Vander's great hands caught both the men by their collars and sent them flying across the room to collide heavily with the wall on each side of the door. The firbolg quickly threw a blanket over the exposed young woman and turned to face his hated associates.
The three on the side of the room looked to each other nervously; one of the men who had hit the wall lay crumpled in a heap at its base. The other, though, was up and outraged, a short sword in one hand.
Vander couldn't help but grin as he considered the situation. Might this be the long-awaited showdown? A nagging thought stole his mirth. He could kill these men, all five, and probably the other dozen or so that were in and about the house, but what about Ghost?
Always, the firbolg had to remember Ghost.
"You three," he commanded to the men on the side of the room. "Your associate has drawn a weapon on your master."
The three understood the implications immediately, as did the man holding the short sword, if his suddenly fearful expression correctly revealed his thoughts. The Night Masks were a vicious and evil band, but within the organization existed strict codes of conduct and horrible forms of discipline that even the hardiest assassin feared. The three by the wall drew their own weapons and faced the traitor.
The man with the short sword fumbled to put his weapon away. He jerked once, then again, a confused expression on his face.
His accomplice, crumpled at the base of the wall, was not as dazed as he had appeared, and he was eager to regain the taskmaster's favor. In his hand he held the last of three daggers, and this one, too, he whipped across to find a place in the traitor's side.
Anxious to show their respect and loyalty to their powerfill leader, the other three promptly rushed the dying man. A club slapped the short sword from trembling hands, and all four loyal soldiers set upon the doomed man, hacking and crushing until he lay in a bloody heap on the floor.
"Put him with the other dead," Vander said to them. He looked back to the bed. "And find a proper prison for this girl"
"She is a witness and must be killed," an assassin replied. "That is our way."
"On my word alone," Vander growled back, his voice carrying tremendous influence now, considering the grim fate of the one who had dared to oppose him. "Now take her!" The same man who had questioned the decision started immediately for the bed, sheathing his weapon .but not relenting his steely eyed glare.
Vander caught him in one hand by the throat and easily lifted him from the floor.
"You are not to touch her." The firbolg snarled in his face. He noticed the man's hand inching toward his belt. "Yes ," \fonder purred, "do draw your little knife!"
The three remaining men seemed at a loss.
"She must be killed," one of them dared to offer in support of his threatened colleague.
The man in Finder's grasp twisted free enough to growl defiantly at the firbolg.
\fender heaved him through the nearest wall, back into the kitchen. Several assassins who had gathered in the other room stared through the hole in disbelief at the angry firbolg.
"On your word alone," the three men by the door said obediently.
"I will make my place in the barn," Vander said to them all. "It is more fitting to my size and there I will not have to deal with your impertinence. I warn you just one more time," he growled ominously. "If the girl is harmed in any way . . "
Vander left it at that, preferring to end the threat by leading the others' gazes to the squirming and groaning Night Mask caught fast by broken, stabbing planks halfway between the bedroom and the kitchen.
Fredegar Harriman, proprietor of the Dragon's Codpiece , shook his thick-jowled face in disbelief at the request for yet another private room. The inn had only eight such rooms, and while the much less expensive common room was nearly empty, all of the private rooms were occupied. That alone seemed amazing enough, but what struck Fredegar as even more odd was the makeup of his guests. Five of the rooms belonged to visiting merchants, as was common. A sixth had been paid for until the end of the year by Cadderly, and a seventh had been reserved by the Edifi-cant Library for use by a soon-to-arrive headmaster. Even more unexpectedly, the last room had been rented that very day, to a stranger nearly as curious-looking as this brown-haired lad.
"Common room won't do?" the flustered innkeeper asked. "At least for a few nights? It's on the back side of the building. Not much of a view, but quiet enough."
The young man shook his head, his stringy brown hair flopping to one side, revealing that half of his head had been shaved. "I can pay you well," Bogo offered, giving his purse a quick shake to accentuate the point.
Fredegar continued to wipe the bar and tried to find a way around the dilemma. He didn't want to put the young man out, more for the innkeeper's reputation and his sincerity than for the lost coins, but he didn't see a way around it. The hearth room was teeming this night - it had been full every night since the rumors of impending war had spread through Carradoon - mostly with locals. Fredegar peered through the throng, trying to see if any of his private guests were in attendance.
"I have just one room empty," he explained, "but it won't be for long - might even be filled this night."
"I am here now to fill it," Bogo argued. "Is my gold not as good as another's?"
"Your gold is fine" Fredegar assured him, hoping to keep the tension low. "The one open room has been reserved for more than a week by priests from the Edificant Library. I have assured them that it will be available, and, well, if you are from the area, you know that it is not wise for an honest merchant such as myself to alienate the Edificant Library."
Bogo perked his ears up at mention of the place and the notion that other priests were on their way to town.
"Headmaster Avery and Kierkan Rufo will be in soon," the talkative innkeeper went on. "I haven't seen the good, fat headmaster for almost a year now. I expect he and Rufo have come to town to meet with young Cadderly, another of my guests and another of their priests, and to prepare for this potential war that everyone seems to be talking about."
Bogo scrutinized every word, all the while trying to appear unconcerned. The news about Rufo seemed almost too good to be true. Having the two-time stooge so close at hand could aid his plans to make the kill on Cadderly.
Fredegar, as usual, rambled on in many unimportant directions, speaking mostly of the outrageous rumors that had been circulating. Bogo put in an occasional smile or grunt to make it appear that he was listening, but his mind was whirling down the many avenues the newest information had opened to him.
"I have it!" Fredegar announced suddenly, so loudly that several patrons at the nearest tables of the hearth room stopped their conversations and turned to regard the innkeeper.
"Malcolm," Fredegar called across the room. An older gentleman, a merchant, by his rich and fanciful dress, looked up from his table.
"Half price if you will share a room with my Brennan," Fredegar offered.
The old gentleman smiled and turned to talk with his companions at the table, then stood and came over to the bar.
"I have only one more night in town," he answered when he arrived. "I leave for Riatavin in the morning." He winked conspiratorially, both at Fredegar and the odd-looking young man standing at the bar. "One can make fine trades with such grim news filling the air, eh?"
"A night with my Brennan?" Fredegar said hopefully.
The merchant gazed across the room to a younger woman, fine in stature and looking back at him with obvious interest. "I had hoped to be accompanied on my last night in town," he explained. Again came his wink, this time even more lecherous. "After all, back in Riatavin tomorrow night, I will be forced to spend some time with my wife."
Fredegar, blushing, joined him in his laughter.
"I could spend a single night in the common room," Bogo interjected, not at all amused by the worthless bantering, "if you will guarantee me this man's room by midday tomorrow." Bogo turned his thin lips up in a wry smile, thinking it best to play the conniving buddy game. "Free of charge this night?" he asked coyly.
Fredegar, never one to bicker (especially not when the inn was so full), readily agreed. "And an ale with my compliments, young stranger," the innkeeper offered as he filled a tankard. "And one for your intended?" Fredegar asked Malcolm.
"I will meet it at the table," the lecherous merchant replied, going back to his seat.
Bogo accepted the drink with a smile and turned about, leaning with his elbow propped on the bar. The crowd buzzed and played; it was a jovial and warm inn, its atmosphere not at all hindered (perhaps even enhanced) by the still-distant rumors of war. The perfect cover, Bogo thought as he watched the bustle, and he nearly laughed aloud as he considered how the events of the next few days might steal a bit of the mirth.
"So good that you have returned!" he heard Fredegar say a short while later. Bogo's eyes widened and he purposely shifted farther down the bar as a young man, of above average height and solid build, moved to join the innkeeper. He wore a blue, wide-brimmed hat lined with a red sash. Set in its middle was a porcelain brooch bearing the holy symbol of Deneir. There could be little doubt as to this one's identity - Dorigen's description of Cadderly had not included the beard, but Bogo could see that it was newly grown, and the unkempt sand-brown hair and gray eyes certainly fit.
"Headmaster Avery and Kierkan Rufo are coming in," Fredegar explained, "perhaps this very night."
Bogo noticed the young man flinch at that remark, though the priest had tried to cover his reaction. "Do they know I am staying here?" he asked.
Fredegar seemed at a loss by his guest's obvious, discomfort. "Why, Cadderly," he replied slyly, "have'you done something wrong?"
The young priest smiled noncommittally and started for the staircase beside the bar. Distracted, Cadderly did not even notice the odd-looking young man as he passed by.
But Bogo certainly noticed Cadderly. He watched the priest go, thinking how easy this all might be.
Evil Visions, Evil Deeds stood in a lighted room, the sitting room of Belisarius 's tower perhaps, holding a beating HIM! heart in his hand. The slain minotaur lay at his I feet and all his closest friends, Danica and the dwarven brothers, stood by it, laughing wildly, uncontrollably.
Cadderly, too, joined in the laughter, but as soon is he did, he realized that his friends were not laughing at all. Rather, they were crying, sobbing great tears that streaked their cheeks and fell in impossibly large puddles at their feet.
He did not understand.
Something was logically wrong; Cadderly sensed that something about the entire scene was out of place. He felt the warm blood running down his arm, soaking his tunic, but in his perversion of the wizard's minotaur and maze illusion, there had been no blood! Slowly, fearfully, the young scholar looked down.
The minotaur was not a minotaur any longer, nor had it vanished like some insubstantial illusion, as Cadderly had expected. It was Avery - Cadderly knew it was Avery, though he could not see the face of the man who lay on his back across a table, arms and legs splayed wide and his chest savagely torn open.
Cadderly held Avery's still-beating heart.
He tried to scream but could not. There came a rapping noise, sharp but distant.
He could not scream.
Cadderly sat up. The rapping came again, more insistently, followed by a voice that Cadderly could not ignore,.. At last he dared to open his eyes and sighed deeply when he learned that he was in his own room, that it had all been another terrible dream.
"Cadderly?"
The call was not a dream, and his recognition of the commanding, fatherly voice could not be wrong. He closed his eyes again, tried to pretend he was not there, or that Avery was not there.