"Aye," came the rough voice of one-eyed Tarth. "I'll follow your orders."
"And I," Chaslarla said, wheezing forward, "so long as ye turn not into one of those cold-hearts who thinks himself the true ruler of his city an' sends us out to stab armsmen and magelords all the night through."
There was a general rumble of agreement. Farl grinned and bowed. "We have agreement, then. As our first work together, let's get out of here with blades ready, and as I bid—in case the Moonclaws are waiting for us with bows, or've told a patrol when and where to expect us."
"Can I have first blood?" Rhegaer asked eagerly.
Behind him, they heard Tassabra's low laugh. "Just be sure it's not yours," she said. The darkness covered the look he gave her... but they could all feel it. There were chuckles in the night as they went down the stairs together.
*****
All Hastarl knew the noble Athalantan families Glarmeir and Trumpettower had been joined that same night in a true love-match. Peeryst Trumpettower had worn a high-plumed hat and cloth-of-gold doublet specially crafted for the occasion, with his usual bell-trimmed hose and best curl-tip shoes. Strapping on his father's lightest sword, he proudly paraded his lady to the shrines of Sune, Lathander, Helm, and Tyche before the hand-fasting was completed under the sword of Tyr.
The father of the bride had gifted the happy pair with a statue of the rearing Stag of Athalantar (the beast, not the dead king) that had been sculpted from a single gigantic diamond, and was worth more than some large castles. The servant who carried it around all day on a glass-domed platter thought it might well have been heavier than some castles, too. Under a heavy guard, this eminently practical gift had been installed in the bridal bedchamber at the foot of the bed, where, as old Dar¬rigo Trumpettower had put it with a wink and a leer, " 'Twould be in a fine position to watch!"
Nanue Glarmeir had worn an exquisite sky-blue gown crafted by the elves of far-off Shantel Othreier; her mother had proudly announced it had cost a thousand pieces of gold. Now it lay crumpled on the floor like so much discarded wrapping— which is precisely what the squeakily excited Peeryst thought it was—as the newly wedded couple toasted each other with sparkling moonbubble wine, and turned to raise their glasses to Selune, that she might smile down upon the bridal bed. The first pale rays of her radiance had peeked in the window far enough to touch the statue of the stag with moonlight, where it stood rampant and watchful on its own table at the foot of the bed.
Neither man nor wife noticed the deft pair of black-gloved hands reach up from under the bed and take away the gem-headed hairpins Nanue had just drawn out to let her hair cas¬cade unbound down her elegant back (to Peeryst's breathless delight). Both newlyweds, however, did notice the sudden ap-pearance of a pair of booted feet that blotted out the moon and then crashed through the fine glass of the largest arched bed¬chamber window, followed by their owner: a woman clad in tight-fitting black leathers with a badge on her breast, who wore a black half-mask.
The shapely intruder smiled at them sweetly as she drew a needle-thin blade from one boot and approached the stag. In all this excitement, none of the three heard an exasperated sigh from under the bed.
"Scream just once," she warned softly, "and I'll slide this into you."
Having been handed the idea, Nanue screamed—just once. Piercingly, too; shards of glass fell from the window-frame with a tinkling clatter.
The woman's face darkened into a snarl, and she ran across the room, poniard raised to stab. Seemingly by itself, a footstool beside the bed leapt up from the floor to catch her in the face; she reeled, lost her dagger, and fell heavily sideways into a ward¬robe—which promptly toppled, slowly and grandly, over on top of her.
Nanue and Peeryst both boldly seized the initiative, shriek¬ing in unison.
*****
Downstairs, befurred and bejeweled elders of both families heard the mighty crash and the screams. They raised knowing eyes and grins toward the ceiling and then toasted each other.
"Ah, yes," Darrigo Trumpettower said, leering over his glass at a Glarmeir lass almost half his age and blowing his bristling mustache out of his wine with a practiced puff. "I remember well my wedding night—the first one, at least; I was sober for that one. 'Twas back in the Year of the Gorgon Moon, as I re-call. ..."
* * * * *
A dark figure rose up from beneath the bed, crept across the room, and ducked behind a lounge onto which Peeryst had grandly tossed his boots, one after the other, not so long ago. The intruder was safely out of sight before the next two thieves in leathers burst in through the other two windows, raining fresh glass onto the thick fur rugs. Peeryst and Nanue clutched each other, naked but not noticing anymore, and howled in fear, claw¬ing at each other's backs in a frantic attempt to get going else¬where—anywhere!
The two fresh arrivals wore the same masks and tight leathers with breast-badges as the first one had. One was a woman, the other a man, and both were looking wildly about the room.
"Where's she gone, then?"
"Hush, Minter—you'll rouse the house."
"Don't use my name, gods damn thy tongue!"
They drew daggers from their boots and approached the ter¬rified couple on the bed—who screamed and tried to burrow under the fur-trimmed silk sheets.
"Hold, damn ye!" Minter reached for a fleeing foot, missed, and got hold of an ankle. He pulled. A vainly struggling Peeryst clawed at the sheets and managed to drag them off his wife, who knelt on the bed and screamed again, piercingly. Across the room, a glass figurine shattered, causing the black-gloved hand that had been reaching up from behind the lounge for it to with¬draw, with a hasty curse.
Peeryst Trumpettower was hauled from the bed to bounce and then sprawl on the carpet at Minter's feet, gibbering in fear.
Minter flipped him over, reflecting briefly on how ridiculous other naked men look, and snarled, "Where'd she go?" He waved his dagger under the man's nose for effect.
"Wh-Who?" Peeryst shrieked.
Minter pointed with his blade at the whirlwind that was his partner Isparla, who was plucking gem-coffers and silken under¬things from the floor and tables around, and tossing them all onto one of the sheets on the floor. As they watched, she scooped up the stag, grunted in surprise under its weight, staggered off-balance, slipped on the carpet, and fell on both elbows atop the piled loot. She moaned in pain—and the stag in her grasp slipped free and thumped down sideways onto one of her hands. She grunted again, louder.
"Another like her, who came in before us!" Minter growled, in¬dicating his partner.
"U-Under the wardrobe," Peeryst panted, pointing. "It fell on her."
Minter turned and saw a ribbon of dark blood running from under the wardrobe, which was as large—and probably as heavy—as a long-haul wagon. He shuddered. He kept on shud¬dering, all the way to the floor, as a figure rose from under the bed and brought a perfume-bottle down on his head.
Isparla clambered to her feet, saw the figure with the shards of the perfume bottle in his hand, obligingly spat, "Velvets! Again!" and threw her dagger. The figure obediently dived back behind the bed, and the dagger flashed harmlessly across the room. A titanic sneeze came from behind the bed.
Nanue screamed again—and the woman in black leathers slapped her across the face, backhanded, as she leapt past, grab¬bing for the elusive sneezing figure. She tripped over the stag in her haste, hopped, and moaned in pain. The stag thumped over onto its other side, and a shard of diamond broke off it.
The mysterious person behind the bed was curled up and shaking in the throes of uncontrollable sneezing, but managed to drive the broken perfume bottle into the Moonclaws woman's face, which she had just stuck around behind the bed. Isparla re¬coiled, rearing up on the bed, and Nanue slapped her back, hard.
Her masked head whipped around. She snarled, leaned for¬ward, and there was a meaty smack as her face met the brass chamberpot that Peeryst's shaking hands had just swept up¬ward.
Isparla collapsed silently across the bed. Nanue, kneeling be¬side her, saw blood flowing from the masked woman's mouth onto the silken sheets, and helpfully screamed again.
Peeryst saw what he'd done, threw the chamberpot down in horror—there was a sharp crack as it struck the stag and then a hollow metallic gonging when it skipped across the room and rolled to a stop—and fled across the room, howling. A dark figure burst up from behind the lounge and sprinted to intercept him.
Peeryst was two running paces from the safety of the bed¬chamber door when the figure caught up with him. They crashed into the door together; it boomed, burst open from the impact, and was instantly smashed shut again by their falling bodies.
*****
Downstairs, the befurred and bejeweled elders of both fami¬lies heard the crash, raised their eyebrows at each other, and poured another toast.
"Well," Janatha Glarmeir said brightly, staring around as color rose prettily into her cheeks, "they certainly seem to be ... hitting it off, don't they?"
"Hitting sounds like it would be about right," Darrigo Trum¬pettower agreed with a guffaw, leering at her. "I remember my second wife was like that...."
*****
Elminster rose from atop Peeryst's unconscious form, made sure the door was bolted this time, and hurried to where Farl, eyes still streaming from the perfume, was staggering away from the bed.
"We've got to get out of here," he muttered, shaking Farl.
"Damned Moonclaws," his partner snarled. "Grab something to make all this worthwhile."
"I have," El said, "now let's begone!"
His words rose into an excited shout as a new pair of leather-clad figures swung in the window, using yet more silken lines.
They landed running, blades out. Elminster swept up a small glass-topped table, spilling figurines in all directions, and hurled it hard.
His target ducked, and the table sailed harmlessly out the window—just as one of the figurines landed, hard, on his foot.
Elminster hopped in pain, roaring. The grinning Moonclaws man closed in on him, raising a gleaming blade, as the other one dived to grab the nude, shrieking woman on the bed.
*****
The table fell through the night to explode in shards of glass and twisted spars of brass on the cobbles far below. Some of them clattered on the windows of the feasting-hall and the par¬lor. The befurred and bejeweled elders of both families turned at the sound, and more eyebrows were raised.
"They wouldn't be fighting, would they?" Janatha Glarmeir said anxiously, fanning herself to conceal her burning cheeks. "It certainly seems lively."
"Nay," Darrigo Trumpettower roared, "that's just. . . what d'they ca—oh, aye, 'foreplay;' y'know, the fun 'n' games before¬hand . . . great big room up there to chase each other around in . . ." He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Obligingly, it shook under another sharp, booming crash, and a cloud of dust drifted down. "Wish I were younger and Peeryst was calling for help...."
Promptly there came a faint, quavering cry. "Help!"
"Well," Darrigo said in delight, "if the lad ain't the very shinin' image of his old uncle, indeed! Where're those stairs? Hope I can remember how to do the deed, after all these years...."
*****
Elminster danced backward, wincing. The Moonclaws man lunged at him, blade flashing, and then grunted in surprise as Farl reached out and wrapped himself around the man's leg. The Moonclaws thief toppled like a felled tree, and Farl stabbed him in the throat before he'd even stopped bouncing. The stag statue, cracked and somewhat smaller now, spun away from under the man's sprawled body.
Elminster saw what Farl had done, turned his head away, and promptly emptied his dinner all over a blue-dyed fur rug from Calimshan.
"Well, that's one rug we won't be taking back with us," Farl called merrily as he sprinted across the room to where the last Moonclaws woman was struggling with the sobbing bride. Just as he got there, the thief managed to get her hands on Nanue's face and throat, and looked up.
Farl didn't slow. He planted a firm fist in her mask as he ran past.
She hadn't even hit the carpet when he leapt out the window, one of the swing-lines hissing through his gloved hands as he slid down in haste.
Elminster snatched up a hand-sized jewel-coffer to add to the hairpins he'd stowed in his boots, thrust it down the front of his shirt to free his hands for climbing, and ran after Farl. Scream¬ing, Nanue ran the other way, toward the door where her hus¬band lay senseless.
Elminster tripped over the stag, cursed, and ended his flight to the windows in a helpless roll. The statue slid away across slick tiles exposed when rugs were rucked up in the battle, and caromed off a wall, spitting pieces of itself in all directions.
El fetched up against the windowsill in an untidy heap—unseen by the Moonclaws man who swung grandly in the window at that moment and stepped right over the thieving prince. His eyes fixed on the statue, gliding to a gleaming stop in the moonlight.
"Aha! A king's ransom—mine!" the thief bellowed, hurling a dagger out of habit at the nude woman fleeing across the cham¬ber. The flashing fang struck an upright mirror, which pivoted on its pintles, overbalanced, and came crashing down at Nanue. She shrieked and leapt desperately backward, skidding help¬lessly on the rugs. The mirror crashed down beside it and shat¬tered, shards bouncing on the tiles; Nanue rolled away blindly to escape them, and overturned an ornamental table crowded with scent-bottles. The reek that arose was incredible; it even made the thief, gloved hand about to close on what was left of the stag, recoil.
This sudden movement sent him skidding on a fragment bro¬ken off the statue, and he sat down hard, jarring a portrait down off the wall. Roaruld Trumpettower, Scourge of Stirges—de¬picted holding a glass of blood aloft in one hand and a wrung-out, limp-winged stirge in the other—landed with a crash that shook the room, hopped forward as the frame shivered, and smashed down atop the thief. The stag spun away again, still growing smaller.
