Free Dark Vengeance by Ed Greenwood

the holiness that she—of course—alone embodies. Let her cause trouble outside our walls, for once.”
    Ithmeira winced. “It only has to be once, if she causes trouble enough.”
    Lolonmae’s smile was as bright as it was sudden. “Semmeira said those very words, once. About me.”
    Â 
    â€œThe Anointed,” Aloun said carefully, “never fail to surprise me. To us, they’re all cold superiority and orders not to be questioned, but within their walls, they’re—”
    â€œJust as Nifl as the rest of us,” Luelldar replied softly. “Thank the Ever-Ice.”
    He turned his head suddenly, to give Aloun the same sort of bright grin favored by reckless Niflghar younglings, and added, “Yet to speak of the passing entertainment they afford us, what think you thus far?
I
think Semmeira is almost certainly overeager in rushing to her own doom.”

5
To Fall in a Duel in Talonnorn
    If life you spurn and pain you scorn
Seek out a duel in Talonnorn.
No cause too great nor too forlorn
To be worth a duel in Talonnorn.
Better yet you’d never been born
Than to fall in a duel in Talonnorn.
    â€”
Talonar tavern song
    â€œ N ew arrivals?” Vaeyemue murmured, settling her whip onto her shoulder.
    Children of Hairy Ones were always largeeyed with fear, and either mute or weeping.
    Not that it lasted long.
    They went mad and went to the stewpots, or found a way to kill themselves, or grew up fast.
    Their snivelings were muted in the soft, damp warmth of the yeldeth caverns.
    Everything was muted in the soft, damp warmth of the yeldeth caverns.
    The rampants who’d brought the new slaves in hadn’t bothered to answer her.
    They seldom did.
    Perhaps they considered a Nifl-she who oversaw mere yeldeth slaves was beneath answering.
    Vaeyemue smiled a crooked smile, and lashed out to crack her whip around the ankles of the largest, surliest-looking rampant. Time to teach this lot of rampants a thing or two—and terrify the new Hairy Ones while she was at it.
    Besides, she was bored, and she hadn’t enjoyed a big, strong rampant on his knees weepingly begging her forgiveness in too long a time.
    Last shift, at least.
    To the tune of the rampant’s startled yell, her crooked smile widened.
    Â 
    â€œThe proverbial stench of magic fills the air,” Opaelra murmured, not caring if the nearest warblades heard her. “Pity it smells like ashes—and strong oldworms cheese.”
    The old crone managed a smile, wondering idly if she’d live to see another feast in House Evendoom. The shaking fits took her often, now, and without warning—and as far as she knew, she’d lived longer than any of the Evendoom blood in all the long history of Talonnorn.
    Warblades of the house in full battle-armor, standing rigidly at their guardposts, stared at her stonily as she shuffled past them. Opaelra gave them a disapproving look and a snort of dismissal. New ways were well enough, but a little respect for elder kin,
please.
    Or House Evendoom would be no better than all the rest, much as that would annoy young Jalandral.
    Ah, pardon: young
High Lord
Jalandral.
    Opaelra wondered briefly what Klaerra thought of him, under the insistent velvet assault of his lovemaking. Or did they couple, anymore? After all, Jalandral could have his pick of all the shes in Talonnorn—though if he didn’t tie them down and have a spellrobeor three cast spells over each and every one, that would be a swift way into the jaws of treachery, and his own death. Yet perhaps he dared not taste Klaerra unless she was tied down, either . . .
    These idle thoughts took her along the mirror-polished tiles of the new passage and into the gigantic new hall that had been built onto the battle-ravaged front of the Eventowers. His “throne room,” Highest and Mightiest Jalandral had presumed to call it.
    Hmmph.
    When
she
was his age, being Lord of Evendoom and