Текст книги "The masked witches"

Автор книги: Richard Lee Byers

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FIVE

Dai Shan looked at the Iron Lord and saw a creature scarcely better than a wild orc squatting in a cave. The dimmest apprentice in a Shou merchant household had more subtlety and sophistication than such a puppet ruler ensconced in a cold, stark little chamber adjacent to his equally graceless throne room.

Precisely because he himself possessed the qualities that Mangan Uruk conspicuously lacked, Dai Shan wasn t worried that his sense of superiority showed in his face, or that his deep bow conveyed any sense of irony. Nonetheless, the Rashemi glowered at him.

You wanted a private meeting, Mangan said.

Tell me why. Have you learned something about the undead?

Alas, no, Dai Shan replied. My people made an honest effort, but Highness, have you ever found yourself in the disconcerting situation of having to admit that a fool was right?

Not that I recall, Mangan said, gesturing for Dai Shan to sit down on the other side of the table.

Dai Shan pulled back a chair. Thank you, noble prince, he said. In this case, Folcoerr Dulsaer is the fool in question a doltish, arrogant representative of a doltish, arrogant people. Still, buffoon though he is, he s right about one thing. Theskian traders have no hope of unraveling a mystery involving the undead, necromancy, and the like.

Mangan grunted. I saw how it got dark when you used your magic, he said. I thought maybe you knew at least a little necromancy.

Dai Shan felt a twinge of surprise. Perhaps the Iron Lord was a bit less dim than he seemed.

I m afraid not, the merchant said.

And, if I may return to my point: the fact of the matter is that no group of outlanders be they Shou, Aglarondan, Halruaan, or Thayan is likely to solve the current problem for you. We simply know too little about Rashemen. We don t comprehend its history and traditions.

Yhelbruna says differently, Mangan said.

Highness, I mean no disrespect to the hathrans when I suggest that prophecy provides uncertain guidance to practical men, the Shou replied. In my experience, it s better to act on the basis of common sense, and then trust that afterward, no matter how things work out, the seer will provide a tortured interpretation of the original prediction to demonstrate that it all came true after all.

For a moment, Mangan s lips quirked into a smile. It was the revelation Dai Shan had been watching for: a sign that at least once in a while and to some degree, the Iron Lord chafed at taking orders from the Wychlaran.

I hear you, Mangan said. But to a practical man like me, your remarks so far seem to boil down to one thing: You give up. But you didn t ask for a private palaver just to tell me that.

Your Highness is as astute as he is valiant, replied the Shou. I m ready to give up on ridding Rashemen of the undead. But I haven t given up on acquiring the griffons. The talks we had when I first arrived in Immilmar give me hope that you still see some advantage to parting with them in a straightforward business transaction.

Mangan scratched at his short black beard with its sprinkling of white. Dai Shan wouldn t have been astonished to discover that the Rashemi had fleas.

You know I was always of two minds about that, Mangan said. I believe the beasts truly are a gift from the spirits, and they unquestionably have the potential to become a formidable weapon. But Rashemen s forces have never included aerial cavalry by the spiral horn, we barely even have horsemen and a sensible warrior sees the practical difficulties of building such a company from scratch even if the witches don t. I also know Rashemen is a poor realm because we don t have much to sell that folk from other lands are willing to buy at a decent price. I thought, perhaps we finally do have something, and who s to say that s not what the Three mean for us to do with it?

Dai Shan smiled. Certainly not I, he said.

Mangan didn t return the smile. No. Not you, he replied. Yhelbruna. She proclaimed this quest of hers, and there s the end of any common-sense notions I had.

Yet you re the Iron Lord, the Shou said.

Beloved champion of your people. I know you don t mean to suggest that you have nothing to say in the matter.

Mangan opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated.

Dai Shan pressed onward. So it seems to me, wise prince, he continued, that if you ordered the release of the griffons into my custody, released they would surely be. Afterward, if you deemed it necessary, you could say you misunderstood the hathrans plans for them, or that the Three spoke to you and commanded you to act as you did. Surely they ve granted a revelation to a male at some point in Rashemi history.

At any rate, the crux of the matter is this: With the griffons gone, the Aglarondans and the various sellswords will have no reason to stay in Rashemen and try to help you. And when they leave, the Wychlaran will understand that they don t dare pick a quarrel with the only warlord left to deal with the undead. That s what you ve wanted to do from the start, if I m not mistaken, and I have every confidence you ultimately will. By the time you have destroyed them, the griffons will only be a fading memory, whereas Mangan Uruk will be more of a hero than ever. The hathrans will surely see there s absolutely nothing to gain by bickering with you, then.

You spin a happy story, Mangan said. But hathrans are actually minding the griffons, hathrans who undoubtedly do understand Yhelbruna s actual intent.

One priestess tends the animals, Dai Shan replied. One at a time. I took the liberty of checking. Surely two practical men can contrive a way to draw her away from her post. Then a wizard in my company, a beast charmer of some renown, will contrive to replace the enchantment Yhelbruna used to control the griffons with one of his own. After which, Rashemen will see us no more.

Mangan sat, scowled, and pondered for several heartbeats. No, he said, finally.

Dai Shan sighed. You re quite certain that s your final word? he asked.

Yes, Mangan said with a smile. Sorry to disappoint you. I think you were pretty sure you d hooked your fish, and for a moment But an Iron Lord takes direction from the Urlingwood even when he wonders if the wise women are really so wise after all. I do it not only because I swore an oath to do it but also because that s the way it s always been. And I don t care how it looks to some outsider.

Highness, I understand completely, replied the Shou. A wise man honors the ways of his forefathers. Except when they were cretinous savages who lived in fear of his foremothers, Dai Shan thought.

Well, then, Mangan said. Are we done? Shall I tell the cooks to prepare a farewell feast, and order my people to help yours get your iceboats ready to sail?

Actually, no, Dai Shan answered. With your permission, we Theskians will stay awhile longer and keep trying to solve the undead problem.

Even though you just told me you can t?

I was seeking a shorter, surer path to the griffons. But if no such path exists, well, perhaps the task the hathrans set us isn t so hopeless after all. The only way to find out is to give it our best.

Then go do that.

Yes, august prince. Dai Shan rose and bowed.

Oh, and Saer? Mangan said.

Yes?

I ll be sending some warriors to keep that lone hathran company. Just to make sure you understand that the short path really doesn t exist.

After leaving the Iron Lord s presence, Dai Shan decided to walk the battlements for a time. It would be cold under the black and starry sky, but quieter than the chambers the castle chamberlain had set aside for his company s use, with his underlings and servants babbling, snoring, or wandering about. The solitude would help him think.

Though he couldn t have seen the griffons at such a distance even by day, he felt moved to linger on the north wall and gaze in the general direction of the hills where the hathrans were keeping them. By Shar s empty heart, what a treasure! The beasts could make the House of Shan the wealthiest merchant enterprise in Telflamm, and inspire Dai Shan s father to name him heir. In which case, his siblings had better commence their groveling quickly.

But in spite of alternating threats and promises of reward, his mages and priests had thus far accomplished little, and none of his other followers could reasonably be expected to penetrate the mysteries of the undead. It therefore seemed unlikely that the Shou could win the prize by themselves in the manner Yhelbruna had prescribed. It was time to find allies, break the rules, or both.

His first effort in that direction had just failed. Where, he wondered, pulling his overcoat tighter against the frigid, whistling wind, should he cast his line next?

It was easy to eliminate Folcoerr Dulsaer. The Aglarondan was an honorable idiot just like the Iron Lord, even though in the Iron Lord s case, his haughty testiness might cause an observer less insightful than Dai Shan to miss the integrity underneath.

Aoth Fezim was at least intelligent, but possibly too much so. Dai Shan preferred allies who were sharp enough to function without constant direction, but not so sharp that they might be a jump ahead of him when the partnership outlived its usefulness. Besides, the Thayan seemed to believe in keeping his word, fulfilling his contracts, and all that tiresome sort of thing, even if there were one or two episodes in his recent history that suggested otherwise.

Vandar Cherlinka? He was an honorable idiot already allied with Fezim, although Dai Shan wasn t sure why. They didn t appear fond of one another. Perhaps they realized that each had resources the other lacked, and maybe they d found a measure of grudging mutual respect fighting side by side in the sacred grove.

That left Mario Bez. Reasonably clever and devoid of scruples, he was currently flying around the countryside on his skyship hunting for ghosts and such. But he returned to Immilmar periodically. Dai Shan would offer him a partnership the next time he did.

So, that was one decision made. But Dai Shan still had another to ponder, and it was the more problematic of the two. He could think of several reasons why a cautious man would shun the course of action he was contemplating. But he hadn t risen to prominence in the House of Shan through caution it had taken boldness and cunning. For, the Dark Goddess knew, his father would never favor a son simply for the sake of affection, even if the old snake were genuinely capable of feeling the emotion.

Dai Shan abruptly realized that he d made his second choice. Somehow, picturing his father, withered, palsied, and propped up on a mound of pillows, but as crafty, ruthless, and grasping as ever, had made it for him.

He glanced around to make sure he was unobserved. The Iron Lord no doubt had sentries who were supposed to walk the battlements, but at the moment, none was in evidence. He whispered, Wake.

The moonlight gave him the bare hint of a shadow. In the darkness, many men might have failed to observe it even after it had leaped upright. But Dai Shan had no difficulty making out the inky rippling a kind of negative shimmer when it moved, or gave an attentive tilt of its head. He could even feel its stare and eagerness to please him. It was only by doing the latter that it could fill, even briefly, the aching hollowness inside it.

Go forth, he said, and find the undead creatures troubling this land. Bring them to me when you do.

The shadow bowed. It turned, leaped between two merlons, plunged to the ground outside the castle, and dashed away. Portions of its body stretched and contracted in the fluid manner of its insubstantial kind. In a moment or two, it had vanished into the night, and even its master couldn t make it out anymore.

Dai Shan knew he might never hear anything more of the familiar. It was undead of a sort, too, but that didn t mean it could sniff out durthan revenants, or that they d trust it or care about its controller s offer if it did. Still, like reaching out to Bez, the tactic was worth a try.

It was impossible to guess who, if anyone, would ultimately end up helping Dai Shan claim the griffons. But, by the Dark Moon, claim them he somehow would. And if Rashemen came to harm as a result Well, the Iron Lord was right about one thing: his poor, barbaric land had never been much of a trading partner anyway.

Aoth kept his eyes moving. He was watching for threats slinking through the trees and keeping an eye on Choschax. Even with the cyclops s hands bound behind him and his feet hobbled with the silver-dusted rope originally intended to restrain werewolves, he might still try to escape or give warning of their approach.

Aoth took stock of the state of his command, making sure they were game for what he was about to require of them. Much as he trusted them well, all of them except Vandar he would have understood if they were nervous. They d already fought one fight, and although they d all emerged from it essentially unscathed, such struggles took a toll. On top of that, everyone was aware that the spellcasters among them had already expended a fair amount of their mystical strength. In other circumstances, Aoth would have put off a raid until they had rested and recovered. But if he delayed that long, Choschax s mistress would wonder why the cyclopes who d gone out to meet the wolf pack hadn t returned.

Fortunately, no one looked shaky. Not even Cera, who arguably still wasn t a true warrior even if, since falling in with Aoth, she d fought foes more terrible than most soldiers would ever have to face. Or Jhesrhi, who d once spent a grim and desperate time trapped in the spirit world and likely wasn t eager to go back. He felt a surge of pride and affection for them both.

Vandar looks just as steady, said Jet, speaking mind to mind. The griffon was soaring above the treetops watching for trouble from that angle.

Aoth snorted. He s too stupid to know what we re getting into.

He s Rashemi. He knows more about the fey than we do. You just don t like the way he fights.

You re right. It s sloppy and undisciplined.

It s not so different from the way you and I fight when cornered.

But we try hard not to get cornered. We keep our heads, and that allows us to do the cornering. That s why we ve survived as long as

Choschax stumbled around to face his captors. Aoth turned his eyes slightly to the side, so he wasn t meeting the cyclops s burning gaze dead on.

It s just ahead, Choschax said. You ll see it.

Go back the way we came, said Aoth. We ll find you and untie you when we come back out. And remember, my griffon is watching you. If you try to get rid of your bonds, warn your friends, or do anything else we wouldn t like, he ll dive down and rip you apart.

The prisoner scowled. I hear you.

Then go.

As Aoth and his comrades skulked forward, and Choschax hobbled in the opposite direction, Jet said, If we killed him, no one would need to keep track of him, and then I could go into the hole with you.

That s not the only reason I m leaving you on watch, or even the main reason, replied Aoth. You re stealthy on the wing, not underground, and stealth is what s required now. Besides, if we run into trouble, I ll give you a shout, and you can go for help.

You mean, back to Chessenta? That s where the rest of the Brotherhood is, and nobody in Rashemen cares what happens to a Thayan.

Go to Vandar s lodge. I imagine they ll listen to a griffon that tells them their chieftain is in trouble.

And fortunately, they re only a few days travel away.

Then you come up with a better plan. Just do it quietly. I need to focus on what I m doing so we won t need rescuing in the first place.

A gnarled thorn tree with twisted forking branches like clawed hands stood some little distance from its nearest neighbor. Aoth didn t recognize the species, but he did observe that it looked dead. The slimy pockets of rot in its trunk made it stand out in a season when every deciduous tree had shed its leaves.

What he couldn t discern, even with fire-kissed eyes, was that the thorn tree was a sentinel, animate and aware of its surroundings. But he spoke the words that Choschax had taught him anyway.

The tree shuddered, its branches rattling. Cera took a reflexive step backward, and Vandar hefted his javelin. Jhesrhi drew fire from the head of her staff, and Aoth aimed his spear.

But the thorn tree didn t try to harm them. With its roots writhing and coiling like tentacles and pulling themselves out of the earth, it reached out and lifted a section of ground, like a trapdoor on its hinges. Illuminated by a pale glow from below, rude sandstone steps high and deep, sized for a cyclops descended into the earth.

I ll go first, said Aoth. I ll be able to see no matter what. Jhes, you re second, and Cera, third. Vandar, you re rearguard.

The berserker glowered but for a welcome change didn t argue.

The thorn-tree guardian lowered the plug back into the hole once Vandar was inside. Descending, Aoth and his comrades soon came to the source of the glow: a sort of rippling curtain of light.

To Aoth s annoyance, seeing it made him hesitate. Perhaps it was because, despite an eventful first century of life, he d only visited another plane once before Szass Tam s lifeless little artificial world and he hadn t much enjoyed the trip. He spat, readied his spear, and strode on through.

Everything changed.

Aoth was still climbing downstairs, but his surroundings weren t earth anymore. They were black stone: unfinished, but glossy as though polished. Veins of gold and rubies, or something like them, glowed in the rock, providing additonal illumination. The intricacy of the patterns and the richness of the colors were fascinating. Aoth knew he had to remain alert, but couldn t resist drinking in the particularly gorgeous detail for just a heartbeat or two. And then that one over there

Something bumped into his back and pitched him forward. He staggered down the steps and struggled to keep from falling. The effort snapped him out of his daze.

He turned and looked up at his companions. As they stepped through the curtain, each faltered and caught his or her breath as Aoth no doubt had, transfixed by the preternatural beauty before them.

It was a beauty they shared. Cera and Jhesrhi had always been beautiful in Aoth s eyes, but although he couldn t say how any one feature had changed, each now seemed as flawless and as radiant as a goddess. Even Vandar appeared to have the perfect musculature and keen, dauntless air of a hero in some lying bard s witless story.

Choschax wasn t lying, Aoth said, as much to rouse his companions as anything. His people do live in the Feywild, not in the Shadowfell.

The Shadowfell was the world of darkness, death, and decay that Jhesrhi and Gaedynn had once visited. The Feywild was its bright counterpart: a realm of light and vitality. Aoth felt invigorated just breathing the air.

It s wonderful, Cera breathed.

Don t let the wonders put you to sleep, said Aoth.

Don t you, she replied. You can see them better than we can.

Nobody will let himself slip into a trance, Vandar said. Now, can we keep moving? We don t want to get caught on these steps.

You re right, Aoth said, we don t. As he led his companions onward, making sure not to look at anything for too long lest its beauty draw him in, he noticed an unpleasant absence in his head. Apparently, shifting to a different plane of existence blocked his psychic connection to Jet.

The intruders reached the little antechamber at the foot of the stairs without incident. A cavern opened out before them. There, magic, the toil of artisans, or a combination of both had sculpted much of the gleaming black stone with its luminous multicolored veins into arches, balconies, windows, battlements, and turrets. They stood as ornate and as imposing as the fa ade of a zulkir s palace. The splendor made Aoth want to stand and gawk. He gave his head a shake to clear it. There might well be sentries watching the entrance to the vault, and he and his comrades needed to focus on that.

Ready? he whispered.

Yes, Jhesrhi said. She murmured charms of concealment, and her magic stung across his skin like icy needles.

My turn, Cera said. Her lips moved in silent prayer.

To Aoth, it seemed paradoxical to ask the god of the sun to help you hide. But the sun wasn t just the world s great source of warmth and light. Its motion also defined the stately progression of time, and Amaunator gave some of his clerics the capacity to tamper with an observer s subjective perception of time. Cera wanted to compress the time it would take to scurry across the space ahead to the briefest instant, so that even if an observer had the ability to pierce Jhesrhi s veils, the intruders would appear and disappear so quickly that their presence wouldn t register.

That should do it, the priestess said.

Aoth took a breath. Let s go, he said and ran out into the open space.

He made it in three strides, and then a jolt of pain staggered him.

From his vantage point in the antechamber at the foot of the stairs, Aoth hadn t been able to see the big, stylized, staring eyes carved high on the walls of the vault beyond. No doubt that was as those who d fashioned the magical mantrap intended it to be. The pupil of each hieroglyph glowed red like the pupil of a cyclops s eye, and their gazes pressed down on him like a prodigious weight.

As he and his comrades lurched and stumbled, trying to keep their feet, he spotted the battlements directly above the arch they d just passed through. A pair of cyclopes stood there with crossbows in hand, ideally positioned to pick off intruders immobilized by the magic of the eye glyphs.

Which was to say, ideally positioned to pick off Aoth and his companions. Waves of heat were rippling over his skin, which likely meant that countermagic was burning his enchantment of invisibility away.

He had to move. He slapped at two of the tattoos under his mail. The first released a tingling surge of strength that washed away some of the pain. The second was a protective charm that, he hoped, would deflect some of the power of the eyes. Still feeling like he was carrying an enormous weight, he staggered one step, and then another.

So did Cera. Keeper, she gasped, Keeper, Keeper, Keeper.

Jhesrhi spoke in one of the tongues of Sky Home. A cold, howling wind sprang up at the intruders backs to shove them along.

The wind helped, but Vandar still collapsed to his knees and couldn t rise unaided. Aoth lurched around, grabbed him by the forearm, and heaved him to his feet.

It seemed to take forever to cross the courtyardlike space and duck into one of the smallest doorways. As soon as they did, the pain and feeling of relentless pressure disappeared. Aoth would have liked nothing better than to lean against the wall and catch his breath, but he forced himself to lead the others far enough down the passage that he was sure the cyclopes sentries couldn t see them. At that point, intricately carved stonework gave way to something that, except for the level floor, might almost have been a natural tunnel, although the darkly gleaming rock remained profoundly lovely.

Well, Cera panted, her round face shiny with sweat. That was interesting. But let s hope there are no other little details that Choschax neglected to mention.

That was well done back there, Jhesrhi said stiffly. My enchantments burned away fast. It was yours that kept us hidden.

The eyes were designed to tear away veils of illusion, Cera replied. We were lucky the Keeper s gift wasn t precisely that.

Vandar turned to Aoth. Thank you for helping me up, the berserker said, albeit grudgingly.

I had to, said Aoth. If the guards had caught you, they would have started looking for the rest of us.

Vandar scowled.

Aoth sighed. By the Black Flame, lodge master, that was a joke, he said. Well, mostly. Obviously, we re all in this together, and we all look after one another as needed. He looked around. Is everyone ready to move?

The others indicated they were.

We re in a small tunnel with no decoration, said Aoth. My guess is that this is the area where the slaves or servants live and labor on their masters behalf. If Tymora smiles, we won t run into any cyclopes, and the thralls won t care about us. Just try to look like you belong.

They prowled onward through what soon proved to be a maze of passages. In many respects, including the seductive beauty that kept snagging Aoth s attention, it was strange; but in others, it reminded him of the service areas of any palace. Goblins snored on pallets in a dormitory-like space. Tools some shaped so peculiarly that their intended use was a mystery leaned in corners or hung from pegs and hooks on the walls. And in a cluttered, filthy kitchen intended to feed the slaves, not their owners, the gutted carcasses of enormous rats dangled by their feet from the ceiling, and an iron cauldron steamed and bubbled on a bed of coals in a hearth.

The orange glow of the coals was captivating. Despite Aoth s resolve to remain alert, they held his gaze for a moment, until someone said, Psst!

Startled, he cast about. A hanging eviscerated rat with a bristling black pelt looked back at him with beady scarlet eyes. The combination of colors reminded him momentarily of Jet, although the griffon would surely have taken offense at the comparison.

You re not dead, Vandar said.

Do I look dead? asked the rat. Aoth heard the edge of pain in his high, cheeping voice.

Cera said, Actually, yes.

The creature sniggered. Fair enough, sunlady, fair enough, he said. But you could make me better, you and your healing hands.

Maybe she could, Vandar said. But you have the look of either a corrupt fey or an awakened beast allied with them. So I don t know why she would.

To keep me from tattling that there are intruders in the palace, the creature replied. Guards do wander by from time to time.

The berserker drew his dagger. I know another way to keep you quiet, he said.

Despite his mangled condition, the rat managed to raise his front paws in a placatory gesture. Easy, human! I was only joking, he said. The reason you should set me free is because you re either spies, thieves, or assassins, and I ve been spying here for a while myself. Whatever you re after, I can help you.

Aoth glanced around, checking to see if anyone was approaching. No one was, as far as he could tell. Who are you, and who were you spying for? he asked.

My name is Zyl, replied the rat. The name of the prince I serve wouldn t mean anything to you.

But he s dark fey, isn t he? Vandar asked. Which means a creature in his service is the last person we should trust.

If you know anything about fey, said Zyl, dark or otherwise, you know we keep a bargain or a promise. And I swear by Lurue s horn that if you free me and heal me, I ll help you perform whatever foolhardy task you came to accomplish.

Cera looked to Aoth. We shouldn t leave any creature in such a plight, she said.

Vandar hefted his knife. With respect, lady, I don t intend to, the beserker replied.

Zyl kept his eyes fixed on Aoth. I truly can help, he said. And you ve fought alongside fouler things than me in your time.

Aoth smiled a crooked smile. I don t know how you know that, but it s true, he said. Vandar, you ve already got a knife out, so you can cut that wire around his feet. Cut him, too, if he tries to bite or run.

Scowling, the Rashemi got Zyl down and laid him on a table amid a scatter of bread crumbs and scraps of yellow fungus. Cera murmured a prayer that set her hand aglow and gently pressed her fingers to the rodent s ghastly wound.

Afterward, the raw, vacant space didn t look any different. But Zyl did. He rose to his feet with renewed energy and said, Thanks. Now it s your turn, fire spirit. If you cool down the coals and the pot, I ll thank you, too.

Jhesrhi aimed her staff and threw a flare of frost at the cauldron and the hearth. Steam puffed into being as cold met hot.

Zyl jumped off the table, ran across the floor, sprang on the rim of the cauldron, and dropped inside. Over the course of the next few moments, pieces of rat viscera flew out of the vessel to land with a splat on the gleaming black floor. Aoth watched with slightly squeamish fascination as Zyl jumped back out after the organs, and, rearing onto his hind legs and using his forepaws like hands, stuffed them back inside his body cavity. When he had finished, he pulled his flaps of skin and muscle closed and sealed them with the stroke of a claw. His abdomen bulged and heaved as the organs inside presumably rearranged and reattached themselves.

Zyl looked up and caught everyone staring. I mostly heal pretty well all by myself, he chattered. I just needed a push to get me started. Now, what s this errand you re on?

Aoth told him.

Still peering up from the floor, Zyl cocked his head. He seemed nonplussed, as if he hadn t just been hanging helpless with his guts stewing on the other side of the kitchen. That might not be so easy, he said.

Well, said Aoth, you ve been spying. If you already know the information we re after, you can simply share and save us all some trouble.

Unfortunately, I don t, replied the rat.

So Let me think

We ve stayed in this one spot too long already, Vandar said.

Patience, berserker, Zyl said, I don t tell you how to slice your own flesh and foam at the mouth. Zyl looked back at Aoth. Follow me, he said as he dropped to all fours and headed for an exit.

As they left the kitchen, Jhesrhi waved her hand in the direction of the hearth. Fire leaped up from the coals to set the cauldron boiling again and turn any leftover frost or water to vapor.

If you re such an able spy, Vandar asked, how did they catch you?

They didn t, said Zyl. They caught a common rat. If they d caught me, knowing it was me, I would have been hanging in a torture chamber, not the slaves larder.

Still, Cera said, shifting her grip on her gilded mace, how did they get you?

To you, healer, I ll confess they found me passed out drunk, Zyl said. When their masters aren t looking, the goblins distill a liquor from table scraps, toadstools, and such. It s foul, but I ve been in Lady Grontaix s home a long time. I d go mad if I didn t take a little pleasure when I had the chance. Now, hush, everyone. We re making too much noise.