All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [8]
Some minutes later, the figure sprawled on the furs beside the bed stopped moaning and writhing, and asked hesitantly, "Sylune? Is it you, truly?"
She stood up and walked slowly around the room, kicking experimentally to limber up stiff legs and toes. "It is, Torm… which is why you still live, I suppose."
Weakly, the thief on the floor began to chuckle. "Bits of me do. Others I'm not so sure about. I'm sorry, Lady."
"Apology accepted, lecherous scum."
He laughed openly this time, his whooping breaking off with a catch as the shaking brought him fresh pain. "Ohhh, gods," he said at last, rolling over. "I've not felt this much pain since… well, never mind."
"I hope she was worth it," Sylune said teasingly, and then asked curiously, "Why weren't you wearing one of your usual flamboyant codpieces?"
Torm looked hurt. "I wasn't dressed yet! Can you see me going downstairs in this?" He held his arms wide to fully display the patched and stained cotton undersuit that went under his fighting leathers. "Ladies first," he added, gesturing at her.
Sylune put her hands on her hips and gave him a level stare as she gestured, up and down, at herself. "This is your idea of 'dressed,' I take it?"
Torm gave her a sly look from the floor, and rolled up to a sitting position, wincing once. "Well, you hadn't complained before tonight," he said, feigning innocence.
"Yet-as you may just have noticed-I'm doing so now," Sylune told him calmly. Then she snapped, "Take this frippery off me-at once!"
Torm bounded to his feet with an alacrity that belied the severity of his injury. "My pleasure, Lady Sylune!"
"I'll bet," she said dryly. Try to keep your hands on the buckles and thongs, now, and when you're done, 111 need a neck rub. Hmm-my calves, too. This body is as stiff as old wood!" She struck a pose, pirouetted experimentally, admired herself in the burnished metal looking glass, and rubbed her nose. "You've taken some care with my hair," she said in tones of pleased surprise. "Diligent brushing, at the least. My thanks, Torm."
"Lady," Torm said seriously, reaching out a finger to stroke the silvery fall of her hair, "in all my life I'd never dared touch your hair, or Storm's, but I always wanted to. It's… truly beautiful… like spun silver."
SylunS laughed lightly and laid a hand on his cheek. "Why, thank you, Torm-this, from the maid-chaser of Shadowdale?"
"Lady, I meant it," the thief replied, and bowed. " Twas an honor caring for your body." A twinkle crept into his eye. "In fact, if you weren't so many years my senior…"
Sylune glared at him, and gestured again at herself. "You were hard at work removing all this saucy stuff, remember?"
Torm's j*aze dropped-and he discovered the fallen garter. Plucking it up from the floor, he offered it to her mutely. Sylune gave him a withering look, so he shrugged and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he undid her sash, put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around lightly. He stripped her with a speed and expertise that told her he'd done this a time or two before.
"This bit's much easier when you're standing up and-er, with us," he commented. "Oh, by the way… the stone that lets you occupy this body is implanted here." He touched the inside of her left arm, just above the elbow. Sylune probed cautiously, and thought she felt the magic stone deep within, alongside the bone.
"Mystra bless you and keep you, Old Mage," she breathed, "wherever she is."
"What about prayers for me?" Torm asked teasingly, fingers busy undoing the black silk choker he'd put around her throat earlier.
"You'll be needing more than I feel capable of giving," she replied with a chuckle. Then the Witch of Shadow-dale reached out, caught hold of his chin, and kissed him firmly, darting her tongue into his mouth.
When she released him, Torm was smiling a little dazedly. "What was that for?" he asked in pleased tones.
She put her arms around him, smelly undersuit and all. "Torm, you rogue," she said feelingly, "do you know how long it's been since I've held someone? Kissed