The shadow writhed beneath the tip of the tongs as she brought them up. With a deft motion she snared a tentacle, and began to drag the thing out. Again Garlthik screamed, and again he struggled to stop me questor. But the villagers rested on him and kept his arms pinned down.
After a long time the questor finally succeeded in pulling the shadow thing out of the wound in Garlthik's head. It clung tenaciously, but was finally plucked out of the ork's skull with a final, sickly sound. The questor grabbed a bottle from her pouch and stuffed the thing inside it. The shadow squirmed about for a moment, then the glass shattered, sending shards deep into the questor's flesh. After a moment of surprise, the shadow was nowhere to be seen.
For a moment J'role thought about asking the questor if she could help him with the creature in his head. But then he remembered what Mordom had said, that the thing's body was somewhere else, only its spirit resided in his thoughts. As Mordom seemed to know a great deal about the Horrors, J'role decided he was right.
Garlthik relaxed now, and the questor began soothing him, beginning the process of healing.
"I need a drink," Bevarden pleaded softly just to J'role, so no one else could hear. "Please, I need a drink."
A crackle of flames cut through the night air, and J'role turned and saw huge flames claw their way up the sides of the tavern; the smoke rose up so thick that it blurred the stars above the fire.
Garlthik was just getting up, the questor done with him and he turned with amazement toward the fire. He was wobbly but the crack in his skull was gone. "What are they doing?" he asked with rapidly growing enthusiasm. "Are they burning them out?"
At that instant a terrible crash erupted from the tavern. J'role thought a wall had fallen, but instead saw a golden light emanating from the roof. A chariot, with three sides and two wheels, erupted from the roof. It was made of something that reminded J'role of smoke, for he could see the stars through it. Standing on the chariot were Mordom and Phlaren. Resting against one side of the vehicle was Slinsk.
Nothing pulled the chariot, though Mordom held two reins that extended several feet before vanishing into thin air. A gasp rose up from the mob as the chariot rose and swung around in a wide arc, flying back toward them. "Where is the boy!" Mordom cried.
Garlthik hustled J'role into the shadow of a tree, then quickly ran back to drag Bevarden into the shadows as well.
The shadows wrapped around J'role, comforting him. Dark and protecting, they touched his flesh and worked their way into him, and he felt the thief magic grow strong within him. The magic touched his muscles and told him to run, passing from the shadows of one tree to another, leaving his father behind. He was better off on his own.
The chariot rushed low to the ground, tearing through the startled crowd, knocking the slow and surprised out of the way. J'role's father, apparently amused by the sight, began walking out of the shelter of the shadows, a smile of wonder on his face. J'role swallowed. His father’s actions would betray him…
…and more than that. .
…what?
… his father would be in danger.
A cloud passed from J'role's thoughts. Yes. His father.
He stepped quickly forward and wrapped his young hand around his father's wrist, pulling Bevarden back as one would a child who has stepped too close to a fire. In doing so he felt his chest tremble in a kind of fever. When the sensation passed, J'role realized that the thief magic had left him. It wanted only that he rush away from anyone he might care about.
Mordom was still screaming at the villagers below, demanding that they surrender the boy. He cut around the area in a wide arc, peering into the shadows as his magical chariot sped by. The villagers had re-grouped now, picking up sticks and rocks and throwing them at the chariot as it passed. As the chariot rushed toward the tree sheltering J'role, several rocks slammed into the chariot's passengers. Mordom raised his hands to cover his face, and in that moment, J'role dragged his father down, with Garlthik following. The chariot whooshed by, then shot up into the air. Growing smaller and smaller, it crossed the night stars swiftly, then vanished from sight over the top of the distant mountains.
J'role stood quickly, dragging his father to his feet. He felt immensely relieved.
Garlthik saw J'role's face and said in a tone of warning, "He'll be back for us. He's just gone until he thinks it's safe to come back. Come, we'd best be going. He knows we know about the city now. His determination will increase."
J'role nodded and gestured in the direction of the magical toad.
"Let's go then," said Garlthik, starting to walk. J'role, holding his father's hand, followed.
"What are you doing with him?” Garlthik asked.
The question surprised J'role. He hadn't really considered it. He was just bringing his father with him. It seemed to be the thing to do.
"Do you realize what a burden he'll be?" Garlthik said in reply to J'role's silence.
Pointing first to himself and then to his father, J'role tried to remind Garlthik that this man was his father.
"Yes, yes, your father,” said Garlthik. "I don't care."
Angry that Garlthik was dismissing him so-even though he thought Garlthik might be right-J'role began to walk toward the magical road with his father in tow. The only other possibility was to leave his father in the care of strangers. And that he did not want to do.
Garlthik angrily walked up beside him. "All right, lad. All right. But know this, the thief magic will leave you, and leave you at the worst time, if you keep betraying it like this.
You didn't do what you went in there to do, did you?”
J'role thought for a moment. The ring! He'd forgotten all about it during the carnage. He shook his head. No, he didn't get the ring. How could he have?
Garlthik brought up his hand. In the center of it rested the fat man's ring. Though stained with blood, the large diamond was bright against the night's darkness. “A thief," he said,
"never forgets his work."
11
Later, when everything had happened, J'role's mother said to him, "Don't speak. Never speak. Speak to no one but me." His father was at the Atrium, entertaining everyone. He and his mother were alone at home.
He started to ask her a question. "Not even Father?" But he felt the prickly sensation in his mouth, and he lost control of his tongue, and began to babble the high-pitched squeaks and cries and gasps and strange sounds. His mother wrapped her arms around him and drew him close, trying to smother the sound of his voice. For a moment he felt safe, and then he discovered he could not breathe.
"Oh, my baby. Oh my baby, " she cried "No one but me. No one but me. "
As J'role, Bevarden, and Garlthik started to walk away, the villagers circled them, openly curious, their torches forming a ring of fire and smoke. J'role knew they would have too many questions if he simply tried to leave, questions he had no way of answering. His fists tightened in frustration. Why couldn't he talk? Why was the thing in his head?
Everyone stared at him, slightly afraid, as the fury built on his face. The creature in his thoughts only chuckled.
"Good people," said Garlthik. "Thank you so much for your help in saving us from that villain…."
"Merith said you gave her a diamond!" shouted one villager.
"Did she die because of your hand?" shouted someone else.
"Did the magician attack to get the diamond back?"
Other cries sprang up, and then a general commotion of noise. The threat of Mordom gone, the villagers were free to vent their suspicions on the strangers in their midst. The ring of people tightened.
“Why don't you tell them you're innocent," the creature in J'role's thoughts laughed.