A/N: Thanks for reading. :) I still think Montaron's and Viconia's practical-evil personalities have a lot in common.
—
Amkethran was a burning red pimple in the midst of sands hot as the Nine Hells. Flee the army of Tethyrians, end up in this dried yellowing turd of a place; and run across garbage on the end of the Bhaalspawn Wars. They weren't s'posed to be here, but with merc's work it was always easy come, easy go. Halfway decent weaponry and enough to eat and ye'd almost call that frolicking in clover.
They trudged across for a patrol of the sands. Balthazar was a paranoid ranting fool with a surprise or two in his fist and a sense of honour like a fire-giant morningstar rooted where the sun didn't shine. Montaron didn't feel like taking on a fortress of monks, and for now the gold was flowing in. They walked Amkethran's borders and almost hoped for some trouble to come to relieve the boredom. Xzar stared into things that didn't exist.
"The Bhaalspawn Wars are their own story," he said, "and many are apart from it. The ward of Candlekeep, the mad monk, the traitor to sink a mace into his back. The time of the prophecy has come...for them."
"Shar awaits the outcome in her divine sphere," Viconia said. "No present candidate would be close to her, I think. Hold and listen."
Her eyes held a touch of the same pale that lurked in the mad mage. Montaron glared across the desert. You'd think bare plains were easy to watch but the heat smoking off the grounds distorted the air, and the sameness itself bothered you. He couldn't see anything in his sight. Tethyr's sun beat down punishing hot as ever.
No, there was motion at last that fetched the eye. Not just some flapping bird or escaping sheep. It was black, and it flew across the desert near to attacking. He'd drawn quickly, and then the blades were knocked from his wrists and a thin line drawn across his own neck with his own sword. If he'd not had the pennyworth of sense to duck—
"Mad mage!" It was a black blur that couldn't be other than mage-fast, and it was coming back for another round. Speed was good, skill was a touch too clear-as-crystal.
Desert lands and dark shape and magery.
Seen something like it before. He feinted as if he wanted to take back the sword it'd dropped on the sands, then threw himself in Viconia's direction. Black shape'd gone after the first caster acting, standard enough. He felt himself touching a cold shape below the black, humanoid and female. The woman threw him off with strength as unnatural as the speed, hands near as cold as a—
Vampire?
Xzar flung a glowing green whip through the air, tangling along the ground. It brought the woman's legs together and she fell back with her hood flung off her white face. She was human and young-looking, short and pale and dark-haired and crying out with pain for the sun on her face. Before, there'd been others—Montaron looked out for the landscape and aimed crossbow at a group of other figures passing over the desert.
"Haven't we—met before, my dear?" the mad mage said. He bent down and helped the bloodsucker thing tuck her hood back over herself.
"An undead creature. I can command the likes of you." Viconia raised a hand. The girl shook her head.
"Not quite," she said, and tried to spring forward to Viconia's throat. The five coming up from behind—a mage among them, robed, raising hands; three plate-armoured; a fifth shorter, less distinct.
Hello, betrayers...
"Tell 'em to stop," Montaron said, and turned one of the special bolts back to the girl. Moved like an arrow, strong as a bear, bright enough to see what he was threatening—and looking at her face he knew her the same as Xzar.
A bit paler than before, a brown scar from left ear to jugular, dark leathers that fit her like a glove. Mask help him if it weren't the Silvershield brat. All grown up, surprisingly effective in battle, and working toward shredding Xzar's spell on her ankles with her rapier.
"Look, kid, why don't we talk about this?" Montaron said. "Ye and us and...Benrulon, I'm guessing. Yonder Bhaalspawn waiting around."
"You robbed my father the last time we met, you lied about being with our group while working for Irenicus, and you're wanted for murder in Imnesvale," Skie Silvershield said, scowling, still the same high annoying voice that the Bhaalspawn brat and the fool young bard had somehow put up with, sniffing after her like pups. "And because you ruined the Umar temple they had to go below the sewers to try to get the lost temple of Amaunator to bring me back from being a vampire, and it just didn't take." She stood up, less cobra-fast than the last time, and took a stance with her sword like she'd learned to fight at last. "I'm about half a vampire. I keep telling myself that a lady has to watch what she eats."
She licked her lips, which were red on the pale face. Her teeth had always been on the white side. The five behind her were coming closer.
"Look, we can explain it," Montaron said. "Robbery ain't always a hanging crime, we didn't end up doing a lick of work for skin-mask, not least for he was about as creepy as ye are now, it weren't us, and we did exactly what the town mayor wanted."
"That is to say, jalil," Viconia said frostily, "that we knew we were blamed but...did not cause those particular corpses. Afterwards we collected some bounties and... Shall we kill this female and her little friends, or await her reasonable companions?"
"Hold and remove your threats from the person of the Lady Skie Silvershield," a man's voice said, "or by Helm, you malfeasants shall face the consequences!"
Montaron moved his head to his hands.
—
The two groups faced each other across the sands. Montaron waited warily. Benrulon stood well-armed by the front, in light brown leathers for the desert heat. The overmuscled knight with the Helmite symbol on the breastplate didn't seem to have taken the hint and wore his hair soaked flat with sweat, nor the Tyrran next to him with long fair hair behind her bare head. The Thayvian wanker tried to look as important as possible as he'd done before with his fat nose in the air, and held a staff in pale ash that carried elaborate metallic patterns drawn on it. Always kept the staff well-polished, heh. Last figure in line like as not didn't realise it was hot, for he'd gold-glowing eyes and walked with a weirdling air that had Viconia muttering to herself a few sentences in trying to figure it. The Silvershield girl raced with inhuman gait back to the boy's side.
"Monkeys. Three overgrown monkeys and that brainless little twit finding herself in trouble yet again," a Thayvian accent spoke from deep up inside the nose.
"Look, Monty," Xzar whispered, "he's carrying that staff the vampire Tanova took from me."
"(Correction: one overgrown monkey, one undergrown monkey, and the attractive drow concubine. If I tell her it is the workings of Fate we meet again she may believe me.)" The Red Wizard smoothed down his beard.
"Will this take long before we pursue Balthazar? I have a honeymoon too long put off." The lady knight raised an armoured finger glittering with an oversized emerald. It was gaudy enough for a magpie's deepest fantasies and a matched shade to her green eyes.
"Lady Irlana, I have no doubt of Benrulon's goals shortly becoming accomplished and your reunion with your beloved Cyrando imminent," the Helmite said.
"These people are Zhentarim, yes?' said the last figure with the glowing eyes. "My spies informed me you had palled up with members of the Zhentarim, the last time. These seem low specimens, brother."
No way tall, dark, and gold-glowing was sibling on the right side of the blanket for the half-hin Bhaalspawn brat.
"Oh, they are," Benrulon said. "Y'know, metaphorically, since after all I'm a touch on the short side myself. And besides the Imnesvale murders they're wanted for banditry in Balearis, theft in Talimpset, fraud in Pherasta, poisoning the water supply in Ferrismay, murder in Anactoria, dubbering in Dahlisme, public loitering with intent in Ravilliar, blackmailing a prelate of paladins in Berevis, numping in Ultis Thulan, witch-burning in Vittoria, inappropriate use of a garderobe in Gekania, failure to observe elven immigration customs in Celand, kitten-killing in Hatchesput, graverobbing in Wendsant, necromancy in Lathule, kidnapping in Vergano, usage of unsanctioned magical energy on a live sheep in Sevilla, libbaging in Lothirian, sutlering in Sarabone, excessive ergotting in Earielen, and impersonating members of Tormtar clergy in Perasvale."
That'd been a good one.
"So our speech," Irlana said, "ought to be something along the lines of vile criminals, we now prepare you to face holy justice?" The Helmite drew his warhammer beside her.
"I wouldn't be overhasty when it comes to the drow," the Thayvian said, now buffing his nails on his slightly stained mage's robe. "She's probably their innocent dupe. (Besides, she made certain...implied...promises to me back in Nashkel.)"
"Oh, wizard. Once again you talk and talk and blow hot wind through the air. Alas, I am in no more mood for your nasal drone than the desert mosquitoes whose buzzing it so resembles," Viconia said. Her eyes turned to the big one. "Now who is the tall strong man of your group?"
"Ben, sweetie, they do work for your other brother, don't they?" Skie Silvershield kissed the top of her boyfriend's head.
"Melissan was right. Balthazar's another noble-intentioned idiot who's fallen into their sort and probably worse," the Bhaalspawn said.
"I am the Sarevok Anchev who threw the blame upon you for the iron crisis, Zhentarim," the big armoured man said, and Montaron recognised the name. Anchev of the Iron Throne, who'd tried to set Amn and the Gate at each other's throats. Anchev, who'd also been dead nigh two years now. Shame some things just didn't take.
"A raised Bhalspawn! And so...well-muscled, despite his unnatural rebirth," Viconia said.
"Yeah, the arse who thought it'd be jolly good fun to frame us and start his little war," Montaron said. "And ye have him and the likes of the Thayvian in your team? Righteous work there, kiddo."
"People can be redeemed," the Helmite said, and the uptight green-eyed Tyrran gave it a nod.
"Even the likes of Edwin," she said, looking down her long nose at him, a few inches taller than the wizard beside her.
"(When the paladin monkey abandons her short husband to ask for Edwin Odesseiron's mastery of the erotic I will have the great satisfaction of telling her I told her so. And then turn her down. Obviously. No matter how few other opportunities...)" The Helmite stared strangely at him.
"Hedgewizard," Xzar said loudly. "Hedgewizard conjurer with nary a trace of foresight."
The Red Wizard drew himself up. "You dare, you graverobbing bootlicking corpsesmelling ateles-limbed simian? Edwin Odessiron has more power in the smallest bone of his left little finger—which no doubt you would like to steal and use in some hopelessly malfunctioning spell! (Or possibly just pick his blackening teeth with it.)"
"I am curious of you, Sarevok Anchev," Viconia said. "Your...nature; your height and strength; rare is it that I am so reminded of the most expensive pleasure slaves."
"I am from the grave," he answered. She turned to the Helmite.
"A pitiful priest of a foolish surface deity, are we?"
"Test my strength and find out, Sharran," the knight said. The hammer he carried looked serious enough; ye could outspeed the overmuscled lout type and slice through the joints in the armour, but with godcrawling power ye had to take care.
"Been a while since ye stumbled through the Candlekeep woods on the way to Nashkel, hasn't it, kid?" Montaron said. "Two lost ones who needed a sip of our potions. Nice to know there's gratitude these days."
Benrulon folded his arms. "Yes, yes, and you helped Skie and me learn to pick locks and slip behind people's backs. Doesn't make you not evil."
"If we kill them, I promise not to eat them, honey," the Silvershield brat said, wrapping a black-leathered arm around his shoulders. "Even a little bit."
"Let us smite the Sharran and the Zhentarim, and smash down Balthazar's gates. Time runs out," the Helmite said. For all the weight it looked to carry, the hammer rushed very easily through the air.
"Look," Montaron said, "mebbe we could talk some more about it?"
"Pufferfish bloated buffoon of carnival-conjuration-tricks!" Xzar shrieked at the Red Wizard.
"Congenitally moronic babbler of entrail-eating!" Edwin Odesseiron yelled back, brandishing that staff.
"Pimple on the bottom of an enlarged dissected thyroid gland!"
"Lemur-faced lapine-fancying corpse-lover!"
"Raging-red choker-cheating tiara-twiddling dilettante!"
"—I am not wearing a tiara, infantile nail-eater!"
Xzar hid his right hand behind his back. "I challenge you to a wizard duel upon the keys to Balthazar's fortress, postdigested cream cheese!"
"I accept, rotting stick of moulding bones!"
Montaron glanced up at the woman beside him. "A clerical duel would be less to my liking...though the Helmite does have almost the same large human muscles if the duel were of a different sort," Viconia said.
And the Silvershield brat was half-bloodsucker, and Benrulon could turn into a vast red avatar of Bhaal at will. "Yeah, put him on it," Montaron said, ignoring the last words from Viconia. "Hey, Bhaalspawn! Balthazar's got folk of his own on castings for his shield, and we'll stake letting ye in on the mageduel. No sense in killing each other now when ye'd rather be fresh for the mad monk, right?"
Six on three, and they all knew it; but he'd wager that they could've taken out at least one of the noble companions in a straight fight. The Tyrran noted it too.
"Keep your word," she said. "I mislike that you are so willing to turn coat to your master Balthazar."
"Yep, lady, we've noticed that the monk's gone crazier than a bag full of Carronian eels—or come to think of it than the necromancer," Montaron said, leaning up to stare at the lady knight's face, not that her figure below the plate mail wouldn't have been impressive. "It be a case of damned-to-the-Nine-Hells if'n we do, damned-to-the-Nine-Hells if we don't, ain't it?"
"Take your preaching elsewhere, female," Viconia said to her. She drew a waterskin from her pack. "In the Underdark mageduels are held over a vast black pit, with both casters to maintain levitation spells and disrupt those of their opponent as part of the test. If the fight took longer than half an hour's passing or failed to be entertaining both combatants were fed to spiders. What are the rules here to be, rivvil?"
"Only the standard rules of all supreme mages," the Thayvian said. "The encasing spell: mageduel, a sheltering bubble so that my immensely powerful magics shall not leak and cause damage to civilian worms. (Not that I would care, but tradition demands and it would be a shame to destroy the drow's face with a misplaced fireball.) The wizards demonstrate their spells against each other and the duel ends when one is defeated—or deceased. (Then the necromancer can join the sort of women closer to his tastes.)"
"Of course, the mageduel spell!" Xzar said. "Such a terribly simple casting, isn't it? But can you do it, conjurer?"
"I can and I shall, insolent coffin-turner! (Merely grant me a moment or two of study and preparation.)" the Red Wizard answered.
"Oh, yes, very well," the necromancer said. "Two hours' preparation ought to return us both our primary spells, shouldn't it?"
"(The village idiot missing a village must need it.) Oh, yes. The spells I invoke to kill vast numbers of simian opponents are not the spells that demonstrate a mage's power most finely in order to lesson other mages in their basic cantrips."
They sat around in the shadow of a sand dune with the wizards studying their books on opposite sides. Viconia and Xzar had exchanged a few words; then she took a long drink from her waterskin, deliberately letting drops escape and run down her body. The Helmite stared at her.
"Would you like a drink, male?" she asked innocently. "For we have plenty of water ourselves."
Montaron took a sip of his own full skin and offered it to the Bhaalspawn. "Ye'd be running out in desert crossings? Good ye ran into us. Balthazar's got a large-sized guard set on his wells, and even the folk of the temple can't convince him to share it out to the commoners."
"That matches our rumours," Benrulon said, watching him carefully. Then the boy took a swig of water himself. The Silvershield girl drank from a skin of her own that smelt like blood—and chances were high was. It left dark red traces around her lips. "Thanks. We were running very short." He handed it to Anchev next. "You're not immortal, brother. Drink while you can."
"Hmph. Thank you, drow," the Helmite said, trying not to look at her chest and failing. "I am Sir Anomen of the Order of the Radiant Heart; what do you know of Helm?"
"Very little," Viconia said slowly, reeling him in.
"Helm, then, is a just and upright god. His followers are taught to be vigilant and never to betray their trust, and always to keep their armour in excellent condition." The knightling slapped his chest like a giant ape. "Fairness, diligence, and carefulness are Helm's watchwords. We priests guard all those in need of guarding, and shepherd to the flock those lost lambs who have gone astray. I..." he carried on.
"I'm bored now," Viconia announced. She yawned, and smiled at the expression on the knight's face. "You must be very good at sending females to sleep." She pushed him back. "My lady Shar would not approve."
The mages neared their time.
"I'll conjure fiends from the Nine Hells themselves to feast upon you for a light snack! (Demogorgon, for instance, perfectly obedient to my will.)" The Thayvian let a series of theatrical lightning bolts roll up and down his heavy robes.
"Yes, I'm sure," Xzar said, "with your fancy trinkets."
"As if I could not defeat you just the same without."
"What does that long staff do, jaluk?" Viconia said, draping herself by the Thayvian. More fool he, he answered.
"(I see you monkeys held no understanding of it while it was momentarily in your possession—if indeed you do not lie about that.) It creates me powerful protections from spellwork; likewise shields me utterly from the hungry demons I order to fetch my slippers and order into menial tasks; and it allows me fireballs and lightning bolts stored within its wood."
"A noble instrument," she said, and turned around to chant a spell over the mad wizard. "It would only be balanced to protect him against fire and lightning, then, wouldn't it, male?"
"Cheating. (Cheating simians.) Helmite-monkey! Do the same for me."
Anomen shook his head. "It appears fair enough to me, Red Wizard. You have boasted of the length of your staff all too often. Possibly for reasons of compensatory exaggeration."
Edwin glared. "Some wittier mind than you originated that line, didn't they?"
"I'll throw away some of my finer entrailed memoirs and devices," Xzar offered.
"(Oh, it is only a dispellation away from blasting the fool into the Abyss.) Fair enough. What chance could an entrail-reader face against me? Now stand back for Edwin Odesseiron's expert casting of the wizard's duel."
The Red Wizard knew his job, that couldn't be doubted. The mageduel bubble he cast was a glassy red, easy to see through; it floored the sands of the desert and raised a rounded roof over the wizards' heads. They raised their hands to begin.
See if the mad wizard can prove himself.
Spell protections, simulacrum-dummy, and forest of images for the Red Wizard first. Xzar did less that could be seen, but a rune glowing white appeared above the mad mage's head like a giant eye. Then a vial of green paint appeared out of thin air and dumped itself on the robes of one of the Edwins dancing in the sphere.
"—Simian! My best robes! You shall pay for that (oh yes, he shall—)"
"His only robes, for now," Lady Irlana said. "They do carry quite an odour after long marching."
The painted Edwin and another cast different spells at the mad mage, the white whiplike currents for one spell-fiddler making another vulnerable to the things they did. Xzar stood there waiting, the eye rune unblinking above his head.
"Stunned already, simian? You will be more than stunned come—"
It was the head of a great red dragon above Odesseiron. And it spilled clouds of flame that shook the bubble like an earthquake, and even the ground outside. The sand shifted and Montaron hardly kept his footing. Viconia grabbed his shoulder to stay standing herself.
—Roasted mad-mage, it seems—too bad—
The flames disappeared in the same instant as the dragon's head. Xzar stood up, robes torn and a burn or two marked on his face, scraping what looked like ice crystals off his skin.
"—Thoughtyouweregoingtodothat," Xzar mumbled.
Always at the last minute, blasted madman. Xzar pointed waveringly into the air and a creature made of what seemed like smoke emerged. All but two of the Red Wizard were gone in the wake of his own flames, and the second Edwin called five hefty ogres into the bubble. The smoke grabbed and touched the green-painted Thayvian, who cried out.
"Steal my magic, imbecile? I have plenty more!"
"But not that one again," Xzar said. "Taste the most powerful one I troubled to prepare!"
The mad wizard gathered up a banshee's ghost behind him, long pale hair streaming out from a corpse's face, and the thing let out a long wail. The ogres collapsed and died; the second Red Wizard knelt down bleeding from the ears. Nasty one, that were, and Xzar's eyes glowed white—
"Pathetic," Odesseiron replied, and took a ten-foot woman in blue and gold from the air. "You are bound to my will, planetar: remove the hissing hakeashar and spit the vile necromancer." The golden sword cut through the wraith quickly, then the giant woman turned on Xzar.
"Protection-from-positive-planes!" the mad mage shrieked, his skin turning blue-red as if he was casting a ghoul's spell. The Thayvian's woman stared as if she couldn't see him, then started to glare suspiciously at her summoner.
"(If you want something done, always do it oneself.)" Odesseiron raised a hand for a simple spell, a mage's missiles. Twenty of the things, at least, unleashed in one barrage against Xzar. A shield sprung up against the mad wizard and fell away at the same moment the torrent ended. The Red Wizard dropped his hand.
"My last missiles—spell should not have lasted so precisely—tell me how, necromancer!" He dismissed his woman with a wave of his hands before she could stab the duplicate. "Your counterspells the very instant before I act!"
Xzar bowed, tattered robes swirling around him in the wizard's bubble. "Illusions and deceptions are the one thing I cannot do. Divinations are yours. I've consulted my familiar all along for what you would do." From his pockets he produced a dried skull from the desert and moved it with his hands like a puppet. "Hello, Mister Raven Skull! What is the greatest likelihood of Edwin Odesseiron's next conjuration?"
A simple spell smashed the skull to fragments and the Red Wizard took a moment to gloat. Xzar finished another casting: a field of spiralling purple bolts sprouted below Odesseiron's feet. The other Edwin turned into a small purple lizard; and then the first cursed, and powered his staff into a torrent of the lightning and fires he'd boasted about. A hail of blue bolts ricocheted from the bubble's walls, fires and smoke covering everything. Then Odesseiron changed the staff from one hand to the other and disappeared from sight.
Xzar dusted the remains of another protection spell from his skin. "Edwin? I can see you..." The creepy white diviner's glow lurked in the mad wizard's eyes. He threw a quick orb at something in the air, and the Red Wizard reappeared. The Thayvian drew a pentagram by his feet and threw brimstone across it. Demon-summoning, that'd be; but another spell from Xzar managed to interrupt that one.
"(Know that I can summon demons at my will. It beats oracles eyeballing entrails any day.)" Three swords rushed out of thin air at Odesseiron snapping his fingers, headed for the mad wizard.
"I like your swords—in stone!" Xzar cackled. Two of them gained quick weight with the point of them in stone bricks; and then the lizard bit a chunk out of the mad mage's ankle to disrupt his spell. Odesseiron laughed and began a longer casting.
It was a crushing fist that opened giant fingers to grasp the mad mage. "Bigby's—divined that one—" the mad mage gasped out, and then the third sword was caught in the grip in place of him. The fingers squeezed and bent the dweomer-metal apart in a single clang. Xzar rolled to the ground and got up with bleeding hands. "What familiar?"
"Liar. (A skull is not allowed to be a familiar!)" Odesseiron aimed another spell, and it took away something of that mad divination glowing white in Xzar's eyes. "Can't tell now what I'm about to do, can you, fool? The duel ends, I've far more power—" The purple field still bubbling below his feet sent up a current to his body this time. He shrieked, and then brought a lock of his hair to his face. It had turned orange. Montaron groaned. The Thayvian swayed on his feet, unharmed, preparing another spell.
An orb flew across and hit him in the face, bursting into light and nothing else. "(Pathetic.)" Odesseiron raised the staff and chanted. Fire jetted from his hands and scorched the mad mage's right shoulder black. "(I can taste my victory.)"
A second orb flew from the mad mage's left hand, and Odesseiron raised a hand to bat it away. It exploded; and then he didn't move at all. The mad wizard walked slowly over to him, and pushed him down with a touch of a finger. The mage's barrier melted around them as if one of the crazy wizards had won at last.
—
"We did not swear to abandon our travel to Balthazar," Sarevok Anchev said, throwing his weight around.
"We bet the gate to Balthazar's fortress," Montaron said, "but we didn't say which wizard we bet on."
"(The one with more power and talent and sanity, I hope.)" Delryn pressed a compress of cold cloth to Odesseiron's forehead. Xzar picked up a new skull from his robes and carried on a conversation as one-sided as it was garbled.
"Head this way, Spawn," Montaron invited.
Balthazar's gates were all heavy admantite at the end of a long rocky, slippery and close-sealed with thick bars and spells aplenty. He seemed to think it built character or somesuch to make the novices walk and stumble a long way up to the fortress entrance. In the dusk of the desert Montaron slipped in the key given him, and ushered the Bhaalspawn and his group up the sandy path to the second door. The gates closed neatly behind them and resealed themselves as if to hide that they'd snuck through.
At the end of it Balthazar himself turned up at the gates.
"Brother Benrulon," he greeted, and stared at the group of them. "Well done, mercenaries, delivering the Bhaalspawn as I ordered. I assume you administered the drug as well."
"The water—" Lady Irlana placed a hand to her throat.
"Betrayers," Benrulon accused, and the yellow sands below their feet shifted in the winds of the evening.
"Did we now?" Montaron said. The Bhaalspawn's people regrouped. The Helmite cast a spell from the heavens—the Silvershield brat aimed a bow—the Bhaalspawn drew blades and went forward with Anchev and Irlana—and the Red Wizard sneered at the new enemy.
"Then I'll deal with the traitors later," Balthazar said, iron-faced and stiff-rumped and never a man to cross at the best of times. Betrayed a different one to the demon mirror's vision...
"Brother: come and be cleansed of your taint. Acolytes, come to me..."
The three of them stood back at the foot of the rough staircase, below the sounds of battle for Bhaal's throne. Montaron opened his palm to show Lady Irlana's wedding ring; and flipped the giant emerald up to land beyond the parapets, where the paladin might claim it later if she wished.
"Little man," Viconia said, resting a soft hand on his shoulders, "you do know where Balthazar keeps the chests of funds he uses to hire the likes of us, don't you?"
Montaron drew out another key from his jerkin. "Reckon we've half an hour to nick the loot and get out of here before the Bhaalspawn fireworks really start. Beljurils for your toes, necromantic fodder for the mage, off on the road again—"
Xzar clapped his hands. "It's been such fun."
—
the end
—