"I beg pardon, Hiddukel. The thought of my ultimate vengeance drawing so close made my words rash. You know I have served you faithfully for ten years. I ask only for what you have promised me.
"And consider what it would mean to you to have a loyal servant in such a high position as the Conclave of Wizards," he continued. "We can both profit by this." Balcombe knew that the best way to shield himself from Hiddukel's wrath was to turn the god's attention to something else. In this case, as usual, the best lure was what the god craved most after souls: profit and power.
"Indeed," mouthed the coin's jovial face, "I have given much thought to your case over the years. You are a very interesting prospect." But then the coin flipped over, revealing the stern face. Balcombe knew from experience that this meant the dealing would get harsh. The stern face drove much harder bargains than the jovial face, but it also bargained for significantly higher stakes.
"Do not deceive yourself, however," it snarled. "There are others who also crave LaDonna's post. Some may be more deserving than you. Some are more faithful than you, others more deferential. Then there is LaDonna herself. Why should I favor you over any of them?"
As always when he spoke with Hiddukel, Balcombe's mind raced ahead, sharp and focused. "Others may crave the post, but I was promised revenge. Both of us know that once drawn, you must uphold your contracts. I have been patient, Hiddukel, but I have waited a long time. And now I'm bringing you a soul such as you've not seen for a long time."
The coin cut Balcombe off before he could continue. "What do you know of time, human? I have lived through ages you could not imagine. I have been banned from your world, denied the souls I crave, for such a time that years are not sufficient to measure it. What is your wait, compared to mine? These pathetic pleas do not impress me."
"But your scale of time does not apply to me," responded Balcombe. "Unlike you, I grow old. My time in this world is limited. The longer you wait to grant my request, the less time I will have to serve you from a position of ultimate power. Consider the souls I could send you if I were seated on the conclave. The feast would be like nothing you've ever known, and could begin with LaDonna. We would both have what we want most."
Years of experience had taught Balcombe how to play on Hiddukel's greed most effectively. If this appeal failed, there would be others. Balcombe had not burned any bridges behind him, but he could not imagine an argument that might be more effective against the patron god of soul stealing.
The coin flipped back to its jovial side. Vainly Balcombe tried to catch it and force the stern face to remain up, but he was too slow. Now he knew the jovial face, unwilling to seal a pact of this magnitude, would cut off the negotiation.
"Bring the soul to the appointed place, where I can examine it more closely," the coin said with a smile. "We will consider this issue in more detail at that time." Then the mouth sealed itself shut and once again the item in Balcombe's hand was nothing but a grotesque coin.
Not sure whether he should be frustrated or elated, Balcombe snapped his fist shut over the coin. He had extracted no new promises from the god, nor had he received any assurances. At the same time, he had not been turned down, and that alone was some encouragement. As long as Hiddukel was willing to entertain a possibility, there was reason to be hopeful.
Standing and stretching his muscular, six-foot frame, Balcombe returned the coin to its secret pocket, then carefully replaced the soul gem in its elaborate hiding place.
The next step, he told himself, was to prepare the altar for the ceremony that would relinquish the squire's soul to Hiddukel. It must be carried out flawlessly, Balcombe knew, because another soul this attractive might never fall into his hands.
There was difficulty, however, because the altar was not at the castle. The risk of accidental discovery was too great for the altar to be anywhere near the town. If his horrid practices or even his devotion to Hiddukel ever became known publicly or revealed to Lord Curston, Balcombe's career, and probably his life, would be over. For that reason, the altar was well hidden, miles from town in a rugged area of the Eastwall Mountains.
Getting there on foot would take Balcombe at least a day, probably more, of hard traveling. But he could be there in little over an hour by using a spell of flying.
Still it was a difficult and dangerous trip. The higher regions of the mountains were inhabited by hostile creatures. The ceremony of transference itself was time-consuming, which meant that he needed a good excuse to avoid suspicion over his absence from the court. True to his Solamnic heritage, Curston was mistrustful of magic and its practitioners. He kept a court mage only because a person in his powerful position had an obvious need for one and because Balcombe had proven his usefulness many times. None of that meant Curston completely trusted his mage.
Balcombe turned around and studied the chart of lunar cycles on the wall. The three moons of Krynn- Lunitari, Solinari, and Nuitari-controlled the power of magic in the world with their phases. Being an evil god, Hiddukel was at the height of his power when Nuitari, the black moon, was in high sanction. The same applied to Hiddukel's followers. The only time Balcombe could transfer souls to Hiddukel was during the high sanction of Nuitari, a condition that existed for a stretch of seven days out of every twenty-eight.
Balcombe knew that tomorrow night was the first night of high sanction for Nuitari. The day after that, Nuitari and Lunitari would be aligned for one day. During that time, the power of all wizards on Ansalon would be increased, but particularly black and red-robed mages. Veins stood out on Balcombe's neck as he thought back to the failed Test that had kept him out of the Order of Red Robes and thrust him into Hiddukel's service. Because he served Hiddukel, he received the same benefits from Nuitari as any black-robed wizard.
Still thinking about his approaching appointment at the altar, Balcombe became vaguely aware of a small, furry rodent scurrying about on his work counter. The castle was full of mice and rats, and Balcombe had, in fact, befriended a number of them over the years, though he might just as easily use them in his experiments. They liked to nibble at fallen bits of spell components and drink the dregs of liquids in his mortar bowls.
Balcombe was certain he had never seen this particular mouse in his laboratory before; he would have remembered such a slight, bright-eyed little creature. He watched as it darted among the surgical tools and bowls, snuffling its delicate whiskers at crumbs.
Suddenly its vision fastened onto something at the end of the counter. The furry brown rodent lunged forward, struggling to stretch its jaws enough to snatch up the bracelet in its sharp little teeth.
"Why, you little-" Balcombe began, angry and puzzled at the same time. He reached out to seize the audacious mouse as it struggled to drag the heavy bracelet to the counter's edge.
Just then, another mouse, smaller but wiry, leaped out from behind the blue bowl and fastened its razor teeth onto Balcombe's hand. Crying out in pain and fury, the mage flung the mouse from his finger and dashed it to the floor, where it staggered around, dazed.
Meanwhile, the mouse on the counter was still trying to drag the bracelet to the edge, but getting nowhere. Looking up at Balcombe's enraged visage as his hand reached toward it, the rodent gave one last desperate look at the bracelet and threw itself off the counter.
But the mouse never landed. In mid-flight, it changed before Balcombe's startled eyes into a hummingbird and flittered away through the narrow loophole and out of the castle. Balcombe felt his stomach lurch.