The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [141]
"As I'm sure you both know, trusted advisers," the baron added in tones that were silken but not a shade warmer, "I've hired a new House Wizard for Cardassa in recent days. You may also have suspected that he's been doing much farscrying for me. Almost all of it has been to observe both of the searcher wizards, often and at great length. He has seen nothing-yes, nothing-to suggest that either mage has secretly found a Stone. Nor have they since gone anywhere, including back to the locations you were so knowledgeable about, and searched for one on their own."
Baron Cardassa drummed his fingertips gently on the tabletop in front of him, then picked up his goblet. "All of this has cost the coffers of Cardassa precisely sixty-two thousand, three hundred and twelve gold thelvers to date," he announced softly. "Have my two most trusted and capable advisers any ideas as to how they might be able to make up these losses before next spring? At that time, should any monies still be owing, their less-than-capable carcasses will be sold to the slavers of the far south to gain back at least a few coins."
Ubunter and Baerethos exchanged looks again, found as little comfort in each other and in shared dismay as before, and slumped dejectedly in their chairs.
Ithclammert Cardassa set down his goblet, swallowed, and ordered curtly, "Start thinking." He made a signal, and two cortahars left the wall, jerked the old men to their feet, and marched them out of the baron's presence.
The little glass sphere rose out of its box, spinning gently as it chimed. Ingryl smiled at it. A thing of beauty, all his own…
As the scene he was seeking obediently swam into its depths, all candles and sighs and bodies moving on the great bed, the Spellmaster murmured an incantation.
The crack of a whip curled up from the sphere, and then a sob. It was time. Oh, yes. It was past time.
The whip snapped again, and there was a ragged cry. Tearful protests followed, and Ingryl Ambelter leaned forward to better see his magic unfold.
Sarintha was the first, as she lay weeping under her baron's lash, her unbound hands clawing the sleeping-furs above her head. Abruptly they caught and tugged fur with her every jerk and clutch. Faerod Silvertree was displeased with her, and the aftertaste of his wine, and his mages living and dead, and his daughter, and because the woman under his lash didn't break and beg.
And so he laid her back open, and went on flogging, as blood flowed, Sarintha wailed into the furs, and the other lovechamber girls shrank back in fear, hating their cruel master. He was sure to turn to one of them when Sarintha fell senseless and silent. Already she looked more like a slab of meat in the kitchens than a lass meant to excite and give pleasure. The baron snarled down at her as if he was a raging lion rending a kill with his claws and not a naked, aroused man.
The furs caught in Sarintha's lengthening nails, then fell away, sliced free. One of the girls reached to scratch herself, and gasped. Her long-nailed fingers were now impossibly long, and stretching still more, turning to-to talons!
She choked back a shriek and looked at the others. One of them was staring down at her spread hands in horror, as they grew visibly: a foot long… and more…
Sarintha rolled over, pleading-to no avail. The blood-soaked whip rained down on her breast and flank as Baron Silvertree shouted at her. Then, with a snarl, he clubbed her across the face with the gilded butt of his weapon.
Sarintha's eyes blazed, and she reached out, catching hold of the whip. Screaming in fury, the baron tore it free, not noticing how much of it was left behind, and lifted both hands to punch at her breasts, and drive her down broken on the bed. She must submit! She would surrender! She wThe first slash of her talons raked across both of his uplifted arms, and he screamed at the sudden, burning pain and clutched his bleeding limbs to his body. As Faerod Silvertree stared at her in disbelief, the second slash laid