The price of victory- - Thieves World 13 (61 page)

"Did he leave a name? What did he look like?"

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"No name, but he's easy to recognize. He's got all this silvery hair and he dresses like a magician. Know him?"

"In a way. I think I've seen him. How would you like a bit of extra pocket money?"

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Aram's eyes lit up.

"Go run ahead to Ahdio, at Sly's Place, and tell him I'm going to need his backroom for a while. And tell him to ask his friend Strick to join us Do that and I'll give you an extra week's pay."

Aram was gone like an arrow. Cholly walked down the rows and picked out jars of glue and solvent. From beneath the counter he took a satchel of several brushes.

He hoped this wouldn't take long. He was already late, and Ineedra would have his head on a salver. He'd better take her to Hari's or the Golden Oasis to unruffle her feathers once this business was over with.

Ahdio didn't recognize any of the trio who strutted into the crowded tavern, and he usually remembered faces. One of them, the youngest, did have a flowing silver mane, so these must be the ones he was watching

for.

The squat, broad red-faced one asked Throde, "Hey, Gimp' You seen Cholly da Gluemaker in here? We was s'posed to meet up wit' 'im."

"Not that I recall, but we've been pretty busy. Ask Ahdio," Throde replied, nodding at the mountainous man in the mail vest. He smiled and
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hobbled away to deliver his tray of beers, giving Ahdio a wink in passing.

Again it was the toadish one who spoke. "You Ahdio?"

Ahdio smiled. "What will you have, gentlemen?"

"You seen Cholly da Gluemaker? We'll make it worth ya while. We got bidness wit' 'im, see?" said the red-faced man, bouncing a coin on his palm.

Ahdio held out his hand. "Maybe."

The man tossed the coin onto Ahdio's broad palm. Ahdio neither spoke nor moved his hand until several copper coins were stacked there.

"He's in the back room. Follow me."

Cholly was watching the door. He noticed the argent hair at once, then he stared at the others. The dark one in red damask silk was the obvious leader, a man accustomed to power as his due.

"What the hell is that?" he wondered, seeing the last of the trio enter through the doorway.

It was shaped sort of like one of the rendering pots in the shop, squat
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and rotund with thick stubby legs ending in homed, splayed, webbed three-toed feet. It had ears like a donkey, little beady rat's eyes, and a

wide froggish mouth full of long yellow-green teeth. Its thick muscular arms hung down so low its knobby knuckles dragged the ground. Its matted, scraggly feathers were the color of iron rust. Topping it all off was something resembling a coxcomb. It had no head or neck per se.

It was ugly.

He gestured for the two men to sit opposite him in the booth. He asked Ahdio to bring a chair and three large beers for his guests.

"Nothing personal, you understand. I'd just rather not sit where I'm hemmed in. We haven't been introduced. My name is Chollandar. And you?" He spoke to the black-bearded man.

"No offense taken. I am called Markmor. This young fool is my ap prentice, Marype."

"Does the demon have a name?"

"I'd forgotten you can see his true form. I'm afraid I can't tell you his real name. He does answer, however, to 'Rubigo.'"
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"Rubigo it is then." He took a sip of his Baladach wine.

"How much will you take for it?" Marype asked,.

Markmor glared at him. Rubigo snickered at such a breach of man ners. Even he knew better.

"I never discuss business until after a sociable drink. I wouldn't think of doing business with a man who won't have a friendly drink with me first. You seem to have some breeding, Markmor. Surely you understand. Perhaps in time your impatient apprentice will learn. If he's like my two, it may take a while."

After what seemed an eternity with the demon standing sullenly by the door, Ahdio returned with a chair. Throde followed with a serving tray. Upon the tray were three pitcher-sized tankards holding perhaps a half gallon of Red Gold each, possibly more. Rubigo plopped down and hoisted a pewter tankard, chugging it into his mouth with hedonistic glee. Throde set the tray down and left.

Cholly sipped his wine and asked, "Is beer all right? It's the best brand he carries. I forgot to ask."

'This is fine," Markmor answered, taking a tankard in both hands.
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Marype did likewise.

Rubigo drained his in one long, gurgling, slurping pull. When he went to set the tankard down he made a startling discovery—the tankard was stuck to his lips and hands. He squealed in anger. When he tried to rise he found his feathers glued to the chair.

Markmor and Marype realized the trap too late. They too were stuck. Their mouths and hands stuck to the tankards and their robes stuck to the booth. Even their shoes were stuck to the floor. The master wizard's

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eyes seemed twin flames of amethyst. A growl of rage rumbled in his throat.

There was a puff of sulfurous smoke and Rubigo's tankard clattered onto the wooden floor. An instant later the smoke cleared, revealing the demon standing in the center of the room.

"Nice try, Fat Man. Too bad you didn't know us demons could jump planes just by thinkin' 'bout it. Haw-haw! Didn't nobody never tell ya not to go messin' wit' us? Now you gonna die, boy."

"Are you sure? It seems to me that as long as I have the Theban Talisman you can't touch me. Suppose I used this axe of mine on you.
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How do you know it wouldn't kill you?"

Rubigo paused a moment. Cholly eased out of his chair and slid his dismembering axe from its iron ring on his belt. He drew the Ilbarsi knife with his left hand. He waited, smiling.

"One way to find out," Rubigo growled, swinging a long arm around to slash at Cholly with green adamantine claws. The hand had three webbed fingers plus a thumb. Cholly ducked easily. The demon was slow. Cholly hacked with the axe.

Rubigo's hand fell to the floor. For a moment it lay wriggling. It vanished. The demon's wrist stopped oozing brackish fluid from the sev ered stump because the hand was back. He had an ugly laugh. Uh-oh, Chollander thought.

Chortling and drooling, Rubigo circled, intending to play with Cholly for a while before killing him. He lashed out with either hand, his claws raking the air around Cholly but not making contact. The gluemaker stayed calm, ducking and blocking, chopping and slashing at every open ing. Once he darted in and managed to plant the axe deeply into Rubigo's chest, only to see the wound heal as soon as he removed the weapon.

Markmor and Marype watched every move of man and monster over the tankard rims.

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The hellspawn was wearing the gluemaker down. He was untouched, but he was getting tired and winded. Sweat trickled into his eyes and the salt stung. He slid the Ilbarsi knife into its sheath and shifted the axe to a two-handed grip. He blinked and continued to block and counter and attack. He knew he would have to change tactics before exhaustion caused him to err.

Damn, he thought. I've given him enough blows to kill a squad of men. but his fiendish magic heals him every time. If he was mortal I could take him apart.

Cholly smiled.

Changing back to a one-hand grip on the axe, he used his free hand to reach for the talisman. Yanking the chain over his head he said, "That's

enough. This is what you're after. Take it. I can't fight any more. Just take the damned thing and leave me alone. I know when I'm beat."

"That's more like it, Fatso. Youse is good, butcha ain't no match for da ol' demon. Now gimme."

He caught the medallion in the palm of his webbed hand. Now he was going to kill the fat bald man, since there was nothing to restrain him. He
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looked over to the wizard and apprentice wizard, holding the bauble aloft and smiling. He looked back just in time to catch a sparkle of light reflecting from the gleaming blade descending. Realization flashed in his beady little eyes just before they rolled back into his head.

Cholly picked up the medallion from the lifeless fingers, returning it back around his neck. Next he placed a foot upon the fiend's face and worked his axe free from the skull. Slipping the haft through its ring, he sat back down at the table.

"That was thirsty work." He drew his long knife and placed it between himself and the magicians. He poured himself another goblet of wine and sipped it. He paused long enough to get out his pipe, fill it, and light it from the candle on the table.

He took his time, seemingly ignoring the two prisoners. He would take a puff or two, blow a few smoke rings, and sip at his wine. All the while he kept smiling, sometimes idly playing with the Ilbarsi blade.

"What am I going to do with you?" he said, breaking the tense silence.

"If I let you go we'll be right back where we started, except I'll know who you are. I've got better things to do than play hide-and-seek with your hired flunkies and conjurings. I have to work for my living.

"Have you ever seen glue being made? We start with a body. First we
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strip it naked and inspect for obvious disease. Next we lop off the hands and cut the throat and hang the body head-down to drain the blood. Are you following this? Oh yes, if the client has a nice head of hair—yours would fetch a pretty price, Marype—we scalp it before we hang it up."

He paused to pour himself another serving of wine. Markmor looked nervous and Marype was quite pale.

"Then we hack off the arms and legs and dump 'em in a big kettle of scalding water and render them down. We sell the fat to make soap, and dry the bones for firewood."

Markmor looked nauseous and Marype's countenance was paler than his hair.

Cholly sipped at his wine, inwardly smiling at achieving the desired reaction. He continued, "Look at it from my point of view. The only way to be sure I'm safe is to get rid of you. My way you can not only remain dead, but serve a useful purpose. I guess you know I don't like magicians much.

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"On the other hand, I could spare your lives. The problem is: how do I know you won't attack me again? I suppose I could chop off your hands and cut out your tongues. Feet too, so you can't leam to use them for
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hands like a beggar I once saw. The eyes, naturally would have to go. Can either of you wiggle your ears? No? I'll leave them, then."

Markmor stared at the man, unsure whether he was bluffing. If it were the other way around he knew what he would do.

A combination of beer and fear finally took its toll upon Marype's bladder. Markmor turned to glance at his apprentice with disgust.

Setting down his goblet, Cholly smiled. "Look on the bright side. You'll get to wear the Theban Talisman—for a few minutes at least. Isn't that what you wanted? Look at it from my point of view. Silverlocks here

—acting on your behalf—has tried to kill me already. He did kill the fellow who had it before me. This chunk of gold is too powerful to give to the likes of you, and at the same time I have a living to make. I have to have some assurance you won't bother me again."

Cholly knocked the dottle from his pipe, refilled it, and took another light from the candle while Markmor reflected upon what he had said.

"Nature calls," he told his prisoners. "I'll be back in a minute. Don't go anywhere," he snickered, sliding out of the booth. He sheathed the Ilbarsi knife and stepped across Rubigo's carcass.

Cholly returned several minutes later. Behind him came the big bar
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tender, and behind him a bearded man even bigger, carrying a staff. The last man, largest of the three, was dressed in blue and seemed to radiate power.

The wizards were trying unsuccessfully to escape.

"Nicely done, Cholly. What are you going to do with them?" Strick asked, chuckling,

"I haven't figured that one out yet. I can't let them go, but I'd rather not kill them unless I have to. Any ideas?"

"There are a couple of things that could work. First, to a mage know ing someone's true name gives you power over him."

"That's why he wouldn't tell me the demon's name."

"Right. Second, there is only one oath he cannot break: one sworn on his powers. All you have to do is make him tell you his true name and make him swear by it and on his powers to leave you alone. If he breaks that vow, at the very least his powers shall be forfeit for eternity."

Markmor stared at the stranger. Only a magician could have spoken so certainly, yet this man was not known to him. He knew the few remain ing Ilsigi mages, and the ones in the Mageguild, and the outsiders like Enas Yorl and Ischade. Whoever this upstart was, there would be a score
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