by Ed Greenwood
There was a silken edge to the Serpent's voice that suggested magical persuasion was at work-powerful magic, judging from the chorus of angry and frightened yells that rose in response, and the general stampede after the nobles.
The wizard Tarthus glared up at Elaith Craulnober, but he merely smiled, stepped back into darkness, and vanished-as another thunderous crash shook the hall.
"The hall's coming down," Korvaun said in sudden understanding, "and the elf, bless his black heart, is getting the people out!"
A fierce grin engulfed Taeros's face. "Then it's the tunnels for us, after all."
They worked their way swiftly through the chaos. The stream of running tradesmen and crafters was melting to a trickle, leaving a handful of revelers whose avarice was more powerful than Elaith's compulsion. Greedy hands plucked swords and daggers and gems from those who'd never need them again.
Then Faendra Dyre stiffened and cried, "Father!"
The man who'd just come staggering out of the dust-filled archway into the other hall was dazed, his face covered with lines of dusty blood, and he did not seem to hear her. Yet under the stone-dust that made him almost entirely gray-white, it was Varandros Dyre clearly enough.
"Come on," she said, in a voice that was almost a sob, and flung herself at the stairs back down out of the gallery. The others exchanged dismayed glances and followed her.
"Dyre! What happened to you?" Jarago Whaelshod rose from snatching a dagger out of a sprawled noble's sheath and blinked at the stonemason.
Karrak Lhamphur was hastening down the hall with two swords in his hands to join them and the words, "Who's this?"
'This' was the highcoin-lass Nalys, a lit lantern in her hand and a worried frown on her face, stepping out of the dust to seek Varandros. He wheeled around, embraced her with a fierce grin, and growled, "Lead us, gel! The winecellars!"
She nodded, smiled, turned-and the three New Day stalwarts plunged into the swirling dust a pace ahead of Faendra's rush across the hall and shouts of, "Father! Father!"
A fresh booming swallowed her cries, and with an ear-splitting crash brought down the uppermost gallery onto the one below, all along one side of the feasting hall.
The wizard Tarthus shouted something to Madeiron. The Lord's Champion snatched up Piergeiron as if he was an infant rather than a tall and well-muscled man, and hurried back through the arch with Mirt and Tarthus close behind.
And the dust swallowed them.
The smiling weaponmaster stepped away from the sewer-wall he'd been leaning against.
"Here we stand, all mustered as the Master commanded! And may I add my pleasure at hearing of your safe recovery, Tincheron. The Master can call on powerful healing."
Golden eyes remained cold, and massive silver-scaled shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Indeed," the half-dragon said curtly. "You know your orders?"
"Hunt down and slay every monster-man we see. Otherwise, butcher older nobles and all guards wearing the livery of noble houses. No heirs, and no servants."
"Correct. As we're being so talkative, Lurlar, know that Lord Craulnober doesn't want the noble houses destroyed, only weakened. Younger nobles are far more… pliable."
"Corruptible," sneered one of the roughblades Lurlar had mustered.
"So we're not murdering nobles," Lurlar offered, "but ah, pruning them-gardener-like."
"Precisely. Come, efficient gardeners!"
Beldar Roaringhorn ducked around a pillar and drove his blade into the throat of a man who had horns like a bull thrusting straight forward from his temples.
With a bubbling roar of agony, the man spewed blood and went down. A torch guttered out nearby, plunging that part of the sewers into near-darkness. Everywhere men were running and stamping and grunting, and steel was skirling on warsteel. Off to the left, lamps bobbed wildly, and all around Beldar, men who were part monster were rushing and pouncing. As he watched, one stepped from pillar-shadows Beldar would have sworn were deserted and slapped a tentacle around a noble's neck, twisting with brutal force.
The old lord-Beldar didn't recognize him; probably a drone-uncle like Beldar himself might become, if he ever lived so long, not that the gods were likely to grant that-died in a red-faced, eye-bulging instant. Two monster-men swarmed the body for knives and coins almost before it hit the floor.
A blade thrust past Beldar's shoulder, so close that he heard the cloth of his tunic whisper as it was cut. Then something that looked like the maw of a lamprey spiraled at his face… and he was fighting for his life. Again.
Blood was everywhere underfoot, slick and slippery, and the bodies were Naoni tripped over huddled death for perhaps the twelfth time, stumbled, and fetched up bruisingly against a wall. Everywhere men were crossing swords in these tunnels, shrieking, shouting and dying, and there was no sign of Father or those who'd been with him, lost in the wild rush from the feasting hall down into these tunnels. Faendra was streaming silent tears but kept her lower lip firmly between her teeth to keep back her sobs-and held her dagger out and ready.
The dull, rolling boomings went on, slower and more ponderous, but showers of dust and grit fell at every echoing impact. Torches and lanterns flickered here and there in the gloom, and spell-glows of magical weapons flashed where stronger lights had failed.
They were in a warren of intersecting tunnels, the wine racks far behind. The Gemcloaks kept close together, fighting off nobles, frightened merchants, and what seemed like half the thieves in Dock Ward. The vicious half.
A man lunged out of a side way to topple a barrel, sending apples rolling underfoot. Korvaun and Taeros both flailed arms, cursed, and fell.
The man sprang forward, extending impossibly long arms. The fingers of his hands became long, slender biting snakes. One almost sank its fangs in Faendra's face but bit only hair as she shrieked and ducked away. Another struck at Lark's cheek, but Delopae's wicked dagger reached out of nowhere to slice away its tongue and part of its snout, trailing blood and venom, and the man roared in pain.
A moment later, Roldo and Starragar had ducked under those snake arms and buried their blades in the monster-man's ribs. He sagged to the unseen floor, sobbing and gurgling.
Naoni stumbled on rolling apples, went to her knees, and down the passage saw a cloak catch fire from a torch. It flared up brightly, casting light across a face she knew. "Baraezym!"
As he drove his belt-dagger deep into the burning man's throat, her father's surviving apprentice heard her and peered toward her in astonishment.
Two creatures who seemed more wolf than man, but with large crab-pincers instead of paws, promptly burst out of another passage and pounced on him.
"Get to Baraezym! Save him!" Naoni shouted, pointing, and Starragar ran past her, wincing as he crushed an apple underfoot and wrenched his ankle in the doing, and sprinted down the passage. Taeros scrambled up and after him, running hard.
"Faen?" Naoni gasped. "Are you-?"
Her words were lost in the sudden roaring charge of a man who came out of the darkness behind her, slashing at her with one long, furry arm that had the claws of a great bear.
Naoni and Faendra screamed as Korvaun slashed furiously from his knees, forcing the bear-man into a twisting sideways hop just as Lark sprang past, dagger flashing.
Throat laid open, the bear-man gurgled, staggered, raked the wall vainly with his claws… and died.
Fresh screams erupted down the tunnel, and someone far off shouted the name of a noble house like a battle-cry.
Then Korvaun roared in pain, steel clanged on steel very close by, and Naoni flung herself away and rolled in blood and apples, to come up facing Roldo Thongolir and Lark, furiously stabbing a man who looked like any back alley sneak-thief-except that rows of fanged mouths adorned both his bared forearms.
"All right back there?" Taeros called.
Lark turned with thief-blood all over her face, stepping back to let the dying man fall, and panted, "We'll live, Lord Hawkwinter. How fare you?"
"We've got Baraezym, but he's hurt. Starragar saw Karrak Lhamphur, alone and running that way."
"That" way was unknowable in the ill-lit gloom, of course, and Naoni found Faendra and clung to her as Korvaun and Taeros met and clasped hands, both breathing hard.
"All well?" Starragar inquired, half-carrying a stumbling Baraezym.
"Fighting is brisk," Phandelopae Melshimber replied almost proudly. "Any sign of Master Dyre? Or of any end to this foolishness?"
Her only answer was the approaching wail of a red-faced, portly noble, running for all he was worth. Four men in the dark breeches and jackcoats of Purple Silks servants were chasing him, long knives in their hands.
Another noble stumbled out of a side-passage with his own dark-coated pursuers close behind. The first lord burst right through the Gemcloaks, sobbing in despair-and Korvaun and Taeros closed together in his wake to meet the darkcoats with ready swords.
The next few breaths were frantic and bloody, with Taeros shouting in pain from sliced knuckles, a jackcoat sobbing as Korvaun ran him through, and steel striking against steel savagely enough to send sparks flying.
A jackcoat fell and rolled in under Taeros, seeking to topple him for easy stabbing. The Hawkwinter came down hard, but Lark jumped onto the thief's knife-wrist, and it was Taeros who struck first.
The man convulsed and sagged, dead or dying, and Roldo Thongolir bounded over him at the next jackcoat, whose blade was reaching for Taeros. The man struck aside Roldo's arm and blade with one hand and stabbed at Roldo's face with the other, slashing mainly hair and scalp as Roldo twisted desperately, knowing he was doomed to take the backslash.
Lark hurled herself feet-first into the jackcoat's chest, spinning him away. As she fell on Roldo, Taeros surged up to stand over them and drive back the next jackcoat.
Just behind them, Naoni screamed as a dagger slashed viciously through her sleeve. Her attacker had slipped around the fray, and was now stumbling helplessly forward as Faendra rolled hard into his shins. He grabbed Naoni's shoulder and dragged her down with him, hard, and then stabbed Nothing, as Delopae's knife caught his and held it, quavering, for just long enough as the noblewoman landed on him, for Lark to come scrambling over apples back to the man and sink her knife into his left eye.
Quite suddenly, jackcoats were fleeing into the gloom and there was no one left to fight. The Gemcloaks and their four revel-dates gasped and panted in the gloom, staring at each other.
"Well," Korvaun gasped, finding breath, "that was… impressive. Lark, remind me never to stand against you in battle."
"Aye," Starragar agreed, "Well done, Lark and all of you. Quite the warriors… we all are, coming to that. How many-"
"We can count the dead later," Faendra told him fiercely. "I want to find my father and get him safely out of all this. Is anyone hurt?"
"If someone'll bind my ready-cloth around my fingers," Taeros panted, "I'm good to go on."
Baraezym screamed suddenly. Roldo and Starragar cursed and flung themselves toward him-in time for Varandros Dyre's last apprentice to bounce limply at their feet and his slayers stalk forward over his body, advancing to attack.
There were two of them, misshapen nightmares of horns, jaws and great bone-hook talons, far more monsters than men. Roldo's sword broke in his first angry slash, and a talon tore open his tunic and sent him reeling. Both beasts reached for Starragar, and Taeros and Korvaun sprang hastily forward, swords flashing, only to fall in unison as a snakelike tail lashed across their ankles.
One beast sprang over them, pouncing on the lantern Naoni was trying to re-light, and as she screamed and talons lashed at her face, Lark Evenmoon leaped in to hack them aside.
The creature squalled in rage and pain, stabbing down with its great bone-hook at Lark's unprotected side.
A tall, dark-gowned figure flung herself out of the gloom to shield Lark, taking that fearsome thrust through her own flank with a groan.
Writhing in agony, Phandelopae Melshimber struck at her slayer with her dagger-wild slashes that sliced only air.
Two swords, thrust with all the snarling strength Korvaun and Taeros could put behind them, burst through the monster's shaggy breast and struck sparks when they clashed together. Lantern-oil that had spilled on Baraezym's body flared into dancing life and Roldo and Starragar could see to hack the other beast down.
Starragar let out a scream of his own as he saw the bloody bone-hook drawn out of Delopae and flung down his blade in wild and clawing haste to get to her. "I-are-"
Phandelopae Melshimber struggled to speak, her eyes fierce, but all that came out of her lips was blood. She lifted a hand, trying to clasp Starragar as he cradled her and sobbed, "I should never have asked you here this night! Delopae! I should never…"
Quite suddenly, the light in her eyes went out and her wavering hand fell back.
Starragar Jardeth burst into tears-and horrified glances were exchanged above him as their black-clad friend sobbed over a corpse-by the light of another one, now burning in earnest.
Beldar Roaringhorn was tired of hearing death-screams and heartily sick of fighting down the urge that raged in him, telling him to run, to save himself for greater things.
He strode through the gloom, heading back up to the winecellars. Bodies were everywhere, fallen torches flickering among sprawled, silent men.
He had to end this. He had to stop the insane Golskyn and his beastmen, yet he dared not use his beholder eye-its whispering hold over him was growing stronger. Eyepatch firmly in place, he stalked on, his sword sharp, ready, and in his hand.
The world seemed to shift, just a little, and the voice he'd been struggling to ignore rose in strength. This way. Just a few paces more. THIS way.
Overhead, with thunderous tread, the Walking Statues of Waterdeep took a few more steps, rearranging themselves just so, at the bidding of… of Golskyn, presumably, speaking through him!
"A man I really must find and slay," Beldar Roaringhorn whispered grimly, as he came up through puddles of wine and shattered glass into ever-brighter light.
Someone had been at work conjuring light in the shattered Purple Silks and banishing the dust, revealing a great webwork of cracks running from the huge hole in the ceiling to great gaps in the walls. Most of the tapestries had fallen, and the leaded panes of the windows behind them, too. As Beldar trudged across rubble to join the silently staring people in the feasting hall, he could see what they were staring at through those gaps.
Gigantic stone legs, blocking every way out of the trembling, crumbling festhall. Legs attached to stone bodies that towered over the shattered roof, like disapproving Watchmen standing above a fallen citizen.
The Walking Statues of Waterdeep had surrounded the Purple Silks and made of it a prison-a prison that with a few blows or kicks they could collapse into a tomb for all still inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Beldar's jaw clenched in fury. So Golskyn could control the Statues through him, without his knowledge.
Well, he didn't want this power, but by all the gods, he'd not let the mad priest use it!
Beldar growled aside the burning pain in his eye and hurled his will into a silent command. Overhead, the Statues took a single step back.
Mrelder looked up, hearing and feeling the Walking Statues moving. That was it; this battle was lost. He put a firm hand on his father's shoulder and steered the old priest firmly toward a side tunnel and escape.
But Golskyn pulled away, giving his son a scornful glare. Once it would have wounded Mrelder deeply, but he no longer desired his father's approval or believed the insane plans of Lord Unity could be made real.
"We can leave-or we can die," he said bluntly.
Golskyn raised hands that flickered with deadly magic, in clear warning. "I go no farther without the successor! Use your spells to bring us Beldar Roaringhorn!"
Mrelder wasn't sure that was still possible, but he nodded curtly and began to weave the sorcery that would roar commands insid
e the nobleman's head.
Terrible pain lanced through Beldar's skull. He tore off his eyepatch and sank to his knees, trembling. The beastman he'd been about to slay stopped his lurching retreat and trotted forward, spiked mace rising for an easy kill.
Beldar's beholder eye responded, forcing up the head that held it, to let it glare.
The noble watched a sore erupt on the beastman's face, oozing and spreading with incredible speed. It was rather like watching a wax party decoration tossed across a flame-if that wax figure melted, screaming, into greenish ooze and exposed bone.
The pain in Beldar's head ebbed, and he stared in revulsion at his dying foe. No one and nothing should die like this! He swung his blade across the beastman's throat and turned away as the gurgling scream faded.
Something stirred in his throbbing head: the faint echo of someone else's surprise.
So his watcher hadn't expected that mercy-slaying. Good. Then he knew that Beldar Roaringhorn was not yet a helpless puppet. His choices were still his own.
And by the gods, he would choose well!
Taeros coughed smoke and staggered to his feet. The foulness was billowing from burning corpses. Nearby, Starragar clung to his dead love, still sobbing. Roldo's tunic hung in slashed rags, but he stood wincing as Faendra worked to staunch the blood running from the gashes across his chest. Naoni knelt over Korvaun, who lay sprawled on the floor. Lark stood guard between her mistresses, eyes alert and dagger ready. Her gaze touched his, and Taeros blinked at the realization that she stood ready to leap to his defense, too.
A soft murmur came from the floor, and Taeros looked again at Naoni and Korvaun.
A good pair of Helmfast breeches had been slit away, revealing a row of round, red welts on his thigh. Naoni was lying beside Korvaun now, her head on his chest and her face deathly pale. Korvaun held her with one arm, but his other twitched, often and sharply.
Fear swept through Taeros in an icy tide. "Up, man," he said gruffly. "We're far from done yet."