"No." The centaur pawed at the ground. "So which wizards beat me out of your best stock?"

"The Zulkir of Alteration, Maligor, got the best of them, or rather his woman did. A young Red Wizard near the market bought quite a few, too. He's still here. I can introduce you."

The centaur looked across the pens and spotted a scarlet-robed man eyeing the group of slave families. "No. But I am curious about Maligor. Where can I find him?"

The slaver laughed hard enough to make all the painted eyes on his head wiggle animatedly. He slapped his hand against a bony hip and stared up at Wynter.

"Now, I don't know anyone who wants to find a wizard as powerful as Maligor, at least anyone who works on a slave plantation-especially when the wizard seems to be up to something." The eyes eventually stopped quivering, and the slaver scratched a spot on his head above one of the eyestalks. The design remained unaltered; it was a permanent tattoo.

"Maybe I have some pleasure slaves to sell him," Wynter said, deepening his voice and making the conversation instantly somber. "Where can I find this woman or one of his other agents? And do you know what he's up to?"

"Don't know. Don't care. I mind my own business. Too bad your daddy hasn't taught you to mind yours. If you want to find one of his agents, look in the Gold Dragon Inn. You'll have to wait outside. They don't let centaurs in no matter how much gold they have. Maligor's people usually have a thorny vine tattooed around their necks. Looks like a collar, and I promise you that Maligor keeps them on a tight leash."

The slaver glanced over his shoulder at the wizard scrutinizing the slaves in the pen. "Now, if you're not going to buy anything…" He smiled broadly, grabbed the centaur's hand and shook it firmly, then moved toward the young Red Wizard.

Wynter peered across the slave pens at all the doleful expressions of the occupants. He knew that slavery existed in other pockets of Faerun, but nowhere was it more blatant than in Thay, and in no other country were there more slaves than free men. He reached inside his money pouch and felt the coins, then trotted determinedly toward the slaver.

Galvin and Brenna neared the place where they had left Wynter. The number of people on the streets was dwindling, and the druid was feeling more at ease-until they turned a corner and he saw the centaur leading five dwarves by ropes.

"Damn!" Galvin cursed softly, running toward Wynter. Brenna hurried to catch up, but her new dress made running awkward.

"What are you doing?" the druid fumed, glaring up into the centaur's face. "Don't tell me you bought these slaves!"

"I had to," Wynter replied.

"No. No, you didn't. This is just great, Wyn."

Brenna caught up with the Harpers and tugged on Galvin's arm. "Take it easy, Galvin. It's done now."

Galvin glanced down at the dwarves. They were dirty and haggard-looking, and the ends of their snarled beards were tucked under the ropes tied about their waists. The clothes they wore were too big-discarded human outfits, no doubt. Healthy dwarves would have had too much girth for the clothes, but these were obviously malnourished.

The five stared up at the druid with hatred etched in their eyes. One strained against the rope Wynter held.

"Listen, I'm sorry," Galvin began, apologizing to the slaves for his outburst.

"They don't understand you," Wynter interrupted. "They only speak Dwarvish."

"Wonderful," Galvin replied, fingering the clasp of his cloak nervously. "Well, bring them along. We'll let them go when we're outside the city."

Brenna smiled weakly at Wynter. "Find anything out?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Our next stop is the Gold Dragon Inn. Maligor's agents, and likely those of other wizards, frequent the place. A slaver told me Maligor is up to something, but he didn't know what. He wouldn't say what, anyway."

"After that we'll need to find a place to stay," Brenna said, jumping backward to avoid a shower of dirt the smallest dwarf kicked in her direction as he mumbled something she couldn't understand.

Wynter pulled on the dwarf's rope and was greeted with a solid kick to his leg. "That's enough!" he snapped, snarling at the dwarves. His angry expression subdued them into a disgruntled quiet.

The centaur looked at Brenna and shook his head. "I don't want to stay inside the city tonight. There's a stable for centaurs, and there are several inns for you, but I don't think we should separate again."

"I know we shouldn't separate." Galvin's tone was commanding. "We camp outside town."

"Well, okay," Brenna interjected. "Let's get moving, then. The Gold Dragon Inn must certainly have food. I still have a handful of coins, and I am definitely hungry. Shall we?"

Several minutes later, Brenna and Galvin were seated at a table in a crowded candlelit room and had ordered their meal. Galvin brushed at the dust on his breeches, acquired when one of the dwarves had tripped him in the street.

The Gold Dragon Inn was obviously a popular place. Most of the clientele appeared to be from the middle and upper classes, although there were a few slaves in the company of their masters. A well-dressed woman with a raven painted on her head glared down her nose at Galvin.

"How do we find anything out here? Talk to people?" Brenna asked.

"Shh!" Galvin shushed softly. "We listen. See those four over there?" The druid nodded in the direction of a foppish-looking group. "They're talking about the Council of Zulkirs. The pair to our right is planning to magically charm someone. And the man behind me talking to the plump, elderly woman is chatting about Maligor."

Brenna leaned back in the padded mahogany chair. The inn was warm, the atmosphere acceptable, and her companion handsome. She wondered how he could pick out the bits of conversation floating around the room. She could only make out a few words here and there, perceiving everything else as an irritating, indecipherable murmur. Galvin continued to cock his head from one side to the other, his eyes darting in the direction where he was listening. Brenna assumed he had acquired his acute hearing in the woods; people in cities learned to shut out sounds.

The waiter was short and stocky. As he bent over the table to serve their food, Brenna noted his head bore a symbol of Malar, similar to the one on her own head. She didn't hear him ask if she wanted anything else; she was already stuffing forkfuls of beef into her mouth. Galvin's dinner of potatoes and vegetables didn't look as savory to her. He motioned for the waiter when he was finished and asked for a large, steaming plate of beef. Brenna looked at him quizzically.

"For Wynter," he said, then resumed listening to the diners' chatter.

When the beef arrived, Brenna paid the man extra for the plate, and Galvin, carrying the meal, followed her outside.

Outside, the street was coated in thick, gray shadows; there were fewer people about now, and they walked near the buildings and congregated under the corner lamplights. A small throng was gathered about Wynter, laughing.

Brenna and Galvin hurried over to see the centaur struggling to remain on his feet. The dwarves had encircled him, their ropes twisted about his legs. One of the stocky little men was beating on the centaur's flank. The druid was angry that the onlookers had done nothing to help Wynter.

Forgetting how a slave should act, Galvin thrust the plate of beef into Brenna's hands and rushed forward, elbowing his way through to the centaur. Grasping the closest dwarf, Galvin picked him up and shook him, then carried him around Wynter until the rope was untangled. Setting the stocky man down on the street, the druid picked up a second and did the same thing, then a third.