armored against boredom' before attending some nobles' revels in the City of Splendors. . hmmm, Mirt had taken quite a shine to her, come to think of it; he'd always insisted in seeing 'my little dark lady with the eyes of pure fire' in her true form before she spun a spell disguise to go out into the streets.
Inder nudged her now, none too gently. Qilue knew what he was signaling, and stepped firmly forward to tow the loud merchant past a glowering Iyrevven Eldeglut and distract the man now, as preparation for distracting him in earnest later. Namra Dunseltree was fatter and had larger jowls than many of the men here in the Eldeglut mansion this night, but the open front of her gown allowed her-by dragging everything sideways-to lay bare one of the most formidable breasts in all of Scornubel. Namra had spent some time this evening gluing glittering emerald dust to its thumb-sized nipple. Owing to a shortage, it seemed Namra had only ever stepped on one or two emeralds. The other one was adorned with ruby dust.
Qilue dragged her gown sideways, just as she'd prac shy;ticed in the privacy of her mirror chamber. The mer shy;chant fastened his eyes on the sudden display, gasped, and transformed her towing into an enthusiastic charge that would have knocked her right over if there hadn't been a wall in the way. The emeralds at the throat of her gown momentarily struck her chin as her shoulders thundered into the wall, and the merchant crowed happily.
Iyrevven Eldeglut gave Namra a brittle smile over the merchant's growls and slobbering, and asked, 'Happy now, dear?'
Namra blew her a kiss. 'Happier than you'll ever be, Iyrevven,' she replied sweetly, 'if you don't get out and about more. I hear the scenery in Chult is quite spec shy;tacular this time of year.'
Inder's elbow nearly broke one of her ribs. 'That's neither amusing nor wise, shulteen,' he snarled into her ear. He dragged her-and the still guffawing and nuzzling merchant-half a dozen paces away from a puzzled Iyrevven Eldeglut and into the din of sixty or so excitedly talking revelers. 'We're not supposed to know or discuss such things, remember?'
His fingers dug into her shoulder like claws as he shook her, and Qilue hissed in pain despite herself as his fingers almost met through her upper arm. 'Shul shy;teen' was a scornful term used by some southern drow that meant, roughly, 'stupid and reckless wanton, whose behavior leaves her not worthy of continued life.' My, but Inder was upset.
'I don't even remember this gallant's name,' she hissed, nodding her chin down at the merchant plas shy;tered to her front. 'Who is he?'
'Malvaran Olnarr,' Inder snapped, 'deals in spices brought in from Amn. He's the eyes for someone, but we're not sure who.'
The red-haired merchant burst upright, and guffawed into Inder's startled face. 'An' we'll just keep it that way, shall we? I don't like my business rivals to be too sure of things.' He turned to leer at Namra, chucked her under the chin, and said, 'A pleasure meeting you, m'lady. Perhaps we could get better acquainted later, hmm? About the time all these scrawny sorts fall exhausted, hey? Folk with real meat on their bones-like you and me- we're the ones who know a thing or two about life!' With a final gale of laughter, he spun away from them both and reached out with both hands to pluck wine bot shy;tles off the tray of a startled passing servant.
Inder glared at Namra, then put his lips to her ear and hissed, 'Just neglect to mention Chult again for the rest of the evening, hmm?'
Namra raised one eyebrow, and shifted her gown slowly and deliberately back and forth. 'I distracted him, did I not?'
'Yes, thoroughly,' Inder said shortly, his breath warm on her neck. 'The gem dust is very effective. Do that again when I go to refill our hosts' goblets.'
Namra turned to lick his chest as if in play, and mur shy;mured, 'Soon, this?'
Standing stiffly immobile under her tongue, Inder growled, 'As soon as I can get back to them and take the goblets without seeming forward or unusual.'
'Count on me,' Namra purred, stepping away from her false husband. Several self-important voices died away momentarily among the grandly talking mer shy;chants as their owners turned to watch the buxom, emerald adorned woman strut to a pillar of sweets.
On her way back from the pillar to take up a fresh tallglass of firewine from the sideboard, Namra Dunseltree seemed to develop an itch. When a few frown shy;ing, surreptitious clawings had no apparent effect, she practically tore open the front of her gown to get at her breastbone, hiking the emeralds-and the gown they were attached to- this way and that. She didn't have to look up to know that her audience was steadily increasing, and her downcast eyes also let her see Inder's passing boot, on his way back to Halonder and Iyrevven Eldeglut with the drugged wine.
'Can I help, m'lady?' a dealer in southern silks purred at her shoulder. 'I could not but help notice your obvious distress.'
'Oh?' Namra purred. 'Yes, 'dis dress' is a trifle obvi shy;ous, isn't it?'
His sudden shout of laughter drew more eyes. Over his shoulder Namra saw Iyrevven throw back her head to drain her glass, as Inder put out his arm past her to usher her husband Halonder into a side chamber.
Iyrevven's eyes rolled up and she started shaking. Namra turned her head to join in the silk dealer's mirth, but shot another glance at her hostess in time to see Inder's arm snake out from the doorway. He took Iyrevven firmly by the elbow as her glass crashed to the floor, and turned her to follow Halonder.
Now came the moment she'd been waiting for. Namra clasped the delighted silk dealer to her bosom, rocked him as she giggled, and kept a steady watch on the door through which Inder and the two victims had disappeared. The folk who headed for that door now would have to be the two dark elves who'd replace the Eldegluts-and persons at least high enough in the invasion scheme to cast the spells of seizing. If one of them should happen to be Daerdatha, would Namra even recognize her?
And how well would Daerdatha recognize Namra-or the dark elf wearing Namra's skin?
Six. . no, eight dark elves were converging on the door, laughing and talking, but strolling with rather more alacrity than they should have been. Seven strode in. The eighth-a dark-eyed man whose rich shirt was open all down the front to display not only a hairy chest, but a dozen thick, coin-adorned gold chains criss shy;crossing it- spun on his heel to face the wider revelry he'd just left. He darted glances all around the room, looking for folk who might be watching.
Qilue got her eyes down in time, spun away from the silk dealer with a last saucy laugh and the flouncing comment, 'M'lord, I'd tarry, but atter your simply
The silk dealer took that as a compliment, and was still laughing and waving when Namra Dunseltree turned to enter a certain doorway-and found her way blocked by a dozen thick ropes of gold and the hairy chest behind them. She gave its owner a merry smile and said, 'My husband, Inder-he went this way, I know he did.'
The dark-eyed man simply shook his head, saying nothing.
Namra tried to push past him and he shifted side shy;ways, pinning her against the doorframe. One of Inder's tapestries had been hung in the room beyond, blocking everyone's view of its depths from the door.
'Good sir,' Namra said insistently, struggling against the strength that held her pinned, 'I
'Forget not your orders,' he muttered into her ear. 'Now turn around, act merry, and go seek out a drink. Your 'husband' will appear at your side soon enough.'
Namra drew back, and he let her go. She paused, a dozen steps from the doorway, and turned to look challengingly back at him. The dark-eyed man's eyes widened as if she'd done something impossible, then narrowed.. then seemed to blaze up into flame.
Something in Qilue's head seemed to stir, then grow warm, and she found the images of the real Namra coming to mind, one after another in a quickening, almost urgent flood: the memories Daerdatha had placed into Anlaervrith's mind. The heat of hostile, roil shy;ing magic was rising swiftly now in Qilue's head, and the images were repeating, in an ever quickening, bewildering stream. The dark-eyed man seemed to be trying to awaken something he could not find, to force her to do something. Were all the disguised drow in Scornubel controlled like puppets?
Well, one at least was not, and now one of those who sought to exercise such control knew it. Qilue turned hastily away, seeking a doorway that would take her out of this throng of revelers. If every one of them could be turned against her, bloodshed-
Halonder and Iyrevven Eldeglut were doomed to a brutally short slavery of backbreaking work in the hot, dangerous jungles of Chult, but if Qilue defied the many disguised drow here in open battle, scores of folk-both dark
