Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [65]
"Well met, Broglan," Storm said. Without pause, she turned to look at the two mages on either side of her and repeated her grave greeting, naming them both
Three sets of eyes narrowed. "How do we know," Broglan asked slowly, setting down his glass untasted, "that you are truly the Bard of Shadowdale-and not some deadly shapeshifter?"
Storm shrugged. "You don't. On the other hand, I doubt our deadly shapeshifter would know just when I promised to scratch old Vangey when next we met- do you recall?"
"Yes," Broglan said with a sigh. "Forgive my ill manners, Lady; pray sit down. The doors, Insprin?"
"I'll gladly sit and chat in a moment, Sir Broglan." the lady bard told him, "but there is a casting I must do first." And without further ado, she raised her hands and made a complex series of passes in the air, murmuring words the wizards could not quite hear.
Broglan flushed in anger, and opened his mouth to protest-but she was done, and smiling sweetly at him. He shrugged, reached for his glass, and said in acid tones, "I suppose you'll get around to telling me just what you've done when you have, say, some idle hours?"
Storm chuckled. "You war wizards certainly lack for fun,” she told him merrily. “All this grim silence and snapped orders, and keeping your laundry list deathly secret! Aren’t you even going to offer a lady a drink?”
The worried-looking senior war wizard sighed. “On one condition, Lady Storm: that you drop this giggling maiden act. I’d appreciate the teasing more if I wasn’t scared witless, and facing the first truly important threat to the realm that I’ve seen in years. Treat us as equals.”
"Will you in turn accept the authority Lord Vangerdahast gave me over you?" Storm asked quietly, meeting his eyes.
Broglan sighed again, and then said quietly, "Lady, I will. Corathar? Insprin?"
"We will," they said in rough chorus.
"Then let us drink to seal it," Storm said, extending her hand.
"There's only the one glass," Broglan protested.
"So fill it, and well share," Storm told him crisply. The spell I just cast here is called a 'watchful eye.' Like a magic mouth spell, it is triggered by certain conditions-in this case, by any attack in this room that unleashes fire or draws blood, or by entry into this room through any way but the doors I know of. I’ll write down the word of activation for you; don't speak it aloud until you really need to."
“What does uttering the word bring?” Insprin asked from close behind her.
“The spell creates sound and moving images of what befell in its area of effect when it was triggered-hopefully showing us just what was said and done after an attack occurred.”
“So the survivor can see who killed the rest of us,” Corathat said sarcastically.
“Corathar!” Broglan snapped angrily, but Storm held up her hand.
“A fair reaction,” the lady bard said quietly, “Being as you've given this mage under you no comfort" She sipped from the glass Broglan washolding and then offered it to Corathar.
"Drink, sir," she said quietly, "and know this: giving in to fear doesn't help. Let it keep you awake, and wary, and thinking, yes… but don't let it master you. Watch old Insprin, instead of envying and hating him; he knows this."
Corathar's eyes blazed, but he sipped from the cup carefully, and then passed it to Insprin, who murmured in mock-quavering tones, "Eh, Storm! Not to much of the 'old,' hear ye?"
It was just the right thing to say, they all burst into sputtering laughter, and rocked together in shared mirth for a moment.
Broglan took back his glass before the last of the wine got spilled. "We know we face a shapeshifter- something called a Malaugrym, Lord Vangerdahast ventured-so what will seeing a shape assumed by this killer tell us? Why set the spell?"
It was Storm's turn to sigh. "My magic is little better than yours, gentlesirs; not all who serve Mystra can rend mountaintops.