Thomas Reid - The Gossamer Plain

"Yes, your lordship," the azer replied. Reluctantly, he produced the copper urn into which he had slipped the pouch of amethysts and handed it to the seneschal.

"Thank you for these fine gemstones," the azer clan lord said. "You are indeed generous."

Zasian bowed again, and Vhok mimicked him with only slight delay.

"Do you have more?" Cripakolus asked.

The priest gave a bemused smile. "Perhaps," he said, "but I think we will hold onto those for the moment. Consider them as bargaining funds," he said. "We have need of your assistance, for which we would be willing to pay well."

"Perhaps there will be no bargaining," the clan lord replied. "Perhaps I will take you into custody and confiscate all your belongings, including the remaining gems, as property of the clan."

Vhok stiffened and began to reach for his sword again.

Are we going to have to fight our way out of here? he wondered. He didn't like their chances, unless they could somehow enlist allies from the caged creatures overhead.

"You could do that," Zasian said carefully, "but such an act would almost certainly cost you much more than the gems are worth. We will not go down easily, if at all," the priest warned. "You do not want that fight, when cooperation and generosity bring so much more."

Cripakolus stroked his beard of flame for a few moments, lost in thought. All around the chamber, the tension grew. The azer lord's loyal warriors tensed, expecting the command to capture or slay the two visitors. Vhok mentally sorted through his remaining magical options, as he was sure Zasian was also doing. The cambion had very little left, and even if they did manage to win their way out of the audience chamber, they had the whole rest of the underground citadel to contend with. It didn't look good.

Damn you, Zasian, the half-fiend stewed. Why did I let you talk me into this?

Vhok was on the verge of levitating to get out of the impending fight when the azer clan chief spoke. "Very well," he said. "You are shrewd bargainers. I accept your gifts and offer you aid." Vhok sighed in relief, until he heard the fiery dwarf's next words. "As further compensation for our assistance, you will do something for us first."

Vhok drew in a deep, irate breath. "And what might that be?" he asked, making no effort to hide his displeasure.

We don't have time for this! he thought dismally.

"Some of our brethren work as slaves for our hated enemy, the efreet. You will go to the mines where they toil, kill all the efreet, and rescue the azer."

The tavern girl leaned back and laughed. It was a merry sound, full of life and joy. The man upon whose lap she sat grinned from ear to ear, pleased that his joke had amused her so. Aliisza watched from a corner. She knew both of them, from her past. The alu felt the old jealousy rise up again, just as it had several years before. She turned and sought herself, the version of herself that had been in the tavern that night, disguised as a pretty young human woman.

There.

The half-fiend could see blazing green eyes, the sultry, pouting mouth. The memory of herself stared daggers at the tavern girl.

Aliisza remembered all too well.

The tavern girl, so pretty, so happy, was a favorite among the patrons. She always wore a smile, no matter how crowded or hectic the tavern might be. And she was renowned for her ability to work the knots out of a laborer's shoulders. Her fingers were strong, deft. They always knew right where to massage. They were her most prized gift.

Aliisza had hated the girl for her easy manner, her genuine happiness, and the way she let her good mood spread to the customers. Most of all, though, Aliisza hated that the man was so enamored of the other girl.

The alu had been flirting with the fellow most of the evening, looking for a little companionship, maybe a roll in the hay in the stables. But he only had eyes for the sweet girl on his lap.

The tavern girl hopped up and proceeded to knead his muscles, pressing her fingers in all the right places. The man closed his eyes and sighed as the girl laughed and talked to everyone nearby. It made the memory of Aliisza sick with envy.

Remembering what she had done, Aliisza wanted to turn away. She had never felt any shame or guilt over her revenge-and she never would-but she also had never learned the tavern girl's fate after that night.

She watched as the girl excused herself and slipped into the back. She watched as the memory of Aliisza, still disguised, followed her. Behind the tavern, in the yard, the memory of Aliisza caught the girl just as she was returning from the jakes. The woman never knew what was coming. A quick kick to the gut, an elbow against the back of the head, and she was down, sprawled in the mud.

Aliisza watched, fascinated, as her old memory of herself bent down with a dagger and took the girl's thumbs. Such a little thing, not a terrible injury. But the little trollop could no longer carry a tray of mugs, would never rub a knot out of sore muscles again. The ghostly image of herself laughed as she did it. She mashed the girl's face into the mud to muffle her screams as the pain brought her back to consciousness. And Aliisza slipped away, returning to her true form and flying off, taking the thumbs with her so they couldn't be magically restored. She never turned back once, even as the girl lay sobbing and writhing in the mud.

But the real Aliisza remained. She watched as a cluster of patrons came out of the tavern to see what had befallen the girl. She stood in the shadows, not wanting to be seen, even though she knew the memories would never notice her. She stared as the man with whom the girl had flirted appeared. When he saw what had befallen the girl, Aliisza expected him to turn away in disgust.

Who would want a crippled girl? she remembered thinking at the time.

But he didn't turn away. Instead, he wrapped her ruined hands in bandages, and he gathered her up in his arms and carried her. She buried her head against his shoulder, crying softly. He took her through the yard and to the street, and accompanied by several others, went to the temple.

A priest of Ilmater met them at the door. He took one look at the girl and summoned them all inside. The priest, in his nightclothes, prepared a spell right then, in the sanctuary of the temple, before the altar dedicated to the maimed god. He laid his hands upon the young woman's wounds, pressed his flesh against hers, and prayed.

Aliisza knew then what would happen. The hands were healed. The woman regained her thumbs, as new and as whole as before. When the ritual was complete, when she had what she had lost, she knelt down and began to pray alongside the priest. The man who had brought her to the temple dug a pouch of coins from his tunic and placed it in the offering bowl.

The girl turned to him and smiled but shook her head. She would not let the man pay her debt for her. And Aliisza could feel it. She saw how it ended. She could sense the girl's holy aura grow, surround her. She became a priestess of the faith, and those hands, those soothing hands, became healing hands. She devoted herself to aiding others, gave herself to the service of Ilmater.

The thought that Aliisza had driven the girl to take on a new life of good works rankled her. She forced the image out of her mind. It faded, and she was in the garden again. The nighttime breezes, ever present, made the wind chimes dance.

The alu sighed. Even though she still loathed the woman, there was something… compelling… in her tale. She didn't know what it was, but watching her overcome Aliisza's retribution made the half-fiend feel weak, ineffectual. It was not a feeling she was accustomed to, nor did she much care for it. She grimaced and turned away from the garden.

"They married, you know," came Tauran's voice from somewhere behind her.