The Lady of Haelithtorntowers was wearing a slight smile. She'd also ordered all the servants to take a day off from their duties, and the night to follow, in the luxurious guest apartments in the farthest tower of her mansion, Firewyrm Tower. They were not to disturb her or return until the next dawn for any reason.
Their obedience had been doubtful-wherefore, after their going, the Lady Ambrur had taken a scepter from the hollow leg of a particular piece of furniture and magically sealed the door that walled off the lone passage linking Firewyrm Tower to Great Tower.
At the heart of Great Tower was the hall in which she stood, and as the torches failed it was rapidly growing dark despite the brightening day outside. Appropriate for a weary noble lady taking to her bed alone-and Lady Ambrur did that now.
She took her glass and bottle with her, still showing no signs of being tipsy, and retained all her garments, from her jeweled slippers and glittering tiara to her rows of sparkling dangledrop earrings. In the deepening gloom she kept her eyes on the table and sat on the edge of her bed in calm silence, waiting.
Quite soon and suddenly ruby fire flashed from the gems-and four black-clad men appeared on the table above those stones, crouching with weapons ready as it groaned ominously under their weight.
Joysil daintily climbed up to stand in the center of her bed, spilling not a drop of wine-and as she did so, soft white-and-green radiance blossomed in the air around her, illuminating her bed, the table, and all points between.
"Greetings, unknown guests," she said calmly. "I didn't think your master would wait until nightfall. Red Wizards are so impatient."
The four hooded men in battle-leathers stiffened, beholding the calm noblewoman. She was tall, large-boned, and lush of figure in her magnificent gown, and a spectacular flood of slightly wavy, honey-hued hair descended her back, to that point where a back begins to swell out and become a behind. The nether tips of her tresses deepened to a coppery flame-hue. The calm eyes surveying her visitors were steel-gray, the slightest of age-wrinkles lurking at their corners. She held her goblet-sized tallglass in one hand-and a wand had now somehow appeared in the other.
The four snarled silently and hurled the daggers they held. The flashing steel spinning through the air bore vivid crazings of purple that cried "Poison!" to any astute observer.
They did not have to throw far, and their target showed no signs of movement, but the whirling knives vanished a handspan from the Lady Ambrur.
A bare breath later, two of the men in black grunted, gasped, and pitched forward from the table, to crash down through a chair to the floor, and lie unmoving. Their own daggers stood out of their backs. Another knife spun past the ear of the man who'd hurled it and back toward the noblewoman again-only to vanish as before, snatched by the loop teleport she'd cast, and reappear behind its hurler again, sinking and spinning more slowly.
No one watched its next journey. The remaining pair of slayers burst forward from the table, racing to the attack. The Lady Ambrur's only reaction was to take another sip of wine.
One of her attackers plucked blades from all over his clothing as he came, snatching and hurling a storm of steel. Daggers bit at empty air, spinning over the bed to clatter and slide on the floor of the great hall-for the Lady Ambrur all of a sudden wasn't there.
She appeared by the table, glass still raised to her lips, and coolly triggered her wand. Its silvery beam lashed out to become a crimson blast of exploding head and brains where it touched the slayer who hadn't yet lightened his load of weaponry.
Headless and staggering, that black-garbed corpse wobbled forward to a loose-limbed collapse onto the floor.
The surviving slayer whirled with a snarl-and sprang aside as the wand fired again, leaping and rolling free of harm.
Swift and agile, he launched himself into an attack that dodged this way and that, avoiding another wand-blast. Like the wind he raced forward, to bring himself within reach of the noblewoman-
– Who blinked away once more. The black-hooded slayer did not freeze but kept running and dodging as he looked for her, and that saved him from the next bite of her wand, which blew apart a large wyrmtongue-leaf plant with its urn as he darted aside.
The wand spat again, striking aside a dagger he'd hurled in a flash of sparks. Tasmurand the Slayer put his entire shoulder and balance into another swift throw, right behind that first fang.
His reward was a burst of silver sparks. Lady Ambrur gave him a nod and a smile as she let the ruined wand tumble from her hand. She saluted him with her nearly empty tallglass and . . . blinked into nothingness again.
She reappeared on a landing of the ornate stair that swept up from beside the high table, linking the vast floor of the hall with-he glanced up-a promenade balcony that encircled the entire chamber high above where he stood.
"Shall we dance?" she asked archly, for all Faerun as if she was the hunter and not the hunted. With a snarl Tasmurand leaped for the steps, still dodging and darting in case she snatched out another wand and sprayed the stair.
Lady Ambrur worked a spell instead, performing the gestures with flourishes like a cat at play. It bathed her slayer in purple flame when he was still four running strides from putting his blade through her.
Tasmurand roared in fear and frantic effort-but no pain came, and nothing seemed to happen except . . . she vanished again, leaving him rushing onto an empty landing. He slashed furiously at the empty air anyway, cleaving nothing with raging speed.
"I'm up here," she called pleasantly, as if guiding a guest who was a long-established friend, and the slayer looked up again to see the noblewoman smiling down at him over the balcony rail. He set his teeth and sprinted up the second flight of steps because it was all he could do, really. Tasmurand gasped for air as he sped upward, wondering fearfully what that purple glow magic had been and when he'd feel its effects.
The Lady of Haelithtorntowers watched his approach calmly, relaxing so far as to cross her arms on the balcony rail and lean forward to watch, like a Marsemban lass appraising the sweaty brawn of stripped-to-the-waist dockloaders at work.
To Joysil's eyes, her last spell had worked just fine. Right now it was telling her that her visitor bore precisely three enchantments upon his person: two on daggers-one at belt, one in right boot-and a third within a metal vial inside his left boot. Almost certainly a potion of healing.
Fair enough. Unhurriedly Joysil Ambrur twisted one of the rings she wore and let its power sing out to enshroud her in a protective shield that could be heard-as the faint, high-pitched singing continued-more than it could be seen. She shifted around to sit at ease on and along the rail, bringing a shapely leg up and lounging back on one arm like an avid lass seeking to lure suitors, tossing her head to let her long hair tumble free.
Tasmurand's eyes widened at such craziness, but he neither hesitated nor slowed. Breathlessly, he reached the stair-head and burst onto the balcony, running hard around its promenade. Daggers flashed as he snatched them from their sheaths, never slowing as he bore down on the smiling lady.
He threw the first at just the right moment to spoil any spell she might be waiting to complete until his arrival-and she unconcernedly threw herself to one side, letting the dagger flash past . . . and pitching herself over the rail!
It would be a killing fall to the floor of the great chamber, but no doubt she'd magically whisk herself elsewhere again, ere striking the smooth stone below.
But no! The Lady Ambrur flung out her other hand to grasp the bottom of the rail as if frantically trying to catch herself from falling-but used that grip only to swing herself upright in the air . . . ere she let go and dropped.
Slowly, drifting down in a slow, gentle sinking that did not even lift the hem of her skirts.