Murder in Halruaa

by Richard Meyers

  Dearlyn moved forward anxiously. “He’s bringing me to my father!” she declared.

  Gheevy looked up at Pryce in wonder. The man was standing beside a small half-moon-shaped window near the front door of the burrow, surveying the street outside to make sure Matthaunin—or anyone else—was not in the area. He flinched at the sound of Dearlyn’s contention. “I only hope it’s not too late,” he added. He turned to face them both. “I was attacked earlier tonight,” he informed the halfling.

  “What?” Wotfirr burbled in outrage.

  “He wanted to come here directly,” Dearlyn told Gheevy, looking at Pryce with concern. “But I insisted on treating his wound.”

  Pryce touched his head gingerly. “For which, once again, I thank you, but the injury is not as important as why I was attacked.”

  “And why was that?” Gheevy inquired.

  “Whoever assaulted me wanted me to lead him, her, or it to Geerling’s workshop.”

  The halfling sat up straight. The wonders inherent in that statement were almost too much for him to completely comprehend. To the halfling, the man standing before him was a magicless vagabond who had discovered two corpses and had no idea where Geerling Ambersong’s workshop was. But to Dearlyn, the mage’s daughter, he was a great wizard and hero who had been given the Ambersong legacy instead of her, and a man who knew all there was to know about the workshop.

  Keeping all those characters straight in the space of one burrow was going to take concentration indeed—concentration the addled halfling just couldn’t quite muster at the moment.

  “Geerling … you know … but who … why …?”

  Pryce waved his hands in front of his face, seemingly batting away all of Gheevy’s sputterings. “We have no time for this,” he said. “I think Teddington Fullmer set me up. I think he knocked me out, and I think that even now he’s trying to make off with Geerling Ambersong’s fortune!”

  “Trying … Geerling Ambersong’s …” Gheevy echoed. “Then what are you doing here?”

  “We need your help, my friend.”

  “My help?” the halfling marveled. “But—”

  “Please!” Pryce pleaded to the low ceiling. “No more questions! Just get on your best grotto-crawling clothes and follow me!”

  “So you think the secret workshop is somewhere down here?” the halfling whispered.

  The three made their cautious way down the tunnel behind Schreders’s restaurant. The halfling held aloft a small illumination orb, which gave off just enough light to keep them from tripping or stumbling into anything. A standard torch would have filled the low, narrow cave with blinding, choking smoke within seconds. The rest of the navigation came from Pryce’s memory.

  Dearlyn held on to the hem of Darlington’s cloak several feet behind them, using her horsehair-topped staff as a walking stick. She was so intent on making her way and so deep in her own thoughts that Gheevy and Pryce could talk quietly at length … about very uncomfortable things.

  “I’m certain of it,” Pryce whispered back. “Where else could it be?”

  “Is there another entrance on the other side of the workshop somewhere outside the caves?”

  Pryce shook his head. “I doubt it. With all the anxious inquisitrixes and hopeful mages searching everywhere, I think the only way to protect it was to hide it here, literally under their very noses.”

  “Incredible,” Gheevy whispered in wonder. Then his voice grew very quiet. “But with all due respect, why bring her along?” he said, nodding back toward Dearlyn.

  “It was either that or steal her cloak.”

  “Steal her cloak?”

  “Geerling Ambersong was a clever man. He wanted Darlington Blade and his daughter to work together as a team.”

  The halfling looked up at Pryce skeptically. “Are you sure?”

  Pryce fingered Darlington Blade’s cloak clasp, seemingly to relieve some of the tension now that Dearlyn was using it as a leash. “I’m sure of it.”

  “How can you be?” Gheevy wondered aloud.

  Pryce leaned close to whisper his explanation. “To prevent any other magician from entering his workshop, I believe he secured it with a mechanical lock.” He held up two fingers. “With two keys.”

  “Two? But …” The halfling got no further because Pryce was moving the cloak clasp so that it reflected light from the orb directly into Gheevy’s eyes.

  “Are you all right, Blade?” Dearlyn inquired quietly. “I’m not pulling too much, am I?”

  Pryce smiled sagely and nodded his head toward the mage’s daughter. All the halfling could think of when he looked over at her was her cloak’s clasp. What Pryce was suggesting came to Wotfirr in a flash.

  “No problem, Miss Ambersong,” Covington whispered back to her. “Watch your step.” He turned back to gaze into Gheevy’s perplexed, apprehensive face.

  “Very well, then, but why me?” Gheevy wheezed. “Why am I here?”

  Pryce looked pained, and his reply was strained. “Come, come, Gheevy. Think! The mind behind all this is not that of a novice or apprentice. It must be a wizard of high rank.”

  The truth of that statement dawned in the halfling, and suddenly his expression was infused with fear. What Pryce said next only made it worse.

  “Everyone who worked with Geerling is dead. Maybe that’s why he refused to teach his daughter … because he knew that everyone who learned from him would be placed in grave danger.”

  “But why?” Gheevy moaned quietly.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe he took the teachings of Santé too seriously and started dabbling in forbidden arts. Only then, by the time he discovered that he had unleashed forces he couldn’t control, he was in too deep. Then all he could do was destroy himself or destroy others to cover his tracks. Who knows? All I do know is that I have to gain entrance to his workshop.”

  “Blade, you must tell Dearlyn about all this.”

  Pryce shook his head, happy that the gloom was too thick for her to see his tormented expression. “I can’t predict her reaction. The odds are too long.”

  “Then tell Inquisitrix Lymwich.”

  “And risk her finding out who I am? No, thank you. She would have me enfeebled, or worse, disintegrated, out of pure spite.”

  “Then tell some inquisitrix!” Gheevy pleaded passionately.“We can’t face whoever—or whatever—is in that workshop alone!”

  Even though she couldn’t make out their words, Dearlyn couldn’t mistake the anxious tone of their voices any longer. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “What are you two talking about?”

  Pryce stopped suddenly, and she nearly bumped into him. He took no pleasure in her proximity, however. “We’re getting close, Miss Ambersong,” he told her, refusing to acknowledge that he could also be talking about their emotional relationship as well. “And I must have your promise that, no matter what happens, you will put your faith in me.”

  Her eyes seemed like bottomless pools in the light of the orb. “What … what is it you’re not telling me?” she whispered.

  Pryce’s heart went out to her in her vulnerability and then sank at the depths of his deception. “There’s … there’s more to this than your father’s disappearance. I implore you to be ready for anything. There’s …”

  But before he could go on, the huge misshapen head of a mongrelman moved into the illumination of the orb.

  The halfling let out a shriek, tossed the orb into the air, then leapt behind the woman to cower behind her floor-length cloak. Dearlyn dropped her staff and began a spell. Pryce nimbly caught both the illumination orb and her staff as they fell, then used the pole to give her gesturing hands a sharp slap, disrupting her spell.

  She looked up at him in surprise and numbly took back the staff he offered. She looked from it to him to the mongrelman, dumbfounded, then grasped her gardening implement tightly and assumed a defensive position, the tip pointing directly at the monster.

  Pryce simply shook his head, daintily gripped the staff
in two fingers, and raised it so he could step between Dearlyn and the mongrelman.

  “It’s all right,” he assured the stunned woman. “He’s with me.”

  Dearlyn stared at Pryce in amazement; then her expression changed to awe. Then they both realized that Gheevy was still cowering behind her, muttering.

  Pryce quickly knelt down and gripped the halfling’s elbow with his free hand.

  A mongrelman, beneath our city!” Gheevy was gasping. “He’ll bring others of his kind. They’ll eat me! Raiders are sure to follow! We must—”

  Pryce shook him firmly. “We must stop talking about things we know nothing about,” he said pointedly.

  The halfling blinked, then looked directly at Covington, but the terror didn’t leave his face. “But they—they speak a debased language. They can communicate with other beasts!”

  “I know,” Pryce said intently “Are you familiar with this so-called debased language?”

  That drew Gheevy up short. “Well, no …”

  “Then stop talking your own debased language for a moment, would you? Listen to me, Gheevy. They saved me. They won’t hurt you!”

  The halfling looked up at Pryce hopefully … until one word Covington had said echoed in Wotfirr’s mind. “ ‘They’?”

  He peered out from behind Dearlyn’s legs. There, with his halfling vision, he saw in the gloom the hulking mongrelman … and behind it, a creature that was bird, part vole, and part human cadaver. To complete the picture, the tattered traveler who had rendered him unconscious on the road loomed behind them.

  He jerked back to face Pryce, shaking uncontrollably. “All I want is the comfort of home!” he cried. “Is that so much to ask?”

  “Wotfirr!” Pryce snapped, hitting him on the arm. “And all I want is a cushy job for life!”

  The halfling grabbed his arm in pain and looked up at Covington, his eyes narrowing. “Ouch,” he said with resentment, rubbing his upper arm.

  Pryce sighed. “Gheevy, I’ve discovered that in Lallor you can’t always get what you want. Sometimes you have to fight for it.”

  “Okay, okay,” the halfling complained, still massaging his bruised limb. “Why did you hit me so hard?”

  “Sorry,” Pryce apologized, handing him the illumination orb. “Here, you’ll need this.” He started to turn around, but Gheevy urgently gripped his cloak. Pryce turned back with concern.

  Wotfirr smiled wanly. “We halflings like our creature comforts and pride ourselves on our honesty,” he said quietly, apology evident in his tone. “But we are esteemed for our honor even more.”

  Pryce put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and smiled. “And deservedly so,” he replied. “Now take care of that illumination orb, would you?”

  Gheevy purposefully thrust the orb out before him. It illuminated the mongrelman, his huge, rag-covered body shielding the cowering form of the broken one behind him.

  “It’s all right, Geoffrey,” Pryce said reassuringly. “I didn’t have time to tell them about you.”

  The mongrelman gibbered and nodded, saliva coursing down his distended, scaly jaw.

  Pryce nodded back, then stepped over to take Dearlyn’s arm. He almost did a double take when he saw the look of admiration on the woman’s face. “You … befriended these creatures?” she asked.

  Pryce was pleased at her reaction and turned to smile at his irregular trio of assistants. “It is a distinct privilege for me to introduce you to Geoffrey.…” The mongrelman lowered his head sadly, his eyes closing. “Devolawk …” The broken one raised his beak and waved with what served as its arms. “And, of course, Cunningham.” The jackalwere, in complete human form, bowed graciously. “Of the three, trust the latter the least.” Cunningham snapped back up, a look of exaggerated hurt on his face.

  “Blade?” Gheevy said tightly, still holding the orb stiffly out in front of him. “Do we have time for this?”

  “I think so,” Pryce replied. “You see, they are my guards. Fullmer, or anyone else, I imagine, couldn’t get close to the workshop with them on duty.”

  “They protected my father?” Dearlyn asked hopefully.

  Pryce felt a pang of guilt. “I don’t truthfully know, Miss Ambersong. We will have to see. But what I can tell you,” he said, and he felt relief to finally get some of the truth off his chest, “is that Cunningham the jackalwere was lured here by the broken one, who is a prime example of magic gone wrong. Once here, the jackalwere was asked in turn by a magical communication to lure a mongrelman who was well versed in concealment”

  Dearlyn looked at the trio in confusion. “But why? To conceal what?”

  “Your father’s workshop, I’m afraid.”

  She looked at Pryce, her eyes accusatory. “Are you saying my father did this?”

  “I don’t know,” Pryce said quickly.

  “You don’t know!” she flared. “If not you, who?”

  “Dearlyn!” he interrupted sharply. “This isn’t easy for any of us, least of all them.” He pointed purposefully at the cursed trio. “We have to get into the workshop,” he stressed, “and then maybe we’ll discover the truth.”

  The proud woman stiffened. “Are you telling me you cannot gain entrance by yourself?”

  “Yes,” he admitted without shame. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Now you tell me. Is it possible that your father would simply give me the keys to his workshop … or give a key to us both … that can only be used if we work together?”

  Her rising anger suddenly stilled. The realization of her father’s true nature—the one she always knew was there and desperately wanted to believe in—overwhelmed her ire and started to bring tears to her eyes.

  Pryce turned away from her and gave the mongrelman a simple instruction.

  “Lead us to the workshop.”

  Soon the six of them stood before the concealing wall. To Gheevy and Dearlyn’s eyes, it looked like any other section of the cave, but the others knew of the hidden tube through the rock.

  Pryce turned to the misshapen ones. “We’re going to open the compartment now,” he told them. “Hide yourselves. If anything bad happens, I wish you a peaceful, long life.”

  Dearlyn and Gheevy looked at each other with concern and a little confusion. The mongrelman babbled incoherently, and the broken one pushed his head over the other’s shoulder. “Weeeee willll protect you, Blade!” he whistled and burbled. “Weeeee don’t wish … to looooose you.”

  “You cannot—you must not—try to protect me,” Pryce told them with honest appreciation. His Covington side felt a pang of missed opportunity, but his Blade side knew it had to be this way. Besides, any revelation of his Covington nature would put his absolutely vital impersonation at risk. He might gain protection for a few moments, but if any of them even suspected that he wasn’t who they said he was, he would be dissected almost immediately. “This road I must walk alone, with only the Ambersong daughter and the primary mage’s friend by my side. Our road together—wherever it leads—must take a different route.”

  The mongrelman made crying sounds and shook, but eventually he shambled away, taking the crestfallen broken one with him. Only Cunningham remained. Pryce stared bravely at him until he realized the jackalwere’s expression was not one of respect or admiration, but of hope and hunger.

  “Cunningham …” he said warningly.

  The jackalwere looked suddenly wounded. “Sir, I assure you … how could you think …?”

  “Cunningham!” Pryce snapped. Then he leaned in and spoke carefully. “No … after … assault … snacks. You hear me?”

  “Quite distinctly, sir.” He drew himself up, and Pryce could see that he was essentially dusting off his pride. “Shall I go see to it that the others are safe and well hidden?”

  “You shall,” Pryce commanded flatly.

  “Very good, sir.” He leaned to one side and called to the others. “Best of luck, diminutive sir. You too, milady. Enjoy the opening!”

  “Get out of here!” B
ut by the time the last word was out of Pryce’s mouth, the jackalwere had disappeared into the darkness.

  Only then did Gheevy lower the illumination orb from in front of his face. “So,” he said with relief. “Where is it?”

  “There,” said Pryce, motioning with his head toward the wall. He swung his cloak off and started examining how the clasp was attached. “I’ll need the clasp from your cloak as well, Dearlyn.”

  She looked puzzled and began fingering the circular clasp at her neck.

  “The clasps serve as individual keys to the Ambersong lodging. I think they are also the keys to the workshop as well, but only if they are used in combination.” He looked at her, his expression revealing no chagrin or regret. “When your father left you, he left me as well. I don’t know where he is, but I believe that he wanted us to cooperate.” At that moment, as if on cue, the clasp popped off into his hand.

  “Yes,” Dearlyn said quietly, nodding. “That makes sense. It sounds like something Father would do.” Then she started to pull off her cloak. Soon Pryce held both clasps in his hand.

  “I saw a grating of some sort a couple of feet down the entry tube,” Pryce explained. “It had specific markings on it, like a rune or a code of some sort” He turned the clasps this way and that in his palm. “Looking directly at it, it seemed to be four esoterically designed letters, one on top of the other: U, V, O, and W.”

  “Use Virtue Open Wall?” Dearlyn said immediately. Both men stared at her. Then they looked at the wall in anticipation. Nothing happened.

  “We could play that game all day,” Gheevy commented. “Useless Violence Obscures Wonder. Ultimate Victory Or Woe. Untold Victims Obviously Worried—”

  Pryce interrupted, making it clear that this game was at an end. “I think it’s some kind of a special lock that needs an aligning key.” He took Dearlyn’s clasp, which had her initials outlined in flower petals, and turned it sideways to the left. The A was now on top, and when it was tipped slightly, an extra flower petal seemed to lengthen the crosshatch of the A. The D looked like a U with a line across the top.