"Enough singing, already!" Carthax Nayusiyim, the gnome of the group, yelled. "You and those songs! You'll drive me mad!"
Insulted, Dimvel responded, "You are mad! And an ugly little gnome, besides!"
Carthax reached for his rod of smiting, but Talltankard intervened. "Enough! We've no time for this bickering. We're all on edge because this ever-speaking bargainer has kept us waiting."
"Yes, but I have returned, don't you know," Llewellyn said. "And, most remarkably, with the key."
The six Buckleswashers drew closer to Llewellyn.
"Give it to us," demanded Carthax.
"Not so fast, my overly zealous compatriots," countered Llewellyn. "I want to reiterate our agreement, forged at our last meeting."
One of the two female Buckleswashers spoke up. "We agreed to nothing except to let you live."
"You forget, dear lady, that…"
Talltankard drew his knife. "My wife, Lyratha, forgets nothing!"
"But when I was last here…"
The other female Buckleswasher added her words: "Relax, Nervous One! We shall give you a few trinkets and send you on your way."
Llewellyn thought better of pushing the matter too far. "That will be fine. That is all I ask. Except for one other thing, I must say."
"And that is what?" Osco asked.
"May I have the stones from the key after you take the treasure from the chest?"
"The jade stones?" enquired the gnome, laughing. "They are practically worthless in the whole Shining South. You are an idiot to want them."
"Yes, I suppose," Llewellyn said. "But the woman I love-the most beautiful woman I have seen in any kingdom-has a great fondness for jade. Surely, I do not ask much."
"Agreed," Talltankard said. "I suppose you should have something. Now let me have the key."
Llewellyn nervously handed it to him. But a bit of his anxiety faded when the jade stone was placed in the key. It fit perfectly, and the whole company of Buckleswashers grinned.
Osco and Talltankard dragged the two-foot high by two-foot wide chest from the mouth of the cave into the fading sunlight. The rest of the company watched, as did Llewellyn, but every few seconds he looked around the perimeter of the area. He prayed Indio's folk were ready.
Talltankard turned the key, and smoke seeped out of the chest. Then Osco pulled open the lid and revealed the myriad jewels and gold it contained.
While the company stared at it, stunned, Llewellyn asked, "I do so hate to ask you, since you are all so very busy, but may I have the stones, as you promised?"
Talltankard removed the key and tossed it to Llewellyn, who caught it.
"But that's all you get, vagabond!" Carthax, the gnome, said sourly. "Be on your way!"
Stoutkeg broke into a song: "We're richer than we ever thought/ Just reward for battles fought."
But, suddenly, the voice of Indio the Black answered with its own song: "But don't expect to keep that treasure/ For taking it shall be our pleasure."
Indio's band, who slightly outnumbered their opponents, attacked the Buckleswashers. In minutes, all were locked in combat. For a brief moment, Indio stood free of opposition, and Llewellyn approached him.
"Don't forget. Twenty percent."
Indio stared at him coldly. "You've served your purpose, scavenger. Get out of my sight before I cut off twenty percent of your head!"
Llewellyn backed into the brush, away from Indio and the rest. Carefully, he removed the three jade stones from the key and put it in his leather sack.
"There are a few things Zalathorn told me that I have kept to myself. Vagabond, am I? Scavenger, you call me? No! Try victor!"
Pairs and trios of battling halflings (and a gnome) spread out into the woods, up the mountain, and far into the cave. Here and there, a body lay stunned, unconscious, or worse. But more importantly to Llewellyn, the treasure was left unguarded.
Llewellyn ran to the chest, depleted it of as much of its contents as his improvised sack would hold-which was almost all-and, seeing that the way east toward the Halar Hills was safe and free of otherwise occupied halflings (and a gnome), he ran as quickly as his feet would cany him.
Then, suddenly, he heard Talltankard's voice. "The vagabond! He has cheated us all!"
Llewellyn's heart beat faster, for he knew it would not be long before the halflings (and a gnome) would catch up to him. The sack was growing heavier, and it was slowing him down.
He took the jade stones and placed them in the three forged holes in the silver amulet he had acquired from Indio. And the moment the third stone was secured in the amulet, he felt himself leaving the ground, elevating, ascending, flying. Flying!
No, Llewellyn realized, not flying, but moving, or, more precisely, being moved.
Then, just as suddenly as the sensation had begun, it ended.
Zalathorn's amulet had proven to be as invaluable as Llewellyn knew it would. As the wizard had informed him, when the same person had possession of both the key and the amulet-with the jade stones in place in the latter- their bearer would be returned, together with his or her possessions, to his or her place of birth.
And, indeed, the Talkative One was home in the town of Klint, safe from both bands of adventurers and much richer than he had ever been. He looked around and sighed, relishing the safety and comfort he felt.
Llewellyn sensed that the wizard, too, must be amused. After all, it was Zalathorn himself who had helped him. It was Zalathorn who had "informed" him of the amulet that was originally part of the treasure. And it was he who revealed to him that one of the stones and the amulet were now in the possession of a band of halflings led by one who had the arrogance and presumption to call himself Indio the Black.
He doubted that Indio the Black or the Buckleswashers were amused, though, and vowed to steer clear of them for the rest of his days.
Indeed, he thought, a most excellent vow.
TOO FAMILIAR
"It's extraordinarily complicated, you see…?"
The wineglasses clinked as the wisp-bearded enchanter rearranged the drinks on the cluttered table, all the while dragging out the 'see' in his thick Ankhapurian accent. Like a swarm of midge flies, the assembled alchemists, prestidigitators, conjurers, thaumaturges, and wonderworkers-courtiers all-swarmed around him and listened. Their professional antennae quivered for the slightest hint of unfounded theorizing.
Well aware of it, the graybeard-such beard as he had-continued with the unfazed confidence of a high master educating coarse apprentices. Fingers fluttering, he allowed five droplets of carmine wine into the honey-yellow mead before him. "A taste of aqua vitae-no more! — that's been distilled by the flame of a silver burner and added to the flux. Once cooled, I stirred in"- and here he added three pinches from the salt cellar-"a measure of powdered dragonelle scale, and the whole solution precipitated-"
"Preposterous!" croaked a frog-faced Calimshite, alchemist to the recently arrived consular of Calimport. "Scale as a precipitate? Ludicrous! You might as well have used gravel for all of scale's suitability as a precipitate. Your whole theory's unsound!"
The blunt attack set the onlookers to buzzing, so much so that the proprietous and meekly disposed wizards of the swarm recoiled in pinch-faced distaste only to collide with those who surged forward at the first hint of the senior enchanter's hypothesizing weakness.
Only the challenger's basso voice rose above the polite cacophony that filled the royal salon. Fully aware, he pressed his assault with apparent obliviousness. "Undoubtedly it was another reaction-perhaps some containment in the powder…"
The Calimshite's thrust was not lost on the Ankha-purian, but the older man guarded against the sting with the shield of dignity. "My powders were pure. I will gladly give you some if what you brought from Calimshan will not react." Wiping his damp fingers on a cloth, he coolly swatted back at this annoying fly.