formdraped in a protective leather apron.
Delgar picked up a narrow bar of glass with an irontong and dipped it into the fire. He drew one of several long,slender tools from the coals, wiped it clean on the damp rag drapedover his leather-clad lap, and began to shape the blade. A fewstrokes, then back into the fire went the glass and the iron. Backand forth, bit by steady bit, the dagger took shape.
“This is like watching a river eroding stone,” Foxsaid.
Delgar glanced up. “I’m about to add the handle.Watch if you want, but don’t expect scintillatingconversation.”
“In this workshop?”
The dwarf snorted and reached for a delicately etchedcross guard. He lowered a metal dropper into a beaker sitting amidglowing coals and measured a few drops of clear liquid onto thehilt. Before the glass could cool, he pressed the heated bladeagainst the guard and held it in place.
“Looks like that would break easily.” Fox grimaced.“You know, that sounded a lot more sensible before I said it outloud.”
Delgar shot a quick glance in his direction.“Glassweapons can be surprisingly durable. Dwarves have several reasonsfor making them. But these daggers aren’t meant for fighting.They’re like costumes: meant for effect, not everyday wear.”
“
The dwarf tipped his head toward a table. Fivefinished daggers rested on a soft, thick cloth.
Fox went over for a closer look. “Why so many?”
“Practice, for starters,” Delgar said. “I haven’tworked in glass for more than forty years.”
“They all look perfect.” Fox picked up one of thecurved blades, turned it this way and that to catch the light, andtraded it for another. “They’re also identical.”
“Not quite. Look more closely at the roses.”
At first glance, Fox assumed that the tightly furled,long-stemmed rosebud had been etched into the glass. But it lookedsomehow. . deeper.
He ran his fingertips over the blade to find that itwas perfectly smooth.
“The design is
The dwarf put down the cooled glass and stretched.“When you have a few years to spare, I’d be happy to show you. Putthat dagger back and run your eye down the line from left to right.Concentrate on the roses.”
Fox did as he was told. The tight rosebud on thefirst dagger unfurled a bit on the next, and so on until the fifthdagger depicted a half-blown rose.
“The Thorn’s rose opens at sunrise and closes atsunset. There’s no telling exactly when we’ll get into Muldonny’scuriosity room. If you have to make the switch with someonewatching, you’ll have less chance of detection if the copy andoriginal match.”
Fox grimaced. “I should have thought of that. Goodplanning.”
“I’d take credit if I could. It was the elf’s idea.She’s got Avidan working on them, too.”
“Now there’s a frightening thought.”
“He was in here a little earlier. He said he’doffered to treat you for the pox but you declined, so he wasextending the offer to me.” Delgar lifted one eyebrow. “Clearly,Avidan misunderstands the nature of our relationship.”
Fox touched the cut on his forehead. “He made themedicine for this. He had extra.”
The dwarf’s lips twitched as he took in his friend’sbattered face. “Is that the fairy’s handiwork?”
“Indirectly,” Fox said. “She created what you mightcall a misunderstanding with a couple of fishermen. The older onehad a wicked hook.”
The dwarf snorted. “How long have you been waiting touse that line?”
“Oh, I’ve been casting about for an hour or two.” Foxpaused. “We could probably do this for hours.”
“Let’s not.”
The dwarf pushed his chair away from the fire pit andstretched his muscled legs. “Are you going to tell me what’s onyour mind, or do I have to fish for it?”
“I thought we were stopping.”
“Believe it or not, that one was accidental. Changethe subject before someone overhears and kills us both.”
Fox took the locket from his bag and handed it to thedwarf.
Delgar’s gaze went right to the broken clasp. “Thislooks like an easy fix. I’ll get to it tonight.”
“Never mind the clasp. Look inside.”
The dwarf flipped the locket open and studied therunes. Color faded from his forge-reddened face.
“You, my friend, have been dipping into the wrongpockets.”
“The locket isn’t stolen. It was passed down throughmy family.”
A long slow whistle escaped the dwarf. “Are you surethis means what it seems to? The adepts claim that Eldreath’sbloodline had been wiped out.”
“They claim a lot of things.”
“True.”
“If I am descended from Eldreath, I’m making a liarout of Rhendish just by breathing and walking around.”
“How did he find out?” The dwarf grimaced as theanswer came to him. “Your mother.”
“That’s the obvious answer.” The words tasted bitterin Fox’s mouth. “You’ve seen how they left her.”
“If that’s how they got the information, she didn’tmake it easy for them.”
They sat in silence for several long moments. Delgarcleared his throat. “So what are you going to do?”
Fox didn’t need to ask what his friend meant. In thenext chamber, hidden behind one of the dwarf’s apparently solidrock doors, was a trove of magical items. Some still held weaksputters of arcane power, others were as silent as tombstones. Foxhad spent the past eight years stealing them from museums andprivate collectors and curiosity shops and from Rhendish himself,hoarding them against the day when magic returned to Sevrin. Hisassociation with a dwarf, a fairy, and now an elf gave himimportant contacts to the old races. The magical items gave himbargaining power and potential weapons. In time, he hoped to buildan alliance strong enough to force the adepts from power.
No one but Delgar knew the extent of his collection,but Fox had a certain following in the city, mostly among youngpeople who celebrated his exploits as acts of daring andrebellion.
That, of course, was Vishni’s doing. The fairy’s“ improved tales” put Fox well along the path to becoming a folkhero.
Fox had mixed feelings about this, but he permittedit because he believed the folk hero of Vishni’s stories couldaccomplish great things. But the same actions, undertaken by a manof Eldreath’s bloodlines, would be perceived in a very differentlight.
“What does the elf say about this?” Delgar asked.
“I haven’t told her. I just found out myself.”
“But you’re planning to,” the dwarf said.
Fox scowled and folded his arms. “I might.”
“You like her.”
“She doesn’t make it easy,” Fox said cautiously, “butyes, I do. Why wouldn’t I?”
Delgar rose and began to pace. “You didn’t noticeanything strange about the two men we saw in the alley with theelf?”
He thought this over. “Now that you mention it, oneof them looked a little old for a street thug.”
“Define old.”
“Well, he had gray hair. And he looked pretty wellfed, which tends to make people look older.”
“He was stocky, in other words. About my height, youthink?”
“Pretty close,” Fox said.
“And he was clean-shaven, which is unusual for ahuman of his age.” Delgar stroked his own smooth chin. “What aboutthe other man?”
