“Ah! I’ve heard of just the roach you need. He’s called Shadowspawn, I believe.”
“Do you think he will perform this service?”
“Probably. He usually works for himself. But, if the price is right . . .” Hanse gestured eloquently. “Tell me about this . . . mis- sion.”
“The price is right,” Strick said, and told him about the mission.
“Oh, no! Not a sorcerer!”
“Hanse! After your experiences with the real thing up in Firaqa, this boy will pose you no problem. True, he was apprentice to Markmor the Archmage, but Markmor was found dead even before I came here. A lot of mages have come and gone, Hanse.”
Hanse nodded. “I remember that big one with the blue star on his forehead . . .”
“Lythande,” Strick said.
“Lythande! Odd name for a man!”
“That one will not be back, Hanse. Lythande does not like this town at all, and will never be back.”
“You know a lot, Strick. for a newcomer who’s been here only a few months.”
Strick nodded. “Yes. I make it my business to learn things. Sanctuary is my business, now. And I, believe me, am here to stay. And we were discussing a certain venture concerning a roach and one Marype.”
“Oh but Father Us, how I hate sorcery!”
Strick stared. “Perhaps you will refer me to a brave professional, then.”
“Bastard!” The professional thief made a show of his sigh. “What does he have that you want . . . acquired?”
Strick held out his hand. An earring gleamed brightly in his palm: a glowing black stone caged in good gold. “The mate to this. It was torn from its wearer’s ear and now that swinish mage is using it to harm him.”