Twilight Falling

CHAPTER 8

Vraggen had been attempting to track the other half of the globe all morning without success. He knew that neither it nor Cale was still in Stormweather Towers. Yet he had heard nothing from Elura, who was supposed to be watching the mansion. His greatest concern was that Cale had simply fled the city with the globe. The fact that his spells had been unable to locate the half-globe heightened that concern. Either Cale had warded it, Beshaba had afflicted Vraggen with exceeding bad luck,or Cale was gone. If the last, tracking him would be difficult and time consuming. Vraggen didn't have that much time. The Fane of Shadows would appear soon. He could sense it.

Once again, he closed his eyes, cast his spell and focused his consciousness. In his mind's eye, he pictured the other half of the globe. He spell diffused his perception, extended it a few hundred paces in all directions around him, through walls, seeking, seeking…

There. Praise Cyric! He sensed the globe!

His glee almost broke his concentration. He could not stop himself from smiling.

He narrowed the location. It was not far. Right, then maybe a block or two up-

"No!"

He lost contact with the globe. Countermagic sheared off his spell-enhanced perception as cleanly as a vorpal blade through flesh. Cale must have enspelled the other half of the globe. But Vraggen knew enough. He let his concentration slip.

Around him, the sound of the street returned and filled his ears: the clop of horse hooves, the clatter of carriages, the shouts of vendors. He opened his eyes.

"What is it?" Azriim asked.

The half-drow stood beside him, resplendent in a fine-fitting green cloak, polished boots, and tailored shirt. Immediately behind him stood hulking Dolgan and quiet Serrin. Dolgan wore his axes and ring mail. Serrin's leather armor peeked out from under his cloak, and his hand sat on the hilt of his falchion.

Vraggen tried to keep the frustration out of his voice when he said, "I had it for a moment. It's close."

"How close?" Azriim asked. His mismatched eyes looked grim.

"Close."

They stood to one side of Wide Way, one of the main thoroughfares in the Foreign District. The crowd of passersby flowed around and past them at a marked distance. Serrin and Dolgan eyed each as they passed, the way raptors might eye doves. Both men looked ready to gut anyone who looked at them askance. Of course, no one did. Dolgan was too big, and Serrin too sinister. Vraggen's men were eager, ready. He needed to give them their prey. They looked to him for orders.

"The other half of the globe is nearby. A block or two up and to the right. It's probably in Cale's possession. Keep your eyes open. If he's on the street, he shouldn't be hard to spot."

Both nodded and started heading up the street.

"Wait," Vraggen ordered.

They stopped and turned to look back at him. Both had an eager gleam in his eyes. Both wanted another chance at Cale. Vraggen knew their failure at Stormweather had tweaked their professional pride.

"Azriim and I will follow. If you spot him, and he can be killed without risk to the globe, you may do so. Otherwise, we negotiate."

Dolgan gave a hard grin at that and said, "Negotiate … right."

Serrin only nodded, still gripping his falchion.

They turned and hurried up the street. Azriim and Vraggen trailed several paces behind, scanning the crowd. Cale, tall and bald, would be easy to spot if he wasn't in disguise.

"They want to kill him," Azriim observed with a grin.

"Of course they do," Vraggen agreed. "Hold a moment."

He took out a small glob of gum tree sap from a belt pouch and incanted a spell that rendered both he and Azriim invisible. Some nearby passersby exclaimed at the sudden vanishing of two men from the street but Vraggen didn't care.

"Stay close," he said to Azriim. "The spell only operates close to me."

"Nicely done," Azriim's disembodied voice said.

Vraggen gave a tight smile. He would soon have his globe.

Cale, Riven, and Jak exited the Lizard and hit the street. The three spaced themselves a few paces apart and moved quickly through the crowd. Jak led, and with his small frame darted deftly through the sea of colorfully dressed pedestrians, wagons, and carriages. Cale, however, could not avoid the occasional bump or jostle from the throng. He eyed everyone with suspicion, alert to the street around him, to the rooftops, the alleyways. A few paces behind and to his right, Riven did the same, thumbs hooked on his belt, near his saber hilts. While Cale took some comfort from the fact that the half-sphere again was warded, he was not foolish enough to think that made them safe from attack.

Jak had told them that his contact, an eccentric loremaster of Oghma, lived alone across town on the outskirts of the Temple District. With luck, they could get there within half an hour.

Staying on the main thoroughfares, they made rapid progress. As was typical for Selgaunt, morning traffic crowded the streets. Booth vendors, peddlers, noble carriages, farmers' wagons, adventurers, and merchants all moved along and tended to their business. Cale actually welcomed the passing horse patrols of black-armored Scepters.

Out of habit, Cale occasionally shot an unobtrusive glance behind to check for tails. At first, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, but after a time, he began to suspect that they were being followed. Block after block he saw one or the other of two men-one small, one large-on one or the other side of the street. They avoided eye contact, but that avoidance was a bit too affected. They were good, but Cale was better. He took a few quick steps nearer to Jak so that the halfling could hear him.

"Trouble, Jak."

The halfling didn't turn around but nodded once. Surreptitiously, he signaled in handcant, I know.

Cale let the crowd pull him back a few strides, slowly, so as not to alert their tails.

He drifted near to Riven, and asked, "You see them?"

"Saw them, you mean? They picked us up a few blocks back. Two men. Big one on our side of the street, smaller man on the other side. They switch every block or so." Riven casually loosed his sabers in their scabbards, one then the other, and asked, "How do you want to handle it?"

Cale thought about it. They had marked two men, but likely there were more they hadn't seen. Sooner or later, the tails would make a move. They could be setting up an ambush ahead. Cale made his decision. He would force them to act. If he was to fight, it would be on his terms.

"We fight," he said to Riven. He called up to Jak in the halfling's native tongue, "Find a spot to make a stand, little man."

Jak nodded, and began scanning the side streets for an unoccupied alley.

To Riven, Cale said, "I suspect there's more of them we don't see."

"Probably," Riven agreed.

Casually, Cale loosened his blade in its scabbard.

"At least one needs to live," he said. "We'll need him to find out where they're holding Ren."

Riven, his mouth an emotionless line, gave a single nod and said, "Only one needs to live. And I'll question him. Well enough?"

Cale knew what Riven meant by "question."

"We'll question him together," said Cale, "but otherwise, well enough."

"They could just be hired muscle," Riven said, "or street thugs."

"Could be," Cale agreed, "but I'm skeptical of coincidences. Too much skill for muscle too."

"Agreed," said Riven.

They picked up their stride a bit to move them closer to Jak. Trying not to be obvious, they communicated the rudiments of a plan.

Jak said to Cale out of the side of his mouth, "Up ahead. Narrow street on the right, just after the warehouse."

Cale saw it. Between two two-story warehouses ran a narrow dirt packed alley. They wouldn't have to cross the street to get to it. Good.

"I see it," Cale said.

"I've got it, too," said Riven. "Narrow. That's thinking, Fleet. That big whoreson's going to have trouble managing an axe in there."

Jak smiled crookedly, obviously surprised at Riven's praise.

He shook his head and said to Cale, "I go invisible the moment I turn the corner."

Cale nodded and said to Riven, "You come in last and draw them into the alley. Take the first man. I'll take the second. I've got a potion. I'll go invisible too. Jak, you make sure to put down anyone else who shows. Otherwise, help where it's needed."

Riven sneered, "I won't need any help, Cale."

Cale didn't expect to need help either, but he believed in being prudent.

"At least one needs to live," Cale reminded them both.

Jak nodded. Riven did not.

They headed for the alley. As they walked, they spaced themselves out a bit-Jak, then Cale, then Riven. Cale saw that Jak, in anticipation of casting, already held his holy symbol pendant in his hand. Cale reached into a belt pouch and palmed his potion. With his other hand he clutched his own holy symbol and whispered a prayer that would give them Mask's blessing in the combat.

Jak reached the alley first. He turned down it as though that was what he had intended all along. He was already invisible by the time Cale, only several paces behind him, turned into the alley.

"I'm on the right, just inside the alley, against the wall," said Jak's voice.

Cale nodded and walked past.

"Stinks," Jak said, and he giggled.

Cale imagined Jak pinching his nose while waiting in ambush and smiled despite himself. The halfling had spoken the truth, though. The alley reeked of manure and rotting garbage. Perhaps three or four strides in width, it extended the length of the block, bounded on both sides by tall, crumbling brick walls. Shapeless piles of trash lay piled on the ground at intervals. Near the alley's far end, two stray mongrels pawed at one such pile. They seemed disinterested in Cale's arrival.

A few doors backed to the alley. The rear exits of shops, probably, but none were open.

With his thumb, Cale popped the wax seal on his potion vial and gulped it down. Immediately, his body began to tingle. He held out his hand and watched as it, along with the rest of him and his gear, faded from sight. Invisible, he backed against the wall on the side opposite that of Jak, maybe five paces into the alley. He drew his blade.

Riven turned into the alley.

"Here," Jak said, to let Riven know where he was.

"Here," said Cale.

Riven nodded as he passed each of them. Ten paces in, he turned, drew both blades, and waited. Down the alley the stray dogs gave a growl, startled, and ran away.

Several moments later-they must have taken time to pair up-the two pursuers entered the alley. Cale quickly appraised them. The smaller, swarthy-skinned man in leather looked to be an easterner. His precise movements, compact frame, and narrow face reminded Cale of Riven. A falchion hung from his belt. The other stood nearly as tall as Cale but was much heavier. He wore hand axes on his belt and a mammoth battle-axe across his back. With his thick nose and heavy-lidded eyes, he looked a bit like a stunted Ogre. Both stopped a stride into the alley when they saw Riven waiting for them. Cale figured Jak could probably reach out and touch both of them.

"Let's dance, prigs," challenged Riven.

The big man grinned and said, "Dance indeed."

His ring mail jangled as he unslung his axe.

The smaller frowned, looking around the alley as though for Cale and Jak, while he absently whipped free his falchion.

"Just us," said Riven, and he whirled his sabers. "Come on."

Riven beckoned them forward. The two spread out as much as the alley allowed and advanced on the assassin.

"Mind that axe, Dolgan," said the smaller.

Dolgan. When Cale heard the name, a red rush of anger flooded him. The man must have paid for healing. He showed no signs of the wounds Cale had given him.

Cale eyed the man's ribs and picked his spot-through the left lung and into the heart. Dolgan would not walk out of that alley.

As they closed on Riven, they unknowingly closed on Cale.

Cale tensed, waiting for the moment, but before he could act, the small easterner exploded into motion. He sped past Cale and lunged at Riven, blade low. Riven, though obviously surprised by the easterner's speed, managed a parry with one of his sabers, slid to his left, and loosed an overhand slash at the easterner's head. Sidestepping neatly, the easterner spun three hundred sixty degrees and slashed at Riven's thigh. Riven managed to jump backward, slamming himself into the wall.

Dolgan, still a few paces back, must have thought to take that opportunity to rush in. He bellowed and charged, axe held high for an overhand slash, the only swing possible for that axe in the narrow alley. Before he had taken two steps, Cale stepped in front of him, dropped to one knee and impaled him through the chest. He became visible the moment his long sword penetrated flesh.

Dolgan's bellow gave way to a scream of pain. His would-be charge served only to impale him on Cale's sword, nearly to the hilt. The blade slid between ribs and grated against bone before bursting from Dolgan's back.

The big man glared surprised rage at Cale. He opened a mouth flooding with crimson. He roared with pain and anger, soaking his beard in blood and spit, and tried as he began to die to bring his cumbersome axe to bear. Not possible. Cale was too close in, and Dolgan already too weak. When the big man attempted to shorten up on the haft, the weapon fell from his grasp.

Cale stared coldly into Dolgan's dull eyes and twisted his blade half a turn before jerking it free.

That's for the guards, whoreson, he thought and hoped that Dolgan too could read his mind.

Dolgan's eyes rolled. He staggered, fell to his knees, bleeding, coughing, and. . grinning? Cale controlled the disgust that rushed up his throat and smashed the hilt of his sword into Dolgan's temple. He groaned and crashed to the street. Cale turned around to help Riven with the easterner.

"That one lives, Riven," he said, because Dolgan certainly would not.

The little easterner responded quickly to Cale's sudden appearance. He maneuvered himself against the alley wall so that he could face both Riven and Cale without exposing his back.

Not waiting for Cale, Riven lunged forward and unleashed a flurry of slashes. Preternaturally quick, the little easterner danced left, ducked below a cross slash, and stabbed low with his falchion. The blow nicked Riven's forearm near the elbow. The assassin grunted, slashed high, and managed to open a slit in the easterner's shoulder.

Cale started to rush in on the easterner's blade side, his own sword gripped in both hands, when a voice from behind cut through the melee like a razor.

"Cease now or the halfling dies!"

Cale stopped in mid-stride, blade held before him. Riven and the easterner, not more than a pace and a half apart, stopped too but kept blades at the ready. All eyes turned to the speaker.

The half-drow and Vraggen stood at the mouth of the alley. The half-drow, smiling and dressed in a flamboyant green silk shirt and cloak, held Jak by a handful of his red hair. With his other hand, he held a long sword at the halfling's throat.

"I don't know how they saw me, Cale," said the halfling.

"There are many things you don't know," Azriim said, and he gave a hard smile. "Now, speak again and you die."

Jak bit his lip and said nothing.

Beside the half-drow, dressed in a gray cloak and skullcap, stood the dark-eyed wizard. He held an iron wand in his left hand.

For a moment, everyone simply stared at everyone else. The only sound in the alley was that of the combatants' respiration and Dolgan's gurgling. Cale glanced down at Dolgan in contempt. He was surprised the man was still alive.

Vraggen broke the silence. "The globe," he said, his voice a low hiss.

Cale made eye contact with Jak. With his eyes, the halfling indicated his hand, then signaled in handcant, I'm ready.

Cale understood.

"The globe," Vraggen repeated. "Or your friend dies right now. Followed by your other friend …"

Riven scoffed at that.

"… followed by you."

"It's gone," Cale said. "I destroyed it."

He could think of no better lie on short notice.

The wizard sighed with impatience and said, "A lie. Azriim."

The half-drow jerked Jak's head back to expose his throat. The halfling grunted. His fists clenched. The half-drow's-Azriim's-forearm tensed.

Decide quickly, Cale, said Azriim's voice in his head.

"It's in my pack," said Cale, low and dangerous.

Azriim stayed his hand and looked to Vraggen.

"Of course it is," said the wizard with a smug smile. He tapped his wand in his palm.

"Here," said Cale as he slowly unslung his bag, catching Jak's eye as he did, and he fished out the burlap sack containing the half-sphere.

The wizard's eyes blazed as Cale peeled back the cloth to unveil the half-globe. The half-drow gave a satisfied smile. For a moment, Azriim's sword arm relaxed. Cale saw the tendons slacken.

Jak burst into action.

In a single motion, the halfling grabbed the half-drow's blade with his left hand-grimacing as it sliced open his palm-and held it at bay while he lifted his foot slightly, drew a small punch dagger from a boot sheath with his right hand, and used a reverse strike to stab the half-drow in the thigh. Azriim howled and clutched at the wound with his free hand. Jak ducked under the half-drow's attempt to muscle his sword into the halfling's jugular and tumbled away, leaving Azriim holding nothing more than a clump of his hair. Jak regained his feet in an instant and brandished the dagger.

Pressing his bleeding hand against his thigh, he said, "C'mon, you drow bastard!"

Azriim's mismatched eyes burned. Ignoring the bleeding thigh wound, he brandished his blade and advanced on Jak. The halfling, hugging the opposite wall of the alley, backed off toward Cale.

Cale started to step to Jak's aid but stopped. He didn't want leave the sphere unguarded.

Just behind Cale, the easterner unleashed slash after slash at Riven. Riven parried his blows and answered with his own sabre cuts. Their exchange brought them both within arm's reach of Cale, who stood over the sphere, looking this way and that. In the meantime, the wizard leveled his wand.

Things were going bad fast. Cale stopped the combat the only way he could. Gripping his blade in both hands, he held it over the half-sphere. Shadows danced in the air between the half-sphere and the steel.

"Stop, or I'll destroy it right now!"

He raised the blade, and for a heartbeat, all motion in the alley stopped. Vraggen's eyes went wide. He continued to point his wand at Cale but held up his other hand, palm outward.

"Do not," he said, as though he was in a position to give orders. "Do not, Cale."

Jak took advantage of the pause in the combat to back farther away from the half-drow and nearer to Cale. Azriim eyed him throughout.

"This is the blade that split it in half, mage," Cale said. "I'll turn it to shards this time."

"I'll kill you slowly if you do," Vraggen said.

Cale heard the worry behind the mage's bravado. Vraggen wanted the half-sphere badly.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I'll split you groin to gullet. Either way, you'll not have what you want."

Vraggen's jaw tightened. His fingers whitened around the wand. A halo of shadows swirled around his head. Cale could fairly see his mind churning.

"Destroy the globe and the guard from Stormweather Towers will die. Painfully, I promise you. Will you be able to live with the knowledge that you caused him so much pain?"

The mage spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that Cale knew the threat to be no bluff. Azriim looked to Cale and chuckled.

Cale would have torn out his tongue if he could have. From behind, Riven, breathing heavily, said, "Bugger these whoresons, Cale. Do it."

He lunged at the easterner-a bluff designed to elicit a start. The easterner didn't move a muscle, merely eyed him coolly.

"Quiet your dog, Cale," said Vraggen, his eyes still on Cale's sword.

Riven said nothing but Cale could imagine the hateful sneer he shot the mage.

Cale reached a decision quickly. The mage was right. He would not be able to live with himself if he brought harm to Ren. That left only one course: he would arrange for the trade he had anticipated all along. But he wanted to know what the sphere was before he turned it over-if he turned it over.

"This," Cale said, and lightly tapped the half-sphere with his sword, an act that elicited a wince from Vraggen, "for the guard. Two days from now, at the eighth hour, at the Twisted Elm north of the High Bridge."

A common location for meetings, the Twisted Elm was a well known landmark along the north road, not far out of Selgaunt and surrounded by an expanse of flat plain. It would be easy to avoid an ambush there. Rumors said the Elm's roots craved blood; Cale suspected the rumors had their origin in meetings gone bad. A lot of blood had been spilled under the Elm's eaves.

Vraggen's brow furrowed. He fiddled with the wand, as though trying to decide if he could use it on Cale before Cale could strike the half-sphere.

"You are not in a position to be requesting terms, Erevis Cale," he said at last.

Cale knew he had the advantage then. He almost smiled … almost.

"I'm not requesting anything, mage. I'm telling you how this is going to unfold. You want this half of the sphere much more than I want the guard safely returned."

That was a lie, but Vraggen wouldn't know it.

"If that was true, you'd have destroyed it already. Do you take me for a fool, Cale?"

"Try me then," Cale challenged and again raised his blade.

For a moment, Vraggen said nothing, but Cale could see his mind racing behind his emotionless eyes, could almost hear him grinding his teeth.

"Two days hence, then," Vraggen managed to say without anger.

Cale allowed himself to exhale.

Indicating Azriim and the easterner, he said, "And if I catch sight of these errand boys in the meantime, I destroy my half on the spot. Then I come for you."

At that, Vraggen gave a tight smile. Azriim too grinned broadly, and Cale saw that he had perfect teeth. From behind and just to Cale's right, the easterner spat a glob onto Cale's boot.

Cale looked at it, looked at the easterner …

Quick as an adder, Cale lashed out with his right hand, grabbed the easterner by the cloak, and jerked him in close before he could bring his falchion to bear.

"Next time those are teeth you're spitting," he said, and he shoved the man, stumbling, past Jak and toward the mage.

The easterner quickly recovered his balance, if not his dignity. He whirled around and started to advance on Cale, snarling. Vraggen reached out a hand and held him back. The man stared hate at Cale.

It was Riven's turn to chuckle.

"Leave," ordered Cale. "We're operating on my terms now, and this little party is over."

"For now," Azriim said, and his smile disappeared.

With exaggerated care, Vraggen replaced the wand into the folds of his cloak.

"We shall do this your way for now, Erevis Cale," the mage said, "but before we part, let me leave you with a reminder of the price the guard will pay if you do not turn the remainder of the globe over to me."

He nodded to Azriim and the half-drow's grin returned.

You will love this, said his voice in Cale's head.

Slowly, so as not to give alarm, Azriim reached into an inner pocket of his cloak and withdrew something wrapped in a silken handkerchief. Cale's stomach churned.

When Azriim unveiled the severed fingers that lay within, the half-drow's grin widened. He cast them to the road, near Cale's feet. The easterner smirked, though his gray eyes remained hard. Vraggen showed no emotion but his cloak pin, shaped like a jawless skull, seemed to leer.

"Those are three of his fingers, Cale," the mage said. "Next time, it shall be his tongue. After that, only Savras can say. But you should know that I can maintain his life for some time even while removing substantial amounts of flesh, which I will do, if necessary. And after that, I will come for you." Vraggen fixed his gaze on Cale. "Do not trifle with me, Cale. Is it clear to you that I am in earnest?"

It was, but Cale would not give the bastard the satisfaction of an acknowledgement.

"You were leaving, I believe," said Cale.

Vraggen looked past Cale to Riven and said, "You could join me, Drasek. We were both Zhents once, allies even. I could use you now, and I can pay you well."

Riven sneered, "You couldn't pay me enough. Self-important dolts like you are the reason I left the Network in the first place."

Vraggen's eyes went hard. His lips twisted into a contemptuous smile.

"I frightened you the last time we met, did I not, Riven? Probably left you teary eyed in the street, bawling like a babe. Next time you won't come back from that place."

Riven started toward the wizard and said, "Frighten? Let me show you how frightened-"

Cale grabbed Riven's cloak and stopped the assassin's advance. Riven didn't take his eye off the wizard.

"Take your hand off me, Cale."

Cale could feel the tension in the assassin's body.

"Not now, Riven." He shook him once, hard. "Not now. But that time will come."

Riven looked at him, let his body relax, then looked back to Vraggen.

"You're already dead, mage," the assassin said. "And you'll never see me coming. After this little bit with the sphere is over, you'd better sleep with one eye open."

Vraggen stared holes at them and said, "After this is over, I won't sleep at all."

Cale had no idea what that meant, but he'd had enough.

"Leave," he ordered.

Vraggen looked to Cale, smiled, and nodded at Riven.

"It is well that you can control your dog, Cale," he chuckled. "But, as you said, we were leaving. Azriim, gather up our dog and let us be on our way."

Cale thought Vraggen wanted Azriim to retrieve Dolgan's corpse, but to Cale's utter amazement, Dolgan was still alive. The big man's leg twitched. He gave a. wet groan. His armor and tunic were stained dark with enough blood to fill a well bucket but somehow he still breathed. Cale couldn't believe it. His blow would have felled an ogre.

"Trickster's hairy toes," Jak breathed, and he shrank away from the big man.

Azriim sheathed his blade, stepped forward without a hint of wariness-Cale or Jak could have stabbed him through the chest-and helped Dolgan to his feet. Inexplicably, the wounds Cale had dealt the big man had already stopped bleeding.

"Hurt?" Azriim asked him.

"Yes." Dolgan gave Cale a leer. Blood caked his teeth and mouth. "But it's a good hurt."

"Mind the clothes," Azriim said, and he held the big man at arm's length to keep Dolgan's bloodstained tunic away from his finery.

In that moment, Cale thought with certainty that Dolgan must be insane, or a worshiper of Loviatar, or perhaps both.

Azriim and Dolgan backed off-Azriim eyeing Jak darkly-until they stood beside Vraggen and the little easterner near the mouth of the alley. Jak slid nearer to Riven and Cale.

"Two days, Cale," Vraggen said. "For the guard's take, do not be late and do not attempt any trickery."

"You bring him to the Twisted Elm-intact-and you'll have your sphere, intact."

Vraggen nodded. Azriim gave a graceful bow.

"A pleasure, gentlemen," said the half-drow, "and I use that term casually. I'll look forward to our next meeting."

"As will I," said Cale, and promised violence with his gaze.

Riven pointed his swords at the easterner and added, "And if you step between me and your pet wizard again, maybe we'll have our dance after all, eh?"

The easterner said nothing, merely spat, sheathed his blade, and glared.

"Until then," Vraggen said, and he removed from his robes a teleportation rod similar to that used by the attackers in Stormweather Towers.

Each of the mage's team removed a similar rod. A few turns of the bronze devices and all but Azriim were gone.

The half-drow delayed a fraction of a heartbeat, and in that moment, his laughing voice sounded in Cale's head, What do you think of my new pants?

Then he too was gone. But for Dolgan's blood on the ground of the alley, the combat might never have occurred.

Cale, Riven, and Jak stared at one another in silence for a long moment.

After a time, Jak summed up all of their thinking.

"Dark," he cursed. "Dark and empty."

Cale agreed. Who were these bastards?

"Your hand," he said to Jak.

"Huh? Oh."

Jak sheathed his punch dagger, took out his holy symbol, and intoned a prayer to Brandobaris. The skin of his hand closed completely. He flexed it, seemed satisfied.

"Now I need a smoke," the halfling said. He took out his pipe and popped it in his mouth, though he didn't light it.

"You?" Cale asked Riven, and indicated the slash the assassin had taken on his forearm.

"It's shallow. Save the spell."

Cale didn't argue. The thought of using a healing spell on Riven made him uncomfortable anyway.

The assassin held the sleeve of his cloak against the wound and pressed hard to stop the bleeding.

"Let's get out of here," Cale said. "Nothing has changed. We still head for Jak's contact." He kneeled, repacked the half-sphere in his pack, and used a handkerchief-he habitually carried one; once a butler always a butler, he supposed-to pick up Ren's fingers. They would serve as Cale's talisman until he brought the young man back safely.

"Your sage is going to have two days," Cale said to Jak. "I want to know what this sphere is before the meet at the Twisted Elm." He looked at each of Riven and Jak in turn. "Whatever it is though, our priority remains getting Ren back safely. Agreed? He's just a boy, caught up in this by Beshaba's own ill luck."

"Agreed," said the halfling.

"Agreed," said Riven, managing to sound only a little reluctant.

Cale sheathed his blade.

"That doesn't mean we're giving Vraggen the sphere," he added. "That only means we're getting Ren back alive. Either way, we hunt them down and kill them all afterward. Agreed?"

Riven sheathed his sabers, smiled hard, and said, "Agreed."

Jak said in a softer tone, "Agreed. But…"

Cale looked at him and asked, "But?"

"Did you see how fast they healed, Cale?" Jak tapped the stem of his pipe on his chin the way he did when thinking hard. "Both the half-drow and the small one. And that big one with the axe? No one should have lived through that. Look at all the blood."

Cale looked to the pool of blood congealing on the cobbles of the alley-Dolgan's blood. He thought the same thing.

Riven spat. "So they're hearty whoresons. I've seen men like that before. Takes more to put 'em down, is all. But we saw that they bleed; they'll die."

"That's more than hearty," Jak said, shaking his head. He lowered his voice. "Those aren't mental mages. In fact, I… I don't think they're human."

"Dung," cursed Riven. "You're mad, Fleet. They're as much men as us."

Cale ignored Riven. He knew Riven lacked subtlety, in manners as well as thought, and he knew of the assassin's distaste for things magical. Riven would not consider the possibility that Vraggen and his team might be other than they appeared because he didn't want to consider it. Strange for a man who had gone so far in the Zhents, an organization rife with wizards.

To Cale though, Jak's point seemed well taken. All of Vraggen's crew had demonstrated a lack of concern with wounds. Nine Hells, Dolgan seemed to enjoy being wounded! And all had healed rapidly-too rapidly. Azriim and the woman had shown telepathic powers, and they had the ability to look like other men.

"Shapeshifters," Cale breathed. "Dark."

He'd heard of creatures who could take the form of men-doppelgangers and their ilk-but he'd never encountered any, though rumors to that effect had swirled around the Faceless One back in Westgate. No wonder then that their imitations of the house guards had been so perfect.

Jak nodded and popped his pipe in his mouth.

"That's what I was thinking," the halfling said.

He pulled out a tindertwig, struck it on the cobbles, and lit up.

"Dark," Cale oathed again.

Riven scoffed, but Cale heard the doubt in it.

"That makes it all the more important that we learn what this sphere really is," Cale said. "I want to know what in the Nine Hells is going on."

Vraggen's remark about not needing sleep seemed more ominous. What was the mage after?

Riven shifted from foot to foot, as though full of anxious energy. He still had not sheathed his blades.

"Then let's stop standing around in this damned alley and get to where we're going," said the assassin.

"Take us to this loremaster, little man," Cale agreed.

"All right, but. ." Jak said, pausing to blow out a cloud of smoke. "There's something else, Cale. Your sword. Did you see how it made some kind of connection with the sphere."

"I did," Cale said.

He could no longer deny that his blade's contact with the sphere had changed it somehow.

"So?" asked Riven.

Cale put his hand on the blade's hilt and said, "That's a question for later, not now."

For now, all he needed to know was that its edge could still draw blood.