said in a thick voice. He gathered up a handful of her gleaming red hair. “I almost regret what must come to pass.”
Hhune gave Larissa’s hair a brutal yank, jerking her head back. With the edge of his free hand, he struck her hard on the throat Dazed by the pain, the courtesan fell to her knees. A word from Hhune brought three more men from the hall beyond. Two of the ruffians held her while the third man caught her flailing hands. The man systematically broke her fingers, one by one. When the task was completed, Hhune nodded and his men fell back. Still on her knees, Larissa rocked back and forth, cupping ruined hands to her breast as sobs bubbled from her shattered voice box.
“Now, Larissa, Lord of Waterdeep, you will not be able to communicate by voice or quill for many days to come,” Hhune said coldly. “Do not fear for your life, dear lady. Far from it. This city reeks of barbarian magic, and too many could speak with your spirit. My men are too skilled to allow you to die, so you will live, lingering for many days as if in enchanted slumber. After that,” he paused and shrugged, “you may awaken. Perhaps potions and prayers may restore your voice, your hands, and your beauty. Or perhaps not”
He turned to the waiting men. “See to it,” he commanded. “As for the maid, kill her and remove her from this place. Our Waterdeep agent will see that the body disappears deep into the harbor.”
Hhune whirled and stalked from the bedchamber, faintly repulsed by the eager gleam in the men’s eyes as they closed on the sobbing courtesan. Torture was not an uncommon weapon for the Knights of the Shield, and these men been chosen for their skill in the art. Hhune had little taste for such things, but he supposed that a man should enjoy his work.
He nearly bumped into Garnet, who awaited him in the hall. The look of blatant disapproval she sent him made Hhune feel defensive of his methods.
“The courtesan is being dealt with,” Hhune said, nodding toward the closed door. “Since you did not succeed in poisoning her last night, we felt another approach was indicated.”
The half-elf’s eyes blazed. “Lady Thione neglected to tell me that all Lords of Waterdeep are immune to poison. Had I known such methods would fail, I would not have wasted the night chatting with her and performing at the party like some common minstrel.”
“Thione said nothing of that, eh? This is most interesting,” Hhune said thoughtfully.
Garnet noted that the southern nobleman was far from displeased to learn of Lady Thione’s omission. Since she had little interest in the internal politics of the Knights of the Shield, she merely shrugged and turned away. She hurried down the hall to an arched doorway and stepped out onto a balcony.
Hhune watched her, his black brows knit together in puzzlement. What did the half-elf expect to do: fly? Curiosity got the better of him, and he crept down the hall with as much stealth as his bulk could manage. He peered around the edge of the drapery, and recoiled in surprise.
A milk-white horse stood on the balcony, two stories above the quiet street. As Hhune watched, Garnet hoisted herself onto the animal’s back and gathered up the reins, slapping them sharply against her steed’s neck. The horse hesitated, and Garnet’s face hardened into a mask of concentration and anger. As if in response, the horse dipped its head in a gesture that spoke eloquently of both sadness and resignation. It lifted straight into the air, as lightly as a hummingbird. Then, as quickly as that delicate bird, the horse darted away into the clouds.
“Asperii,” breathed Hhune in an awed tone. He had heard of the rare and magical wind steeds, but never before had he seen one. Like pegasi, these horses could fly, but they had no wings. Their flight came from their natural powers of levitation, and they were uncommonly fast. An asperii formed a telepathic bond with a mage or priest of great power, and would
Hhune gave Larissa’s hair a brutal yank, jerking her head back. With the edge of his free hand, he struck her hard on the throat Dazed by the pain, the courtesan fell to her knees. A word from Hhune brought three more men from the hall beyond. Two of the ruffians held her while the third man caught her flailing hands. The man systematically broke her fingers, one by one. When the task was completed, Hhune nodded and his men fell back. Still on her knees, Larissa rocked back and forth, cupping ruined hands to her breast as sobs bubbled from her shattered voice box.
“Now, Larissa, Lord of Waterdeep, you will not be able to communicate by voice or quill for many days to come,” Hhune said coldly. “Do not fear for your life, dear lady. Far from it. This city reeks of barbarian magic, and too many could speak with your spirit. My men are too skilled to allow you to die, so you will live, lingering for many days as if in enchanted slumber. After that,” he paused and shrugged, “you may awaken. Perhaps potions and prayers may restore your voice, your hands, and your beauty. Or perhaps not”
He turned to the waiting men. “See to it,” he commanded. “As for the maid, kill her and remove her from this place. Our Waterdeep agent will see that the body disappears deep into the harbor.”
Hhune whirled and stalked from the bedchamber, faintly repulsed by the eager gleam in the men’s eyes as they closed on the sobbing courtesan. Torture was not an uncommon weapon for the Knights of the Shield, and these men been chosen for their skill in the art. Hhune had little taste for such things, but he supposed that a man should enjoy his work.
He nearly bumped into Garnet, who awaited him in the hall. The look of blatant disapproval she sent him made Hhune feel defensive of his methods.
“The courtesan is being dealt with,” Hhune said, nodding toward the closed door. “Since you did not succeed in poisoning her last night, we felt another approach was indicated.”
The half-elf’s eyes blazed. “Lady Thione neglected to tell me that all Lords of Waterdeep are immune to poison. Had I known such methods would fail, I would not have wasted the night chatting with her and performing at the party like some common minstrel.”
“Thione said nothing of that, eh? This is most interesting,” Hhune said thoughtfully.
Garnet noted that the southern nobleman was far from displeased to learn of Lady Thione’s omission. Since she had little interest in the internal politics of the Knights of the Shield, she merely shrugged and turned away. She hurried down the hall to an arched doorway and stepped out onto a balcony.
Hhune watched her, his black brows knit together in puzzlement. What did the half-elf expect to do: fly? Curiosity got the better of him, and he crept down the hall with as much stealth as his bulk could manage. He peered around the edge of the drapery, and recoiled in surprise.
A milk-white horse stood on the balcony, two stories above the quiet street. As Hhune watched, Garnet hoisted herself onto the animal’s back and gathered up the reins, slapping them sharply against her steed’s neck. The horse hesitated, and Garnet’s face hardened into a mask of concentration and anger. As if in response, the horse dipped its head in a gesture that spoke eloquently of both sadness and resignation. It lifted straight into the air, as lightly as a hummingbird. Then, as quickly as that delicate bird, the horse darted away into the clouds.
“Asperii,” breathed Hhune in an awed tone. He had heard of the rare and magical wind steeds, but never before had he seen one. Like pegasi, these horses could fly, but they had no wings. Their flight came from their natural powers of levitation, and they were uncommonly fast. An asperii formed a telepathic bond with a mage or priest of great power, and would
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