stones that were ensorcelled to return to the slingers' hands upon command. When Weasel spoke the word, the stone The Beast had thrown would return, assuring it didn't travel as far as Weasel's stone. It took skill to catch an ensorcelled stone; only an experienced warslinger could do it. The stone would likely smack Weasel in the head when it returned. It would hurt, but Weasel would win the contest.
'You think you can best me, as Kaldair did Vaprak,' The Beast said, his hand not quite touching the stones. 'But I know circlestone when I see it.'
His fingers closed around an ordinary pebble.
Weasel groaned, wishing the pouch had included one of the blast marbles. All it would take then was one quick shatter-shout and...
Just a moment.
He thought back to the spring festival and the Ghostwise attack. To his jest in the mess hall. After he'd pulled the fast-hand and fumble-drop, they hadn't been able to find the blast marble; they'd evacuated the mess to search for it. Had Chucklebelly been keeping the marble all this time 'for luck'? Was that what the halfling had been frantically searching for as The Beast and his Hunt sprang their trap?
Weasel drew in a deep breath—nice, not to be sneezing—and shatter-shouted. The Beast whirled, a stricken look in his eyes—then exploded.
Weasel didn't mind when the explosion slammed him to the ground. Nor did he mind the ringing in his ears. He didn't even mind the blood running from his nose—it wasn't half as bad as being plugged up from pollen, nohow.
He stepped to the edge of the crater where The Beast had been, and
'You really ought to be more careful about what you eat.'
Then, before Malar's clerics or the orcworts could return, he sprinted away.
The halfling drained his ale and set it aside, then leaned back against the mahogany tree. 'And that's how it happened,' he told the younglings. 'How The Beast was defeated, by Kaldair in the form of a spriggan.'
The younglings looked up at the storyteller with wide eyes. 'Is it true?'
The storyteller shrugged. 'What do you think?' He waved a hand at the athletic contests taking place in the sun-dappled field a few paces away. 'To this day, the hin of the Luiren compete in the stone toss, the obstacle course. . . even our Weasel in the Hole game comes from this tale.'
The younglings murmured together excitedly. 'Could it be true ? A
The storyteller waved a hand, shooing them away. 'Off with you, now. I need my nap.'
As they departed, he leaned back against the tree. 'Younglings,' he chuckled. 'They'll believe anything.' He drifted off into contented slumber.
As he slept, a twig-shaped hand gently stroked a lock of hair that hung against the storyteller's temple. A lock of hair tied with a ribbon—one of the peculiarities of fashion observed by the halflings of the Luiren.
'It's true,' her leaves whispered. She sighed as she looked out over the cultivated fields of the Strongheart and Lightfoot—the fields that had once been thick jungle. 'It's true.'
Susan J. Morris
'How dare he,' Maze said.
Jaeriko struggled to keep up with the angry woman as she tromped through the tangled undergrowth of the Chondalwood. It was obvious Maze had little regard or skill for the ways of the forest. If she had possessed even a modicum of respect, she wouldn't have been making such a racket. Predators and worse for miles around must have cocked an ear to the woman's infernal crashing. Not that such attention would vex Maze any—Jaeriko imagined the fierce woman would welcome the chance to wet her blades on anyone unfortunate enough to cross her path.
Jaeriko, in contrast, was uncannily adept—walking solely on roots and rocks, and making as little sound as a ripple moving through still waters.
What was more, the vines, grass, and leaves curled and popped back into place after their every step, at her bidding. Perhaps that was why the General of Reth had sent her along on a task that—on the surface—she seemed exceptionally ill-suited for: to cover the dark, scowling woman's tracks as she stormed toward their mutual goal.
Jaeriko shook her head at a particularly virulent curse that escaped the unhappy woman's mouth. She didn't even need eyes to follow the path Maze cut—following the stream of invectives was simple enough. And though it brought her some small delight to see her own proficiency by the light of her companion's deficit, she would have strongly preferred their trip pass in silence. After all, the forest they walked was far from welcoming.
Even for someone as in touch with nature as she, the thick, choking trees and hard-packed earth studded with harder stones made for slow and uncomfortable travel. Moss dripped like blood from every sharp-fingered twig, mushrooms spangled the trees like spent arrows, and vines and branches wove themselves with almost human intent into the path of the two travelers, tripping and cutting whenever they could. To make matters worse, a veil of moon-bright ash hung in the air like a cloud of spores, riding in on every breath and obscuring the dark shapes of the firs and oaks until the travelers stumbled nose-first upon them.
Jaeriko's eyes were sore from squinting through the perpetual haze, her lungs ragged from breathing in the fire-choked air, and her skin dusty as a moth's wing. To Maze, it must have meant the world had declared war.
'Sending an assassin to do a thief's job,' Maze muttered in a rare stretch of language unbroken by profanity.
'A . . . what?' Jaeriko said, standing like a startled fawn. Maze backhanded a branch that crossed her path, and Jaeriko ducked just in time to see it hiss back into place. Maze looked back over her shoulder and arched an eyebrow at the flustered druid.
'An assassin. What, you just now figure that out?' Maze said. 'Yes, I kill people for money.' Maze faced forward again, missing Jaeriko's stricken expression. 'You helped me, when I paid for your services. Does that bother you?'
Jaeriko wasn't sure it didn't, but she was too shocked by her former client's lack of trust to contemplate it. 'You could have told me!' she protested.
'You didn't need to know,' Maze said.
'Your partner 'didn't need to know'?' Jaeriko said, but the pieces fell into place. The dark alley, the herb garden, the smell of almonds. The spells of stealth and speed, the exotic collection of weaponry, the extra coin for discretion. She told herself she had never known what the jobs were for, but she had never asked either.
'You're not my partner!' Maze said, interrupting her thoughts. 'And what the Hells did you think I did, anyway?'
'I thought you were a thief,' Jaeriko said.
'And you were all right with
Jaeriko shrugged. 'People have too much stuff anyway.'
Maze laughed, and though the sound was pitched high with frustration, it was the first sign of amusement she'd seen from the dour woman. Just when Jaeriko was about to take advantage of the unexpected levity, Maze tripped on a root and had to swing her arms out to avoid falling. 'Gods damn him! I hate forests, I hate children, and I hate everything to do with this blasted war—particularly the undead. By the Nine, who does he think I am?'
'Isn't the question normally 'Who does
