Elminster Must Die

raking at his face.

“Easy, wench!” he snarled, slamming a forearm across the side of her head hard enough to twist her half off him into dazed darkness. “I might need some of these limbs in the years ahead, you know!”

“You should’ve thought of that-,” Amarune panted at him as light and sound came back to her in a throbbing rush that left her head ringing, and she tried to claw at him again viciously, “before you-”

“Sat down in a chair in an empty room, after paying for the privilege?” he snapped. “Stop this! By Tempus, lass, leave off! I just want to ask you-uhhh! — some questions!”

“Oh, like how many of your friends will I pleasure for a cut price? Or will I let Lord Delcastle’s pet hired wizard give me feathers and a tail for the night, so you can ride a peacock at last? A peacock on a peacock? Hey?”

Right out of breath from that outburst, Amarune had to put her head down, shuddering, to snatch air as they struggled. Under her, the noble straightened one arm and thrust her up and away from him.

Gods, he’s strong. If he really loses his temper …

Amarune twisted, slapped at him, and tried to jerk free all at once-and Delcastle’s hand slid from a tight grip on her shoulder to a good hard grip on her left breast.

Farruk! That hurt!

“Sorry!” he blurted hastily, letting go. Amarune backhanded him one across the face as hard as she could, then used her other hand to do it again, rocking the chair.

“No,” he groaned as she slammed an elbow into his ribs, “not those sort of questions! H-heed me, lass! You-unhh-you were listening to all we said, my friends and I, when you were dancing for us! Whom did you tell?”

“Tell what?” Amarune snarled into his face. “You think I’m some sort of spy?”

“Yes, but I need to know for who-uh, whom! The nobles behind the murders at the palace?”

“What?” Amarune lost her temper utterly, sheer rage almost choking her. “You think I-”

Words failed her. Shrieking, she clawed Delcastle’s belt dagger out of its sheath and stabbed at him, the blade going wide as his forearms slammed against hers in a desperate parry. Before she could try again he’d clutched her dagger wrist, fingers tightening this time.

Sobbing in pain-he was crushing her wrist, he was crushing it! — she flung all of her trembling weight and strength behind trying to drive it down into his throat, before …

Just as Delcastle kicked out desperately, trying to make the point of the dagger miss the throat it was just about to slice-the door banged open.

The blade missed its mark as the chair lurched sideways, giving Amarune a momentary glimpse of Tress looking horrified, with some of the club bouncers right behind her, before they all rushed forward.

A moment later, Amarune’s head rang from a furious slap. Tress tore the dagger away from her even as that blow landed.

“Are you mad?” the owner of the Dragonriders’ shrieked into Amarune’s ear. “D’you know what will happen to us-to the Dragonriders’-if you kill a noble? Girl, you’re fired-fired! Get out of here at once, or I’ll call the Watch and let this noble set the Black Robes on you!”

“A-a moment,” a battered Arclath groaned hastily from beneath Amarune. “Good Lady Tress, I fear you misunderstand. I paid this, ah, highly professional dancer to do this!”

Sudden silence fell, and the club bouncers stopped trying to haul Amarune off the man under her and hurl her bodily up at the waiting ceiling.

Tress stared at what she could see of Lord Delcastle, then at the panting, obviously furious Amarune atop him.

“Isn’t she a peerless actress?” Arclath managed to croak, waving his free-and bleeding-hand at the dumbfounded, on-the-verge-of-tears Amarune. “Superb, eh?”

Tress returned her stare to him, incredulity warring with disgust across her face. To hide her own similar expression, Amarune dropped her head to stare at the floor, her disheveled tresses falling over her face.

“You … you welcome being beaten and overmastered, Lord?”

“By the right high-spirited lass, yes,” Arclath assured the club owner almost eagerly, his bright smile returning. “My friends and I saw this one yestereve, and I knew she was the one for us; I came asking for her this morn, you’ll recall. Now, please believe me, I did not intend to imperil her position here, and she did not want to trammel the routine of this night’s mask dancing … wherefore we sought to transact the seeing-to of my needs here and now. Please accept my apologies for the misunderstanding and the upset this has caused. The arrangements-and therefore all fault-are entirely mine. I’ll happily pay for any damages; your dancer has been magnificent, far outstripping even my high expectations!”

Tress stared at him for a while longer before turning her gaze to Amarune.

“Is … is this true, Rune?” she asked in obvious disbelief, but seeing the offered road out of this for them all.

Struggling not to cry, bewildered and seeing nothing but traps yawning on all roads she might choose ahead, Amarune managed to lift her chin and say, “Y-yes.”

Tress sighed a long sigh, closing her eyes for a moment, then gave a polite nod to the torn and bleeding noble in the chair.

“Please accept my apologies for the interruption, Lord Delcastle. Pray proceed.”

Without another word she ushered the half-grinning bouncers out, not seeing Amarune open her mouth and raise a hand to protest-only to freeze and stay silent.

When the door had closed again, Amarune glared at the man still beneath her and hissed bitterly, “So now you have a hold over me, just as you sought! What’s this all about, anyhail? What foolish game are you playing?”

“No game,” Arclath murmured, rising from the chair but with gentle courtesy holding out a hand to assist her in standing rather than being dumped on the floor as he did so, as if she were his equal.

When he faced her, however, standing very close to her so that their noses almost touched, his smile was gone.

“You were listening to us while we talked, my friends and I,” he murmured, his voice low and his eyes boring into hers. “Why? Whom did you tell what we said about the council-or will you tell?”

“No one,” Amarune hissed back scornfully. “Who would care?”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “I can call to mind a score of nobles who will be hungry indeed for every detail,” he said slowly. “How much will it cost for your silence?”

“Why do you ask?” she whispered bitterly. “Whatever answer I give, having me killed will be cheaper, won’t it? For a silence you can truly trust in?”

Arclath stared at her expressionlessly, then bent, plucked up his knife from the floor where Tress had flung it down, and handed it to Amarune, hilt first.

“I trust you right now,” he told her quietly, pointing at the dagger and then at his throat, before leaning forward to offer it, undefended. “Completely.”

They stared at each other, Amarune trembling-until she slapped his dagger back into his hand and snarled, “I need a drink.”

The door behind them promptly opened, and Tress stepped in with a tray that held a decanter and three metal goblets.

“Thought you’d say that,” she told them with a nonchalant smile, obviously not caring that they’d know she’d been listening at the door. “Compliments of the house.”

Arclath and Amarune exchanged glances. Then, slowly, they both started to chuckle.

The passage was a long one, and the moment the laughter died away, the furious swordcaptain set a brisk pace along it, forcing his prisoners almost into a trot. He speeded up still more as they approached a darkened