A sprinkling of guests sat at tables in the inn, one here, two or three there. There was someone at almost every table but not a full table in the house. Those who were with others were speaking self-consciously, the way people do when a room gets too quiet for comfortable conversation. Shal and Ren and Tarl made their way to a large oval table that had just emptied near the bar. Neither Ren nor Shal had to ask where the half-orc woman was. She was seated at the center of the common room, and while no one appeared to be looking directly at her, she seemed to be the focus of attention, her shining black hair and dark complexion contrasting boldly with the light walls of the inn.

She did not look over at the three, and made no move to approach them while they ate. It was not until they had finished eating and were talking quietly that she approached their table. She didn't wait for an invitation. As soon as she had made eye contact with all three, she sat down. She immediately leaned across the table and began speaking directly to Tarl in a treacherous, whiskey-hoarse voice. "I can make your brother well."

Tarl sat silent, compelled to look into her black eyes.

"I can make him whole again."

"How? What do you know about Anton? And who are you?" Tarl spoke coolly, showing no emotion.

"I am called Quarrel, and I've been sent as a messenger-" she hushed her voice to a whisper-"a messenger of the Lord of the Ruins."

"The Lord of the Ruins?" Like the others, Shal had not expected to encounter an emissary of the Lord of the Ruins inside Civilized Phlan.

Ren flashed a dagger in each hand. "Speak your piece and make it quick, orc-meat," he hissed.

The look Quarrel returned would have sent needles of ice through a lesser man. "Hold your peace, thief! No fewer than five warriors gathered in this room are also in service to the Lord of the Ruins, and there isn't a one who couldn't slam a knife into your jugular before you could ever lay a hand on me."

"You and two more would die before I fell."

"Perhaps, but that's not what I'm here for, nor is it what they're here for," she said gesturing around the room.

The woman spread her hands flat on the big table in a calming gesture, then spoke in a still-throaty but less biting voice. "I'm here to make a deal with you-a very good deal."

"Speak," said Shal, her staff now raised.

"I've already made one offer… I'll see that the cleric's friend is healed. I'll also name your teacher's murderer. I'll even kill him for you, if you wish…"

Shal started for a moment, wondering if the woman had heard any part of their conversation on the rooftop.

"And for you, thief, I'll get the name of the assassin who killed your red-haired lover. I'll let you kill him yourself, of course."

Ren fairly threw himself across the table and grabbed the orc-woman roughly by the collar. "Orc vermin! What do you know about my Tempest?"

"Unhand me, you bastard, or I'll have that assassin kill you instead!" Six armed warriors had leaped from their tables and moved in closer.

Tarl pressed his hand firmly on Ren's shoulder, and Ren loosed his hold. "I want to know what she thinks she can do for Brother Anton."

"How do you know these things, and what's the rest of your 'deal', Quarrel?" Ren fairly spit the words.

She spoke slowly, facing each of the three in turn. "I know who your master's murderer is, mage… Cleric of Tyr, I know who can heal your friend… And, yes, thief, I know who killed your lover. I know because I work for the one who controls all. Serve him, and each of you will be given the knowledge and the time to fulfill your quests."

"He can heal Anton?" Tarl asked hesitantly.

Ren wheeled to face his friend. "She'll see that he gets healed-in exchange for your soul! Think, Tarl!"

The woman's voice was like honey again. "Your friend exaggerates, Tarl. Service to the Lord of the Ruins is hardly the exchange of one's soul. The Lord of the Ruins is no god. He demands obedience, not worship. Look at me-I am a free woman."

"You are a free pig!" said Ren.

"That's enough!" Shal cried, standing to face Ren. "I've no more use for your bigotry than I do for her offer!" To Quarrel, she said, "I speak for the others. We've seen what obedience to the Lord of the Ruins means, and we want no part of your deal. Leave us!"

Fire blazed in Quarrel's black eyes for a moment. "The Lord of the Ruins gets what he wants," she said, "sooner or later." The half-orc stood, pivoted on her heel, and began to walk calmly toward the exit. The warriors rose as if to follow, but just as soon as she had opened the big door, Quarrel spun around and launched a tiny dagger from her hand.

"Down!" Ren shouted, and he leaped to try to deflect the dagger, but a big warrior rammed him from behind and sent him sprawling across the table.

Before Shal could duck or react with a spell, the dagger was buried deep in her collarbone, and green death began to spread through her body. She stood for a moment, a silent mental cry shrieking through her numbness, and then she flopped, twitching and jerking, to the ground.

In a lightninglike move, Ren rolled and disemboweled the man who had rammed him from behind. Tarl reacted with equal speed, bludgeoning the two warriors closest to him before they could pull their swords from their scabbards. But it was Cerulean who reacted with the greatest ferocity. Before Shal's silent cry was finished, he had burst forth from the cloth, trampling everything between his mistress and the assassin. The half-orc never stood a chance. The huge horse reared and stomped, reared and stomped, again and again, pulverizing her with his sharp hooves, smashing her piglike snout deep into her crushed face, so that not even the greatest mages of the Lord of the Ruins would stand a chance of fixing it.

But killing Quarrel did nothing for Shal, who continued to jerk and writhe from the spasms caused by the deadly green poison. Nor did it help Tarl with the last of the warriors, who had just sliced up under the cleric's ribs with his sword. It was Sot who finally clubbed the man to death with the cudgel he kept hidden behind the bar.

Ren ran immediately to Shal and cradled her head and shoulders in his arms. "No! No! Not again!"

"The temple…" Tarl clutched his side and spoke in desperation. "Get us to the temple!" He tried to work some healing on himself, but he passed out before he could finish the incantation.

Sot stuffed a bar rag against Tarl's wound and started shouting orders at the confused patrons still standing around in the inn. "What're ya gawkin' at? Get a wagon hitched up! Now! And, you, hand me a fresh cloth from behind the bar there! Move!"

Ren carved at Shal's wound and sucked and spit the poison as fast as he was able to, but he could see the vein of green pushing its way toward her heart, and he wept openly as he carried her to the waiting cart, where Sot had already laid Tarl. Cerulean whinnied and whickered and stamped furiously, and none but Ren dared to hitch him to the cart, but the moment the harnesses were secure and Ren had clambered aboard, the great horse bolted away and galloped with a speed no other horse could match.

"Make way! Make way!" Ren shouted at the top of his lungs as they reached the temple gates. "Wounded aboard!"

The clerics at the gates hurried to lift the latch as priests in their studies flocked outside to see what the commotion was about. Cerulean charged through the gates and straight toward the central temple. He didn't slow until he reached a circle of priests waiting at the temple stairs.

Ren spoke so rapidly that he jumbled his words, and it was only the clerics' experience in dealing with distraught people that helped them to catch the words "poison" and "bleeding." Two of the brothers held Ren as the others carried Tarl and Shal inside the temple.