Erik de Bie - Downshadow

"A moment," Kalen murmured toward Myrin. Then he cut into the crowd, looking for a mercyroom or a broom closet or at least an alcove where he could lose the tell-tale helm. He could escape-he could…

When a hand fell on his arm, he whirled, thinking certainly it was Araezra.

"Behold, the day improves!" a woman said. "Unveil yourself, man-and don't try to lie about your name, for I'll know."

The noblewoman in question-barely more than a girl, Kalen saw-wore a tattered black gown and must have enchanted her hair, for as he watched, it writhed like a rustling nest of silver vipers. Her gown was cut cunningly and scandalously, with more gods' eye slits than dress. He knew her apparel from stories-the legendary Simbul, the Witch-Queen of Aglarond.

"Choose your words with care!" the girl said with a confident sneer beneath her half mask. "I've been taking lessons from the greatest truth-teller in Waterdeep, Lady Ilira herself! I can hear lies in a voice or read them in a face…" She snaked her fingers across his mask. "That is, I could read your face if you'd be so good as to unmask yourself." Her hand retracted and she grinned at him-much like a cat grins at a mouse. "For now, a name will do."

Kalen stumbled in his head for a reply. "But lady, my name-"

The girl smirked at his consternation. "I don't mean your true name, good saer," she said. She gestured to his outfit. "I mean, who are you meant to be?"

That didn't make it better. He didn't have an answer for that, either.

"Lay off him, Wildfire." The venomous lady's voice behind Kalen's back saved him, and he felt something take hold of his arm. "I saw him first!"

Wildfire. He knew that nickname. He didn't remember the girl's true name, but Lady Wildfire, heir of House Wavesilver, was infamous for one of the sharpest tongues in Waterdeep. Kalen remembered Cellica telling him considerable gossip about her, and wished he'd listened more. As it was, he'd heard enough to thank the gods someone had saved him.

Until he looked around.

Kalen gawked ar a petite woman dressed in a gown composed of black leather and webbing-not much of either-rhat barely covered her mosr precious family heirlooms. Her skin was tinted black and her hair was snowy white. Her skin marched her garments perfectly, especially her thigh-high boots with heels as long as fighting dirks, giving her a height to match his. She fingered the handle of a whip wrapped around her waist.

It took Kalen a breath to recognize her: a drow priestess of the spider goddess, Lolth. He knew she wasn't really a drow, as she'd made no attempt to disguise her human features. This did not surprise him: lordlings and lordlasses were quite vain. The whip didn't match, either-it made her look more a priestess of Loviatar, goddess of pain.

At his side, Kalen heard breath catch and saw The Simbul's eyes light up with fire that was anything but magical.

"Perhaps you saw him first, Talantress Roaringhorn-but I claimed him first," Lady Wildfire said in a low, dangerous hiss. "I'm surprised to see you, after last month's scandal. If I recall-the Whipmaster and his… whip?"

Kalen knew Lady Roaringhorn as well-Cellica had mentioned aught of such a scandal, though he remembered no details. He did recall that these noble girls hated each other, and competed in all ways-for the best salons, fashion, marriage, anything that could be fought over. For Waterdeep entire, if it was on the table.

"A misunderstanding," Talantress said tightly.

"Mmm. Aye, you leather-wrapped tramp," Wildfire countered.

"Kindly note my utter lack of surprise," Talantress said, "that you're so crude."

Wildfire hummed-almost purred-at Kalen. "Mmmm. Buck-toothed tease." She shot a glance at Talantress.

"Ah!" Talantress glared. "That will be quite enough, slut of a dull-eyed dwarf!"

"Gutter-battered wick-licker!" Wildfire put her fingers to her lips and licked them.

"How unwashed!" Talantress's wrath had almost broken through her calm face, but she seemed possessed of as much self-control as Araezra. Her lip curled derisively. "I wonder about those tales in the sheets about all those sweaty dockhands that loiter around Wavesilver manor. I'm sure they're very helpful with your… boat."

"That's more than enough!" Wildfire's eyes flashed. She looked to Kalen. "We'll let Lord Nameless decide."

"What?" Kalen goggled.

Wildfire caught up his right hand and wound herself into his arm; her smile could cut diamonds and her glare was posirively deadly. If The Simbul of legend had half that sort of menace, no wonder she'd kept Thay so terrified so long. "Choose," she said coldly.

Talantress curled herself around his left side. Kalen was almost glad he couldn't feel much, or all that magic-black skin would drive him to distraction. "You'd better choose me, or you'll regret it," she whispered. "I'll make personally sure."

"Choose me? Wildfire purred in his other ear. "I'm much more fun than she is." Her tone shifted from suggestive to commanding. "And my uncles are richer-and employ more swordsmen to throttle fools who spurn me."

"Ah," Kalen said, his mind racing to match his thundering heart.

"Ninny!" Wildfire said. "You want me, aye saer?"

Talantress grasped Kalen's other arm. "He's dancing with me?

"Me!" Lady Wildfire hissed.

All the while, Kalen watched as Araezra wandered toward them. He couldn't get away, not with the ladies fighting over him. He was trapped.

"You should spare yon knight, ladies," said a gentle voice behind them.

The soft and alluring voice-strangely familiar-froze him in place like a statue.

"Ilira!" Wildfire's eyes widened, and she curtsied deeply. Her beautiful face broke into a genuine smile. "So good to see you."

"Lady Nathalan." Talantress gave her a false smile. "We did not ask your opinion." Her tone was that of a noble addressing a lesser-an upsrart merchant, whose only honor lay in coin.

"Apologies, young Lady Roaringhorn. I only meant to warn of knights who wear gray and walk lonely roads." A velvet-gloved hand touched Kalen's elbow. "Like this one."

Kalen turned. Lady Ilira-the eladrin he'd seen dancing with Lorien-stood just to his shoulder, but her presence loomed greater than her size. Perhaps it was the weight of years-like all elves, she wore a timelessness about her that defied any attempt to place her age. Her face hid behind a velvet half-mask that revealed only her cheeks and thin lips.

Her pupil-less eyes gleamed bright and golden like those of a wolf, with all the tempestuous hunger to match. Those eyes had seen centuries of pain and joy, Kalen thought. Wisdom lurked there, and a sort of sadness that chilled his heart and shivered his knees.

Ilira wore a seamless low-cut black gown that left her shoulders and throat bare but otherwise covered every inch of her body, highlighting and enhancing her skin. Her midnight hair was bound in an elaborate bun at the back of her head. She wore what he thought was a wide black necklace that broke the smooth expanse of her breast. He realized quickly that it was not jewelry-she wore naught of that but a star sapphire pendant looped around her left wrist-but rather a series of black runes inked in her flesh, which gleamed as though alive.

She had asked him a question, Kalt n realized. He also realized he'd been staring at her chest, and his face flushed. Not for the first time, he thanked the gods for his full helm.

"Is this not so, Sir Shadow?" Ilira asked again.

Why was her cool, lovely voice so damned familiar? Where did he know it from?

"It is," Kalen said, because he could say nothing else.

Lady Wildfire laughed and clapped her hands, delighted to see Lady Ilira proven right. Talantress scowled on Kalen's other side. "Spare us your poetry, coin-pincher," she spat. "I'm taking him to dance nowunless you plan to steal him yourself?" She sneered at Lady Ilira. Her voice might have been that of a serpent. "But surely you wouldn't be interested-surely you'd not sully yourself with us mere humans."