by Ed Greenwood
"See enough of my behind?" she asked lightly.
The guard said nothing, and kept his face impassive and his eyes hard and cold. He wordlessly threw back a bolt in the top of the doorframe, too high for Iylinvyx or most humans to reach, and swung the door wide to let her pass within.
The drow trader strolled past him as if he wasn't there, and did not break stride when she heard the door close solidly behind her and the bolt slide back into place. She was in a lightless passage between two high rows of crates in a dank, lofty-ceilinged warehouse. The passage came to a dead end entirely walled in with stacked crates.
Iylinvyx Nrel'tabra looked calmly around, before asking the empty air, "And now, Sarltan?"
A voice that held a dry chuckle answered from some shy;where atop the crates above her, "Not quite yet. That large crate to your right with the dragon's head label has a front that can be swung open."
Iylinvyx let silence fall, but her unseen informant did not seem inclined to be more talkative, so she did as she was asked. The crate proved to have no back. She looked through the little room it shaped, into an open, dark area beyond. On the floor of the crate was a snake. It hissed at her as she stepped unhesitatingly over it and out into what lay beyond: the back of the warehouse, in which two hard-eyed men stood, drawn swords in their hands. Their arms and shoulders bulged with the corded muscles built by hefting crates, kegs, and heavy coffers for years. They stepped for shy;ward in practiced unison as she emerged from the crate, so that she came to an abrupt halt with one sword point at her throat and the other almost touch shy;ing her breast.
The drow trader looked coolly along each blade in turn. The one with his steel at her throat snarled, "Who sent you?"
"I think," Iylinvyx Nrel’tabra replied calmly, "you already know that. I also think that the fresh mush shy;rooms I want to trade will have withered to dust before I even get to speak to Sarltan, if you delay me much longer. I did not come to Scornubel for a tour, or to play passwords-and-daggers-in-the-dark games. Conduct me to Sarltan, or let me return below-to dispense full descriptions of your attentive hospitality."
Her voice had remained soft and mild, but the two guards stiffened as if she'd snarled her words. They exchanged swift glances, and the one with his steel to the trader's breast jerked his head back over his shoul shy;der in a clear signal.
In unison again, they stepped back from Iylinvyx, and waved with their swords at another door.
She nodded pleasant thanks and farewell to them, walked across dark and echoing emptiness, and opened the door wide.
Light flooded out. She was looking into a huge cham shy;ber built onto the warehouse, and well lit by a dozen hanging braziers. A balcony ran around its walls, sup shy;ported by stout pillars to which were tacked many ship shy;ping orders. Burly loaders were striding about the room gathering small coffers and bundles into large travel crates and strongchests battered from much use.
In the center of this bustle stood a desk. A semicircle of armed men gathered behind it raised their heads to stare at her, but the fat and unlovely man seated at the desk kept his attention on the documents he was sign shy;ing and tossing aside, or handing to a clerk with mur shy;mured comments.
Iylinvyx did not tarry at the door for another con shy;frontation, but strode calmly across the room, shifting her hips smoothly to avoid hurrying loaders-several of whom stiffened, stared at her, then hastily dropped their gazes and resumed their work-until she came up to the desk. She ignored the stares of the armsmen (beyond noticing that several gave her gems more attention than her body) as she bent over the desk, planting both palms firmly atop the parchment the fat man was reading.
"Might you be Sarltan?" she asked pleasantly. "At last?"
Without looking up, the man replied heavily, "I might be-and I might also be the man who'll have your hands off at the wrists in a breath or two if you don't get them off my papers right now."
Iylinvyx Nrel'tabra left her hands right where they were. "Perhaps you can tell me when this Sarltan ascended the throne of Scornubel-and when, for that matter, our people conquered this city from the humans who still think they rule it."
The fat man raised his eyes to meet hers for the first time. "I am Sarltan. Who are you?"
"Iylinvyx, of House Nrel’tabra," she replied, "of the city of Telnarquel."
"And the head of your house is?"
"Anonymous by choice," the trader replied coolly.
Sarltan's eyes flickered and he asked, "What house rules in Telnarquel?"
"House Imbaraede."
"And when you kneel at altars, Iylinvyx Nrel'tabra, whom do you kneel to?"
"No one," the trader said quietly, "until a divine hand convinces me otherwise."
The next question came as swiftly as the others, but the fat man's voice was now like a cold, sharp knife. "What is your true shape, trader?"
The she-drow straightened up from the table and ges shy;tured down at herself. "What you see," she replied calmly.
A look of disgust momentarily twisted Sarltan's fea shy;tures, and he lifted one pudgy hand and almost lazily crooked his fingers in a signal. From somewhere in the busy room came the snap of a fired crossbow.
The trader with the gems at her throat never moved. Her easy smile remained unchanged even when the speeding war-quarrel struck something unseen just behind her left ear, shivered into dark splinters, and ricocheted away to clatter down some crates nearby.
"Velrult! Imber!" Sarltan snapped, his fingers moving in a sign.
Two of the armsmen charged around the desk, their blades sweeping up. The curvaceous trader smiled at them, tossing her head so as to look both warriors in the eye, in turn, ere they struck-but they never paused in their rushes, and plunged their blades low into Iylinvyx's belly, ripping savagely upward.
Their swords passed through the she-drow as if she was empty air, leaving her leather-clad curves unmarked. The force they'd put behind their attacks sent them stag shy;gering backward, helplessly off-balance.
Iylinvyx crossed her arms, scratched idly at one ear, and asked, "And what of you, fat man? What is your proper name-and what house do you serve?"
Sarltan was gaping at her, face paling, and he snapped, "Ressril!"
Another of the figures standing behind him obedi shy;ently lifted his hands to shape a spell while the she-drow trader promptly took one of the staggering warriors by one elbow and his belt. She plucked him off his feet as if he were a child's rag doll and not a burly man two heads taller than her, and flung him bodily into Ressril who had time for one sharp cry before the back of his head cracked against the floorboards. The warrior's tumbling body bounced hard atop him.
"Sarltan," the drow trader purred as she leaned across the desk, "I asked you two questions. Don't keep me waiting."
One of her hands snaked to the back of her neck and came back with something unseen-something that stabbed down through the fat man's writing hand, pin shy;ning it to the desk as he shouted in startled pain.
Iylinvyx Nrel'tabra slapped Sarltan hard across the face, whipping his head around, then sprang over the desk to catch hold of his free, flailing hand. With iron strength she forced it down to the desk, wrenched her dagger free-then brought the blade smartly down again, transfixing both of Sarltan's crossed hands and driving her hitherto-invisible dagger into the desk to its quillons. Its magic made the blade flicker, flirting with invisibility, as the fat man screamed and his blood spattered wildly across the welter of papers.
"Just sit tight," Iylinvyx said jovially, patting Sarltan's shoulder. "I'm going to be rather busy for the next little while."
She shoved hard against him-evoking a fresh, raw scream of agony-to propel herself away from a glow shy;ing spear that someone was trying to thrust through her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the fat man's bulk change, but could spare no time to watch him turn back into his true shape. . and after all, she knew what that shape would be.
Angry men with drawn weapons were converging on her from
all sides. Iylinvyx dodged around one, tripped another, and kicked out at the crotch of a third so viciously her leg boosted him over her shoulder into a face first encounter with the desk. Sarltan shrieked again and she won herself the room she needed to race forward. The she-drow landed with both knees together on the throat of the sprawled Ressril.
Bones cracked under Iylinvyx as she looked wildly around. She had to find and take down any other mages here as swiftly as she could, both to avoid spell duels she couldn't afford to fight with so many foes seeking her life, and to free any of these loaders who might be humans in spell-thrall and not drow wearing human guises.
Thralled humans or drow, the thirty-odd loaders all seemed both enraged at her, and to have found weapons. Her ironguard spell wouldn't last forever. That glowing spear could pierce the magical defense the spell provided and hurt her as much as any other enchanted weapons. She couldn't be sure how many in the small armory now thrusting and hacking at her from all sides carried such blades.
Large, sweaty bodies smashed into her and sent her reeling. Fists came at her in a rain that soon had her ducking through the limp legs of the tall, handsome-and currently senseless-drow Sarltan had turned out to be. She ducked into the knee space of the desk. There she snatched the few moments she needed to snatch out the one magical ring she'd brought with her from its pocket in her bodice, draw it onto her finger, and let fly with her first burst of magic missiles.
Blue bolts streaked into faces that swiftly withdrew and Iylinvyx rolled hastily back out from under the desk in the wake of her spell. Clawing her way around Sarltan, she used him as a shield against whoever might be leaping down on her from atop the desk-and there was just such a bright and enthusiastic fellow. The drow trader ducked away from the sword in his left hand as he crashed into her. She let him tumble head shy;long into some of her other foes, jabbing ineffectually at her with a dagger in his right hand that just wouldn't reach. She was skidding helplessly along the rough floorboards at the time, so this was a good thing.
Some of the loaders still hadn't realized metal blades simply passed harmlessly through her. Their brutal but ineffectual thrusts allowed her to roll past them, or to barrel hard into their ankles and trip them. She emerged on the far side of one toppling giant of a man, wincing at the crash he made bouncing on his face on the floor, and found herself with room to scramble up and run.
More men or drow-men were appearing in the door shy;way she'd come in by, shouting enthusiastically. Over to her left was a stair up to the balcony-a height currently echoing with the clatter of men cranking the windlasses of their crossbows like mad-wits, their quarrels meant for her.
Iylinvyx Nrel'tabra sprinted toward the stair, skid shy;ding in her spike heeled boots as she ducked under an axe-for who could tell when one might be magical, in all this chaos of unleashed Art? — then spun around to avoid someone trying to tackle her.
Someone else then drove a sword through a friend while trying to reach her. Amid the groans she ran at and over a lone, scared loader who stood uncertainly at the bottom of the stair. Heads bobbed up here and there along the balcony, seeking the darting she-drow below, and Iylinvyx drove her dagger into the throats of two men before any of the crossbowmen even realized she was up on the balcony.
The third fell with a volley of missiles from the ring surging into his face, and the fourth flung down his unloaded bow and tried to drag out his sword. The drow trader put her head down and crashed into him, sending him sprawling back into the bowman behind him. They fell together and Iylinvyx pounced on them, driving her dagger down twice. That left just one man on the balcony. He took one look at the diminutive drow smiling at him as she rose from the bodies of two men whose blood was dripping from her arm right up to the elbow, and vaulted over the balcony railing, shouting in fear.
Iylinvyx wasted no time in gloating, but spun around and scooped up two bows that were cocked tight but not yet loaded. As she felt around her feet for the spilled quarrels, she peered narrowly at the loaders below as they gathered both weapons and courage, and streamed toward the balcony stair. Were any hanging back, lifting their hands to cast-?
Ah, yes. There.
The drow mage masquerading as a man didn't see her quarrel coming until it was almost upon him. By then he had time only to choke, gurgle, and be carried along by it as it slammed into his throat and carried him over a heap of small coffers. His feet kicked once, then went limp.
The drow trader peered around the room below once more as she plucked up the second bow, but saw no other mages. She turned and put a quarrel into the face of the foremost man charging at her along the balcony. He spun around and the second man stumbled over him. She sent a stream of missiles from her ring into the face of the third as she launched herself at the stumbling man and smashed the pommel of her dagger into his face. He fell over with a groan, and Iylinvyx drove her blade into his neck twice as she crouched, facing the rest of the charge.
It was proceeding with decidedly less enthusiasm now. The individual drow were either accustomed to danger or not, but they had all seen one small, unarmored female slay almost half of them in a bewilderingly short time. The same foe now stood unhurt and unabashed, giving them a grin full of the promise of death as she strolled calmly forward along the blood shy;stained balcony to meet them.
More than one warrior in the ranks packed along the balcony had a sudden desire to be somewhere-anywhere-else. There was a momentary, jostling confusion during which Iylinvyx calmly picked up the last cocked crossbow, loaded it, and put its quarrel through one eye of the largest man on the balcony. There were mutters of fear and alarm, and more tur shy;moil.
When a stinging volley of missiles from the drow trader's ring struck at the faces of several men, there was a sudden, shouting move to retreat. Blows were struck, with fists and bared blades, there among the drow of Scornubel.
Bruised and winded, Helbondel crouched back against the wall as the first shouting cowards thundered back down the steps past him. Black rage threatened to choke him even more than the blood welling up from where a hard elbow had driven him to bite his own cheek. He threw back his head and called on Vhaeraun for aid. The vicious madness that too often seized a priestess of the Spider Queen-and she must be a follower of Lolth, else why would Sarltan have challenged her so? — now threatened to destroy another triumph of the People, the greatest grip on the riches of the Sunlit World yet achieved by the Faithful of Vhaeraun. It is as the wisest elder holy ones say: the poisonous touch of the Spider Queen despoils and ruins wherever it reaches.
She must be destroyed! he thought. Whatever foul battle magic she was using to overcome veteran war shy;riors, letting her slay like a snake striking at will in a nest of baby rodents, must be brought low.
Helbondel clutched his most precious magic-an amulet touched by the God himself, twisted forever into fire-scarred ruin from its former bright magnificence-and called up a magic to shatter all magics. It wouldn't last long or reach far, and it might mean his death, but if it pleased holy Vhaeraun. .
A drow warrior, dying with a sword through his pelvis, stumbled backward and fell heavily over the crouching priest. The blade projecting out of his but shy;tocks was driven down into Helbondel's neck with all of the warrior's weight behind it, and the priest could hardly vomit forth the blood choking him for all of the shuddering and convulsing his body tried to accom shy;plish. Writhing and thrashing against the stone wall, he died never seeing the human guises of loaders all over the warehouse melt away-or the accursed priest shy;ess dealing death to them change as well, into some shy;thing else. .
The slender form of Iylinvyx Nrel'tabra boiled up like smoke, amid a grunt of constricted discomfort and a sudden loud tearing of well stitched seams. A tall, broad-shouldered human woman stood grimly on the balcony amid the ruins of split boots and a rent leather tunic, her silver hair stirring around her as if blown by its own wayward breeze.
She looked down at the tattered scraps of her cloth shy;ing and
kicked off the painfully pinching remnants of her boots. The last handful of drow warriors on the bal shy;cony stared at her, open-mouthed-then fled.
Dove Falconhand, free of her she-drow disguise, vaulted over the balcony rail to land in their path, snatched up the body of a fallen warrior, and swung it like a club. Her first blow missed, but her second smashed the foremost drow into insensibility. The impact didn't numb her fingertips quite enough to keep her from feeling the shock of breaking bones.
Another warrior lunged at her in desperate fury, but caught his blade in the corpse she was holding. He let it fall in his frantic haste to flee. Dove swept up a fallen sword and hurled it, hard, at the back of his head. He fell without a sound, leaving her facing just two drow. She gave them a smile, and pointed at an open, empty crate nearby. "Want to live?" she asked. "Then get in."
They looked at her, then at the crate, then back at her. Dove nodded at the crate, and softly repeated the words she'd earlier said to Sarltan: "Don't keep me waiting."
They gave her fearful looks and scrambled into the crate in almost comical haste. Dove took two long strides through the sprawled dead, plucked up the lid of the crate, and tossed it down into place. A black sword blade promptly thrust up through it. She grinned, hefted a full-and very heavy-crate from a pile nearby, and hurled it onto the sword. There was a rending scream of wood, cries of fear, and the laden crate settled a foot or so down into the box that now sink onto them until someone cut the drow a way out through the buckled sides of their improvised prison.
Dove looked around at all the carnage and sighed. "I sometimes wish," she told the empty chamber bitterly, "that dark elves knew some other way to settle dis shy;putes than with swords. Drinking contests, say, or just tossing dice. . anything to keep them from thinking through all sides of a dispute, and trying to come to a levelheaded agreement."
She turned, and added briskly, "Now to the unfin shy;ished task at hand. Sarltan?"
Silence was her reply.