Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [74]
“You said he had her in thrall,” the wizard Insprin said quietly. “Can this foe do the same thing to the rest of us?”
Storm shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, “but surely his killings could be fewer, and he could show himself less, if he could control anyone from a distance.”
“Azoun’s eyes,” the understeward announced, carefully not meeting Storm’s gaze.
“What’s ‘Azoun’s eyes’?” Corathar whispered, eyeing the steaming tureen set down in front of him.
“Oysters in spiced aled,” Storm told him, leaning forward conspiratorially.
Erlandar’s gaze went involuntarily to the pectoral gleaming on her breast-and his eyes narrowed. “That jewelry you’re wearing…isn’t it the same design as one I see often on Queen Filfaeril?”
"Yes," Storm told him, filling a bowl with a hearty helping of Azoun's eyes. "It bears some magical defenses."
"Such as?" Thalance asked.
Storm smiled thinly. "It's unwise to reveal such things when anyone may be your foe, but I'll show you just one." She pushed back the sleeve of her open shirt unbuckled the dagger strapped to her forearm, and fastened it high up by her shoulder, to hold the sleeve up.
Extending her bare arm out across the table, she said gently, "My Lord Erlandar, I know that the death of Pheirauze troubles you-and you ache to have something to smite and carve with your sword. So strike at me now, with all your strength and savagery."
Erlandar frowned at her. "This is-not right, lady," he said in protest, shaking his head.
"Please," Storm said. "Thalance needs to see a little magic."
She held up her other hand in warning. "Only pray balance yourself, as if you might miss, to avoid a fall."
Erlandar stood up, still frowning at her. and his blade slowly slid out. "It's a trick, then -the magic will make me miss."
"Try to cut my arm off," Storm replied gravely, "and you'll see. You will not be harmed."
Erlandar shrugged, and then raised his blade. With a smooth lift of his shoulders, he swept his blade down in a cut across her forearm. The steel slid through her flesh as if it were empty air, and left no wound behind. Her arm was untouched. Thalance stared at it in fascination.
"An ironguard," Broglan said, and Storm nodded. "Try again, Erlandar-really back: you'll feel better."
The eldest Summerstar man gave her a hard look and then growled and swung his blade down again hacking and hewing like a man possessed. In the midst of the flashing steel the understeward came in at the head of another line of servers, glided to a stop, and waited politely until Erlandat lowered his blade, panting-and Storm withdrew her unmarked arm.
"Old coins," Thurdal announced gravely, setting down the lead platter.
When the servers had done the same and turned away, Corathar leaned forward and whispered, "Right-what're 'old coins'?"
"Egg, cheese, and marrow pies," Storm and Insprin told him, more or less in unison. The bard was still standing, calmly rolling her sleeve down, when the unmistakable crack of a crossbow firing echoed across the hall-followed by the loud, rising thrum of a streaking quarrel.
With an angry buzz, it zipped between Thalance and Broglan, burst right through Storm's body, and splintered against the far wall. Everyone at the table whirled around-except Thalance, who kept his awed eyes on the lady bard. Storm herself was already gazing at her would-be slayer.
Everyone else saw a Purple Dragon hurl down his crossbow and flee, the doors banging wide in his wake. The passage beyond was strewn with the bodies of other guards.
“Gentlesirs, the foe,” Storm announced calmly.
The doors at the other end of the hall, behind them, burst open, and the boldshield hastened in with his sword drawn, Purple Dragons all around him. They glanced quickly around the tables and then ran on down the hall, toward their dead comrades.
As if in unspoken accord, everyone at table turned to look at Storm. She was unhurt, no mark left in her breast-where the pectoral glittered almost tauntingly. Calmly buckling her dagger back into place, she looked up and said brightly, “Oh, did