Vraggen kneeled and picked up the half-globe. He whispered the words to a cantrip to clean it of Dolgan's blood. To his magically attuned senses, it pulsed with the Shadow magic used by the priests of Shar in its making. He examined the break—a clean shear exactly down the middle, perfect. None of the tiny, symbolic gems within it had been disturbed, except that the emerald of Toril in the center had been split. If he could recover the other half of the globe, Azriim could still use it to determine how to find the Fane of Shadows.
He looked to Elura and said, "Tell me exactly what happened, woman. And tell me where the other half of the globe is."
Her eyes met his and there was no fear in them.
"As I told you before," she said, "I'm not certain what happened. Cale appeared and alerted the house guards. You and Azriim were to eliminate him, were you not?"
Vraggen could do nothing but endure that little rebuke.
"He escaped us," Vraggen said.
"Obviously. But we were able to escape him ... and the guards. When I teleported out, Dolgan had the globe, as you had instructed. And it was intact. If you had trusted me to keep it in my possession, you'd have it now. I don't know what happened after I got out."
Vraggen digested that.
"Perhaps the lumbering one can tell us himself," Azriim said from his couch.
To Vraggen's surprise, Dolgan had recovered enough from the enervating spell to have sat up. He looked dazed, but still wore that stupid grin. He climbed awkwardly to his feet, swayed, and tried to recapture as much dignity as he could.
"You needn't have done that," he said to Vraggen. "I wasn't laughing at you."
"If I thought you had been, I'd have turned you to dust."
To that, Dolgan gave a half smile, as though he was unsure whether Vraggen was making a joke or a threat.
Vraggen left him with the ambiguity and let the room remain silent for a time. His people needed to know that he was in charge.
"You're bleeding on the carpets," Azriim said to Dolgan, his nostrils pinched in distaste.
Dolgan looked to the dark stain on the colorful Thayan rug under his feet. The villa was decorated throughout with expensive rugs from Thay and farther east.
"So?" the big Cormyrean said. "I got stabbed in the stomach. And the throat. And my nose is broken." Vraggen thought he sounded almost proud of his injuries. "And they aren't your carpets, Azriim."
Azriim reached into his tailored overcoat and removed a glass vial.
"Drink this, dolt," said the half-drow. "Of course they aren't my carpets. But your bleeding on them offends me nevertheless."
With surprising dexterity, Dolgan snatched the vial from the air. He grinned in his stupid way and drank the potion. His bleeding stopped immediately, and the swelling in his face diminished. His skin went from pale to ruddy. He dropped the vial on the floor.
"I really was that close to dead," he said, again holding thumb and forefinger apart by only a bladewidth.
"Quite an accomplishment," said Azriim dryly. "You should be proud."
Serrin pulled out the whetstone he always carried and began to run it along his falchion's blade. The sound grated on Vraggen to no end.
"Enough," said Vraggen. He glared at Dolgan, then at Serrin. "Do you believe this is a game? Either of you?"
Neither replied.
Vraggen stared a hole into Dolgan's face and said, "This Cale would have left you gutted on the ground. Do you find that amusing? Do you think that would be a feeling worth experiencing?
Dolgan tried to frame a reply, stuttered, and fell silent.
Azriim rose from his chair and walked to the wine service.
"We all take your point, Vraggen," the half-drow said. "Dolgan doesn't think it's amusing anyway. And Serrin doesn't know what a jest is. He hasn't even so much as smiled since he ate his mother."
The easterner looked at the half-drow with raised eyebrows. Azriim only smiled.
"None of us think this is funny. But all be damned if it isn't fun. It's danger that makes this affair interesting." He glanced at Vraggen sidelong, his mismatched eyes all innocence. "And that's well. For surely the company doesn't."
Dolgan guffawed, walked to a chair, and collapsed into the cushions. Even Serrin smiled, the prig.
Vraggen endured the insolence. He had made his point earlier. Besides, he needed the half-drow. Only Azriim knew how to interpret the globe. He would not, however, tolerate Dolgan's laughter.
"Did I give you permission to sit, oaf? Stand up."
Dolgan leaped up from his seat as though it was on fire.
Vraggen clasped his hands behind his back and glared at the man.
"I told you that I required an explanation. Begin."
Dolgan nodded and said, "Before I could activate my rod, Cale attacked. I lost my weapon and he came at me. It was either the globe or my head. I opted for the globe and he split it."
"Split it how? With a weapon?"
Vraggen knew the globe to be protected by certain wards tied to the Shadow Weave. A strike from a weapon should not have been able to split it.
"Split it with his sword," Dolgan said. "It exploded. Knocked us both senseless. I got out of there before the whole of the house guard arrived. I didn't realize the globe had been split until I got back here."
Vraggen was intrigued. Possibly, Cale's blade could have been created with Shadow Weave magic. That might explain its ability to affect the globe.
"Was the sword unusual in some way?" he asked.
Dolgan shook his head. "Not that I could see."
Vraggen pondered that. After a few moments, he remembered that he had left Dolgan standing.
"Sit," he said.
Dolgan gave a relieved sigh and fell into the chair.
"We need the other half," Vraggen said to Azriim. "The break was clean. The globe seems otherwise undamaged. You'll still be able to read it."
Azriim nodded and sipped from his wine as he walked back to the divan.
Vraggen turned his gaze to Elura, and walked over to stand beside her chair.
"We'll need to go back and get the other half of the globe. How did you get into the Uskevren manse?"
Elura looked up, startled. She looked to Azriim, as though for support.
Finding none, she said, "My methods are my own. That's why you pay me."
Vraggen bent at the waist, grabbed her by the chin, and made her look him in the face.
"We need to get back into that house, woman. They'll be ready this time for whatever stratagem you used before. We'll need to do something else. I'll ask again—How did you get in?"
Elura's eyes blazed. She removed his hand from her face—she possessed surprising strength—and rose from her chair. Rather than erupt in rage, she smiled. It made her look feral. Vraggen saw that she, like Azriim, had perfect teeth.
"My methods are my own."
Vraggen wanted to slap her but restrained himself.
"Dolgan?" he asked over his shoulder.
The big man stuttered for a moment, as though searching for the right reply. At last, he said, "I'm not sure exactly. She cast a spell on us that made us look like guards."
"Crude," Vraggen said into Elura's beautiful face.
She reddened and said, "But effective. And we don't need to go back, mage."
Vraggen raised his eyebrow in a question.
"Cale will exchange the other half of the globe for the prisoner."
The prisoner. In his anger, Vraggen had forgotten the young house guard. When the team had returned with a captive, Vraggen had immediately used spells to render the man unconscious and undetectable by magic. They stowed him, bound, in a closet.
"Nonsense," he said to Elura. "No one would make that trade, not even in this nation of fool merchants."
Elura kept her gaze on Vraggen and smiled more broadly.