"Well rid of it! And this is far from desertion, my friend. It is definite self-preservation. You seem to have a death wish, and that is one adventure i'd just as soon steer clear of. And you're supposedly the, brains behind this partnership. Hah!"

The pair stood glaring at each other for a full minute. But despite the harsh look on his face, Gord could not help but smile inwardly. The concern and determination written across the face of his comrade was touching indeed. It was obvious that Chert really meant exactly what he said and that he had no intention of allowing himself to be swayed. But Chert had said it himself — Gord was the smarter of the two, and he didn't earn that reputation by letting his hillbilly friend best him. As he saw it. Only one course, however devious, remained.

"Then prosper and farewell. Chert, old friend, until our paths cross again," Gord said, his eyes beginning to moisten as he reached up and slapped the big barbarian fondly on his shoulder. Chert clapped Gord on the back so hard that the young thief was nearly bowled over by the blow. The barbarian then spun on his heel and stomped off. Gord stayed where he was, mentally whistling a lively tune while counting the minutes.

It took five minutes, give or take 'a few seconds — about what Gord had expected — before his overgrown friend appeared in sight. The husky barbarian's brisk stride, accompanied by a chain of loudly sputtered yet unintelligible curses, told Gord all he needed to know. The angry hillman stamped back to where Gord stood stock still. "How can I leave a small and crazy man to the mercies of the followers of that dung-deflled Nerull?" he cried overdramatically, arms waving madly about, frustration evident in every syllable. "If I am forced to follow death's road, at least I'll take many with me when I die! What now, my death-defying friend?"

Grinning boyishly. Gord slapped his comrade's hand and said just as dramatically, "Ever a stout friend!" Then he added soothingly. "Listen, Chert, there must be an answer! Old Annya said our goal was neither here nor there, but if we went from her place to there, we'd gain our fortune, right?"

"Yes," Chert agreed, nodding reluctantly, "that much I recall. But what good do her words do us when we don't know what they mean?"

"Well, if we couple what she said wilh the significance of the gate way ..." Gord stopped and added emphatically. "I'm sure it's the key!"

"So, what lies on the other side of the gate?" Chert asked, absentmindedly scratching his head with the leather-covered tip of his dagger.

"How should I know?" Gord snapped, irritated at having his thoughts interrupted. Then after a few seconds of silence, he said, "There are only a few places here that I can recall. There is the junk store run by that miserly old half-elf Scriggin, the used clothing shop, Freedle's Librarium, the potter's booth, the Sunken Grotto Tavern, the money changer's stall. Green Wulfurt's apothecary, the crazy limner's place, Zreed's Antiquary — that's where we tried to unload the, ah, stuff — and the old warehouse and stable across from it at the mouth of the alley."

"But what's at the head?" Chert asked.

"The gate, stupid!" Gord shot back as he pondered the wisdom of having conned the barbarian into sticking around.

Now Chert was grinning. "My point exactly! The gateway — and beyond it. The gate leads to someplace. Every place has walls, windows, and doors: Let's find the other side of the doorway and go in that way!"

"I was just about to suggest that myself," Gord said lamely.

"At the end of that passage! See the dull gleam?"

"That must be it. Chert. Let's see," Gord agreed as he hurried into the opening.

It had taken them hours of searching, walking through the twists and turns of the mazelike lanes and alleys of Old City. A false turn, backtracking, a street angling in the wrong direction. They had even entered a few of the establishments bordering their destination with the intention of finding an excuse to slip out the back doors and. thus, reach their destination. But to their astonishment, none of the places had back windows, let alone back doors! And they had been not-so-nicety ejected from the Sunken Grotto Tavern when they were caught painstakingly searching a back room of the establishment in hopes of finding some sort of exit.

They probably would never have located the area save for the fact that they happened to end up in just the right location as the last rays of the setting sun illuminated the close and the passage leading from it. The light gave a glimmer of metal for an instant, and the sharp-eyed barbarian was quick to notice. "It appears to be nothing more than the other side of the iron portal!" Gord exclaimed in disappointment after the two had conducted a close inspection of the premises.

Before anything further could be said or done, both men heard soft footfalls approaching. Gord and Chert moved quickly, without sound, into the far comer of the tunnel. Was this yet another hired murderer? A cloaked figure was silhouetted in the opening of the passage. No features of its face could be discerned, but the body was broad and short. The person went directly to the metal door, evidently not noticing that the passageway was occupied. The iron turned phosphorescent when the figure touched it with something, and then the door was gone, revealing a dim space beyond. Before either of the young men could react, the stocky figure stepped through the arch and was gone. The iron gate reappeared.

"What the hells?" Chert asked in a hushed voice.

Gord squeezed his friend's massive forearm.. "That is a most ensorceled portal, but it leads to where we must be! Come on, let's see if we can discover the mechanism by which that fellow operated it. Neither struck a light, not wishing to attract attention. There was just enough illumination from the deepening twilight to serve their purpose. Using fingers, palms, and dagger points Gord and Chert carefully went over every inch of the portal, but the rusted metal revealed not the slightest hint as to how it operated. No amount of inspection of the posts and walls to either side yielded anything useful, either. Even Gord's metal-penetrating dagger would not pierce the door. Both were ready to give up when yet another sound of footsteps came faintly to their ears.

"Let's take this one!" Gord whispered.

"High and low," the barbarian affirmed in a hiss.

The footfalls faltered and stopped. Could their intended victim be that keen of hearing? if so. he quickly satisfied himself that the passage was free of danger because the sound of walking came again. Whoever it was had most likely merely stopped to look around before entering the passageway, just as the first entrant had approached furtively.

"Now!" cried Gord as he flew through the air to tackle the barely discernible target. Chert sprang at nearly the same moment, taking the figure high in a crushing bearhug.

"Yaagh!" Gord shouted as the form he tried to hold seemed to writhe and squirm from his grasp. Whatever his arms were encircling, the sensation was like live eels!

"Bite me, will you?" his friend bellowed after emitting a surprised grunt. And this was followed by a muffled thud and another exclamation from Chert.

Suddenly Gord was holding onto nothing at all, and something big and heavy fell upon his prone body, driving the breath from his lungs in a pain-filled whoosh. "What's going on?" he managed to gasp weakly.

The weight eased off, and Chert spoke. "I don't have the faintest, fluttering idea. I hit that slimy son of a bitch after he bit me. It was as if I broke a pig bladder filled with air. One minute I had him by the neck — I think. The next there was nothing there, and I toppled over onto you!"

"Deviled dung beetles!" Gord spat, clambering to his feet shakily. "This is some strange stuff we've gotten into."