Pryce Covington wasn’t particularly surprised when they returned to the very rock in the wall that had moved just prior to his being knocked unconscious behind Schreders’s restaurant. It turned out that the flattened rock was a cleverly designed opening to a cave that ran from behind Schreders At Your Service to a patch of earth between the Lallor Wall and the Mark of the Question.
With a push from the other side, the mongrelman opened the partition, showing Pryce that the flat portal section of the rock was attached to the rest of the stone wall by two cunningly designed hinges, made to look like elongated pebbles. There was just enough room for Pryce to wriggle out.
Pryce quickly surveyed the small area behind the eating and drinking establishment, making sure it was empty and no kitchen staff member was watching before he hastily returned to the small tunnel opening. “I’ll be back,” he quietly assured Devolawk and the mongrelman. “Don’t lose hope. Now, quickly, hide yourselves and let me speak to the Jackal.”
The misshapen creatures moved back, andeventually, reluctantlyCunningham appeared at the portal and gazed out at the moonlight of Lallor. Cunningham reacted like an animal seeing the sky for the very first time. “Areare you mad?” he gasped. “I cannot accept this! The longing!” There was wonder in his expression and tone, but also agony, since he now finally saw the comfort and serenity he had been missing in all his years of wandering and slaughter.
Pryce pushed his head halfway into the opening to block the torturing view. “Be strong, my dangerous aide,” he contended. “And above all, don’t unleash you magical gaze.”
“It… would… serve… you… right,” the jackalwere grunted angrily, only just managing to avoid adding “sir.”
“Listen, Cunningham, what I’m about to say is important to us both,” Pryce said urgently. He waited until the jackalwere stopped hugging himself and averting his gaze. The half-man, half-beast blinked rapidly, then looked soulfully at Covington. “You may be a monster,” Pryce continued evenly, “but what you are doing for those other two is not monstrous.”
The jackalwere reacted with surprise and backed away. But he did not run. Instead, he stood in the shadows, halfway between the bowels of the earth and the clear Lallor sky, for quite some time before Covington heard his next quiet words.
“It is my curse to be given human consciousness, sir, a curse my children are blessed with not having. My animal nature needs to feed, and through it I only know the hunger of my body. But my human nature can feel pity and even empathy. Through it, I know the hunger of my mind… and perhaps my soul.”
“I have been told that jackalweres have no soul,” Pryce said softly.
“Who told you that?”
‘Wizards,” Pryce said diffidently.
Cunningham’s sarcasm had the lightness of morning dew.
“Well, then,” he said, “if the wizards say so, it must be true.” He was quiet for several moments more. Then: “In the misshapen ones, I see myself. But unlike me, one was not born this way. He was created by human monsters who could pervade this planet… and that makes me feel rage.”
Suddenly his face was back into the moonlight, no more than an inch from Covington’s own. But it was not Cunningham’s face. It was the face of the orange and black jackal, its eyes burning like the sun. It took everything Pryce was not to hurl himself back from those blazing, but purposefully nonhypnotic, eyes.
“I can do nothing for these creatures,” growled the beast, “who are so wretched that even a monster such as I can care for them. But perhaps you can. And for that, and that alone, I will not kill you. I will not feast on your blood. I will not tear you limb from limb and feed you to my cherished children.” He suddenly turned away. “Now I, too, must go. My nostrils begin to fill with the stench of Lallor wizards. And if I can smell them…”
The words were already diminishing in the distance, but there were three more to come, which Pryce heard distinctly on the wind: “Remember your promise!”
Pryce slowly closed the rock opening of the tunnel wall. He stood between the wall and the back door of the restaurant, his profile toward both. The throbbing in his head reminded him that, by rights, his attacker should have killed him. Why else would he take the trouble to so crudely strike Pryce on the head? Covington touched the healing lump on his head lightly, and the only real explanation occurred to him.
“By thunder,” he whispered in the Lallor night. “I’ve got it!”
Pryce Covington was awestruck. Later he couldn’t recall how long he had stood there thinking. He may have even mumbled. “But it can’t be. Not that. No.” But every piece he mentally placed into the puzzle fit. The only problem was that there were still several pieces he didn’t have yet.
Pryce moved quickly toward the narrow alley opening that led to the street beyond. He now knew he had to move very quickly, or all might be lost. With a rustle of Darlington Blade’s cloak, he was gone into the night.
Gheevy Wotfirr leaned contentedly back in his soft, comfortable chair, his hands warm around a steaming cup of aromatic Toussaintie brew. It had been sweetened by a few drops of Mar-riss insect secretions and was delightfully soothing after a long day of testing and storing liquor in the grotto.
Earlier Matthaunin Witterstaet had stopped by the halfling’s burrow in the hill between Azzo’s restaurant and the Ambersong residence for what had become their custom: a cup of Toussaintie and a friendly game of Eckhearts. The stooped, sagging old man followed the same routine each night before he retired to his cottage in the northeast shadow of the Lallor Wall.
Yes, Gheevy thought, all in all, a delightful evening of charming companionship and homespun stories.
Gheevy let his eyes roam contentedly about his burrow as he sipped the brew. The burrow’s furniture was designed not for fashion but for comfort. Although Wotfirr’s hairy bare feet now rested easily on a plush ottoman, his toes tingled with the expectation of eventually placing them on the plush multicolored carpets that covered the floor.
His eyes traveled over the rainbow of colors and shapes that made up his precious collection of liquids from all over Toril. They covered most of the wall space in the burrow and gave it the look of a shimmering glass museum. He had carefully designed the illumination so the soft light refracted comforting colors from the bottles across the entire space.
Yes, the halfling thought, looking down at his soft lounging pants, brocaded vest, mock turtleneck sweater, and plush slippers, it was a wonderful life he had made for himself here in Lai- lor. One in which comfort was everything and nothing could possibly go wrong…
There was an ominous knock on the door. Gheevy looked up in surprise, wondering who it could be at this time of night. Well, there were only two ways to find out. “Who is it?” he called, eliminating one of the ways.
There was no answer.
Just when he thought he might have imagined the knock, it was repeated, catching the halfling in the middle of turning away. Gheevy whirled around to face the door once more, nearly spilling his brew. “Yes?” he said shakily. There was still no reply.
Wotfirr considered not answering the summons, but his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, Matthaunin might have fallen and hurt himself and was too breathless to reply. The halfling screwed up his courage and crept forward. He gripped the door latch tightly and put his ear against the wood. “Hello?” he inquired.
The third knock made him jerk his head back, causing his hand to spasm and make the latch click up. Holding his breath, he opened the door an inch and carefully moved his head to the opening to peer out cautiously.
A blade shot between the door and the wall, narrowly missing his eye.
Before he could cry out, the door was forced open, a muscular hand was clamped across his lips, and Gheevy was catapulted back into his easy chair.
He landed with a thud, clawing and screeching. But a heavy weight on his legs kept him from escaping, and the hand remained firmly on his jaw, muffling his cries. To his horror, Gheevy heard the front door of his burrow click shut, cutting off any chance of escape.
The halfling’s bulging eyes peered over the silencing hand at the face of his attacker… only to see Pryce Covington sitting on his legs, with the forefinger of his other hand against his lips “Shhhhh,” he whispered.
“You” he started to exclaim, only to have Covington grimace, press his hand more tightly on Gheevy’s lips, and jerk his head toward the door.
The halfling’s eyes rolled in that direction in time to see Dearlyn Ambersongdressed in a tight dark sweater, leggings, and boots beneath her Ambersong cloakturn toward them, clutching her dangerous garden tool in her hands.
“Door secured,” she whispered. “All clear.”
The halfling finally realized that it had been her stick that shot at his face, keeping him from slamming the door. But as for the rest, he still couldn’t make hide nor horsehair of it. He wrenched his eyes back toward Pryce, who leaned down until his face was no more than an inch from the halfling’s.
“Take it easy, my friend,” Covington whispered. “I couldn’t afford to alert Matthaunin Witterstaet as to our presence. He might ask questions I don’t want to even try answering at this juncture. Besides,” he said with a shrug, “at this point we really can’t trust anyone, so… ” He leaned back, cocked his head, and waited until the halfling nodded. Only then did Pryce remove his hand from Gheevy’s mouth.
“So you thought you’d give me a heart attack?” Wotfirr sputtered.
Pryce stood up quickly and stepped over the halfling’s previously pinioned legs. “I apologize profusely, my dear Gheevy, I truly do,” Pryce said, “but time is of the essence.”
Wotfirr watched in wonder as Pryce moved to the side of the mage’s daughter. The sight of the two working together and the urgency of Covington’s words effectively eliminated any anger the halfling still felt. It did not, however, eradicate the remainder of his fear. In fact, a new concern was beginning to grow in him, a concern that made him wonder if there would be more murder to be found in the night. ‘What are you doing here?” he asked urgentiy.
Dearlyn moved forward anxiously. “He’s bringing me to my father!” she declared.
Gheevy looked up at Pryce in wonder. The man was standing beside a small half-moon-shaped window near the front door of the burrow, surveying the street outside to make sure Matthauninor anyone elsewas not in the area. He flinched at the sound of Dearlyn’s contention. “I only hope it’s not too late,” he added. He turned to face them both. “I was attacked earlier tonight,” he informed the halfling.
“What?” Wotfirr burbled in outrage.
“He wanted to come here directly,” Dearlyn told Gheevy, looking at Pryce with concern. “But I insisted on treating his wound.”
Pryce touched his head gingerly. “For which, once again, I thank you, but the injury is not as important as why I was attacked.”
“And why was that?” Gheevy inquired.
“Whoever assaulted me wanted me to lead him, her, or it to Geerling’s workshop.”
The halfling sat up straight. The wonders inherent in that statement were almost too much for him to completely comprehend. To the halfling, the man standing before him was a magicless vagabond who had discovered two corpses and had no idea where Geerling Ambersong’s workshop was. But to Dearlyn, the mage’s daughter, he was a great wizard and hero who had been given the Ambersong legacy instead of her, and a man who knew all there was to know about the workshop.
Keeping all those characters straight in the space of one burrow was going to take concentration indeedconcentration the addled halfling just couldn’t quite muster at the moment.
“Geerling… you know… but who… why…?”
Pryce waved his hands in front of his face, seemingly batting away all of Gheevy’s sputterings. “We have no time for this,” he said. “I think Teddington Fullmer set me up. I think he knocked me out, and I think that even now he’s trying to make off with Geerling Ambersong’s fortune!”
‘Trying… Geerling Ambersong’s…” Gheevy echoed. “Then what are you doing here?”
“We need your help, my friend.”
“My help?” the halfling marveled. “But”
“Please!” Pryce pleaded to the low ceiling. “No more questions! Just get on your best grotto-crawling clothes and follow me!”
“So you think the secret workshop is somewhere down here?” the halfling whispered.
The three made their cautious way down the tunnel behind Schreders’s restaurant. The halfling held aloft a small illumination orb, which gave off just enough light to keep them from tripping or stumbling into anything. A standard torch would have filled the low, narrow cave with blinding, choking smoke within seconds. The rest of the navigation came from Pryce’s memory.
Dearlyn held on to the hem of Darlington’s cloak several feet behind them, using her horsehair-topped staff as a walking stick. She was so intent on making her way and so deep in her own thoughts that Gheevy and Pryce could talk quietly at length… about very uncomfortable things.
“I’m certain of it,” Pryce whispered back. “Where else could it be?”
“Is there another entrance on the other side of the workshop somewhere outside the caves?”
Pryce shook his head. “I doubt it. With all the anxious inquisitrixes and hopeful mages searching everywhere, I think the only way to protect it was to hide it here, literally under their very noses.”
“Incredible,” Gheevy whispered in wonder. Then his voice grew very quiet. “But with all due respect, why bring her along?” he said, nodding back toward Dearlyn. “It was either that or steal her cloak.” “Steal her cloak?”
“Geerling Ambersong was a clever man. He wanted Darlington Blade and his daughter to work together as a team.”
The halfling looked up at Pryce skeptically. “Are you sure?”
Pryce fingered Darlington Blade’s cloak clasp, seemingly to relieve some of the tension now that Dearlyn was using it as a leash. “I’m sure of it.”
“How can you be?” Gheevy wondered aloud.
Pryce leaned close to whisper his explanation. ‘To prevent any other magician from entering his workshop, I believe he secured it with a mechanical lock.” He held up two fingers. “With two keys.”
‘Two? But…” The halfling got no further because Pryce was moving the cloak clasp so that it reflected light from the orb directiy into Gheevy’s eyes.
“Are you all right, Blade?” Dearlyn inquired quietly. “I’m not pulling too much, am I?”
Pryce smiled sagely and nodded his head toward the mage’s daughter. All the halfling could think of when he looked over at her was her cloak’s clasp. What Pryce was suggesting came to Wotfirr in a flash.
“No problem, Miss Ambersong,” Covington whispered back to her. “Watch your step.” He turned back to gaze into Gheevy’s perplexed, apprehensive face.
“Very well, then, but why me?” Gheevy wheezed. “Why am here?”p›
Pryce looked pained, and his reply was strained. “Come, come, Gheevy. Think! The mind behind all this is not that of a novice or apprentice. It must be a wizard of high rank.”
The truth of that statement dawned in the halfling, and suddenly his expression was infused with fear. What Pryce said next only made it worse.
“Everyone who worked with Geerling is dead. Maybe that’s why he refused to teach his daughter… because he knew that everyone who learned from him would be placed in grave danger.”
“But why?” Gheevy moaned quietly.
“I’m not sure. Maybe he took the teachings of Sante too seriously and started dabbling in forbidden arts. Only then, by the time he discovered that he had unleashed forces he couldn’t control, he was in too deep. Then all he could do was destroy himself or destroy others to cover his tracks. Who knows? All I do know is that I have to gain entrance to his workshop.”
“Blade, you must tell Dearlyn about all this.”
Pryce shook his head, happy that the gloom was too thick for her to see his tormented expression. “I can’t predict her reaction. The odds are too long.”
‘Then tell Inquisitrix Lymwich.”
“And risk her finding out who I am? No, thank you. She would have me enfeebled, or worse, disintegrated, out of pure spite.”
‘Then tell some inquisitrix!” Gheevy pleaded passionately. ‘We can’t face whoeveror whateveris in that workshop alone!’
Even though she couldn’t make out their words, Dearlyn couldn’t mistake the anxious tone of their voices any longer. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “What are you two talking about?”
Pryce stopped suddenly, and she nearly bumped into him. He took no pleasure in her proximity, however. “We’re getting close, Miss Ambersong,” he told her, refusing to acknowledge that he could also be talking about their emotional relationship as well. “And I must have your promise that, no matter what happens, you will put your faith in me.”
Her eyes seemed like bottomless pools in the light of the orb. “What… what is it you’re not telling me?” she whispered.
Pryce’s heart went out to her in her vulnerability and then sank at the depths of his deception. ‘There’s… there’s more to this than your father’s disappearance. I implore you to be ready for anything. There’s…”
But before he could go on, the huge misshapen head of a mongrelman moved into the illumination of the orb.
The halfling let out a shriek, tossed the orb into the air, then leapt behind the woman to cower behind her floor-length cloak. Dearlyn dropped her staff and began a spell. Pryce nimbly caught both the illumination orb and her staff as they fell, then used the pole to give her gesturing hands a sharp slap, disrupting her spell.
She looked up at him in surprise and numbly took back the staff he offered. She looked from it to him to the mongrelman, dumbfounded, then grasped her gardening implement tightly and assumed a defensive position, the tip pointing directly at the monster.
Pryce simply shook his head, daintily gripped the staff in two fingers, and raised it so he could step between Dearlyn and the mongrelman.
“It’s all right,” he assured the stunned woman. “He’s with me.”
Dearlyn stared at Pryce in amazement; then her expression changed to awe. Then they both realized that Gheevy was still cowering behind her, muttering.
Pryce quickly knelt down and gripped the halfling’s elbow with his free hand.
A mongrelman, beneath our city!” Gheevy was gasping. “He’ll bring others of his kind. They’ll eat me! Raiders are sure to follow! We must”
Pryce shook him firmly. “We must stop talking about things we know nothing about,” he said pointedly.
The halfling blinked, then looked directly at Covington, but the terror didn’t leave his face. “But theythey speak a debased language. They can communicate with other beasts!”
“I know,” Pryce said intently. “Are you familiar with this so-called debased language?”
That drew Gheevy up short. “Well, no…”
“Then stop talking your own debased language for a moment, would you? Listen to me, Gheevy. They saved me. They won’t hurt you!”
The halfling looked up at Pryce hopefully… until one word Covington had said echoed in Wotfirr’s mind.” They’?”
He peered out from behind Dearlyn’s legs. There, with his halfling vision, he saw in the gloom the hulking mongrelman… and behind it, a creature that was bird, part vole, and part human cadaver. To complete the picture, the tattered traveler who had rendered him unconscious on the road loomed behind them.
He jerked back to face Pryce, shaking uncontrollably. “All I want is the comfort of home!” he cried. “Is that so much to ask?”
“Wotfirr!” Pryce snapped, hitting him on the arm. “And all I want is a cushy job for life!”
The halfling grabbed his arm in pain and looked up at Covington, his eyes narrowing. “Ouch,” he said with resentment, rubbing his upper arm.
Pryce sighed. “Gheevy, I’ve discovered that in Lallor you can’t always get what you want. Sometimes you have to fight for it.”
“Okay, okay,” the halfling complained, still massaging his bruised limb. “Why did you hit me so hard?”
“Sorry,” Pryce apologized, handing him the illumination orb. “Here, you’ll need this.” He started to turn around, but Gheevy urgently gripped his cloak. Pryce turned back with concern.
Wotfirr smiled wanly. “We halflings like our creature comforts and pride ourselves on our honesty,” he said quietly, apology evident in his tone. “But we are esteemed for our honor even more.”
Pryce put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and smiled. “And deservedly so,” he replied. “Now take care of that illumination orb, would you?”
Gheevy purposefully thrust the orb out before him. It illuminated the mongrelman, his huge, rag-covered body shielding the cowering form of the broken one behind him.
“It’s all right, Geoffrey,” Pryce said reassuringly. “I didn’t have time to tell them about you.”
The mongrelman gibbered and nodded, saliva coursing down his distended, scaly jaw.
Pryce nodded back, then stepped over to take Dearlyn’s arm. He almost did a double take when he saw the look of admiration on the woman’s face. “You… befriended these creatures?” she asked.
Pryce was pleased at her reaction and turned to smile at his irregular trio of assistants. “It is a distinct privilege for me to introduce you to Geoffrey…” The mongrelman lowered his head sadly, his eyes closing. “Devolawk…” The broken one raised his beak and waved with what served as its arms. “And, of course, Cunningham.” The jackalwere, in complete human form, bowed graciously. “Of the three, trust the latter the least.” Cunningham snapped back up, a look of exaggerated hurt on his face.
“Blade?” Gheevy said tightly, still holding the orb stiffly out in front of him. “Do we have time for this?”
“I think so,” Pryce replied. ‘You see, they are my guards. Fullmer, or anyone else, I imagine, couldn’t get close to the workshop with them on duty.”
“They protected my father?” Dearlyn asked hopefully.
Pryce felt a pang of guilt. “I don’t truthfully know, Miss Ambersong. We will have to see. But what I can tell you,” he said, and he felt relief to finally get some of the truth off his chest, “is that Cunningham the jackalwere was lured here by the broken one, who is a prime example of magic gone wrong. Once here, the jackalwere was asked in turn by a magical communication to lure a mongrelman who was well versed in concealment.”
Dearlyn looked at the trio in confusion. “But why? To conceal what?”
‘Your father’s workshop, I’m afraid.”
She looked at Pryce, her eyes accusatory. “Are you saying my father did this?”
“I don’t know,” Pryce said quickly.
“You don’t know!” she flared. “If not you, who?”
“Dearlyn!” he interrupted sharply. ‘This isn’t easy for any of us, least of all them.” He pointed purposefully at the cursed trio. “We have to get into the workshop,” he stressed, “and then maybe we’ll discover the truth.”
The proud woman stiffened. “Are you telling me you cannot gain entrance by yourself?”
“Yes,” he admitted without shame. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Now you tell me. Is it possible that your father would simply give me the keys to his workshop… or give a key to us both… that can only be used if we work together?”
Her rising anger suddenly stilled. The realization of her father’s true naturethe one she always knew was there and desperately wanted to believe inoverwhelmed her ire and started to bring tears to her eyes.
Pryce turned away from her and gave the mongrelman a simple instruction.
“Lead us to the workshop.”
Soon the six of them stood before the concealing wall. To Gheevy and Dearlyn’s eyes, it looked like any other section of the cave, but the others knew of the hidden tube through the rock.
Pryce turned to the misshapen ones. “We’re going to open the compartment now,” he told them. “Hide yourselves. If anything bad happens, I wish you a peaceful, long life.”
Dearlyn and Gheevy looked at each other with concern and a little confusion. The mongrelman babbled incoherently, and the broken one pushed his head over the other’s shoulder. “Weeeee willll protect you, Blade!” he whistled and burbled. “Weeeee don’t wish… to looooose you.”
“You cannotyou must nottry to protect me,” Pryce told them with honest appreciation. His Covington side felt a pang of missed opportunity, but his Blade side knew it had to be this way. Besides, any revelation of his Covington nature would put his absolutely vital impersonation at risk. He might gain protection for a few moments, but if any of them even suspected that he wasn’t who they said he was, he would be dissected almost immediately. “This road I must walk alone, with only the Ambersong daughter and the primary mage’s friend by my side. Our road together wherever it leadsmust take a different route.”
The mongrelman made crying sounds and shook, but eventually he shambled away, taking the crestfallen broken one with him. Only Cunningham remained. Pryce stared bravely at him until he realized the jackalwere’s expression was not one of respect or admiration, but of hope and hunger.
“Cunningham…” he said warningly.
The jackalwere looked suddenly wounded. “Sir, I assure you… how could you think…?”
“Cunningham!” Pryce snapped. Then he leaned in and spoke carefully. “No… after… assault… snacks. You hear me?”
“Quite distinctly, sir.” He drew himself up, and Pryce could see that he was essentially dusting off his pride. “Shall I go see to it that the others are safe and well hidden?”
‘You shall,” Pryce commanded flatly.
“Very good, sir.” He leaned to one side and called to the others. “Best of luck, diminutive sir. You too, milady. Enjoy the opening!”
“Get out of here!” But by the time the last word was out of Pryce’s mouth, the jackalwere had disappeared into the darkness.
Only then did Gheevy lower the illumination orb from in front of his face. “So,” he said with relief. “Where is it?”
“There,” said Pryce, motioning with his head toward the wall. He swung his cloak off and started examining how the clasp was attached. “I’ll need the clasp from your cloak as well, Dearlyn.”
She looked puzzled and began fingering the circular clasp at her neck.
“The clasps serve as individual keys to the Ambersong lodging. I think they are also the keys to the workshop as well, but only if they are used in combination.” He looked at her, his expression revealing no chagrin or regret. “When your father left you, he left me as well. I don’t know where he is, but I believe that he wanted us to cooperate.” At that moment, as if on cue, the clasp popped off into his hand.
“Yes,” Dearlyn said quietly, nodding. “That makes sense. It sounds like something Father would do.” Then she started to pull off her cloak. Soon Pryce held both clasps in his hand.
“I saw a grating of some sort a couple of feet down the entry tube,” Pryce explained. “It had specific markings on it, like a rune or a code of some sort.” He turned the clasps this way and that in his palm. “Looking directly at it, it seemed to be four esoterically designed letters, one on top of the other: U, V, 0, and W.”
“Use Virtue Open Wall?” Dearlyn said immediately. Both men stared at her. Then they looked at the wall in anticipation. Nothing happened.
“We could play that game all day,” Gheevy commented. “Useless Violence Obscures Wonder. Ultimate Victory Or Woe. Untold Victims Obviously Worried”
Pryce interrupted, making it clear that this game was at an end. “I think it’s some kind of a special lock that needs an aligning key.” He took Dearlyn’s clasp, which had her initials outlined in flower petals, and turned it sideways to the left. The A was now on top, and when it was tipped slightly, an extra flower petal seemed to lengthen the Crosshatch of the A. The D looked like a J7with a line across the top.
“You-vee,” Gheevy formed the sound. “But what about the W?”
“I’ll give you the ‘ow’ in a second if you don’t keep quiet,” Pryce warned, the tension beginning to make him giddy. He held up Darlington Blade’s clasp, turned it sideways and to the left, then all the way around. The D and B created from the thorns became a half oval and a rounded W. “Put them both together” which he did”and they spell” “You-vow,” Gheevy said admiringly.
Dearlyn nodded proudly. “Of course my father would want us to work together. It’s just like him!”
Pryce looked at her with concern before continuing. “Now to put my theory to the test.” He stepped toward the wall, then stopped and turned back. “No one with a thinner arm, I suppose, would be interested?… No, I had better do this myself.”
He put the two clasps side by side in his hand, surprised by how naturally they seemed to fit together. The flower petals and the thorns seemed to link together in position, maintaining the oddly designed U-V-O-W’m place. With his other hand, Pryce gripped the lip of the hole he knew was there and started to pull himself up. “Gheevy,” he grunted. “I need a solid surface to stand on to position the clasps just right.”
The halfling rolled his eyes. It had been an eventful night already, and he was weary… not to mention irritable. “And I suppose you want my back as that solid surface?”
Dearlyn looked down at him with reproach. “Don’t be petty,” she admonished. “If you won’t do it, I will!” She was already on one knee when the halfling stopped her.
“All right, all right. I’ll do it. Just wait a moment, would you?” Gheevy got down on all fours and placed his side against the rock wall. “Very well, Blade. Go ahead.”
Pryce grabbed the upper rock protrusion, then stepped on Wotfirr’s back. “All right?” he inquired, to which the halfling grunted in the affirmative. Covington found himself gritting his teeth. If he was wrong, there was no predicting what might happen. At the very least, he could probably say good-bye to his arm. So, under his breath, he did. Then he cautiously put that selfsame arm down the tube, holding the clasps out before him.
Pryce grimaced, then winked as sweat rolled into his eyes. Soon his arm was completely inside the rock, his muscles straining. “Anything?” Gheevy asked.
“Not… yet,” Pryce grunted, but then the top of the clasps touched the grating and were sucked from Covington’s fingers with an audible clanking sound.
Pryce leapt down from the wall as if the tube had ejected his arm. As he hit the opposite wall, they all heard a hum, then a grinding of gears.
Pryce rose to his feet, holding on to the opposite wall for support. They all watched, amazed, as a section of the cave wall swung out like a vault door.
The edge of the swinging partition just flicked the end of Pryce’s nose, but it swept the kneeling halfling along like a broom sweeping up a particularly annoying dust ball. “Darling-ton!” Gheevy cried in fear. Pryce was grateful that, even in what could have been his last seconds on Toril, the halfling hadn’t revealed his true identity.
Just as it seemed that Wotfirr would be crushed against the rock wall, the partition ground to a stop.
The halfling rolled one way and the illumination orb he had been holding rolled another. Dearlyn ran forward to gather Gheevy up in her arms, while Pryce nimbly caught the orb and slipped it into his pocket. Then his eyes widened and he caught his breath. He remained stock still, standing before the opening, taking in the room that was revealed beyond.
Within moments, all three stopped moving, talking, or even breathing as they got their first look at the secret workshop of Geerling Ambersong.
It was a room dug out of the very earth beyond the cave wall, a section of which served as the door. All the furniture was made of stone, the chairs made comfortable with thick, comfortable-looking, ornately decorated pillows. There were stone tables and stone shelves, some attached to the wall and supported by stone legs and braces, while others seemed to float of their own accord. There was a modicum of solid and liquid refreshmenteven some barrels from Schredersbut mostly every surface was covered with spellbooks and magical items. It was what Dearlyn Ambersong had dreamt of all her life. She looked as if she were about to faint.
Large roughly bound volumes featured the engraved A of the Ambersong family on their covers. They were all crammed with different-colored parchment, detailing spells and conjuring not yet imagined. There were models of an Ambersong skyship, hovering in the air near the stone ceiling like heavenly stars. There was even a girdle of priestly might, glowing with unknown power, standing of its own accord on a rock shelf.
There were beakers, bottles and tubes of every color, shape, size, and consistencysome made of glass, some of gems, some of wood, and some of steel. Inside were powders, liquids, beads, and flakes of every imaginable magical necessity. It was all so amazing and impressive that it took several seconds before the three explorers noticed something incongruous on the floor.
Lying on its face, in the middle of the room, was a motionless human body.