It would grow anew, he understood, much as the prism ring on his hand would recharge its magic. It was the magic of the blade that had slain the bad pirate, not Ebonsoul, though likely this had been the lich’s own dagger, Regis figured as he came to understand its value and power.
He went to his two enemies to ensure that they were dead, and relieved them of their coins, gems, and jewelry in the process. He prodded the serpent with his dirk, even rolled it over, but there was no life left in it.
He looked at the weapon once more, and it seemed to him as if the second blade had already grown a tiny bit more.
“It’s a magic item, not a curse,” he told himself. He recalled Wigglefingers’s claim that the dirk had other powers, and more importantly, that it had no sentience or ego, as so many powerfully enchanted weapons were known to possess. He thought of the leering specter and was glad of that.
The halfling took a deep breath and steadied himself. He had fancied himself a hero, had determined that he would be one this time around, that he would be a valuable member of the Companions of the Hall and not a tag-along to be protected. He nodded, looked to his weapons, and looked at his handiwork.
This was what it meant to be a hero. He wouldn’t shy from a fight, and he darned well meant to win them.
He nodded again, reminding himself that this fight was only half over.
The finely dressed halfling strode confidently around the wagons and into the light of the blazing campfire. He grinned back at the stupefied expressions of the two men-of course they were shocked, since they had paid to have him murdered, and yet, here he was!
As he walked past the burly Yoger, Regis pulled his hand crossbow out from under his traveling cloak and shot the man in the face, then dropped the weapon. It jangled down by his legs, for he had tethered it to his belt. With a flick of his wrist, Regis tossed a small serpent at the groaning man. It bounced against his belly and magically caught there, then slithered up fast, before the fool could begin to react.
Yoger cried out, then began to gasp and choke, but Regis never looked at him. Regis just kept walking toward Kermillon, his rapier and dirk still in his belt. Kermillon grabbed a small log from near the fire and began shouting out, warning the halfling back.
But Regis kept coming.
He heard Yoger fall over behind him, thrashing and kicking. He heard others from the nearby wagons calling out, confused, but he kept his focus on Kermillon, who waved the log threateningly.
Just as he stepped into range, just as the man began to swing, Regis activated his prism ring and warp-stepped past. Regis knew what to expect from it this time, and he leaped and twisted as he moved, spinning around. He landed just behind and to the side of Kermillon, and with his rapier in hand. He promptly stabbed up under the man’s ear, puncturing the skin, but just barely.
“Kindly drop the log,” he said, and when Kermillon hesitated, he stabbed the rapier in a bit more.
“Oh, please, Sir Spider!” Kermillon gasped, leaning over away from the pressing rapier tip.
“Kneel,” Regis ordered, and Kermillon slumped to his knees.
Regis looked past him then, to Yoger who continued to thrash and kick and squirm for all his life, but to no avail. Others came into the firelight just as Yoger went straight out, his legs twitching in the spasms of death.
“Here now, what?” another driver called to Regis and Kermillon. Others ran to Yoger.
“What’s this about then, little one?” another man demanded. “Tell them,” Regis said to Kermillon. The man said nothing.
“Tell them or I will slide my blade into your head, and explain my actions to them while I am wiping your brains off onto your shirt.”
Drivers, passengers, and merchants from the marketplace alike began to gather, forming a wall around the small fire and the combatants.
“You best be talking,” one demanded.
“Aye, and we best like your explaining!” another added.
Regis prodded his blade and Kermillon gave a little cry.
“Speak truthfully and I will lobby for leniency,” Regis said.
“I don’t know …,” Kermillon started.
“Two dead across the way!” announced a newcomer, a halfling dressed for the road and for battle it seemed. He walked into the light, a trio of other halflings similarly adorned right behind him. “Stuffings is dead in his tent,” the halfling went on. “Stuffings and the tall one. It would appear as if they tried to take advantage of a guest this night, and would I be right in assuming that we have that guest standing right before us?”
“Stuffings?” Regis asked.
“Stuffantle Tinderkeg to any who cared,” the halfling replied. “Just Stuffings to all the rest.”
“Aye, he coaxed me into his lair with the promise of a bed and a bath, and on coin from these two.” He prodded a bit and Kermillon yelped and leaned to the side. “Do tell them.”
“On your life, driver,” the other halfling said and he drew out a gleaming short sword.
“We did! We did!” Kermillon babbled. “But not to kill him! No, just to rob … and this one!” He fell away as the rapier was withdrawn, and turned back, poking a finger Regis’s way. “This one! All boasts and endless coin! Ah, but he’s a rat, I tell you! Insufferable rat!”
Regis laughed and snapped his rapier across, taking the man’s poking fingerline-height: Idweon before tucking it away in his belt as Kermillon curled up on the ground, howling in pain.
“Well, this one’s dead,” said a man over by Yoger.
“Three less murderers to worry about,” Regis said, and he looked at Kermillon as he added, “And likely, soon to be four.”
Some of the other drivers came in and grabbed up Kermillon and dragged him away.
Such scenes were not uncommon in the markets around Boareskyr Bridge, and the interest died away quickly, the onlookers moving off, some discussing which would inherit Kermillon’s wagon and goods, while others, merchants, talking about the prime tent that would now be open if the one-eyed dwarf was really deceased.
The quartet of halflings came over to Regis, though, the leader bowing before him gracefully. “You handle yourself well, Master Topolino,” he said.
“You know my name,” Regis replied. He locked gazes with the halfling, while quietly lifting the hand crossbow and deftly slipping it away into his magical belt pouch.
“Knew it before we ever met you, though didn’t know you wore it,” the other replied.
Regis looked at him curiously.
“Grandfather Pericolo,” said one of the three behind him. “I have been to Delthuntle on many occasions and know him well.”
“Ah, but where are my manners?” said the leader. “I know your name, but have not offered my own. I am Doregardo of the Grinning Ponies.” He bowed low.
“The Grinning Ponies?” Regis asked, trying not to laugh.
“Named for our mounts and the year,” answered the one who had claimed knowledge of the Grandfather.
CHAPTER 24
The Year of the Agele ss One (1479 DR) Luruar
Theeagle rode the updrafts of an incoming front, gliding easily to the west, and now with the hilly region known as the Crags in sight. Beyond those rolling hills sat Luskan and the Sword Coast, Catti-brie knew, and the mountain pass that would take her home to Icewind Dale.
Given the limitations of her magic, she expected to pass by Luskan within a few days, and into Icewind Dale to Ten-Towns merely a tenday beyond that.
She was thinking of her more recent home, of Niraj and Kavita, and hoping that they were all right. Had they heard of her death? Had Lady Avelyere gone to the Desai encampment to interrogate them? Or worse, had Avelyere punished them?
The thought unsettled Catti-brie and stole from her the peace of this moment of high solitude. Maybe she should have stayed in Netheril to protect her parents, she thought, to fight, and likely die, beside them if Avelyere came calling.