“ Come, friend Groth, for time grows short and our courtesies must yield to exigency.
You too, I gu ess, are bound for Montreal?”
“Aye.”
“Then let us be off at once!”
“Hold,” he growled, and his hammer slightly rose. “Your quest, elf— is it for the Key of
the Khazilim? For I am bound to return it to the Pole, at peril to any who would hinder me.”
“No indeed, good friend, but I see now that our missions are as one, for I am bound to
ensnare and incarcerate the lawless one who seeks possession of that very Key.”
His eyes narrowed. “You come for Gar son of Thrug? Tha t is not well. He shall face
dwarven justice, and none of yours.”
I laughed merrily, knowing his belligerence was merely a sign of gruff affection. “Nor
would we tread upon your right to discipline your own! Nay, my dear fellow, I seek not the thief
but th e one to whom he’d sell his stolen goods. To speak in all verity, ’twas not till this moment
that I knew the stealer’s name.”
Groth opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again to ruminate. “I had not known that
he sought to sell it.”
“The buyer is of elven kind, long since exiled to the mortal world.”
“His name?”
“Well, well.” I smiled. “It seems we both must keep our little secrets. It would not do if
I returned to my masters with news that my new swordfellow had let his sense of justice get the
bette r of both him and my quarry’s skull, hey?”
He scowled but acquiesced, like the fair-minded fighter I could so clearly see him to be.
“Enough talk, then.”
66
Made with FlippingBook Digital Publishing Software