Dissolution

When he reached the far edge, he discovered a rapier poised to skewer him in the vitals when he plunged off. The Godeep on the other end of the blade—the bolder of Tathlyn's two kinsmen—was quick, and he'd conceived a pretty good tactic.

Ryld's impetus was such that he probably wouldn't have been able to stop himself from hurtling right onto the Godeep's point. But he could whirl Splitter through a sweeping low-line parry. The greatsword clanked into the other male's lighter blade and snapped the last six inches off.

Ryld jumped down almost on top of the rapier fighter, so close it would require a moment to bring Splitter's blade to bear, a moment that the other Godeeps might turn to good advantage. Instead, the weapons master bashed the greatsword's heavy steel ball of a pommel into the center of the rapier-wielder's forehead. The impact thudded, and the male fell backward. Something clacked hard but harmlessly against Ryld's breastplate. He glanced down and saw that one of the spectators, someone who'd bet on his opponents, perhaps, had shot a hand crossbow at him—but the weapons master didn't have time to look for the culprit. He had to pivot to fend off his fellow swordsmen.

Predictably, Tathlyn was in the lead. Ryld cut at the weapons master's head, and his erstwhile student instantly backpedaled, retreating just far enough to avoid the stroke. He'd learned good footwork somewhere along the way, better than Ryld remembered. Slipping in and out of the distance, Tathlyn feinted and invited, putting on a show. Meanwhile, the other Godeep, the wary one, circled, trying to get behind Ryld.

The weapons master allowed the boy to creep part way round to his flank, then he sprang at Tathlyn and cut wildly, seemingly off-balance and overcommited to the attack. The other Godeep had Ryld's back, at a moment when the teacher looked entirely incapable of turning and defending. Reluctant or not, the boy couldn't pass up such an opportunity. He charged. Ryld whirled, bringing Splitter around in a sweeping horizontal stroke. The greatsword with its superior length struck one step before the Godeep would have initiated his own attack. Thanks to Ryld's deftness, the huge, preternaturally sharp blade merely gashed the boy's wrist instead of lopping off his hand. The petty noble dropped his broadsword, then had the bad judgment to reach for his dagger. The weapons master slashed his leg, tumbling him to the floor. Ryld knew that by spi

But its virtues alone couldn't save its master. Ryld feinted low to draw the red sword down, then cut high. Splitter sliced Tathlyn's brow, and blood poured into the Godeep weapons master's eyes. He reeled backward. Ryld could tell that none of his adversaries had any fight left in them. He turned once more, surveying the room. Whoever had shot him, the fellow had prudently put his hand crossbow away. «Nicely done,» said Pharaun, lounging, goblet in hand, by the bar. «How long have you been there?» Ryld replied, walking to retrieve his short sword. Its victim had pulled it free and left it on the floor. «You could have helped me.» «I was too busy wagering on you.» The wizard held out his purse, and grumbling losers dropped coins into it. «I knew you wouldn't need help against a couple drunks.»

Ryld grunted, wiped his weapons on a handy bar rag, and asked, «Do you want that red sword? It's a good weapon. Maybe a Godeep family heirloom.»

Pharaun gri

The Master of Sorcere sauntered up to Ryld, then spoke far more softly. «Are you about ready to go? I'd just as soon take my leave before Nym wanders downstairs.» Ryld wondered what mischief his friend had committed. «Almost,» he said. «Give Nym something to pay for the cleanup.»

The warrior walked to the sava tables, retrieved Splitter's scabbard and his own wi

Ryld tossed him a gold coin with the Baenre emblem stamped on it. «Here are your wi

«It was gratifying to come upstairs and observe you handling our confidential inquiries with your usual light touch,» Pharaun said. He paused to let a floatchest, attended by a dark elf merchant and six hulking bugbear slaves, drift across the lane. The stone box looked like a sarcophagus.

Maybe it was. In the Bazaar, a shopper could purchase nearly anything, including cadavers and mummies once embalmed with strange spices and laid to rest with mystic rites. Indeed, such wares were available either whole or by the desiccated piece. «It wasn't my fault,» Ryld replied. «I did nothing to provoke that fight.» He hesitated. «Well, perhaps I was a bit brusque when the Godeeps first stalked up to the table.» «You? Never!» «Spare me your japes. Why do we have to question people anyway?» The Master of Melee-Magthere ducked beneath the corner of a low-hanging rothe-hide awning and added, «You ought to be able to look in a scrying pool and find the runaways.» Pharaun smiled. «Where would be the fun in that? Now seriously, why did the Godeeps take exception to your no doubt impeccably subtle questions in the first place? Were they in league with the rogues?» «I don't think they knew anything. I think they were merely sympathetic to the idea of eloping and generally in a foul mood. It looked as if one of the females in House Godeep had disciplined them with her fists or a cudgel, and they only needed an excuse to try and take their resentment out on someone.» «This hypothetical priestess beat the House weapons masters as if he were a thrall, or at best, the least useful of her male kin? Doesn't that strike you as odd?» «Now that you mention it, somewhat.» «The Jewel Box was unusually crowded today as well.» Pharaun noticed a blindfolded orc juggling daggers for the amusement of the crowd and paused for a moment to watch the show. Ryld heaved a sigh, signaling his impatience at the interruption in their deliberations.

The wizard counted five sharp knives, which the slave's scarred hands caught and tossed with flawless accuracy. A laudable performance, even if it lacked a certain elan. Pharaun tossed a coin to the orc's owner, then strolled on. Ryld tramped along beside him. «So,» said the weapons master, «Tathlyn gets a thrashing, the brothel enjoys a glut of patrons, and you see a co

Triel, Matron Mother of House Baenre and a diminutive ebony doll of a dark elf, marched briskly down the corridor, covering ground rapidly despite her short stride. Eight feet tall, his two goatlike legs more nimble even than most drow's, Jeggred had no difficulty keeping up with his mother. The scurrying, frazzled drow secretary, though, looked as if she was in imminent danger of dropping her armload of parchment. When Triel heard voices conversing a few yards ahead, she wanted to move faster still. Only a sense that a female in her august position ought not to compromise her dignity by ru