say of you, when they feel certain that they will not be heard? You are so pale and austere, so light of step and delicate of frame that you seldom make a sound, barely cast a shadow. You unnerve them. They say that you resemble a vampire in all things but the fangs!'
Beneath the obvious insult in her words lay several layers more, reminders that Dag Zoreth was a small man, a physical weakling in a fortress of warriors. But he smiled nonetheless. His hand dipped lower, his fingers dug into firm and yielding flesh. 'If you desired to do so, you could inform them that my teeth are sharp.'
Her laughter bubbled over again. 'It is so much more amusing to let them learn at their own peril.' She sobered quickly, and moved beyond reach of his punishing caress. 'We were speaking of your plan for an assault on a mountain fortress. Surely you know of the difficulties inherent in a siege! It is a long and costly process. The fortress you desire is but a few days' march from cities unfriendly to our cause, which greatly lowers your chances of success. Do you think Waterdeep would allow a Zhentish army to lay a lengthy siege, when in five days they could muster enough fighters to engage you in open warfare?'
Dag had considered all of this and prepared for it. He captured a lock of her pale gold hair, let it slide between his fingers, and skimmed his hand down the slender length of her. 'Set your mind at ease. I do not intend to lay siege to the fortress.'
'No? What, then? You cannot believe you can conquer it outright. There are not enough warriors in the whole of Darkhold to accomplish such a feat. Nor could you move a force of the needed size without drawing attention. The alarm would be sounded before you left the Greycloak Hills! What then?' she demanded again.
His eyes grazed the feminine form that Ashemmi's crimson gown did little to hide. 'It is dangerous to reveal too much to an enemy. Or have you not heard?'
She smiled again, darkly, and her arms lifted to twine around his neck. 'If enemies are well matched, battle can be a pleasant diversion. Tell me, and then we need talk no more.'
Dag reminded himself of his vow to have nothing more to do with this viper in elf form. 'I have been preparing this attack for a long time. Arrangements have been made to ensure a successful, if unorthodox, escalade.'
'You can do better. I remember well,' she breathed in his ear.
He stepped back while he still could. 'Content yourself with this: the capture of this fortress will not deplete Dark-hold's military strength. I do not plan to shatter the Pereghost and his commanders against the fortress walls,' he said, naming Ashemmi's chief rival for the position of second-in-command. He inclined his head in a brief, ironic bow. 'I apologize for any inconvenience this might cause you.'
They studied each other in silence. Dag Zoreth had no intention of telling Ashemmi that he would gain much more from the assault than the possession of a fortress. She already knew too much, as her presence here demonstrated.
'You have been forthright. Now it is my turn,' she said, as if she followed the path his thoughts were taking. 'You are planning to bring the child to your new command.'
Dag's heated blood suddenly cooled. 'Why should you care? You gave her into my hands willingly enough. I have kept my pledge. Few know I have a daughter, and no one knows who gave birth to her. No one need ever know, least of all Sememmon.'
Ashemmi's smile was that of a cream-sated cat. 'Ah, but perhaps I want him to know. Why should he care whom I bedded some ten years ago? It is of no consequence-unless, of course, the child that resulted is of the bloodline of Samular…'
Dag had been dreading this revelation since Ashemmi's first mention of their child, but even so the implications staggered him. Why should Ashemmi want his daughter, unless she knew of the power the little girl could command? He fervently hoped that if Ashemmi had received this information from Malchior, it was by theft or magical spying. The thought of these two conspiring together was more chilling than a ghost's embrace. If Malchior learned of the child's existence, there would be no safety for her. But surely Ashemmi would not give up such valuable information, not when she could hoard the girl's power for herself! Unfortunately, with a subtle, treacherous creature such as Ashemmi, there was no knowing for certain.
He decided to bluff. He closed the distance between them and his hands skimmed down her back, cupping her intimately and drawing her close. 'Samular, indeed,' he murmured into her hair. His voice revealed nothing more than mild, derisive amusement. 'What is some long-dead paladin to you and Sememmon? Perhaps you two are thinking of changing your occupation and allegiance?'
Ashemmi sniffed, but apparently did not deign that comment worthy of rejoinder. 'There is power in the bloodline of Samular, even more than you realize.'
His hands stilled. Her bald claim stunned him, intrigued him. Given what he already knew-and his suspicion that Malchior had not told him all-he did not doubt the possibility that Ashemmi's words held truth. He drew back a little and met her probing gaze. 'What precisely do you want from me?' he asked bluntly.
An expression of distaste darkened Ashemmi's golden eyes. 'Must we spell out our terms? Haggle our way to agreement like vulgar merchants?'
'Indulge me.'
The elf smoldered, then shrugged. 'Very well, then. I want the child brought here. I wish to explore her potential. Then we will see between us what use might be made of it, and her.'
This was more than Dag could bear. For years he had bided his time, not risking a possible revelation of his heritage until he was in a position to protect the innocent child who carried, unknowing, the bloodline of Samular. All this, Ashemmi could carelessly undo, and she would just as easily toss the girl aside if there was no benefit to keeping her.
He thrust the sorceress away from him. 'It is a poor excuse for a mother who would so exploit her own child,' he said coldly.
'And a poor excuse for an ambitious warlord who would not,' Ashemmi snapped back. 'Remember yourself, and while you are about it, bear me ever in mind. This situation presents opportunity to us both, provided we are clever and discrete in how we proceed.'
'And speaking of discretion, how will Sememmon respond, when he learns that you have been keeping this matter from him?' he retorted.
The blatant threat set Ashemmi's eyes aflame. 'If he or any other person in Darkhold learns of the child from you, it will be from conversing with your spirit. I will tell Sememmon, in my own way and at a time that suits my purposes. I! Agree, and you and your misbegotten brat might be permitted to live out your meager, allotted span. Am I understood?'
Dag Zoreth regarded the elf with a degree of loathing normally reserved for the creatures that occasionally oozed up through the fortress midden. 'Of course, Ashemmi. I understand you very, very well.'
'Good,' she purred, drawing out the word. She languidly swept her arms high, and her gown dissolved into a swirl of crimson mist. The haze floated out to envelope Dag, as intoxicating as smoldering poppies.
Ashemmi's smile was hard and enticing. 'As long as we understand each other, let us have one more secret to keep from our lord Sememmon.'
For one long moment, Dag wavered on the precipice of indecision. He could step back, he could turn away and quit this room, leaving Ashemmi naked and furious. He could.
Instead, he breathed in deeply of the mist. He held the enchanted fragrance until the power of it nearly burst him asunder, and then he moved through the crimson cloud toward her.
On the second day after he had received his quest, Algorind reined his horse to a stop on a hill overlooking a cozy valley. Smoke from the evening fire rose from a snug stone cottage. Geese strutted contentedly near a small pond, and a small herd of rothe cropped at the grass in an enclosed pen. Soil had been turned for a kitchen garden, and already a few neat rows of seedlings rose from the rich soil. He caught the sound of a woman's teasing voice and the bubbling response of happy, childish laughter.
As he gazed at the homey scene, Algorind marveled that an evil man should have provided such ease and comfort for his child. By all appearances, this was a goodly household, unknowing of the alliance they had made. Perhaps they knew nothing of their fosterling's heritage. But surely, if they were goodly folk, they would see the wisdom in turning the child over to him for her good and that of the order.
At that moment the cottage door opened, and a tall, brown-haired woman strode out. She held her apron bundled up before her with one hand, and with the other began to strew grain for the chickens and geese. They
