Night didn't soften Dhamon's features. The angles of his face still looked hard, his eyes were dark, his demeanor as usual unreadable. His stubble had thickened, and he rubbed his fingertips across it, making an almost imperceptible sound. His jaw worked and the muscles in his sword arm tensed and relaxed as he considered the plunder from the wagon and the sale of the goods. He was silently cursing the merchants for not having more wagons or anything of extraordinary value inside.

He and Maldred sat just close enough to a small fire that they could see the coins they were counting. Fetch materialized every once in a while to turn the meat roasting on the spit and to make sure he wasn't being cheated of food or money. Rikali was nearby, trying on garment after garment she'd claimed as part of her spoils from the wagons and trying unsuccessfully to catch Dhamon's attention.

"Acceptable," Maldred announced when he'd made four piles of coins and placed them in four leather pouches. Two were larger, and he tossed one to Dhamon and tied the other large one on his own belt. "Coin and food."

"Drink," Dhamon added, his darker thoughts abandoned. He gestured to a jug of strong, distilled spirits that sat within his reach. He reached toward the jug, his hand folding about the handle. "Good drink."

"And new clothes, my good friend." Maldred had abandoned his deerskin breeches and shirt in favor of lightweight trousers and a thin, billowy tunic the shade of pale lilies. He'd found only a few things to fit him in the merchant stores, enough for two changes of garb with one shirt to spare and a cloak that hung just past his knees. Though he was only a few inches taller than Dhamon, his shoulders were much broader, his chest, arms, and legs thick and heavily girded.

Dhamon had more to choose from, and he had selected expensive, dark-colored garments that draped his lanky frame. He'd also helped himself to a ropelike gold chain, at Rikali's insistence. Hanging from his neck, it gleamed in the firelight.

Fetch had managed to find some children's clothes to fit into, though the colors and design made him hiss-sky blue with embroidered birds and mushrooms along the sleeves. Fortunately, he also managed to find a kender-sized wool cloak the shade of charcoal with a hood. He vowed to wear this when they came close to civilization- no matter how hot it was. Though others of his kind rarely bothered with clothes, Fetch had come to appreciate well-made garments-if for no other reason than because they helped to disguise his race. He muttered that he needed to find more appropriate attire down the road. He certainly didn't want to stride into any sizeable city looking like this.

At the moment, he was getting ready to smoke his prized acquisition, the old-man pipe, as he called it. Humming and gesturing with his fingers, he began to execute a simple spell. He fingered the intricately carved beard and tamped the tobacco down tight. The spell magically helped the tobacco catch fire. He puffed to get it going, and let his teeth click comfortably against the stem.

Rikali fared the best, in her opinion, discovering all manner of tunics and skirts and scarves and baubles. She'd been occupied for more than an hour since they'd stopped, trying things on again and again and twirling to unheard music.

Those things that didn't suit her sense of fashion, along with practically everything else in the wagons, had been sold at the bandit camp. Dhamon conducted the bargaining, gaming more than Maldred had guessed likely for the lot. They'd purchased a different wagon there, one that had high sidewalls and a big canvas tarp. Maldred contended it was even sturdier and more appropriate for the trip to the valley than the ones they sold. And they'd kept two draft horses to pull it.

"The trail you want to take is narrow," Dhamon told him.

"I know, I've used it before. It's my favorite route to the valley. Not so easy to navigate, and therefore not often used."

"So, are you going to tell me precisely what's in this valley?" Dhamon prompted. "Diamonds, you say?"

"Yes."

"Why so secretive?"

"I thought you liked surprises."

"Never said that. You must be thinking of Riki."

Maldred grinned and shook his head, reaching forward and tugging free a hunk of meat. "There will be windfall profits, partner," he said, "if we can pull it off. I wouldn't even consider attempting it without you."

Dhamon's dark eyes gleamed, reflecting the light and his curiosity.

"It will be easy, I think. All we have to do is…" Maldred caught Rikali listening and shook his head. "Best I keep the details to myself until we get there." He lowered his voice until Dhamon had to strain to hear him. "Fetch'll do whatever we want, go wherever we tell him. But we don't need Rikali getting all excited and upset. Trust me?"

"With my life," Dhamon said. "Keep your surprise for a while longer."

The big man rose and stretched and cocked his head back to take in the night sky. A riot of stars winked down, and he raised a finger to trace a design in them. "I, too, trust you with my life, my friend. I've not said that to another man before. But in the four months since you've drifted into my company I've come to think of you as a brother."

Dhamon reached for the jug and unstoppered it, drank greedily for several moments. "I've had… few friends I could trust like that, either."

Maldred chuckled. "I can read your mind, my friend. What are you thinking about? Palin Majere and the mystic Goldmoon?" Maldred stopped tracing stars. "I'd say your travels at their behest added to your character, Dhamon Grimwulf. And taught you the true meaning of friendship."

"Aye, perhaps," Dhamon agreed, raising the jug in toast. "Friendship is important." He drank deep again, then met the big man's gaze. Dhamon's eyes were unblinking. "I've told you considerable about my past," he said evenly. "But I know little about you."

"Nothing much to tell. I'm a thief. Who dabbles in magic." He padded from the fire and stretched out on a blanket, hands cupped behind his head as a pillow. Fetch scampered over, took a last puff on his pipe, shook out the tobacco, and carefully put the pipe away. Then he curled up between Maldred's feet and in an instant was softly snoring.

Dhamon tugged free a hunk of charred meat and chewed on it almost thoughtfully. The odd beast called Ruffels was tasty and tender. He had slaughtered it himself on his return from the scouting trip. No one in the bandit camp would buy the accursed creature, and it had gobbled down a few more pieces of Rikali's jewelry.

"Do you like this?" Rikali had slid behind him, draping a gossamer-fine scarf in front of his eyes.

"Very pretty," he replied, craning his neck and glancing up at her.

The half-elf's face was heavily made-up, her eyelids and lips painted the color of a ripe plum, her silver-white curls piled high atop her head and held in place by a jade comb she'd found in one of the wagons. She was wearing a dark green tunic made of a satiny fabric. It was a little too tight, which seemed to suit her. "And don't you think I'm very pretty, too?"

Dhamon nodded and made a move to rise. But she dropped the scarf over his face and eased down next to him. He gazed appreciatively at her somewhat hazy and celestial form. "Riki, you're very pretty." He gave her a hint of a smile. "And you know it. You don't need me to tell you that."

She waggled her fingers at him, showing off the new rings she'd claimed from the merchant stores. She had tried unsuccessfully to talk him out of the old pearl ring he'd stolen from the hospital-and out of any of the best pieces from that haul. But the hospital booty had not been fairly divided. Still, there were several new bracelets on each of her wrists and around one of her ankles. She'd discarded her boots in favor of soft leather sandals that she also appropriated, and she had managed to find a thick gold ring to fit around one toe.