Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [41]
He was a dozen angry paces from Storm's door and the expressionless Purple Dragons flanking it when a shadow stepped away from the wall in front of him.
With a start, he recognized Ergluth Rowanmantle, the boldshield of Northtrees March.
"What is this-a court meeting?" Broglan snapped. "This had better be worth rousing me at this hour." Close on the heels of his words came the faint cry of a rooster from the vale beyond the keep walls. "Bloody Harpers," the wizard added-and of course, the bedchamber door in front of both men swung open at that moment.
"A favorite expression of mine, too, Storm agreed mildly, waving at them to enter. She wore a fine court gown, complete with earrings to outdazzle those of the old Summerstar aunts. A pectoral flashed and gleamed all down the low front where her gown was cut away.
Broglan found himself looking where that pectoral was designed to make him look. He harrumphed and fixed a gimlet eye on the Bard of Shadowdale. "You summoned me, Lady Silverhand?"
"Both of you, actually," Storm told him calmly. "You'll find the reason why in the bed there. Lord Rowanmantle, if you'd be so kind?"
Ergluth gave her the weary look of a man who knows just what unpleasant thing is coming. With one hand, he turned back the bedclothes. Murndal Claeron lay on his back spread-eagled on the linens, his head dark, burned out, and hollow.
Broglan stared, openmouthed. and found no words to say. Empty, sightless eye sockets stared up at him, and the mouth was a similar gaping void. Something with talons had shredded the enchanted cloak, but he could see no sign of the false scepter. "Suppose you tell us," the boldshield said, after a swift glance at the white-faced leader of the war wizards, just how this mage came to be here." "I'd also like to know that," Storm replied. "Whoever sent this unfortunate to me in the wee hours-he appeared in midair, and fell right on top of me-must be familiar with a spell unknown to me: magic that can teleport the dead."
Broglan made a wordless sound of denial and disbelief.
"He was on a mission for you?" Storm asked quietly. "Where was he going when he left your study?"
They waited, but Broglan merely shook his bowed head and covered his eyes. The boldshield made a certain gesture; his men withdrew and closed the door, leaving the three of them alone in the bedchamber with the sprawled corpse.
"All the younger magelings found it necessary to go and do urgent things at the same time yestereve," Ergluth said grimly. "No doubt their scurrying was to achieve one purpose: allowing this luckless boy his chance to slip away unseen. Where did he go, Broglan?"
The war wizard shook his head again.
"He went into the Haunted Tower, didn't he?" Storm asked quietly.
Broglan's head snapped up; his eyes were wild. "No!"
"He may have been heading elsewhere," Storm continued relentlessly, "but to get there he had to avoid Ergluth's guard posts. And to do that, he got himself into the dark ways where he could travel unhindered." She sighed. "He was heading for the crypt, wasn't he?"
Broglan said nothing, but they could tell from his sudden stillness that she'd hit upon the truth.
Storm shook her head. "Well, another wizard is dead, and can tell us nothing." She walked away from the bedside, adding, "I doubt he can be restored, short of direct divine intercession… Mystra doesn't tend to do such things even for great mages, to say nothing ambitious novices. He's gone."
She turned to face them both, and asked with exasperation, "Sir Broglan, isn't it about time we started to work together? While you indulge in your little plots and secrets, your magelings go on dying. I can't fight to protect someone I don't know is out there, roaming the keep like a thief."
That stung. Broglan's head jerked around to face her fully, and his eyes blazed. Still he kept silent. The Purple Dragon commander put his hand on the hilt of his sword,