Shadowstorm by Kemp Paul S

whiskered chin. “That is unfortunate, but hardly my fault. And may I remind the Overmistress that Miklos and Kavin Selkirk lie in unmarked graves in the wilderness—as you wished—while Saerloon is allied to your cause, believing itself attacked by rebels—also as you wished. All of that is due to Malkur Forrin and his Blades. Surely you do not intend to focus on the escape of a single man to renege on your bargain?”
    Mirabeta rapped her fist on the table and glared at Forrin. “No. I choose to focus on the Hulorn’s escape because allowing it was a failure, and I do not tolerate failure, in matters large or small.”
    Malkur’s lips curled in a snarl, revealing a couple of missing teeth, and he put a hand to his sword hilt, a gesture Elyril marked not as a threat, but as habit.
    “Failure?” he said. “Overmistress, the Hulorn was aided in his escape by a shade—no doubt a Shadovar, which suggests
    that the alliance you mentioned was in place before he escaped me and would have continued whether he lived or died. But still we would have had him. Only the arrival of Abelar Corrinthal’s forces saved him.”
    “An excuse,” Elyril observed.
    Malkur glared at Elyril, back at Mirabeta. “An excuse? Perhaps if the younger Corrinthal had not been allowed to escape Ordulin, matters would have turned out differently. What of that failure?”
    “That was a political decision,” Elyril said.
    “An excuse,” Forrin answered with a sneer.
    Elyril affected a thoughtful expression and looked to her aunt. “Aunt, did I mishear or did this mercenary just imply that Abelar Corrinthal is a better field commander than he? Perhaps we should—”
    Malkur stiffened at the slight. “Hardly, Milady. Corrinthal’s forces outnumbered mine more than two to one. And as I have already explained to the overmistress—”
    “Shut your mouth,” Mirabeta said harshly, and Malkur, eyes wide with surprise, did exactly that. Mirabeta continued. “You come into my presence and speak with such insolence?”
    Before Forrin could stutter a reply, Mirabeta said, “Do you think that your knowledge of recent events insulates you from my anger? That it frees your tongue to speak to me as if I am one of your sergeants? I assure you, it does not.”
    Malkur’s eyes went from surprised to sly. “I know what has happened here, Overmistress. I am a soldier but no fool. You have lied your way into a war, probably murdered your own cousin. I am pleased with both matters, but let us at least be candid with one another. Your grip on power depends upon those lies remaining as buried as Kendrick’s sons.”
    Mirabeta sat as still as the dead. “My hold on power depends on nothing of the sort. What you think to have occurred is utterly unimportant. Are you so stupid as to think that the truth matters? Are you?”
    “We are past that,” Elyril said, nodding.
    Mirabeta said, “I speak and the nobility and the rest of the populace believe what I say. The words no longer matter. They wish to believe me. They need to believe me.”
    Elyril saw the opening offered by her aunt and took it.
    “So you go tell your tale, mercenary. And the overmistress will respond by saying that Malkur Forrin is a treasonous liar who seeks to discredit her to avenge his removal from the Sembian military by the Selkirk family.”
    “That is not so,” Malkur said dismissively.
    Elyril said, “You will be imprisoned in the Hole and die there.”
    “Overmistress …”
    Mirabeta followed Elyril’s lead. “Malkur Forrin and his Blades are Zhentarim all, and were behind a plot to murder the overmistress and replace her with a shapeshifter in her guise.”
    “Another lie,” Malkur said, but less dismissively. Elyril saw nervousness sneaking into his eyes.
    “You will be hanged for treason,” Mirabeta said.
    “Overmistress, I…”
    Elyril stared into his grizzled face and amused herself by interrupting him with a half-truth. “Malkur Forrin is an agent of Sharrans. And