Ivy asked in a sympathetic tone, "Down to eating the horses?"

"Yes. And what could be more foolish? How am I supposed to leave the city if they eat my carriage horses? I recommended that they eat their own mounts or, more practically, the citizens."

"And they refused? How surprising."

"Fottergrim muttered something about worgs tasting bad and wanting the citizens as hostages in case he needed to negotiate."

"Obviously, an unreasonable orc."

"A dim-witted buffoon, all stomach and no brains, like most orcs. He threw away my advice and power."

"And the treasure beneath Tsurlagol?" She wondered what a magelord of his power could want in these looted ruins.

"I tell you, not even that creature's powers can find the crypt," said Archlis. Again he gestured toward Kid.

"Actually, we have never heard of…" began Gunderal, but stopped when Mumchance tapped her on the knee.

"Let Ivy do the talking," whispered the dwarf.

Archlis switched his attention to Mumchance. "You are a dwarf," stated the magelord.

"Thought that would be obvious." Mumchance peered up at Archlis in his usual tilt-headed squint so he could see the magelord clearly out of his one good eye.

"Do not be insolent. What is that?" Wiggles had popped her head out of Mumchance's pocket.

"My dog." Mumchance could be very taciturn with humans he did not like.

"Ah, your familiar. You are a dwarf wizard, then?"

"Not a wizard." The dwarf put up one hand to rub his fake eye, as if he were tired or trying to clear some grit out of it. Ivy knew what he was doing-preparing to pop out the gem bomb. She shook her head slightly and got an even slighter nod back from Mumchance. The room was too small, and the chances too great that the rest of them might be hurt by the blast. Besides, given that the magelord could apparently set himself on fire and not be burned, she doubted a gem bomb would cause Archlis any serious damage.

"Then it changes shape? Becomes a creature of unparalleled size and ferocity?" Archlis was still fixated on Wiggles, who was snarling at him with as much ferociousness as she could manage.

"No," said Mumchance. "Wiggles stays a dog. A small dog. My dog."

"Wiggles?"

"That's her name."

Archlis was clearly baffled by someone wasting pocket space carrying anything as useless as Mumchance's fluffy white dog. It was an emotion that Ivy understood. Archlis abandoned his questions about Wiggles as profitless to himself. "Well, I may have a use for you-a dwarf in armor should be heavy enough." With that baffling remark, the magelord turned back to Ivy. "You will serve me. For now."

"All a matter of fee."

"I will decide the appropriate reward."

Ivy did not argue. Something about the way that Archlis kept fingering his Ankh and the bugbears kept backing up warned her that further discussion would not be beneficial. Pleased by her silence, Archlis continued. "A section of these ruins contains a simple trap in the floor, but it takes four at least to pass through safely. We made it through once, but we came upon a complication and were driven back. Then we ran into the hobgoblins."

"And there are only three of you now," pointed out Ivy, who knew that two bugbears and one magelord did not add up to four.

"There are only three," admitted Archlis, "due to the complication. Which I will explain after you take us through the trapped corridor. Four of you are all I need, but I will let the others live as part of your fee."

Archlis did not look like he was making idle threats. The stench of burned bodies still filled the chamber where they stood. Of course, they could refuse and fight. She knew the others were just waiting for a signal from her. Mumchance had even remembered to get a good grip on his sword instead of his second-best hammer. Zuzzara was swinging her shovel in idle little circles, drawing patterns in the dust as if she were paying no attention at all to what was happening, and she had definitely loosened her grip on Sanval. Gunderal was looking pale but more determined; her good hand had the fingers spread wide to cast some water spell. But Kid was still cringing behind her and pulling on her weapons belt. Three sharp tugs-the little thief's signal for danger.

Ivy knew that they could take the bugbears. But she did not know how fast Archlis could activate that Ankh. He looked just crazy enough to set off a firestorm in a small room, and who knew what protections he had for himself woven into that coat of multiple charms.

"So," said Ivy, "how far is the corridor with the funny floor?"

CHAPTER TWELVE

Archlis led them out of the room and into another tunnel that continued to run uphill, much to Mumchance's relief. The dwarf was still muttering about hearing water moving behind them. Personally, Ivy was just glad to be out of that small room littered with the burned reminders of the magelord's power.

After several twisting turns, the magelord called a halt. "I must consult my book," he declared. "The rest of you sit. Be quiet."

The bugbears slumped against the wall and began hauling out various supplies from their packs. As Ivy knew from past campaigns, if there was ever a creature whose first love was food, and who hated to share, it was a bugbear. And normally she would not annoy anything that big and furry and none too bright. But she was hungry, and so were the rest of her crew. She swaggered over to the biggest bugbear, stuck out her chin, and got her nose as close to his as possible. Like most males, this maneuver made him nervous. He tried to back up, but he had no place to go. She leaned a little closer. He growled, and she snarled back, "Give me bread! Give me water!" in the only orc dialect that she knew.

He answered back in Common, "Don't have to."

"Have to!" barked Ivy, relieved to be able to drop out of Orcish and into a language that didn't make her throat hurt. Still, she didn't know how much Common this creature knew. She kept it simple. "Archlis said!"

"Did not!"

"Ask him." Ivy jerked a thumb at the magelord, his long nose already buried deep in his spellbook and muttering to himself. "But he won't be happy if you disturb him."

The bugbear rumbled something at his companion, and the other bugbear grumbled back. "Females," the creature said, very pointedly in Common so Ivy would understand, "are nothing but trouble." He handed over a bag of supplies.

"I would never disagree," replied Ivy with a grin as she turned on her heel and headed back to her friends.

On the top of the bag was fresh bread, still warm, as if it came from Tsurlagol's bakeries only that morning. Under that was some dried meat. Everyone grabbed at the bread as soon as they smelled it. Ivy shrugged and snatched her share. It had been a very long time since breakfast; or, in Ivy's case, since a few bites of dried biscuit.

Mumchance offered some of the unidentified meat to Wiggles. The dog whined and turned up her nose at it. After seeing the dog's reaction, the rest of them set the meat aside.

While they ate, Archlis carefully turned the crumbling pages of his scorched spellbook. He bent so close to the book that the tip of his narrow nose looked in danger of smudging the ink. The expression on his face grew more sour, as if the spellbook did not yield exactly the answers that he desired. Yet he handled the decaying parchment with judicious care. The bugbears sat with their backs to Archlis and their attention on the group, but nobody did anything overtly hostile.

Released by Zuzzara with a friendly pat to the back that staggered him, Sanval chose to sit down next to Ivy. She took it as a good sign that he had not minded her more colorful comments about his character when she had been dickering with Archlis. For the first time since he had come to her tent that morning, Sanval stripped off his gauntlets to accept some bread and fresh water from Ivy. She passed the food and drink over to him with a slightly apologetic smile. His own look lightened a little as he took the bread from her. When he took her peace offering, she noticed his big hands bore the usual scars across the knuckles and the backs of his fingers that came from sword practice. Even with wooden weapons, cuts were a common hazard; and no matter how good a cleric a house employed, not everything healed without a trace. Ivy's own hands had a similar pale network of white scars across her skin.