Erlandar swore. "Gods, but you're a cool one," he murmured, shaking his head and reaching for his decanter.
"I'm not, you know," Storm told him intently, her tone making him look up and meet her gaze. "I've just had more years of learning control and acting than the rest of you."
"Chicken livers in spiced cream broth," the understeward said then.
Corathar made a face. Thalance ignored the tureen placed before him. Erlandar, Insprin, and Broglan, however, lifted the lids and ladled out generous portions.
As soon as her first spoonful touched her lips, Storm waved her arms and snarled, "Don't eat this!" Insprin dropped his spoon, and Broglan spat out the spoon that had just entered his mouth. Erlandar-who'd just swallowed-stared at her in horror.
"Oh, Mystra aid me!" Storm moaned in exasperation, and dived over the table, scattering dishes and decanters in all directions.
Erlandar was already turning purple around the lips when she leapt on him, knocking noble and chair over with a crash and coming down on top of him. In frantic haste, she glued her lips to his and called forth the silver fire. She'd just have to hope the foe didn't test the barrier now…
He didn't, thank the gods. The Summerstar noble bucked and squirmed under her, trying to speak. He then fell still, and slowly raised his hands to cradle her in his arms, as tenderly as any lover.
When Storm lifted her head from his at last, he was grinning at her, eyes shining. She gave him a slap and rolled off him.
"You old rogue," she said affectionately. She looked up to the others. "Let those livers be cast into the braziers without delay! What's in them could kill anyone who takes a mouthful. An earlier dish held poison meant just for me, but this time it seems the foe decided to leave me as alone as he could, by eliminating everyone else.
"Corathar, please hasten to the boldshield and tell him two things: he must check on the Lady Zarova without delay-and he must consider the understeward dead, and anyone who looks like him to be … the foe."
As the young wizard hurried from the room, Erlandar looked up at her with something like worship in his eyes. She reached out a hand and hauled him to his feet.
"Consider yourself honored, Lord Summerstar," Storm told him. "You're one of the few mortals to taste the divine fire of Mystra-and live."
"Lady," the old noble said huskily, "I shall worship the Mother Of All Magic henceforth, to my dying day."
"Dare we touch anything else on our plates," Broglan asked faintly, "or is it too late?"
Storm spread her hands. "Poison's not so easy to get or make as some think, but I doubt. . well, let me taste a bit of everything, and then you can eat and drink all you like."
"Right now, Lady Storm," Insprin said heavily, "that won't be much. What with crossbow bolts, and men lying dead by yonder door, poison on our platters, and the fire of Our Holy Lady of Spells, I'm … no longer hungry."
There was a general rumble of agreement.
Thalance grinned and said, "I feel a trifle ill, lady-kiss me?"
"Perhaps later," Storm told him with a grin. "I'm still hungry."
Broglan's eyes narrowed. "This silver fire," he asked, "it can't sustain you while it's holding that barrier, can it? You have to eat, to stay strong enough to go on-that's it, isn't it?"
Storm's eyes met his gravely. "Broglan, you see far too well for your own safety. Say nothing of this, any of you-or the foe will know of another gap in my armor."
"There's something else I should tell you, lady," Broglan said awkwardly. "We kept Athlan's notes from you. Frankly they don't hold much of use. They were largely what any novice mageling would write of his discoveries, plus a lot of dream visions, and-"
Storm frowned and held up a staying hand. "Did he dream a lot about dragons watching him?"
"Why, yes," the war wizard replied, matching her frown. "Do you know what it meant?"
Storm shrugged. "No. Not yet. Please say on."
"Well, the only thing we found of real interest is a few passages about the subsumption you spoke of-stealing powers from beings one kills. It seems that, long ago, Athlan discovered instructions for gaining this ability-instructions we can't find. He wrote that he found the process in notes made by a mad recluse, Glondar of Hilp, once a war wizard of Cormyr."
"And where did Glondar learn of it?" Storm asked softly.
Remembering, Insprin shook his head and shivered. The bard glanced at him, and then back at Broglan.
The leader of the war wizards looked grave. "Ah. Well. Glondar claimed, or so Athlan writes, to have come upon it in notes left by men he came to believe were avatars of two gods: Gargauth and … Bane."
In a chamber of dank darkness, sudden light flickered and glowed, eddying about a motionless figure slumped on a stone bench. Cold laughter arose as the radiance settled down to a steady glow.
"Soon," a tentacled thing told the slumped man. "Soon you'll be ready, my Hungry Man. And then-" His voice rose and danced with glee. "Then it will be time-" He chortled and began to shuffle about the room, the shape of his body flickering and changing wildly. "Time to feed!"
The cold laughter rose again, high and sharp, echoing around the chamber until it rolled out through the empty passages and rooms of the Haunted Tower.
After a moment, another sound joined it. Slobbering, the Hungry Man began laughing, too.
THIRTEEN
"All of this is edible," Storm said, looking at the grim-faced men around her. "Take it, just as it is, to some place in the keep you can defend. Go to the pantries and take what raw foodstuffs you can find, too. You'll need water more than anything. Erlandar, where in Firefall Keep are a few secure rooms-no secret passages and no cracked walls or ill-fitting doors? The rooms must have water, and space enough to improvise a privy."
Lord Summerstar frowned, looked at Thalance, and then said, "Well, there's a pump-room by the kitchens…."
He looked a question, but Thalance shrugged. "The only other pumps I know of are by the stables. There're wells in the Haunted Tower and in the courtyard, but I don't suppose we could defend either of those."
"The kitchens it'll have to be, then," Storm said, "but try to choose rooms that you can't be smoked out of if our foe sets the ovens or pantries alight with everything that'll burn."
"So we build ourselves a cage and cower in it," Thalance said, acquiring a frown of his own. I can see how that'll prevent this shapeshifter from catching us alone… but doesn't that give him free run of the keep, and keep us all in a known space he can hurl magic into whenever he pleases?"
Storm nodded. "All of that, yes. Consider warriors expendable-as most Purple Dragons already believe their commanders do-but necessary to guard the few war wizards we have left."
Thalance glanced at the two mages, wondered briefly what horrible fate might have already befallen the third. "And what will they be doing?"
"Trying to identify and keep track of our foe by means of wizard eye spells, so that I can shrink down my barrier around him and put him in a trap. This won't be quick or easy, especially after he guesses or learns what we're trying to do. The mages will need to sleep in shifts and be watched over constantly … we don't know how far the foe's mind powers can reach."
"Into our midst, you mean," old Insprin said calmly.
Storm nodded.
Broglan shook his head. "I don't like it," he said, looking around at the tureens and platters, "but I can't see any better way of doing things. We should act like we're taking this food back to the kitchens to start with, and all go to these rooms together. Then we'll have to shuttle our spellbooks and all down from our rooms."
He looked at the two Summerstars, and added, "If I may presume to give orders to you two, my lords, you're going to have to learn how to use wands that hurl magic missiles, so that you can defend us while we're packing up, dismantling, and such."