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Unformatted text preview: To Aunt Terry, who'll never know how much her support has meant to me. NIGHT MASKS Copyright 1992 TSR. Inc. AH Rights Reserved. All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, fivmg or dead, is purely coincidental. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of TSR, Inc. Random House and its affiliate companies have worldwide distribution rights in the book trade for English language products of TSR, Inc. Distributed to the book and hobby trade in the United Kingdom by TSR Ltd. Cover art by Jeff Easley. FORGOTTEN REALMS is a registered trademark owned by TSR, Inc. The TSR logo is a trademark owned by TSR, Inc. First Printing: August 1992 Printed in the United States of America-Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 91-66498 987654321 ISBN: 1-56076-328-0 TSR. Inc. P.O. Box 756 Lake Geneva, WI 53147 U.S.A. TSR, Ltd. 120 Church End, Cherry Hinton Cambridge CB1 3LB United Kingdom iMpnesk Lake CanitaoooN isle (Estates) _. Soultl , , 8WW*' Gats Soon, Paim , C«MD!C of iixaWK CaRRaoooN 250 500 Scale (in feet) * City Militia O "CRCC ——i— he large fighter shifted uneasily in his seat, look-^M ^ ing all about the nearly empty tavern. • "Not so busy this night," the slender, I drowsy-looking man across the table remarked. JL He shifted back lazily in his seat, crossed his legs in front of him, and draped a skinny arm over them. The larger man regarded him warily as he began to understand. "And you know all in attendance," he replied. "Of course." The burly fighter looked back just in time to see the last of the other patrons slip out the door. "They have left by your bidding?" he asked, "Of course." "Mako sent you." The weakling man curled his lips in a wicked grin, one that widened as the burly fighter regarded his skinny arms with obvious disdain. "To kill me," the large man finished, trying to appear calm. His wringing hands, fingers moving as if seeking R. A. Salvatore something to keep them occupied, revealed his nervousness. He licked his dried lips and glanced around quickly, not taking his dark eyes from the assassin for any length of time. He noticed that the man wore gloves, one white and one black, and silently berated himself for not being more observant. The thin man replied at length, "You knew Mako would repay you for his cousin's death." "His own fault!" the large man retorted. "It was he who struck the first blow. I had no choi—" "I am neither judge nor jury," the puny man reminded him. "Just a killer" the fighter replied, "serving whoever gives you the largest sack of gold." The assassin nodded, not the least bit insulted by the description....
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