"A mirror and a hot towel?" Morhion's incredulous voice said beside her.

Mari's eyes fluttered open. She gaped in surprise. Sure enough, each of the bodyguards held a small silver mirror and a steaming cloth towel.

"Of course," one of the muscle-bound men said in a surprisingly cultured voice. "You'll both need to freshen up before your audience with the Master."

"Dungeons can be so messy," the other hulk added in an equally genteel tone. "Don't you agree?"

Jad and Kevrek held up the silver mirrors while Mari and Morhion wiped themselves clean of dust and cobwebs. The towels were deliciously hot and scented faintly with ginger. Mari was forced to admit that she felt refreshed. However, she was still furious with Cormik.

A few minutes later, Cormik's bodyguards led Mari and Morhion into a brightly lit chamber richly appointed with Sembian tapestries and Calishite statuary.

"So, did you like my little ruse, Al'maren?" Cormik inquired coyly. The rotund man was sprawled across a pile of embroidered cushions, a glass of pale wine held loosely in one stubby hand. "I can't believe you fell for it a second time!"

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not laughing," Mari griped. "Are you laughing, Morhion?"

An ironic smile touched the corners of the mage's lips. "Actually, I think I am."

Mari flopped sulkily onto a pile of cushions and treated Cormik to her best scathing look. It was an expression she had perfected in her years working with Caledan. After a moment, Cormik squirmed uncomfortably.

"Oh, stop looking at me like that," he said testily. "I'm sorry I had to have you thrown in chains, but you really should have given me some warning before you stopped by the Prince and Pauper."

"So this is all my fault?" Mari inquired dubiously.

"Everyone in Iriaebor knows you're good friends with the monk Tyveris. And everyone also knows Tyveris is City Lord Bron's closest advisor. I couldn't very well have acted as if we were the best of chums when you walked through my front door. If my clients thought I was in cahoots with Bron, I wouldn't have a customer left. I'd be ruined."

Mari was forced to admit, she could see the logic of his actions. However, she wasn't about to concede the argument that easily. "Couldn't you have thought of something besides throwing us in your dungeon?"

Cormik shrugged noncommittally. "I was rushed. It's hard to be creative under pressure, you know."

"All right, Cormik. I'll forgive you this once. But you owe me a favor."

The corpulent man gave her a sardonic wink. "Why, I'll do anything you desire, my sweet."

"I'm sure you would," she noted dryly. "But don't get your hopes up. It's your mind I need, Cormik, not the rest of you." Mari drained her wine, gathering strength, then proceeded to tell Cormik all they had learned concerning Caledan, the Shadowstar, and Stiletto.

When she finished, Cormik seemed visibly shaken. "Caledan is becoming a shadowking?" he murmured in disbelief. "I always knew the man had a dark side, but this is ridiculous."

"So, do you know anything about this Stiletto character or not?" Mari asked impatiently.

A calculating gleam appeared in his one good eye. "I'm afraid that's an answer that will cost the Harpers a good amount of gold, Al'maren."

"I'm not asking for the Harpers," she said quietly. "I'm asking for myself."

"Is there a difference?"

"There is now." Mari swallowed hard. She might as well get used to telling people. "I've resigned from the Harpers, Cormik."

His reaction surprised her. "Good for you, Mari! It's high time you left behind that meddling bunch of do-gooders. And don't worry about money. You can always come work for me."

Mari smiled wistfully. "I just might take you up on that offer when this is all over."

"What of Mari's question?" Morhion asked grimly.

Cormik shot him an annoyed look. "Don't worry, my good, repressed mage. I hadn't forgotten." His gaze returned to Mari. "Because the information is for you, my dear, I'll waive the usual fee."

"So you know where we can find this Stiletto?" she asked excitedly.

"No, I don't. However," he added in response to her crestfallen look, "I think I know someone who might."

*****

The sun was shining overhead as Mari and Morhion followed Cormik along a precarious stone bridge high above the streets of the Old City. Over the centuries, Iriaebor's myriad towers had been connected by a tangled web work of bridges, stone arches, and midair causeways. Many of the bridges were crumbling and in ill repair, and a few were trod only at great risk, but it was still possible to travel from one end of the Tor to the other without ever descending to the streets below. Some of the larger causeways were broad enough to accommodate merchants' stalls, and vendors hawked food and drink. Everything one needed to survive was available on the heights, and some folk who lived high in the towers never bothered to venture down to the ground.

The three passed through an open turret atop a dilapidated tower and proceeded onto another bridge. It was a spindly arch, its stones cracked and pitted with age. Mari could feel the span shudder beneath her with every step. Nervously, she clutched the stone balustrade to steady herself. A chunk of the railing broke off in her hand. She swallowed hard, casting a look at Cormik.

"Are you certain this bridge is safe?" she asked in a quavering voice.

"Oh, the bridge is sturdy enough," Cormik replied, "but I wish someone would clean up after the pigeons." With a sound of disgust, he hiked up the hem of his rich velvet robe and picked his way delicately around the piles of bird droppings.

To Mari's relief, they soon turned onto an intersecting causeway that was in better repair. After that, they followed a confusing succession of bridges until the city seemed to spin beneath her.

"Do watch where you're going, Mari," Cormik complained.

Mari blinked. The rotund man had stopped on the bridge, and she had run right into him. She gasped, seeing why he had halted.

The bridge ended in midair. The stones trailed off raggedly, as if half the bridge had collapsed and the other half had remained, hanging unsupported over the city below. In panic, she clutched Cormik's hand and hauled him backward.

"We have to get off!" she shouted urgently. "The rest of the bridge could collapse at any second."

To her astonishment, he shook off her hand. "Calm down, Mari," he said in a perturbed voice. "You're rumpling my silk shirt." He fussed with the soft material, smoothing out wrinkles that would have been imperceptible to less fastidious eyes. "Now, follow me. And whatever you do, don't look down."

With that he turned and stepped off the end of the bridge. Mari screamed. She lunged forward, trying to grab him, but he had already vanished from sight. Frantically, she peered over the edge of the bridge. She could see the labyrinthine streets of the Old City far below, but she caught no glimpse of Cormik. His body must have already landed.

"Why, Morhion? Why did he do it?"

"Indeed, why?" Morhion echoed her, but Mari had the distinct impression he was mocking her. "Cormik was hardly the suicidal type. In fact, I've never met a man as obsessed with staying alive."

Mari shook her head in disbelief. Yet she had seen Cormik step off the edge of the bridge.

"Oh, stop this nonsense," a voice said impatiently. "We haven't got all day."

A chubby hand shot out of thin air and grabbed Mari's green jacket, yanking her off the end of the bridge. This time she was too surprised to cry out. She braced for the shock of the plunge, but she wasn't falling. In fact, she could feel a hard surface beneath her deerskin boots.

Cormik was glaring at her. She looked down. That was a mistake. Though it felt as if she were standing on solid rock, all she could see beneath her feet was clear air and the twisting streets a hundred feet below. A wave of nausea crashed through her, and she clutched Cormik's arm for support.