Kestrel rolled her eyes. Could this quest become any more hopeless? "So let me get this straight-the cultists have both the Gauntlets of Moander and the Ring of Calling. Even if we can get the ring back we don't have the password. And if by some miracle we do somehow get to the city surface, we still don't know where the new Pool of Radiance is, or what this cult plans to do with it Does that about sum it up?"

Ghleanna and Durwyn exchanged glances but did not speak. Emmeric appeared bewildered, but then he didn't know she'd never wanted to join this fool's errand in the first place.

The silence only provoked Kestrel further. "When are you people going to face reality? We can't beat these odds. If we keep this up, we're going to die trying."

Corran's voice penetrated the stillness. "I'd sooner die an honorable death than a cowardly one." She was glad the paladin remained invisible so she couldn't see the holier-than-thou look on his face. Self-righteousness dripped heavily enough from his voice.

"I'd rather not die at all, thank you."

"You have always been free to leave us, Kestrel."

Free to die alone trying to get back to civilization, he meant. It was not a true choice, and the paladin knew it. She glanced from one companion to the next, seeking a glimmer in just one pair of eyes that would reveal a like mind, a dawning of sense in one of these naive do-gooders. None appeared. Obviously, nothing she said would convince any of them to give up their doomed mission.

"Are you quite finished?" Corran asked.

Oh, how she wished she could see the paladin's face-so she could smack off the smug expression she knew it bore.

Emmeric, still in the lead, rounded a bend and quickly retreated, nearly bumping into Kestrel. "The entrance to the House of Gems is right around this corner," he said. "The cultists have posted guards, though."

"How many?" came Corran's disembodied voice.

"A cult sorcerer and maybe a half-dozen orogs."

Kestrel sucked in her breath. She'd rather face twice as many orogs than the cult sorcerer. Just the thought of that clawed hand-let alone the spells it could hurl-made her cringe.

"We can handle them," Corran declared. "We should focus most of our effort on the mage-he's the most unpredictable, and if the orogs are mercenaries they might flee once their employer is defeated. Durwyn, you and Emmeric fend off the orogs. Ghleanna, Jarial, and I-and Kestrel, if she cares to participate-will concentrate on the cult sorcerer."

Kestrel was sorely tempted to respond to Corran's barb by "declining to participate," but she let it pass for now. Later, when she had leisure for retaliation, she'd put the condescending paladin in his place.

Everyone readied weapons and spells. As one, they charged around the corner.

The cult sorcerer and his minions paused in momentary shock but soon recovered themselves. "Who are you?" the cultist demanded. "Depart from the House of Gems!"

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Ghleanna said as she released a spell. Three bursts of magical energy raced toward the evil wizard, all striking him in the chest. Before the injured spellcaster could utter more than a foul expletive, Jarial sent one of his magical acid-tipped arrows singing through the air. The missile struck its target squarely between the eyes.

"By the hand of Tyr!" Corran's voice rang out in warning. The paladin materialized as his sword impaled the mage. The cultist sunk to the floor, staring sightlessly through his red leather hood.

Kestrel, unused daggers still in hand, looked at the dead sorcerer in amazement "Damn, that was fast."

The orogs, who hadn't even had time to close in, froze at a command from their leader. "Hey, you gubuk," he said to Emmeric and Durwyn.

"Gubuk?" Durwyn repeated.

"You soft-skin people. I parley with you. Stand. Stand and talk!"

The fighters turned for guidance to Corran, who nodded. "All right. Let us speak."

The two sides lowered their weapons and approached each other warily. "Orogs swore to protect ugly mage," the orog leader said. "If ugly mage dead, orog honor say, nothing to protect. No need to kill you gubuks. We go now. No hard feelings."

Kestrel had to smile at the creatures' simple logic. And pragmatic loyalties.

"A few questions first," Corran said. "What can you tell us about your employers?" Kestrel almost wished he hadn't asked-the rank smell of the orog leader's matted, hairy hide made her queasy. Or was that his breath?

The orog shrugged and tossed his head. His stringy, greasy hair didn't move. "Ugly mages full of lies. Make deal with orogs. Orogs walk dungeons, yes, find magic items. Mages promise lots of gold. But ugly mages no pay." He blew air through his snout. The noise seemed meant to signal disgust. Today ugly mages say get small gubuk, put in box, they give big treasure. We take gubuk, put in box. Ugly mages not pay."

Ghleanna frowned. "Who was he-the small gubuk?"

"Garbage man. Lives in wagon-"

"Nottle." Kestrel groaned, shaking her head. Stupid scamp. Hadn't they warned him?

"Nottle, yes. That what ugly mages call gubuk. Oho, garbage man not like box! He talk and talk."

"Where is this box?" Corran asked.

"In old dwarf treasure room," the orog said. "Down in dungeon. Way, way down."

CHAPTER FIVE

"You have got to be kidding!"

Kestrel couldn't believe her ears. Corran and the others wanted to drop everything to go rescue that hare-brained peddler. "We're here! At the House of Gems. We're right-" she gestured wildly at the door-"here!"

"Nottle's in trouble," Corran stated calmly, as one would address a stubborn child. "We must aid him."

"He's an idiot!" she sputtered. "We warned him about the danger. He ignored us. He deserves whatever he gets."

"Then I guess all of us better hope we never need your help."

Her fingers twitched. She wanted nothing more than to sink one of her daggers between the paladin's shoulder blades. How had he managed to make her the villain of the group? All she'd ever tried to do was inject a dose of reality into their starry-eyed plans to save the world all by themselves.

Emmeric cleared his throat. "Actually, I agree with Kestrel." Corran appeared surprised at the dissent, but the fighter continued. "We can't afford to waste time, not with the Ring of Calling so close."

"Thank you," she said. At least someone else in the party was showing some sense.

"But it isn't close," Corran said. "We're just hoping the cult sorcerers will be in the Room of Words when we get there. They might not be there yet. They might have been there and gone already. We don't know. We do know where Nottle is and that he's in danger. As men and women of good conscience-" he shot a pointed look at Kestrel-"we must aid the weak."

"And risk weakening ourselves and the success of our mission in the process?" Emmeric pressed.

"Tyr will look with favor upon us."

Kestrel rolled her eyes. "Tyr can kiss my-"

"Enough." Ghleanna released a heavy sigh. "In the time we have spent debating this, we could have traveled halfway to Nottle's prison. Let us make haste to release him and return here without further delay."

The group headed off. Kestrel, however, tarried. They had not searched the cult sorcerer's body for clues to the cult's activities-or valuables, for that matter-and she, for one, intended to get all she could of both.

Around his neck she found a bronze medallion on a leather strap. Etched into it was a symbol: a ball of flame with sinister eyes hovering above a four-pointed reptilian claw. She removed the medallion and stuffed it in one of her belt pouches, then assessed the rest of his body. The minimal clothing left few places to carry items, but she did find a thin key hanging from a chain on his belt. The end of the key had the image of a circle within an arch engraved on it.