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protruding a lightly smoking cigar. No look of triumph scored the merchant s round face. Satisfaction,
perhaps. With bin Grue it was only business as usual.
When he noticed the herdsman staring at him, he grunted around the tobacco. Nobody gets the best of
Haramos bin Grue. You should ve let me have the cat.
Alongside the herdsman Simna ibn Sind was coming slowly awake. As he returned to the world of
cognizance, he became aware of the strong cords binding his arms behind his back.
Hoy, what s this? Blinking, he focused not on the pensive nobleman but on the stubby shape standing
next to him. It s the pig-man! Futilely, he began to fight against his fetters. Let me free for a minute.
No, half a minute! You don t even have to give me a sword!
While his friend raged, Ehomba saw that a metal net now secured the glowering black litah behind him.
A second similar mesh had been used to bind up Hunkapa Aub while he slept. Whatever drug had been
slipped into their wine had done its work efficiently and with admirable subtlety. No wonder the Count s
servants had insisted that Ahlitah and Hunkapa partake of the specially treated libation.
Their gear lay piled nearby, his pack and weapons atop Simna s. These might as well have been left on
the other side of the Hrugars. He was bound so tightly he could barely move his fingers, let alone his arms
and legs. No doubt bin Grue had made sure of that. But he was not sorry for himself. He had faced death
many times before. His only regret was that he would not be able to tell Mirhanja and the children
good-bye, and that they would never know what had happened to him. Also, it was more than a little
discouraging to realize that they were going to die for a lie.
If there was anything more depressing than his own situation, it was the pitiful plight of Hunkapa Aub.
The big, easygoing beast was sitting hunched over and silent with his head hung down toward his feet,
exactly as Ehomba had first seen him penned back in Netherbrae. After all he had been through, and
after having his freedom restored, he was once again destined for life in a cage, to be tormented and
jeered at by thoughtless, faceless, uncaring humans. Ehomba was glad he could see only the solid,
imposing back and not the creature s countenance.
What have you to say before I pronounce sentence?
Turning away from his friends and ignoring Simna s unbounded ranting, Ehomba tried to meet Count
Bewaryn Beckwith s stare with as much sincere probity as he could muster. The individual standing next
to you does not deserve to share your presence. He is Haramos bin Grue, a false merchant of
Lybondai.
I know who he is, the Count replied curtly. With one hand he brushed aside a dozen amethyst anthias
who were swimming across his line of vision. Fins twitching, they skittered silently out of his way. He
came all the way from the far south to warn me of your coming, and to tell me the truth of what happened
to my son.
The truth is he knows only what I told his employee, an old man with no more scruples than himself.
Ehomba tried to shift his position and found that he could move his backside and bound legs in concert,
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but had no chance of standing up. Speaking from a seated position weakened his words, he knew, if only
psychologically. He has twisted and distorted it for his own ends. Every time he opens his mouth, he
feeds you bullshit.
Not only a murderer and a liar, but coarse. Using only his lips, bin Grue manipulated the smoking cigar
from one side of his mouth to the other.
Hear my friend, great Count! Evincing impressive reserves of energy, Simna continued to fight futilely
with the ropes that bound him even as he spoke. He tells the truth. And if you don t release us, doom
will befall you. My friend is a great and powerful wizard!
A hand slowly massaging one temple, Beckwith regarded the herdsman coldly. Is that so? He looks
like a common assassin to me, one who can do nothing without stealth and a knife to slip into some
innocent s back. But I am willing to be convinced. Eyes blazing, he leaned forward on the throne. Your
friend says you are a powerful magician, southerner. Prove his words. Free yourself. Against the walls, a
number of the vigilant soldiers shifted uneasily.
I am no assassin, Ehomba replied. Hymneth the Possessed is the murderer of your son.
A wizard. With a blunt, humorless laugh, Beckwith sat back on his throne.
Simna stopped struggling against his bonds long enough to lean to his left and whisper to his companion.
Come on, Etjole. This be no time for reticence. Show them what you can do. Reveal your powers to
them!
The herdsman nodded in the direction of their collected kit. What small powers I may access lie in the
bottom of my pack, Simna, which I cannot reach. I am sorry. Truly I am.
Well then, remonstrate with this fool! He s so blinded by the loss of his son that he can t think straight.
That s when slime like bin Grue can do their work.
I will try. Redirecting his words to the dais, he spoke clearly and with the confidence of one who
speaks the truth. Think a moment before condemning us, noble Beckwith. If I were truly your son s
killer, why would I come all this way and present myself to your court? What possible reason could I
have for undertaking such a long and dangerous journey?
Beckwith replied without hesitation. To claim the treasure, of course. He glanced to his right. Now it
will go, as it rightfully should, to my new friend here.
For the first time, Haramos bin Grue smiled. And why not? Not only was he going to reclaim the black
litah and acquire an additional attraction in the form of the disconsolate Hunkapa Aub, there was
apparently a good deal more at stake.
I knew it! Simna burst out. He glared murderously at his tall friend. There was treasure all along!
You ve been lying to me but I never believed you, you sanctimonious southern scion of a promiscuous
porker!
Honestly baffled, Ehomba gaped at his friend. Simna, I do not know what you are talking about. He
nodded as best he was able in Beckwith s direction. I do not know whathe is talking about.
But I do know now! At last I understand. Oh, you were so subtle, you were, so adept at parrying my
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questions about treasure. Turning sharply away from the herdsman, Simna ibn Sind gazed expectantly
at the throne. There s a reward, isn t there? For information about your son. That s the treasure!
A wary Bewaryn Beckwith nodded slowly. There has been for months. Knowledge of it was spread
far and wide in hopes of securing some information as to Tarin s whereabouts. This good merchant earns
it by dint of the invaluable information he has brought me. I am only thankful that he arrived in time to tell
me the truth of how things really are, and to inform me of your nefarious intentions. His attention shifted
back to Ehomba. It is clear you not only murdered my son, but intended to claim the reward for bringing
us the news of his death. Simple man that I am, I cannot conceive of such incredible arrogance.
Hoy, I can, noble sir! Not only was an obviously outraged Simna not finished, he appeared to be just
warming up. For weeks I have been attending to this mumbling, stone-faced charlatan, seeing to his
needs, waiting upon his desires, helping to protect him from all manner of difficulties and dangers. I did
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