Free Murder in Halruaa by Richard Meyers Page B

It’s Darlington Blade!”
    “I told you not to call me that!”
    “No, you don’t understand! They’d hunt you down to the ends ofToril!” “Who would?”
    “The wizards. The mages. The inquisitrixes. Berridge Lymwich!”
    “Why?” Pryce asked in anguish. “All I did was borrow a cloak! I’ll put it back!”
    “It’s too late! All those people you mentioned. They saw you. They called you… by that name. You didn’t disagree. Don’t you understand? Impersonating a mage is punishable by deathl”
    The wine grotto was silent for what seemed like minutes.
    A variety of emotions shot through Pryce Covington’s brain, but none showed on his expressionless face. Gheevy Wotfirr looked up at him in concern but said no more.
    Finally the silence was broken by Pryce’s quiet, considerate, careful words.
    “Oh, dear.”
    “Are you all right?”
    “Oh, my.”
    “What are you going to do?” “Oh, no.”
    Gheevy felt impelled to dispel the paralyzing mood that was filling the grotto. He gathered his courage and addressed the stunned man the only way he could. “Blade?”
    “Yes?” said Pryce immediately, snapping out of his shock.
    “What are you going to do?”
    “Carry on,” Covington snapped. “With style.” He acted as if absolutely nothing was wrong. “All right, my dear Wotfirr, do you have any idea what Geerling Ambersong had in mind for Darlington Bl—I mean, for me?”
    Wotfirr tried to speak but found he wasn’t up to the challenge. He shook his head vigorously.
    “Do you have any idea where this Geerling Ambersong is?”
    Gheevy shook his head again, then suddenly stopped and looked hopeful. “But I can show you where I delivered the ale and grog,” he offered. “He might be close by.”
    Covington wasn’t impressed. “Let me guess,” he said aridly. “The Mark of the Question?”
    Gheevy’s mouth dropped open. “That’s incredible!” he burbled. “How did you know that?”
    “Rudimentary, my dear Gheevy,” Covington said airily, waving away the question with mock refinement. Then he abruptly leaned toward the halfling. “Where do you think I found this cloak?” he asked, then murmured, “Among other things…”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    Instead of answering, Pryce fell miserably to his knees. Unable to remain oblivious any longer, he let despair wash over him, driving him to his elbows, his face in his hands. For a time, the only sounds in the grotto were Covington’s groans. Finally, cupping the side of his head, he looked over at the halfling. “I wonder… can I trust you?”
    The halfling straightened to his full height, his chin rising.
    “Never trust a person by his words,” he intoned. “Only by his actions. You will note that I have not, and will not, turn you in. I will not have your death on my conscience for what I believe was an entirely innocent act.” He nodded with certainty. “I believe your remorse and confusion to be genuine.” Then he smiled kindly, with a small twinkle in his eye. “As is my pity for you, poor man.”
    Pryce rose to his knees. ‘Thank you. I try. Now, would you mind doing me a small favor?”
    “What have you gotten me into?” Gheevy Wotfirr complained into the night upon seeing the two corpses.
    “Nothing!” Pryce insisted, motioning for the halfling to keep his voice down. “I just need your advice.”
    “Well, then, my advice is not to have involved me in the first place!” the halfling retorted. “Oh dear, oh, dear. This is just awful!”
    They had left Lallor under the cover of moonlight and the shadow of ale barrels. “Good friends” Gheevy Wotfirr and Darlington Blade had passed below the eye at the gate, carrying refreshments for their mutual friend and Blade’s teacher, Geerling Ambersong.
    “But what if Inquisitrix Lymwich tries to follow us?” Gheevy had worried. “Or tries to get a wizard to track our steps?”
    “I’m counting on Blade’s… I mean, my reputation to make her think that any attempt