to his titanium plate. He could see that there was just a gulp left. He was ready to leave, but this adventure truly deserved a final toast before what he hoped would be Pryce Covington’s successful escape.
Pryce raised the glass quickly and drank it down, but he hadn’t moved more than a step before he was frozen in place by yet another sound coming from behind the bar, where a bubbly, high-pitched voice intoned the four most awful words Pryce had ever heard in his life: “You’re not Darlington Blade!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Pryce Covington’s body remained poised for escape, but his head spun toward the voice. There stood the burly Azzo Schreders, and next to him, coming up only to the barkeep’s stomach, was a surprised halfling. He had curly salt-and-pepper hair and a mustacheless beard that mixed almost every known color. He had an open, friendly face, marred only by an obviously big mouth. Moving nothing but his eyes, Covington took stock of the effect of what that mouth had said.
If the tavern proprietor had heard the halfling’s exclamation, he gave no sign. Fullmer, the liquids trader, and Hartov, the mine owner, were too concerned with their own business, while the shapely Karkober was still working out costs and prices. The other patrons in the restaurant and along the horseshoe-shaped bar showed no sign of having heard anything out of the ordinary.
Not standing on ceremony, Pryce ran forward with his arms wide until he stood directly in front of the halfling. “My dear fellow,” he said pleasantly, “of course I am not Darlington Blade.”
“Iyou” the almost four-foot-tall halfling sputtered. “Would Darlington Blade allow a woman to throw wine in his face?” Pryce asked him expansively. “But”
“Would Darlington Blade sit alone in such a distinguished establishment as this?” Pryce interrupted the flustered little fellow. “But you’re not”
“No, I am not the Darlington Blade you know,” Pryce said gravely. “I have changed. I’m different.”
“You haven’t-um, I mean, you have” The halfling continued to grope for words. “I mean, you areyou aren’t”
“Aren’t the same as when you saw me last?” Pryce shook his head sadly but kept talking quickly. “No, I’m not. I have experienced much
… learned much.” He threw his arms wide again. “I’m a completely new Darlington Blade!”
The halfling was reduced to pointing, his head turning from Pryce to Azzo. “But, you’re nothe’s not”
“Not willing to talk privately with you, old friend?” Pryce interjected. “No, I will never change that much. How could you even think that? In fact, let us go talk, person to person, this very moment!”
Pryce moved between the proprietor and his wine expert, put his hands under the halfling’s arms, and half- dragged, half-carried him until he came to a small open trapdoor on the far side of the bar.
Just as the halfling started to recover from the surprise, Covington dangled the winemaster’s hairy, shoeless feet over the opening and dropped him. Then he grabbed the lip of the trapdoor and jumped, ignoring the ladder that ran between the door opening and the dirt floor of the grotto. As he fell, he closed the thick wooden door after him.
Twelve feet below, Pryce found himself directly in front of the stunned halfling. The little fellow sat on a small barrel placed beneath the trap door. “Please, please, please!” Pryce begged quickly and quietly, his hands together in supplication. “Don’t expose me. It’s all a misunderstandingan innocent accident. I won’t hurt you. Just don’t say anything… not yet!”
“The trapdoor opened a crack, and the proprietor’s face appeared. “Gheevy? Is everything all right?” Schreders asked tentatively.
Pryce’s head whipped toward the sound of the bartender’s voice, then whipped back toward the halfling, fervently praying. The halfling looked at Pryce’s desperate face for a moment, then replied, “Everything is fine, Azzo. We’re just talking over… old times. You’ve heard how entertaining a storyteller Blade can be.”
Pryce moved his lips, thanking the halfling silently and effusively.
“Oh, heh, heh, of course,” chuckled the barkeep. “Just checking. Take all the time you need, fellows!” Schreders closed the trapdoor just as Pryce dropped to his knees and kissed one of the halfling’s hairy feet.
“Don’t do that!” the halfling cried, pulling his leg back.
“Sorry,” said Pryce, scooting backward on his knees to lean against another barrel. “It’s just all been so… so stressful.” Quickly he took in his surroundings.
One wall of the grotto was lined with aging casks. Some were installed right in the wall, others were stacked upright, while still others lay on their sides. Directly across from Pryce was a long line of wrought-iron wine racks, the bottles held at an angle. On a wide shelf stood a maze of multicolored glassware, each stoppered glass holding a different rare, esoteric liquid within it.
The ceiling of the grotto was made of both natural stone and wood. It was fairly highalmost eighteen feet in places. It stretched off in different directions into the gloom. The central area where they were now, however, was a mere twelve feet or so beneath the trapdoor and was dramatically lit by, Pryce guessed, a continual light spell of some kind.
“What’s all this about?” the halfling asked, his eyebrows wrinkling with concern. “Who are you, anyway? You’re certainly not Darlington Blade.”
‘You have a firm grasp of the obvious,” Pryce said dryly. When the halfling looked affronted, Covington quickly continued. “Sorry. Just blowing off some pent-up tension. My real name isn’t as relevant, however, as the question how do you know?”
“What do you mean?” asked the halfling, taken aback.
Pryce took a moment to study the fellow carefully. He was wearing a dark, soft, comfortable-looking shirt that cinched loosely at his neck and wrists. Matching loose pants of some similar soft fiber cinched more tightly at his ankles. Over the shirt was a long vest with three pockets on each side, the top left one displaying the stitched legend Gheevy Wotfirr and under that. Af Your Service.
“Well, Gheevy,” Pryce said affably, “everyone else in this townincluding its official gatekeeper, a top-ranked inquisitrix, the owner of its most popular gathering place, and the daughter of the man’s own teacher! have never laid eyes on this Blade person, but apparently you have.”
“Well, everybody knows me,” the halfling said.
“Did Darlington Blade drink with you in the privacy of this grotto? Because no one upstairs seems to have seen him.”
“No,” the halfling began hastily. “You see, I deliver wine all over the area. That’s how everyone knows me. And II used to make some deliveries to a predetermined place outside the wall for Geerling Ambersong and”
“Don’t say it,” Pryce implored. “Let me guess… the person I’m not”
Wotfirr nodded.
“So,” Pryce continued wearily, “did you all sing songs around the campfire?”
“Now, now,” chided Gheevy Wotfirr. “There’s no need for sarcasm, my good man. Geerling Ambersong wanted Darlington
Blade’s identity to be kept a strict secret until he personally presented him to the Lallor citizenry at the Fall Festival. My seeing him was a complete accident. I only caught a glimpse of him through some trees.” The halfling shook his head sadly. “And ever since that moment, I’ve wished I hadn’t.”
“Me, too,” said Pryce dryly. “Why the Fall Festival? What’s the big secret?”
“Oh,” Wotfirr said with renewed spirit. “Mage Ambersong had a sincere desire to improve the lot of the people of Halruaa. But he was getting older, and he wanted his successor to be ready… and undistracted by the entreaties of many in Lallor who would seek favor with a new primary mage.”
“Hmmm,” Covington considered. “And with his identity a secret, he could travel without attracting undue attention… as long as he removed this blasted cloak, of course!”
“Mage Ambersong showed the cloak to the people at last year’s Fall Festival,” Wotfirr explained. ” ‘By this cloak you will know him,’ he said.”
