Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [32]
"Hundarr," Broglan asked in commanding tones, pointing, "is that table clear?"
The war wizard nodded gravely, took a stance, and cast a spell of detection with as much showmanship and grand oratory as he could muster. Storm, Ergluth, and several veteran armsmen hid their smiles; several of the more junior Purple Dragons didn't bother.
Lost in his moment of glory, Hundarr missed the display of mirth. He strode around the crypt, looking this way and that, and finally announced, "Faint magics-possibly preservative enchantments-around those three coffins, this one, and that one over there. The rest of the chamber, including the table, is clear, Sir Broglan."
The senior war wizard gave him a tight smile. “Good,” He turned to Storm and Ergluth. “Well?”
“Which of those coffins contains Athlan’s handful?” Storm asked. The wizard laid his hand on the newest, and she said, "Bring it forth, and pour it out on the table. Lanterns well clear, good sirs.''
Broglan raised his eyebrows, but did as he was bid. Storm looked down at the small heap of cinders, turned her head away to sigh, and said quietly, I'm told you carry a spell you're very proud of. Sir Broglan… one of your own devising, that returns things to their last shape. Will you cast it on these ashes, please?"
The war wizard looked at her in surprise, more for her knowledge of his prize enchantment than for what he'd been asked to do. He said, The body my spell will fashion can be no more than an empty shell, feather-light and very short-lived. Whatever you want to do, do it quickly."
Storm merely gestured for him to continue. Broglan met her eyes doubtfully for a moment. He took several small items from the sleeves and lapels of his robe and, with slow and exacting care, cast his spell.
The ashes on the stone table gradually drew together and shaped themselves into a sprawled body. Storm regarded it critically as it changed from a thing of black flakes tinged with white or brown to an almost corpselike shape of dull gray.
"How long can you hold it thus?" she asked.
"Not long," Broglan said flatly. Tiny beads of sweat sprung into being on his forehead. Ah. That short a time, then. She went straight to work.
The shape of Athlan Summerstar lay on his back, naked, a smooth nothing where his face should be. Storm indicated this. "Is that your spell, or had he no face when he died?"
That's what it looked like when he breathed his last," Broglan said tersely. "I've never seen one of these reconstructions with no eyes before-but my spell could not have been miscast, or you'd have no images at all to look at."
“Could the face have been burnt away?” Storm asked sharply, bending by the ash-image’s ear.
Broglan looked surprised, and then said, “Yes. Yes, certainly. That would almost have to bee the reason for no trace of eyes. They must have been gone before he died.”
Storm nodded somberly. That's what I thought," she said quietly, and bent over the shape again.
"I see a dead man, lying on his back," Ergluth Rowanmantle said, standing at the crypt doors. "Can you see more?"
Storm nodded and pointed. "See the mark, and the darker area? A sword came out of his breast there. So our mysterious murderer drove a blade through a young and energetic man from behind, and did the burning after."
"But why?" the boldshield said. "Concealing who the victim was is the only reason I know besides disease banishment to set fire to a man's face… And we knew immediately who the victim was."
"What if someone-Athlan himself?-has taken the shape of another Summerstar, say, and tried to leave the body of someone else behind, burnt to conceal the fact that it wasn't really Athlan, as we're all assuming?" the war wizard Corathar asked excitedly…
“You’ve been reading too many dead-knight chapbooks, lad,” Insprin Turnstone said wearily from beside him. “Now belt up, and listed to the lady.”
Storm was bent over the ash-shape, frowning as she