Thomas Reid - The Fractured Sky

Kashada the Nightwraith stood very still and waited, watching a doorway from the opposite side of Helm Dwarf-friend's great hall. It was late, and only a few lanterns burned, turned low to save oil. The hall, which soared three stories high with balconies ringing it at each level, lay shrouded in shadows. Kashada would not be seen among them.

A wisp of a girl in a nightshirt entered the hall from that far doorway. Though the other figure also stayed among the shadows, Kashada could see her plainly. It was Ansa, the Dwarf-friend's lover. The girl padded across the hall in Kashada's direction. Her shoulder-length curls bounced gently in a most provocative way as her hips swayed a tiny bit more than necessary.

Kashada grinned to herself in the darkness of her hiding place. Tramp, she thought. Dwarf-friend likes them saucy.

As the young woman passed the great table and its high-backed chairs, Kashada settled a bit deeper into her own shadows, comforted by their cloaking darkness. She brought a spell to mind, a simple trick that would allow her to become a shadow herself should Ansa hesitate and perhaps sense her presence there. Despite her seeming innocence, the girl was anything but, and Kashada the Veiled One would not risk ruining Zasian Menz's plan by getting caught spying.

Ansa reached a passage leading from the great hall and proceeded down it. As she disappeared from view, Kashada slipped from her hiding place and followed silently after. The shadow-garbed woman reached the hallway and peeked around the corner: the girl stood a few paces away, her back to Kashada. At the far end of the hall, Zasian strode toward them from Helm Dwarf-friend's private chambers. It seemed to Kashada that Ansa cringed. Perhaps Ansa did not wish to be seen, but it was clearly too late.

Kashada watched as Zasian strode toward Ansa and stopped directly in front of her. "Look at me, child," he said, and he reached out to lift her chin with his finger.

The girl shivered at the man's touch, and Kashada had to stifle a chuckle. It was not a shudder of timidity, but of lust. She wants to bed him, too! the Veiled One thought, amused.

If Zasian noticed, he did not react to it. "You know you shouldn't be out here," he said, "especially not dressed as you are."

The man continued his admonishment, but Kashada stopped listening. She used the time to study the girl, scrutinizing every detail. She would need to duplicate Ansa's image as perfectly as possible when the time came. The nightshirt did little to hide the younger girl's shape, and Kashada noted the plump curves with a mixture of appreciation and jealousy.

It has been far too long since I truly looked that firm, the woman mused.

As Zasian continued to speak, he pulled a pendant from his pocket. He strolled around Ansa, explaining many things to her, but Kashada ignored him. She focused on the face, the green eyes, the dimples. She established every last feature firmly in her mind's eye. It would need to be perfect to fool Dwarf-friend.

When she was certain she could become Ansa in every way, Kashada turned her attention to Zasian's words once more. "Get yourself out of sight, and don't let me catch you out like this again." His tone was stern, and he pointed down the hall.

"Yes, my lord," the girl said, and she turned and practically ran from him.

When Ansa had vanished through another door, Zasian turned to where Kashada hid. He did not look directly at her, but let his gaze sweep back and forth along the hall. "Well?" he asked, walking slowly, scanning the shadows. "Did you see enough?"

Kashada shimmered into view, letting the darkest of the shadows slide from her. She made a gesture and spoke a soft word, manipulating other bits of shadow. They swirled around her, clinging to her in wisps, changing her appearance. In a matter of heartbeats she was no longer Kashada the Nightwraith. Instead, she stood before Zasian as the girl in the nightshirt.

"Yes, my lord," Kashada said, shifting her voice to mimic Ansa's. She giggled softly.

Zasian frowned and began to circle her, inspecting her form. Kashada followed him with her eyes, shifting her weight and cocking one hip to the side as she had seen Ansa do. She felt his gaze and, despite herself, she felt a tiny shiver run through her.

"It will serve," the man said, sounding unimpressed. He returned to stand in front of her.

Kashada grimaced. You do a better job, she thought.

"You understand what must happen?" Zasian asked.

Kashada glared at him. "We have discussed this many times, priest," she said. "I am no novice at these intrigues."

"Nevertheless," Zasian replied, lifting his nose in a haughty manner, "I must be certain. Cyric will brook no failures on your part."

"Nor will Shar stand for any on yours," Kashada shot back. "Do not presume to lecture me, Menz. I know my task, and my burden. You just make certain you fulfill your end of this bargain."

Zasian studied Kashada's face for a moment, then gave her a curt nod. "Very well," he said. "Remain hidden and wait for the others to arrive. It may take time before we can begin."

Kashada smiled in mocking sweetness at Zasian. He cocked his head to one side, frowning again, but before he could say anything more, she stepped back into the deeper shadows and vanished.

The priest of Cyric shrugged and walked away, moving toward another wing of the Master's Hall.

Time passed slowly, but Kashada had the patience to endure it. She had spent more than a few nights cloaked in darkness and silence, waiting. Events would unfold when they were ready, not when she desired. Secrets and betrayals were most effective when left to simmer.

After a while, Zasian returned with three others following him. Two men and a woman crept along the hall. The first, a short, stocky fellow in a leather jerkin, wore an array of small blades on numerous belts draped across his body. He had a satchel slung over one shoulder with a weighted net dangling half out of it. Behind him strode a woman, a warrior in heavy mail and brandishing a mace. A taller, thin man brought up the rear, a wand clutched in his hand as his loose trousers and shirt billowed out behind him. Kashada remained hidden and watched as the entourage walked by.

Kashada bristled when the woman passed her position. The Sharran could feel the cloying, sickening radiance of holy power waft from the warrior and knew she bowed to Torm without even needing to see the badge upon her armor. The sensation turned her stomach.

The priestess of Torm slowed a half-step, wrinkling her nose as though she smelled something distasteful.

The Nightwraith shrank back, deeper into the shadows that hid her, and held her breath.

The armored woman turned from side to side as though listening and looking for something. Behind her, the arcanist tapped her shoulder and urged her forward. She frowned and gazed absently around for a heartbeat or two longer, then she nodded and continued.

Kashada exhaled in relief.

At the end of the hall the prowlers paused before the door leading into Helm Dwarf-friend's chambers. Zasian gestured and said something too quiet for Kashada to hear. The shorter of the two men vanished. A moment later, the other male made a gesture and a red-framed doorway of energy appeared before him. The man stepped through and then he, too, vanished, the doorway winking out behind him. Finally, the woman raised her mace and shoved herself through the door. Zasian remained, watching.

Kashada stole from her hiding place and slipped down the hall toward him, darting from shadow to shadow.

No sounds issued from within the chamber beyond the door. Whatever was happening, someone had made sure through some means, magical or otherwise, that it didn't rouse the rest of the hall.