II

The metallic ringing of steel on steel fell upon earsso long past ignoring it that they may as well have been deaf. With eachimpact, sparks filled the night air, streaking upward like startled fireflies,becoming brief ruddy stars, and finishing their fleeting lives with meteoricfalls to the stone floor. Thus it went as the sun set and night cloaked thecity of Raven's Bluff. Time and time again, Orlando repeated the ritual of hiscraft. Hammer fell, sparks flew, and the wedge of a plow gradually took shape.

When the farmer's blade was finally completed, thenoise ended and the smoldering coals of the forge were left to cool. Thebrawny, dark-skinned Orlando set about returning his tools to their places,taking no notice of the ebony shape that appeared in the open doorway of hisshop.

For a fraction of a second, the shadow filled the doorway,blocking out the stars and crescent moon that hung beyond it. Then, with thegrace of a hunting cat, it slipped through the portal and into the swelteringheat of the blacksmith's shop. In the absence of the ringing hammer, the shadowdrifted in supernatural silence.

Without prelude, a sepulchral voice wafted from thedarkness. Though a whisper, the intonation and clarity of the words made themas audible as any crier's shout.

Jaybel and Gwynn are dead.

Orlando froze, hishand still clutching the great hammer, half-suspended from an iron hook. The voicesent a chill down his spine, raising goosebumps across his body just as it hadwhen he'd last heard it years ago. Orlando turned slowly, keeping the hammer inhis hand and trying to spot the source of the voice. As had always been thecase when she desired it, Lelanda was one with the darkness.

Relax, Orlando, said the night. I didn't do it.

"Then show yourself," said the blacksmith,knowing she wouldn't.

It had been years since Orlando had taken up a weaponaside from a tankard in a tavern brawl. Still, even the passing of the yearsdidn't prevent the well-honed reflexes of his adventuring days from surgingback to life. If the witch tried anything, his life wouldn't command a smallprice. Still, he knew who would walk away from the battle. He doubted Lelandahad given up magic. She was probably even more powerful. So, Orlando's rustyreflexes would provide her only brief entertainment.

To Orlando's surprise, the darkness before him parted.Lelanda's face, crowned with hair the color of smoldering coals and set withemerald eyes that reminded him all too well of a cat's, appeared no more than ayard away from his own. As always, he was stunned by the shocking contrastbetween her external beauty and her malevolent soul within.

If he struck just then, there was no way the witchcould save herself. The muscles in his arm tensed, but he could not bringhimself to strike first. He had to hear her out.

"Satisfied?" she asked.

Her voice, no longer distorted by the magical shroudof shadows, seemed gentle and alluring. Orlando knew that, like her beauty, hervoice was a deadly illusion. Black widows were beautiful as well. Even knowingthe truth, his pulse quickened.

The retired warrior put aside the distraction andasked the only question that made sense: "What happened to them?"

"It wasn't an accident," she said, her eyeslowering to the hammer still in Orlando's hand. He grinned halfheartedly andtossed it toward the nearby workbench. She returned his smile and went on."Someone killed them."

"You're sure it wasn't you?" he asked.

"Fairly," she said. "I'm on my way toWaterdeep to find out who. We made a lot of enemies in those days."

"We made friends, too," the blacksmith said.

"We lost them as well," said the witch.

Orlando's memory wasquick to pull up an image of Shandt, his enchanted battle-axe glowing as itswept back and forth through the ranks of hobgoblins that swallowed him up. Itwasn't the way he would have wanted to remember the smiling dwarf.

"If we leave in the morning, we can be there in afew days," said Lelanda. "I know some … shortcuts."

"If we leave now, we can be there sooner,"said Orlando. "Give me an hour to get ready."


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