Ed Greenwood: Silverfall: Stories of the Seven Sisters

The Zhentarim leader acquired his thundercloud look again, but Moongul shrugged and said soothingly, "He'll turn up. You can hold another revel then."

"Wherever he is, he'll be paralyzed by now," the Bor shy;derer added quickly, then raised his glass and added, "Good wine. Thanks."

Murpeth nodded his acknowledgment with a distant, distracted air, and strode over to a knot of men who looked like Sembians of middling wealth. It seemed the Zhen shy;tarim were now calling on men of all ranks and station, weaving a web of intrigue rather than having spies report directly to the arrogant, ambitious magelings Manshoon had favored. Well, it made them harder to find. Storm drifted over to meet Thone and engage in a little flirtation. She didn't know how much longer this body would have.

It seemed all too soon when the warm tingling rose in her, like a sudden wave. Thone had been looking into her face for a while, now, and the change in his gaze told her he'd seen her react.

This must be the saisha. Storm could move freely-poisons didn't affect Chosen of Mystra in the ways they were supposed to-but she knew she wasn't supposed to be able to. She paused in the act of leaning forward to caress Thone's chin, froze, and let fear leak into her eyes.

Thone scooped her up without pause or ceremony, one hand around her shoulders and the other between her legs and up to grasp her belt at the back. Like a grain sack he swung her around, flung the curt words, "She's ready, lord," across the room to Murpeth, and strode toward a table.

Ridranus was already there. Having pinched the candles out with his fingers, he was now sweeping wine and food unceremoniously aside to clear a space. Thone dumped her down on it and turned away in the same whirling movement. Storm did not have to try to find some believable way to turn a paralyzed head to see where he was going: she knew he was headed for the fire shy;place.

Ridranus did not wait for Thone's return. "You're going to answer some questions about how our scrivener van shy;ished," he said shortly, "and I have a promise for you, if you fail to tell all. We will hurt you, woman."

With deft, dispassionate fingers he arranged her on her back, arms and legs slightly spread from her body. "First," the slyblade murmured, "you will feel the hot fire irons Thone's retrieving right now on your skin, in the most tender places. If you still tell us false, or omit things of importance-and you'd be surprised at how much we do know, and can check against what you say-the irons will find your pretty face next. I imagine you'll have a hard time getting any man to hand you coins for your company after that."

He smiled bleakly, and drew himself up. "Then, 'twill be my pleasure, the breaking of your fingers, one by one. If even that fails," he sighed and regarded his fingernails, "the fire irons will be put into your eyes."

He reached out and gently turned her head to face the room, so she could see two servants putting down tiles, then a hot brazier atop them, as the crowd of Zhentarim gathered in a half circle to watch.

They parted for Thone, as he came from the main hearth with two red-hot pokers in his hands, then parted again to admit a thin, superior man in brown silks, who swept across the room like he owned it, aiming his sharp nose and beady eyes like weapons to sneer down everyone.

An insecure little mageling, Storm judged. His first words confirmed it. In nasal, supercilious tones, he looked down at her and announced, "Iyleth Lloodrun of Ordulin at your service, madam." He let his eyes travel the length of her silver-gowned form and added, "I am here in these scenic dales to hunt, and dislike to be kept from my killing, so I fear I shan't show you overmuch patience for lies or evasions. Answer plainly, and live."

He glanced at Thone, who signaled the readiness of the irons in the portable brazier with a nod, then gave Calivar Murpeth a curt nod, which was returned. The last mur shy;muring gossip stilled, and in the silence that followed the mageling gave the assembled Zhentarim a superior little smile, turned his back on them, and cast a spell that would let him into her mind.

His eyes glittered as he stared down at her, and framed his first question. Storm heard it as a faint, distant whis shy;per, her shields blocking its coercion completely.

In what regard do you know the scrivener Maervidal Iloster?

Storm just stared at him, letting her eyes go large and dark with fear. Lloodrun lifted his head and snapped, "She's protected."

There were murmurs of surprise from some of the watching Zhents. A lady escort, shielded? Well, she must be a Harper then, at least. Perhaps even an agent of Cormyr, or …

Calivar Murpeth gave a shrug that was almost inso shy;lent, to show the room that he had no fear of Zhentarim wizards, and murmured, "So break whatever shields her. Use all your spells, if that's what it takes. We'll wait."

The mageling stiffened, locked his eyes with those of the local Zhentarim leader for a long, cold moment, then turned back to the helpless woman on the table. He took care that none of his fellow Zhentarim clearly saw the spell he wove next, and Storm almost smiled.

This could go on for a long time, but she'd be keeping a lot more folk than these evil louts waiting, so why not let down her shields before this puny probe? From what she'd glimpsed of his own mind, laid open in his probe into hers, Faerun would be well rid of this Zhentarim mageling, and the sooner the better.

She let him straighten and smile in triumph at the attentively-watching slyblades, who'd drifted to positions on either side of him along the edge of the table where she lay, before Storm laid bare the full fury of the divine fire that smoldered within her and fried Iyleth Lloodrun's brain in a sizzling instant.

Smoke actually puffed out of his ears and mouth as he staggered back. His eyes spit tiny flames as they went dark and sizzled, and he turned to vainly claw the air in front of astonished, frightened Zhentarim faces, then toppled like a tree, right onto his nose, with a crash that shook the room.

Everyone shouted and snatched out weapons. The room was briefly lit to dazzling brilliance with the reflected fire of so many daggers, drawn in wild unison, then everyone went deathly silent at once.

Lying unmoving on the table, Storm could see the two slyblades glaring at her. Their blades were out, their grips hard and tense, and their eyes never left her for an instant. Calivar Murpeth stepped forward and cleared his throat loudly several times. He was obviously scared, and at a loss to know what to do now, but aware that he must boldly seize the moment and show himself a strong leader or every one of the men in this room would know just how weak he truly was, and begin plotting accord shy;ingly.

"Nildon Baraejhe," Calivar said at last, striving to sound coldly calm and managing only to sound brittle, "did you bring your mrildeen with you?"

The Borderer nodded. "Of course," he murmured, and jerked his head at the woman on the table. "An application to her head?"

Murpeth's lips tightened. "Of course," he echoed, his tone not quite mocking.

Baraejhe gave him a brief; wordless look of glacial warn shy;ing, then strode to Storm, drawing a small, flat bottle from an underarm pouch. He spread a two-fingered dab of the clear, thick ointment on her throat, jaw, nose, and beside either eye before his fingers dipped to the back of her neck and lastly, to touch her upper lip. Where those deft fingers went, there came a tingling, as the mrildeen banished all paralysis in very small, specific spots under the skin it was applied to.

Before she might try to bite him, the Borderer's other hand struck her hard across her cheek, the hard slap turning her head to stare at the watching men. An instant later, he slapped her other cheek, giving her a view of the nearby wall and making her ears ring and eyes water. Again he struck her, and again, all of them hard blows that snapped her head back and forth.