Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [27]
" This last one'-the Harper, you mean?”
The steward came to an abrupt halt. "Ah-no, lady… haven't they told you?"
Storm sighed. "Obviously not. Why don't you tell me, then?"
Ilgreth Drimmer nodded. "There's been a third gone, just before your arrival, lady. The war wizards think you struck him down."
"Why?" Storm asked calmly.
The old steward's eyes flicked sideways to assure himself that she was as level-hearted as she sounded, She was He replied, "A Harper pin was found on the body-and it was not the pin belonging to the dead Harper. I fear Sarmyn thought it was a boast from you."
"Whose body was this?"
"One of the war wizards who came here to learn who slew Lord Summerstar… Lhansig Dlaerlin."
"I've never heard that name," Storm said with a wrinkle of her brow. "What can you tell me about him?"
The steward shrugged. "I saw him only a handful of times, and briefly. A wizard who was always smiling… a sly one. "Twouldn't surprise me if he knew more secrets than many folk wanted known."
Storm nodded, managing not to sigh. Everyone's favored foe. "And how was he found?"
"The man was struck down in a garderobe, after a feast," Drimmer said, "burned out, like the others."
"Nowhere near the Haunted Tower?"
"Nay lady. Just outside the hall where you've been dining. the old steward said. He fumbled with his keys. "These chambers are yours, and I should tell you that the wizards've ordered a doorguard to stand right here as soon as you retire.”
“To keep me from creeping around Firefall Keep in the dark hours,” Storm murmured, “in case I should fall and hurt myself.”
Ilgreth Drimmer’s moth twisted into a wry grin. “In a manner of speaking, lady, yes. I’ll just light another lamp in here, and-“
He broke off with a queer, sobbing sort of gulp, and stood very still. Storm had to thrust him aside to see what he was staring at.
The center of the room held a fine, gray-cloaked bed whose backboard soared up into an overhead bunting. It faced the door through the open doors of a small antechamber. Her luggage, most of it opened, lay at the foot of the bed. In its midst sat the seneschal of Firefall Keep, waiting for them.
He would wait forever, now. Renglar Baerest sat atop the duffels in Storm's open strongchest, his booted legs spread. Between them his chest and gut had been torn open, clothes and all, to reveal a slumped chaos of entrails and gore in which a lone, delighted fly was buzzing. Over this carnage the seneschal grinned at them, two staring eyes fixed forever on the doorway where they stood.
Those eyes were the only scraps of familiarity left on a head that had been otherwise burnt away to a bare, charred skull. A fall of ash lay thick upon the shoulders of the corpse, and it wasn't hard to see where it had come from.
Drimmer made a few broken, whistling sounds, and Storm saw that his mouth was moving. He was trying to say something, but finding no words.
"A fourth death," she murmured to herself. "Cormyr used to be quieter than this."
The old steward started to tremble. Storm's arms went protectively around his shoulders. "He went in battle, Ilgreth," she told him gently, "as he would have wished."
The old man sobbed, trying to nod. Tears ran down his face as he turned to her, blindly took hold of two locks of her hair, and snarled, "He was my last friend, lady! The last man left who swung a sword with me for the realm! Oh, gods look down! May they give you the power to do what I beseech you to!"
"And what's that, friend?" Storm asked, cradling him to her breast as if he was a small child.
The old man raised blazing eyes to her, and hissed through his tears, "Find the one who did this to Renglar! Find him-or it-and tear them apart! And if it takes my hand in aid, even if it costs my life, too- call for it!"
"Sir,