Elminster in Hell

curious, faintly-something else, but hiding all behind a steady mask.

Without hesitation Mirt rose. As he passed, he skirted bolder hands that stroked and plucked at him and ignored familiar entreaties husky and shrill alike. In a few strides, he was among those women who had hung back. Some were shy, or affected to be so. Some were young and unsure, or intimidated by more experienced rivals. The one he sought had as yet spoken to none. Most of the other girls thought her a wife or creditor come to seek one man of the company, not a night maiden at all.

Eyes widened in surprise and dawning hope at his approach. 'Mirt,' whispered a dozen excited throats. 'Mirt the Wolf!'

There was shifting to straighten hair or best display a shapely leg, but the lady in gray moved not at all, nor spoke. Something flickered behind her eyes, but her expression did not change.

Girls moved aside, looking more surprised still, as the object of the Wolfs attention became clear. He came to a stop, hand on belt, and raised an eyebrow in silence.

This one was old indeed for the Scarlet Slipper. He had never seen her before.

In like silence, the lady nodded her head, once. Mirt stepped forward smoothly and took her arm as though they were old friends of high station at a dance in Piergeiron's Palace, not strangers in the course of an old trade at a rundown inn. The amulet around the Wolfs neck remained still and cool; there was no magic here.

'Whither?' was all Mirt asked as they stepped out into the moonlit street.

Amid the shadows, dark figures drifted a step or two closer, saw the scabbarded sword ready beneath the man's other hand, and moved away again.

'This way,' was the cool reply. 'It's not far.' They walked slowly up the street toward the castle, looming high above. Mirt seemed in no hurry; he was intrigued.

'How much, milady?' he asked, in a gently neutral tone.

'I am no lady, sir,' was the tart reply. 'Two gold-one before my door… and one in the morning.'

Mirt's eyebrows rose. 'You've not done this long,' he said flatly.

'Is the price too high?' came the cool challenge from beside his shoulder. But she walked on as before.

Mirt shrugged. ' 'Tis not that,' he answered. 'You spoke of morning. Long indeed for but one gentleman- guest.'

'I have not been doing this long, sir.'

Mirt stopped and turned to look over his shoulder. His companion made as if to draw free, but he held her arm firmly.

'Have you changed your mind, sir?' she asked, slowly.

Mirt shook his head, raised his hand, and made a sign. Two men who followed them returned it and turned away, one raising his drawn sword in silent salute.

'Nay,' Mirt replied. 'My men,' he added, and began walking again. 'They'll follow us no more.'

'Why-no, you need not answer that,' his companion of the evening replied. 'It is just here, sir. Your gold?'

Wordlessly Mirt opened the hand whose arm was, linked through hers. In it gleamed a gold piece.

And humans call us evil! At least we make no pretenses about the evil we do!

What, is Nergal telling me there's no deceit in Hell! No lies? Hmm?

The little healed one wakes! Well, well… Enjoy the ride. I'm off through your memories again, little man, though i'm beginning to forget why!

Ah, my spell's working!

[snort, mind lash, groan of pain, diabolic chuckle] Idiot human, show on…

'Still awake, milady?' Mirt asked gently later, into the darkness. She turned from the window where she had been watching the moon sail above the harbor, laid down something long and thin that gleamed in the moonlight, and came back to bed.

'Yes,' she said very softly, getting in. Mirt put an arm around her and drew her to him, to warm her. After a moment or two she relaxed, and lay still against him. Mirt traced the fall of her hair past her shoulder.

'How are you called, milady?' he asked.

'Nalitheen,' she replied, a curious tightness in her voice.

'I am Mirt,' Mirt said. After a moment, she chuckled.

'So half the girls in the Slipper said, when you came over.' She lay against him, warming, unmoving. 'The Wolf, they call you. Slayer of Thousands. I had thought to find you more-savage.'

Mirt shrugged. 'Why so? If I am angered, my trade is battle…. I get my fill of lashing out.' He coughed, and stared into the night in his turn. 'Some of my men are cruel, aye, and will always be so. Some bluster and swagger because they are too young to know better.'

'I have hosted some of those,' Nalitheen agreed, in neutral tones.

'Those who have fought longer,' Mirt added, parting her shoulder, 'would never treat you ill. The greatest thing a woman can give a soldier is safe rest, so that he can sleep deeply and relax, not fearing a knife in the ribs.'

'I know that,' Nalitheen said quietly. 'My husband was a soldier. He was killed two summers back, near Dagger-ford. Borold was his name. He rode for Waterdeep and was well thought of. He was slain by mercenaries sent to seize the city's bars of silver that he was guarding. Every man in his command was cut down, and the lords were very angry.' Her voice was thin and bitter as she added, 'Angry for the loss of their silver.'

Mirt lay still, looking into darkness. A small chill of sadness added its weight to earlier sorrows, deep within. The Company of the Wolf had taken that silver, under hire to the merchants of Amn. If Borold had commanded the guards that day, Mirt the Merciless had slain him. A stout man, with bristling sideburns and eyebrows. He had been fast enough to get his saber into Mirt's arm before he died. He stirred, and almost spoke-but Nalitheen's voice had been so bitter.

'Men who swing swords have no idea how many women go hungry because of them or are left behind, forever alone. Many I know here will never know if they've been abandoned or how their lord died,' she said softly.

'How is it that you heard of your-of Borold's fall?' Mirt asked.

'They told me; soldiers at the palace, when they summoned me there and gave me his pay.' She shrugged. 'I know not how they learned it, or even if it '| is the truth. They gave me forty pieces of silver for the life of my husband.'

'Then why, milady,' Mirt asked softly, 'sell yourself?J Is jt-forgive my blunt asking-loneliness?'

Nalitheen shrugged again. 'I have two daughters. They J must eat. For myself, I don't care anymore, now that Borold is gone. I used to think I'd hear him call, and he'd come up the street again as he always did, singing. But I know he won't now. Ever again.'

They were silent, for a time. Then Mirt asked again, roughly this time, 'But why-sell yourself?'

Nalitheen turned in his arms to face him, in the darkness. 'What else have I?' she asked simply. 'I can cook, aye, but there are a hundred hundred folk this side of the castle who can cook better than 1.1 have no skill at handiwork, nor strength to load or unload goods in the streets for whatever coin is offered. All else in this city is guild work, and I lack the coins even to apprentice to a guild. And 'prentice wages won't feed two younglings, even if I near starve.'

Mirt ran a hand along her ribs. 'Naught else to spare, have you?'

Nalitheen chuckled. 'Borold used to say that. I have always eaten little.'

'I've no complaints,' Mirt assured her, and they chuckled together. He fell silent then, and soon after began to snore. Nalitheen lay still in his arms, looking into the night-and surprised herself by falling asleep almost immediately.

You humans certainly rut a lot. If you wasted less time talking your way into each other's arms, you'd have more time for killing and plundering.

My thanks, Nergal, but some in Faerun, as it happens, have noticed that already.

[snort] Reveal more, wizard. My patience is a shorter thing than it was when i first