All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [17]
Amglar set his jaw. "The whole host," he said flatly, and held up his sword hilt, the black hand of Bane gleaming in obsidian on the pommel, in silent reminder that he held overall command of the Sword of the South, supreme even in dealings with Ondeler.
The wizard shrugged. "I am ready, as always." As Myarvuk returned with a bundle of clothing, his master said coldly, "Rouse the 'prentices in as much haste as is seemly. Our swordlord is impatient to find other battlefields than this town."
Myarvuk nodded in silence and withdrew, leaving Lady Belurastra curiously eyeing the belt, boots, breeches, and tunic.
"Put them on," Ondeler ordered her as Belurastra stood stroking one of the smooth-carved balls that surmounted her wooden bedposts. She wore a slightly bewildered expression, and made no move to take up the small sheathed dagger that lay atop the heap.
"If you ride nude," Ondeler told her coldly, "you'll be raw before the sun is bright, and of no use to me."
Belurastra raised large, dark eyes to meet his and asked, "Lord, you are determined to do this?"
"Of course-and if I must tell you again, young Lan-dras of my 'prentices will have the use of your backside to practice his firewhip spell tonight."
–The lady escort sighed-it was almost a shiver-and said, "Very well," in a small voice as she undid the lace and let her shift fall to the floor. Ondeler watched it form a puddle of cloth around her feet and turned his head away in satisfaction to glare at the swordlord once more. Amglar had raised his own blade as if to stare at its edge critically, but the wizard saw his gaze dart to the woman, and smiled. Brains in their codpieces, all of these swordswingers. Twas a pity that they were needed at all, to hold what the wizards of the keep won…
The swordlord was a veteran soldier. After that first glance to see what she was doing, he kept his gaze resolutely away from Belurastra until it was too late.
Smoothly, the most beautiful woman in Battledale, senior escort of the Bold Banners house, twisted and pulled on the wooden bedpost ball. It came away, and she reached into the hollow interior beneath it and snatched forth a slim poniard. Tossing the ball on the rumpled bed, she used her freed hand to strip away a wax-sealed sheath from the weapon as she raised it.
In the lamplight, a dark green liquid gleamed on the needle-slim steel. Something-perhaps a momentary flash of reflection-alerted the wizard, and he whirled about to face Belurastra.
"I regret," she said firmly as she plunged the poisoned blade into his right eye, "that I cannot accept the position of envoy to any Zhentarim wizard!"
As she jerked the blade free, the swordlord leapt at her. Ignoring Ondeler's crumpling body, he caught her wrist in steely fingers before she could turn the blade on herself.
The deadly poniard hung bloodily just above her bare breast for a perilous moment as they strained against each other-and then the Zhentilar twisted and yanked. Belurastra sobbed in helpless pain, and the blade spun to the floor. It struck the floorboards and stood quivering there.
"Poisoned, Lady?" Amglar asked in low tones. "Bravely done-but to throw your life after his would be a waste… a foolish waste." He released her wrist, and the nude woman took a smooth step back.
"Youll not slay me?" she asked, rubbing her wrist.
The Zhentilar officer shook his head. "Nay, Lady, if you agree not to bury that little fang in me-though you'll forgive me if I neglect to mention your name or heroic deed in my reports. Best hide that blade after we're gone, somewhere that doesn't tie it to you. And neither of us speaks of this, or remembers it, for the rest of our days."
The lady escort's eyes widened in sudden hope.
Amglar regarded her gravely. "Well? Have we agreement?"
"We do," Belurastra said, eyes bright with unshed, grateful tears.
He smiled. The heels of his boots clicked together. "As to your