against the far side, and the fragments fell into the gulf.
'Hey!' cried the mercenary. 'There was more in there!'
'That's all right.' The guard's voice was strong, without a trace of slurred, drunken speech. 'You can go after it.'
He lunged forward with the speed of a striking snake. One hand thrust against the mercenary's shoulder, shoving him back into the blackness beyond the upright. Garmansder shouted, as one hand darted up to clutch at a dangling rope. He swung out and over the pit, then back, landing farther around the rim, some ten feet from where he'd started. A sword was already glittering in his hand when he landed.
Drashka stared then laughed. 'I see I wasn't the only one pretending to drink that rot gut.' He drew his own blade and stepped forward.
Garmansder retreated cautiously around the pit, his eyes on his opponent's sword. Drashka came on, slashing, his blade whistling through the night air. The guard thrust savagely, and the mercenary, barely avoiding being spitted, stumbled and struck against the rail. The wood shattered, and Garmansder, with a cry, fell sideways into the pit.
With a yell of triumph, Drashka rushed to see the body of his foe hurtling downward. Then he staggered back, blood spurting from a long cut along his cheek. The mercenary was clinging with one hand to the support timbers that lined the side of the pit. In the other hand he still held his sword.
His muscles bulged and he gave a groan of effort as he pulled himself one-handed from the darkness. He heaved his torso onto solid ground and rolled sideways as Drashka struck at him. The soldier's blade left a trail of red in the sand as it slashed across Garmansder's ribs.
The mercenary rolled to his feet. With his free hand he grasped a torch and threw it.
The flames touched and ignited the guard's flowing robe. He tried to beat out the fire with one hand, but it engulfed him. Shrieking, he dropped his sword, whirling, staggering. The sands gave way under his feet and he fell into the darkness. Garmansder could see the sides of the pit lit by the flames as Drashka, still screaming, fell and fell, until there was a faint crash, then silence.
The mercenary tore a rag from the hem of his robe and bound up his wound, cautiously glancing around to make sure the battle had roused no one. Apparently the Zhentarim guards kept a loose watch-or they were drunk on raki-for no one came to investigate the disturbance. Garmansder sheathed his sword and disappeared into the night.
Taking another bite of his pomegranate, the commander stared at the bound merchant, who did his best to preserve an air of detachment. At last, the commander gestured, and a small, glittering knife rose from the table and moved slowly forward in the air, hovering in front of the helpless merchant's face.
'What would the Bedine like back first from their spy?' he mused, nibbling on his pomegranate. 'His ear? His nose? His upper lip?'
The knife swayed and dived through the air, humming. It whirled around the merchant's head, snipping a lock of hair from his brow.
'I know,' chortled the commander. 'An eye. That's it. To be followed by more… interesting parts.'
The knife drew back and prepared to plunge into Avarilous’s left eye. The merchant, watching beyond the knife to the commander's face, saw the stream of pink juice dribbling from his lips turn suddenly red. The knife dropped to the floor with a clatter as the commander, a bite of fruit still caught between his teeth, fell stiffly forward, facedown on the floor.
Through a narrow slit in the tent stepped Garmansder, holding a stiletto. He kicked the body of the commander aside and sauntered over to Avarilous, who glared at him.
'Well, you took your sweet time. Were you going to let me lose an eye? Or did you just find it funny to wait that long before doing anything?'
' 'Thank you, Garmansder. Thank you for saving my life.' That's how you say it, Avi. It's quite simple, really.'
Garmansder's blade made short work of the ropes, and Avarilous rose, massaging his wrists.
'We haven't time for nonsense. Someone will be missing him soon. We'd best be about our business.'
The tall man stirred the body of the late commander with his foot. 'Did he tell you anything?'
'A good deal. Here's a piece of practical advice for you, Garmansder, if you ever decide to become an agent of evil. When you have your enemy in your power, just kill him and get on with it. I don't know why it is that servants of evil simply can't resist the temptation to gloat. It's a very bad habit, one they should get out of
Garmansder nodded. 'It's basic human nature, I suppose. He wanted to tell someone how clever he was, and it didn't matter if that person was a friend or an enemy. I was hoping my guard might tell me after I was kind enough to deliver the Zhents a Bedine spy, but he was pretty vague. I must not be as persuasive as you.'
Avarilous had been searching the tent swiftly, his fingers flying everywhere, turning out boxes and bags. His eyes, glittering with a hard light, were drawn back into his head, and the shadows played over his stout form. A rivulet of sweat coursed down his forehead. Garmansder too was looking about, lifting tapestries and cushions with swift, decisive movements.
'How did you get away from the guard-Draka, or whatever his name was,' Avarilous asked.
'Not too difficult. We shared some raki, and he began showing me the excavation site.' He shrugged. 'Last I saw of him, he was trying to learn to fly.' He gestured toward the body. 'Can we make this look like a murder? There doesn't seem to have been any love lost between any of the guards and their officers.'
Avarilous ignored the question and countered with one of his own. 'How much did you see of the excavation?'
'Some. After Drashka went for his flight, I wandered around. It's deep and very impressive. They're using smokepowder to open up some of the more difficult bits. The whole thing's a bit on the shaky side though.'
'Meaning.'
'It would be a great pity,' observed Garmansder absently, 'if anything happened to the scaffolding. Probably bring the whole thing down around their heads. I know I wouldn't care to be in there when it happens.'
Avarilous cursed softly. 'Where in the Nine Hells could he have hidden it?'
'Ah. I don't know. By the way, what exactly are we looking for? More of those amulets?'
The merchant shook his head. 'The amulet's not important. Even if it weren't damaged, our late friend there couldn't have done much with it-not as much as he thought, anyhow. Controlling sandstorms in the desert isn't much of a feat compared to the kind of magic the Shadovar are throwing around these days. No, there has to have been something else. Something he might not even have been aware of…'
Garmansder gave his companion an odd look as his voice trailed off. 'What d'you mean? Surely he knew what he was looking for or if he'd found it. You make it sound as if he wasn't the one in control.'
Avarilous stopped. 'I'm not at all sure he was. In fact, Fm sure he wasn't. He was too stupid, for one thing.'
'Oh, come on! If stupid people couldn't control matters, half the cities of Faerun would be leaderless.'
'No, my point is that even if he'd found a powerful magical artifact from Netheril, I didn't get any sense from him that he'd really know what it was or how to use it. Someone had to be pointing him in that direction. I wonder who.'
A shadow fell across the entrance to the tent, and Lieutenant Thass entered. His hand rested on his scimitar, while his eyes calmly took in the details of the scene before him.
Garmansder was the first to break the tableau. He dived to the left in a swift roll that brought him standing to Thass's right, a knife in his hand. The lieutenant pivoted and swept a foot around in a savage kick that struck Garmansder's wrist with a crack of snapping bones. The tall man gasped in pain as the knife flew and stuck in a wooden chest, quivering. At the same moment, Avarilous twisted to his right and hurled a dagger. It barely missed Thass's shoulder, slicing through his dark jerkin and clattering to the ground.
Without a pause, the lieutenant cartwheeled behind Garmansder, drawing his scimitar in a single fluid movement. One arm came up clutching the tall man's broken wrist. The other held the scimitar's point just behind Garmansder's ear.
Avarilous caught up the knife that earlier had almost taken one of his eyes. His hand flashed back to throw it then halted abruptly as he saw his friend held hostage.
