Silverfall: Stories of the Seven Sisters (forgotten realms)

by Ed Greenwood

  And why, despite his own beloved family and hers, and many tests for them both down the passing years of crises at court, had he fallen so utterly and thor shy;oughly in love with her?

  Sister of Silverymoon, I have a need for aid, and you, for the safety of your city, a need to know. Hear me now?

  Of course, Laeral. I'm here; say on.

  You remember Mirt? Merchant contacts in Scornubel brought word to him of drow impersonating vanished human citizens there. He went to Dove, who met with misadventures in the Caravan City, and called on Qilue. She was nearly slain uncovering some slavers, and followed one of them to Waterdeep, and to me. The slaver, a drow we know as "Brella" reported to an ambi shy;tious woman you may have heard of: Mrilla Malsander. Mrilla works for a merchant who keeps far more out of the lamplight, here, a man by the name of Auvrarn Labraster.

  Surprisingly, the name is not unfamiliar to me, though I could not have said that before today.

  Ah, he's been trouble to you, now, too? It seems he, and a handful of drow who can cast spells with the best of us, are part of something larger. A dark fellow shy;ship whose reach, membership, and aims remain too mysterious for my liking. Their activities are alarming others, too. No less an upstanding Waterdhavian than the Serpent told me that Auvrarn Labraster arrived in your garden two nights ago. I tried to trace him, and was nearly destroyed for my troubles. Khelben thinks the spelltrap left waiting for me was the work of mad Halaster. Be on guard, Lustra! I need you to watch this Labraster, and for all our sakes find out more about his friends. . but I need you alive, too.

  So do a steadily lengthening line of folk up here in the North who want me to advance this project, that law, or the other alliance for them. Have my warmest thanks for this warning, Lael-it's certainly thrown a fireball into the cooking caldron in front of me just now. A tradelord from Neverwinter has been bloodily mur shy;dered under my roof, and Auvrarn Labraster met with him not long before he died. Taern's sizzling around like meat on a skillet, which is about what our victim looks like, all over my floor. I'm beginning to think I need me alive, too.

  We'll both work on that need, then. Keep me all-wise and all-knowing, mmm?

  Without fail. Fare thee better, Lael.

  By the Lady, you've been eavesdropping on Khelben again! Fare thee well, Lustra.

  "And this is?" Oscalar Maerbree refused to be cowed into obedience or even sullen acceptance, but strode along beside the seneschal like royalty being given a personal tour of the High Palace, ignoring the two fully armored guards who bore drawn swords a bare pace behind his back.

  "The Chamber of the Hunting Horn," Taern Hornblade said shortly, setting his hand on an upswept, horn shaped doorknob and thrusting the door inward. "If you will, milord."

  Oscalar inclined his head graciously, clasped his hands behind his back, and strolled inside, looking back over his shoulder for the first time at the stern, helmed armsmen in his wake. "A pleasant evening to you, good sirs. Mind you keep the hallway warm out there for my return."

  Then, and only then, did he turn, whistling a little tune between his teeth, and let his eyes wander lazily around the room. A balcony thrust forward to tower over the room like the bow of a docked ship, its pillars and overhang ornately carved in sweeping curves and needles of dark wood, its upper works lost in darkness. Rich rugs were spread underfoot, tapestries and paint shy;ings-the inevitable elven hunts, one of them with swanmays taking wing from human form out of a forest pool, mounting into the air in alarm beside a flight of pegasi-hung on all sides, with doors surely behind some of them. There were lamps and hanging sconces in similar profusion, though none of them were lit. Above, a soft amber glow radiated from a lone hunting horn hung on a chain. A brighter, whiter light burned before him, at the elbow of a dark-gowned, barefoot woman reclining on a lounge. The light was coming from a small rock crystal sphere at the tip of a plain, slender black staff that stood upright by itself, with no hand to hold it. There were chairs and tables in plenty, all dark and empty and silent. The only living presence was the woman. Her hands were empty, her unbound silver hair stirred about her shoulders, and her only adornment was a fine neck chain dipping down out of sight between her breasts. Her dark and thoughtful eyes were two hard dagger points upon his.

  "Gods, woman!" Oscalar roared, slapping at his thighs so as to set the little bells dangling from his bright and stylish new codpiece chiming. "If you wanted me, all you had to do was send a page-or come yourself. You'll never need to bring more than a flask of wine and a smile. You didn't have to make two idiots dress up in battle steel and clank across half the palace-or awaken Thunderguts here, either."

  Without waiting for a reply from the High Lady of Silverymoon, the large, fat wine merchant turned and pointed imperiously at the open door. "You may leave us, mage!"

  Taern was looking at the lady on the lounge, and con shy;tinued to do so. She shifted her eyes to his, and nodded almost imperceptibly. The seneschal bowed his head, turned with slow grandeur and not a glance at the mer shy;chant, and strode out, drawing the door closed as he went.

  He left a little silence in his wake, and Oscalar and Alustriel peered through it at each other for a moment or two before the merchant asked more quietly, "This isn't about pleasure, is it, Bright Lady?"

  "You're more than usually perceptive, Lion of the North," Alustriel replied calmly. "Or is it 'Sword of Sil shy;verymoon' these days?"

  The wine merchant ducked his head down between his shoulders like a gull standing in an icy wind, "Hah-hem, lady, I know not. Have I offended anyone impor shy;tant with my … attentions? Or is there something else you'd like to talk about?"

  "There is," Alustriel said, a note of doom in her quiet voice. "I'd like to talk about death."

  There was a little silence, and the room seemed to grow slightly darker. Oscalar Maerbree stared over the chairs and tables between them, squinting slightly to make clear contact with the eyes of the lady on the lounge.

  "I'm sorry, Lady Alustriel," he said in disbelief, "but did you say-'death'?"

  "Death, merchant. . but not the death that will surely be yours if you don't take both of your enchanted daggers out of their sheaths-slowly-and lay them on that table to your right," Alustriel replied almost ten shy;derly. "Another death."

  She let silence fall again, sitting like a statue as Oscalar Maerbree met her eyes uncertainly, fumbled with his large, many-horned belt buckle as if finding nervous comfort in stroking something so reassuringly large and solid, then drew out a long, needle-thin knife from behind it, and a more stout blade from one boot. He hefted them for a moment, eyes measuring hers thoughtfully, then set the two weapons carefully on the indicated table, took two slow and deliberate steps away from it, and said, "Right-what's this about, then?"

  "Please sit down, Oscalar. Here."

  One of Alustriel's long arms rose to point at a chair only a stride or two away from the lounge, the sleeve of her gown rippling. The merchant's eyes narrowed, then he threaded his way through the idle furniture to the chair with a few quick strides, snatched it up with a grunt and sudden flexing of corded forearms, and car shy;ried it four paces to one side.

  "Your servant, Lady," he almost snarled, sitting down heavily. "Now, what by all the gods is this about? I was hoping to catch a kiss or two before morn-"

  "You still might, merchant, if you give the right answers swiftly and clearly."

  "And which, Lady, might the right answers be?"

  "The truth, Oscalar." The eyes locked on his were two flames of promised fury. "For once. Put away your cod shy;piece, give me simple answers, and this will all end for you."

  The merchant winced at the waiting rage in Alus shy;triel's gaze, and swallowed, unable to drag his eyes away from hers. Gods, but it was hot in the darkened room. "Right," he said curtly. "Ask your questions."

  "Was Tradelord Muirtree of Neverwinter alive when you left him?" Alustriel snapped, right on the heels of the merchant's words. He stared at her, brows drawing togeth
er in a frown. "Well?"

  "Lady," he said slowly, "I never met with the tradelord."

  "You neither saw nor spoke to Garthin Muirtree this day?"

  "No. I'd hoped to-we had a moot planned, here in the palace-but a page brought me a note from him, begging off."

  "Where is that note?"

  The fat merchant spread helpless hands. "Gone. I burned it in the grate in my room the moment I'd read it-my habit for everything but contracts and treaties."

  Alustriel raised a mocking eyebrow, but the mer shy;chant growled at her look and said, "Truth." His jaws snapped out the word as if he were slamming a castle door.

  "What did the note say?"

  "The words are gone, lady-but 'twas an apology, signed by him, saying he'd have to miss 'our planned parley'… that's how he put it. Said he'd been taken ill, and it would be his pleasure to send the same page to me early on the morrow to arrange another moot."

  "So you'd know this page boy if you saw him again?"

  "I would." The merchant sat back in his chair more calmly, his eyes fixed on Alustriel's. In the silence between them, there came a muffled sound from some shy;where near, as of a door closing. Oscalar Maerbree lifted his head for a moment, then asked, "Someone's killed the tradelord? How?"

  "I don't yet know that," Alustriel said carefully, "and might not tell you if I did. Would you like a drink, Oscalar?"

  The merchant regarded her expressionlessly for the space of a long breath, then said, "No. I don't believe I would, given the circumstances."

  "And why is that?" the High Lady asked, her voice silken soft.

  The fat merchant lifted one large, blunt-fingered hand, stared at his palm for a moment, then told it, "I'd like to make my own death as difficult an achievement as possible."

  The door Oscalar had come in by opened without warning, and the burly merchant's head whipped around, a dagger coming into his hand with dizzying speed.

  The two guards coming through the door saw the flash of the blade and went for their own swords. Steel sang swiftly, but Alustriel came to her feet even faster. "That won't be necessary. Weapons away."

  In the silence that followed her ringing shout, the table one guard had thrust aside to charge the mer shy;chant slowly continued its topple over onto its side, landing with a crash.

  The two guards stared at Alustriel, and what she was doing. Oscalar was also looking down in disbelief at the slender hand encircling his thick and hairy wrist, its grip as hard and firm as a manacle. He tried to wrench free, but he might as well have been struggling against a stone wall. He could not move his hand, even with a sudden wrench. Staring up at her face, the merchant tried a sudden jerk that had all of his weight behind it. The chair rocked under him, but his hand was held in one place as if frozen there.

  Alustriel gave him a gentle smile. "Let go of the knife, Oscalar," she said, in a mother's chiding tones.

  A slow, dark flush crept across the merchant's face, but he opened his fingers and let the blade fall.

  Alustriel let go of his wrist, picked up the dagger heedless of his proximity to her bending body, and inspected it.

  "You do know sleep-salarn-as a poison-is unlawful in Silverymoon, don't you?" she said.

  Oscalar shrugged, and Alustriel calmly handed him back the dagger. "Put it away," she said, "and mind the salarn is cleaned from it by evenfeast tomorrow."

  The merchant gaped up at her. Alustriel gave him a tight smile and turned to address the two armsmen, who were busy erasing clear astonishment from their faces. She remained standing beside Oscalar, within his easy striking distance, as she asked crisply, "Did you conduct this man to the Red Griffon Room earlier this day, to meet with the tradelord from Neverwinter?"

  Both of the guards gave Oscalar level looks, and both replied, "Yes, High Lady."

  "And conducted him back to his chambers, after?"

  "To Glasgirt's Hall, lady," one armsman replied.

  "He asked us to take him nigh the kitchens, for an early meal," the other replied.

  "And after, you went-?"

  "Back to our posts, outside Barsimber's Arch."

  "And this man came not past you again, while you were stationed there?"

  "No, Great Lady."

  "My thanks, good sirs. Return to your duties, and send in the boy you brought hence."

  The guards gave Oscalar dubious looks, laid their hands on the hilts of their sheathed swords in dupli shy;cate silent warnings, and did as they were told.

  The boy was trembling with awe and terror, but Alus shy;triel gave him a smile and asked gently, "Have you seen this gentleman before?"

  "M-many times, Bright Lady. Usually coming out of bedchambers or revels. He's very loud."

  Alustriel's merry laugh startled both merchant and page, but she let it fall into another smooth, grave question. "When was the last time you saw him?"

  "With the guards, leaving the Red Griffon Room, this day."

  "You saw the guards bring him there, before that?"

  "Yes."

  "You're sure it's this man, and no one else?"

  "Yes."

  Oscalar seemed about to say something, but Alus shy;triel turned her head and gave him a look that had a dozen daggers in it, and he held silent. She turned back to the page, the long sleeves of her gown swirling.

  "Did anyone else enter that room before the Lord Taern?"

  "Yes. The steward Rorild; he came out shouting, and Old Thunderspells came. Uh-that is-uh-"

  "Old Thunderspells is a splendid name," Alustriel said soothingly, "that I'd be proud to bear myself. Just one question more, now. Did you take a note to this man sitting beside me?"

  "No, lady."

  "You have my thanks. Go now to the kitchens, and tell them my orders are to let you eat whatever you like, and drink a glass of the finest wine they have ready, and you are off duty tomorrow to recover from your gluttony unless the Lord Old Thunderspells or I send for you."

  The page boy's eyes grew as large and round as saucers, and he stammered his thanks and practically sprinted out the door, leaving it open.

  Alustriel went to close it, then turned and came back to the merchant.

  "Well, Oscalar?" she asked coolly. "What am I to do with you? Or were all those folk lying?"

  "I know not," the fat merchant said heavily. "I can only say that I did not slay Muirtree, have never acted against him-and never even went near the tradelord this day."

  "Because of a note that boy says he never took to you?" Contempt dripped from Alustriel's tone.

  "That was not the boy who brought me the note!" Oscalar roared. "Gods, woman, has your precious palace no other pages?"

  Alustriel stared at him for a moment, then went to a wall and pulled a dark cord hanging there. After a moment the door opened again, and a steward came in and bowed. "Great Lady?"

  "Summon to me here all of our pages save young Pheldren," Alustriel commanded. "Right now, asleep or awake, on duty or off, sick or well-no exceptions. If they're sick abed dying, bring them priest, bed, and all. I want everyone, in haste."

  The steward assured her it would be done, speedily turned, and with wide eyes raced away. Alustriel left the door open this time, and turned back to the mer shy;chant with the barest trace of a smile on her lips. "Are you sure you won't have that drink, Oscalar?"

  The wine merchant shrank back in his seat. "Keep away from me, Alustriel," he snapped. "You're up to something. ."

  "Oh, put that dagger away, Oscalar," she said wearily. "Here you are alone with the one woman in the High Palace you haven't yet boasted of bedding, with the avowed aim of getting 'a kiss or two' before slumber this even, and instead of trying your charm-lumbering though it may be-you're drawing knives on her. All this though she rules the city around you-the city you dwell and grow rich in. I ask you, Oscalar, is this wise? Is this. . good business? Is this in keep shy;ing with your manly reputation?"

  "Lady, I-" Oscalar's white face was now beginning to go purple, and he was trembling
. "I–I-oh, gods, shut up, woman, they're starting to arrive."

  As page boys flooded into the room, one of the foremost fixed the merchant in the chair with a cold, level gaze and said, "For the rudeness you have just offered our High Lady, I challenge thee, man. Have you a dagger?"

  Oscalar Maerbree opened his mouth like a fish gob shy;bling out bubbles, but no sound came out.

  Alustriel watched him for a moment, then said to the page, "As a matter of fact, Eirgel, he does … but I forbid challenges in this room, and at this time. I shall, how shy;ever, remember your honor in championing me with pride. Have my gratitude."

  Eirgel drew himself up with shining eyes, saluted her with the dagger he'd whipped out, and put it away. By then the space between him and the doors was crowded with excited boys. The steward came into view around the edge of the door behind them, half carrying a sleeping boy. "Here we muster all, Great Lady."

  "My thanks, Rorild, and to all of you for prompt obe shy;dience. This won't take long." Alustriel turned to the merchant and said, "Stand up, Oscalar, and point out to me the page who brought you the note."

  The merchant looked at her with a sort of sick dread on his face, and got up slowly, staring around almost helplessly at the sea of boys. Out of their midst a hand shot up, and an eager voice piped, "If you please, Lady Alustriel, 'twas I."

  Alustriel turned to Oscalar. "Well?"

  The merchant was almost gasping with relief. "Yes- yes! This is the boy."

  Silver hair swirling around her shoulders as if it had a life of her own-there was a murmur of excitement among the pages-Alustriel turned to the page and asked, "Who gave you that note, Kulden?"

  "I-ah, no one, lady. 'Twas left on my delivery tray, so I delivered it."

  "Thank you, all of you. You've just done Silverymoon good service indeed. Back to your duties or leisure, now, all of you-save you, Kulden."

  When the shouting was done and the room empty again, Alustriel made sure the fat merchant and the excited page had not been mistaken with each other. She sent Kulden off to the kitchens then to find Pheldren and demand the same treatment as his colleague was enjoy shy;ing. "If you hurry, merchant," she said to Oscalar, "you may yet find those kisses. Take your daggers with you."