Cordy Mather grinned. "You're catching on how to handle Willow, Blade."

"If this's going down the way I think, he don't need handling. He'll be the guy out front when they try to stop the Shadowmasters. You could roast him in coals and he'd never admit it, but he's got a thing for Taglios."

Cordy Mather chuckled. "You're right. He's finally found him a home. And no one is going to move him out. Not the Shadowmasters or the Black Company."

"They as bad as he lets on?"

"Worse. Lots worse. You take all the legends you ever heard back home, and everything you heard tell around here, and anything you can imagine, and double it, and maybe you're getting close. They're mean and they're tough and they're good. And maybe the worst thing about them is that they're tricky like you can't imagine tricky. They've been around four, five hundred years, and no outfit lasts that long without being so damned nasty even the gods don't screw with them."

"Mothers, hide your babies," Blade said. "Smoke had him a dream."

Cordy's face darkened. "Yeah. I've heard tell wizards maybe make things come true by dreaming them first. Maybe we ought to cut Smoke's throat."

Willow was back. He said, "Maybe we ought to find out what's going on before we do anything."

Cordy chuckled. Blade grinned. Then they began shooing the marks out of the tavern—each making sure an appointment was understood by one or more of the young ladies.

Chapter Four: THE DARK TOWER

I piddled around another five days before working myself up to a little after-breakfast skull session. I introduced the subject in a golden-tongued blurt: "Our next stopover will be the Tower."

"What?"

"Are you crazy, Croaker?"

"Knew we should have kept an eye on him after the sun went down." Knowing glances Lady's way. She stayed out of it.