Jack looked around. The door was dicey, but he had other ways to leave. He picked himself up from the floor and then darted forward to set one hand on Tharzon and the other on Anders.

"Come on, lads! Let's quit while we're ahead!"

"But the dragon-" Anders began.

"Is not our fight," Jack finished.

He summoned the energy for his travel spell, shaping the chaotic spiral with care; this spell taxed him, and he'd never tried to carry two companions at once. The dragon whirled about, sensing that something was happening, but before it could strike again, the room faded into mist and darkness-

– and they were somewhere else, falling to the cold stone floor in silver light. Jack landed heavily and lost his breath. Anders and Tharzon fell to the ground right beside him, their weapons ringing on the stone. His head swam with dizziness, but Jack staggered to his feet. As he thought, they were in the outer rotunda. The silver light still caged the room, but against one wall a great smear of smoking, bubbling stone showed where Durevin had met his end in the dragon's vile corrosion.

Tharzon sat up slowly. "What happened? Where are we?"

"I used a spell of transport," Jack answered. "The range is short, no more than a hundred yards or so. I thought we'd get around the dragon by returning to the nearest safe place I could reach."

"You dragged us out of the fight and abandoned Zandria to that monster?" Anders asked. "The Guilder's Vault was ours! All we had to do was beat the dragon, and we would have walked out of there with a king's ransom!"

Jack pointed at the open stairway leading down to the long corridor. Sounds of battle echoed up from the opening. "The fight's still going on, Anders, not more than thirty or forty yards down that hallway. Please, feel free to rejoin the fray. I doubt that the dragon's going anywhere."

Anders stalked in a circle, frustrated. "But all that gold!"

"All that gold does not serve a dead man at all," Tharzon remarked. "Did you line your pockets at all while we were in there, Anders?"

The Northman nodded. "I scooped up a handful of trinkets before the dragon broke down the door."

"As did I, and as did Jack," Tharzon said. "Come on, friend Anders. You aren't leaving empty handed, and it was only a morning's work."

Jack caught the Northman's arm and pulled him toward the entrance to the rotunda. "We would be well-advised to absent ourselves from the scene. Zandria and her friends will defeat the dragon, in which case it may come this way again, or they will be defeated, in which case it may come this way again. Either way, I mean to be in the Cracked Tankard enjoying an ale by the time that comes to pass." He laughed and patted his pockets. "In fact, I will even buy the first round. Now let me tell you about the plan of genius I hatched to pilfer the treasure from the Red Falcons before that oversized snake ruined it all."

Jack, Anders, and Tharzon celebrated their escape from the Guilder's Vault with steins of beer and flagons of wine for most of the rest of the day. Between the three of them, they had pocketed a handsome amount of dwarfwork valuables. Jack did not see fit to mention the small brandy bottle nestled safely inside his jacket. He didn't know whether to sell it (Cedrizarun's work was doubtless worth many hundreds of gold crowns, possibly thousands), share it with his comrades, drink it himself, or give it to that old sot Ontrodes for a lark.

"That weighty decision must be delayed until I have given the issue due consideration," he told himself. "The tragedy of using this irreplaceable liquor poorly would haunt me for the rest of my days."

Now that he'd had some time to reflect on their narrow escape, he seemed to recall that a month or two back the Lady Mayor had issued a proclamation offering a generous reward, a very generous reward, to the plucky soul who braved Sarbreen's awful dangers and hungry deep dragons in order to recover various artifacts from the depths, including the Orb of Khundrukar. Something to the effect of a noble title and ten thousand gold crowns for recovering the dwarven device…

"Perhaps she might pay handsomely for a ring, a dagger, and a bottle of the most superior brandy residing in mortal hands today. Failing that, perhaps she might pay handsomely to learn that the Red Wizard Zandria had recovered the Orb or perished in the attempt," Jack mused.

Jack bid his partners a good night and left to find a bed. He even left his fair share of the night's tab on the table and sauntered off into the cool spring evening, humming a merry air as he strolled down the streets leading toward home. Perhaps he'd purchase a small manor out in the countryside, nothing ostentatious or crass of course, a few dozen acres and servants to maintain his modest yet comfortable lifestyle.

"Women such as Illyth or Zandria might prove eager to attach themselves to a person of my status and dignity," he mused. "Why, I might-"

Someone threw a cloak over his head from behind and wrapped it tight in the blink of an eye. A flurry of punches and jabs battered Jack through the heavy coat, and he was wrestled and dragged a few steps only to fall into a muddy, foul-smelling pool of water. He flailed about, trying to defend himself, but hard-driven fists hammered into his head, shoulders, and back, knocking the wind out of him and pounding him mercilessly. Jack gibbered in panic.

"Wait! Stop-unh! Who-agh! Stop!"

"Well, well, well. If it isn't-"

"Jack Ravenwild. Where's the ruby, Ravenwild?"

"You know, dear sir, we've been quartering the city looking for you. We've discovered that the ruby stolen from House Kuldath was sold in Tantras a few days ago. Perhaps now you may be inclined to-"

"Tell us where the money is, or we'll slit your throat."

Twisting in agony, Jack managed to wriggle out of his cloak. He rolled over on the cold cobblestone and found himself staring up at Morgath and Saerk. The two thieves stood over him, short truncheons in their hands.

"Your persistence astonishes me, gentlemen," he gasped. "I thought we understood that I had nothing to do with your employer's unfortunate loss."

"You were seen taking money from a big, blonde-haired Northman-" Morgath began.

"-who was observed selling a ruby the size of a pigeon's egg to a dealer in Tantras for the sum of thirteen hundred Ravenaar crowns," finished Saerk. "The Northman fenced it for you. Now how do you think we can satisfy our employer's demands for justice and the gem's return?"

"Clearly, we cannot return the gem, so we should discuss the issue of reparations," Morgath said. "Now, let's start with what's in this satchel."

Thirteen hundred crowns? Why, Anders cheated me of almost two hundred pieces of gold! Jack thought first of all. Then the rest of the thief's statement reached him regarding the disposition of Jack's satchel. Jack shook his head, trying to clear it of intoxication and pain, and looked up. Morgath was holding the pouch in which he'd stashed the pick of his pickings from the Guilder's Vault! Slowly he levered himself up off the street and carefully brushed off his clothes.

"That," he said slowly, "has nothing whatsoever to do with you."

"Oh? If it's valuable and it is yours, then it might very well have something to do with us-"

"We'll just keep it until you produce the ruby." Saerk laughed. The thin thief was really an unpleasant fellow, gaunt and bony, and his laugh sounded like the shrill whinny of a skeletal horse. He dropped the truncheon and pulled out a wicked knife. "I think we'll keep a couple of your fingers, too, by way of thanking you for the trouble at the Tankard last week."

Jack was not about to let these two filchers walk off with his hard-won loot. He drew himself up and looked at the two men, then glowered, then scowled. "I believe," he said clearly, "that I have had all that I care to stand." He muttered a spell, the spell of seeming, and slowly began to alter his appearance. "You see, gentlemen, I am not as I appear. Until now, it has suited my purposes to disguise my true form, but you, you have given me cause to forget my restraint and resort to more direct measures." He grew taller, heavier, more gaunt. His skin darkened to an infernal coal black as his ears assumed wicked points and long, sharp tusks thrust their way out from his lower jaw.