Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [6]
He roared out for the guards, and added to his below, "Bring me war wizards-and fast, damn you!
Who had answered him from behind that door?
Two
HARPS AND FIREWOOD, WIZARDS
AND GHOSTS
All summer long her hounds had been running along the old tree trunk fence. Last night, it had finally given way, collapsing with a dull double crack and leaving easy passage for deer. As much as Storm Silverhand loved to look out the window in the misty dawn and see deer prancing among the trees, she didn't want to see them out the other window-in her fields of lettuce and squash and asparagus. So, this early morn found her puffing down the back trail, a full-grown duskwood tree on her shoulders; one just right to fill the gap.
It was as long as three horses, and weighed almost as much. Storm's face was dark with effort as she bent to put it in just the right place. One of the wolfhounds raised its head and smiled at her. She tousled its ears affectionately. "Thanks for the help. Old Boldblade," she told it in mock disgust, and then headed for the rain barrel to wash off the sweat.
It was early, yet, and chill mists were still drifting along the ground like vengeful ghosts. Even so Bard of Shadowdale wore only floppy old boots, elbow length gauntlets of heavy leather, and a fine sheen of sweat. Halfway to the barrel, she changed her mind about washing. By the looks of the fast-brightening sky, the sun was going to be hot today. It would be more comfortable, by far, to get a good lot of firewood chopped and split before full sunlight reached the chopping floor.
She sang an ancient elven song about a maiden who rode a stallion across half the Realms without realizing the horse beneath her was in truth her lover. He had been trapped in stallion-shape by the wicked spells of a rival. As she sang, Storm hefted her largest, sharpest axe, and set to work.
It felt good to put her shoulders fully behind a blow, swing hard, and see the wood cleave and leap. Storm laughed aloud and picked up the pace, Hinging her finished work in all directions. The split segments could be tidied away later.
One shadow top was particularly dry. It spun up from the chopping block almost into her face. Storm smote it away with the back of the axe head, sending it spinning end over end across the hollow.
"Hoy! Mind out!" an amused and familiar called.
Storm tossed hair and sweat aside from her with one deft hand and grounded her axe with other. The protest had come from a floating, disembodied head that hung in midair. The head trailed flowing tresses of a silvery hue that matched Storm's own. It was floating right about where the piece of wood must have flown.
"Why? It's not as if you're solid!" Storm replied stretching.
"It's the principle of the thing," the floating head replied tartly, and added, "Nice ribs, there."
Storm put her hands on her hips and stuck out her tongue. Her sister laughed and added, "Besides-i could be."
"Principled?" Storm asked, plucking up her axe again.
"Solid" Sylune replied, floating over to hang at her shoulder for a better view.
"Huh," Storm said, exhaling with sharp effort after axe came down on a duskwood trunk that had been drying for most of the season. It split crosswise, with a satisfying crunch. The bard kicked one end of it askew to have more room to split the other. "Why aren't you using your body, now that you've got one again?"
The Witch of Shadowdale made the little hopping motion in midair that meant she'd shrugged but forgotten she currently had no shoulders. "One has one's reputation to maintain. Besides, I'm used to being able to drift about, now-and my body's perfectly safe where it is."
"Reputation? My shapely behind!" Storm snorted, as wood clunked and flew again.