"Does it matter?" Miltiades asked. "You're not thinking of using the portals to rummage through Netherese crypts, are you?"
Belgin thought of the cold emerald fire dancing in the eyes of the desert temple's dead warriors and the horrifying determination of the creature that guarded the place against intrusion. There are easier ways to make a living, he said to himself. Like hunting down doppelgangers.
"It might be handy to know where all those portals go, but I don't think I want to cross any more liches than I have to. I’ll leave their tombs in peace from now on."
He laughed at his own remark, but the thick dust and rot in the chamber got into his lungs, and he coughed until it felt like someone had stabbed him between the ribs. Gasping for air, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried not to notice the dark bloody smear on his glove.
Miltiades waited, frowning. "Can you continue?"
"I’ll live-for now, anyway. Lead the way."
The paladin grimaced and clapped one mailed hand to the sharper's shoulder, then turned and picked his way from the wreckage of the crypt. The ancient doors had stood at the end of a long corridor much like the one under Aetheric's palace, and a faint set of tracks marred the dust on the stone flagstones.
"No hard decisions yet," Miltiades observed, advancing down the hall. "She must have gone this way."
The passageway led several hundred feet before opening high in a dank and lightless cavern whose sides stretched away into the darkness. A cold, foul wind sighed through the chamber, hinting at vast gulfs and trackless mazes in the endless night. What kind of place is this? It must go on forever, Belgin thought. I can feel eyes in the darkness. Beneath them, a narrow ledge circled the upper portion of the cavern, with a steep scramble through a forest of stalagmites to the cavern floor. They dropped lightly from the mouth of the finished passage to the shelf of natural stone, peering down at the yawning darkness below. "How big is this place?" Belgin muttered.
"No one knows of a larger or more dangerous maze," Miltiades said. "Undermountain stretches for miles beneath the city and Mount Waterdeep. You wouldn't believe some of the things that inhabit Haalvar's dungeons, Belgin; keep your eyes open and watch your back down here."
"I really wish you'd kept that to yourself." The sharper glanced left and right, then slid down the slope to the cavern floor. He could sense water nearby, a lot of it; the wind was cold and damp, and the sound of the air seemed to indicate an immense cavern. At the bottom, a shelf of gray stone held a couple of muddy footprints. Carefully, he knelt to examine them. A few grains of wet sand remained in the tracks. "Stay toward the right," he said quietly. "I think she's following that wall."
"All right," agreed the paladin. He moved off into the darkness, keeping the dank cavern wall close by his right hand. Ahead, the sound of water grew louder, and Belgin became aware of a strong salty reek to the air. After a lifetime of piracy on the open main, he knew the smell of the sea. They followed the cavern wall until it met a dark, lapping arm of water a hundred yards or so from the passageway they'd come from. "Where did she go from here, Belgin? Can you tell?"
"Look here," the sharper said. Smooth, dark pebbles made up the shoreline, but a shallow groove showed where some of the pebbles had been displaced. "There was a boat here."
"Eidola took it?"
"I couldn't swear to it, Miltiades. It's almost impossible to track over stone, and she might have turned out away from the wall before she came here. The boat that made this mark might have been here minutes past, or it might have only landed once years ago." He stood and peered out over the Stygian lake. "Can you dim your magical light?"
"Of course," the paladin said. He lowered the hammer and allowed the silver light to fade.
As Belgin's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he became aware of a strange glimmer far off across the water. Phosphorescent green seemed to swirl and dance beneath the surface of the water, but beyond that a sickly yellow glow seemed to illuminate the far end of the cavern. "I think that's lantern light over there," he said. "Do you know where we are, Miltiades?"
The paladin nodded in the darkness beside him. "Yes, I think I do. It's Skullport."
"Skullport? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Trouble." Miltiades glowered across the underwater channel, his face unreadable in the gloom. "Thaf s where Eidola must be."
"How do you know?" asked Belgin.
"If there's anyplace in the world she can lose us, that will be it. Come on, we'd better find another boat." The paladin led the way as they started up the shoreline, scrambling and slipping on the wet rocks. They'd only gone a few dozen paces when Belgin suddenly lunged forward to catch the paladin's arm, motioning him to silence. "What is it?"
"Something's coming up behind us," the sharper whispered. As they stood in silence for a moment, the clatter of rocks and scrape of awkward footsteps in the darkness behind them was obvious. Belgin quietly moved out away from the shore into the center of the cavern, seeking to flank their pursuer. Behind him, he sensed Miltiades steeling himself for a fight. With a whispered prayer to Tyr, the paladin brightened his hammer to the fullest power of the spell, flooding the cavern with silver light.
"Who goes there?" he called in challenge.
"Miltiades? Is that you?" Stumbling out of the darkness, Jacob blundered into the light, shielding his eyes with his hand. The fighter held his sword at the ready, and his armor showed battle damage and sand scratches from the desert storm. "I never thought I'd see you again!"
"Jacob?" Miltiades clasped the fighter's arm. "I'm sorry we left you behind, but I'm glad to see you now."
"I understand; the quest comes first. You did the right thing, Miltiades. What happened to you after the storm hit?"
"We waited for you, but-"
"One moment," said Belgin, advancing out of the darkness. "Where is Rings?"
The fighter stood silent for a long moment, and then said flatly, "He didn't make it, sharper. He died in the city."
Belgin closed his eyes and sat down heavily on the cold stones. Kurthe, Brindra, Anvil, now Rings. Will any of us be left by the time this is all done? Any of us? The paladins watched him, but they kept their distance. They'd traveled with Rings only a few hours, and they didn't presume to offer any platitudes for Belgin. It would have been ridiculous. Of all of them, why is it that I'm the one still standing? the sharper thought bitterly. How much longer do I have, anyway? A month? Six months? But I'm alive, and they're all dead.
All dead.
Chapter 5
Betrayal
"I hate this place," Miltiades muttered beneath a heavy cowl. Eyes narrowed at the mindless dead who milled and trudged past them in the warrenlike streets, the paladin clutched his dark cloak closer to his breast and shifted the hammer in his hand. "When I've finished with the doppelganger, Fve a mind to muster a dozen or so of Tyr's bravest sons and return to set this wrong aright. It is an abomination in the eyes of the just."
Good luck, thought Belgin, but he kept his remark to himself. Skullport rambled and twisted in the darkness of the great sea cavern, illuminated by sickly yellow lanterns and green fox fire. Its dismal alleyways and ram shackle buildings reminded him of the worst pirate dens he'd seen in the Five Kingdoms, but this place was far more sinister than the rough-and-tumble seaports he knew. Skullport was a place of dark pleasures and grim designs, a place where things that could not abide the light of day chose to do their business.
"I don't like it much, either," Belgin admitted. "Best we do what we came to do and get out of here fast."
Miltiades's hood nodded. The paladin didn't care for Belgin's suggestion of a disguise, but he'd reluctantly agreed after the sharper had pointedly asked how many other paladins in shining armor he saw stomping around in Skullport's streets. "She must have friends here. I've heard that the so-called Unseen lurk somewhere in this dismal pit. Well start with them."
"Any idea of how to find them, Miltiades? They must be called the Unseen for some rea
son, after all," Jacob pointed out.
The big fighter brought up the rear of their small party, keeping a sharp eye out behind them. In order to conceal their Tyrian armor, both Jacob and Miltiades had borrowed dark cloaks from ally drunks who'd never need them again. While Miltiades steamed and stewed in his shroud, Jacob grinned ear to ear, obviously enjoying the stealthy approach.
"Question one of these wretched villains scuirying by," Miltiades said. "Noph's lasso ought to elicit the answers we need. Sooner or later, well find one who knows something."
Belgin rolled his eyes, but assented. "Fine. It lacks subtlety, but well try it your way. I suspect that flashing gold in one of these alehouses would only mark us as targets, anyway." He eased the rope into his hand and measured it carefully. Together, the three men waited in the mouth of a dark alleyway, watching the mindless dead come and go. Dozens of humans, drow, and more monstrous creatures passed while they watched, but almost all traveled in pairs or small groups, watching the streets carefully. Two times the three men lassoed solitary corsairs when no one else seemed to be paying attention, but the fellows they caught knew nothing of Skullport's Unseen. Jacob whistled merrily and bound them in the filth-strewn alleyway, out of sight of the street.
After a half-hour or so, a proud mageling sauntered down the street at a moment when no one else seemed to be near. At a nod from Miltiades, Belgin threw the lasso at her without a word. The braid seemed to leap out of his hand, directing itself into a tight loop as it settled silently over the mark. "Come here, and do not resist!" Belgin hissed. The mage stiffened and started to raise her hands, but the magic of the lasso trapped her.
Snarling in rage, she plodded toward the alleyway. "You have no idea who you're trifling with, fool! When I get free-"
"You will remain silent and answer only the questions I put to you," Belgin said. The fox-faced woman broke off abruptly, but her eyes were daggers of ice. "Have you ever heard of the Unseen?"
"Yes," the mage grated angrily.
"Do you know where they can be found?"
"No."
"Feel free to respond in something besides monosyllables," Belgin said wryly. "Do you know of any way we could find them?"
"Yes."
Miltiades snorted. "So how can we find them? What's the best way?"
Struggling to resist, the mage winced and tried to mumble. The lasso of truth dragged her words forth. "There is an alehouse called the Broken Pike, several hundred yards up the street. In the back room, a man named Marks buys and sells stolen baubles. He only pretends to be a fence, though; in truth he is a doppelganger who keeps his ear to the corsairs' tales. I know that he reports to others. Apply this damned lasso to him, and hell have to lead you to the Unseen."
"How do you know this?" Belgin asked suspiciously.
The woman glared at him. "I've used my magic on their behalf from time to time. Marks is the man I dealt with, and he paid me well."
"Are you a doppelganger, too?" "No," she grated.
Belgin looked at Miltiades and set one hand to his knife hilt. The paladin shook his head and quickly struck the mageling with one blow of his hammer, knocking her out. She crumpled to the ground, and the sharper released the lasso's hold, coiling it in his hands.
"Do you believe her?" Jacob asked warily.
"So far Noph's lasso has proved impervious to deceit," Miltiades said.
Belgin nudged the unconscious sorceress with his toe. "What about her? She seems a bad enemy to leave on our trail."
"Doubtless she has committed many crimes, but she aided us in her quest. It would be unjust to reward her with death." Miltiades hid his hammer under his cloak, and turned into the narrow street. "Come, we've wasted enough time. Every minute we delay increases Eidola's chances of escaping us altogether."
The streets of Skullport were silent and almost deserted. From time to time a zombie or skeleton would stagger past, engaged on some dark mission that kept its dead limbs moving, but the deeper Belgin followed Miltiades into Skullport, the fewer people he saw. Leaning out over the alleyway, the ramshackle buildings on either side narrowed the space overhead to a mere arm's length, enclosing them in a dank tunnel of shuttered windows and sagging porches. Thin, black mire oozed around their feet as they slogged from one dim circle of lantern light to the next.
"I don't like the feel of this place," Belgin said softly. "Something's wrong here."
"It took you this long to figure that out?" Jacob snapped.
"Peace, Jacob. Belgin is right," Miltiades said. He slowed and stopped, searching the street with his piercing gaze. In the flickering light of the next lamp, a ramshackle old building boasted a faded sign marked by a rusty polearm, maybe twenty paces ahead. The paladin frowned and tightened his grip on his warhammer. "The Broken Pike is just ahead. Come on."
Belgin followed, but as he glanced down at the ground to pick out his steps, he noticed a soft silver shadow dancing and moving across the dark mud and rotted wood. At the same time, a gelid malaise settled over him, his bones aching with preternatural cold. It's behind me, he realized as the dancing shadows grew darker, more sharply defined. Mouth dry, he turned like a sleepwalker to gaze on the thing that stalked him.
A grinning skull hovered in the air behind him, limned by a cold silver fire. Everything its argent flames illuminated seemed to acquire a faint dusting of hateful frost, boards splitting from the sudden cold, black mire frosting over in a filthy rime of ice. "Miltiades!" Belgin gasped in horror, recoiling from the apparition. He stumbled and fell, scrabbling backwards through the freezing muck as the silent skull approached. Beside him, Jacob whirled and shrank away in fear, backing into a dark alleyway. The thing ignored him and continued.
Sensing the cold and the wrong, Miltiades whirled to confront the creature, shedding his black cloak with one swift motion. "Stay your approach, creature of evil!" he barked, holding his hammer forward. "Leave us be! You have no power over the just."
"Miltiades of Tyr," the skull sang, its voice as thin and hateful as the keening of a banshee. "You have interfered with the dead of Skullport. Now you must pay for your disobedience."
"Miltiades! What's it talking about? What does it want?" Belgin gasped.
"I defied the spirits that hold this place in thrall the last time I visited," Miltiades rasped. "It seems that they've been waiting for my return."
With two swift bounds he closed with the silver death's-head and struck it with his hammer, but the weapon seemed to glance from the thing with little effect. From the blank eye sockets two sickly green rays sprang forth, blasting Miltiades back against the right-hand building with bone-jarring force. The paladin fell in a clatter of armor.
Howling, Jacob sliced at the thing with his sword but missed. Belgin attacked with his rapier, but the narrow point seemed to slide off the old bone like a pat of butter skittering across a hot pan. The skull ignored them both and struck at Miltiades again with the twin emerald rays, pummelling the holy warrior as he tried to find his feet.
"I can't stop this thing!" the sharper cried.
Beside him, Jacob backed up a couple of steps, glancing around. "More trouble coming up the alley," he announced. "I’ll handle it." The curly-haired fighter abandoned the floating skull and dashed back the way they'd come.
Belgin tried to stab the creature again, but his rapier glided away under the influence of some magical force each time he struck at the skull. He risked one quick glance down the street. Whate'ver's down there, Jacob had better handle it. I've got my hands full here. He saw nothing but impenetrable shadows and ruined buildings in that direction, and before he could make out what Jacob was up to, the skull thing turned on him.
"Sentence has been passed on Miltiades of Tyr. Do not interfere," it stated coldly.
Belgin stared, frozen to the spot by the creature's black gaze. Nearby, Miltiades groaned and pushed himself to his feet. The skull's jaws gaped open as if in laughter, and it turned away from the sharper to finish off the paladin. I've got to
do something! Wait… the building. That might work! The silver skull drifted beneath the overhanging porch to peer down at the paladin, almost as if it had a spectral foot to set on Miltiades's neck. For a moment, it drifted just underneath the rotten roof timbers of the buildings porch. With desperate strength, Belgin whirled and kicked hard at a rotten post, cracking it. A second kick knocked it free.
In a roaring crash of wood and debris, the porch collapsed, burying the skull under an avalanche of old timber. Belgin reeled back from the destruction, coughing from the dust and mold until his legs gave out. In between wracking gasps, he noticed Miltiades standing unsteadily, one hand clamped over a streaming wound in his side. The paladin picked his way over toward the sharper, hauling him upright.
"Where's Jacob?" Miltiades said. "We need to get off this street."
"He saw something behind us," Belgin rasped, but the act of speaking sent him into another paroxysm of coughing. When he looked up again, wiping his mouth, a pair of new silver skulls approached, these glowing with an azure blaze.
"Belgin of Edenvale, you have interfered with the dead of Skullport," one began. Its companion spoke in chorus: "Miltiades of Tyr-"
From the alley mouth beside them, a brilliant bolt of lightning stabbed forth, forking to impale both guardians on white skewers of energy. In the blink of an eye both were blasted to shards in a rolling thunderclap that left Belgin's ears ringing and his eyes dancing with spots. "What now?" he groaned.
Miltiades shook his head. "I know not." Grimacing in pain, he straightened and faced the darkness, hammer held lightly in one hand. His silver armor gleamed like a brand of faith in the stinking mire and rot of the dismal street. "Who goes there? Show yourself!"
"I should have expected you to start a war with the powers of Skullport the moment you returned, Miltiades," a woman's voice replied. Stepping into the light, a tall woman of exquisite beauty and iron determination appeared, tapping a slender wand in her hand. Despite himself, Belgin blinked in astonishment. It wasn't every day that he was rescued from certain death by beautiful women. "Come quickly. We must move fast to elude more of the skull guardians," she said.
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