The audacious ratman servant Sen had tried to assassinate Murphy, yet suffered no punishment. On the contrary, the news it had let slip earned it rare courtesy. By "courtesy," I mean that when a group of Frost Dwarves crowded around it, they didn't beat it into a rat pancake on the spot.
After hearing Maxim's news, the Frost Dwarf acting lord—who had still been pretending to make nice with Old Su on the battlefield—ran over as fast as he could. Once he had questioned the ratman in detail and confirmed certain facts from its disjointed account, the short-tempered Frost Dwarf immediately shouted for his people to get ready to leave.
It looked like he'd confirmed their target.
Still, the Northland Dwarf with the strange rocky skin had a decent grasp of manners. Before leaving, he remembered to say goodbye to Murphy:
"I haven't thanked you yet for that business with my old man's urn. You did hurt our feelings when you called us 'short people,' vampire, but let's keep things separate. You've done us Frost Dwarves a kindness, and now you've helped us track down information about our relic, Winter's Bite.
"You even found us a guide to track down the murderer. We owe you a lot.
"I left in a hurry this time and didn't bring anything worthwhile. Next time you get the chance to visit Frosthold, I'll open up the Frost Dwarves' vault and let you pick whatever you like."
Baldur was a typical Dwarf: blunt, with a touch of rudeness. He leaned on the enormous hunting halberd, which was more than twice his height, and made Murphy a solemn promise. But Murphy's attention was fixed on the weapon. Stained with the Silver Wolf's blood, it looked chilling and oppressive.
The vampire knew his next question might offend