Delg got up. dripping his victim's gore and panting. "Anyone else hurt?"

Not pausing to answer, Mirt raised his voice in a bellow addressed to everyone in the taproom. "All of ye-stand aside! I've no quarrel with any of ye, but any who bar our way will end as these did, by Tempus! And any who raise blade against us will answer for it to King Azoun!"

In the shocked silence that followed, the frightened onlookers silently parted to make way for them, and Mirt hurried them out to the doors.

"Delg, scout!" he barked, and the dwarf lowered Narm s legs to the ground and hurried past them into the night outside. "Shandril," the stout merchant added, holding Narm by the shoulders, "take his feet, gently-but haste matters more than handling, now… Good, good… hurry, now…"

Delg was waving them on. They hurried out into the night and across the dark and muddy inn yard. Narm's eyes were closed, and he was breathing raggedly, breath rasping and wet.

"Where are we going?" Narm asked. Mirt's shaggy, lionlike head was looking this way and that. "To the gate," he roared and trotted on. In a few jolting seconds they were there, and the old merchant thrust Narm into Delg's arms.

"Hold him," he panted, "and don't let him fall." And he whirled away from the staggering dwarf to attack the props and bars of the gate like alt angry bear, snatching and grunting and clawing.

Wooden spars bounced and crashed aside, and before they'd stopped bouncing, lie had the gate open. Out into the road lie stumbled, looking this way and that – "Baergasra? There ye are! Quickly, we've need of thy healing." Mirt said in a voice halfway between a snarl and a sob. A breath later, the old derelict in tattered rags appeared out of the night, running hard. An astonished Shandril realized she was watching a healthy and fast-moving woman, not a drunken cripple. Mirt waved her in through the open gate and came after, straight to Narm. "Delg?" Mirt snapped. "All safe?"

"Looks clear," the dwarf replied grimly as he shifted Narm's limp body across his shoulders. Shandril had been holding her man's head tenderly, but site let go in haste as Mirt plucked him from Delg's shoulders and laid him against the base of the high fence. Then the Old Wolf snatched out his dagger.

By the glow from its blade, Shandril saw the stout, filthy beggar woman kneeling beside Narm. The knife stood out of Narm's narrow chest, just forward of the armpit.

Baergasra's grimy fingers plucked the blade deftly out, and Mirt's hand was there to press hard against the blood that followed. The woman waggled the bloody dagger so that its blade caught the light. She stared at it a moment, flung it aside, and spit after it.

Baergasra then laid her hands on Narm and murmured something. Her fingers glowed briefly. When the light died she slowly sat back, sighed, and rested her hands on her thighs. With careful fingers, Mirt began to unlace and draw off Narm’s robes.

The beggar woman helped him. Shandril could hear her talking to the old merchant now. "It went deep, indeed. but it carries only sleep venom, not the usual Zhentarim killing blackslime. He'd have lived, but it's good I was close by… so how are you, old Wolf? It's been awhile, it has…"

Behind her, Shandril heard a sharply indrawn breath. She turned.

"Who let her in here?" demanded a furious voice. The tall, battered doorguard of the inn stood facing them, staff in hand. Barring his way with drawn knife, Delg squinted up at the man fearlessly.

"I did," Shandril said hotly. "She can heal, and it was needed."

The man strode forward and, with a sweep of his staff, thrust Delg aside into a helpless sprawl. "But she's a leper! She's-"

– Always wanted to pay you back for belting me, Thomd." said the woman in rags, rising with smooth, agile speed to thrust the reaching staff aside and embrace its wielder. They went over together with a splash into the mud, and the filthy lips met his sputtering ones firmly. Then the beggar woman rose atop him and laughed heartily.

"Ah, but it's a good thing I've not got the wasting disease, Thomd, or you'd be sharing it now." She rolled off the panting, frantic man in the mud and winked at Shandril with cool gray eyes. Pulling open the filthy lacings of her bodice for an instant, she revealed a tiny silver harp pendant nestling in the filthy folds of a gargantuan bosom.

Then she turned back to Mirt, shook her head resignedly, and said, "Well, now that you've let the world know I'm not as I seem, perhaps you'll let me use your bath, Mirt, while I watch over the healing of your young man, here. Give me your cloak, Thomd."

The struggling man in the mud looked at Delg's dagger, inches from his nose, and with a helpless grunt unpinned the cloak and rolled out of it

"Hand it here," Baergasra said merrily, "and don't mind the mud-I'm used to it, gods know." Delicately she began to strip off rag after rag, dropping them all into the trampled mud at her feet

"One more thing, Thomd," she added, nudging the tall man with tier foot as he slowly sat up, "burn these for me, will you.' I never want to see. any of them again."

Delg and Thomd watched in identical amazement as the barrel-shaped woman stripped off rag after rag, and stood at last clad only in grime. Lots of grime and mud, caked thickly in places. She scratched some of those places, grinned at them both and held out an imperious hand for the cloak.

Delg bowed low and presented it to her as one would to a great lady. She swirled it about her shoulders and reached for the pin. Thomd handed it to Delg with a sigh, and Delg handed it on with a low whistle of appreciation.

The filthy woman stuck her tongue out at him as she pinned the cloak close about her, grinned again, and said to Thomd, "Did you see any leprous bits? Well?"

Thomd shook his head. "N-No," he managed through his teeth. "But the smell…"

Baergasra sighed. "You know," she said slowly, "one gets used to it?" She scratched again and said, "Well-get up, man, and get going! I want that bath"

Mirt looked up from Narm. Shandril could see an ugly purple scar just forward of his armpit, but the skin was whole again, and the blood had stopped. He still slept, presumably from the venom.

Venom. The dagger. Shandril looked in the direction the Harper had thrown it, and saw its glint in the shadows. Carefully she picked it up and stuck it in her belt. You never know…

"Ah, Thomd?' Mirt said. "If ye go in and fill the bath, I'll bar the gate again. Delg, go in and tell them to calm down, hey? Well clean up, I give my promise… If anyone gives ye trouble, mention my, er, close friendship with King Azoun. Shandril, as much as I hate to ask ye to do it, will ye guard us, until we're in and settled?"

"Of course, Mirt. It's a pleasure," Shandril said happily, and meant it.

Eight