“Yeah? How much?”
She tugged thoughtfully at one of her oversized earrings. “I could stretch the price to fifty gold, and a battle-axe. I found a good one; two-headed, well balanced for either throwing or hand fighting. It’s dwarf-crafted, of course—a very good journeyman piece by a gold dwarf smith. The axe head is mithral, the handle is polished mahogany set with chips of garnet and tourmaline. Interested?”
“Hmmph!” The duergar leaned over to one side and spat. “Got no use for pretties. Less for gold dwarves.”
But Bronwyn did not miss the gleam of avarice in his eyes. Duergar were far more likely to be scavengers than smiths, and she had yet to meet one that didn’t crave fine dwarven weapons. She gave the priceless necklace a casual shake. “This quality amber in a new, fashionable setting would sell for about two hundred gold in the bazaars. I’ll give you half that.”
The duergar started to work up another wad of spittle, then apparently decided a more dramatic gesture was in order. He pantomimed drawing a knife and plunging it into his heart. “Sooner that, than take a hundred gold!” he swore. “Four hundred, and the axe.”
“The axe alone is worth five hundred, easily.”
“Net likely! But since you and me go back a ways, even trade—the stones for the axe.”
Bronwyn sniffed. “I’ll give you two hundred gold, but you can forget the axe.”
The duergar slammed the table with a slate-colored fist, incensed at the thought of losing this prize. “Gimme the axe, and the two hundred gold, and call it a deal. Call it a theft, is more like it!”
Bronwyn took the complaints in stride. She had expected protests; in fact, it seemed to her that the duergar had given in far too easily. There was more trouble to come—of that, she was certain. That puzzled her, given the presence of the duergar lad.
“Done.” She placed a bag on the table. “Two hundred gold, paid out in five-weight platinum coins. Go ahead and count it.”
A hint of red suffused the duergar’s gray face. Most likely, Bronwyn surmised, he couldn’t count that high, much less cipher out the coin exchange. “No need,” he muttered. “You’re good for it.”
Bronwyn noted, not without satisfaction, that the duergar spoke whole and simple truth for what might have been the first time in his life. She prized the reputation she’d worked hard to earn. Promise made, promise kept.
In a few words, she told them where they would find the second part of their payment. “The axe is yours, you have my word on that. It’ll take time to get to it, that’s all—time that I’ll use to put some hard road between us. I haven’t forgotten what happened after our last deal.”
“Me, neither. I was sorry to lose Brimgrumph. He was a good hand at fighting, but he got too much in the habit of it. Didn’t know when to quit,” the duergar said piously.
It was the longest speech Bronwyn had heard from him, and the most self-serving. If the ambush that had capped their last transaction had succeeded, this duergar would no doubt have been quick to claim his share of the take. But it had failed, and his henchman had died. Bronwyn’s steely gaze announced that she rejected his attempt to slough off the responsibility.
“Cross me once, expect me to watch you. But cross me twice, you best watch out for me,” she warned.
The duergar shrugged. “Fair enough,” he agreed. Too easy again, Bronwyn thought. As the silent duergar pocketed the gold, Bronwyn gathered up the necklace and loosened the strings on her bag. Not a common bag, but one that she’d bought from a Halruaan wizard at a cost that represented nearly a year’s worth of sales. The thing was worth every copper. It was a magical tunnel that whisked whatever she tucked inside to a well-guarded safe in Curious Past, her shop in an elegant section of Waterdeep. Bronwyn had learned long ago one basic truth about the business of acquiring rare antiquities. Finding them was one thing; keeping them was another matter entirely.
A small movement caught her eye and stayed her hand. The stone knife she had borrowed moved of its own accord— not much, but a little, just enough so that the tip pointed to the amber in her hand.
Lodestone, Bronwyn realized. The knife had been carved from a stone that felt and followed the energies in metal— or in this case, in amber. The duergar meant to track her and reclaim the necklace once they thought themselves beyond the traps that she always lay to cover her retreat.
Cross me twice, she thought grimly.
She kept her expression carefully neutral as she rose from her stone seat. She even turned her back as she walked away, allowing the duergar spokesperson time to pick up the tattling stone knife. When she reached the mouth of the cave, she turned and stared coldly into the cunning eyes of the treacherous creatures, then dropped the amber necklace into the sack. It disappeared into a magical vortex. The stone knife spun in sympathetic flight, slicing deeply across the duergar’s palm.
His shout of pain and outrage tore the smirk from his face. Bronwyn turned and fled, running like a deer for her escape tunnel.
She dashed around a sharp turn and stooped, dropping her torch to snatch up a stout staff she’d hidden among the rubble beside the path. The three duergar followed in a thundering crescendo of iron-shod boots. When she judged the moment right, she leaped out in front of the first two onrushing duergar, staff held level with the ground, held waist-high and firmly braced.
The duergar had no time to halt. They ran right into the staff, one on either side of Bronwyn, catching the wood just below the throat. Their heads snapped back, and their feet flew out from under them. A dull, deep boom rumbled through the cavern as the two hardy creatures slammed down flat on their backs, arms flung out wide. Bronwyn danced back.
The young duergar came on, trampling his fallen kin in his eagerness to get at Bronwyn. The gleam in his eye and the small, pitted axe he held high overhead announced his deadly intent.
Quickly Bronwyn pivoted to her right. Seizing one end of the staff with both hands, she hauled it back. Feeling like a child preparing for an extremely high-stakes round of stick ball, she swung out high and hard. The staff whistled through the air and connected with the duergar’s weapon arm. Something—either arm or axe handle, Bronwyn wasn’t sure which—shattered with a sickening crack. The youth dropped the axe on one of his dazed elders and kept coming.
Bronwyn stooped and reached for the cudgel that had rolled free of the adult duergar’s hand. Too late she realized that she should have made a different choice; the iron-bound club was too heavy for her to lift.
There was no time to go for another weapon. Bronwyn came up in a springing lunge, her chin tucked. Her head connected hard with the young duergar’s belly, stopping his charge. His breath wheezed out in a sharp, pained grunt, and they fell together in a tangle of arms and legs.
Bronwyn thrashed and kicked, but she was in too close to do much damage. The duergar youth did little better. Winded and favoring a garishly broken arm, he landed a few blows but couldn’t put much force behind them. Suddenly he devised a better strategy. He seized one the bronze hoops in Bronwyn’s ear and yanked it hard. The sudden, tearing pain surprised a scream out of her, and brought a wide grin to the creature’s beardless face.
Angry now, Bronwyn felt about for her fallen torch. Her finger closed on the handle, close enough to the pitch-covered wood to feel the lingering heat. She thrust the still-hot end into the duergar’s face.
He shrieked and released her, clutching at his eye with his one good hand. Bronwyn rolled aside and leaped to her feet, nimbly evading the grasping hands of the duergar leader. The two adults had shaken off the surprise attack, and were starting to gather their wits and reclaim their weapons. Bronwyn turned and fled for her escape tunnel.