a hot prickle tear crawled up his back. The vampire bared its fangs, eyes burning. Then it uttered something under its breath to the skeletal warrior, and both undead turned and walked around a corner. Able inhaled deeply and let it go, closing his eyes in relief. He stood there for a few moments, quelling his stomach.
A slight scrape on the ground to his right jolted Able to life. With a start, he leaped away from the sound and raised his hammer and shield.
A zombie watched him apathetically. He had wandered into its path. As Able looked upon the decaying thing, it occurred to him that the creature had once been a boy about Noph's age. Whatever life that had once surged through the body had been forever ripped away, leaving only a husk to stagger on until it finally crumbled to dust. It wasn't fair, wasn't just.
'Filthy monsters!' he growled. He lifted his war-hammer and brandished the holy symbol emblazoned on it, crying, 'Behold the light of Tyr and rest!'
The zombie continue to stare, disinterested.
Able bowed his head. A tear found its way down his bristling cheek. 'Forgive me my weakness,' he begged and shifted his grip on the hammer to destroy the zombie with two powerful blows. If he couldn't put it to rest with the power of his faith, at least he could do it with the power of his good right arm. He tossed the body into the river and snuck back to the ship.
Laskar Nesher, Noph's father, had warned his son about Skullport, mostly to scare him into minding when he was a child, but Noph had never believed the stories-until now. 'It stands to reason,' he thought bitterly, 'that my father would know about a place like this.' As he and Harloon made their way along the docks, they passed a long bank of caged monsters. Many thrust their talons toward the humans, yet their screams were inaudible, blocked by some evil wizard's spell to silence their pain and fury. Most of them possessed the bulbous eyes or pale coloring of Underdark dwellers.
These are probably on their way to the surface, to be harvested for spell components,' said Harloon with distaste. 'We should destroy them all right here, so nobody suffers!'
'That won't help a zombie, Harl,' said Noph. 'The skull in the water said to help a zombie, and Aleena told us to keep out of trouble!'
'All right, all right! Let's check out that tavern over there.'
The two young men crossed the boardwalk to a sagging, flat-topped building lit by a magical torch on each side of its thick, iron-shod door. Harloon grasped a fat metal ring, bolted to the door and pulled on it, releasing a puff of smoke and the heavy beat of dwarven music from within. As they peeked inside, they gulped at the sight of ores, giants, and men carousing together, drinking from great ceramic flagons, and ogling scantily clad dancing slaves. Zombie waiters cleaned tables and brought drinks.
'Let's go find another zombie,' said Harloon, shocked by the lurid atmosphere.
'No, this is perfect!' answered Noph, grabbing Har-loon's breastplate without taking his eyes from the festivities. 'We'll clean a few tables for the zombie servers and be gone in, say, five minutes-maybe ten.'
'Noph, you're supposed to be following my lead.'
'Look, Harl. Clearing a few tables doesn't get much safer. This time, you follow me.'
'Well… okay. Let's just get this done with, shall we?'
They entered the tavern and blended with the crowd. The music pounded in a deafening beat, so Noph simply pointed at the nearest zombie, obliviously clearing a table. Harloon nodded. They each snatched a dirty rag out of the apron off of passing zombie and started wiping down the tables around them.
'Hey now, I never asked to have my table washed,' a huge goblin complained, glaring up at Noph.
'Management's policy, great noble. And today you win a drink on the house. Enjoy!' Noph dropped a silver piece on the table, and the goblin showed a toothy grin. That would buy it several ales.
A dancer leaped from the bar to a table that Harloon was clearing and leered down at him as she swayed seductively. He stumbled away, modestly dropping his eyes, and backed into a table flanked by duergar, knocking over their ales. They leaped to their feet to avoid being soaked by the beer and then closed around the young fighter with furious snarls on their lips. Duergar at nearby tables spotted the commotion and rose to join their kin, surrounding Harloon. Their poisonous pikes gleamed in the candle light as they drew near to the human's face. Other creatures noted the rising tension and backed off, looking forward to the show. Seven duergar against one human-the fight wouldn't last long.
Suddenly, a fat purse hit the floor next to the duergar, spilling its coins amidst their feet.
'Hey, that's my money!' cried Noph in a high-pitched voice and the room erupted into chaos as the surrounding drinkers dove for the gold. Harloon shoved two of them aside in the tumult and wormed his way free of the pile of bodies.
'Thanks! Let's get out of here!' shouted Harloon.
'Wait!' answered Noph. 'Grab that zombie before it walks into the middle of the fight!' he cried, doing the same for another mindless creature.
'That takes care of our service to the zombie!' said Harloon. 'Now let's get out of here!'
Noph flipped a silver piece to a dancer as they left. 'Thanks for everything!' he called over his shoulder. Outside, they bent over and rested their hands on their knees while catching their breaths. They looked at one another and Harloon shook his head, an exasperated grin on his face. Noph returned the smile, with an added chuckle. Each reached out and clasped the other's shoulder.
'Let's get back to the boat,' said Harloon with a cock of his head toward the water.
'I'm with you. Let's go.'
Trandon had been terrified of the skulls that floated around the boat. His senses, more finely tuned to the rhythms of magic than the rest of the men, could see the deadly power. He also saw the shadow monsters floating above the water, around their boat, but he dared not say anything.
'Stupid youngling,' he griped, blaming Noph for the delay.
The long-haired warrior quickly walked the narrow streets of the city until he was sure none of the others were anywhere near him. The undead of the city didn't bother him at all; necromantic magic was simple stuff. On the other hand, the magical powers openly displayed in the city disconcerted him gravely. Fiends sprouted out of arcane circles drawn on the very streets! Even more strangely, no one seemed to care! The fiends appeared without alarm and flew away into the darkness while others flapped down from above and spiraled into the complex patterns on the ground, slipping off to their native planes. Meanwhile, a human wizard marched pompously down the middle of a wide avenue, flanked by a fire elemental on each side.
'Idiot,' Trandon muttered to himself. 'The slightest slip and those monsters'll break free of their bond, and he'll be the first thing they kill.'
Down a side street, he found a zombie limping along on the stump of its ankle, carrying its own foot. Trandon reached into a pouch that lay between his chest and his leather breastplate and drew forth a prickly pair of burrs. He let the zombie walk past him, then caught its broken limb and whispered a few words while pressing the burrs against the ragged end of the leg. Quickly he snatched the foot away from the creature and pressed it against the stump, uttering a last syllable. With a flash of reddish light, the foot adhered to the leg. Trandon released the zombie and watched it walk away, only slightly more graceful.
Trandon carefully looked from side to side, spying for onlookers-most especially other members of his party. It would be supremely difficult to resist using magic during this mission, but no one must know he was a wizard. He must maintain his cover at all costs.
Satisfied that no one had seen him, he stood up and made his way back to the boat.
Jacob skulked along the pier. It would be easy to find a zombie loading or unloading a ship somewhere nearby. He was in a hurry to finish the unpleasant business and get back to the boat, yet he couldn't help but exalt in the thrill of the adventure. There was nothing more exciting than questing for the glory of Tyr.
Several ships down, Jacob found what he had been looking for. Three wide gangplanks stretched from the dock to a barge, and a crew of zombies, alone and in pairs, offloaded wooden crates of various size. The lowly undead moved mechanically up and down from the cargo hold, hauling heavy boxes across the planks to deposit them on the dock. Apparently their handlers had set them to work and then wandered into a dive tavern across the way, for nothing sentient monitored their progress.
