Pinnicker seemed to shrink back just a bit, but he held fast his grim and determined visage.
"I offer you the choice one last time," Robillard said, his mock politeness returning.
"Fine choice," Pinnicker grumbled. He gave a helpless little wave, indicating that Robillard and the others should cross to his deck.
They found Creeps Sharky and Tee-a-nicknick in short order, with Robillard easily identifying them. They also found an interesting item on a beam near the tattooed man-creature: a hollow tube.
"Blowgun," Waillan Micanty explained, presenting it to Robillard.
"Indeed," said the wizard, examining the exotic weapon and quickly confirming its use from the design. "What might someone shoot from it?"
"Something small with an end shaped to fill the tube," Micanty explained. He took the weapon hack, pursed his lips, and blew through the tube. "It wouldn't work well if too much wind escaped around the dart."
"Small, you say. Like a cat's claw?" Robillard asked, eyeing the captured pair. "With a pliable, feathered end?"
Following Robillard's gaze at the miserable prisoners, Waillan Micanty nodded grimly.
*****
Wulfgar was lost somewhere far beyond pain, hanging limply from his shackled wrists, both bloody and torn. The muscles on the back of his neck and shoulders had long ago knotted, and even if he had been released and dropped to the floor, only gravity would have changed his posture.
The pain had pushed too far and too hard and had released Wulfgar from his present prison. Unfortunately for the big man, that escape had only taken him to another prison, a darker place by far, with torments beyond anything these mortal men could inflict upon him. Tempting, naked, and wickedly beautiful succubi flew about him. The great pincer-armed glabrezu came at him repeatedly, snapping, snapping, nipping pieces of his body away. All the while he heard the demonic laughter of Errtu the conqueror. Errtu the great balor who hated Drizzt Do'Urden above all other mortals and played out that anger continually upon Wulfgar.
"Wulfgar?" The call came from far away, not a throaty, demonic voice like Errtu's, but gentle and soft.
Wulfgar knew the trap, the false hopes, the feigned friendship. Errtu had played this one on him countless times, finding him in his moments of despair, lifting him from the emotional valleys, then dropping him even deeper into the pit of black hopelessness.
"I have spoken with Morik," the voice went on, but Wulfgar was no longer listening.
"He claims innocence," Captain Deudermont stubbornly continued, despite Robillard's huffing doubts at his side. "Yet the dog Sharky has implicated you both."
Trying to ignore the words, Wulfgar let out a low growl, certain that it was Errtu come again to torment him.
"Wulfgar?" Deudermont asked.
"It is useless," Robillard said flatly.
"Give me something, my friend," Deudermont went on, leaning heavily on a cane for support, for his strength had far from returned. "Some word that you are innocent so that I might tell Magistrate Jharkheld to release you."
No response came back other than the continued growl.
"Just tell me the truth," Deudermont prodded. "I don't believe that you were involved, but I must hear it from you if I am to demand a proper trial."
"He can't answer you, Captain," Robillard said, "because I here is no truth to tell that will exonerate him."
"You heard Morik," Deudermont replied, for the two had just come from Morik's cell, where the little thief had vehemently proclaimed his and Wulfgar's innocence. He explained that Creeps Sharky had offered quite a treasure for Deudermont's head, but that he and Wulfgar had flatly refused.
"I heard a desperate man weave a desperate tale," Robillard replied.
"We could find a priest to interrogate him," Deudermont said. "Many of them have spells to detect such lies."
"Not allowed by Luskan law," Robillard replied. "Too many priests bring their own agendas to the interrogation. The magistrate handles his questioning in his own rather successful manner."
"He tortures them until they admit guilt, whether or not the admission is true," Deudermont supplied.
Robillard shrugged. "He gets results."
"He fills his carnival."
"How many of those in the carnival do you believe to be innocent, Captain?" Robillard asked bluntly. "Even those innocent, of the particular crime for which they are being punished have no doubt committed many other atrocities."
"That is a rather cynical view of justice, my friend," Deudermont said.
That is reality," Robillard answered.
Deudermont sighed and looked back to Wulfgar, hanging and growling, not proclaiming his innocence, not proclaiming anything at all. Deudermont called to the man again, even moved over and tapped him on the side. "You must give me a reason to believe Morik," he said.
Wulfgar felt the gentle touch of a succubus luring him into emotional hell. With a roar, he swung his hips and kicked out, just grazing the surprised captain, but clipping him hard enough to send him staggering backward to the floor.
Robillard sent a ball of sticky goo from his wand, aiming low to pin Wulfgar's legs against the wall. The big man thrashed wildly, but with his wrists firmly chained and his legs stuck fast to the wall, the movement did little but reinvigorate the agony in his shoulders.
Robillard was before him, hissing and sneering, whispering some chant. The wizard reached up, grabbed Wulfgar's groin, and sent a shock of electricity surging into the big man that brought a howl of pain.
"No!" said Deudermont, struggling to his feet. "No more."
Robillard gave a sharp twist and spun away, his face contorted with outrage. "Do you need more proof, Captain?" he demanded.
Deudermont wanted to offer a retort but found none. "Let us leave this place," he said.
"Better that we had never come," Robillard muttered.
Wulfgar was alone again, hanging easier until Robillard's wand material dissipated, for the goo supported his weight. Soon enough, though, he was hanging by just the shackles again, his muscles bunching in renewed pain. He fell away, deeper and darker than ever before.
He wanted a bottle to crawl into, needed the burning liquid to release his mind from the torments.
Chapter 12 TO HER FAMILY TRUE
"Merchant Band to speak with you," Steward Temigast announced as he stepped into the garden. Lord Feringal and Meralda had been standing quiet, enjoying the smells and the pretty sights, the flowers and the glowing orange sunset over the dark waters.
"Bring him out," the young man replied, happy to show off his newest trophy.
"Better that you come to him," Temigast said. "Banci is a nervous one, and he's in a rush. He'll not be much company to dear Meralda. I suspect he will ruin the mood of the garden."
"Well, we cannot allow that," Lord Feringal conceded. With a smile to Meralda and a pat of her hand, he started toward Temigast.
Feringal walked past the steward, and Temigast offered Meralda a wink to let her know he had just saved her from a long tenure of tedium. The young woman was far from insulted at being excluded. Also, the ease with which Feringal had agreed to go along surprised her.
Now she was free to enjoy the fabulous gardens alone, free to touch the; flowers and take in their silky texture, to bask in their aromas without the constant pressure of having an adoring man following her every movement with his eyes and hands. She savored the moment and vowed that after she was lady of the castle she would spend many such moments out in this garden alone.
But she was not alone. She spun around to find Priscilla watching her.