Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [42]
"Nay," Mirt replied. "My men," he added, and began walking again. 'They'll follow us no more."
"Why-no, you need not answer that," his companion of the evening replied. "It is just here, sir. Your gold?"
Wordlessly Mirt opened the hand whose arm was, linked through hers. In it gleamed a gold piece.
And humans call us evil! At least we make no pretenses about the evil we do!
What, is Nergal telling me there's no deceit in Hell! No lies? Hmm?
The little healed one wakes! Well, well… Enjoy the ride. I'm off through your memories again, little man, though i'm beginning to forget why!
Ah, my spell's working!
[snort, mind lash, groan of pain, diabolic chuckle] Idiot human, show on…
"Still awake, milady?" Mirt asked gently later, into the darkness. She turned from the window where she had been watching the moon sail above the harbor, laid down something long and thin that gleamed in the moonlight, and came back to bed.
"Yes," she said very softly, getting in. Mirt put an arm around her and drew her to him, to warm her. After a moment or two she relaxed, and lay still against him. Mirt traced the fall of her hair past her shoulder.
"How are you called, milady?" he asked.
"Nalitheen," she replied, a curious tightness in her voice.
"I am Mirt," Mirt said. After a moment, she chuckled.
"So half the girls in the Slipper said, when you came over." She lay against him, warming, unmoving. "The Wolf, they call you. Slayer of Thousands. I had thought to find you more-savage."
Mirt shrugged. "Why so? If I am angered, my trade is battle… I get my fill of lashing out." He coughed, and stared into the night in his turn. "Some of my men are cruel, aye, and will always be so. Some bluster and swagger because they are too young to know better."
"I have hosted some of those," Nalitheen agreed, in neutral tones.
"Those who have fought longer," Mirt added, parting her shoulder, "would never treat you ill. The greatest thing a woman can give a soldier is safe rest, so that he can sleep deeply and relax, not fearing a knife in the ribs."
"I know that," Nalitheen said quietly. "My husband was a soldier. He was killed two summers back, near Dagger-ford. Borold was his name. He rode for Waterdeep and was well thought of. He was slain by mercenaries sent to seize the city's bars of silver that he was guarding. Every man in his command was cut down, and the lords were very angry." Her voice was thin and bitter as she added, "Angry for the loss of their silver."
Mirt lay still, looking into darkness. A small chill of sadness added its weight to earlier sorrows, deep within. The Company of the Wolf had taken that silver, under hire to the merchants of Amn. If Borold had commanded the guards that day, Mirt the Merciless had slain him. A stout man, with bristling sideburns and eyebrows. He had been fast enough to get his saber into Mirt's arm before he died. He stirred, and almost spoke-but Nalitheen's voice had been so bitter.
"Men who swing swords have no idea how many women go hungry because of them or are left behind, forever alone. Many I know here will never know if they've been abandoned or how their lord died," she said softly.
"How is it that you heard of your-of Borold's fall?" Mirt asked.
"They told me; soldiers at the palace, when they summoned me there and gave me his pay." She shrugged. "I know not how they learned it, or even if it "| is the truth. They gave me forty pieces of silver for the life of my husband."
"Then why, milady," Mirt asked softly, "sell yourself?,J Is jt-forgive my blunt asking-loneliness?"
Nalitheen shrugged again. "I have two daughters. They J must eat. For myself, I don't care anymore, now that Borold is gone. I used to think I'd hear him call, and he'd come up the street again as he always did, singing. But I know he won't now. Ever again."
They were silent, for a time. Then Mirt asked again, roughly this time, "But why-sell yourself?"
Nalitheen turned in his arms to face him, in the darkness. "What