His eyes slowly moved to Brockhurst sitting casually on the stairs.
Brockhurst suddenly realized he was the object of everyone’s attention. His eyes widened in fright.
“No! I… Wait! Isstvan!” he half-rose holding out a hand as if to ward off a blow. “I didn’t. . . No! Don’t. Glaag!”
This last was said as his hands suddenly flew to his throat and began choking him violently. “Glaak … eak … urk….”
He fell back on the stairs and began rolling frantically back and forth.
“Isstvan,” Higgens began hesitantly, “normally I wouldn’t interfere, but don’t you think you should hear what he has to say, first? “
“But I’m not doing anything,” Isstvan blinked with hurt innocence.
My eyes flashed to the other end of the mezzanine. Tanda was crouched there, her eyes closed. She seemed to be choking an invisible person on the floor in front of her. With dawning realization, I began to appreciate more and more the subtleties of a trained assassin.
“You aren’t doing anything?” Higgens shrilled, “Well, then do something! He’s dying!” “
I thought for a moment that the ludicrous statement would set Isstvan to laughing again, but riot this time.
“Oh,” he sighed. “This is all so confusing. Yes, I guess you’re right.”
He clicked his fingers and Brockhurst stopped thrashing about and began breathing again in long, ragged breaths.
“Here, old boy,” said Aahz. “Have some wine.”
He offered Brockhurst a brimming flagon which the Imp began to gulp gratefully.
“Aahz,” Isstvan said sternly. “I don’t think you’ve been honest with us.”