Balcombe had never truly tested Hiddukel's power on Krynn, but what he had seen in the past was impressive. It was entirely possible, he knew, that Hiddukel could enforce his threat, if not directly then through other followers. Few people openly worshiped the cunning god of bargaining, but Balcombe had good reason to suspect that many people, like himself, served Hiddukel secretly. More than once in the past, Hiddukel had demanded that Balcombe deliver a specific person's soul. While Hiddukel had never said it directly, Balcombe had no doubt that those victims were also followers of Hiddukel who had either betrayed or displeased the god. The thought that such assassins could be stalking in his own shadow chilled Balcombe, especially as it meant that his soul would be forfeit to Hiddukel's evil pleasures.
"I beg pardon, Hiddukel. The thought of my ultimate vengeance drawing so close made my words rash. You know I have served you faithfully for ten years. I ask only for what you have promised me.
"And consider what it would mean to you to have a loyal servant in such a high position as the Conclave of Wizards," he continued. "We can both profit by this." Balcombe knew that the best way to shield himself from Hiddukel's wrath was to turn the god's attention to something else. In this case, as usual, the best lure was what the god craved most after souls: profit and power.
"Indeed," mouthed the coin's jovial face, "I have given much thought to your case over the years. You are a very interesting prospect." But then the coin flipped over, revealing the stern face. Balcombe knew from experience that this meant the dealing would get harsh. The stern face drove much harder bargains than the jovial face, but it also bargained for significantly higher stakes.
"Do not deceive yourself, however," it snarled. "There are others who also crave LaDonna's post. Some may be more deserving than you. Some are more faithful than you, others more deferential. Then there is LaDonna herself. Why should I favor you over any of them?"
As always when he spoke with Hiddukel, Balcombe's mind raced ahead, sharp and focused. "Others may crave the post, but I was promised revenge. Both of us know that once drawn, you must uphold your contracts. I have been patient, Hiddukel, but I have waited a long time. And now I'm bringing you a soul such as you've not seen for a long time."
The coin cut Balcombe off before he could continue. "What do you know of time, human? I have lived through ages you could not imagine. I have been banned from your world, denied the souls I crave, for such a time that years are not sufficient to measure it. What is your wait, compared to mine? These pathetic pleas do not impress me."
"But your scale of time does not apply to me," responded Balcombe. "Unlike you, I grow old. My time in this world is limited. The longer you wait to grant my request, the less time I will have to serve you from a position of ultimate power. Consider the souls I could send you if I were seated on the conclave. The feast would be like nothing you've ever known, and could begin with LaDonna. We would both have what we want most."
Years of experience had taught Balcombe how to play on Hiddukel's greed most effectively. If this appeal failed, there would be others. Balcombe had not burned any bridges behind him, but he could not imagine an argument that might be more effective against the patron god of soul stealing.
The coin flipped back to its jovial side. Vainly Balcombe tried to catch it and force the stern face to remain up, but he was too slow. Now he knew the jovial face, unwilling to seal a pact of this magnitude, would cut off the negotiation.
"Bring the soul to the appointed place, where I can examine it more closely," the coin said with a smile. "We will consider this issue in more detail at that time." Then the mouth sealed itself shut and once again the item in Balcombe's hand was nothing but a grotesque coin.
Not sure whether he should be frustrated or elated, Balcombe snapped his fist shut over the coin. He had extracted no new promises from the god, nor had he received any assurances. At the same time, he had not been turned down, and that alone was some encouragement. As long as Hiddukel was willing to entertain a possibility, there was reason to be hopeful.
Standing and stretching his muscular, six-foot frame, Balcombe returned the coin to its secret pocket, then carefully replaced the soul gem in its elaborate hiding place.
The next step, he told himself, was to prepare the altar for the ceremony that would relinquish the squire's soul to Hiddukel. It must be carried out flawlessly, Balcombe knew, because another soul this attractive might never fall into his hands.
There was difficulty, however, because the altar was not at the castle. The risk of accidental discovery was too great for the altar to be anywhere near the town. If his horrid practices or even his devotion to Hiddukel ever became known publicly or revealed to Lord Curston, Balcombe's career, and probably his life, would be over. For that reason, the altar was well hidden, miles from town in a rugged area of the Eastwall Mountains.
Getting there on foot would take Balcombe at least a day, probably more, of hard traveling. But he could be there in little over an hour by using a spell of flying.
Still it was a difficult and dangerous trip. The higher regions of the mountains were inhabited by hostile creatures. The ceremony of transference itself was time-consuming, which meant that he needed a good excuse to avoid suspicion
