"Poiniard, this should be a most pleasant opportunity for you, too."
A woman emerged from behind the same curtain. She wore a floor-length red dress, decorated with gold embroidery and yellow ruffles. It was close- fitting around her narrow waist, and flared out in a bustle below her hips. Her hair, a deep auburn almost as red as the fabric of the dress, was ornately pinned behind her head. She took Poiniard by the arm, giving him a cold smile.
This was Shespi, the Dark Lady's most trusted confidante, and believed by many to be the most daring and skilled thief in the Guild. The ruthless manner in which she carried out the Dark Lady's commands had made her the most feared of the three lieutenants. Tales spread discreetly throughout the guild linked her to the disappearance of several unfortunate thieves who had displeased the Dark Lady in the past. Other rumors, barely whispered, hinted at the close relationship between the Dark Lady and her red-haired confidante. Some claimed Shespi was being groomed to one day succeed the Dark Lady. Being so close to the second-most feared thief in Culhaven made Poiniard's palms sweat.
"Fear not," the Dark Lady said from behind her veil. "You are well-guarded here. Tonight, at least, you shall remain as my guests. Then, in the morning, we will make arrangements to smuggle you both out of the city."
They were again blindfolded and taken back up to the manor, where Mheren and Poiniard were taken to separate but adjoining rooms. They were given nice clothes while their gear was stowed safely away.
Poiniard was nervous in the tunic and leggings they loaned him, probably the most expensive clothes he'd ever worn in his life. He didn't look forward to being around so many lords and ladies. He was a commoner, and wouldn't know how to act. Most unnerving of all was being separated from Wyrding, but the liveried grooms assured him it would remain quite safe in an armoir along one wall. He looked to the doorway leading to the next room, where Mheren was probably being similiarly treated. He was sure the swordswoman would be equally nervous about these same fears, if not moreso. She had the added strain of having left her friends behind, still in danger.
***
Poiniard flinched when he stepped on Shepsi's toes- for the second time. "Sorry, I don't know how to dance. Not like this, anyway."
"Just hold onto my arms and watch what the others do," she said. "And don't step on my feet again." The musicians increased the tempo of their music, and the dance quickened. "I didn't know how, either, when I first joined. But I learned. You should, too, if you ever want to pull yourself out of the gutter and rise above a common cutpurse."
Poiniard nodded and tried to keep up. They both looked across the room, to where Mheren and the wizard were dancing. Poiniard couldn't help but notice how close Megwen seemed to be holding his dancing partner. He wondered if that was how the dance was supposed to be done, but he dared not press himself any closer to the voluptuous Shespi- for any number of reasons.
"There really is something noble about that girl," Shespi said, still watching Mheren. "She has certainly surprised me by fitting in so well in a courtly setting."
Poiniard couldn't deny that.
"Tell me, Poiniard. What else do you know about this swordswoman? The Dark Lady seemed most intrigued by her, and now I can see why," she said. "It wouldn't surprise me if she asks her to delay her departure."
"I don't think Mheren would do that," Poiniard blurted.
Shespi stared at him. "Few people can deny the Dark Lady. She can be very persuasive."
***
Mheren felt uncomfortably close to Megwen as he drew her in for the dance. It wasn't that his face was uncomely or his breath was foul- nothing about him was. Nor was his body repulsive to her- in fact, it was the exact opposite. Yet being in the arms of the wizard still made her shiver. The man was a skilled courtier, though. There was no denying that.
He swept her along effortlessly as they whirled about the dance floor of the great hall. The minstrels played a dhu-nathir, an ancient elven dance brought north long ago from the deserts of the Akraine, popularized by Culian merchants who sought to emulate the elven merchant-princes of the wealthy south. The tune the minstrels played was the same one Mheren had heard before. It reminded her of elves, sad and dreaming under a desert moon, longing for their home. But the words had changed. The Dark Lady's bard sang not of faraway Amaranth of the elves, but of things closer to home, things cherished by men in the Culian cities. She wondered if the musicians really knew of the sadness behind their song.
"The words don't quite fit the music, do they?" Megwen asked her.
"No, sir, they don't."
The dark-eyed mage smiled. "Please, Mheren, call me Megwen. Let's at least try to make the best of this."
"Sorry- Megwen," she said, sounding like a nervous maiden on her bridesday. "I will try."
Megwen ran his eyes down her form as he twirled his partner in time with the dance. "You're a wonderful dancer, Mheren. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were raised in one of the courts of the Middle Kingdoms."
She laughed sweetly. "Oh no, dear sir, you have it all wrong. You might as well say that I hail from the elven palaces of Lhen-dother." She added an uncommon flourish to her turn, causing the wizard to miss a step. Lhen- dother was only a legend, and they both knew it.
Megwen recovered quickly. "So that's how it's to be, is it? I suppose you're the long-lost daughter of the Forest King, then." He smiled at her evasiveness. "A wood nymph in disguise, come to dally among the mortals?" His eyes blazed for a moment.
Not with lust, she thought, but with mirth and a newfound respect. Everyone in Culhaven was a predator, of one sort of another, and this man- a wizard and a thief- was doubly so. She realized then that whatever interest for her personally may have sparked in him, everything about Megwen was professional. His mirth was oriented towards but one goal- finding out about Mheren's secrets and her companions. He looked like he was going to enjoy the challenge.
***
In the midst of their dance, a thief entered the room, unobtrusively at first. But when the nobles and ladies took notice, they drew away in distaste. He was clad in leather armor rather than silks and finery, and a shortsword hung in a battered sheath at his side. He approached Shespi. He smelled of sweat and blood. Poiniard saw scratches on him, and grime on his boots.
"Forgive me, Shes," he said, with urgency in his voice.
Poiniard guessed that this was another senior thief, probably one of Lithome's crew with news of the fighting in the tunnels. From the way he addressed Shespi, and because of his appearance, Poiniard knew the man must be fairly high ranking. His very presense at the banquet meant he must have brought news of some importance.
Shespi leaned forward and the man whispered into her ear. Her expression darkened. She dismissed the man and rose. Down the table, Megwen saw this and got to his feet as well. "Come with me, Poiniard," she said, gesturing also to Mheren and Megwen. "Urgent guild business requires we take out leave early. I'll show you and our guest back to your quarters."
They were quickly ushered back to the same apartments where they'd been dressed. As soon as Shespi left, Poiniard tried the door and found it locked. Their rooms were adjoining, and Poiniard was glad when Mheren entered.
"They've locked me in, Poiniard," she said. "What about your door?"
"It's locked, too."
"Seems they don't want us leaving."
"I think there's been some trouble in the tunnels."
"My guess as well," Mheren said. "Your friends have been kind to us so far, but I don't like being locked in a room, even ones as nice as these. I'm leaving, and I'm leaving now." She went over to the armoire and began rummaging through it. She pulled out their swordbelts and tossed Wyrding to Poiniard. "Our armor isn't here, nor is the rest of our gear, but at least they left us our weapons."
"Guild code," Poiniard explained, belting Wyrding around his waist. "They wouldn't leave a thief unable to defend himself."
Mheren, too, donned her weapon belt. Monarchal looked out of place at her side, dressed as she was in a sheer gown. Poiniard couldn't help but notice again how beautiful she was, in a dress which left little to the imagination. She was standing over a heavy trunk.
"Help me lift this, Poin," she asked. "We're going to batter the door down and get out of here."
"That'll make too much noise," he said. "Let me try something else, first."
"You mean pick the locks?" Mheren eyed him dubiously. "Did they leave your thieves tools?"
"No, they kept my picks along with my old clothes. But what kind of thief would I be if I didn't keep a few secrets up my sleeve for emergencies?" From his tunic, he removed a tiny sliver of metal, the most basic of implements, but always useful in a pinch. "Guild Rule number thirty-four," he said, kneeling down and setting to work on the lock. "Always carry a spare pick."
She beamed at him. "Never know when you might get caught and need to escape?"
"Exactly." But soon Poiniard realized that the lock on the door was not about to yield to his efforts. With a snap, his pick broke off in the lock. "By the Frozen Hells," he cursed.
"A nice attempt, anyway," Mheren said. "Let's get the trunk."
"Wait," Poiniard said. He stood and drew Wyrding from its sheath, while Mheren looked on, puzzled. He set the tip of the sword precisely into the keyhole. The instant the blade touched the lock, there was a tiny click. Gingerly, Poiniard swung the door open.
A woman emerged from behind the same curtain. She wore a floor-length red dress, decorated with gold embroidery and yellow ruffles. It was close- fitting around her narrow waist, and flared out in a bustle below her hips. Her hair, a deep auburn almost as red as the fabric of the dress, was ornately pinned behind her head. She took Poiniard by the arm, giving him a cold smile.
This was Shespi, the Dark Lady's most trusted confidante, and believed by many to be the most daring and skilled thief in the Guild. The ruthless manner in which she carried out the Dark Lady's commands had made her the most feared of the three lieutenants. Tales spread discreetly throughout the guild linked her to the disappearance of several unfortunate thieves who had displeased the Dark Lady in the past. Other rumors, barely whispered, hinted at the close relationship between the Dark Lady and her red-haired confidante. Some claimed Shespi was being groomed to one day succeed the Dark Lady. Being so close to the second-most feared thief in Culhaven made Poiniard's palms sweat.
"Fear not," the Dark Lady said from behind her veil. "You are well-guarded here. Tonight, at least, you shall remain as my guests. Then, in the morning, we will make arrangements to smuggle you both out of the city."
They were again blindfolded and taken back up to the manor, where Mheren and Poiniard were taken to separate but adjoining rooms. They were given nice clothes while their gear was stowed safely away.
Poiniard was nervous in the tunic and leggings they loaned him, probably the most expensive clothes he'd ever worn in his life. He didn't look forward to being around so many lords and ladies. He was a commoner, and wouldn't know how to act. Most unnerving of all was being separated from Wyrding, but the liveried grooms assured him it would remain quite safe in an armoir along one wall. He looked to the doorway leading to the next room, where Mheren was probably being similiarly treated. He was sure the swordswoman would be equally nervous about these same fears, if not moreso. She had the added strain of having left her friends behind, still in danger.
***
Poiniard flinched when he stepped on Shepsi's toes- for the second time. "Sorry, I don't know how to dance. Not like this, anyway."
"Just hold onto my arms and watch what the others do," she said. "And don't step on my feet again." The musicians increased the tempo of their music, and the dance quickened. "I didn't know how, either, when I first joined. But I learned. You should, too, if you ever want to pull yourself out of the gutter and rise above a common cutpurse."
Poiniard nodded and tried to keep up. They both looked across the room, to where Mheren and the wizard were dancing. Poiniard couldn't help but notice how close Megwen seemed to be holding his dancing partner. He wondered if that was how the dance was supposed to be done, but he dared not press himself any closer to the voluptuous Shespi- for any number of reasons.
"There really is something noble about that girl," Shespi said, still watching Mheren. "She has certainly surprised me by fitting in so well in a courtly setting."
Poiniard couldn't deny that.
"Tell me, Poiniard. What else do you know about this swordswoman? The Dark Lady seemed most intrigued by her, and now I can see why," she said. "It wouldn't surprise me if she asks her to delay her departure."
"I don't think Mheren would do that," Poiniard blurted.
Shespi stared at him. "Few people can deny the Dark Lady. She can be very persuasive."
***
Mheren felt uncomfortably close to Megwen as he drew her in for the dance. It wasn't that his face was uncomely or his breath was foul- nothing about him was. Nor was his body repulsive to her- in fact, it was the exact opposite. Yet being in the arms of the wizard still made her shiver. The man was a skilled courtier, though. There was no denying that.
He swept her along effortlessly as they whirled about the dance floor of the great hall. The minstrels played a dhu-nathir, an ancient elven dance brought north long ago from the deserts of the Akraine, popularized by Culian merchants who sought to emulate the elven merchant-princes of the wealthy south. The tune the minstrels played was the same one Mheren had heard before. It reminded her of elves, sad and dreaming under a desert moon, longing for their home. But the words had changed. The Dark Lady's bard sang not of faraway Amaranth of the elves, but of things closer to home, things cherished by men in the Culian cities. She wondered if the musicians really knew of the sadness behind their song.
"The words don't quite fit the music, do they?" Megwen asked her.
"No, sir, they don't."
The dark-eyed mage smiled. "Please, Mheren, call me Megwen. Let's at least try to make the best of this."
"Sorry- Megwen," she said, sounding like a nervous maiden on her bridesday. "I will try."
Megwen ran his eyes down her form as he twirled his partner in time with the dance. "You're a wonderful dancer, Mheren. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were raised in one of the courts of the Middle Kingdoms."
She laughed sweetly. "Oh no, dear sir, you have it all wrong. You might as well say that I hail from the elven palaces of Lhen-dother." She added an uncommon flourish to her turn, causing the wizard to miss a step. Lhen- dother was only a legend, and they both knew it.
Megwen recovered quickly. "So that's how it's to be, is it? I suppose you're the long-lost daughter of the Forest King, then." He smiled at her evasiveness. "A wood nymph in disguise, come to dally among the mortals?" His eyes blazed for a moment.
Not with lust, she thought, but with mirth and a newfound respect. Everyone in Culhaven was a predator, of one sort of another, and this man- a wizard and a thief- was doubly so. She realized then that whatever interest for her personally may have sparked in him, everything about Megwen was professional. His mirth was oriented towards but one goal- finding out about Mheren's secrets and her companions. He looked like he was going to enjoy the challenge.
***
In the midst of their dance, a thief entered the room, unobtrusively at first. But when the nobles and ladies took notice, they drew away in distaste. He was clad in leather armor rather than silks and finery, and a shortsword hung in a battered sheath at his side. He approached Shespi. He smelled of sweat and blood. Poiniard saw scratches on him, and grime on his boots.
"Forgive me, Shes," he said, with urgency in his voice.
Poiniard guessed that this was another senior thief, probably one of Lithome's crew with news of the fighting in the tunnels. From the way he addressed Shespi, and because of his appearance, Poiniard knew the man must be fairly high ranking. His very presense at the banquet meant he must have brought news of some importance.
Shespi leaned forward and the man whispered into her ear. Her expression darkened. She dismissed the man and rose. Down the table, Megwen saw this and got to his feet as well. "Come with me, Poiniard," she said, gesturing also to Mheren and Megwen. "Urgent guild business requires we take out leave early. I'll show you and our guest back to your quarters."
They were quickly ushered back to the same apartments where they'd been dressed. As soon as Shespi left, Poiniard tried the door and found it locked. Their rooms were adjoining, and Poiniard was glad when Mheren entered.
"They've locked me in, Poiniard," she said. "What about your door?"
"It's locked, too."
"Seems they don't want us leaving."
"I think there's been some trouble in the tunnels."
"My guess as well," Mheren said. "Your friends have been kind to us so far, but I don't like being locked in a room, even ones as nice as these. I'm leaving, and I'm leaving now." She went over to the armoire and began rummaging through it. She pulled out their swordbelts and tossed Wyrding to Poiniard. "Our armor isn't here, nor is the rest of our gear, but at least they left us our weapons."
"Guild code," Poiniard explained, belting Wyrding around his waist. "They wouldn't leave a thief unable to defend himself."
Mheren, too, donned her weapon belt. Monarchal looked out of place at her side, dressed as she was in a sheer gown. Poiniard couldn't help but notice again how beautiful she was, in a dress which left little to the imagination. She was standing over a heavy trunk.
"Help me lift this, Poin," she asked. "We're going to batter the door down and get out of here."
"That'll make too much noise," he said. "Let me try something else, first."
"You mean pick the locks?" Mheren eyed him dubiously. "Did they leave your thieves tools?"
"No, they kept my picks along with my old clothes. But what kind of thief would I be if I didn't keep a few secrets up my sleeve for emergencies?" From his tunic, he removed a tiny sliver of metal, the most basic of implements, but always useful in a pinch. "Guild Rule number thirty-four," he said, kneeling down and setting to work on the lock. "Always carry a spare pick."
She beamed at him. "Never know when you might get caught and need to escape?"
"Exactly." But soon Poiniard realized that the lock on the door was not about to yield to his efforts. With a snap, his pick broke off in the lock. "By the Frozen Hells," he cursed.
"A nice attempt, anyway," Mheren said. "Let's get the trunk."
"Wait," Poiniard said. He stood and drew Wyrding from its sheath, while Mheren looked on, puzzled. He set the tip of the sword precisely into the keyhole. The instant the blade touched the lock, there was a tiny click. Gingerly, Poiniard swung the door open.
