The City of Ravens

CHAPTER SIX

By the end of the Orange Lord's ball, Jack knew three things. He knew that Erizum was the Blue Lord. He knew that the Green Lord ruled Dues. And he knew that Lady Mantis and Lord Tiger meant him no good at all. In fact, they desperately wanted to find out who he was and what he knew.

Jack and Illyth had determined Erizum's identity through sheer good fortune. In the process of exchanging clues honestly with other players (the only method that Illyth condoned, unfortunately), they'd simply amassed five clues to the effect that neither Fatim, Alcantar, Dubhil, Geciras, nor Carad was the Blue Lord. That left Buriz and Erizum, and then they'd found a clue that read simply Buriz is either the Red Lord or the Green Lord. Clearly, some of the clues were simply better than others and offered the potential for a faster solution than simple elimination of possibilities. Jack decided that the Buriz clue must have been one of the key pieces that Randall Morran had mentioned when explaining the rules of the Game at the beginning of the Red Lord's revel, three nights ago.

The Green Lord's kingdom was somewhat more problematical. Jack knew it to be true, but he couldn't tell Illyth that he'd puzzled it out, because he'd done so by using his spell of copying to duplicate the stolen journals of two other players before slipping the books back into their owners' possession. Small thefts such as these had to be carefully timed, since early in the evening the owners were still sober and vigilant of their notebooks, while later in the evening the trickle of departing guests left the party much less crowded and made it harder to remove someone's book inconspicuously. And, of course, Jack couldn't rule out the possibility that someone might have made a false journal in the hope that it would be stolen and examined.

He solved that problem quite elegantly by convincing Illyth that they should split up for a while to obtain clues on their own. "After all," he pointed out, "We will double the rate at which we acquire information."

"But most of those clues will be unconfirmed," Illyth said. "We have only one token to show, so you would only be able to trade rumors."

"On the contrary, you will only be able to trade rumors. I will take our token for now."

"Just a moment! Why do you get the token?"

"Two reasons, my dear Lady Crane," Jack crooned. "First, you are by your very nature trusting and thus deserving of trust. You will fare better without the token than I would, because lying to a rogue such as Lord Fox is easy, but what true man could look into your eyes and utter a falsehood?"

"I can think of one," Illyth muttered.

"Second, if I have the token to trade, you will know that I am acquiring true and accurate information, and you will therefore have no cause to question my methods or the results I obtain at the end of the night."

The noblewoman studied him suspiciously. "To tell the truth, Jack, I find myself wondering what new scheme you can implement with the token under the guise of fair play. Besides, I don't think the rumors are all that important. Another player could say anything they liked to me about a token they claim to have seen, and how could I possibly know that they were telling the truth?"

"That is the beauty of it," Jack said. "When we compare our notes at the end of the night, we will simply assume that any unconfirmed clue we have acquired is actually false. Sifting through the rumors is the real challenge of this Game. If we wait until we have seen every clue token, we will certainly lose to someone who has seen fewer tokens but is willing to hazard all on a guess. Therefore, the key must lie in making the best use of our unconfirmed clues."

Illyth frowned, a gesture that her crane mask displayed as a subtle lowering of her bill and an introspective cast to her eye. "We should add to our notes a remark about which players have provided us with which clues," she said. "That way, we could more easily confirm rumors, or at least catch some of the more unscrupulous players in a lie. Very well, you can have the token, and I'll see what rumors I can trade. But try not to start any duels tonight!"

So Jack found an opportunity to circulate the most incredible and outrageous lies he could imagine, while presumably "acquiring" the information he'd gleaned from the rival journals. When he returned to Illyth at the end of the night, he conveyed a dozen of the clues he'd stolen from the journals as "confirmed" by examination of another player's token. Combining these with their own notes led to the discovery that the Green Lord ruled Dues, again by process of elimination. "See?" he told Illyth. "We are making substantial progress. I am absolutely confident that we will be able to solve the riddle in one more good session."

"I think two is more likely," Illyth replied. The hour had grown late. The party was breaking up, with masked nobles and players gracefully making their exits in pairs and small groups. "The Yellow Lord's tournament is in three days' time. Will you be there?"

"I cannot contemplate the thought of failing you," Jack said. "Of course I will be there." They drifted toward the robing room to turn in their masks and depart, waiting patiently as the players before them unmasked in secret and exited the other side of the room. "Should we meet beforehand in order to examine our clues together and build a solution?"

"An excellent idea," Illyth said. "Why don't you come to Fleetwood Manor an hour or so early, and we'll compare notes."

Jack grinned. The carriage rides to Illyth's estate were costing him an arm and a leg, but he couldn't possibly let her know that. "Consider it done-" he started to say, when he looked past Illyth's shoulder and noticed Lady Mantis watching the two of them like a hawk preparing to swoop down on a pair of field mice. Her green gown and glittering mask concealed malice so intense that Jack could almost feel it where he stood.

"Jack? What is it?" Illyth watched him for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder. "It's that lady you met earlier tonight, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, "although I wouldn't really say that I have the pleasure of her acquaintance." He looked around for her companion, Lord Tiger, and failed to spot him. Ahead of Jack and Illyth, two Game attendants opened the door to the robing room and ushered in another pair of players, closing the doors behind them. The line advanced a couple of steps. "I don't see her escort anywhere, do you?"

Illyth looked around the ballroom. "He wore a tiger mask, right? I don't see him."

Jack tugged at his chin, thinking. "Tell me, Illyth, if you were discussing the details of some nefarious plot and discovered that a masked player had overheard your conversation, what would you do?"

"Why, I would try to identify him, so that I could confront him later and determine whether or not he heard anything important."

"And how would you do that? Might you resort to unpleasant tactics to ascertain what had been discovered?"

Illyth glanced over at Lady Mantis. "Jack, this is just a game. This is the way the Game of Masks works-plots within plots within plots. The Riddle of the Seven Faceless Lords is simply the plot device against which the real Game is played, a game of acting out parts and making alliances, a game of innuendo and intrigue that the players themselves create as they go along. That's the Game of Masks."

"It's also a regular gathering of the wealthiest and most powerful people of Raven's Bluff," Jack said. "If I were not the very soul of honesty, I might be tempted to use the Game as a convenient tool in furthering my own ambitions and designs outside the Game events. Perhaps by embarrassing or eliminating rivals."

"You have a sinister and suspicious mind, Jack."

"Every day I regret that I am not more generous and trusting, dear Illyth, but I suppose I must make the best of the talents I have been given." The line advanced again; Jack and Illyth were next in line to remove their masks in secret and leave the party. "Humor me for a moment: where is Lord Tiger?"

"Who knows?" Illyth said crossly. "The washroom? Drunk under a table? Perhaps trysting with a secret lover in a private room of the house?"

"Good answers all," Jack said. "I think he's outside, watching the entrance to the foyer. Lady Mantis will note when we go inside to remove our masks, and then she'll send someone-that servant there, by her side-to tell Lord Tiger that we are inside. When we leave, Tiger will identify us. Lady Mantis and Lord Tiger desperately want to know who Lord Fox and Lady Crane really are, and they mean to find out in just a few more moments."

"He might not know who we are, even if he does mark our appearance," Illyth said.

"True, but he could have us followed, or he might be able to ask anyone standing outside awaiting a carriage who we are. I might be difficult to identify, but I suspect you will be more easily recognized."

Illyth hugged her arms and suppressed a shiver. "Damn it, Jack. Now you have me thinking the same nasty and suspicious thoughts you're thinking. Should we delay removing our masks?"

"They'll simply wait as long as they need to. The longer they wait, the more players leave, and the easier it is to be certain of our identities."

"We can probably identify them in turn," Illyth pointed out.

"To what end?" Jack asked. "All we know is that they talked of something that sounded very suspicious. Who would move against a Game player based on that information?"

"So what should we do?"

"Fox them, of course. We'll leave without allowing ourselves to be observed." Jack drew Illyth out of the line for the robing room and led her across the ballroom to one of the antechambers. Lady Mantis watched them go and made a show of casually strolling in their direction, keeping an eye on them without following too closely. Jack and Illyth slipped behind a curtained alcove; then Jack turned to Illyth. "I know a little magic," he said. "I'll work a spell of invisibility on us both, and we'll walk right by Mantis and Tiger."

Myth stared at him. "You are a mage?"

"Merely one of my many talents, dear Illyth. I consider myself a renaissance man, well versed in a variety of skills and exploits. Now, I will cast the spell first on you. Take hold of my sleeve so that we don't lose each other when I make myself invisible too." Jack mumbled the words of the spell and worked the gestures and passes necessary to form the emerald energy into the shape he needed; Illyth, looking both surprised and delighted, faded from view. He waited until he felt her hand on his arm and then worked the spell for himself.

"You're invisible," whispered Illyth's voice in his ear.

"As are you, my dear. Now, stay close to me and try to move quietly."

"What of our masks?"

"We'll take them with us tonight. I don't think the Game attendants will mind too much, provided we bring them back for the Yellow Lord's Tournament." Jack set his hand on hers, and they strolled back into the ballroom arm in arm. Lady Mantis and her servant stood there, waiting and watching. Few Game players were left, a handful of handfuls scattered about the floor, laughing and gossiping as the attendants began to clean the room.

Jack altered their course so that they passed right in front of Lady Mantis. Illyth gasped in alarm and tugged at his arm, but he grasped her hand firmly and carried her along.

"Good evening, Lady Mantis," he said aloud. "I do hope you have enjoyed the party. Perhaps we'll see you outside. Good night!"

Mantis nearly jumped out of her shoes. "Who's there?" she snapped. Jack simply laughed and walked off, leading Illyth away.

"Are you insane?" Illyth hissed in his ear. "Now they'll know how we eluded them!"

"True," Jack admitted, "but Mantis and Tiger will spend days wondering whether or not invisible spies are listening in on their conversations and reporting their every action to the proper authorities. It should cause them no little worry."

"It should make them all the more interested in discovering who we really are!" Illyth groaned. "You never settle for half measures, do you?"

"Bold statements and daring actions are the hallmarks of confidence and the stuff of greatness," Jack said. "Shall we go?"

Side by side, they walked out into the night.

The next day, Jack sat on the end of a pier, kicking his feet idly over the waters of the inner harbor, and thought about what to do next. Time was heavy on his hands. All around him, the wharves thronged with people, longshoremen and sailors and teamsters and touts and peddlers, all shouting and calling out to one another as the business of the port carried on in the normal manner.

Elana had not left word for him at the Cracked Tankard, at least not yet, so he could not retrieve the book from its hiding place and collect the balance of his fee. He had a night and a day to wait yet before he could deliver the Sarkonagael. The next Game event was not for two nights yet, so there was little opportunity to continue his attack on the Riddle of the Seven Faceless Lords or to determine who Lady Mantis and Lord Tiger were and what it was they were up to.

Morgath and Saerk hadn't put in an appearance for days; presumably they'd followed Anders out of town in an effort to steal or recover the ruby the Northman held.

Marcus and Ashwillow hadn't shown their faces since that one unfortunate encounter in the alleyway near Jack's apartments.

Iphegor the Black had not been observed to leave his tower since the untimely demise of his familiar after Jack's burglary.

Ontrodes had run him out first thing in the morning when Jack dropped by to find out if the sage had learned anything more about the Sarkonagael. Even though Jack had the book in his possession, he was still interested in finding out what exactly it was so that he could figure out why Elana wanted it. He'd tried to read it, of course, but the cursed thing was obscured in a mage script he couldn't unravel. Of course, he didn't show Ontrodes any of the book-that would invite trouble, especially considering how diligently the sage was working for Zandria. Jack had the feeling that Zandria and the Sarkonagael would not mix well.

He looked up at the blue sky, streaked with high, wispy clouds. "At least it finally stopped raining," he remarked to no one in particular. He polished a stolen apple on one sleeve and took a reflective bite. The Brothers Kuldath suspected him of stealing their rubies. The Knights of the Hawk suspected Elana of something and associated him with her. Doubtless Iphegor the Black very much wanted somebody's head on a plate, although it was unlikely that the wizard would believe for long that Marcus the knight-commander was the perpetrator of his familiar's cruel end.

Jack took another bite and picked up a small book and a quill, thoughtfully transcribing a few more Game clues into the journal. Every clue rang of authenticity; Jack had seen dozens of official clues now, so he knew exactly how they were worded. In fact, the journal he was creating featured half a dozen accurate hints, just to add a patina of truth to the utter fabrication of the rest of the clues. The trick of it was losing the notebook at the right moment of the next Game gathering, without making it look like it had been lost on purpose. With any luck, a few participants would knock themselves out of the Game with Jack's forgeries.

That task attended to, Jack blew on the page to dry the ink and then put the book away in his vest pocket. The Game was attended to; Elana was not prepared to meet with him yet; that left Zandria and her riddle as the next item of business on Jack's agenda.

"And that means I'll need to speak to Tharzon," he said.

He finished his apple and tossed the core into the water, then scrambled to his feet-only to find a hulking figure in a dark hooded cloak standing over him. "Not so fast, friend Jack. I'd like a word with you."

"Anders?" Jack peered under the hood. "Please announce your presence next time with a Northman's drinking song or perhaps a wild war-whoop. You frightened me out of my wits, creeping up on me like that."

"Someone's looking for you, then?"

"My talents are widely sought. Failing that, so is my head. Back from Tantras already?"

Anders nodded. "A pair of bandits waylaid me, but I discouraged them from pressing an attack. They did manage to lame my horse by stringing a rope across the road, so I had to walk the poor beast the rest of way there and back."

Jack glanced around the busy docks, but no one seemed to be paying any special attention to the two of them. "And the ruby? How did you fare?"

Anders offered a gap-toothed grin and held up a small purse. "Better than expected. I fenced it for eight hundred and fifty gold crowns."

"Excellent! So my share would be four hundred and twenty-five, then."

"I think your recollection is faulty, friend Jack. We agreed on a sixty-forty split in my favor. To spare you the trouble of figuring it, I have already done so; it's five hundred ten for me, and three hundred forty for you."

Jack scowled. "That's hardly fair."

"You agreed to it. I don't consider it fair that I was hounded across the city by a ten-foot-tall demon and now seem to be held responsible for a robbery we committed together while you walk about free and clear." Anders dropped the purse into Jack's hands. "Your share. Count it if you like."

"Later," Jack replied. "Regarding those bandits: by discourage, do you mean chased off or discouraged in a more permanent manner?"

"Chased off, I'm afraid, although one will walk with a limp for the rest of his days.'' Anders frowned and looked down at Jack. "You didn't hire someone to waylay me, did you, Jack?"

"No, of course not," the rogue said quickly, holding up his hands. "It's very bad business to betray one's partners, after all. Word gets out, and then no one wants to work with you." He could see that the Northman was not entirely convinced, which stung Jack to no small degree. Making a show of another glance around the wharves, he reached up to put his arm around Anders's shoulder and said in a low voice, "I consider you to be one of the most trustworthy cutthroats I know. And, since I know that you feel that I have been less than forthright in my dealings with you of late, I earnestly desire the opportunity to win back some of your trust. What would you say if I told you I had another prospect that could prove very, very promising?"

Anders regarded him suspiciously. "Such as?"

"The opportunity to loot one of the most famous of Sarbreen's hidden vaults? A potential king's ransom, waiting just beneath our feet?"

"And the opposition?"

"Not opposition per se, but rather rivals seeking to beat us to the prize."

"Based upon my previous associations with you, I interpret those statements to mean that you've learned of a hitherto unnoticed pile of dwarven coppers for which we must strive against an army of angry demons conjured by ill-tempered Thayvians."

"Nothing quite so bad as that. And we have an advantage; the competition doesn't know that what we intend or what we know."

Chewing his mustache thoughtfully, the Northman watched the longshoremen and sailors thronging the wharves, hard at work. "What's the prize again?"

"The Guilder's Vault, a crypt in which the masters of ancient Sarbreen entombed Cedrizarun, the master distiller and a leader of the city." Anders appeared to waver so Jack decided to set the hook. "Come with me, and I'm sure Tharzon can answer your questions."

"The dwarf tunneler? Are you cutting him in, too?"

"The very same. And yes, I intend to take him on as an equal partner. Can you think of anyone more knowledgeable in the ways of Sarbreen's passages and vaults?"

The Northman shook his head. "No, Tharzon would probably know more than anyone. Very well, I admit that I'm interested."

"Follow me, then," Jack said and set off at once.

The two rogues hurried up Cove Street and took a left on Nightlamp, following the road to DeVillars Ride and turning right again. Two blocks brought them to Rhabie Promenade, and then they turned left again onto Manycoins Way and followed that road the length of the Temple District, through the Market District, and on into the neighborhood of Torchtown. Hidden in the back alley off of Vesper Way they found the Smoke Wyrm, a small taphouse in the solid stone cellars under a merchant's office. The place was favored by many of the dwarf craftsmen who lived and worked in Torchtown, and featured some of the best beer in the city.

In the middle of the day, the place was virtually empty; no self-respecting dwarf would consider drinking when there was work to be done. The only occupants were a couple of Sembians engaged in hard drinking despite the hour, and a sturdy dwarf barkeep-Tharzon.

"Jack Ravenwild," the dwarf rumbled. "I hold you responsible for a lack of sleep of late. That puzzle you gave me has me tied in knots. Anders Aricssen, good to see you again."

"I had hoped that you might have solved my riddle by now," Jack said. "Draw us two mugs of Old Smokey, friend Tharzon; we've much to discuss."

Tharzon eyed him balefully but complied, filling a pair of clay mugs from one of the numerous casks behind the bar. He set it on the worn wooden bar but didn't slide it toward Jack until the rogue rolled his eyes and set a silver talon on the table. Jack blew the foam off the draft and took a cautious sip; Old Smokey was good dwarf-work, and it would fuddle a man's wits in two mugs, if not one.

"Did you have any luck at all with it?" Jack asked.

"Some," Tharzon admitted. He nodded at Anders with a look at Jack, but Jack waved him on. With a shrug, the dwarf reached into his leather apron and pulled out a folded piece of paper, carefully unfurling it with his thick fingers. "I won't know whether I've solved it or not until I stand in the Guilder's Tomb. Here it is again:

"Other hands must take up my work

Other eyes my works behold

At the center of all the thirty-seventh

Girdled by the leaves of autumn

Mark carefully the summer staircase and climb it clockwise thrice

Order emerges from chaos; the answer made clear."

"A rather obtuse riddle," Anders remarked.

"Hmmph. Well, whoever translated this from Dwarven missed a couple of words. Instead of 'girdled,' it means 'encircled,' and instead of 'the leaves of autumn,' it could be read, these leaves of autumn."' The dwarf shook his head. "And where it says 'mark,' you should probably think of it as 'measure.' Hasty work, poorly done."

"Interesting," Jack said. "I don't see that it changes the meaning much."

"No, but you never know what might be significant. Clearly this is a set of instructions for finding the entrance of the vault. Missing even one word might mean that you never find it."

"It seems to me, friend Tharzon, that understanding this puzzle depends on understanding three things: the thirty-seventh, these leaves of autumn, and the summer staircase. I suppose you could add climbing the staircase to that list." Jack took another sip and offered a foamy leer. "Fortunately, I have already divined the meaning of the thirty-seventh."

Tharzon leaned forward, his thick arms planted on the bar. He actually stood on a short runner behind the counter, raising him to Jack's height. "I hate guessing games, Jack. Just tell us."

"The thirty-seventh refers to a superior brandy, the Maidenfire Gold of the year 637 (Dale Reckoning) distilled by Cedrizarun. He was, of course, the master distiller of old Sarbreen. It is supposed to be the most noble spirit ever crafted east of the sea."

"That would be more than seven centuries old," Anders rumbled. "I am sure it was very fine in its day, but none can possibly survive any longer."

"Don't be so sure," Tharzon said. "A human lifetime burns brightly and gutters out in less than a hundred years, but my folk sometimes live to see their fourth century. We contemplate works requiring decades, even centuries, that humans would call impossible. I have seen dwarven spirits two or three centuries old; the Master Distiller might easily have crafted a spirit that might pass decades like a human-wrought brandy would pass years." His eyes grew dark and thoughtful as the dwarf contemplated the notion. "But where would you find such a thing? And how much would it cost? A single bottle might bring a thousand gold crowns-two thousand gold crowns-in the heart of a dwarven kingdom. I cannot imagine where else you would find it."

"I know someone who has a bottle," Jack said. "For the moment, let us assume that we can borrow it when we need it. Why would a seven hundred year old bottle of brandy be at the center of all? What can it mean to this riddle?"

"Where was the inscription found?" Tharzon asked.

"My acquaintance with the expensive taste in liquor took the whole design on this parchment as a rubbing from Cedrizarun's tomb. No, I don't know exactly where that lies yet; again, let's assume that we will be able to gain that knowledge when we need it."

"That is twice now you have assumed that a very difficult obstacle to your plan will be easily overcome," Anders pointed out. "I am not reassured."

"Friend Anders, the boldest plans and the loftiest designs demand a mind that is capable of spanning insuperable difficulties to apprehend the most fantastic rewards." Jack indulged himself in another draught of the ale. "An impossibly rich prize is, by its nature, impossible to obtain, so therefore the prize that is almost impossibly rich is therefore almost impossibly difficult. And if something is almost impossible, well, that means that it is really possible but simply damned hard. Let us not turn away from a wondrous prize until we are certain that it is truly impossible to attain."

Tharzon laughed in a low voice. "No one doubts the excessive reach of your ambitions, Jack. It is the length of your grasp that is in question." The dwarf paused to draw himself a mug of Old Smokey. "This riddle is inscribed on Cedrizarun's tomb. The vault in which his funerary wealth is interred will be located somewhere near that spot, concealed by the most cunning secret entrance the master masons of old Sarbreen could devise. This riddle must tell you how to find and open the secret door."

"Are you certain that Cedrizarun did not intend a good jest at the expense of future tomb robbers?" Anders said. "How do you know that this has anything to do with a vault? For all we know, this is simply his favorite beer recipe, encoded for future brewmasters."

"I have spent almost fifty years learning all that I can about Sarbreen's old wealth and the disposal thereof," Tharzon said. "Trust me; the Guilder's Vault exists, despite the fact that it has never been found. Cedrizarun could not be certain that his descendants would retain the secret of his vault's entrance over the years, so he created the riddle as a clue in the event the knowledge was forgotten."

"Yes, but why leave any hints at all? Why leave an entrance to the vault, if it was simply designed to hold the wealth that Cedrizarun chose to take to the grave?" Anders wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Forgive me for saying so, Tharzon, but everyone knows that dwarves despise grave robbers. Why leave potential thieves any kind of a chance at all?"

Tharzon's eyes glittered-he'd made quite a handsome living by looting the crypts of his forefathers, even though he viewed it as restoring the glories of lost Sarbreen to their place in the light-but he held his temper. "Because Cedrizarun would want his sons, and their sons, and their sons after them to one day be buried at his side. His body doesn't lie under the stone or slab this inscription was found on; it lies inside the vault itself, with other places prepared for those who would one day join him there. That is why they would leave a door, Anders Aricssen."

"Back to the riddle," Jack said. "What of these leaves of autumn? Does that make any sense?"

Tharzon shrugged. "No, not to me. I have been-"

"What about these?" Anders reached over and pulled the parchment toward him. "The dwarf-runes are all carved here, in the center of the stone, but there's a border around the inscription. Grape leaves, perhaps? Could the inscription refer to the border around the words?"

Tharzon frowned and pulled the parchment back, looking at it more carefully. "I think you are right. Look, in the leaves-see how strangely the vines and the veins are worked? There are runes hidden in the border!" He studied them furiously for several minutes, ignorant of the fact that the Sembians in the other corner demanded more ale. The dwarf didn't even object when Anders got up and threw out the two merchants, barring the door behind them. After a long time, the dwarf rubbed his eyes and looked up. "Damn it. They mean nothing. Pieces of letters and words, but nothing complete, all of it jumbled together."

"But it was deliberate?" Jack asked. "Not a coincidence of design?"

"The carver worked hard to put them in and conceal them," Tharzon admitted, "but they don't make sense! It's gibberish!"

Jack put his chin in his hand and thought hard, staring at the riddle. "What if," he said slowly, "these fractional runes align somehow when you encircle them around something? Say, a particular bottle of brandy?"

"Hard to imagine wrapping a stone marker around a bottle," Anders remarked.

"Yes, it is," Jack agreed. He picked up the rubbing parchment and looked at it. "But not so hard to imagine wrapping a piece of paper on which the design has copied around a bottle, is it?"

Tharzon stared at him. Then he seized an empty mug from behind the bar and set it on the counter. "Go on," he said. "Try it."

Jack took the parchment and wrapped it around the mug. He quickly discovered that the parchment simply covered itself up on multiple windings without revealing anything in the border marks. But if he angled the parchment, he created bands in which the border overlapped with the border of the layer underneath. And some of the marks might line up to make whole runes… if he knew just how big the bottle was supposed to be, and how sharply the border strip should incline on its circuit of the bottle.

"I think," he said, "that we need the bottle now."

Zandria's home was a strong lodge of stone and timber nestled in a quiet alley of Swordspoint. Once the building had been a woodcarver's shop, with a large workshop in the stone-walled lower floor and a set of small apartments for the craftsman's family in the wooden floors above. Finding Zandria had been harder than Jack had expected. Raven's Bluff was a city that teemed with adventurers, so asking after adventurers took some time. But persistence, silver, and a little luck brought him the address he sought.

And so on the next morning he found himself in front of the old woodcarver's house, now converted into a small fortress and stronghold for Zandria and the band of monster slayers, dungeon delvers, tyrant topplers, and peasant protectors who followed her.

"Illyth would give her eyeteeth to listen to the tales you'd tell," Jack said to the building. "Noble deeds, daring exploits, glorious battles, and grisly death. What more could a girl ask for?"

He laughed aloud and bounced up to the door, guarded by a whitewashed shield and scarlet falcon emblem hung over the lintel. It stood open to the old woodcarver's workshop; Jack knocked once on the doorframe and stepped inside. "Hello?" he called. "Is Zandria here?"

Two men worked inside, stoking a fire at the center of an improvised armorer's shop. Several chain mail shirts rested on thick wooden mannequins along the wall, four suits of full plate armor stood mounted on the opposite wall, and dozens of helms, greaves, vambraces, pauldrons, epaulets, and all the other pieces that went into a fine suit of field armor lay scattered about. Both fellows turned as Jack walked in-tall, powerfully built fellows dressed in smiths' aprons and marked here and there by various scars, tattoos, nicks, and scrapes. Freebooter swordsmen, Jack decided, now tending to their battered gear.

"Who wants to know?"

"I am a messenger in the service of Ontrodes the sage."

The two swordsmen exchanged glances. One shrugged and wiped his hands on his apron. "Up the stairs. After you, of course."

Jack bowed and trotted up the stairs to the upper floor. He emerged in a large common room, dominated by a vast oak table with eight chairs. Trophies and banners decorated the walls-orc battle flags, old Sembian tapestries, Vaasan shields and swords. At one end of the table sat Zandria, surrounded by dozens of texts and manuscripts.

"Brunn, I told you I was not to be disturbed!" she snapped without looking up. Then she did look up, and her face grew livid as her eyes fell on Jack. "Incredible. Your nerve simply defies belief. Do you want me to burn you to a husk of smoldering ash? Do you have some unnatural desire to meet your death this very instant?"

"Against my better judgment, I have decided to give you the opportunity to contract my services as guide, advisor, and confidant," Jack said. He pulled up a chair at the opposite end of the table and poured himself a goblet of watered wine from a silver ewer service. "I will now entertain your solicitations for my assistance."

"Zandria, should I throw him out?" the swordsman-Brunn-asked. He moved into a menacing position directly behind Jack..

"No. Beat him within an inch of his life, and then throw him out."

Brunn's hand came down on Jack's shoulder, and the powerful fighter started to haul the rogue out of the chair. "Nothing personal," he grunted. Pinning Jack with his iron grip, he drew back his other hand to begin the pummeling.

"I've solved Cedrizarun's riddle," Jack said conversationally. He tried not to shrink from the impending blow. "And I know how to find the Guilder's Tomb."

Brunn furrowed his brow. He had a heavy jaw and a flat, square face that might have looked dull-witted except for the keen alertness in his hard blue eyes. "Zandria, you've been trying to make heads or tails of Cedrizarun's riddle for weeks now. He says he can help. What's the harm of hearing him out?"

"You don't know him like I do," she snapped.

"So? Who is he, anyway?"

Zandria just crossed her arms. Brunn shrugged and turned to Jack. "Fine. So who are you, anyway?"

"I am Jack Ravenwild. I am an adventurer like yourself, although I am currently between companies. I have some learning, some skill at difficult places, and some magic." He carefully extricated himself from Brunn's grasp and fished out the copy of the tomb inscription from his belt. He held it up so that the swordsman could see it. "I'll tell you how to read this if you consent to my presence on your upcoming expedition and agree to cut me in for a fair share of the Guilder's loot."

"That's it," the mage growled. She stepped around the table and stalked up to Jack, murder in her eyes. "There is no arrangement, no employment, no consulting fees. We want nothing to do with you, do you understand me? Now get out of here before I flay the skin from your worthless carcass!"

Jack flinched from her vitriol. He stood in silence for a good minute, weighing her words. Then he nodded slowly. "Very well. I shall not trouble you with my presence again, my lady." He rolled up the parchment and stuck it through his belt. "If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with the mage Skellar the Unjust, of the Company of the Dead Troll. Perhaps he'll be interested-"

"Stop right there," Zandria whispered in a deadly voice. "You will not show that parchment to anyone else."

"Then allow me to show it to you," Jack replied. "Bring me your bottle of Maidenfire Gold."

"That brandy is worth a thousand gold crowns," Zandria replied. "I am not going to let your larcenous hands get within ten feet of it."

"Then you might as well cut my throat right now!" Jack roared. " 'At the center of all the thirty-seventh!' Do you want to know what that means or not?"

The mage eyed him coldly. Thinking, then she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, returning a moment later with the ancient bottle, almost black with age. She set it on the table in front of him without another word.

Jack took the parchment and spread it flat beside the bottle. "See this exquisite border work? Leaves, vines, a curiously undwarven design? Why do you suppose it is there?"

Behind him, the swordsman shrugged. "Cedrizarun was a distiller and vintner," he said. "Not all dwarves work in stone and steel."

Jack took the sheet of paper on which he'd copied the rubbing and turned back to the bottle. " 'At the center of all the thirty-seventh, encircled by these leaves of autumn."' He looked carefully at the bottle; it was spun glass that had been shaped while warm, pressed and sculpted with a relief showing dimly a field or farmland. The same design was repeated four times around the bottle's circumference-the field under winter snow, spring plowing, summer with high waves of grain, and autumn reaping. The sun shone down over each scene. " 'Mark carefully the summer staircase."

Using the sun over the summer scene as his starting point, Jack wrapped the parchment clockwise around the bottle. The distance that the sun stood over the field he used as the rise of the winding.

The inscription fit exactly three times in circumference. And it inclined just enough that the bottom border overlapped itself, revealing a faint line of dwarf-runes concealed amid the leaf design. "Bring me some sealing wax," Jack said softly, holding the parchment in his hands. Zandria stirred and retrieved a block of red wax from her work desk, muttering a small cantrip to soften it. "Now adhere the sheet to itself at just this position. I will hold it steady." The mage did so, frowning in concentration as she worked around Jack's hands.

Gingerly, Jack released his grip and stepped back, leaving the bottle standing on the table in its parchment wrapping. He bent low to study the runes without touching or displacing them, Zandria's face just beside his.

"Another message," she breathed in wonder. "Ten paces south. Speak 'kharaz-urzu.' Raise the sevenstone."

Jack stood up straight and grinned in delight. "Shall we discuss terms?" he said.