Erik de Bie - Downshadow

When had that happened?

"Hmm-mmm," Fayne moaned, lounging in one end of Lorien's golden bathtub. "Perfect."

The priestess, ensconced at her own end, watched Fayne with a serene smile on her face. Her cheeks were rosy in the candlelight reflected off the warm water.

"Dancing next?" Lorien asked. "Our appointed arrival at midnight cannot be far off."

"Just," Fayne said, stroking one of Lorien's long, slender legs. "Just a little longer."

The priestess smiled and closed her eyes. Fayne hadn't been certain this would be the right course-seduction, her favorite method-but it was certainly paying off thus far. And if she enjoyed it a little herself, all the better! Time enough to dispense pain after pleasure, aye?

Careful, she thought. You'll sound like that Roaringhorn girl you humiliated last month.

The memory made her giggle. The whipmaster. She had rather liked wearing such a big, muscle-bound form. It had felt stupid and thick, but oh so enjoyable-particularly after.

Lorien saw her smile. "What are you thinking of?"

"A jest-nothing." Fayne in Ilira's form giggled again. "You?"

Lorien stretched and drew herself out of the bath, gleaming and perfect. The light glittered off her soft curves. Fayne told herself to remember that effect, to use some day.

"Many things." Lorien crossed to a divan and drew a ruby red robe around her lovely body. "Things about you-and about us."

"Oh?" Fayne pressed her breasts against the edge of the gold tub and grinned. "What?"

"First-" Lorien lifted from the divan an ornate, golden rod. "Have I shown you this?"

"And what might that be for?" asked Fayne, still blissful.

Lorien smiled. "Revealing secrets," she said. "From a false face."

Fayne didn't understand immediately, and that proved her undoing. "What do you-?"

Lorien gestured languidly. "Come." Her word was powerful and inescapable. -

The hairs rose on Fayne's neck-a magical attack. Fayne's will hammered at the command, but her body was already caught. She stood, trembling, and wrenched herself our of the bath. Against her will, her body began walking toward Lorien.

"I don't understand," Fayne said. "Hearr, what are you-"

Lorien shook her head. "Whatever you are, creature," she said, "Ilira and I love each other well, but you misunderstand our relationship. A pity for you."

Fayne's mind whirled. "I felt…" she tried. "I felt it was time to… My love, don't punish me for my haste! I only wanted to take us to another ledge, my darling one!"

Lorien rolled her eyes. As Fayne stood before her, Lorien gestured for her to kneel, and Fayne did so. "I can't decide," she said, "whether you are one of my enemies, or one of hers." She shifted the golden rod from hand to hand. "Which is it, child?"

"Dear hearr," Fayne gasped. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Show truth," Lorien intoned in Elvish, and tapped Fayne on the forehead with the rod.

Fayne screeched, loud and long, as magic ripped away from her, shattering her illusions and deceptions. They faded in sequence: first Ilira's face, then the conjured black hair, then the alluring features, then-as her skin prickled and stretched-her entire shape began to shift, back to-good gods-back to her true self. Something that was certainly not a half-elf.

Lorien gasped. "One of Likens creatures," she said. "Ilira warned me."

Those names. Ilira, the woman Fayne hated, but the other. How did she know…? i Fayne looked at herself, at her black-nailed fingers and alabaster skin. Her tail slapped her legs. Not her real body-not now! She pawed at her garish pink hair and screamed.

"Gods." Lorien put out a trembling hand, reaching toward Fayne's head by reflex. "That explains everything. I'm sorry, child. I didn't-"

There came a rush and a snickering sound, and Lorien's head snapped back. Fayne looked at her, confused.

For a heartbeat, Lorien stood there, bent backward, standing erect.

Then she fell in a geyser of blood from her opened throat. The priestess slumped to the floor, twitching and dying.

Rath stood near them. He had struck and sheathed his blade in a single movement.

"What?" Fayne's mind barely functioned. "I thought… you said you never use that."

The dwarf looked down at her as one might look at a child. "For those who are worthy," he said. "And those for whom I have been paid."

Fayne stared numbly at Lorien-at the blood spreading around her face-and could not think. The priestess's eyes blinked rapidly, and she tried to speak but only gurgled. Fayne's stomach turned over and she felt like vomiting into the golden tub.

Rath turned away from Fayne in disgust. "Clean yourself. Put your mask back on."

Fayne grasped her head, which was reeling. Magic drained the vitality from her limbs, but those limbs shifted, their deathly pallor replaced by the smooth warmth of her half-elf body. She felt her teeth-normal once more-and sighed in deep relief. It was only an illusion and would have to last until she could perform her ritual again, but it was enough.

She rose on shaky, weak legs. Rath didn't help her.

Finally, her ugly self hidden, she could think clearly again. The enormity of Rath's actions struck her, and she gasped.

"You stupid son of a mother-suckling goat!" she screamed at the dwarf as she wound a white towel around her nakedness. She pointed at Lorien, who lay dying on the floor. "She wasn't supposed to die-I didn't pay you to kill her!

Rath shrugged. "You are welcome."

"You beardless idiot!" Fayne's face felt like it would explode. " Who askedyou:'Who asked you to step in? I had everything under my hand, every-urt!"

The dwarf seized her by the throat, cutting off words and air. Choking, she could not resist as he forced her against the wall and pinned her there with his arm. Her weak fingers could only flail at his ironlike arm.

"Her, I rook coin to kill," Rath whispered in her ear. "You, I slay for free."

Fayne gasped as light entered her vision.

Ralen found Myrin surrounded by a crowd of admirers-young noble lads who were taking turns trying to get the silver-haired girl to dance. She kept giggling at their flattery and answering their increasingly bawdy compliments innocently. While her gold crown-mask hid her face, Kalen thought he saw understanding and bemusement in her eyes.

"Kalen!" she said as he approached, and the noble lads looked around.

Kalen flinched-she shouldn't use his name when he was trying to keep a low cloak.

The lads puffed themselves up against him, but one sweep of his icy eyes and they turned to easier sport elsewhere. At least the damned Shadowbane getup was good for something tonight.

Myrin threw herself into Kalen's arms. "Hee!" she said. "I'm having such a-heep! — marvelous time." She ran her pale fingers along his black leathers. "Dance with me."

Newly confident in that regard from his dance with Lady Ilira, Kalen thought at first to accept. Then he thought better of it, owing to the scent of flowery wine on her breath. From that and the slur in her speech, Kalen could tell Myrin was quite drunk.

"There you are!" said a familiar voice. Cellica appeared out from under a banquet table.

"How did-how did you get in here?" Kalen asked.

"Fayne brought me," Cellica said. "Haven't you seen her?"

"Fayne?" Kalen furrowed his brow inside his helm. It was hot and hard to think in there-good thing Cellica hadn't seen him dancing, or she'd start blaming that for any…

"Aye," the halfling said. "Little red-headed half-elf dressed as a swashbuckler… maybe you didn't notice her while you were dancing with that elf hussy. Who was she, anyway?"

"Uh." Kalen flinched. He remembered Cellica speaking of Lady Ilira, usually in glowing rerms. Perhaps it was for the best that she hadn't recognized the woman.