All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [23]
The raven came out of its lazy circle like an arrow, streaking south and east. But from the blue emptiness high above came another bird, a steel-gray falcon with talons outstretched. It struck like a hammer, and then flapped up and away in triumph amid a cloud of black feathers. For just a moment, the watchers below caught a glimpse of silver hair and tattered black robes, and then the slayer was a falcon once more.
Even as Torm gasped, "The Simbul!" the falcon's kill fell to earth, twisting and growing as it plummeted.
It was the broken body of a black-robed human wizard that crashed into one muddy bank of Swords Creek. The mage flopped bonelessly once, and then lay sprawled and still. One Zhentarim would never spy on Mistledale again.
The old Harper looked back up at the sky. "Well, I lied to ye," he said to the stunned young Harper beside him. "I hadn't seen it all before. I've seen gales and fog and lances of lightning leaping across the sky-but I've never seen it rain wizards before!"
Ordulin, Sembia, Flamerule 16
The morning sun sent bright rays through the casement of tinted glass, casting a many-hued image of light upon the floor furs. That meant it was past time for clients of the Winking Will-o'-the-Wisp Pleasure Palace to be gone so linen could be washed, ladies could bathe and sleep, and coins could be safely exchanged at the nearest bank for soft metal trade tokens stamped with the sunburst symbol of the house.
The occupants of the Red Sash Room on the third floor, however, could not have cared less about the hour-for very different reasons. One of those occupants was Baedelkar the Thaumaturge, rising hope of the Zhentarim, who held the Lady of the Red Sash in his arms as if he never intended to let her go.
Her milk-white skin was soft and smooth against him, and her kisses warm and sweet, with the faintest hint of exotic spices… nutmeg? Dunbark? Cinnamon? Ah, but it mattered not.
At that ardent moment, a fist fell upon the other side of the bolted door. It was an imperious fist, but the door was thick and carpeted to steal away sound, and the couple within, seated together on the edge of the large circular bed, did not want to hear it. Their lips met again, and clung.
The fist, however, was persistent. Another blow fell upon the door, and then another, and so on, until they were joined by a softly menacing, magically sent voice: "I know you're within, Baedelkar. The Inner Circle has need of us both, immediately. We've been ordered to join the Sword, somewhere north of Essembra, right now."
After a momentary, answering silence (during which the Lady of the Red Sash murmured and moved in Baedelkar's arms) the voice went on: "Neither High Lord Manshoon nor I am used to waiting… for an apprentice. Presently one or both of us shall grow weary of it, Baedelkar-and then it will be too late for you to continue as a Zhentarim… or anything else."
Baedelkar the Thaumaturge cursed in a soft whisper with feeling, and made as if to pull free… but the large, sapphire eyes staring into his pleaded with him, and sweet lips begged, "Just one more kiss, proud lord… a brief parting, until we meet again." Those lips lifted longingly toward his.
Baedelkar hesitated for only a moment before he bent his head hungrily forward. It was the last mistake he ever made.
The arms caressing his back seemed stronger and broader, the tongue in his mouth thicker. Starting to choke, the Zhentarim tried to pull away, but found that he was locked in an embrace as unyielding as steel, and tentacles were sliding around him. The eyes so close to his held a horrible flame of triumph as the flesh of her exquisite face bulged and moved, flowing up and over his own visage, covering his nose even as the cold and questing tentacle that had been a velvet-smooth tongue flowed down his throat, choking him. And preventing him from uttering even the simplest spell.
Baedelkar the Thaumaturge struggled in earnest, then, fighting