Free Waterdeep by Troy Denning

her.
    Midnight whirled on him, her hands clenched into fists. “Serious!” she screamed. “You oaf! Those were my spells - without them, I’m nothing!”
    A pall of silence fell over the camp. For several minutes, Midnight stared at Kelemvor as if the fighter had burned the spellbook himself. Finally, she hissed, “Was burying those halflings worth this?” She turned away and stared into the fire.
    A moment later, Berengaria approached Adon. “We still have deal?” she asked timidly. “We still friends?”
    Adon nodded. They had nothing to gain by punishing the halflings. “We’re still friends. You didn’t understand.”
    “She might not have realized what the spellbook was,” said a clear, masculine voice. “But that’d be all she didn’t understand.” A gaunt halfling male stepped into the clearing. His skin was the color of ash, his eyes were rimmed with red, and a sloppy bandage circled his forehead.
    The other halflings backed away from the newcomer, whispering amongst themselves. He knelt beside the fire and picked up two roasted rabbits. “Have these,” he said, giving one to Adon and one to Kelemvor. “There are plenty more where they came from, and it’s only a fair trade for all you’ve lost.”
    Kelemvor accepted the rabbit, but made no move to eat it. The warrior had an uneasy feeling about this halfling, and it was not just because the others feared him. “Who are you?” he demanded.
    “Atherton Cooper,” the halfling replied, his gaze never faltering from the fighter’s. “But most call me Sneakabout. Now eat up. Berengaria has not been a good hostess this night.”
    “Yes, please do,” Berengaria added. “We can always catch more coneys.” The matronly halfling put the dagger away and smiled.
    It did not escape Adon’s notice that Berengaria’s Common had suddenly improved. It was clear to the cleric that the halfling had been playing them for fools.
    “You’ve known all along we didn’t attack your village, haven’t you?” Adon demanded. “You were stealing our gear while we collected your dead!”
    “That’s correct,” Berengaria replied, wincing. Then she turned to Kelemvor and added, “But that doesn’t negate our deal. What’s done is done. Besides, our need is great.”
    The green-eyed fighter grunted and took a bite from the rabbit. He had no intention of demanding back what he had offered to the halflings, for Berengaria spoke the truth about their need. Nevertheless, he didn’t enjoy losing his possessions through guile and trickery.
    The warrior chewed slowly, considering Atherton Cooper. Sneakabout was taller and thinner than most of his race, and there was a certain menace to his manner. The tall halfling was the only able-bodied male in the camp, and that in itself was suspicious. Still, Sneakabout was the only halfling who had not stolen from or lied to the heroes, and Kelemvor was determined to treat honesty and respect in kind.
    “Where are the other men?” the fighter asked between mouthfuls of rabbit. “There weren’t many in the village, and there are fewer here.”
    “Gone to massage their vanity while their womenfolk starve in the forest,” Sneakabout replied.
    Berengaria turned from Midnight, whom she was trying to comfort, and added, “The menfolk were hunting when the Zhentilar-“
    “Zhentilar?” Adon interrupted. “Are you sure?”
    “Aye, I’m sure,” Berengaria replied. “They wore the armor of Zhentil Keep, didn’t they? Anyway, the men were gone, or there would have been a different story to tell in Black Oaks. Now our warriors have gone to track down those sons-of-sows!”
    “And to get themselves killed,” Sneakabout added bitterly.
    Berengaria glared menacingly at Sneakabout. “They’ll be fine without your company,” she snapped.
    Sneakabout snorted in reply. “They’ll be outnumbered, outsized, and outwitted.”
    Kelemvor agreed with Sneakabout, though he didn’t say so. Even if the halflings caught the