“Right place,” he stated, seeming to struggle with the human speech. He rolled the map, replaced it in the pouch, and stamped his foot impatiently. “Mudwort late, but Mudwort here.” He waited a moment more, as if expecting an answer, then made a circuit of the clearing.
“Harper!” the gnoll barked anxiously. “Harper show up. Harper, not much time I be here. Mudwort be long, Mudwort be missed, Mudwort be killed. Harper? Harper!”
Unnoticed, the hawk gracefully spread its wings and glided from the branch behind the gnoll. Its form metamorphosized as it descended, its talons curling, then flexing, becoming longer and growing together to form human feet covered with soft leather boots. The beak receded, dissolving into a smooth, male face with striking features—high cheekbones, a strong chin, and an even, tanned complexion. The proud crest of blue-gray feathers lengthened, fluttered in the breeze, and transformed into long blond hair. The rest of the hawk’s feathers recast themselves into clothes, the wings into a cloak that flapped gently in the slight wind.
The man landed, and Mudwort whirled, finally catching the scent. The gnoll stared at the man and creased his shaggy brow, furious at himself for not noticing the human’s approach.
The man stood nearly six feet tall and was thin but muscular. He was dressed in greens of various shades—leggings, tunic, and a rich-looking, thigh-length cloak decorated at the edges with embroidered feathers. Even the man’s eyes were green, the color of ferns after a soft, steady rain. His wheat-colored hair hung loose below his shoulders.
Mudwort noted that the man was barely armed; he wore only a scimitar at his side and had no armor. The gnoll had heard little about Harpers, but based on his limited knowledge, he assumed they were impressive and battle-hardened. This human seemed to be neither, although he was obviously fit.
“Harper?” the gnoll growled.
“I am a Harper,” the man replied. “The one you seek.”
“Harper alone?” the gnoll spat. “Harper have gold? Harper important? Harper have friends near?” He waved his spear for emphasis.
“I’m alone, as agreed. I’m called Galvin. You don’t need to know anything else about me.”
Galvin pulled the collar of his tunic down to let Mudwort see the silver neck chain from which dangled a miniature crescent moon affixed to a silver harp. The charm flashed in the moonlight and made the gnoll wonder how much it was worth.
“Harper symbol,” Mudwort verified.
Galvin covered the neck chain and tossed the gnoll a black velvet bag. Mudwort’s thick, hairy fingers grabbed for it but missed, and it dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Mudwort fell to examine the contents like a wolf devouring a fresh kill. Running his fingers over each gold coin he pulled from the bag, he attempted to count it. The gnoll enjoyed spying; he collected regular pay from Maligor and from other Red Wizards who paid for information about his master. This was the first time he had spied for someone other than a wizard—and had gone beyond Thay’s boundaries to do so.
Giving up on getting an exact tally of the coins, the gnoll scooped the gold back into the bag and cradled it in his hand, trying to weigh it to gauge its value. After a moment, Mudwort rose, brusquely wiped a long strand of saliva away from his jaws, and growled at the Harper.
“Not enough. My talk costs more, Galvin!”
“That’s just to get your tongue moving,” the Harper answered. “There’ll be more if your ‘talk’ is useful.” The gold belonged to the Aglarond council, which had asked Galvin to contact the spy. There were rumors of Thayvian forces growing, and the council wondered if Aglarond, Thay’s neighbor to the west, could be a target. The council members needed to know if they should prepare for war.
The Harper disliked wars. No matter who won, they caused a senseless loss of life. And the land, which would be soaked with blood by the end of the battle, was usually the greatest casualty.
The gnoll interrupted the Harper’s thoughts. “Mudwort knows valuable things. Mudwort knows that Red Wizard Maligor wants land. Maligor is greedy and thinks he needs more land than other wizards have.”
The gnoll pawed at a small cloud of gnats forming around his face. He glowered at Galvin and plopped down on a log, easing the burden from his callused feet. Balancing the spear across his lap for security, he pushed Galvin’s money pouch into the dirty canvas sack that hung from his side.
“More gold now,” Mudwort demanded.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” the Harper said evenly, planting himself in front of the gnoll and fixing his eyes on Mudwort’s. “Who is Maligor?”
“A Red Wizard. I told you.”
“Beyond that,” the Harper persisted.
“Important,” Mudwort spat. “Powerful. Maligor rich, too.”
The druid sighed, quickly growing frustrated. “What does he look like?”
“Like other wizards. Maligor bald. Maligor old, wrinkled. Maligor wear red.”
“Where is Maligor?” The druid moved closer.
“In Thay.”
“I know that,” Galvin spat. “Where in Thay?”
“In Am-roo-thar,” Mudwort replied. “Am-roo-thar is a city in Thay.”
Galvin began pacing in front of Mudwort, angry that the answers had to be pulled from the gnoll’s feeble brain.
“What land does Maligor want?”
The gnoll pawed again at the growing cloud of gnats attracted by his saliva. “Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”
“How is he going to get the land?”
Mudwort brightened and thumped his breast with his left fist. His smile revealed a row of yellowed, pointed teeth. “Gnolls get it for him,” he answered proudly. “Maligor has many, many gnolls. Gnolls fierce warriors.”
The gnoll eyed the Harper, trying to gauge the wealth the human carried while waiting for the next question. But the Harper remained quiet, rubbing his hairless chin in thought. The silence bothered the gnoll.
“Done now?” Mudwort’s impatience surfaced. “Mudwort get more gold and Mudwort leave.” The gnoll was worried; he had been away from Maligor’s keep for several days and didn’t want the wizard to discover him missing.
“No, you’re not done.” Galvin had a considerable amount of patience, but Mudwort was wearing it thin. Something was indeed up in Thay, at least with a particular wizard, the Harper decided. Perhaps the Aglarond council had reason to worry. He hoped there was enough gold in his belt pouch to satisfy the gnoll spy. Drawing out a large handful of coins, the Harper held them just beyond Mudwort’s reach.
“Why does Maligor want more land?” The Harper’s voice was even and commanding.
“Not sure,” Mudwort retorted, staring at the mound of coins. “Maybe wizard needs more land for the gnolls. Many, many gnolls work for wizard. Barracks crowded.” The gnoll spoke slowly, pausing between his words, trying to decide what to do about the Harper. “Maybe Maligor wants this land,” he added, “This good land. Mudwort could like staying here.
“Maybe wizard Maligor need different land, tired of old land. Maybe he just wants to make Thay bigger.” Mudwort growled for emphasis and swallowed a gob of spittle that had been trying to escape his mouth. “Give Mudwort more gold. Mudwort talk enough.”
Frowning, Galvin brought his face mere inches from the gnoll’s, ignoring its rancid breath. The Harper believed he was close to gaining some vital information.
“You want more gold?” the Harper began. “Then tell me where in Amruthar I can find Maligor.”
The gnoll snorted. The information he had been passing on to the Harper was common knowledge in Amruthar. Still, it was another matter to reveal the Red Wizard’s present location to an outsider. Perhaps it was a test, Mudwort considered. Maybe the Harper was Maligor’s puppet, and the Red Wizard was testing the gnoll’s loyalty.