Dark Vengeance by Ed Greenwood Page A

conclusions I dare to reach, henceforth. It is my duty to avoid such things.”
    Aloun sighed. “And let this be another lesson to me, yes?”
    â€œOf course. And the sooner you lose the habit of secretly wagering on outcomes, the better.”
    The junior Watcher’s face went pale.
    â€œHow is it you know about that?” he whispered.
    Luelldar rolled his eyes. “I am a
Watcher
of Ouvahlor, remember?” He waved his hand, and yet
another
whorl rose into view, behind him. It was right across the room, small, and dim—but grew in brightness as it came to him.
    â€œUnless one of those you have been unwise enough to wager against has talked about your dealings—and they all do, look you, sooner or later—no one else yet knows,” he added calmly. “No Anointed, to be sure.”
    â€œSure? How can you be sure?”
    Luelldar rotated one of his hands almost lazily, and the newwhorl turned in the air to face Aloun, showing him the scene in its depths.
    â€œThis little whorl of mine—and no, it’s
not
my only little background eye, before you ask—has been keeping its eye on the Anointed of Coldheart for quite some time.”
    Aloun drew in his breath sharply. “You dare to do
that?
”
    Luelldar shrugged again. “My duty to my office, fellow Watcher, demands no less.” He leaned closer and added in a murmur, “As it happens, I’ve been growing very suspicious of what Semmeira might very soon do.”
    Â 
    â€œLady,” the Evendoom maid murmured, looking up from where she knelt before Taerune with eyes that were wide with admiration and love, “you are the most beautiful Nifl-she I have ever seen. Truly Olone smiles upon House Evendoom.”
    The other maids all nodded and smiled in enthusiastic agreement as they glided forward with her new gowns held high.
    â€œWe are
so
favored to serve Lady Taerune Evendoom,” one said, sounding close to tears. They all nodded happily.
    Taerune smiled back at them, though a small, dark worm of foreboding was rising in her, she knew not why.
    They were bending toward her before their faces changed, this time, admiration and love melting to shock and fear, then revulsion and hatred, as they went pale and started to scream.
    Shrieking and hissing, her maids shrank back—and then charged at her, faces contorted and hands raised to claw her, in a spitting, keening chorus that rose to earsplitting terror as Taerune flung up her arms to ward them off—and saw that the left one was gone, ending in a stump that spurted blood, pumping and spluttering . . .
    The last Ouvahlan Nifl is smiling ruthlessly as he twists his way through the fray that rages in the Long Hall of the Eventowers every bit as adroitly as Taerune has ever done. Avoiding both the lumbering gorkuls and the blades of his fellows, he finds room enough to thrust his blade at her spine.
    Desperately Taerune twists around, seeking to strike his blade away with her left arm no matter how badly she gets cut, hoping the now-toppling gorkul she’s just slain will both knock his blade down and shield her in its helpless, roaring toppling of tusked flesh.
    The gorkul obliges, so the blade meant for her vitals cuts deep into her arm, driven by the entire weight of the gorkul falling past, shearing muscle and sinew and bone alike, in a pain so coldly intense that the breath is forced out of her, in a shriek like a sword point slicing down a metal shield.
    She’s never felt such pain before . . .
    â€œMonster!” the maid who loves her most of all shrieks, crying tears of terror as she stares at the spurting stump of Taerune’s severed arm.
“Monster!”
    Then she is alone in the darkness, choking on her own bitter tears, bitterness like blood in her mouth.
    Maharla wouldn’t heal me.
    My father’s only daughter, Thirdblood of Evendoom, and she refused to do her duty, out of sheer spite. And