the Bracer's protection.
'I see,' Twilight finally said. From her blank expression, one would assume she cared little for legend or history- one would assume.
'The Bracer is a priceless relic of antiquity, just as are Ynloeth's shattering swords,' Cythara said with a scowl, stubbornly holding to Elvish.
Tve always been intrigued by the concept of'priceless',' Twilight said. 'Well, mayhap we can be of some use to one another.'
'What possible use can you serve?' Yldar scoffed. He wished his arrogant words held more of the heat he intended. They were more of a defense, a front for uncertainty. 'A nameless, landless rogue, who speaks with the tongue of apes? Ha!'
If his pride rankled Twilight, she made no sign. 'Two uses,' she said, brushing a raven lock out of her eyes. 'For the first, I'm good at acquiring things.'
'You are a thief' Cythara whispered.
'In a word, and not that of men, it seems.' Twilight inclined her head. 'Though I am more a thief in the Common sense, my lady, than in the Elvish.'
'No,' said Cythara, finally relenting. 'You have taken my bracelet.'
'Oh, yes.' Twilight grinned sheepishly and put a gold bracelet with twin rubies on the table. Cythara snatched it back.
'My apologies,' Twilight said. ' 'Tis a poor practice to steal from one's associates.'
'Associates?' Yldar asked.
'Oh, aye-number two,' Twilight said. 'You're looking for the Bracer. I know who has it.' She met his gaze demurely, but her eyes flickered with something more. 'You and I are meant for each other, Prince.'
Yldar wasn't certain whether he should be outraged or excited, indignant or accepting, but one thing was sure: his heart had definitely started beating faster.
'Now, if your Highnesses will excuse me,' Twilight said.
She rose, and Yldar's heart leaped. 'Wherefore do you go?' he asked.
Twilight gave him a little sly smile. 'Why, to talk to the shadowy, mysterious man sitting in the corner, who will either harm or help,' she said. 'Meet me here for evening meal. I shall have a plan for you then.'
'How do you know there is such a man,' asked Cythara, 'without looking?'
'In a place like this? There always is.' And with that, she was gone, leaving Cythara and Yldar to stare at one another, then after her, wordless.
And sure enough, there was a man skulking in the shadows they had not noticed before-one who saw Twilight coming, stifled a curse, and rose to flee. Not to be deterred, Twilight angled to follow him into a backroom hidden behind a tapestry of a boar hunt.
None of the three elves realized that a certain scowling, pained face-this man not so shadowy or mysterious, merely prudent-was listening at the window and had heard every word.
Cursing and clutching his hand, Marthul left the window of the Splitskull and made his way up Temple Hill. His spying mission complete, even if it had suffered a setback, he extricated himself from the elves' proximity as quickly as possible, elbowing his way through the streets, heedless of anyone who might be trailing him.
He would get his revenge, and he knew right where to go.
Upon arriving at the gates of the struggling House of Coins-the temple of Waukeen, Lady of Merchants- Marthul detoured down a dark alley and paused beside a pile of refuse. Services had ended within-turnout was low with the goddess's strange absence, which had lasted since the Godswar-and the place seemed empty.
Marthul knew better. He felt along the wall until he found it-a small hole, something that would seem little more than a nick to a curious street urchin.
He took off his gold coin necklace and twisted the ornament in two, revealing a jagged key. This he inserted in the hole, and a door appeared in the wall, surrounded by black light that only his initiated eyes could see. Marthul smiled and went through the yawning portal, which closed behind him like a mouth.
Appropriate that the missing goddess's ailing temple hid a thriving temple devoted to her captor.
As he descended the long tunnel, Marthul let delicious darkness enfold him and breathed deeply. The lingering scent of blood, sweat, incense, spoiled meat, and the rituals of their demon lord tainted the air. The steps led to an anteroom outside the altar chamber, where a ritual was being prepared for that very night.
In order to heighten his experience, Marthul had meant to consume quite a few drinks during his spying mission, but the gods had frowned. Perhaps he would enjoy it anyway-he hoped the victim would be a pretty lass again. Criminal, streetwalker, or barmaid, it mattered little to the cultists, but Marthul always preferred the innocent ones.
'Slaveling Marthul,' came a chilling, feminine voice in the anteroom shadows.
A chill ran down his spine and he turned to see a voluptuous woman in a black cloak-and, clearly, nothing else-searching him with a pair of red eyes.
'Chosen Leis'anna,' he murmured, bowing. 'Blessings of our Prince be upon-'
'They already are,' the woman said, flashing her long, daggerlike teeth. As always when he met her gaze, Marthul's head pounded and everything went blurry. 'You are late.'
'Trouble at the Splitskull,' he said.
Something about his tone gave it away-or mayhap the feral-faced Chosen could indeed read minds. Leis'anna frowned, her face that of a displeased lioness. 'I sent you to spy upon the seekers of the Bracer, not to spark a duel with them,' she said.
'Well, me apologies,' he spat.
Marthul moved to stomp off, but she seized his arm. Her great strength belied her soft frame, startling him. More surprising, though, her touch felt soft, comforting.
'There is more,' she said. 'Speak.' The words carried a subtle compulsion.
Marthul realized he should have refused, but her touch… The seductive magic there, reaching into his soul and laying claim to it, made such a thing impossible. Her face seemed strangely feline then, and her eyes swam with black. He fell deep into those pools and sank as a man who does not realize he is drowning until darkness surrounds him.
Marthul could no longer control himself. He told her everything-about the elves who had come to town, about the black-haired elf, and about the Bracer of Ynloeth.
Leis'anna's eyes flashed at that, and she smiled. Marthul felt himself freed, though the muddiness in his head was still there.
'The Fox has once more involved herself,' she said. 'Interesting.' She traced soft fingers down Marthul's cheek. 'Our agreement with her still stands, I believe.'
She fixed Marthul with her discerning stare again. He realized that a crowd of cultists had formed around them-faceless figures in black cloaks.
Leis'anna seemed to tower over him. 'We are, though, displeased you introduced them all. Steps must be taken.'
'That… that wasn't what I… I didn't mean…' He began feeling sleepy.
'Oh, I realize that, child,' Leis'anna said. 'I simply do not care. Nor does Lord Graz'zt, for that matter.'
As darkness claimed him, Marthul grew aware of a noise issuing from deep within her throat-something like purring.
And when he woke again, he was on the altar of the demon lord.
— O The Splitskull kept a room hidden behind a tapestry for private meetings, business or pleasure-the kind of encounters the watch just didn't need to know about. At the moment, there were perhaps a dozen appropriately secluded individuals sitting around half as many tables, taking part in just those sorts of consultations.
The cloaked man ducked into the chamber, and shed his cloak, tossing it in a corner. Underneath, he was unwashed, pot-bellied, and anything but mysterious. A dozen eyes shifted his way, and moved away just as quickly.
The retreat had been prepared for him, with a tankard of small beer, a bowl of mutton stew, and a chunk of hard bread awaiting at a table. He slid into the chair across from the wall and fell to eating as though he had long
