Kane opened one eye to regard the dwarf.
"And I'm surprised that ye got no guards," Athrogate dared to say. The dwarf managed to stand up, and when he did, he realized that the slate shingles all around him were loose—no, not just loose, but were a false set of extra shingles set upon the real ones!
"Oh, by Clangeddin's fartin' arse," he managed to say as his feet slid out from under him, dropping him hard to his belly then off the roof entirely. He crashed into the debris-filled alleyway all entangled with his ladder, arms and legs flailing helplessly, morningstar heads bouncing and slapping around him.
He sprang to his feet and hopped about, eyes darting to every shadow. If anybody had witnessed that humiliation, Athrogate would have to kill him, of course.
When he was satisfied that his unceremonious fall had gone unnoticed, he slapped his hands on his hips and looked back up at the roof.
"Durned monk," he muttered as he collected his morningstars, set them back in place across his back, and untangled the ladder. A couple of the steps had been knocked out, but it would still suffice, he decided, so he propped it back in place and began his careful climb, again taking care to announce his arrival.
When he came up to the edge of the roof, he reached out and tested the remaining slate.
"It is safe now, dwarf," Kane said. He remained in the same position, eyes still closed.
"Clever trap," Athrogate remarked, and he came up slowly, inch by inch, feeling every bit of ground before settling his weight onto it. "Couldn't ye just hire a few guards and leave the traps for stinky thieves?"
"I need no guards."
"Ye're up here all alone—and why ain't ye in a room?"
"I am in the grandest room in all the universe."
"Lookin' like the rains're coming. Think ye'll be singing that then?"
"I did not invite you here, dwarf," Kane replied. "I do not welcome company. If you have purpose, then speak it. Or be gone."
Athrogate narrowed his eyes and crossed his burly arms over his chest.
"Ye know who I be?" he asked.
"Athrogate," the monk replied.
"Ye know the things I done?"
No answer.
"Ain't none killed more at the wall," Athrogate declared.
"None who bothered to count, at least," came the quiet—and infuriating—reply.
"I went to the castle north o' Palishchuk!" the dwarf declared.
"And that is the only reason I allow you to bother me now," said Kane. "If you have come to speak with me of that adventure, then pray wag. If not, then pray leave."
Athrogate deflated just a bit. "Well, good enough then," he said. "Weren't for that trip, then I'd be having no business with ye anyway."
"None that you would wish," Kane calmly and confidently replied, and the dwarf shrank just a bit more.
"I come to talk about Ellery."
Kane opened his eyes and turned his head, suddenly seeming very interested. "You saw her fall?"
"Nope," the dwarf admitted. "I saw Canthan fall, though. Fell at me feet, killed to death by Artemis Entreri."
Kane didn't blink. "You accuse him?"
"Nope," the dwarf clarified. "Was a fight Canthan started. Stupid wizard was tryin' to kill them half-orcs." The dwarf paused and collected his thoughts. "Ye got to know that Canthan weren't one to follow the lead o' King Gareth."
"He had ulterior motives in traveling to the castle?"
"Don't know what an 'ulterior' might be, but he was looking out for Canthan, and for his masters—and ain't none o' them sitting by your king, for the sake o' yer king." He ended with an exaggerated wink, but Kane didn't blink and Athrogate issued a frustrated sigh.
"He was part o' the Citadel of Assassins," the dwarf explained.
"That much was suspected."
"And known," said Athrogate, "by yer own Commander Ellery. And she knowed it well before she picked him to go along to the north."
"Are you saying that Canthan killed Ellery?"
"Nah, ye dolt—" Athrogate bit the word back as it escaped his flapping lips, but again, Kane showed no reaction. "Nah, none o' that. I'm saying that Ellery, yer king's blood kin, picked Canthan to go because she was told to pick him to go. Ye might be thinking her a paladin o' yer order, but ye'd be thinking wrong."
"You are claiming that Ellery had connections with the Citadel of Assassins?"
"I'm adding two fingers and three fingers and making a fist to whack ye upside the head. If yerself can't count, that'd be yer own problem."
"Spysong counts more proficiently than you can imagine, good dwarf. The strands of the citadel entwine many, it would seem, to varying degrees."
The level of threat in that statement was not lost on Athrogate, a sobering reminder of who he was dealing with, and of his own complicity—at least in the eyes of King Gareth's court.
"Well, I was just thinking ye should know," he said then backed to the ladder and eased one foot onto the top step. He didn't turn as he climbed down, though, preferring to keep his gaze squarely on Kane.
The monk didn't move, didn't stand, didn't react at all.
When he was back in the alley, walking briskly away, Athrogate puzzled over the wisdom of that meeting, and of betraying Knellict.
"Damned drow," he muttered, and suddenly every shadow seemed darker and more ominous. "Damned drink."
Those last words rang in his head, nettling his sensibilities.
"Think I'll go get me some," Athrogate added, compelled to offer a formal apology to his beloved ale.
CHAPTER 9
OUT THE GAUNTLET
Bah, ye're listenin' to the way I babble and ye're thinking I'm a stupid one, ain't ye, elf?"
"I?" Jarlaxle replied with mock innocence. He grabbed Athrogate's arm as the dwarf reached his hand into a pocket and produced some coin for the waiting serving girl.
Athrogate looked down at the drow's hand, tight around his wrist, then lifted his gaze to consider Jarlaxle eye-to-eye.
"Ye're asking me to go, ain't ye?"
"It is an offer of adventure."
Athrogate snorted. "Yer friend's tied Knellict's butt hairs in a knot and now yerself's flicking yer finger under the nose o' Kane hisself. Adventure, ye say? I'm thinking ye built yerself two walls o' iron, Jarlaxle, and now they're both to fall atop ye. Only question is, which'll flatten ye first?"
"Ah, but if they fall together, might they not impede each other's progress?" He held his hands up before him, fingers together and skyward, then dropped them in toward each other until the fingers tapped together, forming an inverted V. "There is room left between them, is there not?"
"Ye're bats."
Jarlaxle could only laugh at that observation, and really, when he thought about it, there wasn't much point in disagreeing.
"Ain't far enough in all the world to run from them," Athrogate said more solemnly, preempting the drow's forthcoming repeat of the offer. "So ye're to run from Heliogabalus, and a good choice that'll be—best ye got, anyway, though I'm not saying much in that!"
"Come with us."
"Ah, but ye're a stubborn one." The dwarf planted his hands on his hips, paused for just a moment, then shook his hairy head. "Can't be doing that."
Jarlaxle knew that he was beaten, and he couldn't rightly blame the pragmatic dwarf. "Well, then," he said, patting Athrogate's strong shoulder. "Take heart in my assurance that your tab here is paid the winter through." He turned to the tavernkeeper standing behind the bar and the man nodded, having obviously overheard. "Drink yourself into oblivion until the snows have receded and you return to the Vaasan Gate. Compliments of Jarlaxle. And visit baker Piter as you wish. Your coin will not be welcomed there, but your appetite surely will."