Silverfall: Stories of the Seven Sisters (forgotten realms)

by Ed Greenwood

  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.

  "You’ll get these full force, and not these gentle taps," he told her almost earnestly, as if explaining how a toy worked to an avid youth, "if you dare to scream. Do try to remember that."

  One last blow almost tore one of her ears off, and left her half blinded by tears and half deaf from the roaring raging in her ears.

  The Borderer stepped back, giving her a genial smile-she almost found herself trying to smile back at him-and Thone, Ridranus, and Murpeth converged on her in unison. Both of the slyblades plucked pokers from the bra shy;zier and held them over her, inches above her face and her breast, letting her feel the searing heat.

  "Did you do something to our beloved mage?" Murpeth asked almost idly.

  "N-no," Storm said, letting a tremulous sob govern her voice. "No! How could I?"

  "Indeed," the Zhent leader purred. "How could you?"

  He waved the two pokers away-back into the brazier they went-and let his fingers drop to her belly. Cold fin shy;gertips trailed up her smooth curves to stop, almost deli shy;cately, at her throat.

  "I'm more interested," Calivar Murpeth remarked almost conversationally, "in how you helped Maervidal Iloster escape us earlier, and why. Is he a friend of yours? Or do you work together?"

  "I–I don't know him," Talantha the escort said, then screamed as his hand fell like lightning to her breast, and tore off a little tassel, the brass claw that held it to her flesh and all.

  It dripped blood as Murpeth held it up and told it gently, "I do hate liars-don't you?"

  "I'm-I'm telling the truth, lord!" the lady escort sobbed. "Truly! I've never seen him before this night, when I helped him out the back door-the one we escorts use."

  "And why did you do that?" Murpeth pounced. "Helping a stranger? Or a client?"

  "N-neither, lord. He gave me coin to do it."

  The Zhent leader glared at her. "Who?"

  Talantha pointed with her eyes at Ridranus, standing beside the brazier with his arms folded and a grim little smile on his face. "That man, by the brazier. He threat shy;ened me, too, that if I refused he'd cut off my. . cut off my …"

  Murpeth whirled away from her and made a hand signal. Five men drew steel and started toward the slyblade in grim, careful unison.

  Ridranus went white then red with fury, and snarled, "She lies!" as he brought his own weapon out again.

  He was just in time to furiously parry the thrusting blades, but as he deftly turned aside reaching steel and took a quick step back to be out of immediate reach, a strangle wire snapped around his throat from behind. Murpeth and Thone watched like two statues as Ridranus fought like a frenzied man, twisting and kicking in a des shy;perate attempt to topple his attacker over his head. When the slyblade did finally manage to drag the small, agile man forward, the man let go one handle of his wire, and swung on the other as he bounded away, slicing the slyblade's head half off.

  As the shocked, staring face of Ridranus lolled crazily to one side and blood fountained in all directions, more than one of the watching Zhents whirled away and began to be noisily sick.

  The dark-gloved, leather-clad strangler calmly retrieved his bloodied wire from the slumping corpse and turned back to Murpeth for further orders. The Zhent leader made a grim hand signal that seemed to mingle thanks and an order to "get hence, away."

  Calivar Murpeth looked a little like he wanted to be sick himself, but his voice was calm enough, even drawl shy;ing, as he drifted over to look down at the helpless escort and said, "Suppose you tell me more about the words you exchanged with the man who gave you coin to assist the scrivener out the door. Was there anyone with him?"

  "Y-yes, lord. Four men, all with knives. I think one of them had a sword, too."

  "I see. Did he name any of these men?"

  "N-no."

  "Did you see any of them clearly?"

  "Yes, lord. All four."

  The Zhentarim leader straightened up and gave the other men in the room a chilly smile. "Gentlesirs, I desire you to draw forth and let fall every last blade you carry-now-and approach this table."

  There was a moment of uneasy hesitation, wherein the Zhentarim leader raised an eyebrow and said mildly, "I'm interested, you see, in exactly how many of you are tardy in following my orders. It will give me a fair idea of how far Maervidal Iloster has infiltrated our ranks with his people, and how many more bodies are going to decorate the floor of this chamber, this night."

  He drew back out of their, way smoothly, signing to Thone to watch all of the Zhents as they reluctantly dropped their weapons to the floor and shuffled forward. The glares many of them directed at the still, large-eyed woman on the table were not pretty to behold.

  "Look up and down their ranks, lady," Calivar Murpeth said gently. "Say nothing until they step back, then I shall lean close, and you shall whisper to me if any of them stood with Ridranus when he gave you coin. Fear them not. Thone shall protect you."

  He nodded his head at the surviving slyblade, who was holding a dagger ready in one hand, its hilt moving rhythmically back and forth as he fondled its tip between his thumb and first finger. Three drawn daggers waited in his other hand. Thone smiled and nodded his chin in her direction, but his eyes never left the line of reluctant men.

  Who now, at Murpeth's gesture, stepped forward.

  "Look well," the Zhent leader commanded Talantha, who kept her eyes wide, frightened, and bereft of any recognition as they roved back and forth along the tense, silent line of sullen men.

  They stepped back in unison at another signal from Murpeth, who then leaned over and murmured, "Well?"

  "The two closest to my feet," the lady escort quavered, "the one on the end, nearest my head, and the one three down from him-the one with white at his temples and the ring in his ear."

  Calivar Murpeth gave her a brittle smile and straight shy;ened up again to enthusiastically rid his force of four competent men who were guilty of no more than being recognized by Storm from her days of farscrying Manshoon. Veteran killers and practiced thieves, all of them, deserving of death a dozen times over that she knew of, and probably hundreds more that she did not, but no more guilty of assisting Maervidal to escape than Ridranus had been.

  "Strabbin Stillcorn, Rungo Baerlan, Raelus Ustarren, and Worvor Drezil," Murpeth said in cold tones. "Step back."

  One of the men swore, another spun and started to run, only to stiffen, stagger a few steps, then fall heavily on his side with Thone's dagger in the back of his neck.

  "Slay at will," the Zhent leader told his slyblade calmly, drawing his own slender sword.

  A dagger whipped out of Thone's hand even as he mur shy;mured, "A pleasure, lord." In the candlelight, it flashed end over end like a streak of dancing flame. Across the room, a darting man coughed out a sudden desperate sob, twisted around to claw vainly at the air, and fell, wallow shy;ing feebly in his own blood.

  Even before his victim struck the floor, the slyblade was gliding forward to intercept the third and fourth men, who'd snatched up weapons from the scattering of dis shy;carded ones on the floor and charged Murpeth.

  The Zhent leader hastily stepped behind Thone, and the two men instantly lost all enthusiasm for their attack, but almost as swiftly realized they were as doomed if they abandoned it as if they proceeded. First one then the other shrugged at the fate yawning before them, then, with savage yells, they came on again.

  The slyblade ducked, moved his arms in a flurry of hurled daggers, re-arming, and guard thrusts, then lunged forward, both of the last pair of daggers in his hands buried to the hilts in the chest and throat of one foe while the other reeled, a dagger quivering in his right eye, and to
ppled slowly to the floor.

  As Thone wrestled aside the body on his blades, another Zhent loomed up over Talantha. It was the man who'd slain Ridranus with his strangling wire.

  There was a very large dagger in his hand now, and his face blazed with bright anger. "I'll bet there's a lot more you could tell us, wench," he snarled, "if someone really made you want to talk."

  "Toarin!" Murpeth shouted. "Stand away from her. Now!"

  Unhurriedly the Zhent slayer reached out to slide his dagger up Storm's ribs to prick the underside of one breast. "I can't hear you, Murpeth," he said merrily. "Per shy;haps it's the sound of my friends Strabbin and Rungo, crying out to me of their innocence. Why you let this bitch condemn us at random, I'll nev-"

  "Toarin Klustoon!" Murpeth snarled. "Stand away from that woman at once!"

  "Toarin," Thone said a moment later, his voice a quiet, warning promise.

  The Zhent slayer snarled in wordless disgust and flung down his blade. It bit into the tabletop a whisper away from Storm's flank, where the blood from her breast was trickling down, humming with Toarin's fury.

  The slayer whirled around again, and this time a poker from the brazier was glowing a sullen red in his gloved hands. "Tell the truth, whore," he said loudly, "or I'll-"

  He made a thrusting motion at her crotch, and several straying silver threads sizzled as they shriveled away from the heat. Wondering how much longer she should put up with this-after all, what of value were these men going to reveal? — Storm lay still and waited for real pain to begin.

  Instead, as so often happens in the life of a Chosen, she was given something else.

  Storm, dearest!

  "Mother" Sylune, as I live and breathe. Have you been watching?

  Aye, but not watching you. What befalls?

  Flat on my back, as usual, here in the dale. I'm enter shy;taining some Zhents who think they're entertaining me. Affectionate fellows they are. We've reached the "hot pokers to the womb" stage.

  Sylune sent a flare of alarm, then, Need you aid?

  No, no. These are just the local threaten-and-bluster boys. What aid can I render your way, though? I can tell when you're all upset, Softspoken, and you're upset right now.

  Well, it is urgent. Lassra-at my urging, mind, not on one of her crack-Red-Wizard-bones-and-drink-their-blood moods-set out to slay a grand harvest of Red Wizards. She shaped herself into an imprisoning sphere, englobing them, and the spells they hurled have left her a-well, a dangerously weakened shell. Elminster is her refuge while she rebuilds herself. In the meantime, if the ever-adventuresome Storm could just take care of this little problem?

  Certainly, provided you stop being coy long enough to tell me which little problem this might be. Names, faces, and deeds, please, sister. I'm not the Chosen who likes to slaughter every Thayan my eyes fall upon, remember?

  Lassra smashed most of the sorcerous end of a cabal all six of your sisters have been tracing for a while now, but there's at least one of note left, one often easily tracked by those who can watch the Weave.

  The crotch of the silvershot gown was truly aflame now, flaring up in front of Klustoon's furious face.

  Sister, my nether hair is ashes and my flesh is beginning to cook. Get on with it!

  Through the flame's rising, searing orange tongue, Storm could see the slyblade Thone, face dark with his own anger, almost casually holding back Calivar Murpeth with one hand.

  Halaster! Sylune told her. We need you to track down the Mad Mage.

  The Zhent murderer in front of her growled to get her full attention, and slowly drew back his arm. In a moment, he'd thrust the hot poker forward …

  Well, at least you got around to telling me which mad mage. Later, sister!

  Storm sat up, letting her flesh start the slide back into her own shape as she caught hold of the poker, twisting and yanking with a sudden surge of strength. The pain made her face go white, but in an instant the fire iron was hers alone, and Toarin Klustoon's chin was plowing help shy;lessly into her knees.

  Through the sizzle and stink of her own burning flesh, Storm told the room pleasantly, "I'd love to stay for more of these Heartsteel thrills, but I'm afraid more pressing matters have arisen."

  Toarin found balance enough to lift himself off her and grab for a dagger. As Storm's hair began to swirl out to its true length and turn to silver, the gathered Zhents fell back with a general murmur of recognition and fear. She smiled tightly as she bent the poker, the muscles of her arms and shoulders rippling, and wrapped it around her interrogator's neck. Toarin Klustoon screamed as the flesh of his throat sizzled, then burst into helpless tears as his howls and shrieks of pain rose swiftly to a deafening, wordless babble.

  Storm regarded him sourly for a moment, then took hold of the protruding ends of the poker, put her strength to them-and broke the Zhent slayer's neck.

  As Klustoon fell to the ground, wet bubbling spraying from his lips, a dagger flashed and winked as it came whirling through the air at Storm. She put up one ruined hand and caught it in deft fingers, twirling it for only a brief moment before she flipped it through the air on a side journey-one that ended in the throat of Calivar Murpeth.

  The Zhent leader stared at her over its hilt in disbelief as his rich red blood fountained out. "You weren't-You mustn't-" Murpeth struggled to say, before his knees gave way beneath him and he sat down into an ignoble, strangling crash to the floor. He kicked feebly at the floor once, but then did not move again.

  Storm got up off the table, herself once more. The pain in her hands was a raging fire, but already they were beginning to heal, ashes falling away as her skin began to creep back over the seared bones.

  The Zhents had fallen back to the far reaches of the room, and were eyeing the door but making no charge toward it yet. The small, cold-eyed assembly of servants that had just gathered out of nowhere to stand blocking it, a glittering array of weapons in their hands, might have had something to do with that.

  The Bard of Shadowdale kept her eyes on the only man still standing close to her. The man who'd thrown the dagger just now. A Zhentarim slyblade named Thone.

  "I believe," she said calmly, drifting toward him as gracefully as if she wore a High Lady's gown, "you owe me some money. Ten silver, was it not?"

  The assassin held up empty hands in a gesture of sur shy;render. "Lady Storm," he gasped, "I'd never have lifted a hand against you, had I known-"

  She crooked an eyebrow, not slowing her deliberate advance.

  Thone swallowed, licked his lips, and said, "Ah, just kill me quickly-please." He backed away from her, pushing the air with his hands as if he could somehow slow her down. "There's just one thing I'd like to know before I die," he blurted out, looking into her angry eyes. "How did you know?"

  "Know about what?" Storm snapped, advancing on him like a stalking cat.

  "Th-that I write the Heartsteel books," he replied, as the color slowly fled from his face in fear. "I'm almost done with one now …"

  "You write the Heartsteel-?"

  "Heart in a Clenched Gauntlet, Kisses Like Iron, Black-serpent's Caress, Redwyrm's Revenge, yes, yes," Thone qua shy;vered. "Tower Sundered at Twilight, The Dragon's Gentle Claw..."

  As Storm Silverhand took him by the throat, she mur shy;mured, "Well, now. Well, now …"

  A smile rose to her lips, and she added pleasantly, "You've afforded my sister Sylune and myself much amusement. Perhaps even, at times, when you meant to. For this, you may live."

  Startlement showed in his eyes-in the instant before the left hook that had started near her knees took him under the chin, snapping his head back as if it belonged to a wooden doll and not a living man.

  The Bard of Shadowdale caught the slyblade as he slumped, and heaved him up into the air with another rip shy;pling of muscles. She slung Thone's limp body over one shoulder and strode to the door, where a grim-faced cook was wiping his hands on his apron amid a wall of somber servants.

  Storm glanced down at her han
ds-still grotesque, but no longer burned to the bone-then up at the cook. "Rendal," she said gently, "You can take them all down now."

  The cook saluted her, as one Harper to another, and nodded his head at the slyblade's dangling form. "Him, too?"

  Storm smiled. "No. He lives." Rendal Ironguard nodded, turned, and made two swift signals with his hands. The servants surged into life, charging across the room at the remaining Zhents.

  "Harpers all," Storm murmured, watching the tumult.

  Screams came to her ears from below as the pitched battle spread. There'd be fleeing guests all over Northend in a few minutes, but her folk knew their Zhents. Such open violence was a crude lapse of style, but necessary-the more so if she was going to be busy chasing down a truly mighty wizard.

  "This pity, truly," she told the senseless man on her shoulder, "that so few servants are to be had for hire in the dales. One ends up having to accept almost anyone."

  She gave Thone an experimental shake to be sure he was securely seated-and truly deep in his temporary retreat from the world-and started down the stairs. That cloakroom would do to strip him of strangling cords and hidden knives and suchlike, then Sylune could keep him hard at work on Heartsteel epics, back at the farm, while Storm went hunting Halasters.

  "I hear they're bad at this time of year," she remarked brightly to a terrified Zhentarim who came pounding up the stairs at that moment-before she put her boot in his face and sent him plunging back down onto the blades of the Harpers pursuing him.

  "Boys, boys-no fires, now!" Storm warned the Harpers grinning at her. They saluted her and clattered back down the stairs. Someone screamed in the room behind her, and someone else struck a wall with a crash that made her wince.

  One of these days the Zhentarim might just learn patience enough not to get in each other's way all the time, and plunge into carrying out plans they hadn't fin shy;ished considering the consequences of. If they ever did that, the dales might truly have something to fear.

  Of course, to reach that level of competence, the Zhents were going to have to ferret out the Red Wizards and other traitors hiding in their midst, who customarily used them as dupes and clumsy weapons against folk in the Dragonreach lands. That and the tensions between Manshoon and Fzoul should keep them busy for a while yet…