The Temple of Yellow Skulls by Don Bassingthwaite

shivering when he recalled the way Nu Alin had talked about it. “He seemed obsessed with it.”
    Kri’s face darkened. “He would be. It’s the liquid sealed inside the vial.” He started pacing, walking from shelves to table and back again. “The Voidharrow … calls to the weak minded. If it was kept next to the pendant this death knight came to steal, yes, he could easily have been drawn into taking the vial as well. Damn Moorin for an arrogant idiot!”
    Albanon twitched and looked around for Splendid. As startling as it was for him to hear someone speak harshly of Moorin, the idea would have been blasphemy to the loyal pseudodragon. There was no sign of her, though. She must have still been occupied with her honeybark. “Moorin believed that it was safe,” he said.
    “Well, obviously it wasn’t. I take it your battle with Nu Alin took place before he could find the death knight—where’s the undead now?”
    “Gone,” Albanon confessed. “Fled after his master was defeated.”
    “What?”
    Kri’s voice was like thunder in the room. If he’d looked frail a moment before, he didn’t now. He towered in his wrath, and Albanon was glad that he had left his morningstar down in the sitting room. Still, glints of radiant light flashed in thecleric’s eyes and seemed to shine through his wrinkled skin as he raged. “You let him get away?”
    “We didn’t know what the Voidharrow was or that the death knight even had the vial!” said Albanon. “Look, I didn’t even know that it had been stolen until just now.”
    “And Moorin should be hauled back from the Raven Queen’s realm and made to answer for not properly teaching you.
Ah!”
Kri beat his fists against the sides of his head and turned away.
    Albanon tried to remember the last time they’d seen the death knight. Falon and Darrum had seen him flee into the shadows after the defeat of his lich-master, but before that he had stood with Albanon and the others fighting Vestapalk, the dragon. Between them, he and Shara had dealt the blows that had sent Vestapalk plummeting to his doom. The death knight had even saved Shara from sharing the dragon’s fate.…
    Shara.
    “Shara might know more!” he said. Kri looked up and Albanon added, “One of my companions. I cast spells from a distance but she fought beside him when we battled a dragon.”
    “A dragon?” Kri gave him a look of near disbelief. “This just gets better and better. Where is this Shara now?”
    “I—” Albanon felt a flush of blood warm his face. “I don’t actually know. We had an argument tonight. I’m sure she’ll turn up in the morning, though.”
    Kri went very still and stared at him with cold eyes. “You should hope so,” he said grimly, “because more rides on recovering that vial than you can possibly imagine.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    T he Lucky Gnome Taphouse stank of sweat, river water, urine, and sour ale. Raid wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that the first three were components of the fourth. He drank the ale anyway. He’d had worse.
    The Blue Moon where he’d tried to recruit Borojon’s daughter and her friends had been cleaner, quieter, less fragrant—all-around a more respectable establishment. Raid actually liked the Lucky Gnome better. Taverns that were too homey left him feeling uncomfortable. If there wasn’t vomit in the corners, if you weren’t in danger of taking a dagger in the kidney for breathing wrong, it wasn’t a proper tavern.
    The dwarves Raid had forced out of the narrow booth along the wall still hovered nearby, fingering knives as they drank. Raid made sure the axes on his belt and the scars of combat on his arms were visible. Either would be intimidating. Together they were more than enough to encourage the surly dwarves to keep their distance.
    Raid had a lingering hope that they’d try something anyway.The Lucky Gnome looked like it had seen more than a couple of good brawls in its day.
    Business before pleasure. Raid