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you get egg-if golds and egg not gone, you say. We . . . look out for each other, hey." He gave his
twisted smile again and clapped his hands softly together as if sealing the agreement. "We do."
Wykar blinked. He hadn't expected the derro to capitulate so quickly and with so little trouble. Wykar
had been prepared to argue, plead, bluff, threaten, swear oaths, and even offer Geppo a little treasure up
front, giving up a few tiny rubies he had hidden within his vest and belt. Geppo's agreeability was almost
breathtaking. Derro were so befouled with greed and ambition that no one expected anything good from
them.
Then again, Wykar had been imprisoned with Geppo for over two hundred sleepings, not long in a deep
gnome's life but long enough to become familiar with most of the derro's personal quirks. Geppo's quirks
hinted that he was not a normal derro.
For one thing, Geppo never lied. He exaggerated a bit at times, but he never lied. Geppo was also rather
talkative, even after the drow youth tried to garrote him, going on about how hungry he was, what his
father would have done with these drow, or his beliefs about the personal habits of the drow priestess
who owned both Wykar and Geppo. Most strangely for a derro, Geppo had never threatened Wykar
with anything more than words when they grabbed at the rotting scraps tossed into their cramped stone
prison by their priestess-owner. Geppo had reserved violence only until the moment their escape was
within reach, even then, it was directed only at his captors.
Wykar had become puzzled by Geppo's basically mild behavior, given that every other derro displayed
far worse. The only reason he had impulsively asked the derro to meet with him and join him on this
mission was that the gnome had a gut feeling Geppo would be pliable enough to go along with the
strangest demands. Maybe Geppo was stringing Wykar along, pretending to be a partner while plotting
betrayal, but Wykar didn't think so.
Every hero needs a fool, went a saving in the Underdark. How very true.
Wykar took a deep breath. There was only one thing more to do. It guaranteed nothing, but Wykar had
always been a firm believer in having a contract. Sometimes you even found someone who would actually
stick to it.
Wykar reached down and pulled his long blade free of its sheath. He did it slowly, noting Geppo's
startled movement for his own blade. The polished metal of the gnome's weapon was stained red with
protective oils and gleamed even in fungi-light. The blade had been forged by the gold dwarves, many
sleepings ago and far away. Its handle was a yellow foot bone from a minotaur lizard, set on either side
with a small but flawless ruby. Wykar took the long, heavy dagger by the tip of its blade, fingers away
from its edge, and set it on the ground, its handle pointing toward the derro. Geppo looked down as he
gripped the hilt of his own blade.
"We must trade weapons," Wykar said. "So long as we have each other's blade, we are sworn not to
kill or harm each other. You and I both must swear to this by all the gods. Then we will go together and
do our work."
Geppo stared at Wykar's weapon, lips parted in mild surprise. He looked up at the deep gnome several
times, bit his upper lip, then slowly made a decision. He pulled his long dagger free of its poor sheath and
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gently tossed the blade so that it landed on the stony ground next to Wykar's dagger, its hilt aimed in the
gnome's direction. In the glowfans' light, Wykar saw that the derro's weapon was old and had been much
used-recently scavenged from a body in the Underdark, no doubt. Dark flakes clung to the steel blade,
which showed signs of rust and corrosion. The handle once had an elaborate inlay, now fallen out, and
the very tip of the blade was broken off. But the notched edge was keen and bright-sharper, likely, than
Wykar's own blade. The derro knew his way around a whetstone.
The derro waited in anxious uncertainty. Wykar noticed that the pale dwarf kept one hand close to the
crossbow butt at his side. Well, that was to be expected. This was new for them both. The deep gnome
touched his forehead, nose, right ear, and heart, then carefully named a host of five deities and their
spheres of interest in gnomish life. Not a one of them was real, but a derro wouldn't know that. It was
then his turn to wait.
Licking his lips, Geppo mumbled his way through a short litany in a deep, guttural tongue. All the while,
he stared down at the blades. Wykar knew a smattering of Underdark tongues, the derro tongue among
them, but he recognized only a few words: bapda for father, gorin for oath. The derro stopped when he
was through, uncertainty still crossing his face, and looked up at Wykar. The gnome nodded as if well
satisfied, concealing his real thoughts on the matter. For all he knew, the derro had just taken a blood
oath to kill the gnome like a rat. It was irrelevant. The act bought a little time of peace between them, and
that was the real heart of the issue.
At a nod from Wykar, the derro and the gnome reached down and took each other's weapon. As they
did, Wykar conjured up a complete mental picture of how he could snatch his own knife first and cut
through the muscles of the derro's white arm in less than an eye blink, then he would thrust the weapon
forward into his opponent's face and end the life of this miserable creature. The picture was perfect and
clear, and Wykar instinctively believed the derro was thinking the very same thing.
But this was Geppo, the odd one, Geppo, who never lied-not a real derro foe. Wykar easily thrust all
thought of treachery aside. There was still much left to do, and he desperately needed the derro. If there
was to be treachery, he was content to let the derro make the first move-at least for now.
A thin white hand and a small but thick gray one quietly lifted each other's weapon from the ground.
Each creature looked over his partner's blade, then carefully sheathed it and checked the fit. The deed
was done, for whatever it was worth.
"We must leave now," said Wykar.
Seventeen years and a hundred twelve days passed under the golden lights of Raurogh's Hall, far above
the gnome and derro, and peace was at an end. A fisher dwarf mending a net by the riverside heard the
first crack of rock shifting and splitting.
She froze in her work, startled, then dropped her net and lay flat, placing her ear to the ground as she
held her breath. Even through the roaring of the falls and the tremor the cascade sent through the earth,
random clicks and pops could be heard in the stone. And the air above the rock had a new smell, a
broken-stone and lightning odor that the fisher dwarf had never before sensed but had often heard tell of
in old legends of horror. She clumsily got to her feet and ran to seize an iron-headed gaff beside a metal
pot.
The other dwarves of Raurogh's Hall had ceased their work to look about uncertainly for the source of
the sharp crack they heard come from all directions around them. A moment later, a high, rhythmic
clanging of metal against metal was heard. Some dwarves recognized the ancient signal and shouted the
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alarm. The others heard and as one flung down their tools in rising panic, quickly awakening those who [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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