Two nights before the expedition was set to leave, Majandrafound herself navigating the torchlit streets of Rel Mord with Bredeth. The blue-gray shadows of dusk had finally deepened into true darkness, and a heavy winter mist swirled across the ground like some undulating serpent. The city’swinding streets were mostly empty of traffic, as many citizens had retired to taprooms or the familiar comfort of home and hearth. A few, however, braved the chill air and the shadows, walking openly beneath the safety of torches and oil lamps, intent on their own business. Others slid in between the shifting shadows of old buildings and alleyways.
Majandra kept a constant watch for the footpads and cutpurses that made the night their home. Not for the first time she cursed the heavy sacks and packages both she and her companion practically had to drag through the street.
“What in the name of the Nine Hells are we going to do withall this clothing?” she complained. “We’re going to be spending months in aswamp for the gods’ sakes, not wintering with the Ice Barbarians.”
Bredeth, already several paces ahead of the half-elf, stopped and turned. “You know that Phathas tries to plan for any eventuality,” he said.“It does appear, however, that our dear mage may be planning a bit too hard,eh?” With that, the young noble shouldered his burden and staggered back on hiscourse.
Majandra stared after him, puzzled. For the past week, the two of them had spent a great deal of time purchasing provisions, haggling with caravan masters, and running errands for both Phathas and Vaxor. But in the last two days, she’d seen a decisive shift in the normally sour nobles attitude. Gonewere the tantrums and highborn disdain for physical labor, the refusal to carry anything without the aid of a servant, and all of the protestations of a pampered heir. Tonight, he’d labored hard, making several trips to the merchantswithout complaint, and he had even offered to go to the Royal University to pick up several scrolls that Phathas feared he might need on the road. Quite unlike the acid-tongued snob she usually dealt with. And the bard was almost certain that the noble’s last statement had been an attempt at levity. Unbelievable,Majandra thought, as she hurried to catch up to his rapidly retreating form.
The two traveled for quite some time in silence, and the bard listened with fascination at the nocturnal voice of the city. The deep-throated bark of a dog, the yowl of an upset alley cat, the cries of merriment and anger rising from inns and public houses, even the faintly threatening tread of feet in the shadows-all of it combined to form a rich symphony of sound thatsurrounded her, its powerful chords touching her with a profound sense of mystery and promise, hope and despair. She sighed and wondered idly if she’dever be able to capture the essence of this city in her own music. That would be a work worthy of a master bard.
A few more turns and the two arrived in the wealthier section of the city. Majandra noted, without surprise, that everything seemed muted here, dulled. There were fewer people on the streets, fewer taprooms. Looking into the windows and elaborate stained glass portals of the surrounding houses one saw mostly darkness. The half-elf knew that beneath this placid exterior there existed a vibrant and dangerous world-a world of lavishly appointeddrawing rooms, sumptuous parlors, and decadent boudoirs where noble and merchant alike gossiped, schemed, and seduced each other in a complex game of politics and survival. Outside, however, everything was quiet and still.
Majandra cast a glance at her companion and was surprised to see his normally pursed lips drawn back in a slight smile. He walked smoothly in the shadowed lane, despite the heavy burden slung over one shoulder, and the half-elf had the impression that if it weren’t for the cumbersome gear hecarried, Bredeth would have been skipping toward the Platinum Shield.
The noble must have caught her quizzical gaze, for he slowed his pace a bit and stared back. Trapped, Majandra could do no more than smile sheepishly and quickly turn away. Despite their polite interactions this evening, the tension of their earlier fight still lay between them, and like a phase spider, it sprang up at various times. The bard expected a spiteful reprimand or other such recrimination, but was surprised when Bredeth resumed his former pace, smile still intact.
She was even more surprised when, a few moments later, he broke the silence. “It’s really going to happen, isn’t it?” he asked. “After somany months of planning and research, we’re really going to do it.”
So that’s it, Majandra thought, hearing the noble’s tenorvoice ring with excitement. Bredeth was giddy over the thought of playing hero. Well, let’s see how well he does when we’re mired knee-deep in swamp sludge witha host of biting insects crawling through every chink in armor and clothing.
“Yes,” she agreed, keeping her tone positive. “And wecouldn’t have done it without Phathas and the support of Vaxor’s church.”
Bredeth nodded, ignoring or completely missing the bard’sgentle reminder.
“This is our chance Majandra, a chance to do something for my… the people of Nyrond,” he said with only the briefest of hesitations.
Perhaps she was being too hard on the young noble, she thought as they finally approached the Platinum Shield. It was clear that hecared deeply for the folk who lived their lives within the borders of the kingdom-even if he was trained to lord himself over those who were of “lesser”station.
“Perhaps, once we have restored Nyrond,” Majandra said asthey veered toward the small servants entrance to the inn, “we can help thenobility learn to trust and believe more in the dignity and talents of those whom they lead.”
Bredeth snorted as the bard finished. “Now why in all theworld would we want to do that?” he asked, almost knocking down the servant whohad opened the door as he muscled past. “There’s a reason why we lead them, anda reason why they need to be led.”
Majandra swore softly and staggered into the servant’shallway of the Platinum Shield, arms almost numb from carrying her burden across the city. She knew that her companion’s change of heart was too good to be true.“Constant as a noble’s arrogance,” she repeated the old adage.
Preoccupied by these thoughts, Majandra failed to see the sharp-eyed lad slip into the doorway behind her. Nor did she see the splash of scarlet beneath his worn servant’s livery.
* * *
Durgoth Shem stood in the darkened alleyway and studied the elegant building before him. A cruel smile played across his face. Days of bribing merchants, threatening servants, and following what leads they could uncover had finally brought them to their quarry.
Although Luna, the great moon, cast a half-lidded eye down upon the city this evening, thick clouds obscured its silvered gaze, hiding Celene, the lesser moon altogether, and deepening the shadows. It was, he thought, the perfect night for a hunt. Their prey would have no idea what hit them. He’d sent Adrys ahead earlier, disguised as a servant. The foolish nobleshad been so wrapped up in their puerile chatter that they hadn’t noticed the ladslinking in behind them. The apprentice had returned an hour later with all of the information they needed.
There were six of them, holed up in a large suite on the top floor. Four doors led off the main chamber into separate bedrooms, but it was the mage’s room that concerned Durgoth the most-for that was the most likelylocation of the group’s scrolls and maps. With that information in hand, hewould have an easier time locating the tomb.
A pity, he thought for a moment as he rubbed hands together against the chill night air, that they didn’t have time to wipe them all out.But the wealthy quarter of a city was no place for a pitched battle. They would have precious little time before the sentinels arrived. No, the plan was simple: Durgoth would cause a large enough diversion to draw the nobles from their rooms, while Sydra and Eltanel would, with a small complement of thieves from the guild, secure the upper suite and retrieve the scrolls. After some discussion, it was decided that the swift-footed monk would remain outside the inn to “discourage” any pursuit.
As if reading his mind, Jhagren stepped from the shadows of the inn and signaled. Although he knew the monk couldn’t see him, Durgoth noddedhis understanding. Everyone was in place. It was time for the diversion.
The cleric cleared his mind, taking three deep breaths. While less difficult than the magic that created his golem, this summoning spell took a great deal of concentration. Softly, the cleric intoned the words until he felt the mystic portal open. Reality shifted around him as planar forces collided and intermixed. Durgoth focused his will and called upon the creature he needed, and his summons rang through the planes. At last he felt an answer. It came, guided by his master’s power, and he sent it to the place fixed firmlyin his mind. He shuddered once as he felt the planar portal shut. An icy wind blew hard between the buildings of Rel Mord as Durgoth completed the words to the spell. Despite this, sweat beaded thickly upon the cleric’s brow. He wiped atit absently and watched through the Platinum Shield’s windows as a reddish glowpulsated within the common room.
Durgoth smiled.
It was only a matter of time.
Kaerion woke suddenly to the sound of screaming. Years of campaigning across the continent and the natural instincts of a warrior brought him rolling to his feet, sword in hand. He scanned the room for signs of immediate danger.
Though the fire in the hearth had burned to embers, he could see Gerwyth shouldering his leather quiver and strapping on short swords. In the muted red glow of the coals, the elf looked bathed in blood.
The screams continued, followed by the sound of breaking glass from the common area below. Free from immediate danger, Kaerion allowed himself to relax just a fraction.
“What do you think it is-thieves, assassins?” he askedGerwyth in a cautious whisper.
The elf shook his head. “No. I’m not sure what it is,” hereplied, “but I have a very bad feeling about it.” Finished with the lastadjustments to his bow, he slapped Kaerion on the back. “Are you coming, Kaer,or should I ask our guests to wait until you’ve had a bath?”
Kaerion grunted as Gerwyth turned and ran out of the room. Quickly, Kaerion grabbed his shield and strapped it to his forearm. There wasn’tenough time to don his entire suit of armor, but the curved steel of an embossed shield-all that was left of his once-famous field dress-had served him wellthese past years.
Blearily, he stumbled through the door and into the main suite, shaking his head to clear the last cobwebs of sleep from his mind. Not for the first time, he envied Gerwyth’s ability to snap out of his nightlyreverie at a moment’s notice. It was a trait that had saved their lives manytimes, and he found himself wishing for that ability right now. Not willing to waste another moment, he drew a few quick breaths and launched himself down the stairs to the common area.
The grisly sight that greeted him nearly froze his blood. The elegance of the inn’s taproom lay in bloody shambles. Tables and chairs laysplintered and broken on the ground, amid a pile of bodies who looked as if they had been punctured with a thousand sharp needles. Blood pooled on the floor and lay spattered across the walls.
In the center of the destruction, standing among the shattered detritus of wood and glass, stood one of the most terrifying creatures Kaerion had ever seen. Nearly eight-feet tall, the hulking figure lashed out with a set of razor sharp claws and tore the throat out of a man who charged it with a sword. The victim’s sword clattered to the ground and the creaturestalked forward, intent on the remaining patrons of the inn, who were knocking each other over in an attempt to flee.
In the remaining light of the taproom, Kaerion could see that what he’d first thought armor was actually a thick collection of wicked barbscovering the monster’s whole body-including the length of a meaty tail thatwhipped back and forth behind the creature’s substantial bulk. The barbsglistened with blood.
At that moment, Kaerion heard a familiar voice shout something at the creature. He looked again at the panicking crowd and saw both Vaxor and Majandra. The two had placed themselves in front of the crowd.
“Gerwyth, we have to do something to distract that… thing,” Kaerion shouted. It was clear that the two nobles couldn’t hold outmuch longer. The bard’s hair was caked with blood that streamed down from avicious wound on the temple, and the priest’s once-shining chainmail lookedseverely battered and rent in several sections.
The elf nodded assent and knelt. “I have just the thing, myfriend,” he said, and then in one fluid motion drew two arrows from his quiver,knocked his bow, and released them in swift succession. The wooden missiles flew unerringly across the space and caught the creature between barbs in the juncture of neck and shoulder.
They had no effect.
The creature opened its mouth, revealing row upon row of needle sharp teeth, and let out a high-pitched ululation. Kaerion dapped hands to ears and watched in horrified fascination as the monster advanced. The twin arrows fell from the monster, as if worked out by unseen hands.
Gerwyth let out a curse and grabbed two more arrows. This time he rubbed the curved length of his ash bow and spoke several words in Elvish. The weapon’s silvery runes pulsated with a blue-tinted glow as theranger took aim and fired. This time, the arrows streaked across the room, leaving a trail of blue fire in their wake.
The creature let out another wail, this one even worse than before, as the missiles pierced the hollow beneath its right arm. It stopped its advance and whipped itself around to face Kaerion and Gerwyth. The creature’stail struck out behind it, and only Vaxor’s hastily raised shield protected himfrom a deathblow to the head.
Kaerion rushed forward to meet the creature, swinging his own sword in an arc. The steel rang loudly as it struck the monster square in the chest. Sparks flew out from the violent contact, but the creature did not slow. He ducked once as the figure lashed out with its own razor sharp claw, just barely missing him. He took a step back, hoping to find some weak spot on the beast-
And cried out as the monsters tad struck him hard on his shieldless side. The pain was incredible. It was as if thousands of needles penetrated his skin and were simultaneously making their way through his veins toward his heart. He felt as if his blood had turned to ice and his stomach churned with a familiar sensation-fear.
Kaerion cried out again as the walls of the inn melted away and he found himself surrounded by walls of solid stone-white stone, carved andworked like the walls of a temple. He knew this place, and the knowledge caused him to choke with panic. This was the scene of his disgrace.
“No!” he shouted in defiance, and the stone wallsdisappeared.
Kaerion lay on the ground, curled up in a ball. Around him, he could see Majandra and Vaxor attacking the barbed beast, keeping it distracted, unable to concentrate on killing its fallen victim. Three more arrows thudded into the monster, one catching it in its baleful red eye, and at last it gave ground.
Kaerion rolled to his feet. Anger had replaced the fear that had chilled him, and he let out a bellow as he rushed in. The beast struck out with its barbed tad, but he managed to deflect the blow with his shield. The shock of that contact nearly broke his forearm, but he kept pressing forward. Twice he landed blows that would have felled a bugbear, but the monster just shrugged them off. The third time, Kaerion blocked the creature’s razor clawwith his own blade and then spun, slicing out with his sword as he turned with his hips.
The steel bit deeply into the creatures throat and it let out a shocked gurgle. A small trickle of steaming black blood fell on to the blade, and then the wound closed, pushing the blade out.
Kaerion shouted in frustration. He backed away, letting Vaxor and Majandra keep the creature busy. Another two arrows buzzed angrily as they struck the creature, this time in the chest. Their enemy let out a roar and swept his tail before him, knocking Majandra and Vaxor out of the way. Quickly, the beast turned and faced Gerwyth. It pointed the wicked curve of a single claw at the elf archer and spoke a single, horrific word. A green bolt of energy shot out from the beast’s claw. Kaerion saw the elf try to roll out of the way, butit was too late. A green bubble of energy coalesced around the ranger, freezing him in place.
“Here, take this!” Majandra shouted at him and threw her ownblade at Kaerion. “I have to help Vaxor.” She indicated the fallen cleric, whowas struggling to rise.
Kaerion reached down and took the blade, catching a glimpse of a silvery glow before he was forced to dodge another barbed claw.
Time seemed to slow as Kaerion met the creature’s blows withsword and shield, his world reduced to the ring and clash of steel on barbed flesh. It wasn’t until the creature launched forward with both claws that he sawhis opening. Ducking under the beast’s attack, Kaerion let his momentum carryhim forward and slightly left of the creature. With a curse, he spun and brought his sword down hard on the meaty expanse of tail.
The beast recoiled as the mystic blade severed the section of tail. Kaerion tried to take advantage of the beast’s vulnerability, but hissword had bitten too deeply into the wood of the inn’s floor. He could not raiseit up.
It only took a moment for the barbed monster to recover, and Kaerion found himself hastily raising his shield. One of the creature’s clawedhands struck him hard on the shoulder, laying open muscle and sinew. The other batted away his shield and then lashed out, catching him directly in the chest.
Numbed by loss of blood and fatigue, he could not muster the strength to free himself. The creature chuckled low in its throat as it brought Kaerion inexorably closer to its spiked chest. Once impaled, the fighter knew that he wouldn’t survive long.
Just then, he heard Vaxor’s voice, deep and intense, chantingover the sounds of combat and the cries of the frightened crowd. A circle of white light formed behind the creature, a circle whose intensity grew by the moment. The beast must have noticed it, for it stopped trying to pull Kaerion closer and turned to look.
The circle burned brilliantly now, like a miniature sun. With a high-pitched squeal, the monster threw Kaerion to the ground and fled.
Kaerion cast about the room and saw Vaxor, bloodied and bruised, holding a section of the beast’s severed tail above his head with onehand. The other traced holy sigils in the air, glyphs that remained visible, burning with unearthly potence in the panicked atmosphere of the inn.
Suddenly, the circle of light spun open, like the iris of a human eye. Power flooded into the room, white-hot and palpable. Kaerion nearly wept at the familiar presence. Vaxor had called upon the power of Heironeous, and the god answered, filling the room with a fragment of his puissance.
Without thinking, Kaerion fell to his knees. Never in the time since his betrayal had he placed himself so close to the power of the god he had once served. The presence was like a knife that cut open a half-healed wound, and Kaerion ached with the sense of loss that swept through him.
The creature, on the other hand, screamed in agony as tendrils of energy reached from the circle, pulling the creature toward its opening. It struggled vainly against the god-wrought force, and Kaerion watched in fascination as the monster fell into the opening and disappeared with a final, high-pitched wail.
The pulsating circle remained open a few more moments. A sound like thunder filled the room, causing those members of the crowd who were still alive to dive on the floor with their heads covered. Kaerion cast a glance at Vaxor and knew, by the look of complete devotion that crossed the priest’sface, that the phenomenon had nothing to do with the activities of a normal thundercloud. It was clear that Heironeous had spoken-words that only thefaithful could hear.
The circle irised closed and then disappeared, plunging the room into stunned silence. Kaerion watched as Vaxor fell to his knees, whether from his wounds or from some movement of faith Kaerion could not be sure. Panting, he picked up Majandra’s sword and moved toward Gerwyth, who still stoodfrozen at the stairs landing.
Before he could offer any assistance, an explosion from somewhere upstairs caused the already damaged building to buckle. Kaerion spun around and saw Majandra helping the priest to his feet. She looked back at him, eyes wide. “Phathas!” she shouted. “He’s still upstairs!”
“Vaxor, see to Gerwyth. Majandra and I will head up to thesuite. Follow as soon as you can.”
In the heat of battle, Kaerion’s voice had assumed a ring ofcommand, carrying easily over the worried shouts and murmurings of the crowd In his haste to aid the old mage, he did not see Vaxor’s raised eyebrow before thecleric moved toward the frozen elf.
Turning, Kaerion launched himself up the carpeted stairs, conscious of Majandra’s worried breathing behind him. A few moments later, theyplunged through the doorway of their suite and into the heart of chaos. Tables and chairs lay smashed or overturned in various parts of the rooms, and several tapestries were pulled from their hangings. One entire wall of the suite had disappeared, replaced by a flaming wreck of blackened wood and cinders. A chill wind blew threw the room, stirring ash and fanning small flames that flickered across the carpet and licked at the wood ceiling.
Phathas leaned feebly against the frame of a door, surrounded by a nimbus of red light. Three figures closed him in, each hacking at him with short swords that gleamed in the mystic light. The swords rebounded harmlessly every time they struck the red glow, but Kaerion could clearly see that the magewas weakening. One gnarled hand gripped a silver-shod brown staff, while the other supported the mage’s weight against the frame.
Another figure stood slightly back from the main battle, directly across from where the mage was making his stand. From his vantage point, Kaerion could make out the face of a woman that was as beautiful as it was cruel. Icy features were stretched taut in concentration as her lithe form undulated to an unheard tempo. Silver lines streaked out from a pair of gleaming bracers as she reached into the air with slender arms. Between the smooth curves of her palms, the fighter could see a crackling ball of light growing brighter, as if she pulled the energy from the very air itself. Kaerion had no doubt that she intended to launch this magic at the struggling mage.
Just then, he heard Majandra cry out a single, unintelligible word. Three bluish bolts of energy flew over his shoulder to strike the gesticulating sorceress. The woman screamed and recoiled as the bolts spattered against her flesh. The ball of energy between her hands dissipated, and she turned a hateful eye upon Majandra.
“Kaerion, look out!” he heard a male voice cry out.
Spinning, he caught a glimpse of Bredeth, holding his own against two cloaked figures, before a shadow launched itself at him from the side. Kaerion met the attack with the full face of his shield and slid his own blade between the ribs of his opponent with an absent thrust.
Pulling his blade from the dying figure, Kaerion ran toward Phathas, whose spell was collapsing. With a shout, Kaerion lashed out with his boot and caught one of the assassins hard in the knee. The man cried out and hit the floor. Without breaking his rhythm, Kaerion stepped forward and ran his sword through a second cloaked figure, careful not to get too entangled in the treacherous maze of debris and bodies on the floor.
The third assassin turned away from the mage and launched three silver edged disks at Kaerion. He brought his shield up, blocking one of the missiles with a metallic clang. The other two sank painfully into his arm and shoulder.
Kaerion grunted once as the figure drew another short sword and pressed the attack. Unable to pull out the blades that penetrated his skin, Kaerion’s attempts at parrying these attacks pushed the pointed barbs of themetal deeper into his flesh.
Fatigue made Kaerion’s sword seem as heavy as a suit of mail,but he raised it again and again to beat back the assassin’s attack. It was onlyafter he failed to parry an easy thrust with his shield that he suspected he had been poisoned. His limbs simply wouldn’t respond with their normal speed. It wasas if he were submerged in water. Desperate now, for he knew he wouldn’t lasttoo much longer, Kaerion raised his own sword and aimed a vicious sideways swipe at his opponent. When the man brought one of his swords down to parry it, Kaerion spun and bashed his shield into the assassins head. Stunned, his hapless opponent could not block the steel that imbedded itself into his chest. With a wet gurgle, he fell to the floor.
Kaerion quickly surveyed the battle as he removed the sharp metal discs from his arm and shoulder. Freed from his attackers, Phathas had regained his footing and now launched spell after spell at the leather-clad sorceress. He watched for a moment in awe at the speed and grace of the elderly mage. Bleeding and bruised from several wounds, the sorceress had erected her own shield against the attacks. It spattered and sparked as Phathas’ spellsslammed against it. Already it showed signs of collapsing.
With a cry, Bredeth finished off his last opponent, and Kaerion could see him slowly advancing with Majandra. Both were intent on killing the beleaguered sorceress. It looked to Kaerion’s trained eye that thisbattle was nearly ended.
A slight scuffling sound caught his attention. Turning, he peered into the shadowy expanse of Phathas’ room. The sound came again, andthis time Kaerion saw a deeper shadow, a figure skulking within the darkness.
“Intruder!” he shouted and ran as fast as his sluggish limbswould carry him into the mage’s chambers.
The well-muscled, black-skinned figure rifling through the mage’s scrolls regarded him with obvious surprise. Kaerion raised his shield,expecting an attack. The thief, however, grabbed a handful of the scrolls lying on the desk before him and launched himself out the open window to his left.
Kaerion ran to the window and watched in amazement as the thief floated gracefully down to the street, already running before his feet touched the ground. He regarded the fleeing thief for just a moment before running out of the room and through the suite, ready to give chase.
“Where’s the sorceress?” he asked Majandra, who was guidingthe wounded Phathas to the only remaining chair in the suite.
“She fled,” the bard replied. “Stepped through a portal anddisappeared.”
“I’m going after them,” he said, halfway out of the door tothe suite. “When you’re done there, take Bredeth and make sure the area issecure.”
He didn’t wait for the half-elf to respond, but took thestairs two at a time in his haste to reach the street. As he ran through the common area, he saw Vaxor and Gerwyth. The elf was no longer immobilized, but it looked as if he needed a few minutes to compose himself.
“It seems we had visitors,” Kaerion said. “They fled and nowI’d like to pay them a visit. Come when you can.”
With that, he ran out the main door to the inn and checked the street. The night air was crisp, washing away the copper tang of blood and rent flesh, but Kaerion could spare no time to enjoy it. He cast several long looks down either direction of the street that ran parallel to the inn, hoping to find some clue as to the direction the thief had taken.
So intent was he on tracking down their enemies that he almost didn’t see the scarlet-cloaked figure detach itself from the shadows ofan alleyway. He paused for a moment and watched as the figure approached, padding silently across the cobblestone street. A trickle of unease made its way down Kaerion’s back as the cloaked figure, clearly a man by the rough cut of hisface and the broad bulk of shoulders, stopped and slowly drew off his cloak. Every move seemed deliberate, graceful. Kaerion was reminded at last of a panther he had once seen stalking wild deer while out hunting with his father.
He took another moment to survey his opponent, for clearly the man did not intend to let him pass. The newcomer wore no shirt beneath the scarlet cloak, and in the dim moonlight, Kaerion could see the smooth ripple of sinewy muscles across the well-defined expanse of chest, shoulder, and stomach.
The man carried no weapons, nor looked as if he had any hidden on his person, and yet, he stared quite calmly at the length of steel held expertly in Kaerion’s hand. Loose-fitting scarlet pants flowed like waterwith every deliberate movement, held up by a belt of yellow cloth wrapped around twice and knotted elaborately on the side. The man wore no boot or sandals, but rather slid across the winter-cold ground on heavily calloused feet.
Kaerion was taken aback as the man drew forth his left hand to the center of his chest, perpendicular to the ground, while his thumb and index finger were bent parallel to the body, and sketched a deep bow. Carefully, he raised his own sword in salute, one honorable opponent to another.
Kaerion fell backward as the man crossed the distance between them in a blur and caught him with a knife-edged strike to the shoulder. Kaerion grunted and tried to bring his shield forward, protecting the numbed expanse of his sword arm. His opponent moved faster, spinning on one foot and planting a kick that connected hard with the side of his face.
Pain exploded in his head, and he staggered to the side. The man followed through with another strike, this time square in the throat, and Kaerion felt his entire body go numb as he gasped for breath.
The man simply smiled, casting his pockmarked face into a ghoulish grin, and waited for him to recover. Kaerion took that time to reassess his opponent. Although the assassins poison still flowed in his veins, slowing down reflexes, and fatigue from several different wounds drained what remaining strength he had, he didn’t think he’d be able to match the speed of his opponenteven if he’d been fully rested. The man moved like lightning.
But there were more ways to beat an opponent, Kaerion thought as he launched himself at the smiling figure. He was bleeding from his wounds, but it was draining away the poison, and Kaerion was slowly gaining back some control of his body. His sword whistled as its keen edge cut sidewise in an attempt to lay open the man’s stomach. The smile fell from his opponent’s faceas he was forced to roll out of the way of the attack.
Kaerion followed through as quickly as he could, not wanting to give the unarmed man a chance to regain his footing. A second cut with his sword should have laid open the man’s bowels, but his opponent’s agility savedhim again. Instead of a deathblow, the sword had made a shallow cut on his hip.
Pressing the attack, Kaerion noted with satisfaction that his opponent was giving ground. Soon, he’d have the man backed into an alleyway.With little room to maneuver, the pockmarked man would not be able to dodge the deadly strokes of his blade.
A few more moments, Kaerion thought as his sword wove a net of steel, driving back his opponent.
There!
Kaerion raised his sword, intent on cutting a deadly swathe of steel across the man’s body-
And struck nothing but air.
The monk had run up the side of the nearby wall and used his momentum to launch a flurry of kicks at Kaerion. Each one shot pain through Kaerion’s already battered body. Another kick caught him straight in the chest,and he found himself knocked backward out of the alleyway.
Kaerion rolled gracelessly to his feet, but already he could feel the presence of his opponent, waiting to rain death down upon him. Kaerion knew he was at the last of his strength.
The twang of a bowstring cut through the night, followed by the hiss of arrows. His opponent cast a baleful eye toward the source of that sound, and Kaerion watched in disbelief as his opponent’s hands moved quickerthan his eye could follow, knocking aside the incoming missile. Two more followed soon after, and Kaerion knew that Gerwyth had arrived on the scene. Unbelievably, the pockmarked man deflected two more missiles. The fourth, however, caught him in the shoulder, and he let out a grunt of pain.
In the distance, Kaerion could hear the sounds of the city watch heading toward the embattled inn. His opponent must have heard it too, for he ducked back into the alleyway, safe from the deadly arrows.
“This is far from over,” the man growled at him in a roughvoice. He brought both hands together and began a low-throated chant. The air rippled beside him, shadows within shadows. He cast another hard look at the fallen fighter and then stepped into the moving shadows, disappearing as if he’dstepped through an unseen door.
Kaerion groaned and struggled to his feet. By the time he made it into the alleyway, it was clear that his opponent was gone.
When the upper storey of the Platinum Shield exploded in a burst of flames, Durgoth knew that his henchmen had encountered some difficulties. Just how great these difficulties were didn’t become clear untilhe saw both Sydra and Eltanel fleeing the inn. Rage and frustration at their incompetence ruled him for just a moment. He wanted to strike down their fleeing forms then and there.
Mercifully, the moment passed. Durgoth knew he could deal with their failure later. What concerned him now was the sheer strength of those who unknowingly sought the same thing as he: the Tomb of Acererak. His distraction had been dealt with very effectively. The presence of that other god still shook him deeply, and he marveled at the faith and power of anyone who could wield such holy might. This was no motley collection of treasure-hungry adventurers arrayed against him. Surprised and unprepared, they had still beaten back a carefully planned attack.
Perhaps, Durgoth thought, there may be a way to use such strength. Possibilities began to spin in his mind-plans and plots as cunning andtwisted as the man who created them.
The sound of combat caught his attention, and he looked out from his vantage point in the darkened alley, smiling as he caught sight of Jhagren locked in battle with some sword-wielding brute. At least, Durgoth thought with some satisfaction, he could still count on the monk to succeed at his tasks. Though Jhagren’s opponent looked imposing, blood ran from severaldeep wounds, and it was clear that he was no match for the monk.
Durgoth watched a few moments more. He found himself slightly disappointed when the whistles and alarms of approaching sentinels drew closer. The presence of the elven archer had just made the battle interesting.
“Ah, well,” he whispered to the chill night air. “We shallall meet again. Very soon.”
He faded into the darkness of the alleyway.