"And you are Kelryn," the dwarf noted, as if confirming his own memory.

"Quite right. And you…?"

"My name is Cantor Blacksword, but you can call me… call me Fistandantilus!" crowed the filthy fellow, as if he had just been struck by inspiration.

"Fistandantilus… the wizard?"

"The same. 'Twas he who gave his blessing to yer staying, he I was talking to." The dwarf patted his chest smugly, as if the great wizard himself was compactly stored in a pouch beside his skin.

"But you just said that I should call you by that name, yet you seem to indicate that it belongs to someone else."

"It belongs to me!" shrieked the dwarf, hopping to his feet, standing with legs bowed as if ready to do battle. "You can't have it!"

"Nor do I want it!" Kelryn hastily assured the dwarf, utterly convinced that the wretch was indeed hopelessly mad. He watched warily as the dwarf, apparently mollified, sat back down. Gantor swept aside his beard and pulled out the loose neckline of his shirt, peering downward, apparently at his own belly, then slyly raising his wide, unblinking eyes to stare at his visitor.

"And are you of the Thorbardin clans or the hill dwarves?" the human asked, hoping to change the topic quickly.

"Bah! None of them are worthy of me, though once I numbered myself among the clan of Theiwar. I am of myself, and of Fistandantilus."

"But you told me that you are Fistandantilus." Kelryn, keeping his hand ready near the hilt of his sword, was rather enjoying the verbal sparring. And he was mightily curious about the dwarf's cloak. What did he have under there?

"That's for protection-mine and his." The dwarf looked out the entrance of the cave, as if he suspected someone might be sneaking toward them. Apparently satisfied, he settled back to stir his soup.

"May I offer some bread? A taste of ale, perhaps?" suggested the human. He went to the palomino and unsaddled the horse, resting his own supplies in a sheltered niche within the cave. Searching through his saddlebags, he pulled forth some choice selections from his store of provisions.

The dwarf watched with glittering, hungry eyes as Kelryn ambled back to the fire and resumed his seat on the flat rock.

"In truth, it's been many a year since I've had the taste of real ale," Gantor admitted, maintaining his vivid stare. He reached out to snatch the skin as soon as Kelryn started to swing it over, as if he expected that the human would take it back at any instant.

"Take it. Have the whole thing," the man urged with utmost sincerity-not from any charitable sense, but rather because he knew the power of ale to loosen the tongue of dwarf or man.

The dwarf drank deeply, lowering the flask with a satisfied smack of his lips. He was surprisingly fastidious for such a filthy and disreputable creature, for not a drop of the amber fluid trickled over his lips or spilled into the tangle of his beard.

"Good," Gantor Blacksword allowed before taking another large swig. The second draft apparently confirmed his initial impression, for he belched loudly, then eased backward to lean against the cave wall, his feet stretched casually toward the fire.

A dreamy smile appeared in the midst of the dwarf's mat of whiskers. "Yes, it's been a long time since we shared a good taste of the barley," he sighed.

Kelryn was about to reply that they'd never shared a drink before, when he realized that the dwarf had not been talking to him. "Does Fistandantilus care for something a little stronger?" asked the man. "I have a small nip of wine that I've been saving for a special occasion."

Abruptly the dwarf stiffened, sitting upright and scowling with a menacing tuck of his brows. His eyes, usually so wide, were narrowed to white slits in the wrinkled map of his face. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

Kelryn silently cursed himself for trying to move too fast. Still, his curiosity would not allow him to backtrack. "You mentioned-that is, I believe you said-that you were here with the wizard, Fistandantilus. I merely asked if he desired a taste of wine."

"He's not here," the Theiwar declared. Once again his voice became friendly, conspiratorial. "As a matter of fact, he's dead."

"I'm sorry," replied Kelryn disingenuously. "I had hoped to make his acquaintance."

"You can." Cantor's head bobbed enthusiastically. "I know him."

The man ignored the contradiction. "Splendid! What does he want?"

"He wanted me to kill the kender. I knew that as soon as I picked up the bloodstone." The dwarf nodded in affirmation of his statement. "He told me to use the skull to nit him, and I did."

"That was wise," Kelryn agreed sagely. "He's not one you'd want to argue with."

"No." Cantor's beard and hair bristled as he shook his head vehemently.

The human thought about his companion's remarks, which he had at first been inclined to dismiss as the ravings of a lunatic. But now he was not so sure.

"You said something about a bloodstone. Is that how you talk to Fistandantilus? Do you see him or hear him in the gem?"

"That's it!" the dwarf agreed enthusiastically. Once more he cast a look to the outside of the cave. "I've never shown it to anyone before, but it's all right. He says I can let you see it."

Apparently satisfied by his own explanation, the dwarf reached under his beard, into his tunic, and pulled out a golden chain.

Kelryn gasped as the bloodstone came into view. Never had he seen so large a gem, and the finespun gold surrounding the stone was worth a small fortune by itself.

But it was in fact the bloodstone that caught his eye, that held him rapt, almost hypnotized. He could see flickers of light, like tiny magical fires, bursting into brightness within the pale, greenish depths of the polished gem. Despite himself, he felt that cadence calling to him, drawing him to the stone with powerful allure.

And he knew that he would have the gem-he had to have it!

"Fistandantilus was a great man," Cantor declared seriously. "He had many enemies, and they have smeared dirt and garbage upon his name. But he was strong and true. He would have been a light in this dark age of the world but for the treachery of his enemies."

"You know all this? You have learned it from the stone?" Kelryn tore his eyes from the gem, staring intently at the addled dwarf. "Tell me!" he insisted, his voice taut with impatience as Cantor hesitated.

"Yes. It speaks to me, guides me." The Theiwar spoke eagerly now, clearly anxious that the human understand. "It brought me here a month ago and bade me wait. And so I do, though he has not told me why."

"You were waiting for me," Kelryn asserted, once again looking deep into the stone, hearing the summons, knowing the will of the one who spoke to him from there. Cantor had been brought here by the will of the bloodstone, put in this place so that Kelryn Darewind could find him. The man was utterly convinced of this fact.

"But why you?" asked the dwarf, puzzled.

Kelryn made no reply, except to grasp the hilt of his sword in a smooth, fluid gesture. In an eyeblink, the blade was out, silver steel gleaming red in the firelight, the weapon striking forward before Cantor could move. The man lunged, cursing the awkward posture of his attack but unable to postpone his response to the presence, the irresistible summons that he felt within the enchanted gemstone.

As it turned out, his clumsy attack was more than adequate. The Theiwar waited, as still as a statue, as if he himself had been commanded or compelled to do so. Only after the sword cut through the bristling tangle of the beard, sliced into the throat, and the dwarf slumped with a gagging burst of air and a gush of blood did the man understand.

Like Kelryn himself, Cantor Blacksword had only been doing what he had been told.