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the questions; besides which, she had no interest in discussing her life with a murder suspect. “I don’t see how that’s relevant, Brother.”
    “My point is that you’d naturally be suspicious of an elf willingly traveling with a human and a dwarf. And understandably so. But we have been through much, the seven of us. Today, Lieutenant, you live in a Flingaria that is at peace. For decades, that was not the case—human warred on human, elf warred on human, western elf warred on eastern elf, dwarf warred on elf, trolls warred on just about everyone—not to mention crazed wizards like Chalmraik or Mitos. But now, the human lands are united, the western elves are no more, and the elves and dwarves have a treaty. The plague of megalomaniacal wizards has ended.” He pointed to the doorway that led to the rest of the inn. “My comrades and I were at the forefront of much of that. It is in part through our efforts that there is such peace now. Through those hardships we have formed a bond, and we simply wish to enjoy the fruits of our labors.”
    It was a very pretty speech, both heartfelt and convincing. Genero gave it with all the conviction one would expect of a man who had dedicated his life to the service of one of the gods, and Danthres didn’t believe a word of it.
    She asked several more questions, most relating to where Genero was last night and this morning, but they were secondary. Her main question had been answered virtually the moment Genero had walked into the storage room.
    Brother Genero of Velessa and his group had a very specific purpose in mind, and Danthres was fairly sure that the priest knew—or at least thought he knew—precisely who murdered Gan Brightblade.
     
    The questioning of the two halflings—twins named Mari and Nari—went about as Danthres expected. They told the same sea-cruise lie as Genero, with just enough variations in their stories to sound convincingly unrehearsed, which made it all the more obvious that they’d gotten their stories straight ahead of time. Cliff’s End had more than its share of grifters, and Danthres suspected that these two would fit right in on Jorbin’s Way. Danthres patiently asked them most of the same questions she’d given the priest, and they responded with multiple digressions, numerous evasions, and a general refusal to give anything like a straight answer.
    When she was done with Nari, Danthres went back to the lobby, where Torin was already waiting. “Boneen finally put in his appearance about a quarter of an hour ago,” he said. “The peel-back should be finished shortly.” The spell took about half an hour and required that there be nothing living besides the spellcaster present.
    “Good.” Danthres peered up the stairs to see that the gray-and-white-stubbled guard was back to standing outside Room 12. Then she filled Torin in on her interviews. “What about yours?”
    “The elf was Olthar lothSirhans.”
    “Another celebrity.”
    Torin grunted. “Well, this particular war hero was close-mouthed, arrogant, and gave one-word answers. That interview took only a few minutes and he couldn’t get out of the kitchen fast enough when I said we were done. Ubàrlig, the dwarf, was considerably more voluble, especially once he found out we work for Osric. It turns out he and the captain met several years back. He acted very open and friendly—but he didn’t give me any more than lothSirhans.”
    “Let me guess—we’re all old friends going on a cruise through the Garamin.”
    Torin nodded. “Mind you, he was carrying his axe with him—a Fjorm.”
    Danthres blinked. “He has a Fjorm?”
    “Yes. One of only six left—I even asked him about it, and he was more than happy to talk about how he got it and how many elves he killed with it, all without getting a scratch on the blade.”
    “It must be worth a fortune.” Danthres snorted. “I’m amazed those two halflings haven’t tried to steal it.”
    Torin grinned. “Perhaps they