There was the smallest of sounds, off to his left. Athlan whirled to face it, hand going to the dagger at his belt. He'd seen a thing or two to make the servants' whisperings about the Haunted Tower seem a little more than empty fancies, but. . there was nothing there.

Athlan took a wary step back, and looked to his right. Nothing. A boot scraped on stone very close by to his left, and he whirled-in time to meet a dagger cutting hard into his tongue.

He tried to roar, or scream, or-but all he managed was a gurgle. Something smooth and sharp and icy slid into his spine, and on into his vitals, to burst forth from his chest dark and wet with his own blood…He stared in disbelief at the slim sword-was that all? An instant and he'd be … dead?

The young Lord Summerstar sagged as the chill became a sudden fire that seemed to burn away all the strength he had left, and … Firm hands held him up.

The white fire blazed up and into his brain. He looked into the two dark, watching eyes of his murderer. Then the white fire told him things, and he wanted to scream.

He struggled to cry out, choking and heaving and… drifting away on the flowing white fire. It was too late for young Athlan. Too late …

The lantern fell from failing hands. It burst on the stones with a brief roiling of flame.

"Athlan Summerstar," a voice murmured in the sudden darkness that followed. "Head of a minor noble house. Harper, knight-and dreamer, like all of them. Perfect."

The body of the young noble seemed to shrivel. Trickles of ash fell from where eyeballs had once been.

The calm voice Athlan could no longer hear continued, "Almost worth spending a day as a floating book for. Almost." The flames brought the speaker childish memories of beautiful women and riding in the vale and so-so sword skills, and … complete, room-by-room knowledge of Firefall Keep.