place where magic reigns, where the great majority of residents could easily defeat a savage such as yourself?”
“A… creature invited me,” he said with shamed tones.
“What creature?” Pryce asked, still careful not to get too close.
“A misshapen creature, the likes of which I had never seen before. It made me promises that were too good to be true… a steady supply of meat… spectacular hunting… the flesh of unearthly wisdom. I should have known better,” he said bitterly.
‘This misshapen one offered you the flesh of spellcasters?” Pryce asked incredulously.
“Not in so many words…”
Covington couldn’t afford to dwell on this. The longer he spoke to this creature, the greater the chance that its unreasoning children would attack, and then the beasts would be in for a pleasant surprise. They would discover that the person they thought was the great Darlington Blade was actually a mere messenger from Merrickarta with no magical powers whatsoever. “When were you at the Mark of the Question?”
Cunningham seemed pleased at the change of subject, since he no longer had to talk about his gullibility and humiliation. His sad eyes wavered in recollection. “Early this morning… I believe.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I had been told to meet someone… that he would have food.”
“Who told you?”
“The dust… dust on the wind!” Cunningham raised his head and started a pathetic, accented, off-key howl.
“Stop that!” Pryce demanded, annoyed at the creature’s behavior and the possibility that Gamor helped lure it to the Lallor area. “Did you meet this person?”
“No,” Cunningham said sadly. “He never arrived.” His eyes began to become bloodshot. “Nor did the food…” Covington heard the young jackals behind him start to snarl deep in their throats. He was rapidly running out of time… and questions.
“Did you see anyone… anyone at all?” he asked sharply, hoping to uncover at least some other lead or clue for his trouble.
“Oh, yes,” said Cunningham abjectly. “Oh, yes, there were others by the tree of mystery, but they weren’t for me and my kin… The wind told me that their meat was not for the likes of ussssss!”
Pryce was losing him. He could see it in Cunningham’s changing face, smell it in the sickly stench of starvation that surrounded him, and feel it in his very bones. “Who was it?” he said quickly. “Who did you see?”
‘The little big lady,” Cunningham said in a dangerous singsong voice, his head beginning to tip this way and that. “The great defender of Mystra, with her arrogant airs and tightly coiled muscles. Not much meat on that one, but I’m sure what there is is ssssssucculen… ”
Lymwich, Pryce thought. He’s got to be talking about Berridge Lymwich. But what was she doing there? “Anyone else?” he pressed urgently. “Who else?”
‘The great captain of industry!” Cunningham bayed at the sky. “The sailor on the pirate sea! His little chin spike a-quivering and a-quaking, his long lip curls a-shaking and a-shimmying with his pomposssssity. Oh, the meat on him… all the lussssscious meat on him!” The jackals all around Pryce started to bark and yip excitedly.
Fullmer the wine trader, Pryce marveled. The plot was rapidly thickening. “Anyone else?” Covington asked, moving carefully back and off to the side.
“That is all, 0 mighty Blade!” Cunningham called. “Our emisssssary, and our meal, did not arrive, nor did any unwary sssssoul. My children and my craving called, ssssso I had to go. I had to run, ssssscreaming in my frussssstration and failure!” He threw his head back and cried into the night. “0 demons below and gods above, I do hunger! Does not even a creature as wretched as I deserve some measure of pity?”
“Pity, no!” Pryce yelled at him. “Sustenance, yes! At least for now.” He grabbed the still-unconscious halfling’s arms and, with one mighty pull, jerked Gheevy Wotfirr onto his back. “Remember my mercy, jackalwere!”
Then Pryce Covington ran madly into the night, leaving the corpses behind. The sound of slavering beasts diminished behind him as he ran, but it would never again leave his memory.
CHAPTER FIVE
“What did you do? What did you do?” Gheevy Wotfirr lamented for the third and fourth time as they trudged back to the Lallor Gate.
“Dash it all, Gheevy,” Pryce exclaimed, catching himself using Cunningham’s phrase, “it had to be done! As terrible as it is, they were dead, and we’re still alive. I wish I could do something about the former, but I intend to maintain the latter. It was the only way.”
“Butbut”
“You tell me. What else could I have done?”
They walked, empty-handed, through the dark night. The barrels of ale and mead they had carried out were left at the Mark of the Question in lieu of bodies.
“We could have buried them,” Wotfirr said wearily.
“Where?” countered Pryce, “And for how long?” He was talking fervently as they tramped down the gem- studded road to the Lallor Gate. “You know as well as I do that a freshly dug grave would be child’s play for any wizard or inquisitrix to find. I couldn’t take the chance. It would mean my life.” Pryce could see Wotfirr was still despairing, so he tried another tack. “It was too late to help them, Gheevy. I hate to admit that, but there it is. In order to avenge their deaths, I have to stay alive long enough to do it. This was the only way!”
The halfling looked at Covington with begrudging acceptance. “You know, you are probably correct, but, my stars, you can be pretty egotistical.”
Pryce looked at him with a purposely blank expression. “What’s your point?”
Wotfirr laughed in spite of himself, although the sound ended in a wheeze. “You are amazing.”
“Looks as if I have to be,” Pryce said with resignation.
They trudged on for a few moments more, shuffling their feet along the road. Finally Gheevy grunted, “Well, you did save my life, I suppose…”
“Don’t forget,” Covington replied miserably, “I also put it in danger in the first place.”
“But I was the one who said I knew where the jackal lair might be.”
“And I was the one who dragged you out here in the first place.”
Wotfirr suddenly pulled up short. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you trying to get me to blame you?”
Covington stopped a few feet farther on and turned to face the halfling. “I’ll admit it, Gheevy. I feel guilty. Terribly guilty. I’ve already involved you enough. The going might get even more dangerous from here on, so it’s not fair to take your company and your valuable assistance for granted.” He studied the winemaster’s face but saw no reaction. ‘Tell you what,” he suggested. ‘You made me a promise, so I’ll make you one. If I’m caught and found out, for any reason, I will never divulge your part in it.”
Pryce sighed, letting his head and shoulders droop, feeling helpless, persecuted, and alone. “Now let’s get back inside the wall. As soon as we’re inside the city, I’ll go one way, and you can go another. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wished to see me again.”
They walked silently to the gate, where the big eye blinked and peered at them intently. Covington fought the urge to do a dance routine for Berridge Lymwich’s benefit. Instead, he silently marched past the eye, then purposefully turned to the right and kept going.
Gheevy Wotfirr stood in the opening. His body leaned a little toward the left. But then his right leg moved, and he followed Pryce into the east side of the city.
Covington looked back at his new friend and found himself smiling with relief.
The halfling shrugged. “I couldn’t very well go west,” he said. “I live on this side of the city.” But then he
