That last, despairing wail took all the energy she had left with it; the Bard of Shadowdale fell on her face on the floor and wept her way into slow oblivion.

When she awakened once more, Sylune's hair was softly brushing her bare shoulder. "Storm," the gentle voice came from above her, "a warm bath awaits you, and the sun is coming up. Rise, and put Maxer behind you once more."

"My thanks," Storm whispered, not moving, her cheek against the cold stone. She shivered, suddenly, and added, "Sylune? Stay with me just now… please?"

"It was a bad one," her sister said soothingly. "They seem to be the worst when they herald doom."

Storm sat up, her face pale but calm. "Oh, yes," she said wearily. "Somewhere, and soon, there will come another death that will matter greatly-another that I cannot stop." She gained and sighed. "A murder, of course. One more Harper will die."

ONE

Starfall

"Look!"

The cry burst forth from one of the Purple Dragons as the honor guard stood back from the pyre. Heads jerked up, wearing the annoyed expressions of folk embarrassed by an unseemly outburst. Frowns melted away in awe.

Athlan's sister even broke off her sobbing to give a cry of near-delight. In the dusky sky over the distant Stonelands, a solitary light was plunging to earth: a falling star.

"Praise be," one guard muttered, "a good sign."

The Harvestmaster of Chauntea drew breath to thunderously acclaim this mark of divine favor. The old priest raised his voice in a tremulous declamation.

The gods-some god, at least-saw good or at least important times ahead for the noble. House of Summerstar, here on the very edge of Cormyr. The assembled family members looked suitably gratified.