"Come on, now, you've business with Lord Curston." The voice was rough and tinged with sarcasm.

Delbridge shrank away to cower in the corner. "What is it? Has he sent for me? Am I to be released?"

"It's not my job to answer questions. Don't make me drag you out of here."

A second shape stepped into the light. "All right, Toseph, wait in the hall," it spoke softly. Then louder, "You, prisoner, on your feet. It's time to see Lord Curston."

"Have I been pardoned? Where is Balcombe?"

The guards both ignored his question. Slowly Delbridge rose from his knees and stepped tentatively toward the door. By now his eyes were adjusting to the torchlight. In the hall he saw three more soldiers, besides the one in his cell, all apparently waiting to escort him to Lord Curston. He stumbled slightly as he crossed the threshold.

As Delbridge stepped into the hall, the soldiers closed around him. They walked without speaking down long hallways beneath the castle, past closed doors and open archways. Finally they ascended a winding flight of stone steps and passed through a wooden door.

Expecting to emerge in an inner chamber, Delbridge was stunned to see that he was outside in the castle courtyard. The sky was pink and cold, streaked with thin, angry black clouds. The courtyard was shrouded in gray, the rising sun still hidden behind massive, fortified walls.

Delbridge looked all around in panic. He saw no sign of either Curston or the mage, Balcombe. The courtyard was divided, half being occupied with merchants' and craftsmen's stalls, the other half reserved for the castle's military use. Delbridge and his escort passed between a barracks building and the commercial area, and he could see they were headed toward a large, open court. As they rounded the corner, Delbridge's knees buckled.

A gallows was just beginning to catch the morning sun.

Two soldiers grabbed his sinking arms and propped him up, half aiding, half dragging him forward. Delbridge's eyes were tightly closed; his feet flailed uselessly at the ground.

The troop stopped in front of a line of men-at-arms, all standing at attention. Behind them were arrayed a hundred or more citizens from the town, and beyond them, within sight but out of hearing of the gallows-to the right of the castle gate-Lord Curston sat astride a powerful chestnut gelding. The elderly knight was splendid in his Solamnic armor, his helmet slung across the saddle pommel. Alongside Curston and slightly behind him was Balcombe, mounted on a black mare.

In an even voice, the sergeant-at-arms declared, "Omardicar the Omnipotent, you stand before this court accused of conspiracy, abduction, and sorcerous evil. You have pled innocence of these charges. Do you wish to change that plea now, in the presence of His Lordship, Sir Curston of Tantallon?"

Delbridge forced his eyes open. Although welling tears clouded his vision, he could see the knight in the distance on his horse, watching, his face haggard and grim. Delbridge's jaw moved up and down, but no sound came out. After several moments, he croaked rather than spoke the only words he could manage: "I am innocent."

The sergeant's eyes were cold and merciless as he looked down on the condemned man. He said in a clear voice: "Then Lord Curston finds you guilty."

He looked at the soldiers before him. "Guards, do your duty."

The crowd from the town cheered. Delbridge struggled against the arms that held him and cried out to the distant mage, "Balcombe! You promised to help me!" but the cheering throng drowned out his words to even those near him.

Delbridge's legs failed him completely as he was dragged to the gibbet and hauled up a ladder. As the noose was fitted over his head, he twisted to face Balcombe again. His voice was thick with fear as he screamed one final time, "The bracelet! What about the bracelet?"

Delbridge's last memory in life, before soldiers jerked the ladder away, was Balcombe, smiling and stroking his goatee, the morning sun glinting coppery and cold from his wrist.

Chapter 11

"Are you sure your spells are working right?" asked Tasslehoff, squinting against the sunlight that streamed over Selana's shoulders. Sitting cross-legged, he looked back down to study his game of "Exes and Ohs" in the dirt. "I mean, we've asked all over town and at the castle, and no one has heard of this Delbridge guy." Using his finger, the kender traced the third "X" in a line, then drew through it once again, declaring himself the winner of the solitary game.

"l know my bracelet is somewhere inside this keep," Selana said stubbornly, standing above him, her arms folded across the torn and filthy front of her dark blue robe. Her face, beneath the loosely tied light-blue scarf, was scratched and tinged red from exposure to sun.

"My first spell indicated that Delbridge was going to Tantallon, and the one I just cast reveals indisputably that the bracelet is here." The sea elf's blue-green eyes took in the vast, rectangular keep made of foot-square blocks of gray, ribbed granite.

Seated on a stone watering trough, Tanis leaned back against the cold wall of the small pump house in the central courtyard and swung one leg indolently over the other. Dipping a cupped hand into the trough, he splashed his sweat-and grime-covered face with cool water and dried it on his sleeve. He closed his eyes and held his face up to the warmth of the late-afternoon sun.

Next to him on the ground, back against the wall, the old dwarf snored softly into his tipped hat. As he frequently reminded his half-elf friend, he was not as young as he used to be; even though his mind could not recall the night spent under the satyrs' charm spell, doing gods knew what, his body surely remembered. Flint's barrel-shaped body shuddered at the aches and pains.

Things had been a bit more strained between the small group in the eight or so hours since they had awakened among the wreckage of the satyr camp. If possible, the encounter had made the sea elf more headstrong and willful, more driven to retrieve her bracelet and return to the sea, than before.

Most humbling of all, the satyrs had taken nearly everything of value from everyone but Tas. The kender had been almost insulted that they'd overlooked his alabaster ink stopper and the tiny, engraved portrait of his parents, and they'd not taken even a single one of his maps. The sorry quartet barely had enough coinage left between them to purchase one serving of bubble and squeak, and none of them liked that bland cabbage-and-potato dish anyway.

"Well?"

Startled, Tanis popped one eye open. "Well, what?"

"Shouldn't someone go ask if this Delbridge person is in there?"

Tanis laughed. "It's not an alehouse, Selana," he said. "It's the home of the most influential person in this village, to which we are strangers. Perhaps our thief is his guest. You can't just march up and say 'hand over the chubby cheat in the green jacket.' "

"Why not?" asked Tas.

Only half-asleep and listening, Flint laughed himself awake.

"I'm not some little fool from the sea, Tanis Half-Elven," said Selana, glaring the dwarf into uncomfortable silence. "I'll simply tell them the truth, that I've come a long way to find a thief who stole a valuable bracelet of mine, and that I believe he is somewhere in the keep. Curston is a Knight of Solamnia, surely an honorable man. He'll listen with an open mind."

Tanis nodded, surprised to find that he agreed.

Tas jumped to his feet. "I'll come with you, Selana," he offered, having grown bored with winning "Exes and Ohs." Flint yanked him back to the ground.

"I don't like sending her to the door alone," he said, shaking his shaggy salt-and-pepper head, "but knowing the knighthood's distrust of anything not human, she'll have trouble enough without a kender, dwarf, or half-elf at her side. Cinch up your scarf, at least," he advised Selana, giving her hand a fatherly pat.