was far too lengthy to he missed by the Zhentilar.
Tyzack looked around at the barren fields surrounding the two parties and laughed slightly. "You're a bit out of your element,
huntsman. Are you lost? Unable to find your way hack home?" A low rumble of laughter ran through the Zhentilar.
"They mock us," Mikkel hissed in a hoarse whisper.
"Better that than attack us," Cyric hissed to the fisherman.
The leader of the Zhentilar eyed the dalesmen for a few moments, then looked back to his company. Ren, a wiry, golden-haired
young man, nodded, and Tyzack smiled. "Heading to Scardale, are you?"
"That's correct," Yarbro said. "And we are in a bit of a hurry, it you don't mind."
"Not so fast, dalesman," Ren called from behind Tyzack. "Tell me, what is it you hunt? You've come a long way to track your
game."
Mikkel moved his horse past Cyric. "We only wish to be on our way," the fisherman snarled. "Will you let us move along?"
Tyzack spread his arms in a flourish. "Was there ever any question?" The Zhentilar signaled his company to move forward. "I
didn't realize you required our permission."
Cyric cursed softly. It was clear that the Zhentilar had no intention whatsoever of letting them go. I'd better make the best of the
confusion, the thief thought to himself.
Yarbro turned to Mikkel and Cyric. "Ride on," the guardsman said, the words catching in his throat. Yarbro and Mikkel flanked
the thief as they rode toward the Zhentish soldiers.
As the companies came close to one another, Eccles, a wild-eyed Zhentilar with flaming red hair, spat on the ground in front of
Mikkel's horse. "I'd spit on you, dalesman, but it would be a waste of water," the fighter harked as he got close to the red-skinned
fisherman.
Mikkel stiffened in his saddle. "Zhentish dog!" he cursed bitterly.
"What was that?" Tyzack screamed, holding up his hand. The Company of the Scorpions halted.
"He called your man a 'Zhentish dog!'" Yarbro said flatly and reached for his sword. The Zhentilar quickly unsheathed their
weapons as well.
Cyric considered his position. Yarbro and Mikkel still were on either side of him. The Zhentilar were formed in pairs, with Tyzack
and Eccles in the lead, followed by Croxton and Praxis, then Ren and Slater at the rear. There's nowhere to run to, the hawk-nosed
thief realized, and I have no weapons.
Eccles held a broadsword in his right hand and ran his left, with the reins wrapped around his wrist, through his red hair. The
fighter trembled with rage. "Well, Tyzack?" the wild-eyed Zhentilar asked breathlessly.
The black-haired leader of the Company of the Scorpions casually looked over his shoulder at his band. "Kill them all," he said
calmly.
Fingers digging into the mane of his horse, Cyric prepared himself.
"You're dead men!" Eccles screamed as he kicked his horse into motion. "Dead men!"
Cyric had leaped from his mount before the first blow was struck. He landed on the ground near Croxton, a red-bearded man
with a flat jawline and thick, bushy eyebrows. The Zhentilar's lips curled back in a grimace as he saw Cyric fall, but he ignored the
thief and rushed at Yarbro. As he raced past the guard, Croxton struck the young man in the face with the back of his mailed hand.
Yarbro fell backward off his horse and landed beside Cyric. The thief saw seething hatred in Yarbro's bloodshot eyes.
Slater, the only woman in the ranks of the six-member band of Zhentilar, produced a crossbow and leveled it at Mikkel's face.
She was no older than Midnight, Cyric realized as he watched her take aim at the fisherman, yet her features were as battle-worn as
any man's he had ever seen. Her eyebrows had been completely shaved off, and her brown hair was cut short. Lips that might have
been full and sensual were dry and cracked. She bit one side of her lips as she smiled and prepared to kill the fisherman.
Eccles rode past Mikkel and slashed him across the arm with his sword. Croxton and Praxis flanked Cyric and Yarbro. It was
clear that the battle was over.
"Wait!" Ken yelled. "Where's the fun if we merely slaughter them? Let's give them a fighting chance... and than we can slaughter
them!" The golden-haired Zhentilar turned to the company's leader. "Well, Tyzack?"
"I have no objections," the black-haired soldier said, a wolfish grin crawling across his mouth. "What do you propose?"
Ren pointed to Mikkel with his sword. "Get off your mount, dalesman."
The fisherman did not move. Ren leaned forward on his horse and pointed to Slater, who still had her crossbow trained on the
red-skinned dalesman. Ren smiled, revealing a mouthful of rotted teeth. "If I tell her to wound you, it might take days for you to die.
I'm about to offer you a chance to live."
Yarbro wiped the blood from his mouth. "Get off the horse, Mikkel. Let's hear what they have to say."
All eyes turned to Mikkel as the fisherman slowly dismounted and sat on the ground.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Cyric slowly started to creep backward, away from the hunters. Then a high-pitched whistle
caught his attention. The thief looked up and saw that Slater had aimed her crossbow at his heart. She nodded toward Yarbro, and
Cyric moved back to the young guard's side.
"So, the coward would leave his friends behind," Ken growled as he turned to Cyric. "I imagine your own skin is the one you
value the most."
"Of course," Cyric hissed softly.
"By Bane's black heart!" another of the Zhentilar exclaimed. "A dalesman who speaks the truth!" The speaker was Praxis, a
sandy-haired man with steel-gray eyes who towered over Cyric and Yarbro on his horse. "Perhaps we can have some sport from this
after all."
"This is no sport!" Eccles snarled, nervously running his hand through his hair. "Dealing with dalesmen is only sport when it
takes place in the arena." The wild-eyed Zhentish soldier turned to Cyric. "Do you know what we do to 'honest' dalesmen like you in
the arena?"
As he looked into Eccles's eyes, noting the tinge of madness that lay behind them, Cyric suddenly thought of a way out of this
dilemma. "I know a good deal about Zhentil Keep," the thief said, narrowing his eyes. "I was born there." Both the dalesmen and
Tyzack screamed "What?" at the same time. Cyric smiled a half-grin and nodded slowly. "I am an agent of the Black Network. These
dalesmen held me prisoner and would be most happy to see you kill me."
"Prove it!" Ren snapped. "Tell us something only a Zhentarim agent would know."
"What I can tell you depends on your level of clearance for covert matters of state," Cyric said softly. "Not the tone of your voice
or the number of threats you hold over me."
Mikkel cursed softly and shook his head. Yarbro was not so calm about the "revelation." The blond dalesman rose to a crouch
and screamed, "You filthy liar!" Before anyone could act, the young guard launched himself at Cyric. "You were a spy all along!"
Croxton grabbed Yarbro by the hair and lifted him off the ground when the dalesman tried to wrap his hands around Cyric's
throat. "That's enough from you!" the red-bearded soldier shouted, then tossed Yarbro to the ground.
Cyric withheld a smile. He could have blocked Yarbro's attack in any of a number of ways, but he chose to wait, hoping the
Zhentilar would come to his aid. Although he despised the idea of allying himself with scum from Zhentil Keep, Cyric knew that it was
far less objectionable than lying in the middle of Featherdale with his throat slit.
Tyzack dismounted and strolled toward Yarbro. "He was your prisoner?" the black-haired Zhentilar asked, his voice low and
threatening.
"Why else would I have been unarmed?" Cyric said from Tyzack's left. The thief rubbed his neck, trying to make the dalesman's
attack look far more serious than it was.
"Shut up," Tyzack growled as he turned to Cyric. "No one's talking to you... not yet, anyway." He turned back to Yarbro. "So tell
me, dalesman, is it true?"
Yarbro hung his head. "I should have killed him the moment I saw him!" the guard hissed. The thief smiled. "Yes," Cyric said.
"That's probably true."
Yarbro started toward Cyric again, but both Croxton and Praxis thrust their swords between the dalesman and the thief. "So why
was he your prisoner?" Tyzack asked gruffly as he grabbed Yarbro by the back of the shirt and whirled him around.
Yarbro wrenched free of Tyzack's grasp and turned to glare at the thief, anger narrowing his eyes. "That scum murdered six
royal guardsman in the Twisted Tower of Shadowdale," the young guard snarled. "Then he helped two convicted murderers, the
mage and cleric who killed Elminster the Sage, to escape from their executions."
Cyric wanted to scream in exultation. The idiot guardsman was making him look better and better to the Zhentilar with each
word he spoke!
A murmur ran through the Zhentilar. "So, you're from Shadowdale," Croxton hissed. "You should have told us that first. We
would have killed you on the spot and not wasted any time on you."
Tyzack frowned and held up his hand to silence his company. "I'd heard that Elminster was dead. But... where are these other
criminals?"
"Yes," Slater chimed in. "We'd like to congratulate them!"
The muscles in Yarbro's face twitched, and he glared at the woman with the crossbow. "They escaped," he; mum-bled after a
moment. "Bane's assassins, riding nightmares, rescued them."
"Don't tell them anything more," Mikkel said, shaking his bald head. The fisherman's earring dangled against his cheek.
"So you're a spy for Lord Bane, is that it?" Tyzack asked as he turned back to Cyric.
"Aye," the hawk-nosed man said flatly. "I was a thief -"
"Once a thief, always a thief," Slater braved, her voice thick and raspy. She chuckled at her own attempt at humor, although no
one else seemed especially amused, least of all Cyric. He had run from his past for years on end and finally thought himself free of it.
Now it seemed that the only way to save himself was to embrace what he had denied for so long.
Cyric frowned and continued. "I apprenticed to Marek, an important member of Zhentil Keep's Thieves' Guild. He trained me as
a spy." The thief looked around at the Zhentilar and saw that they were all listening to his words closely, waiting for him to slip up.
Tyzack raised a bushy black eyebrow. "Marek, eh? I've heard the name. An older man?" "That's right," Cyric said.
"What information did he uncover, thief?" Eccles asked as he shifted nervously in his saddle. "What did he tell you?" Cyric
laughed. "It is hardly likely that I would ever reveal important information to someone like you."
The wild-eyed Zhentish soldier growled, and Tyzack moved close to Cyric. The thief silently calculated how quickly he could
take Tyzack's weapon from him. As he stared at the black-haired Zhentilar's sword, a glint of sunlight reflected from Slater's
crossbow. Not quick enough, Cyric realized, and he relaxed his stance slightly.
"Telling us now might be the prudent thing to do," Tyzack said softly. "Especially if you're concerned with your own survival."
"No," Cyric said coldly. He turned to the other Zhentish soldiers and said, "My words are for Lord Bane alone. It was the Black
Lord himself who gave me my orders. I will reveal what I have found only to him."
The Zhentilar mumbled among themselves or silently fidgeted at the thief's proclamation. At least I raised the stakes at the right
time, Cyric thought. Now they're afraid to kill me.
Tyzack sheathed his sword and walked to Cyric's side again. "Well," the black-haired man said, "the Black Lord awaits us in
Scardale, in the body of Fzoul Chembryl." He paused and looked at the rest of the Company of the Scorpions. "You'll have your
chance to see him there, Cyric."
The thief was both relieved and horrified at the same time. Not only was he being taken to the God of Strife, who would certainly
kill him, but the god's avatar was a man Cyric had severely wounded in the Battle of Shadowdale. The hawk-nosed man's mouth went
dry as he remembered firing an arrow into Fzoul's chest at the Ashaba Bridge.
Tyzack moved away from Cyric and the huntsmen. The leader of the Zhentilar addressed his second-in-command. "Do you
have a suggestion, Croxton? For our guests, I mean?"
"Let them tight one another to the death," the red-bearded fighter snapped. "Whoever lives, we let go. But he'll have to kill his
friend first."
"Splendid!" Tyzack roared and returned to his mount. Reaching into a pouch in his saddle, Tyzack withdrew a fresh red apple.
The Zhentilar bit into the apple, his teeth piercing it to the core. He swallowed the bite and said, "We'll include our new friend in the
game, too. After all, a properly trained Zhentilar should have no problems dispatching these two sorry dogs from Shadowdale. What
say you, Cyric?"
The thief looked at Yarbro and Mikkel, then nodded. If they have to die for me to go on living, even for a little while, that's fine by
me. "Just give me a weapon, and we'll get this over with quickly," he hissed. "But remember, Lord Bane will hear about this."
"Hmmm," Tyzack said and rubbed his chin. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt, but..."
Eccles snarled and yelled, "If he dies, then he was living in the first place! The Black Lord will protect him if he really is a loyal
Zhentilar spy!"
The other Zhentilar nodded in agreement. "It's settled, then," Tyzack muttered. The black-haired man leaned close to Cyric and
