the price is right. Think of this only as a delay, my friend, not failure.’
‘No! The omens here grow bad. Three times you’ve tried and failed to get me what
I require. I conclude my business with you.’ The information broker survived by
knowing when to cut his losses. Nodding politely, he left Walegrin without a
word and left the Unicorn before Buboe had thought to get his order.
Walegrin leaned back on his stool, hands clenched behind his head, his eyes
alert for movement but his thoughts wandering. The death of Runo had affected
him deeply,, not because the man was a good soldier and long-time companion,
though he had been both, but because the death had demonstrated the enduring
power of the S’danzo curse on his family. Fifteen years before, the S’danzo
community had decreed that all things meaningful to his father should be taken
away or destroyed while the man looked helplessly on. For good measure the
crones had extended the curse for five generations. Walegrin was the first. He
dreaded that day when his path crossed with some forgotten child of his own who
would bear him no better will than he bore his own ignominious sire.
It had been sheer madness to return to Sanctuary, to the origin of the curse,
despite the assurances of the Purple Mage’s protection. Madness! The S’danzo
felt him coming. The Purple Mage, the one person Walegrin trusted to unravel the
spell, had disappeared long before he and his men arrived in town. And now the
Enlibrite potter and Runo were dead by some unknown hand. How much longer could