you come along and make it all so convenient. A student and master killing each other in a fight? It has happened before. Who would question it? I suppose, then, that I should thank you, Alton DeVir of No House Worth Mentioning,” Masoj chided with a low, sweeping bow. “Before I kill you, I mean.”
“Wait!” cried Alton. “Kill me to what gain?”
“Alibi.”
“But you have your alibi, and we can make it better!”
“Explain,” said Masoj, who, admittedly, was in no particular hurry. The Faceless One was a high-level wizard; the webs weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“Free me,” Alton said earnestly.
“Can you be as stupid as the Faceless One proclaimed you?”
Alton took the insult stoically—the kid had the crossbow. “Free me so that I may assume the Faceless One’s identity,” he explained. “The death of a master arouses suspicion, but if no master is believed dead …”
“And what of this?” Masoj asked, kicking the corpse.
“Burn it,” said Alton, his desperate plan coming fully into focus. “Let it be Alton DeVir. House DeVir is no more, so there will be no retaliation, no questions.”
Masoj seemed skeptical.
“The Faceless One was practically a hermit,” Alton reasoned. “And I am near to graduation; certainly I can handle the simple chores of basic teaching after thirty years of study.”
“And what is my gain?”
Alton gawked, nearly burying himself in webbing, as if the answer were obvious. “A master in Sorcere to call mentor. One who can ease your way through your years of study.”
“And one who can dispose of a witness at his earliest convenience,” Masoj added slyly.
“And what then would be my gain?” Alton shot back. “To anger House Hun’ett, fifth in all the city, and I with no family at my back? No, young Masoj, I am not as stupid as the Faceless One named me.”
Masoj ticked a long and pointed fingernail against his teeth and considered the possibilities. An ally among the masters of Sorcere? This held possibilities.
Another thought popped into Masoj’s mind, and he pulled open the cabinet to Alton’s side and began rummaging through the contents. Alton flinched when he heard some ceramic and glass containers crashing together, thinking of the components, possibly even completed potions, that might be lost by the apprentice’s carelessness. Perhaps Melee-Magthere would be a better choice for this one, he thought.
A moment later, though, the younger drow reappeared, and Alton remembered that he was in no position to make such judgments.
“This is mine,” Masoj demanded, showing Alton a small black object: a remarkably detailed onyx figurine of a hunting panther. “A gift from a denizen of the lower planes for some help I gave to him.”
“You aided such a creature?” Alton had to ask, finding it difficult to believe that a mere apprentice had the resources necessary to even survive an encounter with such an unpredictable and mighty foe.
“The Faceless One—” Masoj kicked the corpse again—”took the credit and the statue, but they are mine! Everything else in here will go to you, of course. I know the magical dweomers of most and will show you what is what.”
Brightening at the hope that he would indeed survive this dreadful day, Alton cared little about the figurine at that moment. All he wanted was to be freed of the webs so that he could find out the truth of his house’s fate. Then Masoj, ever a confusing young drow, turned suddenly and started away.
“Where are you going?” Alton asked.
“To get the acid.”
“Acid?” Alton hid his panic well, though he had a terrible feeling that he understood what Masoj meant to do.
“You want the disguise to appear authentic,” Masoj explained matter-of-factly. “Otherwise, it would not be much of a disguise. We should take advantage of the web while it lasts. It will hold you still.”
“No,” Alton started to protest, but Masoj wheeled on him, the evil grin wide on
“Wait!” cried Alton. “Kill me to what gain?”
“Alibi.”
“But you have your alibi, and we can make it better!”
“Explain,” said Masoj, who, admittedly, was in no particular hurry. The Faceless One was a high-level wizard; the webs weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“Free me,” Alton said earnestly.
“Can you be as stupid as the Faceless One proclaimed you?”
Alton took the insult stoically—the kid had the crossbow. “Free me so that I may assume the Faceless One’s identity,” he explained. “The death of a master arouses suspicion, but if no master is believed dead …”
“And what of this?” Masoj asked, kicking the corpse.
“Burn it,” said Alton, his desperate plan coming fully into focus. “Let it be Alton DeVir. House DeVir is no more, so there will be no retaliation, no questions.”
Masoj seemed skeptical.
“The Faceless One was practically a hermit,” Alton reasoned. “And I am near to graduation; certainly I can handle the simple chores of basic teaching after thirty years of study.”
“And what is my gain?”
Alton gawked, nearly burying himself in webbing, as if the answer were obvious. “A master in Sorcere to call mentor. One who can ease your way through your years of study.”
“And one who can dispose of a witness at his earliest convenience,” Masoj added slyly.
“And what then would be my gain?” Alton shot back. “To anger House Hun’ett, fifth in all the city, and I with no family at my back? No, young Masoj, I am not as stupid as the Faceless One named me.”
Masoj ticked a long and pointed fingernail against his teeth and considered the possibilities. An ally among the masters of Sorcere? This held possibilities.
Another thought popped into Masoj’s mind, and he pulled open the cabinet to Alton’s side and began rummaging through the contents. Alton flinched when he heard some ceramic and glass containers crashing together, thinking of the components, possibly even completed potions, that might be lost by the apprentice’s carelessness. Perhaps Melee-Magthere would be a better choice for this one, he thought.
A moment later, though, the younger drow reappeared, and Alton remembered that he was in no position to make such judgments.
“This is mine,” Masoj demanded, showing Alton a small black object: a remarkably detailed onyx figurine of a hunting panther. “A gift from a denizen of the lower planes for some help I gave to him.”
“You aided such a creature?” Alton had to ask, finding it difficult to believe that a mere apprentice had the resources necessary to even survive an encounter with such an unpredictable and mighty foe.
“The Faceless One—” Masoj kicked the corpse again—”took the credit and the statue, but they are mine! Everything else in here will go to you, of course. I know the magical dweomers of most and will show you what is what.”
Brightening at the hope that he would indeed survive this dreadful day, Alton cared little about the figurine at that moment. All he wanted was to be freed of the webs so that he could find out the truth of his house’s fate. Then Masoj, ever a confusing young drow, turned suddenly and started away.
“Where are you going?” Alton asked.
“To get the acid.”
“Acid?” Alton hid his panic well, though he had a terrible feeling that he understood what Masoj meant to do.
“You want the disguise to appear authentic,” Masoj explained matter-of-factly. “Otherwise, it would not be much of a disguise. We should take advantage of the web while it lasts. It will hold you still.”
“No,” Alton started to protest, but Masoj wheeled on him, the evil grin wide on
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