Shadowblade by Tom Bielawski

dagger, saw a monk with a red sash slithering out of the store and into the shadows of the alleyway. The man came straight toward him and Zach thought might have to kill the monk. But as the hooded monk approached, Zach saw that the man was looking down at something in his hands and apparently had not seen the Cklathman.
    After the monk passed, Zach put his dagger away. He now knew that this was the shop he needed to visit. If the Red Dragons’ assassins frequented this shop, the knowledge he needed would likely be found here. But would the shopkeeper report him for possessing these items which came from a Red Dragon? However, he really didn’t know for a fact these items were unique to the Red Dragons. It was a risk he was willing to take.
    Zach entered the shop and closed the door behind him, gratefully noting the warmth generated by a great hearth. The shop was a malodorous place and seemed to house a collection of mismatched junk resting in random piles; until he reached the back of the shop. An open doorway beckoned, leading to another room deeper into the building. Zach stood in the doorway and was amazed by the contrast with the room in front. Everything inside was neat and orderly, shelved and labeled, and nothing looked out of sorts.
    Cautiously he walked inside, thinking there had to be a reason for such strange separation of order and chaos. But it truly didn’t matter.
    “Hello?” Zach’s mysterious voice-companion called out. Zach growled in aggravation.
    “Hush!” Zach said. “ I do the talking. You’re just going to get us in trouble.”
    “I am doing the talking!” retorted the voice. Zach just shook his head and hoped that he could find out where this voice was coming from. Was there some invisible companion following him around? The ghost of someone he had wrongly killed? Or was it just in his head?
    “Of course I’m in your head!”
    “Is anyone there?” called Zach, ignoring the taunt.
    “Just a moment,” came a muffled voice from somewhere in the store. Seconds later a short and stocky elderly man with thick glasses wearing a brown leather apron appeared behind Zach.
    “I’m Baldric. Can I help you?” he said in a kindly voice that made Zach wonder if he was in the right place after all.
    “Yes,” he hesitated, and gripped Morloth tightly under his coat. If the old man became squeamish or acted as though he might alert the authorities, Zach would kill him and move on. Then he removed the charm pendants from his pocket and showed them to the man.
    “Oh, my,” he whispered. Then he cast a wary eye at Zach, appraising him. “I see no red sash on you, young man.”
    Zach said nothing, looking at the man. The old man smiled and nodded.
    “I’ve been in business here forty years. I will deal with anyone whose gold is good, none of that gem currency here. I haven’t stayed in business all these years by asking too many questions and I’ll not start now.” The old man walked to the front door and dropped a bar behind it. Zach wasn’t entirely sure that the bar would be effective, more likely the rotten door would crumble and any would-be assailant could just duck right under the bar.
    “No sense in letting some busybody in on our business,” he said as he shuffle stepped his way back to Zach. “Now, sit down at the counter and let’s talk. What do you want from me?”
    “I want to know what these items do, and how much you will pay me for them.”
    Zach placed the two charm pendants on the counter and slid to the other side while the old man made his way around to face him.
    “Hmm,” said the old man, picking up the ram’s head charm and holding it very close to his eyes. “I daresay you didn’t find this in your grandmother’s attic, eh?”
    Zach did not reply to the man’s attempt at humor, but it was clear that the elderly merchant knew something of the item.
    “There are tiny, minuscule, writings around the horns of the ram,” he said as he peered at the ram’s