“Well … it’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“The whole thing is unusual,” Arcolin said. “If you’re interested—”

“Indeed yes. You are of value to us. Tell on, if you will.”

Arcolin told it all and finished with, “The Aldonfulk messenger said his prince would be displeased. I suspect this is some evidence of that displeasure, and I hope it does not bar me from use of the pass.”

“Why would it?”

“Because the road north, from the crest of the pass on, traverses Aldonfulk territory. They made treaty long ago, but they still control travel between north and south by that route, and humans pay their toll.”

“I had not realized they had the will or power to close that way,” the banker said.

“It’s rare, but it’s happened to individuals. I hope I will not be one of them.”

“Tell me, if you do not mind, what it is when you find out.”

Arcolin shrugged. “I might as well open it here and see.”

The gray wrapping, as thin and flexible as paper, seemed of a different texture; Arcolin did not recognize it. Several layers protected the contents: sheets of paper with writing on them in the gnomish script and a thin flat slab of stone.

“That explains the weight,” the banker said. “Can you read that script?”

“Slightly,” Arcolin said. He knew the first block of words was a greeting but did not recognize the rest. “Luckily I can ask Dattur—the gnome with me. I will certainly tell you, since if it is a refusal to allow me to use the pass, I must seek another way north.” He knew of only two other passes, and the nearest, Hakkenarsk, north of Dwarfwatch, lay many days to the east.

“I hope it is not that,” the banker said.

Dattur read the papers without difficulty; Arcolin never ceased to wonder that all gnomes could read. “The Aldonfulk prince greets you and asks your presence in his hall…” Dattur’s voice trailed off. “My prince, he is either showing friendship or great guile. He offers the use of the gnome way through the mountain—the same given to Captain Selfer, his cohort, and the Count of Andressat. You must understand that if you accept, you will be at his mercy for those days under the mountain, and if you do not accept, it can—it probably will—be taken as an insult.” He looked up at Arcolin. “And he wants an answer within a day. His messenger will come tomorrow at noon.”

“I can’t leave tomorrow,” Arcolin said. “I have business to attend.”

“It is an answer he wants, I believe, not an immediate attendance. How long do you think your business will take?”

“A hand of days at least,” Arcolin said. He looked at Dattur. “Do you think it is friendship or ill intent?”