Stormlight

EPILOGUE

The hour was late, and the torches were guttering low. Storm watched them flicker toward smoky deaths. She glanced at the bedchamber door for perhaps the thousandth time. Its closed surface told her nothing. She sighed, struck a chord on her harp, and let her fingers wander gently over the strings in an old, old song of wistful hope. She'd long since played all of her favorite ballads, several times, and then all the others she could remember or half-remember, and was on to the tunes-or snatches of them-that her fingers remembered when her mind could not. This one had lyrics of the half-remembered sort; she sang the few words that came to her.

"In the morning when the mists steal away, I'll still sit and softly play. I sing for you, every night, every day, the long years through.."

She was groping for the refrain when the door opened. Her fingers froze on the thrumming strings.

He stood there in a pair of her old breeches, barefoot and barechested, with one of her night cloaks thrown around his shoulders. He was smiling the way she remembered. His blue eyes were merry and bright.

Storm stared at him, unable to utter another sound.

"All these years you waited for me," Maxan Maxer said with a smile, his eyes shining. "I knew that, somehow, if I was ever set free, 'twould be my Storm that'd do it. Yes, my lady-'tis truly me, and not some last trick of the Dark One wearing my smile. Shall we carry on where we left off?"

Wordlessly Storm nodded, shaping his name with lips that trembled. She flung the harp down as if it were worthless kindling and leapt into his arms. Tears burst from her in a waterfall, and she could not speak.

"There, there," Maxer said soothingly, as he stroked her hair and shoulders, and felt her clinging to his ribs with bruising force. "Gods," he added huskily, a moment later, as his own eyes grew moist, "I've missed you. The feel of you, the smell of you… the warmth of your love."

They cried together for a time, and then looked into each other's eyes and laughed, and then cried again.

"Enough of this leaking all over the passage floor," Maxer growled after a time. "I'm much more interested in doing this." His lips met hers hungrily, and bore down.

Storm moved in his arms and murmured, and silver fire swirled around them as they embraced. Maxer cried out in wordless wonder at its cool, cleansing touch.. and then it died away, and they were somewhere else.

Somewhere with cold flagstones under their feet, and a woman hissing, "Gods above!" in shock. A sword rang from its sheath.

Storm and Maxer stood with their arms around each other and smiled at Shaerl Rowanmantle, the Lady of Shadowdale, who stared back at them in disbelief over the bright point of her drawn sword.

"Storm?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "Maxer?"

"Be at ease," said a musical voice from the empty air across the table. "They are truly what they seem to be. Welcome back, both of you."

Maxer stared around the low-beamed kitchen with a happy smile, scarce believing that he was in Storm's arms again, and would never have to leave. He cleared his throat several times before he managed to say, "My thanks, Sylune.. and my apologies, Lady Shaerl, for our precipitous arrival."

Storm smiled at them with very bright eyes, and then buried her face in Maxer's chest again and cried. Wearing an expression of amazement, Shaerl watched her shaking shoulders.

"So success managed to find you again, Sister," Sylune said briskly. They saw the kettle lift from its hook by the hearth and head toward the pump. "There are scones in the warming-oven, and I suppose you'll be wanting tea."

"Tea," Maxer said slowly, and then one end of his mouth lifted in an impish grin. "And-zzar?"

"Of course," the unseen Witch of Shadowdale replied dryly. "It's in the cupboard behind you-if you can bring yourself to peel one inch of your flesh away from my sister for an instant or two."

The filled kettle drifted back toward the fire, and Sylune added briskly, "You can put away your steel and get me cups for six, Shaerl. There's nothing out and ready to carve up yet."

"Six?" the Lady of Shadowdale asked slowly, sliding her sword back into its sheath. "But-"

The end of the table she was facing glimmered suddenly, and Sylune said, "Ah, they're here-commendably swift of them!"

The glimmering became a flash that died away to reveal a smiling, barefoot couple whose robes and hair were somewhat in disarray. The Simbul and Elminster nodded and smiled at the dumbfounded Shaerl and strode across the room to embrace Storm and Maxer.

The kitchen was suddenly a happy chaos of sobbing, laughing, and hugging folk. Shaerl stepped back and shook her head with a smile. She'd never get used to instant magical comings and goings, not if she lived to see two hundred winters or more!

A sudden aura of light surrounded Maxer's head, and he stiffened in Elminster's embrace. Storm turned quickly in the Simbul's arms to see what had befallen-and saw an identical aura gathering in the air about her.

"What-?" she began, and then fell silent as Maxer gave her both a rueful smile and a nod of reassurance.

"Sorry, lad," Elminster said gruffly, releasing Storm's beloved, "but we had to be sure."

"Of course," Maxer replied-as Storm felt the first swift darting of her sister's probe in her mind. She stiffened just as Maxer had, and then took a deep breath, forced herself to relax, and let the Simbul do her work.

"Sorry, Sister," the Queen of Aglarond said quietly, a moment later, releasing her.

"Acceptable, am I?" Storm asked teasingly, suddenly very weary. "Does that mean I can have tea?"

The Simbul smiled a little sadly, hearing the edge in Storm's voice, and impulsively hugged her sister from behind. Storm stiffened again, in astonishment this time; the Simbul never did such things.

"Mystra save us all," said the Queen of Aglarond fondly, "of course you can. Sit down, and cut some pie, and I'll just float those scones out. El?"

"Momentarily, m'dear," the Old Mage replied airily. "Ah. . now." The glimmering at the end of the table began again.

This time the flashing magic brought three obviously startled arrivals: Ergluth Rowanmantle, still holding a bandage roll that he'd been wrapping his arm with; the worried-looking war wizard Broglan; and in his arms, smiling shyly, the Lady Shayna Summerstar.

All three blinked at the cheerful old stone kitchen around them, and Elminster gravely introduced it with a wave of his hand: "The farmhouse of Storm Silverhand, in Shadowdale."

Then the Old Mage staggered sideways, nearly bowled over in the Lady Shaerl's rush. "Ergluth!" she cried, leaping into the arms of her kinsman. "Oh, I've missed you! How's Cormyr these days, and the family? And when did you put on so much weight? However did you man-"

Ergluth Rowanmantle barked just two words over her head at Elminster: "Wine," and then, a few moments later, and a trifle more mournfully, "Help."

That was when Sylune, a spectral head floating above the table and trailing a long fall of hair, transported in the feast. Humming happily, she looked this way and that, and steaming platters began to appear by the dozens around her, on every horizontal surface save the floor, which was reserved for the arriving kegs.

Broglan and Shayna stared around in absolute amazement-and then stiffened in unison as auras of light came into being around them both. A third enveloped Ergluth as the boldshield wheeled around to stare at the sudden radiance.

"Right," the Simbul announced emphatically, "everything seems safe-let the revel begin!"

In the wee, blue hours before dawn, when all the chatter and lights and revelry and those who'd partaken were gone again, three heads bobbed above the cool waters of the stream in the woods below the farmhouse.

One head floated above the water, surveying the other two critically. Sylune said, "There's a spell I think will suit you two just fine…."

Maxer sighed. "If you don't mind," he said carefully, "I've had more than enough experience with magic these last few years-" He stopped speaking as the spectral head softly faded away.

"Oh," a ghostly voice said by his ear, just before he felt the soft touch of invisible lips, "this isn't that kind of magic."

"Sylune," Storm asked warningly, "what're you up to?"

"I just don't think you'll want to climb all the way back up to the loft, to find a bed-especially as Sir Broglan and Lady Shayna already seem to be using it. Will you want tea tomorrow, say around highsun?"

"Sylune!" Storm protested, laughter bubbling in her voice. "What're you up t-"

And then she fell silent, knowing she and Maxer were alone.

A moment later the spell took hold. They found themselves rising out of the water, as warm as if they'd been quite dry, and floating just above the gently tinkling waters. Maxer rolled over and lay on empty air, raising himself on one elbow to look at his beloved.

"Lady Storm," he said, admiring her frankly, "I like your sister's spells. . but I'll take you over her any night."

"Why don't you do just that?" Storm asked, setting aside all her cares at last as she drifted gently through the moonlit air into his arms.

In the east, one more dawn was just beginning to creep into Shadowdale, but neither of them noticed it.