauze stiffened. Only pride kept her from looking away from Storm's steady gaze. An instant later, anger broke that reserve, and the dowager lady's head snapped around. By then, though, the mage has recovered his control, and all the war wizards wore frowningly thoughtful faces.
Damn them, Pheirauze thought. Just once, she'd like to wipe that smug standing-above-everyone-but-caring-about-the-realm worldly confidence off their faces. Just once. She wondered what it would take
*****
Renglar Baerest, seneschal of Firefall Keep, puffed one last time into the room with the soft gray tapestries. Lady Maerla's Room, it was-the most remote and smallest of the guest apartments, and hard by the dusty passages that led into the Haunted Tower. It was a fitting place for Lady Silverhand to sleep. Maerla had been a Harper and a quiet, strong-willed woman who'd dabbled in magic, the family history said. She was an adventuress who'd married a Summerstar out of love.
It was also said in the family that Maerla's room was haunted-more strongly than the entire Haunted Tower, if folk Maerla disapproved of tried to sleep in her bed. The seneschal thoughtfully regarded the soaring gray canopy of that central sleeping-place, bowed, and told the empty air around him, "Pray, excuse this intrusion, Lady Maerla. As seneschal of the keep, it is my paramount duty to see to the security of us all, so I must search the belongings of the lady who'll be sleeping here this night: Storm Silverhand, a Harper of some repute. Forgive me."
The silence was deafening. Renglar shrugged, bent over the largest trunk, and lifted its lid. Thankfully, the Lady Storm felt confident enough in her power not to bother with locks, and the old amulet he wore ought to ward off at least one spell trap. Its feeble powers might not protect against a second magic, though-which is why he was starting with the things least likely to be protected. An old, scratchy gray wool cloak covered everything. Renglar took careful note of the way it was folded, lifted it aside, and cautiously plucked out what lay beneath.
A belt bristling with sheathed daggers, several slimheeled boots that a Purple Dragon would look ridiculous in… and a spare sword. Best leave that sheathed for now; it probably did bear magics. The next item glowed with faint enchantments even when closed and undisturbed. By its shape, the seneschal recognized the smooth wooden case as the home of a harp.
Well of course. She was the Bard of Shadowdale. Renglar turned to the next trunk. It seemed to be full of tattered silk…well, no.
He held one garment up, frowned, turned it around-and swallowed. He let it fall onto the lid and plucked up the next one. And then the next. His frown deepened. These were not the sort of gauzy underthings respectable women wore.
His frown turned into a smile when he saw what lay at the bottom of the trunk, beneath thirty or more scarves, sashes, and silken nothings: a leather war harness. It was the plain, sturdy sort that a working soldier would wear, as slashed, mended, and sweat-stained as most. Renglar restored both trunks to the way they'd been and turned to nearest duffel.
Being a seneschal in Firefall Keep involved more than one man's share of odd tasks. Like this one: unwrapping a canvas bundle to reveal a garment that seemed to be made entirely of lengths of fine chain. He'd give a lot to know when she'd have occasion to wear a gown like this…
No, he couldn't think of any prudent way to ask her. Renglar sighed, and reached deeper into the duffel.
Wait-what was this?
*****
"Weather magic has always been a temptation," Sotrm told them, "but the teachings of Baerauble-if any of his own words have survived-should tell you why it must