Erin Evans - The God Catcher

She stabbed the end of it toward the beast and felt it plunge in. The crocodile released her knee with a hissing snarl. The staff had sunk into its blind eye. Tennora crept slowly to her feet.

"Well met, Master Clamps," she panted.

When it lunged at her again, she was quick enough to stab the staff right down its throat. The crocodile hissed again and shook its head, trying to break the staff from her grip. Tennora edged closer, forcing the staff deeper. The crocodile slithered backward down the corridor.

"All right," Tennora said, pulling her staff out. "Back to your nest, beastie."

Master Clamps had other plans.

The crocodile leaped forward, jaws wide. Tennora darted to one side and dived onto its scaly back. The beast thrashed, but she clung tight, wrapping her arm around its snout. It started to roll again, and before it pulled her under, she drew her dagger.

She raked the blade over the soft throat, again and again, until Master Clamps stopped spinning and thick blood streamed from its throat.

Panting and dizzy, Tennora wriggled out from beneath the corpse. Her leg screamed with pain when she put her weight on it, but she'd manage. She looked down at the monstrous crocodile she'd killed all on her own then back up at the dark corridor.

If only Dareun would fall as easily.

The home of Nazra Mrays glittered with hundreds of magical lights, buoyed by the laughter of several score pleasantly drunk guests. Plucking a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant, Nazra started another turn around the party, loving the sounds of her painted silk skirts whisking against the floor, the clink of glasses, the calls of her friends and admirers. Nazra wrapped herself in their delight-she did love fests so.

Meridian Cloudcroft, a clever old elf who knew half her secrets but none of the good ones, held his glass up in a mock toast. "Good evening, my dear. A terrific success."

She held her glass up in turn. "Many thanks, old friend. I do try."

"And where's little Antoum?"

"In bed," she said with a chuckle. "He may be my son, but he's only got eight years under his belt, and that is not enough to weather one of my parties."

Which wasn't to say he hadn't begged to be allowed to watch and visit with those friends of hers he knew and liked, Cloudcroft among them. She had compromised-he could have a piece of anise cake and a little watered wine, and he could watch the guests arrive in their finery. Antoum hadn't been happy about that, but it was the best he was going to get.

"Pity," Cloudcroft said. "Have a new illusion to show him." He twisted the rim of the pin he wore, and a small blue dragon seemed to fly out of it and circle the perimeter, roaring. Nazra laughed.

"Ah! You'll have to come by another time. He'd adore it."

"Have you noticed we're missing Master Sandhor?"

She leaned in close. "Indeed. I wonder if he's slighting me or just distracted by something more… political?" She winked.

Cloudcroft laughed. He and Nazra had been friends since she was much younger and much glimmer, and he dark-haired and broad-shouldered. They'd shared more than one bed in those days. He knew many things about Nazra that no one else did, and believed a few more, such as Nazra being one of the Masked Lords and that he might be Antoum's father-though for that to be so, Nazra would have had to endure a great many more months of pregnancy than normal.

She let him have his jokes and played along.

"If he comes late, do let me know," she said with a smile. "I'd like to take some of the wind from that old cog's sails."

"As long as I can watch," Cloudcroft said.

Nazra passed back into the crowd, greeting her guests and praising their attire. But in her mind she was upstairs, watching her son sleep peacefully. There were those in Waterdeep-many of them in her home that night-who thought Nazra Mrays was a paltry excuse for a mother and thanked the gods that she had coin enough to give over the care of her son to hired help. Nazra smiled and laughed, and knew better-Antoum was her pride and joy. Let them overlook him as some spoiled, motherless child; he and Nazra knew better.

"Good evening," a voice said near her ear, "and well met."

Nazra turned and found herself looking into the dark green eyes of a man who-while good-looking-was too young for her. She stepped back, appraising his well-cut-and thoroughly outdated-green velvet jerkin and breeches. He wore a matching half cloak and a silly-looking collar with a great gaudy moonstone on it. Amusing, to say the least.

"Well met indeed," she said. "Though I don't recall meeting you before. I'm Nazra. And you are?"

"A meager star orbiting your brightness," he said with a certain earnestness that indicated he was much too young for Nazra. Nazra raised her eyebrows. At least he had the decency to blush.

"I must beg your forgiveness," the young man said. "I don't often do this, and I find I'm getting ahead of myself."

Nazra smiled and fluttered her lashes in the way young men who read too many chapbooks found charming. "You're doing just fine, dear boy."

"I'm very glad to hear it," he said. "Could we walk in the garden? I should like the privacy."

Erin M. Evans

The God Catcher

A bold one, Nazra thought. Ah well, if he got too bold, it would just give her a good reason to make him the end of a good joke later, refreshing everyone's spirits. She took his proffered arm.

The night was cool, the first edge of autumn taking hold after a long hot summer. The sky was clear, and Selune had the grace to shift away toward the horizon, giving the stars room to shine. Climbing vinestar blossoms scented the garden, and a marble fountain bubbled near the back wall.

"A lovely garden," he said, "though not half so lovely as its mistress."

"Did Cloudcroft send you to tease me?" Nazra said slyly. "A handsome young man, squiring me around a moonlit garden, mysterious as a chapbook hero. You'd better be careful. An old lady like me could have a fit of shock with this kind of treatment."

"Would you like to hear a joke?" he asked shyly. "I've heard you're fond of them. First the… Wait, how does it go? First I say …"

"You trip on your own tongue," she said with a laugh. "It's much easier if you don't try so hard."

"I suppose you know better. Here, give me another chance." He stopped at the fountain and slid around to face her. "First, I say to you: I've taken your son."

Nazra rolled her eyes. That wasn't remotely funny. Then she saw the young man wasn't laughing, and her heart stopped. "What do you mean?" she said.

"I've taken him. You see, I want something you have, and it's terribly important you know I'm serious. Now, you say-"

Nazra started to scream for her bodyguards, only to find the man's gloved hand stifling her mouth. She stomped on his instep, but his foot suddenly wasn't there. He seized her, pinning her arms to her sides, and pulled her too close to struggle free-as skinny as he'd looked, he was as strong as an ogre.

"Now, don't do anything that might make me angry," he whispered in her ear. "You do this wrong, and I might just kill little Antoum anyway. For now he's quite safe somewhere you'll never find him, and he'll stay that way until one of two things happens.

"I want the staff."

Nazra tried to shake her head, but the young man held her fast. "I know. You've been told to say you don't have it. It's in the Blackstaffs care. But I know for a fact that staff is nowhere near Blackstaff Tower. You have it, and you know where you keep it. Bring me the dragonstaff of Ahghairon, and Antoum comes home in one piece.

"But if I hear so much as a sword rattling in its scabbard, your boy dies. Understand? You don't tell your guards. You don't tell the lords. You don't tell the Watch."