could kneel to a rightful king, but Ghost had dared to take that one step farther; Ghost had taken Vander's valor, his honor, his very identity.
"Have they returned?" the firbolg snapped at the black-and-silver robed man as soon as he appeared at the barn door.
"The trip to the mountains would have taken them all of last night," the Night Mask replied, as if he sensed Vander's frustration. "Likely, they have not yet even encountered Lady Maupoissant."
Vander looked away.
"The line has been set up to Carradoon, and the group has taken position near the Dragon's Codpiece," the assassin went on hopefully.
Vander eyed the man for a long moment. He knew what the human was thinking, knew that the man had only blurted that information in the hopes that the news would be well-received and would spare him from the firbolg's unpredictable wrath.
Unpredictable! Vander nearly laughed at the vicious irony of that thought. He waved the man away, and the Night Mask seemed more than happy to follow the silent command.
\fonder sat alone once more in the deepening shadows. He took some measure of solace in the fact that the noose was apparently tightening around their latest target and that this business might soon be concluded.
Vander hardly began to smile before a frown again captured his visage. The business would be finished and another would soon begin. It would not end, Vander knew, until Ghost decided that the firbolg had outlived his usefulness.
The sun was gone, leaving Vander in the darkness.
"You have indicated that you wanted to be of help," Ghost said to the surprised wizard. "Now I offer you that chance."
Bogo Rath's beady green eyes seemed to grow even smaller as he studied the sleepy-eyed man. He had just moved his small pack of belongings to the private room that Fredegar had provided, only to find the mysterious assassin sitting on his bed and waiting for him.
Ghost understood the wizard's suspicion and his hesitation. Bogo did not trust Ghost (and rightly so) and Bogo's agenda was his own. Surely Bogo wanted Cadderly dead, but Ghost knew that the opportunistic and ambitious young wizard was not working with the assassin band. Rather, he was working independently, hopeful that he might use them to meet his own ends. Ghost, above all others, could understand that self-serving methodology and, above all others, the wicked man knew the dangers that might accompany such actions.
"I am to serve as sentry?" Bogo replied, incredulous.
Ghost thought it over, then nodded - that was as good a description as he could think of. "For this minor exploration only," he answered. "The time has come for us to learn a bit more about Cadderly's room and personal defenses. I can do that, do not doubt, but I would not be pleased to have the other two priests of the library return to the inn while I am otherwise engaged."
Bogo spent a long moment staring at the man. "You are so filled with riddles," he said at length. "You can get near Cadderly, hint that you can get even closer, and yet, the young priest lives. Is it caution or macabre pleasure that makes you play the game?"
Ghost smiled, congratulating Bogo for his perceptive-ness. "Both," he answered honestly, more than willing to tout his own prowess. "I am an artist, young wizard, and not a common killer. The game, for that is what it is, must be played on my terms and by my rules." Ghost carefully chose his emphasis for that last sentence, letting it sound just enough like a threat to keep Bogo on edge.
"It is early for the hearth room," Bogo reasoned. "The sun is just down. Most of the patrons are still at home, finishing their dinners. And I am not yet settled into my new quarters," he added, a hint of dissatisfaction in his tone.
"Do you consider that so very important?" Ghost asked bluntly.
Bogo found no immediate reply.
"Take your dinner down in the hearth room," Ghost replied. "It is not so unusual a practice for guests of the inn."
"The priests went to the Temple of Dmater," Bogo argued. "It is unlikely they will return within the hour you say you will need."
"But they might," Ghost said, his voice hinting of mounting anger. "Artist," he reiterated, voicing each syllable slowly and clearly. "Perfectionist."
Bogo gave up the argument and resignedly nodded in agreement. Ghost had indicated that he wouldn't yet kill Cadderly, and the young wizard had no reason to believe otherwise. Certainly, if the weakling assassin had