“I’m curious,” Elaith said casually. “Say that I were to throw this knife at an enemy. The wound wouldn’t heal once the knife magically withdrew, would it? The damage would remain?”
“That’s right”
The elf held Danilo’s eyes as he strapped the sheath onto his forearm, and his smile was not a pleasant one. “Splendid,” he said.
The morning was still young when Larissa Neathal pulled herself from her bed. Sitting at a dressing table before a large triple mirror, she assessed her face for evidence of the all-night party. The laughter and music still echoed through her head, leaving it throbbing with dull pain, yet her gray eyes were clear and her white skin flawless. She pressed her fingertips delicately to the tiny puffs under her eyes, and with a shrug she reached for a jar of tinted unguent. Larissa disliked cosmetics and did not often resort to their use, but she had an appointment within the hour, and in her business she could ill afford to look less than her best.
Last night had been especially profitable for the beautiful courtesan. The socially prominent Lady Thione had opened the Midsummer season with an extravagant costume affair. During the long hours of revelry Larissa’s legendary capacity for dancing and drinking had been stretched to the limit From a courtesan’s point of view—particularly a courtesan who also served as a Lord of Waterdeep—the party could hardly have been better. She had charmed some business secrets from a smitten Cormyrian merchant, gleaned some interesting news from a far-traveled bard named Garnet, and met a merchant nobleman visiting from Tethyr. Lord Hhune—a fat, black-haired man with small, unreadable eyes, thick black brows, and an abundant mustache—had engaged her to show him the city’s sights. She did not like the man, but, since Tethyr was a constantly simmering caldron of political trouble, she would skim what knowledge she could from him.
Despite all these successes, Larissa had felt vaguely ill for most of the evening and had been glad to see the party end. Perhaps she had caught a chill, she mused, glancing at the costume she’d tossed over a velvet settee near the door, just before she’d fallen into bed. The form-fitting, richly embroidered gown of a Shou princess had attracted much admiration, but thin red satin offered little protection from the chill night winds that buffeted the Sea Ward. Or perhaps she had simply been working too hard. In recent weeks, the Lords of Waterdeep had been stretched to the limits of their various abilities. Larissa’s talent was gathering information, and her sphere was the whirl of social events and court functions. She could not remember the last time she’d slept for more than two or three hours, and she was beginning to feel a kinship with the walking dead.
Whatever the case, Larissa was in no mood to play the part of a simpering courtesan, dancing to some stranger’s whims. Usually she played her role with real pride and genuine enjoyment, but she had no heart for it today.
Well, there was no help for it Larissa stifled a yawn and continued her preparations. First she unbraided her red hair. Since her luxuriant tresses were too long for her to brush herself, she rang the small brass bell that would summon her maid. She stripped off her rings and massaged scented ointment into her hands. Then she rose from the dressing table and glided over to a vast oak wardrobe. Her pale green nightgown, a marvel of translucent silk, swirled and floated about her legs as she moved. Throwing open the wardrobe door, she began to debate which gown her latest client might fancy.
Behind her, the bedchamber door creaked open. “Come in, Marta, and hurry. I must be dressed in an hour,” Larissa said without turning.
“You need not bother, dear lady,” said a deep, heavily accented voice. “That green gown you are almost wearing pleases me well.”
Startled, Larissa whirled in a cloud of floating silk. Lord Hhune of Tethyr was seated on the settee, insolently fingering the red satin of her Shou costume. In the doorway stood two dark-clad men, wielding curved daggers and holding captive between them a terrified Marta.
Larissa’s right hand went instinctively to her left pinkie, reaching for the enspelled ring given to all Waterdeep’s Lords. Her heart plummeted when she realized she’d inadvertently taken it off with her other rings and left it on the dressing table. The ring not only granted her immunity to poisons, but it would have allowed her to summon her powerful comrades. Her mind raced over other options. Screaming for help would be futile. She had several skilled and trusted fighters among her servants; if they were not already here defending her, they were dead. All her gowns were equipped with cunningly hidden stilettos, but her nearly transparent nightgowns afforded her no such protection. Larissa had but one weapon at hand—the art of a courtesan—and her maid’s life depended upon her skill in wielding it.
With a delicate laugh, Larissa glided over to Hhune. “I am flattered by your impatience,” she said in sultry tones. Looking up into his face, she gave him her most winsome smile and began to toy with the buttons on his coat.
“But my maid has little skill in such games as you and I might enjoy. Surely, your men would be better served at any one of our city’s festhalls. Perhaps you could give them a day’s holiday to taste the city’s pleasures, so that we might spend the afternoon in … privacy?”
Larissa swayed closer, and Hhune’s eyes darkened with an expression the courtesan knew well. She began to allow herself a bit of hope.
“You are most beautiful,” the nobleman 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.