The back of his robes fluttered with evidence of some appendage whenever he moved or shifted position. Oddly, when the robes shifted to reveal glimpses of his body underneath, he seemed to give off fissures of light, like mottled scales reflecting the candlelight. Despite the darkness, this one's eyes shone blood red. Nellthis couldn't make out the face, but he couldn't help flinching every time he heard the telltale sizzle, followed by the sulfurous smell, occasioned by the acidic drool from the evil being.
Nellthis took his time studying the messages and reports spread out on the table in front of him. Carefully he read each of the directives, and then reread them to be certain of the contents. The others had to be patient with his fussy caution, although after almost half an hour of waiting, the figure in the corner stirred and rumbled ominously. More of the spittle pitted the floor, sending acrid fumes into the moldy basement air.
Nellthis finally seemed satisfied and, with a theatrical flourish, put his signature to each of the documents in turn. When he was finished, he picked them up, rolled them together, and handed them over to the tall, cowled figure.
"Our mistress will be pleased," the cowled figure said without emotion, "and you will be rewarded."
"My reward," said Nellthis grandly, "is to serve."
The three, even the sinister one in the corner, bowed respectfully. Nellthis went over to one of the wine racks, and tugged at two bottles on an upper shelf. The rack slid forward soundlessly. Behind it, the wall opened, revealing a narrow passageway that led under the castle courtyard and came up several miles away in an isolated patch of forest. The three ducked under the archway and headed down the dark stairway. The one from the corner was the last to leave. As he passed, Nellthis, noting the creature's fangs and spiny tail, couldn't stifle a shudder.
But the moment passed. Minutes later, Nellthis had closed the wine room and was rubbing his hands together cheerily while trotting up flights of stone steps to his quarters.
* * * * *
Kitiara lay on her back on a huge bed in the plush room Nellthis had set aside for her at the top of the north tower. Idly she surveyed the finely etched grillwork of the ceiling.
For the nearly three months she had been visiting Uncle Nellthis, Kit had been uncharacteristically inactive, though she had fought one duel and taken three or four lovers. She had also taken the time to hone her skills at archery and with the bullwhip. But Kit hadn't ventured outside of Nellthis's domain and had put off her customary mercenary activity.
She was discontented. At moments like this, despite herself, she wondered what Tanis was doing. Damn the self-righteous half-elf! Yet somehow he often managed to worm his way into her thoughts.
Kit wondered about Uncle Nellthis, too, and this concern was more immediate. Although Nellthis had neither seen nor heard from Gregor in years, he still benefited from that connection, to Kit's way of thinking. The two men hadn't known each other especially well, but Nellthis liked to hint that they had been involved together in at least one extralegal escapade. At one time, the two families had lived side by side. Decades ago, Uncle Nellthis, brash and independent, had broken the family bonds and settled his own estate on the outskirts of Lemish.
There was something about Nellthis, something slippery and intriguing. He had rich furnishings and many servants, yet he did little work, and his fields produced only a modest harvest of corn and seed. Kit couldn't discern how he supported his luxurious lifestyle.
Lately, she knew, Nellthis had been traveling a good deal, making many short trips to nearby villages and towns. When he returned, Kit noticed, inevitably he brought back a sturdy peasant or two whom he added to his growing household staff. By now there were dozens of them—Kitiara had lost count—and they seemed to have very little to do in the way of actual work during the daylight hours.
Sometimes Nellthis would all but vanish inside his own castle. It was a rambling old structure, with several small buildings attached, including a bam and a stable. Yet there were times when Kitiara would roam the place by the hour in a futile search for Nellthis, until suddenly, turning a corner, she would burst upon him, standing there as if he had been waiting for her and grinning mockingly.
Kit knew better than to pry. She bided her time, watching and waiting. Nellthis had always been good to her. He had always extended generous hospitality whenever, without warning, she dropped in for a visit. Kit had found his home a comfortable refuge when it suited her.
A knock sounded at the door, startling Kitiara out of her reverie. She jumped up and opened it, her attitude brusque. She half-expected to be pestered by one of her rival suitors, the victor of the shoving match, his face smudged and clothing heroically torn.
Instead, a kender stood there, and in the background, watching the kender nervously, hovered one of Nellthis's servants, the beetle-browed Odilon. The kender's topknot was worn on the side of his head and dangled down to his knees; he was fair-haired, shorter and older than Tasslehoff Burrfoot. She didn't recognize him.
Beaming, the kender held out a small, rolled parchment, sealed with wax. The seal was unbroken, Kitiara was surprised to see, given the notorious curiosity of kender. So he must be one of the breed of kender message bearers, whose reliability was as unpredictable as their curiosity was famous.
Kit reached for the letter, but the kender, switching to a serious mien, withdrew his hand so that she grabbed air.
"Kitiara Uth Matar?" asked the kender importantly. "Because if you are Kitiara Uth Matar, born of Solace but late of anywhere—at the present moment, Lemish—then I bear a message of the utmost urgency."
Kitiara nodded impatiently, holding out
