The half-drow jerked Jak's head back to expose his throat. The halfling grunted. His fists clenched. The half-drow's—Azriim's—forearm tensed.

Decide quickly, Cale, said Azriim's voice in his head.

"It's in my pack," said Cale, low and dangerous.

Azriim stayed his hand and looked to Vraggen.

"Of course it is," said the wizard with a smug smile. He tapped his wand in his palm.

"Here," said Cale as he slowly unslung his bag, catching Jak's eye as he did, and he fished out the burlap sack containing the half-sphere.

The wizard's eyes blazed as Cale peeled back the cloth to unveil the half-globe. The half-drow gave a satisfied smile. For a moment, Azriim's sword arm relaxed. Cale saw the tendons slacken.

Jak burst into action.

In a single motion, the halfling grabbed the half-drow's blade with his left hand—grimacing as it sliced open his palm—and held it at bay while he lifted his foot slightly, drew a small punch dagger from a boot sheath with his right hand, and used a reverse strike to stab the half-drow in the thigh. Azriim howled and clutched at the wound with his free hand. Jak ducked under the half-drow's attempt to muscle his sword into the halfling's jugular and tumbled away, leaving Azriim holding nothing more than a clump of his hair. Jak regained his feet in an instant and brandished the dagger.

Pressing his bleeding hand against his thigh, he said, "C'mon, you drow bastard!"

Azriim's mismatched eyes burned. Ignoring the bleeding thigh wound, he brandished his blade and advanced on Jak. The halfling, hugging the opposite wall of the alley, backed off toward Cale.

Cale started to step to Jak's aid but stopped. He didn't want leave the sphere unguarded.

Just behind Cale, the easterner unleashed slash after slash at Riven. Riven parried his blows and answered with his own sabre cuts. Their exchange brought them both within arm's reach of Cale, who stood over the sphere, looking this way and that. In the meantime, the wizard leveled his wand.

Things were going bad fast. Cale stopped the combat the only way he could. Gripping his blade in both hands, he held it over the half-sphere. Shadows danced in the air between the half-sphere and the steel.

"Stop, or I'll destroy it right now!"

He raised the blade, and for a heartbeat, all motion in the alley stopped. Vraggen's eyes went wide. He continued to point his wand at Cale but held up his other hand, palm outward.

"Do not," he said, as though he was in a position to give orders. "Do not, Cale."

Jak took advantage of the pause in the combat to back farther away from the half-drow and nearer to Cale. Azriim eyed him throughout.

"This is the blade that split it in half, mage," Cale said. "I'll turn it to shards this time."

"I'll kill you slowly if you do," Vraggen said.

Cale heard the worry behind the mage's bravado. Vraggen wanted the half-sphere badly.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I'll split you groin to gullet. Either way, you'll not have what you want."

Vraggen's jaw tightened. His fingers whitened around the wand. A halo of shadows swirled around his head. Cale could fairly see his mind churning.

"Destroy the globe and the guard from Stormweather Towers will die. Painfully, I promise you. Will you be able to live with the knowledge that you caused him so much pain?"

The mage spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that Cale knew the threat to be no bluff. Azriim looked to Cale and chuckled.

Cale would have torn out his tongue if he could have. From behind, Riven, breathing heavily, said, "Bugger these whoresons, Cale. Do it."

He lunged at the easterner—a bluff designed to elicit a start. The easterner didn't move a muscle, merely eyed him coolly.

"Quiet your dog, Cale," said Vraggen, his eyes still on Cale's sword.

Riven said nothing but Cale could imagine the hateful sneer he shot the mage.

Cale reached a decision quickly. The mage was right. He would not be able to live with himself if he brought harm to Ren. That left only one course: he would arrange for the trade he had anticipated all along. But he wanted to know what the sphere was before he turned it over—if he turned it over.

"This," Cale said, and lightly tapped the half-sphere with his sword, an act that elicited a wince from Vraggen, "for the guard. Two days from now, at the eighth hour, at the Twisted Elm north of the High Bridge."

A common location for meetings, the Twisted Elm was a well known landmark along the north road, not far out of Selgaunt and surrounded by an expanse of flat plain. It would be easy to avoid an ambush there. Rumors said the Elm's roots craved blood; Cale suspected the rumors had their origin in meetings gone bad. A lot of blood had been spilled under the Elm's eaves.

Vraggen's brow furrowed. He fiddled with the wand, as though trying to decide if he could use it on Cale before Cale could strike the half-sphere.

"You are not in a position to be requesting terms, Erevis Cale," he said at last.

Cale knew he had the advantage then. He almost smiled ... almost.

"I'm not requesting anything, mage. I'm telling you how this is going to unfold. You want this half of the sphere much more than I want the guard safely returned."

That was a lie, but Vraggen wouldn't know it.

"If that was true, you'd have destroyed it already. Do you take me for a fool, Cale?"

"Try me then," Cale challenged and again raised his blade.

For a moment, Vraggen said nothing, but Cale could see his mind racing behind his emotionless eyes, could almost hear him grinding his teeth.

"Two days hence, then," Vraggen managed to say without anger.

Cale allowed himself to exhale.

Indicating Azriim and the easterner, he said, "And if I catch sight of these errand boys in the meantime, I destroy my half on the spot. Then I come for you."

At that, Vraggen gave a tight smile. Azriim too grinned broadly, and Cale saw that he had perfect teeth. From behind and just to Cale's right, the easterner spat a glob onto Cale's boot.

Cale looked at it, looked at the easterner ...

Quick as an adder, Cale lashed out with his right hand, grabbed the easterner by the cloak, and jerked him in close before he could bring his falchion to bear.

"Next time those are teeth you're spitting," he said, and he shoved the man, stumbling, past Jak and toward the mage.

The easterner quickly recovered his balance, if not his dignity. He whirled around and started to advance on Cale, snarling. Vraggen reached out a hand and held him back. The man stared hate at Cale.

It was Riven's turn to chuckle.

"Leave," ordered Cale. "We're operating on my terms now, and this little party is over."

"For now," Azriim said, and his smile disappeared.

With exaggerated care, Vraggen replaced the wand into the folds of his cloak.

"We shall do this your way for now, Erevis Cale," the mage said, "but before we part, let me leave you with a reminder of the price the guard will pay if you do not turn the remainder of the globe over to me."

He nodded to Azriim and the half-drow's grin returned.

You will love this, said his voice in Cale's head.

Slowly, so as not to give alarm, Azriim reached into an inner pocket of his cloak and withdrew something wrapped in a silken handkerchief. Cale's stomach churned.

When Azriim unveiled the severed fingers that lay within, the half-drow's grin widened. He cast them to the road, near Cale's feet. The easterner smirked, though his gray eyes remained hard. Vraggen showed no emotion but his cloak pin, shaped like a jawless skull, seemed to leer.

"Those are three of his fingers, Cale," the mage said. "Next time, it shall be his tongue. After that, only Savras can say. But you should know that I can maintain his life for some time even while removing substantial amounts of flesh, which I will do, if necessary. And after that, I will come for you." Vraggen fixed his gaze on Cale. "Do not trifle with me, Cale. Is it clear to you that I am in earnest?"