Richard Meyers: Murder in Halruaa

Dearlyn bit her lip, her eyes wavering. But then her shoulders straightened and she stared straight back at the depraved halfling. “He didn’t want to do any of it,” she said shakily.

“Nonsense!” Wotfirr roared. “All he cared about was staying alive!”

“No,” she answered, her voice gaining strength. “Maybe to begin with… maybe at the start, yes.” She looked at Pryce with sadness, and then something else. Something brave, even kind. “But not afterward,” she maintained. “I know that for a fact” She turned to look haughtily upon her father’s murderer. “You told me so yourself, halfling. In the secret workshop. ‘He didn’t mean it… it was an accident!’”

“Bah!” Gheevy raged. “Maybe you won’t accept it, but I’m sure I’ll be able to convince a certain inquisitrix that”

“Face it, Gheevy,” Pryce interrupted. “It’s over. We know the whole story, and the inquisitrixes know enough not to believe you. Gamor got you enough parts to test your evil magic on and create poor Devolawk. But when none of your forbidden magic turned out well enough, you altered your plans and used a jackalwere to find Gurrahh for you so you could secure the workshop. But Gamor even ruined that for you, by trying to double-cross you with his partners and steal it on his own.”

“Gamor, that idiot!” Gheevy exploded. “I promised him the workshop when I was done with it, but he couldn’t wait!”

“So he had to die, didn’t he?”

“You all do!” Gheevy finally screamed, his little body shaking. “Stinking humans… always think you’re so great… and you are the worst of them!” He pointed a trembling hand at Pryce. ‘You’re everything I hate about your kind! Smug, arrogant, stupid… think you’re so smart and funny… but you’re nothing… nothing!”

“You’ve hurt enough people, dark one,” Dearlyn said. “Have you forgotten who you’re dealing with? One who could arrange the Verity melodrama? One who confers with high priestesses of unearthly wisdom? You’re not dealing with a petty outsider any longer. Now you’re dealing with the great Darlington Blade.”

Gheevy grabbed his head, arched his back, and shrieked to the treetops. “Imbecile! I’m the great Darlington Blade!” Then he unleashed his rage at the man who had ruined all his plans.

The clearing between the hilltop and the wood suddenly exploded in streams of lightning, balls of thunder, and sparks of power. Pryce dived to the side, curling into the tall grass as the mongrelman jumped forward, deflecting the nerve dance meant for Covington. The beast twisted and jerked in place as Dearlyn Ambersong hurled her staff.

Gheevy used a rapid reflexive response spell to grab the staff out of the air and hurl it back at Dearlyn. Devolawk twisted in front of her, taking the brunt of the blow as Pryce charged the halfling. But Gheevy’s magic was too fast and too powerful. The halfling created a ring of disintegration and sent a six-inch circlet of annihilating matter directly at Pryce’s head.

Dearlyn immediately effected a spell, raising her arm and crying “Versus petrification!” Another circlet appeared from her palm and shot over to swallow Gheevy’s bead of destruction. Pryce ducked in time to feel the warring spells just barely pass over his neck.

“Blast you!” Gheevy cried. “Blast you both to the bowels of Hades!” He yanked a small, pale item from his pocket and held it up to the autumn sun.

“By Zalathorm, no!” Dearlyn cried.

“Mycontril’s Last Resort,” Gheevy gloated. “Nothing you can do can stop this spell. You will be eradicated in a culmination of all Ambersong magic energy!”

Pryce recognized the spell and the item. To destroy everything in a thirty-foot radius, using the power of all the remaining spells in a caster’s memory, required diamond dust worth five thousand gold pieces, a pure platinum ring… and the finger bone of an archmage.

It was Geerling’s finger.

“Gheevy, no!” Pryce cried. ‘You’ll be hurt, too!” “But I’ll survive,” the enraged halfling shrieked. “Unlike all of you. All that matters is that you will finally be gone… forever!” He started the spell, nature itself reacting to the tear in reality.

The branches and tall grass bent in a powerful wind as dark storm clouds gathered above the halfling.

Pryce looked about wildly. Cunningham and Gurrahh were still down. Dearlyn was too close. There was no way any of them could get clear of the devastation in time. There was no way to escape, to stop him, or to distract him, except

The voice of Geerling Ambersong sounded on the howling wind. “Darlington Blade!”

Dearlyn looked around wildly. “Father?…”

“Darlington Blade!”

The voice was so unearthly and so real that even Gheevy froze in his casting. “M-Master?” he stuttered despite himself.

“Darlington Blade,” Geerling Ambersong called.

A fingered wing touched Dearlyn’s arm and moved her aside. Devolawk, the broken one, trudged forward, his snout-beak all the way open, his corpse teeth and mangled lips making the sounds. “Darlington Blade… you must not do this… ”

“The haunt,” Pryce whispered.

The spirit of Geerling Ambersong was back. It was near because of Cunningham. The Haunt had been traveling with the jackalwere because of Pryce’s horrible previous payment to the jackals in exchange for his first clues.

“M-Master?” Gheevy repeated, startled, but then restarted his spell. “No, not my master! am the master here! You fool, thinking your magic could cure me. There is nothing to cure! You deserved to die! All humans deserve to die!”p›

“No, Darlington, no!” the haunt cried, his winged arms held high.

Pryce looked from the halfling to the woman to the broken one. All three began to move at once. Each was starting a spell, but unless Pryce did something, the halfling would finish first… and then they all would be finished.

Pryce Covington went up on one leg, curled one arm, tightened his fist, and swung his arm under and around. “Gheevy!” he cried. “Crystal Orb!”

The halfling glanced over without slowing his movements. “Idiot! You have no magic!” But then he saw a small glowing ball shoot from Pryce’s sleeve and speed toward his face. Gheevy immediately lost his stance, lost his movements, and stumbled over the necessary spell words.

The illumination ballthe one Pryce palmed when Gheevy had dropped it after the outside wall of the workshop first swung openbounced harmlessly off Wotfirr’s upraised arm.

The halfling stared incredulously down at it, then looked up, openmouthed, at a grinning Pryce. “Well, what do you know?” Covington said pointedly. ‘You’re right.”

That’s when the combined might of the Ambersong father and daughter erupted from the forest and smashed into the infuriated halfling.

Dearlyn’s entire arms were consumed by a fiery white, which sped across the fifteen feet separating her from Wotfirr, but even those beams of destruction couldn’t rival the power displayed by Devolawk. From every finger, every claw, and from under every feather came a bolt, stream, circlet, orb, or blast. They sliced, stabbed, encircled, grabbed, and smashed into Gheevy, making the halfling dance wildly in place, as if the deities themselves had each taken a limb and shook it.

Through this wash of color and power came Dearlyn’s beams, which crashed into the halfling like the waves of a tsunami, engulfing him.

Pryce fell back, shielding his eyes, and quickly crawled over to where the mongrelman and Cunningham lay. In seconds, it was over. Darlington Blade was dead. Long live Darlington Blade.

All that was left was to bury the dead.