R. Salvatore - Realms of Magic

Water filled his lungs, and the weight en various points of his body seemed to lessen. He thought it must have been the relief of death.

But strong fingers grabbed the long hair on his head and yanked him up over the surface of the water. He coughed up the water in his lungs, and the cold evening air brought him back to full consciousness. That was when he noticed the halfling shouting had ceased; in fact, once the water dripped from his ears, he could hear only one voice, that of the band's leader: Black Indio.

"… not hear me, my friend?" Black Indio, though a self-styled rapscallion, was no more daunting than any half-ling: fuzzy feet shadowed beneath a portly belly clothed in green homespun, wispy beard framing a face more fey than fanatic.

Llewellyn coughed out the last of the liquid.

"I said," Indio repeated, slapping the top of Llewellyn's head, "can you not hear me? Has your bath made you deaf?"

Indio's followers laughed. Llewellyn took a deep breath.

"No, I can hear you, you blackhearted, ungrateful cur!" he answered. Not having time to think about tactics- whether humility or boldness would be more appropriate at this time-Llewellyn opted for the latter. He silently prayed he wasn't creating even more trouble for himself.

"I am hurt, my friend!" Indio protested, his shaggy hair glowing with the light of the halfling campfire. "Blackhearted? Yes, no one can be more blackhearted than I when I choose to be. That's how I earned the title Black Indio, or more correctly, Indio the Black! Right now, I don't choose to be. And ungrateful? You cut me to the quick!"

"Do I?" Llewellyn asked. "Do I? I do? Indeed! Your band of cutthroats try to drown me! And why? I ask you why? I told you where you could find the silver key in the swamp; just because you couldn't find it-couldn't follow directions, most likely-is no fault of mine, I do declare! Yet your band of…"

"But we did find it."

"… hooligans throw me into the river…"

"I say, we did find it."

"… and nearly bury my head in the… What? What did you say?"

"We found it. We found the charm."

"You did?" Llewellyn coughed out loud to cover his surprise. "Of course you did. Just as I said, exactly the way I told you you would." Can my luck be holding? he wondered. Can this be possible?

"I'm not sure I know how to work it, though," Indio exclaimed.

"May I see it?" Indio handed it to him as he finally rose to his feet, water dripping from every inch of him.

It was a rather large key with three holes forged in it, where gems should be… but weren't. Llewellyn recognized the key immediately. Yes, the wheel of fortune was definitely turning in his favor. So much so that it worried him.

"I sent some of my troop back early," Indio explained. "The damned piranha were nibbling them away to nothing. I'm afraid that by the time they got back here, they were a bit overzealous. Remember, we hadn't found the key at that time, and all of my band-myself included- wanted to stuff a few live piranha down your throat for sending us into that godless swamp for nothing."

"How charming! How positively charitable of you!"

"But the moment we found it, I hurried back to camp, fearing what might be done to you in my absence."

"Thank you so excessively much," Llewellyn said sarcastically. "I take it back. It was a most grievous error on my part. You're not ungrateful at all."

"But I am still… Black Indio!" he shouted, drawing his sword and pointing it at the sky. His troop repeated the action, and in unison shouted, "Black Indio!"

"Come out of the water and sit by the fire, my friend," Indio said. "And tell me again of this key."

Llewellyn followed him to the campfire and sat close to it. In a few moments, its heat removed the chill from his bones.

"Bring our friend a drink," Indio commanded. Turning to Llewellyn, he continued: "This key, I believe you said, can unlock a chest of wealth somewhere in the mountains, just west of Zoundar. Am I correct?"

"Yes, that is, positively correct, I must say," Llewellyn responded, "and no, it is not. The key will not work without three stones set in the holes cut for them."

"Jewels?"

"No, not jewels, though that would be most attractive, perhaps even splendiferous. They are perfectly round jade stones, each with a dark stripe that runs around the perimeter."

The halfling whose foot had crushed Llewellyn's face into the mud of the river stepped forward and spoke. "Indio! We have such a stone!"

"Do we? Bring it forward. In fact, bring the sack that contains all our treasures."

The halfling did as commanded and handed Indio the sack. The leader poured out the contents between himself and Llewellyn. Indio fingered through the various gold pieces, trinkets, and small gems until he spotted what he was looking for.

"Is this it?" he asked Llewellyn, holding the green piece between two ringers.

"Does it fit in the key?"

Indio placed the stone into one of the circles on the key.

"By all that is holy, it fits-perfectly," cried the halfling.

"So it does," Indio added, "but it will not work, as our friend has said, without the other two stones. So of what use is it to me?"

Llewellyn smiled wryly. "You are too pessimistic, Indio the Black, my good friend." Undoing the drawstring of the leather sack on his belt and reaching into it, he added. "I believe the adage, once spoken by some person of undeniable wisdom at some distant point in the past, is 'one good turn deserves another.'"

Whereupon he held up an identical jade stone.

Indio's eyes lit up. "The second stone. I must have it."

"You could, I suppose, just steal it from me, Indio. But even though you are Indio the Black, I hope you will not do that, considering the injustice your followers have already perpetrated upon me. May I propose a trade?"

"What do you want for it?" Indio asked suspiciously.

"May I–I'm not a particularly skilled barterer, I must admit-peruse your plentiful plunder?"

Indio extended his hand, indicating his permission.

Llewellyn crouched over the items that Indio had poured between them, slowly and carefully slipping out of his robe the amulet he had already stolen. With a dexterous display of sleight of hand, he made it appear that he was choosing the amulet from the pile.

Better to acquire this… shall we say, legally… than perhaps have it found on me later, he thought.

"This amulet would do nicely, I must say."

Indio laughed. "You may have it. It is made of pure silver, but like this key, its decorative and maybe valuable stones have been pried off and traded, no doubt. What do you want with it?"

"Perhaps I will someday decorate it with stones of my very own choosing. And the amulet itself, a simple yet artful piece of craftsmanship, is handsome, don't you think?"

Indio shrugged his shoulders. "If you say so. Then it is a deal?"

"Almost."

"I knew there had to be a catch."

Llewellyn shook his head. "My good man, there is no catch, don't you know? Listen to me. I know who has the third stone, and where they are headed. If I help you acquire the third stone, do you agree to give me half of the treasure? After all, that would be only fair."

The whole camp laughed, but only Indio responded. "Ten percent. For it will be my troop and I who will, no doubt, have to… liberate… this stone."

"Twenty-five percent?"

"Fifteen."

"Twenty sounds reasonable to me. After all the abuse I've taken from your band, and my only taking this simple amulet…"

"Enough, Talkative One!" Indio said. "Twenty percent it is. But you must assist us in any way we deem necessary."

"Agreed."

"You have yet to tell me who it is that possesses the third stone."

"I believe you've heard of them. Most folks here and there know of them, I do believe."