Vraggen continued, 'Who would you dare tell that you were coming to a meet with a Cyricist? The leader of your cell? Malix?'
Norel's eyes darted around, seeking escape. Fear squeezed sweat from his pores. He spoke rapidly, his voice almost a hiss.
'I'm not being 'escorted' out of here, mage. You want to do something to me, you'll have to do it here, if you've got the stones. Someone will see. The Network will hear-'
He started to squirm but Dolgan held him fast. The big Cormyrean flexed his shoulders and fairly ground Norel into his seat. The Zhent folded over and gave a squeal of pain. Azriim chuckled softly, as though the whole affair was a grand joke. Norel tried to lunge at Azriim but could not escape Dolgan's grip. The veins of his neck stood out like a network of tree roots. When he spat his next words, strings of spit dangled between his lips.
'What's so godsdamned funny, you black skinned sonofa-'
A deeper stab from Azriim cut short Norel's tirade. This time, Azriim did not smile.
'I saved your life by keeping that curse in your mouth,' said the half-drow. 'Thank me.'
'Bugger off.'
'Thank me.'
Another prick of the blade. Another squeal of pain.
Norel gritted his teeth. Pain paled his face.
'Thank you, you son-' He stopped himself before Azriim cut him again.
The half-drow smiled with satisfaction.
Before things could get louder, Vraggen reached into his robes, removed a thin iron wand, and pointed it at Norel under the table.
'Be still,' he ordered.
Those simple words triggered the magic of the wand. Norel went rigid, held immobile by the power of the wand's magic.
Dolgan, chuckling in his slow way, loosed his grip on the immobilized Zhent and took a seat at the table. The chair creaked under his weight. A few curious eyes turned their way, but Azriim laughed loudly and slapped Norel on the shoulder.
'You villainous rogue,' he said with a gleeful snort, as though scolding an old friend for getting drunk and bedding a serving girl. 'You didn't?'
Dolgan laughed along, pounding the table with false mirth. The prying eyes of the other patrons went back to their business. Azriim's laughter immediately died, and his eyes-one pale blue, one deep brown-recaptured their usual hardness.
'He has a foul mouth,' Azriim said to Vraggen and Norel. 'Doesn't he?' He looked at Norel. 'You have a foul mouth.' He took Norel's drink and had a slug. 'And you drink swill.'
Looking at the immobile Zhent, Vraggen sighed with disappointment. Norel would have made a fair addition to their crew. He'd shown backbone, there at the end.
Ah well, he thought, what had to be done, had to be done.
He stared across the table into Norel's unblinking eyes and said, 'As I said, Norel, you've made a regrettable decision. You do know what comes next, don't-'
The smack of Azriim's asp-quick backhand across Norel's face stopped Vraggen in mid-sentence. Even Dolgan's dull eyes widened with surprise.
'I told him, 'no expletives,' did I not? I believe I did.' The half-drow spoke in the same relaxed tone of voice that he used when ordering a meal. 'You have a foul mouth,' he repeated to Norel
Vraggen glared. 'Do attempt to maintain your self-control, Azriim,' he said.
The half-drow sneered and said, 'Do I appear to you to be out of control?'
Vraggen indicated Norel. A thick stream of blood flowed down the Zhent's face from the left nostril.
'I told him, 'no expletives,' yet he cursed nevertheless,' Azriim explained. 'My striking him was meant as a further rebuke for his disobedience. He deserved it.' Before Vraggen could frame a reply, Azriim added, 'And I don't take orders from you, Vraggen. I'm your partner, not your lackey. I can interpret the globe, and therefore know how to find what you seek. You're the adept who can gain entrance. That makes us equals.'
Vraggen's fingers pressed into the soft wood of the table and he hissed, 'Watch your tongue, fool.'
He glanced around at the nearby tables, but no one seemed to have taken any notice of the half-drow's comments. Vraggen sometimes regretted his alliance with Azriim. The half-breed outcast of House Jaelre had a mouth that ran like the River Shining, and he too often took unnecessary risks. Still, Azriim spoke truth-they were partners. Inexplicably, the half-drow had a sage's understanding of the heavens-he had never explained to Vraggen how he had come by that education, and Vraggen didn't ask. Vraggen brought to the partnership knowledge of the Zhents and Sembia's underworld, and a mastery of the Shadow Weave and related arcana.
They had met years before, near Tilverton, when Vraggen had first received training in the use of the Shadow Weave. Since then, their partnership had solidified. Vraggen needed Azriim's knowledge to find the Fane of Shadows and plumb the secret that lay within, while Azriim needed Vraggen to help him establish a new criminal organization to replace the Zhents in Sembia, an organization with the half-drow at its head. Partners indeed.
Dolgan looked at Azriim with a vague, puzzled expression and said, 'Hang on, then. You sayin' I'm a lackey?'
Azriim smiled. 'I'm saying-'
'Shut up,' Vraggen commanded, and they did. Partners or no, in the end Vraggen was in charge. 'Clean up this mess. It's time to move on.'
There were other Zhents to recruit, other Zhents to kill, and most importantly, the globe to locate.
Azriim looked surprised, and distantly pleased. 'Clean it? Here?'
'How?' asked Dolgan, in that same puzzled tone.
'How do you think?' Vraggen said. 'Bloodless.'
He put back the rest of his ale.
'But-' Dolgan started.
'Just do it.'
That seemed enough for Azriim, who took the initiative.
The half-drow scooted his chair nearer to Norel's, gave an apologetic shrug and said, 'I told you to mind your manners.'
With one hand he pinched the Zhent's nose closed; with the other, he covered his mouth. Unable to move, Norel could only stare wide-eyed while he was asphyxiated. Vraggen wondered distantly what thoughts were going through Norel's mind while he died. Nothing of worth, he was sure.
Presently, it was over.
'Interesting,' Azriim observed with a smile and scooted his chair back. He wiped Norel's snot and blood from the tips of his fingers. 'I've never killed a man with only my fingers.'
'I have,' Dolgan said. 'Back outside of Ordulin. Rememb-'
'Do shut up,' Vraggen said, and Dolgan did.
Norel's corpse, held rigid by Vraggen's spell, remained upright in the chair, staring across the table with eyes gone glassy. Vraggen looked around to see if anyone had noticed the murder. No one had.
'I'll animate the corpse,' Vraggen said. 'You two escort him out, as though he's drunk.'
'Be serious,' Azriim replied, shaking his head. 'I'll not have his stink on my clothes. Even alive he stank. And dead, well….'
Vraggen bit back his frustration. As much as Azriim loathed profanity, that was how much he loved his tailored finery, almost always in one shade or another of green.
'Very well,' Vraggen said, and indicated Dolgan. 'You then.'
The big man frowned, but nodded.
Vraggen withdrew a small, roughly cut onyx from the inner pocket of his cloak, reached across the table, and pushed it between Norel's dead lips. In a low voice, he dispelled the magic that held Norel rigid then recited the charged words to the spell that would tap the Shadow Weave and animate Norel's corpse.
'Place your hands on the table, Norel,' he commanded, to test the efficacy of the spell.
Norel-or Norel's shell-did exactly that. Vraggen looked to Dolgan and said, 'Walk it out of the inn, then lead it to the bay. Stab it in the lungs a few times so it will sink.'
