In a soft whisper, Kid murmured, "Archlis."

"Oh, by all the gods great and small," swore Ivy. The last person she wanted to meet was Fottergrim's personal spell-caster, the master of Tsurlagol's walls throughout the siege.

The wizard focused on Sanval, obviously taking the Procampur captain as their leader. The others he had looked over with a disinterested eye and immediately dismissed as unimportant. Ivy kept quiet, wanting to observe without being too closely observed.

"So what are you hunting in these ruins with Toram's god-sight goat?" Archlis repeated the odd phrase, gesturing with the tip of his metal crutch at Kid, who cringed away as though he expected it to spit fire at him.

"What do you think we seek?" Sanval answered question with question, his voice very steady and low, even as he took a half-step in front of Kid, sheltering the little thief behind his well-armored back.

"I am the magelord Archlis, the terror of Fottergrim's army," snapped the wizard. "Do not play games with me, little captain from Procampur."

"I am Sanval Nerias Moealim Hugerand Filao-Trious Semmenio Illuskia Hyacinth Neme Auniomaro Valorous, a captain of Procampur's army." Sanval drew a deep breath after that recital. "I can say with complete honesty that I did not enter these ruins to capture you." Sanval's expression showed no more emotion on his handsome face than he had when confronted with Mumchance's leaping pack of mutts at the camp. His Procampur training in courtesy still held, even as the long-nosed Archlis sneered at him. "And I never play games with wizards."

"Wizard! Do you think that is all that I am? I, Archlis, who know the ancient secrets of Netheril. A magelord of the arcane arts. I could turn you to ash with a single word." Archlis half-raised his Ankh, favoring Sanval with the same close-lipped smile he had given when he recognized Kid. Sanval's hand tightened on his sword hilt.

"So," said Ivy, stepping forward before Sanval could provoke him further, "noble magelord, how can we help you?"

The magelord looked her up and down. He did not seem impressed. "Mercenary," said Archlis as a definition and not a compliment.

Ivy nodded. "Definitely. We did a little detour from the siege and ended up falling down here."

"Do not lie to me. You think"-Archlis pointed at Kid, who was still half-hidden behind Sanval-"that will lead you to the crypt. But I still have the book, and without it, you could not hope to find the crypt, not even with the power of that trinket on your glove."

Ivy glanced down at her gauntlets. The left one bore a battered silver oak leaf, a gift from her long-lost mother. The tarnished token was so much a part of her gear that she rarely gave it any thought. Odd that Archlis should notice so small and insignificant a magical item-just as the Pearl had. On his tabard hung a multitude of charms. Some were forged from iron, others knotted from what looked like elf hair; still more were tarnished silver and yellowed bone. Below the shifting, clinking charms, Ivy saw arcane sigils and runes woven into the very cloth. His hands were studded with rings, and Ivy doubted that those trinkets were only charged with spells to dry out his boots. All in all, his charms and rings were a far more impressive display of magical protection and-most probably-magical destruction than her one lucky silver leaf. Still, Archlis had noticed the token, and he seemed thrown slightly off balance by Kid's presence in their group.

"Kid is very good at what he does. And I have my protections as well," said Ivy in the spirit of pure bluff. After all, if Archlis thought they were more powerful than they appeared, who was she to tell him that appearances were deceptive. And she would question Kid later about his supposed talents, just as soon as she was sure that Archlis was not going to sizzle their bones. "I could sell you his services. I could sell you mine. Cheap."

Kid gave an involuntary bleat and cringed farther away from Archlis. Sanval tried to say something, but Ivy stepped hard on his boot. When he started to protest, she gestured at Zuzzara, who clamped a large hand over his mouth.

Archlis looked amused at Sanval's angry eyes glaring at him over the big hand of the half-orc. "So, was this noble your prisoner, or is he your prisoner now?" Archlis asked Ivy.

"At the moment," Ivy explained, "he is our employer. But, as I said, for the right fee, and that fee does not have to be too high, we could terminate that contract. I would rather keep him alive. He is a powerful fighter and we have some… potions… that we can use to keep him under control. And, although from Procampur, his own character is none too noble, if you know what I mean." Zuzzara smiled her sharp-toothed smile and nodded vigorously in support of Ivy's story. The others were silent-Sanval because he had no choice, and the rest because they trusted her. As always in such moments, she wondered if this were the day that she would be unable to live up to their expectations of her ability to lie her way out of a bad situation.

Having begun her story of how they came to be wandering in Tsurlagol's ruins, Ivy added a few more details for verisimilitude. "We were scouting for the Thultyrl and, since we did not make it back to the camp by… now, we would be subject to discipline. As would this man, who is already under probation for his gambling in the red-roof district and patronage of undesirable, um, females. He won't want to go rushing back to camp, not if there is a chance of treasure."

Behind her, Sanval choked, and Zuzzara whispered a hoarse "hush" in his ear. Ivy paused to see if Archlis was going to balk at any of the lies she was ladling out as fast as she could. The magelord frowned at the word "treasure," his eyes narrowing as he scanned the group again. His glance lingered longest on Kid and Mumchance. "You know how it is," Ivy concluded hastily. "Better gold in the purse today than a promise for tomorrow."

Archlis did not immediately dismiss her offer. In fact, he seemed more amused then doubting after his second careful examination of the group. He even snickered a little-a grating nasal sound-at Sanval still clutched in Zuzzara's protective embrace. "Armor or no armor, that one is no threat to me. Your offer is interesting. I have fewer servants than I deserve." Archlis gestured toward the bugbears, one of which was picking his teeth with a looted hobgoblin sword. "These have proved to be more fragile than I assumed."

"And the hobgoblins and the orcs?" asked Ivy, waving one hand at the bodies littering the floor, still playing the role of one callous mercenary intent on negotiating a good settlement for herself.

"They had orders to return me to the defenses of Tsurlagol. Which was a waste of my time. Fottergrim never understood. I could have made him a king of the Vast, after I retrieved my treasure," said Archlis with no lack of self-confidence. The lines running between his nose and mouth became more pronounced as the magelord brooded. "I persuaded the fool to come to Tsurlagol. Fottergrim was supposed to have made my access to the ruins easier, not more difficult."

"Except he decided to take the city, rather than just hang around the edges," guessed Ivy.

"Gruumsh must have driven him mad," Archlis replied, still obviously peeved. When he named the orc's war god, both the bugbears straightened up and made some gesture, to either appease the angry god or, more likely, to avoid Gruumsh's notice. "The temptation was too great for Fottergrim. Once he seized the city, he had no idea what to do and refused to listen to my suggestions. Hobgoblins and orcs… Once they drink the taverns dry and eat all the meat in the butcher shops… Do they even pause to consider where the next meal is supposed to come from?"