Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [8]
The man swallowed. The long, slender sword that swung at his side hissed out into his hand… Raising it before him, he crouched to look cautiously all around… and then advanced quietly.
The cat did not move. In tile garden beyond, sang and flitted about unconcernedly. Somewhere nearby, a tree toad began its lazy buzz. The bright sun that was coming in a dozen windows and doors laid long fingers across the smooth-polished flagstone floor and made the flowers inside and out blaze with bright glory. Their delicate scents came past him on gently stirring breezes as the man took one last careful step, looked all around, and then stretched forth a cautious hand to touch that magnificent fall of silver hair. He'd be able to recognize Storm Silverhand, they'd told him, by her silver hair.
He'd best make sure. Hefting his sword, he touched the glossy strands of silver. They were real, silken to his fingertips.
The man in leathers sighed, gently wove his fingers through the hair, and lifted the woman's head. Lifeless eyes stared into his-and just behind him, a light, furious voice hissed, "Beware! The dead sleep uneasily!"
The man jumped upright and whirled around, heart in his throat as his blade flashed up-to point at a ghostly, floating human head. The head of a woman with long, flowing silver hair.
"Gods preserve me!" he choked. "You're-" Without taking his gaze from the head, he gestured at the slumped body behind him.
The head advanced slowly through the air, eyes angry.
The Harper swallowed, and took a step back and to one side to have clear room to swing his sword. His eye narrowed, judging just how distant the floating head was, and his free hand went to his belt. His fingers closed on-nothing. He felt around, finding the scabbard of his dagger empty.
Then he felt something else-something at his throat. Cold and smooth and very sharp it_was the edge of his missing dagger. Another hand took him by the opposite shoulder, clamping down like a claw of iron. A faint, spicy smell of sweat came to his nostrils.
"Tell me your name, and why you are here," a melodious female voice said calmly in to ear.
The man in leathers let his sword dangle from his fingertips and stood very still as he stammered, "I- Weapon Flarnshan, at your service. I'm a Harper-my pin is in my shoulder-pouch-and I'm here on Harper business, sent from Hillmarch in Cormyr Ah, where I dwell." His eyes darted to one Bide, and he tried to turn, but the hands that held him were as immobile as stone. Gods, she must be strong. "Have I the pleasure," he ventured, to voice trembling only slightly, "of addressing Storm Silverhand, the Bard of Shadowdale?"
"And if you are enjoying such a pleasure," the floating head asked expressionless, its tone a challenge, "what then?"
•Then I bring a message to deliver to her ears only. Words from the sorceress Aldaneth of Hillmarch."
Vrespon turned-to see his dagger flashing end-over-end toward him! He plucked at the air, managed to catch it, held it up with a grin of triumph- and dropped his sword.
"He's a Harper, all right," the floating head said in tones of amusement as she drifted past him, heading for the body on the chair. Vrespon glanced up as he retrieved his sword, saw the head settle onto the throat of the slumped body, and decided he really didn't want to watch. He'd remember that exposed throat, those lifeless eyes, and the fright of the voice behind him for days… perhaps years.
"I am Storm Silverhand," said the melodious voice, "and I apologize for the fright we gave you. You may speak freely in front of my sister-Sylune, called by some the Witch of Shadowdale. What message do you bring me, Vrespon?"
The Harper turned, rose, and sheathed his blade-to find himself facing a woman, wearing high, battered leather boots. She