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By Root 692 0

a glimpse of that strange expression he'd seen on Artus's face the night of the battle, just before he'd killed the last of the assassins. ”But, Father,“ he announced in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, ”you said I don't have to be a scamp.“ ”What?“ the Shadowhawk bellowed. ”I never-“ ”Right after the fight-right after you killed all three assassins-“ Artus cut in quickly, ”you said I fought so badly I would never be safe robbing people. I should be a scribe, you said, or a bard.“ Everyone's attention was on Artus and the Shadowhawk, and those thieves prone to jealously and envy-which was, in fact, all of them-found their spirits buoyed by a sudden hope that Scoril Cimber's yarns might now be proved untrue. The room stood frozen for a moment as the highwayman searched in vain for some way out of his son's well-laid trap. The boy had let him tell his version of the rescue, let him take all the glory and reap the guild's rewards for such notoriety. Now, it seemed, he wanted his payment. But when Scoril looked closely at Artus, he realized there was no escape. The predatory look in his son's eyes was a familiar one, a glint as hard as the stiletto hidden in his boot and as cold as the winter chill creeping through the guildhall's cheap floorboards. ”Yeah. You be a bard," the Shadowhawk murmured at last. He turned away from Artus's triumphant smile and gulped his ale. Even if he ain't going to be my apprentice, the highwayman thought ruefully, the boy's learned more than I ever intended to teach him. Grandfather's Toys Jean Rabe The druid stood before the weathered oak door of the tower. His wheat- colored hair lay plastered against his neck, and his dark green tunic clung slickly, like a second skin, to his muscular frame. His embroidered cloak stretched to the grass behind him and tugged annoyingly at his neck as he tipped his head back

and glanced upward through the soft, steady rain. The tower's slate-gray stones merged with the dreary early evening sky, making it difficult for the druid to see the crenelated battlements. Squinting, he peered into the gloom and glimpsed a flicker of light from a window on the highest floor. The druid dropped his gaze until his chin rested on his chest “I haven't seen him in years,” he said softly. A rushed sequence of chitters and squeaks issued from his tunic in reply. “Yes. It has been too long.” The druid gently tugged the lacings of his tunic, loosening the material about his neck. A moment later a weasel's shiny black nose poked out from the V-neck of the sodden garment. The creature chittered again. “All right. I'll hurry,” the druid answered, stepping forward and rapping on the tower door. An interminable time later the door groaned inward, revealing a figure draped in a hooded cloak. “Galvin, my friend!” The speaker brushed aside the cowl, revealing rheumy blue eyes and skin that was as pale and wrinkled as crumpled parchment. White stubble edged the man's jaw. “You must help me! She's gone missing in my tower, and I can't find her. I'm very worried.” “Can't find who?” A weak smile played at the old man's ashen lips. “My granddaughter.” The old man paused. “Please, come in. You'll catch your death in this weather.” Reaching out a shaky, age-speckled hand, the man grasped the druid's sleeve and drew him into the tower. “Oh, Galvin, I was afraid Elias wouldn't find you. I wasn't sure where you were living. And this storm...” “Is not so bad, Drollo,” the druid offered, extracting the weasel from his tunic. “Elias here doesn't seem to like the rain much, though.” The old man gingerly took the dripping weasel from the druid and scratched the top of its head. Elias squeaked loudly and stretched so its ear could be rubbed. The weasel shot an angry glance at the druid and squealed shrilly. Galvin nodded to the animal and closed the tower door, muffling the patter of the rain and shutting out the sweet scent of the wet earth. After the long trek in the open air, the tower smelled musty. The druid wrinkled his nose in distaste. Little of the thick, chiseled stone that made up the