T he Night of the Eye was the time when the moons that were the representations of the gods of magic were in alignment, forming an unblinking eye in the heavens and granting power to their wizards throughout Ansalon.
But that night, the moons did not rise. The light of Solinari did not gild the lakes with silver. The red light of Lunitari did not set the skies aflame. The black light of Nuitari, visible only to those who had dedicated themselves to him, was invisible to all. The moons were gone. And so was the magic. The Eye had closed.
Across the continent, the death squads of Queen Takhisis went forth to seek out the hapless, powerless wizards and destroy them. Squadrons of draconians, armed with swords and knives, dutifully set out from the temple in Neraka. One squad went to the ramshackle Tower of High Sorcery. Finding no one there, they set it ablaze. Another went to the mageware store of Snaggle on Wizard's Row. He was gone, much to their astonishment, for Snaggle had never before been known to leave his shop.
Angry and frustrated, the draconians ransacked the shop, removing the neatly labeled containers from the shelves and emptying their contents into the street, then setting them on fire. The draconians smashed bottles and broke jars and confiscated artifacts to be taken back to the temple. When the shop was empty, they set fire to the building. Other squads were dispatched to the Broken Shield and the Hairy Troll to arrange for the "accidental" fires that would burn down the taverns and, by sad mischance, kill the owners.
The squadron sent to the Broken Shield was led by Commander Slith, and he was not happy. Slith didn't give two clicks of his scales for wizards and would just as soon see them slit from gut to gullet as not. But he liked Talent Orren. Slith liked Talent and he especially liked the steel Talent paid him. Slith not only procured many of the goods Talent sold on his black market, the draconian was paid a commission on all customers he sent Talent's way.
Slith was reflecting gloomily that with his income about to be reduced to nothing except his army pay, which he had not received, he no longer had a reason to hang around Neraka. Slith did not belong here. He was a deserter who had left the army long before, only stopping in Neraka because he'd heard there was steel to be made. The sivak tramped down the dark street, racking his brain, trying to figure out some way to disobey orders without actually having to disobey orders. He became aware that one of his subordinates was trying to claim his attention.
"Yeah, what?" Slith snarled.
"Sir, there's something wrong," said Glug.
"If you mean Takhisis forgot to give you a brain, that's already common knowledge," Slith muttered.
"It's not that, sir," said Glug. "Look at the tavern. It's… well, it's quiet, sir. Too quiet. Where's the party?"
Slith came to a halt. That was a damn good question. Where was the party? There were supposed to be bonfires, crowds in the streets, crowds that had been paid well to set fire to the tavern. Slith saw lights in the Broken Shield, but there was no raucous laughter, rowdy merriment, or drunken revelry. The Broken Shield was quiet as a tomb.
That thought was not comforting. He looked up the street, and he looked down. He saw no one.
"What do we do, sir?" asked Glug.
"Follow me," Slith said.
He marched across the street, his squadron scraping along behind.
Slith approached the door to the Broken Shield. A large human, who went by the name of Maelstrom and who was one of Slith's particular pals, was acting as guard.
"No dracos," Maelstrom said, and he pointed to the sign, "Humans only."
"We're here in the name of the Dark Queen," said Slith.
"Oh, well, that's different," said Maelstrom, and he grinned and opened the door. "Go right in."
"You men wait," Slith ordered, leaving his squad in the street.
He walked inside the tavern and came to a dead stop, blinking in astonishment.
The tavern was packed. Every table was occupied, and those who hadn't been able to find a seat lined the walls. Most of the patrons were soldiers, but a large number of dark pilgrims were there as well, seated in places of honor near the front. Slith recognized some of Talent's best black market customers. As the sivak stood, gaping, one of the dark pilgrims rose and began to lead the crowd in prayer.
"Forgive us, Dark Majesty," the pilgrim cried out, raising her hands. "We ask you to restore to us the moons you have swept from the heavens! Hear our plea!"
As the soldiers and pilgrims began to chant the name of Takhisis, Talent Orren, spotting Slith, made his way through the crowd.
"What in the Abyss is going on here?" Slith asked, staring.
"You are welcome, Commander," said Talent solemnly. "You and your men. Come, join us in our supplications to the Dark Queen."
Slith gave a snort. His tongue flicked in and out of his fangs. "Cut the crap, Talent," he rasped.
"The Dark Queen has taken the moons out of the sky," Talent continued in loud and reverent tones. "We have come together to seek her forgiveness." His voice dropped. "All of us have come together, if you take my meaning."
Slith saw old man Snaggle looking extremely irate. Judging from the way he was squirming, he was tied to his chair. A female kender sat beside him, grinning widely. And there was Lute, his great bulk overlapping a stool, his two dogs lying at his feet.
"You were tipped off," Slith said in sudden realization.
"Join me in prayer!" Talent cried loudly.
He grabbed hold of Slith's shoulder and drew him close and whispered in his ear. "I think it only fair to warn you, my friend, that these pious men, who have come here tonight to pray, are armed to the teeth and outnumber you three to one. They will take it very badly if you interrupt their prayers, and they'll take it far worse if you burn down their tavern."
Slith saw that everyone in the crowd was watching him. He saw hands resting on knives and clubs, the hilts of swords, or sacred medallions.
"I suppose they're holding prayer services in the Hairy Troll tonight as well," said Slith.
"Indeed they are," said Talent.
Slith shook his head. "You won't get away with it, Talent. The Nightlord will be furious when he finds out. He'll come here himself to arrest you."
"He'll find the birds have flown the coop," said Talent. "Maelstrom and Mari and Snaggle and myself."
Talent's expression grew serious and, under the cover of some particularly loud exhortations, he said softly, "Have you seen Iolanthe?"
"The witch? No."
"I don't know where she is. She was supposed to meet me here."
Slith eyed his friend. The sivak was not particularly good at reading the emotions of humans, probably because he didn't really give a rat's ass, but Talent's affliction was so obvious, the draconian couldn't very well miss it. There being no female draconians, Slith had never experienced that particular emotion himself, and although sometime he regretted the loss, at times such as this, seeing the pain of worry and fear on Talent's face, Slith considered himself lucky.
"Iolanthe'll be all right," Slith said phlegmatically. "The witch can take care of herself. If it's any comfort, she wasn't at home when they burned down her house."
Since Talent didn't seem particularly cheered by the news, Slith changed the subject, "Where will you go?"
"Wherever the forces of Light are fighting the Dark Queen. The army will be hunting for us. We need a couple of hours start."
Talent pressed a large purse that jingled with the sound of steel coins into the draconian's hand. Slith weighed it and did some rapid calculations in his mind.
"I hear the Hairy Troll is serving free dwarf spirits," said Talent.
Slith grinned. His tongue flicked out of his mouth. "I suppose I should go investigate."
He stuffed the purse into his belt, then gave a sigh. "I guess this means our little business venture has come to an end."
"It's all coming to an end, Slith," said Talent quietly. "The long night is almost over."
Slith patted his purse. "I'm thinkin' all hell's going to break loose around here. I might just take this opportunity to retire from the military-again. Join up with some buddies of mine."
"Build that city you're always talking about," said Talent.
Slith nodded. "Good luck to you, Talent. It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
"Same here. Good luck to you."
The two shook hand and claw. Slith saluted Talent, then turned in brisk military fashion on his heel, and marched back out the door. He cast a glance and a grin at Maelstrom, who winked in return.
Slith's troops were disappointed when they heard they were not to burn down the Broken Shield, but cheered up immediately when he told them they were going to the Hairy Troll.
"Could be they're serving bad dwarf spirits," Slith said. "You'll need to taste them to find out."
"Where are you going, sir?" asked Glug.
"I'll be along," said Slith. "Take the boys and go on ahead. I'll meet you there. Don't drink all the dwarf spirits before I get there."
Glug saluted and ran off. The squadron pounded eagerly behind him.
Slith stood in the streets, gazing at the temple that writhed in the distance. He lifted his clawed hand in farewell and turned and walked in the opposite direction.
"Good luck, Your Majesty," he called out over his shoulder. "I have a feeling you're going to need it."