Storm's vain rush carried her closer. She wept in helpless rage and grief as the marilith's grin shifted to her and became gloating laughter. The whirling sparks and mists of the spell that would whisk it away were already rising in the air around it.

Storm raised her blade too late, knowing cambions were leaping after her, hungry for her own death.

Something rolled by her feet, across the bloody flagstones of the temple: Maxer's head. His mouth was open in a final cry that had been choked off forever. His eyes were wide and staring.

And then, as it always did, despite her moan, the grisly thing leapt into her lap, hissing wetly, "I love you!" Still trailing blood, it sprang at her face, lips pursed to kiss her-

Storm Silverhand awoke screaming, cradling nothing in front of her mouth. Her silver hair stood out arrow-straight from her skull, and her bare body was drenched with sweat.

"No! Oh, gods, no!" she sobbed, sliding down the far wall of the room where she somehow always ended up. Her trembling body was as wet as if she'd been for a swim, and as always, her skin had shed blood as well as sweat. Sylune was hovering anxiously over the empty bed, surveying sheets and blankets that had been slashed as if by frantic swings of a sword.

As she always did, Sylune watched silently as Storm panted her way back to coherence, rolling over onto her knees and sobbing. "Why did he have to die?" she cried out. "Why?"

Wisely, her sister kept silent, even when Storm raised her tearstained face. "I was so close! So close! And I could not save him!"

Fresh tears choked her for a time, and she crawled blindly back toward the bed, crying, "I should never have left his side! I should have been there! I-ohhh, Mystra, aid me!"