Realms of Infamy - James Lowder [0]
Anthologies 02 - Realms of
Infamy
Edited by
So High A Price – Ed Greenwood
The More Things Change – Elaine Cunningham
The Meaning of Lore – Barb Hendee
Raven's Egg – Elaine Bergstrom
The Third Level – R. A. Salvatore
Blood Sport – Christie Golden
Gallows Day – David Cook
A Matter of Thorns – James M. Ward
Stolen Spells – Denise Vitola
The Greatest Hero Who Ever Died – J. Robert King
Twilight – Troy Denning
The Walls of Midnight – Mark Anthony
And Wringing of Hands – Jane Cooper Hong
Thieve's Honor – Mary H. Herbert
Laughter in the Flames – James Lowder
Vision – Roger E. Moore
SO HIGH A PRICE
Ed Greenwood
So high a price
So willingly paid
Hot blood flows And a ruler is made.
Mintiper Moonsilver
Ballad of a Tyrant
Year of the Turret
Sunlight flashed from the highest towers of Zhentil Keep and flung dazzling reflections through nearby windows. It was a hot Mirtul day in the Year of the Blazing Brand.
A ledgebird darted past one window, wheeled on nimble wings, and called like a carefree trumpet. But then, it did not know how little time it had left to live.
Manshoon smiled slightly and crooked a finger. The bird exploded in a puff of green flame. Humming the latest minstrel tune, the wizard watched scorched feathers drift away. Trust a bird of Zhentil Keep to fly unwittingly to its doom, singing off-key. Well, things might not be that way much longer…
The first lord of Zhentil Keep smiled as he caught sight of himself in an oval mirror floating upright in a corner. The image, jet-black hair gleaming, returned the expression. Its robes were of the finest purple silk, worked with rearing behirs in gold. The sleeves were the latest flaring fashion, and the upswept collar was cut in the style of city lords.
With the faintest of rustlings, Taersel drew a hanging tapestry aside and murmured, "The one you expected is here, Lord."
Manshoon signaled for his servant to bring the guest and withdraw, but then to wait unseen behind a tapestry. To show he understood, Taersel touched the hilt of the throwing knife hidden in his ornate belt buckle.
"Arglath," Taersel announced, then bowed out. The cloaked guest moved forward with a strange gliding motion, as if his feet didn't quite touch the floor.
"Yes?" Manshoon asked coldly.
His guest shrugged off his cloak and replied in tones just as glacial, "I presume you're finally ready to move?"
"I believe so," Manshoon said flatly.
His guest had soft, unfinished features. On second glance, most folk would have guessed him a mongrelman-something not quite human-and have drawn back, muttering and reaching for weapons. They'd have acted rightly.
Hair melted and fell away as the man's features swam, glistened, and split to reveal a single green, liquid eye. That unblinking orb grew until Manshoon looked into a giant eye that swayed at the end of a long, snakelike neck. The body beneath hung shrunken and empty, like discarded clothes drooping from a wall peg.
"Speak, then," the strange visitor's cold voice came again. "I've little patience for humans who enjoy being mysterious."
Manshoon gave his guest a wintry smile. "There will be open slaughter at the next council meeting. Those who oppose me will die there. When Zhentil Keep is mine, your kind will have what they desire: a powerful city full of hands to do your bidding, fresh meat to feed you, and men who fear and kneel before you."
"Do not presume to understand my kind so well," the creature responded, drifting slightly nearer. "More than that, Manshoon, do not presume to understand-or imagine that you can command-me." Writhing worms of flesh sprouted from its spherical body.
A gasp of horror came from behind a nearby tapestry. Then a crossbow bolt burst out of that same curtain, whipped across the chamber, and was driven sharply aside by an unseen magical force just in front of the floating eye. The bolt ended its flight in a splintering crash against a wall.
Eyes opened in the ends of the monster's still lengthening stalks. One blinked.
The tapestry drew aside by itself to reveal