The Nether Scroll

4

30 Eleasias, the Year of the Banner (1368 DR) Parnast

Druhallen found it harder to tell Rozt'a and Galimer that he suspected Tiep had betrayed them than it had been to listen to Amarandaris create those suspicions. They didn't want to believe the youth they loved as a son and brother would snuggle up to the Zhentarim. Galimer had gotten an unexpected cold shoulder from every merchant in the morning's caravan and couldn't guess why until Dru's tale offered an explanation.

"I warned that boy about making friends among the Zhentarim," Galimer muttered several times before sinking into a dark silence.

Rozt'a's faith in their foundling was not so easily shaken. "It could just as easily be our fault. We could have been overheard after we got here. How many times have I said-'Don't say anything; the walls have ears' only to have you tell me not to worry, that you've set wards? You depend too much on magic, Druhallen. Wards and locks only keep the honest people out and you're not the greatest wizard who ever walked. Maybe you're the equal of this Amarandaris, but who calls the tune for him? Sememmon in Darkhold? Gods spare us! The Network spies on itself-always has, always will. Do you think there's nothing in Darkhold to break your wards?"

"It doesn't take magic to break my wards," Druhallen shot back. "Anyone can break them. But no wizard-not all the Network wizards working together-could reconstruct them afterward, at least not in a way that would fool me for a heartbeat. You'd know if I tried to sharpen one of your knives, wouldn't you? Well, it's the same with my wards." Dru stretched his arms toward the walls. "They're mine, exactly as I set them. No one, not a mouse nor a mage, has put an ear to our walls."

"What about a priest," she persisted. "A priest and his god. You'd never know."

"A god wouldn't stop with the wards. If Amarandaris had been spying on us, he'd have known what the Candlekeep spell could and couldn't do. He thinks it's more potent than it is-that's Tiep. That's got to be Tiep."

"The boy's been through a lot," Galimer said from the corner. "And he's always had a taste for dice. I thought we'd gotten those lessons pounded into his head, but this time it's different. This time he's trying to impress that goose girl."

Before Dru thought through Galimer's implications, Rozt'a's eyes narrowed the way they did when she held her sword.

"That goose girl," she whispered coldly. "Manya. The Pit take her. She's your spy, Druhallen."

"She's still a child," Dru protested, but he wasn't that naive. More than one man had been separated from his secrets by a woman, even by a goose girl. "She's Parnaster. I don't know why or how, but I can't believe that a Parnaster would run to Amarandaris."

"Forget Parnast," Rozt'a advised. "I should have asked questions. I didn't like the look of her from the start-all shy and helpless smiles. They're the worst. You never see a helpless girl who isn't too pretty by half. Like as not, she caught Amarandaris's eye and now she's working for him, will she or nil she."

Dru shook his head. "The first thing we told Tiep was: never confide in a stranger-"

"There are no strangers in the grass!" Rozt'a shouted, and Dru realized he'd rasped a raw nerve. "Tiep's never had a girl his own age look him in the eye. He's got no defenses against that. She's had him eating out of her hand."

Dru didn't know how far things might have progressed between Tiep and Manya, but both he and Galimer knew for a fact that the goose girl wasn't the first girl to make cow-eyes at the youth. He was growing into a handsome man, and he'd always been charming.

Tiep and Manya had spent the past three dusty afternoons together… and yesterday he hadn't shown up for supper in the commons. When they'd asked, he'd said that Manya's mother had set out a plate for him.

I couldn't very well say, 'No, I won't break bread with you,' could I? I not supposed to be rude, am I? And the food in that farmhouse was better than the swill we've been getting at the charterhouse.

Dru hadn't said anything when Tiep had made the remark and didn't say anything now, as it echoed in memory. When it came to weaving truth and lies into seamless cloth, Tiep was a born master. The youth could charm strangers, but he was at his best with those who wanted to believe him. If they were smart, he, Galimer and Rozt'a would cut Tiep loose before he brought disaster down on their heads…

The thought of abandoning Tiep to save themselves was so unpleasant that Dru turned physically away from it and found himself staring into Galimer's similarly turbulent eyes. If he turned around, he'd be staring at Rozt'a.

Well, a wizard could always study his spellbook. Who knew when meditation on an old, simple spell would yield an insight into a more complex magic or the ability to cast it without need of words, gestures, or reagents? Druhallen hadn't stumbled into any new insights when the supper gong clanged from the charterhouse porch and Tiep hadn't returned.

"I'm going after him," Rozt'a announced.

Her fighting knives shone in the early evening light. Dru recalled, as if from a dream, that he'd heard her sharpening them while he'd been meditating.

"I'll come with you," Galimer offered.

Rozt'a snarled, "No" as she slammed the knives into their sheaths, one on her right calf, the other on her left forearm. "I'll handle this alone."

"Be careful," Dru warned.

She snorted laughter. "A bit late for that. A bit late for all of us. Save me a seat-save two."

In the commons, Druhallen and Galimer did more than save seats. They collected extra portions of bread and stew. The stew had congealed before Tiep came through the door with a grim Rozt'a a half-step behind.

"Sorry we're late," the lad said brightly. "But two Anauroch caravans in one day! I got distracted. You wouldn't believe what they pulled off those camels." He stirred, then ignored, his stew. "You remember those sandalwood boxes Old Maddie sells in Scornubel? I saw boxes like that, only twice as big and half the cost. I was talking to a trader-negotiating-when Rozt'a said you were all waiting on me. The trader says I can have the lot for three blue-eyes with Cormyr mint-marks. The boxes have got to be worth ten blue-eyes in Scornubel-at least ten. I said I had to talk to my partners first."

Galimer scowled and Tiep spooned up a mouthful of stew. Dru waited for Rozt'a's version of events. Her lips were set in thin, pale lines, but she said nothing, so the lad's tale might be true. Trading three Cormyr coins in Parnast for ten in Scornubel was worth consideration, but didn't mean their other suspicions were wrong.

If Tiep suspected he was marching toward a cliff, he hid it well throughout dinner and the sunset walk between the charterhouse and their room. He was the first to speak after the door was shut.

"So, what do you think? I've got one blue-eye set aside. Will you advance me the other two? I'm telling you-Old Maddie will pay us at least eight, or we can peddle the boxes ourselves. I'll give you four for two. It's a sure thing-"

Dru had heard enough. "I had an unpleasant conversation with Lord Amarandaris this afternoon, Tiep."

The lad sobered instantly without taking on a guilty aura. "Problems? Anything I can do to-?"

"I'm more interested in what you've already have done."

"What you might have done," Rozt'a corrected. "By accident-because you trusted someone you shouldn't have."

Tiep's eyebrows pulled together. "It's just boxes-"

Galimer leapt into the growing confusion: "We may have been remiss in-er, aspects of your education, Tiep. Flattery, at the wrong time-You might have been tempted to trade confidences with someone-a woman-a girl-"

"Manya? What's Manya got to do with sandalwood boxes-or some stuffy Zhentarim?"

"That's what we were hoping you could tell us," Dru answered.

Tiep straightened. He'd grown this summer; there was no more looking down on him. They'd come to a serious crossroads. If Dru couldn't trust Tiep the way he trusted Galimer and Rozt'a, the young man was on his own. Worse-if he, Galimer, and Rozt'a couldn't agree on the lad's trustworthiness, then Dru himself might be alone.

He continued, "Lord Amarandaris had a notion of why we were headed for Dekanter and what I'd hoped to do when I got there. I think he could only have gotten that information from talking to one of us-or talking to someone who had talked to one of us."

"He hasn't talked to me about Dekanter," Tiep replied quickly. "And I haven't spilled anything to Manya, either-not that she'd tell Amandis even if I had. She says he's nothing but slime with legs and hair."

"I trust that you and she were clever enough not to say that where you could be overheard?"

Tiep nodded. "We were with the geese. Geese're almost as good as wards-" A thoughtful expression formed on his face. "Our wards. Maybe someone busted your wards, Dru?"

"My wards are-" He stopped speaking. His wards were suddenly fire in his mind. "A stranger's breaching them right now."

Rozt'a flattened beside the door. She drew her knives. "Amarandaris?"

"Can't tell," Dru admitted. In all his years of setting wards around their camps and rented rooms, he'd had only a handful of opportunities to study what happened when they were breached by uninvited guests. "I don't sense a threat."

"Manya!" Tiep lunged for the door.

Dru whispered the word that lifted the wards. He sagged against the wall when the wasted magic rebounded inside his skull. Stone blind and half deaf, he faintly heard Galimer say "Mystra's mercy, who are you?"

Dru pulled himself together, pinched a cold ember from the placket of his shirt sleeve, and thought of flames. When his vision cleared, he'd be ready to hurl fire.

"Sheemzher, good man."

Sheemzher's voice was reedy and foreign. Make that more than foreign as Tiep asked: "What are you?"

"Sheemzher serve good lady. Good lady Wyndyfarh."

Dru didn't recognize the name. When he opened his eyes, he didn't recognize Rozt'a either, though it seemed likely that she was the larger blur slamming a smaller blur against the closed door.

"Who sent you?" she demanded.

In plain terror, the reedy voice shrieked, "Sheemzher alone. Come alone, not sent!"

Another thud shook dust down from the ceiling.

"No harm!" Sheemzher gasped. "No harm, good woman! Sheemzher give thanks. Sheemzher give reward. Good sir save child."

"It's a goblin!" Tiep shouted. "It's a godsforsaken goblin dressed up like a little man."

Dru ground his knuckles into his eyes. "If it's a goblin," he said to Rozt'a, "let it go."

"You jest?" she replied, giving Sheemzher another slam for good measure.

"No." There was one last thud as the goblin fell to the floor. "I rescued a goblin on the way back from my meeting with Amarandaris."

"Why?" Galimer asked, and after a pause, "From what?"

"From men-Zhentarim thugs. They were going to tear it apart. I don't know why."

Dru rubbed his eyes some more. They burned horribly, but he could see again-or thought he could. Sheemzher was the strangest creature he'd seen in year. No doubt he was a goblin-nothing else under the sun was quite as scrawny in the arms and legs, quite as jut-jawed ugly, or quite that red-orange color-but he was indeed masquerading as a man in cut-down blue breeches and a fitted, bright-green jacket. Sheemzher even wore boots; Dru couldn't remember ever seeing a goblin wearing shoes, much less black boots with brass buckles. Or a broad-brimmed hat which the goblin scooped from the floor and brandished before him as he bowed.

"Sheemzher reward good sir. Good sir keep generous heart," the goblin said. "Good lady say: May your chosen god bless you with fair fortune." He tamped the hat tight over his nearly bald head.

"Who did you say sent you?" Dru asked after a silent moment.

"Sheemzher serve good lady Wyndyfarh. Good lady in Wood. Good lady not send Sheemzher, good sir. Sheemzher come alone. Sheemzher give reward. Few big men save people."

The goblin dug into a leather shoulder-pouch and withdrew a smaller sack sewn from patterned silk and knotted with silken cord. He offered the smaller sack to Dru who hesitated before taking it. A civilized goblin-a goblin who could meet human eyes without flinching was as extraordinary as his hat. Dru's first thought was that the creature was ensorcelled. He readied the same magic ring he'd used on Amarandaris earlier in the day.

"I'm grateful for your thanks," he said, striving to match the goblin's simple formality. The goblin-kin weren't known for their cleverness. "Your thanks are sufficient. I need no other reward for saving a child."

He wove his fingers past the offering, which he didn't want under any circumstance, and clasped the goblin's empty hand. Druhallen had never taken the magical measure of a goblin before. It was difficult to interpret the sensations that raced up his arm, but they didn't have the signatures he would have expected from a mage in disguise.

The goblin grasped Dru's hand in return and tilted his head up. "Not accept reward, good sir? Not good? Not right? Sheemzher sorry." Ugly as he was, Sheemzher could have taught Tiep a thing or two about pleading. Which was another odd thing as goblins weren't known for their empathy. "Sheemzher give all for child."

Dumbfounded, Dru asked, "I saved your child?"

As hard as it was to accept the hat, boots, and bright-green jacket, it was harder to imagine that Sheemzher was the father of the malodorous creature Dru had rescued from the chicken coop.

"No, good sir. Sheemzher not father. Mother, daughter not belong Sheemzher. Mother, daughter from Greypeaks. Mother, daughter hungry. Mother, daughter make mistake. Big mistake. Sheemzher helpless. Sheemzher pray. Good sir come. Good sir save child. Sheemzher give reward."

Dru shook his head. "Give this to your gods, Sheemzher. I acted for myself." He freed himself of the goblin's hand and the gift.

"Keep it, Dru. We could use a little reward about now," Galimer suggested.

"Yes, good sir. Keep reward. Open reward?"

Rozt'a sheathed her knives. "Oh, go ahead and get it over with. I don't know which is harder to believe: that you rescued a warty runt or that one's come to reward you for doing it. I haven't seen so much color since we left Llorkh."

"Lady Mantis favorite colors. Sheemzher wear favorite colors."

Rozt'a's hands went back to her knife hilts. "Lady Mantis? That's not the name you gave before. You said Windy-something before."

The goblin stiffened and clapped his hands together. "Lady Mantis same good lady Wyndyfarh. Good lady Wyndyfarh same Lady of the Wood. Sheemzher serve good lady. Sheemzher proud."

Dru ceased fumbling with the knotted silk. "Weathercote Wood?"

"Yes, good sir. Good lady Wyndyfarh lives Weathercote Wood. Weathercote Wood magic wood. Weathercote Wood many wonder wood. But good lady Wyndyfarh most wonder, good sir. Most, most wonder."

"Is your lady a wizard?"

"Good lady Wyndyfarh great lady, good sir. All Weathercote people great people. Great, good sir, not wizard. Good sir wizard, yes?"

Without dwelling on the goblin's distinctions between good, great, and the practitioners of magic, Dru reminded himself that if Sheemzher had seen him rescue the child, then he'd probably seen him cast the gloomy spell.

"Please, good sir, open reward?"

Before Dru finished with the knots, Tiep found his voice. "You've seen Lady Mantis?"

Tiep's voice broke as it hadn't in years. His normally dark complexion had gone sallow. Lady Mantis must have quite a reputation among the Parnasters.

"Sheemzher serve good lady Wyndyfarh. Good lady same Lady Mantis." The goblin answered Tiep's question but didn't honor him with a "good sir" nor even the "good man" he'd hung on Galimer.

"She's real? She's not just a story?" Tiep persisted.

"What real? All Weathercote people real. What people not real?"

"What's this about a story?" Rozt'a demanded. "Tiep, you look like you swallowed a ghost. What stories have you heard?"

"Stories," Tiep whispered without taking his eyes off Sheemzher. "Lady Mantis comes to the village at night, when someone's sick or dying. She heals them… sometimes. But sometimes, she just comes and steals a Zhentarim or two." He retreated toward the wall. "One that needs stealing. They say she eats them. They never come back, that's for certain."

That had to be the least believable tale Tiep had ever told. Dru broke the cord knotting up the silk. Four coins clattered to the floor. Three were the angular bits of black metal that passed for currency in the charterhouse. The fourth was bright silver and larger than the others combined.

Twilight had gone to evening and they needed to light the lamp, but even without it, Dru saw knew he'd never seen this coin's like before. No coin minted near the Heartlands bore the sun's face on one side and a dragon on the other. He offered the coin to Galimer who lit the lamp before accepting it.

"Is this what I think it is?" Galimer asked with his thumbnail framing the script beneath the dragon's wing.

"Sure looks like it to me." He left the coin in Galimer's care and towered over the goblin. "Who minted that coin? How did you get it?"

Sheemzher wrung his hands. "Good lady Wyndyfarh send Sheemzher here. Good lady Wyndyfarh give Sheemzher silver. Sheemzher buy food, other things. Sheemzher bargain good, good sir. Sheemzher had too much silver; not now. Sheemzher reward good sir. Good lady not angry. Good lady have many, many coins, good sir. Many, many same silver coins."

Common wisdom said goblins weren't clever enough to deceive a human. Common wisdom also said that goblins scavenged what little clothing they wore and never bathed. Druhallen would wager every last one of the good lady's many silver coins that Sheemzher had nothing in common with common wisdom.

"Where does your lady get her coins?" he asked.

The goblin shrugged. "Sheemzher not know. Good lady know. Good sir ask good lady, yes? Good lady wise. Good lady know Wood. Good lady know coin. Good lady know all. Good sir ask good lady; good sir become wise."

Dru was thinking that Lady Mantis had her own mint somewhere when Rozt'a asked, "What did he give you? Is it an elven coin? Something from Myth Drannor?"

"Better," he replied. "We've seen the script before on an old piece of glass, but this coin could have been minted yesterday." Druhallen looked again at Sheemzher. "Your lady's not using someone else's stamps to mint her coins, is she?"

The goblin shook his head solemnly. "What be stamps, good sir? What be mint, good sir? Sheemzher confused; people not clever. Good lady Wyndyfarh have coins. Good sir need coins? Good sir need special coins. Good lady help good sir. Good lady kind."

Druhallen threw back his head and laughed. "Amarandaris. He's cleverer than I thought." He looked down on the goblin. "Amarandaris sent you, didn't he?"

"No, good sir. Sheemzher come alone. Good lady Wyndyfarh say, 'Stay out of the way of the Zhentarim. There's no reason for them to know anything they don't expect.' "

When it came to quoting his good lady's speech, the goblin got the words right but used an unfamiliar, lilting accent. Sheemzher was a mystery and so was his good lady. Druhallen exchanged a glance with Galimer; they were both intrigued. They were both wizards; curiosity was their greatest vice.

"Why that coin, Sheemzher?" Dru pointed at the silver in Galimer's hand. "Why reward me with that particular coin? Do all her silver coins look like that one, with dragons and a sun's face. Do they all have that squiggly script around the wing? Do you know what it says, Sheemzher? What it means? Where it's from and how many years have passed since it was minted?"

"Not clever, good sir. People not clever. Sheemzher not clever. Good sir visit Wood, yes? Good sir ask good lady. Good lady wise. Good lady answer."

"Good lady," Dru repeated. "Good lady Wyndyfarh. Lady Mantis. Mantis. That's a bug, isn't it? A bug with big eyes and clasped hands. The Kozakurans put them in cages and keep them as pets. Is that what happened to you?"

"What be Kozakuran, good sir? What be pet?"

"Give it up, Dru!" Galimer advised, slapping him across the back. "You're talking to a goblin! Might as well interrogate a four-year-old! We'll keep the coin-if it's as old as it looks, the dog-face has given us a fortune. If not, at least the silver's pure."

Druhallen had blinked when he heard Amarandaris's words coming out of Galimer's mouth, but there was merit in what both men had said. He took the coin from Galimer's hand. He'd seen ancient coins dug out of the ground. All tarnished and corroded, they didn't look like the goblin's coin. The goblin's coin-Lady Wyndyfarh's coin-shone; its relief was sharp. The coin had to be new; it couldn't have come from Netheril.

"Call it coincidence, Dru, and let it go. We've got more important things to worry about." Galimer cocked his head toward Tiep, who hadn't budged from the wall.

Before Dru could agree, the goblin was tugging on his sleeve.

"Good sir leave Parnast? Good sir need leave? Need leave quick? Sheemzher know way. Sheemzher know very best way leave Parnast. Sheemzher help good sir. Good lady help; Sheemzher promise."

Rozt'a joined Dru, Galimer, and the goblin at the center of the room. "What gave you the idea that we wanted to leave Parnast?" she demanded coldly.

Sheemzher released Dru's sleeve and backed away. "Good sir meet Zhentarim lord. Go up together. Come down each alone. Good sir angry, not happy. Zhentarim angry, not happy. Sheemzher confused. Sheemzher worry. Good sir save child. Sheemzher understand. Good sir wise; good sir leave Parnast, yes? Sheemzher come. Sheemzher help good sir leave Parnast."

"And get an arrow in my back? You almost had me, Sheemzher. I was starting to believe you. It's dark, the gates are shut. Once curfew's rung around here, the Zhentarim shoot anything that moves."

"Good sir safe with Sheemzher. Good sir and all friends. Not horses. Horses not come. Sheemzher give friends silver coins. Horses safe with friends. Good sir, friends safe with Sheemzher. Good lady give good sir silver-"

"Enough!" Rozt'a shouted. She clamped her hand on the goblin's neck. "It's time for you to leave."

"Sheemzher return before dawn, good sir," the goblin said, wriggling out of Rozt'a's grasp. Things didn't usually escape from Rozt'a. "If good sir ready, Sheemzher lead good sir, friends. Good sir, friends, safe with Sheemzher. Weathercote Wood welcome good sir, friends. Good lady welcome good sir, friends. Sun not set, good lady welcome. Good lady help."

The goblin opened the door himself and was gone.

Rozt'a pulled it shut. With practiced moves, she looped the latch string around the bolt and pulled it taut. "That was no natural creature. If he comes back, he can scream himself blue before I'll let him in. I say, melt those coins and quickly!"

Dru shrugged and handed the coin to Galimer. "What are the chances that it's truly Netherese?"

"About the same as someone called Lady Mantis having a goblin servant."

Tiep stirred. "She might. I could ask Manya-"

"Village talk," Rozt'a sniffed. "Every wood is haunted when you're a farmer."

"Weathercote is haunted-well, not quite haunted. There's Lady Mantis and the Gray Man and a bunch of others. They're not wizards, Dru, not according to Manya; they're more than wizards. She wouldn't go into Weathercote Wood for love nor money, but her pa said he met the Gray Man when he was young. He showed me an arrow: a gray-metal arrow. Not tin or steel or anything I'd seen before. He told me to try breaking the shaft. I thought he was joking, but I couldn't make it bend."

"What about Lady Mantis?" Dru asked. "I got a look at your face when the goblin spoke that name. If you're in trouble, Tiep, you'd be wisest to tell us everything right now."

Tiep stiffened. "No trouble," he insisted, not altogether convincingly.

Dru thought fast. What they needed to do was get out of Parnast quickly, before discomfort became disaster. He missed the first part of what Tiep had to say about the goblin's lady.

"… tall, and always wears white. Her hair's white, too, with brown stripes, not up and down, but crosswise."

"Lady Mantis sounds more like Lady Owl to me," Galimer judged. "A woman alone in the woods with a goblin-unusual, yes, but not unthinkable, if she's a wizard, or more than a wizard. I saw you ring the dog-face early on. Anything come of that?"

"Sheemzher's a goblin. I've never measured a goblin. I didn't sense anything extraordinary-nothing like a stripe-haired woman pretending to be something she wasn't. I believe that he's a servant… a minion. I took a walk to Weathercote this morning. You know how a place feels when it feels too peaceful?"

Galimer nodded.

"The forest around here has that feel."

"Forget the forest! Last I heard we had Zhentarim trouble," Rozt'a fumed. "Forget the dog-face and his bug-lady. Forget everything except that he claims he saw Amarandaris looking angry after you left. Are we going to slip out of here tonight?" She confronted Tiep. "You've gotten way too friendly, way too fast with this Manya and her family. They know you're just passing through. There wasn't any good reason for her father to be telling you his life story, or was there?"

The youth screwed his lips into a scowl. "Maybe he didn't want me thinking that his life hadn't been exciting. Look, are we going to cut and run?"

"Tiep!" Rozt'a roared.

"Well, if we're not, and you're done taking my life apart, I'd like to go out-"

His voice faded before he got to the where and why parts of his desire. Dru caught questioning glances from Rozt'a and Galimer.

"We're not running," Dru decided. "If we run once, we'll be running forever. We'll find a way to ride out of here with our heads up."

"I'll try the merchants again tomorrow," Galimer offered. "Now that I know what we're up against, I might have better luck."

"So, can I go out?" Tiep interrupted Galimer. "And what about the blue-eyes? Can I trade for the boxes?"

Rozt'a planted herself in front of the door. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Is her word final?" Tiep appealed to Dru and Galimer.

Galimer said, "Yes. You're staying here."

Druhallen surprised himself by saying, "No. What's cut, stays cut. If you're not telling the truth, you're the one who has to live with yourself."

The youth grimaced the way youths had grimaced at their elders since the dawn of time. "I'm fine. What about the blue-eyes? Can I trade?"

That was Galimer's decision alone. The gold-haired wizard studied the rafters, doing calculations in his head. "Against your own share or in common?"

"Common," Tiep said eagerly. "They're good boxes, Galimer. You'd agree if you'd seen them. And not too big. I can nest 'em behind my saddle. It's a good trade."

"All right, you've got your blue-eyes, but not a genuine Cormyr stamp. Give them the usual Zhentarim counterfeits. Odds on, they wouldn't know a true Cormyr coin if it rose up and bit them on the nose. If they do, offer five true-silver falcons and not a thumb more."

"Not a thumb!" Tiep agreed.

Rozt'a looked like a storm about to break, but she stepped aside to let Tiep untie her latch knot. She held the door and her tongue until he was gone.

"What's the matter with the two of you? You know he's not after wooden boxes! I've half a mind to follow him."

Dru cleared his throat. "Go after him now, and Longfingers and I will decide how we're getting out of here while you're both gone."

Rozt'a slammed the door shut. "All right. What's your plan?"