"You agree that the amber is mine, then?" the spell-worker demanded.

The tall, reptilian assassin moved closer to Tor-modrin. "I will personally place it into your grasping palm, that I swear. Now, where is it?"

The spell-user smiled slightly. "It lies just to the east. It is within an old building near the wall that divides the Foreign Quarter from the Craftsmen's Ward." The mage didn't bother to explain to his questioner that the effort involved in locating the amber-encased spider had been monumental. Lesser spell-casters, scrying, and much more had been required to locate the object, even though it had been but a few miles distant and within the city.

"Can you show me exactly where it lies? What guards the thing? Tell me!"

Yormodrin had a haughty expression as he stood and beckoned the tall assassin to follow. The mage entered a small, darkened alcove and gestured over a basin of porphyry filled with sepia-stained oil. At his hand's pass, the liquid rippled and opalescent hues played over the surface. Then the colors coalesced and formed a picture. It was a hawk's-eye view of the city. The scene wheeled and changed, as if the viewer were actually flying over Greyhawk. From the green of the Park, over the massive buildings of the Halls District, past the trade establishments, and to the Craftsmen's Ward, the picture upon the liquid's dark surface flowed. Then the view changed, sweeping downward to scarcely a few feet above the rooftops. There was the south wall of the Old City, there the tall, narrow structures of the artisans' sector. One particular building came into focus, then only its uppermost portion from a side view. A window ledge, a narrow, dirty window, and a plain room dimly discernible beyond the dusty pane. The center of the room's scene was a small table upon which a pouch of black leather rested. At this instant the oily liquid bubbled and its roiling surface showed no more.

"Satisfied, Viper?" Yormodrin's tone was smug.

"Very," the assassin said as he suddenly thrust a pair of specially prepared hedgehog quills into the unbelieving eyes of the mage. "The poison will take a few minutes to work. I am so sorry, Yormodrin, that I am unable to stay and watch the exquisiteness of your agony. Work before pleasure has always been the curse of the ambitious," Viper called over his shoulder as he left the mage's sanctum. If Yormodrin heard it wasn't apparent. He was moaning and screaming, writhing as death overcame him upon the smudged sigils of his floor.

A thin, rasping giggle brought the murderer to an abrupt halt. A wickedly curved blade glinting suddenly in his hand. Viper spun around to locate the witness to what had just occurred.

"Don't worry, man." an evil, high-pitched voice shrilled. "You have just done me a great service, and none shall be the wiser as to what happened here."

A small thing, a demonling of some sort, was perched on the lintel of the alcove, in a place where Viper thought he had seen a rat out of the corner of his eye just a second or two earlier. "What are you saying, imp?"

The creature's face contorted in rage. "Don't call me imp, turdheaded human!" the thing screeched. "With Yormodrin's soul safely abyssed, I shall be a full-fledged demon soon."

Viper spat and turned away. This was nothing.

"Wait, man!"

"I need no familiar, demonling. Why do you babble so?"

The thing leaped down and stood before the tall assassin proudly. "I have information, man-called-Viper. You give me the amber talisman, and I will tell you what it is I know."

"There is no need for me to know anything further, runtling," Viper countered. "And if there was. I could force the information from you."

"Ass!" the horrible thing rasped back. "Don't-fool yourself. Go away without what I know, and you will fail."

Viper gave the creature a threatening look. The demonling didn't flinch. "All right, it's a deal," he said coldly. "But I don't have the amber — yet."

"Sign this, man," the demon-to-be said, producing a scrap of sooty vellum. "With your own blood, of course. It is an agreement to hand over the amber spider when you gain it."

"If I do so?"

"My knowledge will be your gain. Besides, I will send you help, too."

That statement piqued Viper's curiosity, but he did not reveal his eagerness to learn about the help. "You make too much of the affair. It is a simple matter for one such as I to kill a thief, even so clever a burglar as this Blackcat has been."

The little monster shook its vile-looking head. "Not so," he piped back with a nasty leer that displayed the dozens of needlelike teeth in its mouth. "The one you seek is more powerful than you know, and my soon-to-be-dead master withheld something from you,"

"What?"

"That is my bargaining point, man! I'll tell you what for the gift of the talisman."

Viper sneered again. "And the assistance?"

"Simply insurance. If you fail, I don't get the spider, turdhead. That's ample reason for me to be willing to have certain servants assist."

"Come then, quasidemon," Viper said, naming the demonling for what it was for the first time.

"You seem to be something I may need. I know what you are and how to deal with you. Produce the agreement, and perhaps we can strike a bargain."

Gord was returning home in the wee hours. A little celebrating of his newly improved finances had been in order, but he had actually kept it within reasonable limits — and it was good he had. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he sensed something. It was as if eyes were upon him. Despite that, he stopped only for a moment, as if pausing a minute in drunken fatigue, to gather himself for the arduous climb up the many steps to his apartment on the fifth floor. Someone was watching him from above, Gord knew that.

With a long sigh and a bit of tuneless whistling, Gord began plodding up the stairs. He went slowly and made a production of it. Anyone watching would surely believe that he was tipsy, tired, and vulnerable. The short cape he wore hid the drawn dagger clasped firmly in his left fist, while his right hand rested casually on the pommel of his enchanted sword. Because of that, Gord saw clearly enough.

An unusually large rat was scuttling upward, undoubtedly fleeing his approach. Apparently, nothing worse lurked along the way. Whoever was lying in wait must have decided to ambush him when he entered his chambers. How could they have found this place? Gord asked himself. Perhaps it is a common robber, his brain answered. A dozen possibilities flashed through his mind as he ascended the last flight of stairs, but only one conclusion was logical. Very powerful foes had finally located the den of Blackcat, and what happened next would be a matter of life or death.

"Now where's that silly-sodding key?" Gord said loudly in a crooning, drink-slurred voice as he approached the door to his apartment. His ears detected a faint whispering on the other side of the old planks. It was the noise felt-soled boots made as they slid along hard flooring.

"Open up!" Gord shouted as loudly as he could even as both of his feet struck the door near its latch. He rebounded and rolled through the suddenly created opening while the door slammed and shivered as it struck the inside wall. Another figure was likewise somersaulting away. Too bad. Whoever lurked inside had managed to react with incredible swiftness when Gord had kicked the door in.

Two smaller forms hastened to join the first There were three, possibly more, against him alone.

"Fair odds, lads," the young thief laughed confidently as he advanced with his sword and dagger ready. He hoped that his seeming aplomb would put off the attackers one way or another. In truth Gord's heart felt like lead in his chest. This was a desperate situation indeed.

The central figure made a waving motion to both sides of him and the two smaller men slid off to his left and right. "Welcome home, Blackcat." the tall I fellow hissed. "I brought you some special guests." The man issued a sibilant laugh at his little jest."