"Aye," Korvaun said at last, and the steel was gone from Beldar's throat as Taeros and Starragar, lanterns held high, stopped and stared down at him.
"How'd you know where to find us?" Starragar snapped.
Beldar frowned. Did they think he couldn't read? Surely they hadn't planned to undertake some sort of adventure without him!
"You left a note on the clubhouse door," he replied, not bothering to hide his exasperation.
His fellow Gemcloaks exchanged dark glances. Their manner was beginning to grate on Beldar's nerves, already frayed over the last few days. He struggled to his feet unaided, and gave Korvaun Helmfast his best glare. "You ambushed me. Why?"
Korvaun slid his dagger into its sheath. "My apologies." His voice was flat and cool. "We heard footsteps and decided to lie in wait for whoever-or whatever-was following us."
Beldar lifted an eyebrow. "Admirably cautious."
"We've good reason," Taeros said bluntly. "The Dyre girls are with us-and Master Dyre's apprentice was murdered while following them."
Beldar frowned in bewilderment. "And you thought to find his killer here?"
"There's little chance of finding him at all," Starragar said. "Some sort of necromantic rune carved into his forehead blocks magical inquiry. A popular spell, it seems; there's another corpse in the tunnel yonder sporting the same rune."
A little chill wandered down Beldar's back. The mad priest Golskyn, his burning-eyed sorcerer son, the Dathran…
"Magic's nearly endless in form and variety," he murmured. "I know an outlander mage well versed in dark arts."
Again his friends shot looks at each other. Starragar thrust his head forward. "Oh? And how came you by this… acquaintance?"
"My brother took me to her as a prank, years ago," Beldar explained impatiently. "She mumbled the usual dire prophecies and grand promises. What of it, if she knows a way around those runes? I'll take something personal from this body you've found; it might help her find the killer."
"Worth trying," Korvaun admitted. He looked at Taeros, who handed Beldar an intricately worked iron medallion.
"We'd planned to take it to the Warrens in hopes someone could name the owner," the Hawkwinter explained.
"Your corpse is a halfling?"
"Dwarf."
Beldar waited for Taeros to elaborate, but his friend merely regarded him. With unfriendly eyes.
Suddenly he understood; Lark must have already reneged on their deal.
"What did she tell you?" he demanded.
His friends gave him only silence. After it had lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, Taeros asked, "Just when did you take up beating unarmed women?"
Shame and relief swept over Beldar together. If this was the sum of their complaints, a simple half-truth should set them at ease. "She bore a stolen charm: Silver, on a silver chain. I tried to take it from her. Though I'd no intention of striking her, my hand… connected, ere she fled. I deeply regret this mishap and will tell her so at first opportunity."
Taeros absently reached for his chest, at just the place where a charm might hang, and Beldar knew his words had hit their mark.
"And where's this charm now?"
Beldar shrugged. "Find the wench, and you'll find your property."
Starragar scowled. "She said much the same of you."
For a long moment Beldar regarded his boyhood friends, realizing they'd become strangers all. With all the dignity he could muster, he said, "If you think me a liar and thief, put me to the test. Surely at least one of you has a truth-seeker."
Starragar stripped a ring from his hand and all but threw it at Beldar. "Put it on. You'll be compelled to answer three questions truthfully."
Beldar donned the ring and waved at the other Gemcloaks to proceed.
Korvaun winced. "Blast it, this isn't right! Never once has Beldar Roaringhorn given any of us cause to doubt his word! Never once has he forgotten a debt or failed to stand beside his friends!"
He turned to Beldar. "Take off the thrice-damned ring and tell me straight out you don't possess the charm or know its whereabouts-and I'll believe you."
Beldar regarded Korvaun, held up his hand so the ring was prominently displayed, and said flatly, "I don't have it, I don't know where it is, and this ring is far too garish and made of brass, which is utterly, unforgivably common. Is that truth enough for you?"
"Please accept our apologies," Korvaun said. "There should be no talk of truth-spells among us."
"It's forgotten." The Roaringhorn tossed the ring back to Starragar. "I'm off, then. What say we meet at the club come sundown?"
"Agreed," Korvaun replied.
The other Gemcloaks just nodded, content to let Korvaun speak for them. At that moment, a truth hit Beldar hard. The Gemcloaks now looked to Korvaun-steady, decent, honorable Korvaun-rather than to him.
Loss-almost grief-stabbed at Beldar. Forcing a smile onto his face, he gave the dwarf's medallion a jaunty swing, wheeled around, and started the long walk to the Dathran's lair.
The Dathran handed back the dwarf's medallion, shaking her head.
"Nothing." Surprise laced her voice. "Not a face, not a name. Again, naught. What sort of magic have you been bringing Dathran?"
"I was hoping," Beldar replied grimly, "you could tell me."
"It's elven magic, you ignorant hag," murmured Elaith Craulnober, answering the question floating up from one of his gently glowing scrying bowls.
Strictly speaking, the rune was Netherese, but the long-ago mage who'd crafted it had based his Art on elven lore. Of course, few elves these days knew such ancient magics, and fewer still would use them.
Elaith had no such scruples. Moreover, he'd added a twist to the rune, binding a rebounding spell to it so any attempt to magically seek the killer would be turned back against the seeker, revealing his identity.
Yet another incantation had empowered the rune still more. Elaith uncorked a tiny vial and tapped a pinch of its glittering powder into the scrying bowl. The ripples took the noble and the witch away, replacing them with a miniature map of the city, lit by a lone red spark.
Its radiance marked just where their conversation had taken place. The area around it began to expand, bringing to mind the way the ground loomed up at one riding a giant eagle to the ground. In moments Elaith was regarding a close, clear view of the witch's lair. Softly glowing footprints marked a path from her rooms up a stair to a hidden door and out into an alley Elaith's henchmen knew well.
With a small silver ladle the Serpent dipped some fluid from the bowl into a crystal goblet. Dipping a finger into that liquid, he traced circles around the goblet's edge, coaxing an eerie note from it.
All of his agents wore rings adorned with flat silver ovals that sang in unison with the crystal, awakening a magic that sent anyone wearing them a mind-vision of the telltale map. It would only loom large and clear enough to read in the minds of those close to the site.
The water in the goblet began to boil, without heat or steam- the signal that his message had been received and understood. Elaith poured the contents of the goblet back into the scrying-bowl and waited to see which agents' faces took shape in the swirling water.
When three faces became clear, a smile touched a corner of his lips.
Lord Beldar Roaringhorn was said to be an excellent swordsman. The coming battle would sorely test his skills. It should, therefore, be most amusing to observe.
Or very, very short.
Beldar Roaringhorn plodded up the dark stone steps, the Dathran's words ringing in his ears. Nursery tales and hedge-wizards' claims notwithstanding, magic wasn't going to answer all secrets and banish all troubles in a trice and a twinkling of stars. "What a large surprise," he murmured mockingly, as he came to the tiny chink of light around the door out into the alley. Slipping out into the familiar refuse, Beldar wondered where, in this city of myriad secrets, he should go now to lay bare this latest mystery.