carpet, partially obscuring its faded pentagram. Nothing looked terribly valuable; the real merchandise was said to be stored in a distant location that was linked to the shop by magic.
Behind the counter, the talismonger leaned back against the wall in his wooden chair. His gray hair was shaved close to his scalp, save for two tufts that sprouted like wings above the place where horns emerged from his temples. He glanced up from his book as Torrin entered, his blood red eyes lingering on the magical mace at Torrin’s hip. “Buying or selling?” he said.
“Buying,” Torrin said firmly. He watched Mercuria’s eyes. They didn’t so much as stray to the sending stone that hung from a leather thong around Torrin’s neck. A simple enchantment had cloaked its magical properties. Hanging it around his neck in plain view would further make it seem an innocent ornament.
“Who taught you the knock?” Mercuria asked.
“The Delver Eralynn,” Torrin replied.
The tiefling laid his book on the counter. “The magical rope worked to her satisfaction, I trust?”
“It did,” Torrin answered.
“What would you like?”
“A nephew of mine has the stoneplague. He needs something that will halt the spread of the disease.”
Mercuria smiled, revealing hooklike teeth. “Which will it be?” he asked. “A jar of Keoghtom’s ointment? A potion of life restoration? A regenerative ring?”
Torrin knew that none of those would cure the stoneplague. Yet he played along. “How much for a simple healing potion?”
“How much have you got?” asked the talismonger.
Torrin opened his pouch and tipped out the gold bar Kier had given him. It landed with a dull thud on Mercuria’s counter. Torrin had smoothed off the end Wylfrid had cut; the saw marks were no longer visible.
The tiefling didn’t even glance at the gold bar. “Not enough,” he said.
“Yes it is,” replied Torrin. “A simple healing potion’s just fifty Anvils. That bar is easily worth that.”
“The price has gone up.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. The price has gone down. Healing potions don’t work. I’ve just offered you the equivalent of fifty Anvils for something that’s worthless against the stoneplague, and you won’t touch my gold.”
“I don’t need your gold.”
“No, you don’t, and I’ll tell you why,” Torrin continued. “I’ve spoken to the other Delvers. They tell me you’ve been handing these gold bars out to customers, whenever you need to make up the difference on an expensive trade. You’ve been claiming to have no coin, no gems in your coffers, just gold bars. You want to get rid of them. Why is that?”
Mercuria just stared at him, his red eyes like two glowing coals.
“I think we both know the answer,” Torrin continued. “The stoneplague. The gold bars are causing it. They’re cursed.”
Mercuria’s eyebrows rose. His surprise almost looked genuine. “Really?”
“Don’t even pretend you didn’t know,” Torrin said.
Mercuria rose from his stool as swiftly as an uncoiling serpent. He whipped out a black iron wand, tipped with what looked like a fang, and pointed it at Torrin’s chest. In that same moment, Torrin wrenched the magical mace from his belt and raised it.
They stared at each other across the counter.
“You aren’t going to use that wand,” Torrin said. “There’s something else staying your hand, other than my raised weapon. You need to know something-whether or not I’m the only one who knows you’ve been distributing those gold bars.”
“I won’t insult your intelligence further by asking that question,” Mercuria answered. “Obviously, someone else knows you’re here, and quite obviously they’ll tell the Steel Shields I’ve murdered you if you don’t come back. What’s more, you’re not going to use that mace, since you need me alive in order to learn anything. But you were wrong, when you accused me of knowingly spreading the stoneplague. I knew there had to be something wrong with those gold bars, but not that. Otherwise, I’d never have touched them, no matter how much profit was involved.”
“If that’s true, you’ll have no problem telling me who gave you that gold,” Torrin said, still brandishing his mace. “Tell me who traded you those bars, and I’ll keep my mouth shut about your role in this.”
“Swear it,” said Mercuria. “Swear by Moradin’s beard you’ll keep your word.”
Torrin hesitated. Swear a false oath? Would the Dwarffather understand?
The tiefling snorted. “I thought so,” he said. “You’re lying. Even so, I’ll tell you.”
“So who was it, then?” Torrin asked. “One of the drow? Was this a plot to weaken our city, so that they could attack it?”
Mercuria shook his head. “The gold came from a human, actually. He seemed desperate to divest himself of it. He practically gave the gold to me, at a fraction of its worth by weight. He goes by the name of Vadyr. Assuming he’s still alive, you’ll find him in Helmstar. That’s where he said he was from.”
Interesting. Helmstar was where Kendril had come from, too.
“What makes you think this Vadyr fellow might be dead?” Torrin asked.
Mercuria shrugged. “You’re not the first to come sniffing around after his gold,” he said. “A duergar came into the shop a few days ago, also wanting to know where I’d gotten the gold bars from.”
Torrin’s eyebrows rose. A duergar in Hammergate? Torrin knew the history of that race well; he’d read about it extensively. The duergar had once been dwarves and were still distantly related, but they were a race of evil disposition and foul habits. They’d arisen in Faerun between four and eight millennia before, in the wake of the disastrous Mindstalker Wars. When the city of Barakuir fell, the surviving dwarves of Clan Duergar were taken prisoner, and enslaved. Centuries of illithid experiments had warped their descendants’ bodies, minds, and souls. The twisted caricatures turned their faces away from the Morndinsamman to worship a cruel and corrupt god. By doing so, they condemned their very souls. Moradin would accept a drow at his forge long before he’d accept a duergar.
The duergar were sworn enemies of the true dwarves. Any duergar who dared show his face in Eartheart-or Hammergate, for that matter-would be slain on sight. Torrin wondered how one had managed to find his way to Mercuria’s shop.
“Did you tell the duergar about Vadyr?” Torrin asked.
“No,” Mercuria replied, nodding at Torrin’s mace. “He wasn’t nearly as… persuasive as you are. I told him I’d long since given out the last of the gold I’d taken in trade, and sent him on his way empty-handed.”
Torrin thought about what he’d just been told. Whomever the duergar was, Torrin wouldn’t let himself be distracted by him. He returned to the matter at hand. “How will I recognize this Vadyr?” he asked.
“He’s missing one of his front teeth. His name may change, but that won’t.”
Torrin blinked in surprise. Human and missing a tooth-that sounded like the rogue who’d knocked him out! He smiled grimly. Mercuria’s words were said to be as thick as flies in a latrine, and typically sprang from the same source. But that time, Torrin felt, the tiefling was telling the truth.
“I see you believe me,” Mercuria said. “But we still seem to be at a stalemate. You have no plans to let me go without a fight, do you?”
“People have died because of you, tiefling,” Torrin replied. “You deserve to be punished.”
“Would you be saying that if I was a dwarf, instead of a tiefling?” Mercuria asked. He shook his head. “Don’t you realize you can’t judge a scroll by the ribbon that ties it?”
“I judge you by the company you keep.”
Mercuria waved his free hand dismissively, still keeping the wand level. “People might say the same of the Delvers, for associating with me,” he replied. “But these philosophical debates are tiresome. So let’s cut to the quick, and see if I can’t change your mind about me with actions, rather than words.
“I saw the anguished look in your eyes when you told me about that ‘nephew’ of yours. Someone you care about has the stoneplague. I have something that can help. Not a cure, but an ointment that can stop time. Exceedingly rare and expensive. It’s yours if you’ll lower that mace.”
Torrin felt his eyes widening. He’d heard rumors of such a thing; some of the Delver texts had mentioned there was a magical unguent that was occasionally used to preserve very rare, very precious artifacts and scrolls
