Ariakas shifted his aim, splashing the corrosive stuff across another group, and these uttered screams of terror and pain as the acid sizzled through their bodies. With a quick glance, Ariakas saw Tale Splintersteel darting away, but then another group attacked, coming around the end of the chasm he had used to guard his back. Again Ariakas shifted his aim, and the black acid arced through a showering trajectory, bringing the final Zhakar charge to a horrific halt. Slowly, the warrior lowered his sword, but he froze when a flash of color caught his eye. He gaped with astonishment, seeing that the steely blade had turned bright, crimson red! As with the white and black, the red color was pure and unblemished, a perfect hue that extended from the tip to the base of the metal surface.

Wonderingly, Ariakas turned through a circle. The dwarves who had been missed or mildly injured by the spray scrambled or limped back toward the War Monu shy;ment. The warrior let them go and turned back to find their master.

But Tale Splintersteel had disappeared. Whirling this way and that, squinting through the darkness, the war shy;rior tried to discover where the devious merchant had gone. He saw a flash of movement in one direction, then spat an oath-just a thieving urchin fleeing from a fruit vendor.

A sharp cry of pain ripped through the darkness, very near. He rushed over to the chasm and there he saw the huddled figure of the Zhakar. Splintersteel had climbed down the steep side, intent on concealing himself within the gorge, when something had arrested his flight. Aria shy;kas saw the steel bolt that had punched through the Zhakar's forearm, driven deep into the rock wall of the chasm. Tale Splintersteel screamed in agony, twisting and dangling from the missile that pinned him to the wall.

Ferros Windchisel swaggered to the lip of the precipice. He held the reloaded crossbow ready in his hands. Despite his confident gait, the Hylar's eyes flicked across the wide plaza, looking for danger in every direction.

"Help me!" shrieked the Zhakar.

"I'm in no hurry to do that," Ariakas remarked casu shy;ally. He strolled to the top of the chasm and looked down. Tale Splintersteel was pinned to the wall perhaps ten feet down. The Zhakar clawed at the steel bolt with his good hand, but couldn't break it free from the porous bedrock. Far below, the shadows of the bottom ebbed and swirled with faint tufts of steam.

"Tell me-what was it that the Zhakar took into the temple?" demanded the warrior.

"I don't know-I lied!"

"I think you're lying now," Ariakas retorted, keeping his voice level and calm. "Nice shot," he added with a grin directed at Ferros.

"I figured this little worm was up to something. Never woulda thought he'd try to make a getaway down to the lava pits, though." The Hylar smiled wickedly, enjoying the plight of the Zhakar.

"Help!" pleaded Tale Splintersteel again.

"You were just about to tell me something," Ariakas said. "What was it? Oh, yes-the stuff that the Zhakar carried into the temple! Come on, now-I think you know what it was."

"Mold," gasped the Zhakar, his voice contorted with audible pain. "It was the dust of the plague mold … not carried … it's with him, on him-on all of us!"

"Now we're getting somewhere," Ariakas declared. "Where can we get some of that mold?"

"Get me up-I'll tell you!" groaned Splintersteel, his tone thinned by pain. "Just, please, help me!"

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't trust you," the warrior gently chided. "Do better than promise."

"What do you want me to do? By the gods, man-I'm bleeding to death here!"

Indeed, a dark, slick streak ran down the chasm wall below the struggling Zhakar. His protestations had grown weaker until his voice faded to a rasping croak. Splintersteel slumped, as if resigned to fate.

Ferros Windchisel came around the crevasse to clap Ariakas on the arm. "I thought of looking in there for him because I'd been using one of these cracks as a hid shy;ing place for the whole night. It worked swell, too- except for a few funny looks from folks who strolled past the edge."

"Good service, my friend," Ariakas acknowledged with a nod at the trapped Zhakar.

The Hylar removed a long, supple rope from a coil around his waist. He fastened an iron clip around his belt and ran the loop through. He extended the other end of the rope toward Ariakas. "Here-take hold of this and lower me down. I'll bring him up here to talk, if you promise not to make him too comfortable."

"Don't worry. He's a stubborn bastard-I think we'll have to do a lot of persuading to get what we want out of him." The human wrapped the rope around his waist and set his feet. Paying out line, he watched Ferros descend over the brink of the crevasse.

The Hylar rappeled nimbly down the wall until he was just above the Zhakar. Taking no chances, Ferros held a slim dagger ready as he dropped the last few feet until the rope supported him directly beside Splinter-steel. With a quick lash, loop, and knot, Ferros took the slack line hanging below him and secured the rope underneath the other dwarf's arms. The wounded mer shy;chant lord seemed dazed and listless, taking little note of the activity.

Next, Ferros grasped the steel bolt he had shot through Tale Splintersteel's arm. The loose material of the Zhakar's robe flapped around it, so the Hylar tore it away. Sinews tightening in his arm, Ferros pulled slowly and steadily. The straining power in his stocky body was obvious to Ariakas, who realized that the missile must have driven very deeply into the hardened lava.

Finally the shaft wiggled slightly, and with a grunt Ferros pulled it free, drawing a sharp outcry of pain from the formerly motionless Tale Splintersteel.

"Haul away!" the Hylar called up to Ariakas. The warrior immediately began pulling in the line, aided by Ferros walking up the wall. The dead weight of the Zhakar increased the load dramatically, but the pair finally heaved the injured dwarf over the lip of the chasm, where he sprawled, groaning, onto the plaza.

Ariakas gave Splintersteel a sharp kick on his wounded arm. "I should kill you right now," the warrior snarled. "Two times over you've earned death for your treachery!"

"Let's have a look at his face," suggested Ferros. "I can't figure why he's got to mask himself-unless he's even uglier than I can imagine." The Hylar reached down and roughly tore away the cowled robe that cov shy;ered Tale Splintersteel's head. As the Zhakar's hate-filled visage was revealed, the Hylar gasped in surprise and instinctively stepped back

"He is uglier than you can imagine," Ariakas remarked, trying to keep his tone droll as his stomach surged upward in revulsion.

Tale Splintersteel's two black eyes flashed vitriol from the middle of a mass of decayed, encrusted flesh. The dwarf's scalp, cheeks, and much of his chin had rotted away, replaced by a greenish layer of some kind of fun shy;gus. His hair was gone, except for small patches strug shy;gling to survive on the back of his head, and a few tufts of beard that managed to emerge around the scabrous growths on his face. The mouth looked like nothing so much as a moist sore, gaping open and then clapping angrily shut.

"Please!" groaned the Zhakar, reaching pathetically for his torn hood. Without a word Ferros tossed the rag back to Splintersteel, and the hideously afflicted dwarf hastily drew it back over his features.

"Are you all like this?" demanded Ariakas, remember shy;ing that every Zhakar he'd seen in Sanction had gone about cloaked and robed.

"More or less," replied the dwarf, with a resigned shrug. He no longer seemed menacing, nor even sinis shy;ter-instead, he was just pitiful.

"That's all very interesting," Ferros interrupted, "but don't we have something to do?"

"Right," agreed Ariakas. He yanked the Zhakar to his feet. 'This mold dust? Where can we get some?"