his conscience added harshly. He well remembered Stefanik's pleas to depart from this place and his own insistence on pursuing the elusive treasure.
'I've done nothing, but I plan to make him one of my treasures. . my trinkets,' said Ketheryll. 'I understand you have spent much of the night collecting the others.'
'What do you mean?'
'They were all shiftless and deceitful-even my fearless legion-all like that traitor Garius.' Ketheryll smiled horribly. 'He fled my home at my hour of greatest need, but that couldn't protect him from my wrath.'
The voice deepened, gurgling with a hellish boil. 'Like all those lured here by the promise of riches, drawn deeper into my web by their own greed, you and your thieving friend shall forever linger among these walls. Like all those who've tried to rob me or lie to me, you'll become things of imaginary value-all glitter, but no substance.'
'I've seen plenty of substance in here,' challenged the halfling, though he instantly regretted the foolish outburst.
'Do you think so? Perhaps you should look again.'
Suddenly sick to his stomach, Pawldo realized that the platinum dagger felt surprisingly light in his hand. Glancing down, he saw the thing as it really was: a piece of cheap tin set with glass baubles. He knew immediately that the rest of the treasures in his satchel would prove no more valuable.
Pawldo tried to still the trembling in his limbs. Desperately his mind sought a plan. He looked around frantically, seeking some inspiration.
Half-Ear stood beside the halfling, his yellow eyes darting around the circle of figures. The hackles on the wolf's back bristled. His nose twitched as canine lips curled into a teeth-baring snarl.
Pawldo raised his lantern, acutely conscious of the sputtering flame, the small reservoir of oil still feeding the wick. The clay jar was heavy in his hand; more than half the fuel remained.
'Stefanik!' he called again. Once more the young halfling struggled, caught in a battle of wills-but still he could not turn, could not speak.
'Fool!' spat Ketheryll. Again, the sound came from all over the chamber.
The flickering light of Pawldo's lantern trembled as he tried in vain to still the shaking of his hand. He saw one chance-a slim, desperate gamble, but that gamble was the only thing that offered even a faint hope of escape, //'he'd guessed correctly.
He cast the dagger onto the floor and shouted a word- not the name of this nightmarish place, for he had realized that the Palace of Skulls was not the dagger's true point of orientation. Instead, he shouted a name. And with the speaking of the word the dagger flared like the sun.
'Ketheryll!' Pawldo cried.
The blade whirled on the floor and abruptly came to a stop. It pointed toward one of the encircling images, farther from Pawldo than the rest, almost lost in the shadows. The instant its true identity was revealed, the wraith lunged forward, extending icy claws toward its foe. With shocking speed those deadly talons neared Pawldo's face.
Half-Ear growled, the sound low and rumbling in the cavernous room. The animal crouched momentarily, nostrils twitching, then leaped. His growl building into a savage snarl, Half-Ear clamped his jaws on one of Ketheryll's writhing limbs. The cursed prince lashed out, sending the wolf flying, but the valiant attack gave Pawldo the instant he needed to raise his arm, hoisting the flaring lantern high over his head.
Grunting, he hurled the makeshift missile. The clay jar struck the floor at the prince's feet, smashing to pieces and splashing oil across the hissing creature. As the wick touched the slick stonework, orange flame leaped to engulf the body of Ketheryll.
The sound was a shrieking wail, like a hurricane of wind swirling through a wide canyon, tearing at trees and rocks and even the earth itself. The trembling became real then, more than the gale of an unnatural wind. Pawldo staggered as the floor moved beneath his feet. The prince surged toward him, trailing fire.
Pawldo grabbed the gaudy dagger that had lured him to the palace. He knew now that it was only a trinket, but one with a difference. The dagger was the only one to be found
'Here, Garius,' Pawldo whispered, cradling the knife before him. 'Now's the chance to return to your master.'
He hurled the blade toward the prince, and he saw-or imagined he saw-Ketheryll's eyes widen in horror. The blade sank deep into the creature's chest, and the monster stumbled backward in a cloud of hissing steam.
Pawldo didn't wait to see what happened next. He leaped forward, seizing Stefanik's collar and yanking the young halfling around. The red-haired youth gaped at the spectacle of Ketheryll's agony, blinking in astonishment.
'Come on!' shouted Pawldo.
'You are
The thing that had been Ketheryll lashed out with its long talons, but the wolf ducked underneath the swiping blow. In the flashing light Pawldo saw the wounds on Half-Ear's flank and he knew:
Stefanik stumbled to his knees as the floor pitched beneath him, but then scrambled back to his feet. His will had returned with the breaking of the monster's concentration. Pawldo propelled him toward the door, and the youth sprinted from the room, followed by the lord mayor and then the bounding wolf.
In blind terror they ran through the halls of the Palace of Skulls, fleeing the menace that they felt, rather than saw. They raced along corridors, hurled themselves down long stairways, gasping for breath but not daring to slow the frantic pace of their flight. Objects bounced from the satchel as Pawldo ran. Glass baubles and cheap metal figurines clinked and shattered along the floor behind him, and he took no note of the lost treasures.
Finally the door, with its overhanging arch of bone, yawned before them. Lungs straining and eyes tearing, the two halflings tumbled out of the bone-walled structure, collapsing onto the forest floor amid the gray mists of advancing dawn. The wolf followed them through the portal but then spun and crouched, glowering into the palace.
They saw no sign of movement or pursuit as they hugged their aching sides. Their breathing slowed and their rubbery legs gradually regained their strength. Staggering against a tree for support, Pawldo dropped the satchel in frustrated anger.
'Were they
'Illusions,' Pawldo said in disgust. 'Stuff to draw intruders farther into the palace-until finally they faced Ketheryll.'
'Look! Here's something that didn't turn into junk!' Stefanik exclaimed. He pulled out the pair of golden rings, set with the Great Bear-the only objects that had been dirty when Pawldo found them.
'The rings,' mused the lord mayor. 'These were real-a treasure of slain victims, not the transformed minions of Ketheryll.'
'Here,' said Stefanik, handing the two bands of metal to Pawldo. 'You should have these.'
'Nay, lad. Too much trouble has come of this.'
Yet, when Stefanik insisted, Pawldo remembered his original intention in seeking the source of the platinum dagger-to find a present for the king's and queen's anniversary. The rings bore the symbol of the Moonshae's royal family, a symbol that now could be traced back to the human rulers slain long, long ago by the mad prince.
Pawldo slipped the rings into his pocket. At least, he reflected, he had found a suitable present for Tristan and Robyn.
