Realms of infamy

could think of killing someone with his bare hands. To grasp someone around the throat and hold the neck, squeezing while the person flailed, watching while the eyes bulged…

The voices started again. I knew I needed a clear head. I needed to think, figure out what to do. 'Their father,' I stalled. 'Will he live much longer? Is Menge anxious for his death, too?'

'Menge suggested that if I strangled Ashana in front of their dad, the old man might keel early from the shock. I don't know, though. That's kind of creepy. I wouldn't want his ghost rising up and coming after me.'

Now, there was a sense of perspective. He found that idea creepy. The voices in my head cheered his sensibilities.

I forced myself to ask routine questions-when, where, what would he have to bring.

I wanted to warn Ashana, but I knew she'd never leave her father's side-not now. I was sure she hadn't left the house since she took the poison from me.

And then it came to me: I could go with Renek. I'd go 'just in case.' Somehow, I'd figure out a way to stop him.

'What if the father wakes?' I asked. 'You might need me there.'

'He's bedridden!' he chided.

'Well, what if he shouts a warning? Or what if the woman puts up more of a fight than you're anticipating?'

I could tell he thought it strange, my insisting on participating, but I got the impression that perhaps he believed I had a morbid fascination with the idea of seeing him strangle someone. I didn't care what he thought. I had to be there to find a way to stop him.

When we reached home, Renek showed me the dowry. It was an awe-inspiring collection for sure. There was gold aplenty, and more. An entire necklace of dragon scales shimmered in blue and purple hues. There was an arm bracelet, hewn in detail so fine it could only be from a master dwarven crafter. Emeralds glittered from the intricate bevels on its surface. I wondered at the cache. I had heard Ashana's stories of her father's business, but his wife must have come from royalty to stock a dowry chest like that. And the son truly was a drunken fool to part with those riches to gain claim to a business and house that were probably worth less.

Lights were on only in the front of the large manor. We entered in the back where it was dark. The door was unlocked as Menge had said it would be. Renek said Menge had promised to go out for the night and get too drunk to remember anything. I was sure we could trust him at that.

As soon as we got inside I scanned the darkness for a tray of glasses, a suit of armor-anything that would clatter when it fell. I thought perhaps I could startle Ashana so she would cry out and alert neighbors or passersby before we could get near.

The house was silent. I was thinking Ashana might hear us even before we got much closer. Then she started to sing.

It was an ancient hymn of Myrkul, God of Death. My grandmother had sung it when my grandfather died. Ashana's voice lilted through the vast house, clear, and so mournful it felt as if someone were physically pressing on my heart. Renek started to tiptoe forward, but I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. I froze, mortified. I had put a hand on my master. I don't know what I thought he would do about such insolence, but to my surprise he just motioned impatiently for me to follow him toward the lighted room. For a moment, I did so, dumbly.

Then it hit me. The woman's father had just died. She was doing her duty and sending his spirit to rest. And none of this fazed Renek. He was still going to kill her.

I stepped forward-three long, quick steps, and I grabbed him.

I caught his head fast in the crook of my elbow. If he tried to yell, it was muffled by my arm. I pulled him back and down, hard. I tripped him to the floor. I straddled him, pushed his shoulders hard to the ground, and then I put both my hands around his throat.

In the dim light, his eyes reminded me of the opossum's as I pressed against his throat. I watched my hands as they squeezed more tightly. The knuckles bulged. So did Renek's Adam's apple. There was a slight gurgling sound as he died.

I thought for a moment of Renek, lunging prematurely at Sil. Perhaps, even for a professional there is something impetuous about murder.

Ashana was still singing in the other room. 'Carry, carry 0 Dark Soldier. Carry, carry, o'er and away.'

I stood and walked quietly to the doorway. Tall candles formed a circle around the bed in the center of the room. Ashana was draping a cloth over her father's body. I felt more an intruder now than I had a moment ago, sneaking in with Renek. Ashana must have sensed I was there, though. She turned and motioned for me to enter the room.

'Menge wanted this?'

She knew. I nodded.

I could see tears forming in her eyes. She looked beyond me at first and then straight at me. 'I saw him with Renek one day-after Menge took my dowry. I know what Renek does, what you do.'

I recognized the look in her eyes. I'd seen it before. 'You knew,' she said. 'You were here, with Renek, to kill me.'

'No.' I shook my head. Cold terror pierced through me She couldn't think-'Ashana! No! I-'

And then I saw a glimmer of her usual warmth. 'I understand,' she said. She stepped close. 'You stopped him.' Her voice trailed off. She brought her hands up to her head and ran her fingers back through her hair, pushing it off her face, but loose curls dropped back down over her eyes.

This time, I reached out to brush her hair back. She flinched at my touch and I quickly pulled back my hands.

I hate my hands. I've always hated my hands. But now I'm not sure if its the hands themselves or what I've done with them. I keep staring at them. I've even tried covering them up with that cloth I got from Sil. They appear to end where the cloth begins, just as the gnome's hand did. I try to imagine what new hands might look like-if they might make a difference with Ashana. I wonder if the gnome ever wished for new hands.

I think it's time to go talk to that wizard in Thay.

Thieves' Honor

Mary H. Herbert

Teza inched forward another finger's width on the branch and strained her eyes to see through the leaves. There he was, coming slowly, almost wearily, along the forest path below Teza let her breath out in a soft, appreciative whistle.

By the cloak of Mask, what a stallion! Broad shoulders, muscular legs, powerful neck, large intelligent eyes, and a tail that swept the ground like a black mantle. His hooves gleamed when he moved, and his coat was polished ebony He was by far the most magnificent horse Teza had ever seen, and she had seen many. She had a passion for other people's horses and had made it her life's profession to trade and sell them whenever she could get her hands on one.

But this one! Such an animal would be worth his weight in gold pieces in any horse market in Faerun. All she had to do was catch him, and he would be hers.

At the moment that task was looking easier and easier. Teza had spotted the horse just after sunrise in the northern edge of the Ashanwoods near Rashemen's great city of Immilmar. He had been alone and nervous, with a broken halter dangling from his ears. Teza had not been able to believe her luck The stallion was too tall to be one of the mountain ponies favored by the Fangs of Rashemen and too slight to be a draft horse, which meant he had probably escaped from some merchant caravan or a nobleman's stable.

She had followed him through the morning, waiting for her chance while he wandered aimlessly along the rim of the woods. Then he had happened onto a trail familiar to Teza and began to head toward an old oak well known by local road agents for its low-hanging branches and dense foliage. Teza had decided to make use of that opportune tree.