by Ed Greenwood
His fellow mage-for-hire gurgled loudly.
The Sembian had torn his sleeve from Crownsilver's grasp, taken two swift strides back down the passage-and run right onto the sword that a grimly smiling woman in black leathers was holding ready, right at the level of his throat.
Her free hand snarched the warding token from the wizard's belt and held it up to ward off any magic the other Sembian might hurl.
Thus defended, Highknight Lady Ismra Targrael watched the man choke and strangle on her steel. Her smile never changed as he sagged, gurgling his way down to the passage floor with his staring eyes fixed on her.
Letting go of her sword as the dying Sembian took it to the floor and as Lord Crownsilver stared at her, aghast and paling, she plucked a dagger from her belt, danced sideways, and threw it deftly.
The noble couldn't turn his head fast enough to follow its flashing flight, but he saw well enough where that journey ended.
Wearing the dagger hilt-deep in his left eye, the second Sembian mage toppled, tiny lightnings spitting and swirling vainly around the blade as feeble defensive magics sought to deal with it… and failed.
Targrael didn't even bother to watch him fall. She was busy tugging her sword free.
Lord Crownsilver stared down at the two bodies on the passage floor in front of him. Then he looked up at the woman who'd killed them. Who was still smiling.
"Well, little traitor noble," she purred, stalking forward, twirling het sword. "It seems it's now just you and me."
Manshoon smiled. He'd been ready to foil the priests' truth-sensing magics-feeble things, really-but he'd been spared the trouble. They were so eager to save Faerun, these Knights. Naive fools.
If every land had a dozen such bands, he could conquer the entire Realms in a season.
There had been a time when Vangerdahast had come here often, when the treasures stored here had been everyday needs and comforts, armor of sorts against his fears. Yet it had been a long time since he'd burst in here in any hurry, seeking… seeking…
Snarling like an angry wolf, Vangerdahast raged around the room, snatching up wands here, rods there, and-and-and belts of potions over there! Amulets-best have some of them, too.
He dropped them in a great heap onto the table and whirled away to face the nearest wardrobe. Snatching it open, he glared at a suit of gleaming magical elven armor inside. He peered past it in a vain search for somerhing more useful, then savagely slammed the doors on the armor again, rurning away with a heartfelt growl.
Which was when he caught sight of a man in worn leathers watching him from the doorway. A man whose name he didn't know, but whom he vaguely recalled seeing around the Palace once or twice before.
This in itself irritated Vangey. No one should visit the Palace more than once without the Royal Magician knowing who they were and why they were there.
"Who-?"
"Dalonder Ree, Harper," the man said softly, "here to help. You look very much like a Royal Magician of Cormyr who needs it. And if the Royal Magician doesn't, the Court Wizard of Cormyr seems in even worse need of aid."
"I need nothing of the sort!" Vangey snapped.
Laspeera ducked past the Harper into the room and said breathlessly, "I've never heard you this upset before! What d'you need me for?"
Vangerdahast srared helplessly into the Harper's carefully expressionless gaze for a moment, then thtew up his hands in surrender and snapped at his most loyal war wizard, "Strap on all of this you can carry, and come with me! Some madwits may be about to work the Unbinding and empty the Lost Palace onto our laps!"
Laspeera blinked, cursed in a crisp and very unladylike manner, and started grabbing at the magic items Vangey had dumped on the table. So did the Harper.
"Not you!" Vangey snarled at him. "Don't you have something else to meddle in?"
"Nothing nearly as important as this!" Ree said.
"Well, you could stay right hete, keep your hands off all magic, and go running around rounding up Wizards of War and sending them after us! If we all go down, it really won't matter how few are left here to defend the throne! Oh, and you could warn the royal fam-"
"As it happens, wizard," Princess Alusair said crisply from the doorway, "I can and will take care of that. This valiant Harper will be accompanying you, if he desires. I can't give him a royal command, but I can so command you-and I should have started doing so years ago, I'm thinking."
Vangey started to say something, anger rising in him like a great tide, but the younger princess of the realm raised her voice in superb mimicry of his own, roaring right over him, "Now stop arguing with everyone you see and get going!'"
"This one should do, to begin the Unbinding," Vangerdahast said slowly, stopping at a panel. As the Knights gathered around him, Islif couldn't help but look back the way they'd come, and Jhessail and the priests spun around to face outward, faces tight with fear.
The smell was following them. A faint, sickly rotting scent, overlaid by mildew, that was wafting from the six or so liches now shuffling after them.
Gods, if just one of them decided to hurl a spell…
"Florin?" the Royal Magician asked gravely.
The ranger nodded, drew in a deep breath, and swung the mace he'd borrowed from Doust.
The panel shattered under his solid swing, its magical disguise of stained and polished wood disintegrating in brief little puffs and swirls of blue-green radiance.
Vangerdahast told them, "Look up and down this passage, everyone! Quickly!"
"There!" Pennae said, right on the heels of his words, pointing.
"Hasten," the Royal Magician said, shouldering through the Knights in the direction of the distant glowing panel. "Hurry! We must mark the right one!"
He strode straight toward the liches, snapping over his shoulder, "Come! They won't hurt you. They want to be freed, to find rest at last!"
A gruesome gallery of undead was still gathering, appearing out of dark side passages and through doorways, but they parted and gave way even before the empry air glowed blue-green around Vangerdahast and forced the liches back.
The Knights hurried in his wake, trying not to look too closely at the shuffling crowd that was now watching them-and that closed in behind them to follow down the passage.
The liches were in many states of decay, from floating, glowing disembodied skulls wearing crowns to rotting women who'd lost limbs, in ragged wisps of crumbling gowns. Some were even carrying their heads under their arms.
The blue-green wardings seemed to hold back liches in one direction and quell real terror in the other, but none of the Knights was really calm. On three sides, as they walked, the silently drifting and shuffling crowd was almost close enough to touch, and the liches looked so macabre that it was like walking through a nightmare that wouldn't end.
"I think I have to relieve myself," Semoor said.
Behind him, Jhessail winced. "I wish you hadn't said that."
"I-wait! Don't kill me!" Lord Crownsilver babbled, backing away. "I'm rich! I can pay you well! Rubies, gold, even king's tears! I-"
"Talk too much," the Highknight told him, a certain fire in her eyes. "I don't want gold, puling little man."
"Land, then! Land-a little keep, all your own? Or a tallhouse in Suzail-two tallhouses!"
Step by step, the nobleman was giving ground, and step by step, Targrael was stalking him, leisurely, stretching like a cat. "Oooh, a little castle," she drawled. "Now you tempt me, Maniol."
"I do?" Lord Crownsilverbrightened, gabbling wildly. "Th-that's good, isn't it? Wha-wha-what can I do to tempt you more?"
"Die," the Highknight told him calmly and stretched out to her full sleek length. Her lunge sent her blade through Maniol Crownsilver's hand and into his throat.
"Almost leisurely," she said. "Not the hardest noble death I've dealt down the years, to be sure."
He stared at her, jaw open in disbelief, blood welling up in his mouth, so Targrael blew him a kiss and said with a sneer, "The go
ds be with you, little failure of a man. Fare you well in the Hells."
By the last word, he was probably beyond hearing, his stare now fixed. Targrael straightened, pulling her sword back, and let him fall.
He fell heavily, as wet and solid as an oversized pumpkin dropped on a cobbled street-and as messily. Blood splashed long fingers in all directions. Targrael took a swift step back, eyes narrowing as she saw golden, glowing smoke rise from that gore-for all the Realms as if the man's blood were a flow of molten fire in a forge.
Then she retreated farther, casting swift glances behind herself and bringing her sword up to slash the air in a menacing circle around her.
Liches were drifting and striding toward those flames from all directions, their eyes glowing the same golden hue.
"Keep back," she warned them, paling as they gave her gap-toothed grins and closed in.
"I am the Highknight Lady Ismra Targrael. In the name of the Dragon Throne I serve, I command, you begone!"
The Highknight brandished the warding token she'd plucked from one of the Sembians she'd slain, but bony hands struck it aside as many other bony hands tightened like chillingly cold claws around her arms.
She hadn't even time to struggle ere bony fingers throttled her. Almost leisurely.
Bellowing wordless rage into the Princess Alusair's face to make her shrink back out of his way, the Royal Magician of Cormyr rushed out of his armory and along the passage, seeking the nearest spellcasting chamber.
Dalonder Ree was right behind him. "If I find Dauntless, I'll send him back to you!" he said to the princess as he raced past.
Laspeera, trailing belts and wand sheaths and a sculpted hand festooned with glowing rings, panted behind them both. Some six running strides down the passage, she slowed, whirled, and told Alusair, "Get Tathanter Doarmund or Alaphondar to assemble all Wizards of War they swiftly can to teleporr a dozen Dragons to me. They know how to key on me!"
"Purple Dragons?" Alusair cried. "Not more war wizards?"
Laspeera was already running on down the passage. Without turning her head she called back, "We'll be needing someone with common sense!"
The third panel spilled the familiar blue-green radiance as it shattered.
"There!" Pennae cried as she espied the next panel.
Doust staggered, almost falling. His stagger took him into Jhessail and almost bore her to the ground. She struggled to keep them both upright, planting herself until Islif reached out a long arm, took the priest by the shoulder, and hauled him upright.
He reeled, knees briefly as limp as greens steaming in a kitchen. "Numbed me, that one did," he muttered. Looking at Jhessail, he added, "Keep back from the panels. I think doing this'll kill any mage outright." He gave Vangerdahast's back a suspicious glare, then clung to Islif for support as all of the Knights hurried down rhe passage to the fourrh panel.
"How many of these panels will we have to break?" Islif called to the Royal Magician.
Ahead, they saw his shoulders lift in a shrug. "I know not. More than a dozen. We tried to trace the magics once, and I saw ten-and-three nodes before the trying overwhelmed me."
Pennae lifted an eyebrow. "Overwhelmed you?"
"Struck me senseless," Vangey replied curtly, giving Florin a nod.
The ranger set his teeth, swung the mace, and dashed another panel to glowing ruin.
"A glow!" Semoor called from behind them. "Through that doorway!"
They all turned to see his pointing arm, and Florin reeled just as Doust had done.
"Help him, someone!" Vangerdahast snapped, heading for the glowing door. "Pennae, run ahead. We need to see which panel in yon room is the right one, before it fades!"
As they hastened, the Royal Magician muttered some sort of incantation.
"That's the second time you've done that, right after Florin struck a panel," Islif said suspiciously. "Just what magic are you working?"
"I'm garhering the wardings before they collapse, to shield us all with them. Against the liches and against any wild magics breaking a node might release."
"What wardings?" Semoor asked, as they entered the room, finding it cold and bare.
"The ancient spells that protect the walls, floors, ceilings, and all against magic unleashed by the liches here," Vangerdahast explained, hastening over to the panel Pennae was standing beside. It was no longer glowing.
"They'll be lost if I don't gather them," the Royal Magician said. "Do you want to be torn apart by a lich?"
A lich near Semoor's elbow chuckled coldly, and he shrank back from it, shuddering. "Why are all these liches here, anyhail?"
"Bound here by the Royal Magicians before him," Doust said. "Wizards who went mad, that is. They did not come here as liches. I think this place makes them liches."
Vangerdahast turned, gave them the grimmest of smiles, and said gently, "And I think you're righr about that. And before any of you ask, no, I haven't bound anyone here."
"No need," Semoor said, stepping quickly behind Islif. "You just take all the mad mages and make them war wizards."
"Thank you, Light of Lathander," Vangerdahast replied sarcastically. "Your observations are so helpful, in our present situation. Boosts the morale of your fellow Knights to no end."
Florin started forward, but the Royal Magician flung out an arm to bar his way. Vangerdahast nodded when Islif plucked the mace from the ranger's grasp from behind.
"Enough heroics for you," Vangerdahast said and looked at Islif. "Will you break this one, Lady Knight?"
She nodded, stepping forward, and Vangerdahast looked at the other Knights. "Face outward, everyone," he said. "Pennae and… you, Wolftooth, go back to the door and watch for glows. I'll thrust out the wards to keep liches away from you."
Pennae started for the door, but Semoor didn't move. He was frowning at Doust.
"What're you staring at, Clumsum?"
"That," Doust said quietly, pointing across the room into its darkest corner. His finger was leveled at the largest floating, disembodied skull among the liches. It grinned at them, eyes twinkling. Around its brows was a slender-spired crown, still silver-hued in places but mostly black and in a few spots green with age.
"So that was a king, or prince, or something," Semoor said slowly, giving Vangerdahast a look. "Is this some dark state secret?"
The wizard shook his head, putting out his hand again to keep Islif from striking the panel.
But Doust spoke again.."No, not the crown. Look above the spires."
The Knights peered. It was hard to see the crown's spires and the space above them clearly in the gloom, but from the doot Pennae said, "The end spire doesn't have a gem on top. The gemstone is floating in the air above the spire. So, Doust?"
"It wasn't there at all-the gem, that is-before we entered this room," Doust said. "I happened to look right at that skull with the crown."
"You're sure you haven't mistaken it for another?" Florin asked. "None of the other floating skulls are wearing crowns. Not even a circlet."
"I am haunted, truly haunted…," Semoor started to sing a well-known tavern song.
Islif gave his stomach a solid poke with the mace, and he stopped with a startled gasp.
"So we watch it to see if anything else happens," she said firmly. "Nothing else we can do, aye?"
"To the door, Wolftooth," Vangerdahast reminded Semoor. "Sulwood, why don't you keep a close eye on yon skull, now and henceforth?"
"I'll do that," Doust said, as Islif stepped forward ro menace the panel with the mace again. This time the Royal Magician stepped back and nodded to her.
She swung, connecting with a crash, and the panel split apart in blue-green fire-and that glow spat out bright arcs of lightning, hurling Islif away and making all the Knights scream as the wardings flared up bright blue-green around them.
Briefly blinded, none of the Knights saw that neither the lightnings nor the blue-green glow touched Vangerdahasr. He srood smiling in their midst.
"Now," Van
gerdahast said, "the hard part of this Unbinding begins. Be strong, my Knights. For just a little longer."
Brorn Hallomond licked his lips, drew in a deep breath and let it out again, threw back his head to stare at the ceiling-and then shrugged, held his sword ready, and stepped boldly forward into the magical glow.
It swallowed him.
A moment later, a dark shape arose from where it had been crouching on the stairs. Lorbryn Deltalon didn't have a sword to brandish, but he held his wand like a weapon as he walked warily across the cellar to the waiting portal. He hesitated for a moment and then stepped through.
Two faces that had watched the war wizard's disappearance drew back from where they'd been peering down the stairwell. Their owners traded glances.
Wizard of War Tsantress Ironchylde and Ornrion Taltar Dahauntul of the Purple Dragons exchanged a long look, then they shrugged in unison, drew wand and sword respectively, and started down the stairs to the portal.
The Unbinding had become a slow march of pain. Every time the Knights shattered a panel, lightnings shot throughout the wardings, searing everyone.
Grimly they plodded from room to room, the host of undead silently following. There were more than forty liches now, the lights of their eyes glittering hungrily. They pressed ever closer to the Knights as warding after warding fell away.
Whenever the Knights entered a room, another floating gem appeared out of nowhere-literally materializing out of the empty air-to join those already hanging above the spires of the largest floating skull s crown.
Thrice the Royal Magician tried to direct Jhessail or one of the priests to take a turn breaking a panel, until Florin and Islif had both told him to cease giving such orders. Their hair and faces scorched, the ranger and the fighter were taking turns swinging the mace now. They trudged along, bent and trembling between those ordeals.
The Knights could no longer see the glow of the next panel, but Vangerdahast seemed to know or be able to feel where they should strike next.
"Why aren't the lightnings harming you?" Jhessail asked the Royal Magician, as they trudged along yet another passage that looked very much like the rest.