Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [70]
Yes. That would be best. First the hun-
He looked up, startled. A glowing figure appeared on the balcony above him. It was robed, bearded, and gaunt. As he watched, it gabbled something silent, pointed its hand down at unseen foes, and hurled a bolt of soundless, ghostly light. He tensed and almost sprang from his seat, but the apparition faded. It and its spell were but harmless phantoms; visions of the Haunted Tower.
But what if a phantom were not harmless? What if he could create his own automaton to surprise Storm Silverhand with attacks when her power and attention were bent on an annoyingly successful shapeshifter? What if she faced more than one foe?
Yes… he did spring up this time, and strode through an archway toward another part of the keep. He needed a servant, one who'd scarce be missed.
Some places in Faerun attracted and fostered and preserved hauntings-battlefields, aye, but what was it about places like this dark and gloomy tower? It was so rife with ghosts that the family who dwelt here had abandoned it. They spent their lives walking around it not talking of it. Was there some magic here he couldn't feel, or something else he could use? He must return when the next victories were his, return and find out…
Right now, he needed a servant. One like this one. A water-bearer, spending his days groaning under the weight of buckets. He was bent over now, dipping water from the well pool into a jug, with loud splashing sounds. He did not even see the hands that descended to his ears and flashed fire between them.
The man staggered, squealed in astonished pain, and grabbed blindly at the edge of a nearby tapestry trying to claw his way erect.
The old, rotting tapestry tore away in his hand, and he fell on his face into the water. The fire flashed again, and Mathom Drear, cellarer of the ewer, shuddered once and bay still.
Delicately the shapeshifter seared the brain, burning away all thoughts but obedience and love for… a certain mind like this. He smiled, turned, and hastened back to the Haunted Tower, his mindless slave dripping along in his wake.
"Mathom Drear," he muttered, surveying the empty-eyed face. "Gods, what a name." He'd have to strenghten his control over the mind that now held only thought of him, and no memories of its own; an exacting task…
He made the cellarer sit on the stained high seat He stared thoughtfully at the mindless man. Once the shapeshifter's newly gained memories surged and swirled, threatening to overwhelm him, but he snarled, bit his hp until the blood flowed, and fought the maelstrom down…
"Let there be two enemies seeking Storm Silverhand," he said aloud, his voice echoing in the dark, dusty room. The Foe, and… Hungry Man." He laughed. "Aye, I'll make you hungry for her doom!"
He stroked his chin, considering just how to feed the mindless husk with spells and energy, to make it capable of striking a Chosen of Mystra and holding her- just long enough for her true foe to overwhelm her!
"Yes!" he shouted. YES YES YES! The memories swelled up with a roar and burst through his tattered control…
An observer, had one dared to venture into the dark and lofty hail at the heart of the Haunted Tower, would have seen a slack-jawed man sitting in a chair, staring endlessly at nothing. Another creature danced around it, cackling in wild, deranged glee… a creature who was sometimes a darkly handsome warrior, and at other times a stout, nude woman of mature years. Then again, it was also a warrior in the armor of the Purple Dragons, and at other times a young, sly-looking man in plain robes-and a war hound, or a water snake, or a griffon, or a handsome, imperious young man, or a grim old seneschal, or another young man, or…
The shifts in shape became faster and wilder, with tentacles and glossy black biting