R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation by Richard Lee & Reid Byers

master’s long sword as he had the rapier. The crimson blade struck the greatsword on the forte, just above the parrying hook, rang, and rebounded, still in one piece. It was made of good metal, Ryld thought, well forged, with strengthening enchantments woven in.
    But its virtues alone couldn’t save its master. Ryld feinted low to draw the red sword down, then cut high. Splitter sliced Tathlyn’s brow, and blood poured into the Godeep weapons master’s eyes. He reeled backward.
    Ryld could tell that none of his adversaries had any fight left in them. He turned once more, surveying the room. Whoever had shot him, the fellow had prudently put his hand crossbow away.
    “Nicely done,” said Pharaun, lounging, goblet in hand, by the bar.
    “How long have you been there?” Ryld replied, walking to retrieve his short sword. Its victim had pulled it free and left it on the floor. “You could have helped me.”
    “I was too busy wagering on you.” The wizard held out his purse, and grumbling losers dropped coins into it. “I knew you wouldn’t need help against a couple drunks.”
    Ryld grunted, wiped his weapons on a handy bar rag, and asked, “Do you want that red sword? It’s a good weapon. Maybe a Godeep family heirloom.”
    Pharaun grinned. “Which would mean they acquired it when, last tenday? No, thank you anyway, but what would a spellcaster do with it? Besides, I wouldn’t want the weight to stretch and chafe my clothes.”
    “Suit yourself.”
    The Master of Sorcere sauntered up to Ryld, then spoke far more softly. “Are you about ready to go? I’d just as soon take my leave before Nym wanders downstairs.”
    Ryld wondered what mischief his friend had committed. “Almost,” he said. “Give Nym something to pay for the cleanup.”
    The warrior walked to the sava tables, retrieved Splitter’s scabbard and his own winnings, then looked around for the trader. The boy had made a hasty withdrawal from the table the instant the fight began, but he hadn’t gone far. Most every drow had a taste for blood sport.
    Ryld tossed him a gold coin with the Baenre emblem stamped on it. “Here are your winnings.”
    The young merchant looked puzzled. Perhaps the drink was to blame.
    “If a player disturbs the arrangement of the board, he loses,” Ryld explained. “It’s in the rules.”
    “It was gratifying to come upstairs and observe you handling our confidential inquiries with your usual light touch,” Pharaun said.
    He paused to let a floatchest, attended by a dark elf merchant and six hulking bugbear slaves, drift across the lane. The stone box looked like a sarcophagus. Maybe it was. In the Bazaar, a shopper could purchase nearly anything, including cadavers and mummies once embalmed with strange spices and laid to rest with mystic rites. Indeed, such wares were available either whole or by the desiccated piece.
    “It wasn’t my fault,” Ryld replied. “I did nothing to provoke that fight.” He hesitated. “Well, perhaps I was a bit brusque when the Godeeps first stalked up to the table.”
    “You? Never!”
    “Spare me your japes. Why do we have to question people anyway?” The Master of Melee-Magthere ducked beneath the corner of a low-hanging rothé-hide awning and added, “You ought to be able to look in a scrying pool and find the runaways.”
    Pharaun smiled. “Where would be the fun in that? Now seriously, why did the Godeeps take exception to your no doubt impeccably subtle questions in the first place? Were they in league with the rogues?”
    “I don’t think they knew anything. I think they were merely sympathetic to the idea of eloping and generally in a foul mood. It looked as if one of the females in House Godeep had disciplined them with her fists or a cudgel, and they only needed an excuse to try and take their resentment out on someone.”
    “This hypothetical priestess beat the House weapons master as if he were a thrall, or at best, the least useful of her male kin?