the Dead before sunset-and close the gates at that time on those who don't. Fell magic's at work among the tombs! Ghosts or no ghosts, I'm not having this butchery spill out into the streets!'
CHAPTER TWENTY
Something-she never knew what-brought Naoni out of her reverie and abruptly to her feet with a small cry of dismay. The shadows had deepened alarmingly while she'd been lost in thought; the sky was already the soft purple of coming twilight. She gathered her skirts and ran down the path, plunging through the cold magic of the portal.
A strange din- battle?-grew louder as she hurried from the Rest toward the grander tombs, but Naoni never slowed. Better to dash through a scuffle than cower in the shadows and be locked in when the gates were closed at nightfall.
A flung cobblestone flew past her shoulder. She ducked hastily into the nearest tomb, spun around, and peered back out.
Ahead, men and women were throttling each other, punching and thrusting daggers into whoever was nearest, clubbing people bloodily to the ground with walking-sticks and bench-slats. More than once Naoni winced and turned away, feeling her gorge rise.
Only to turn back again, not daring to look away too long, lest someone come charging her way with murder in their eyes.
She felt sick. So many shouts of 'New Day' and 'Down with the Lords'… and now, so much blood.
Half the shopkeepers and crafters in Waterdeep seemed to be out there on the grass and now-trampled gardens of the City of the Dead, angrily trying to slay each other. Soon it would be dark, and the Watch patrols were nowhere to be seen. Were they just going to let people kill each other here all night?
Here, in with the restless dead?
Something cold touched her spine, sliding down to her hips in what was almost a caress, and Naoni whirled around, unable to stifle a little shriek of alarm.
There was no one there-nothing but a hint of movement in the gathering darkness of the tomb.
Naoni swallowed hard. The dead walked the City of the Dead after dark, 'twas said. She'd always thought that a scare-tale, put about to keep honest folk out of the walled cemetery by night, to cut down on carousing and trysting and knifings-but now she could see something grinning at her. Something not quite seen, not quite there… something with teeth that glinted as it came toward her, a shifting darkness in the darkness.
She couldn't stay here!
Naoni whirled and ran out of the tomb. She shrieked as a thrown dagger flashed over her arm and past her, almost catching on her bodice.
Its owner was a tall, burly man, stinking of fear and of badly cured hides. He struck out wildly with his fists, catching Naoni on the forehead and sending her reeling. The target of his fury, however, was a crawling, stumbling scents-seller Naoni had seen in Ship Street a time or two.
'Now you're caught, you dirty Lords' spy!' the big man snarled, pouncing.
A hooked hide-knife flashed across the perfumer's throat. Dark blood sprayed, and the doomed man's cry of protest came out as a despairing, sobbing gurgle.
The murderer let go of a fistful of hair, and the dying man's face thumped onto the turf at a sickening angle. The leatherworker turned, wearing a bloodthirsty grin.
He caught sight of Naoni, who'd fetched up against the tomb wall to wait for the world to stop spinning-and his smile changed.
'Well now,' he said hungrily, gazing at the swift, frightened rise and fall of her chest. 'I never much favored skinny, flame-haired wenches… but here we are.'
Oh, gods. Naoni scrabbled for the tiny shears in her belt-sheath. Waving them like a dagger, she backed away along the roughness of the wall and all too soon felt it end, and that cold, bone-chilling caress come again. On her leg, this time, and She whirled with a despairing sob, knowing she couldn't hope to outrun the leatherworker, and launched herself across the grass with ghostly fingers tugging at her and the leatherworker's eager chuckling right behind her.
Then another man came around the corner of the tomb with a bloody sword in his hand, heading right at her with stern murder in his eyes: Korvaun Helmfast!
The wave of relief and pure, incongruous joy that flooded Naoni left her weak-kneed. 'Korvaun!' she cried.
He raced up to her, eyes blazing, and thrust his blade right past her as an angry shout rose right behind her-a hout that twisted into a startled shriek of pain, dying swiftly into a gurgling howl… and trailing away.
Korvaun turned from the leatherworker's body, blue eyes still afire. 'Are you hurt, Mistress Naoni?'
Naoni shook her head, gasping, and managed to say, 'N-no. Thanks to you, my lord.'
Korvaun winced as if the word 'Lord' had been a blow across his face. 'You'll not mind if I accompany you until we can get out through the gates?'
Naoni managed a tremulous smile. The ghostly clawings seemed to be gone, but the doorless arch of the tomb yawned like a dark and hungry mouth just a few paces away.
'No, I'd not mind that at all,' she said gratefully.
Korvaun cast a swift, searching glance all around to ensure no one was approaching with drawn steel, then gave Naoni a smile. His long hair was tousled and spattered with someone else's blood, and there was a lot more of it all over his splendid clothes. His cloak Naoni put a hand to her mouth. 'Where's your cloak?'
Strangely, its absence troubled as much as all the bloodshed. There'd been something reassuring about seeing her handiwork swirling grandly about his shoulders.
'I left it with a servant before I came in here; I didn't want to be so brightly marked as a noble in this crowd.'
Naoni stared at him. 'Is it your custom to come strolling through the Deadrest before dusk? When it's full of an angry mob killing each other?'
''Tis my custom to go seeking friends who may need aid and stand with them,' Korvaun replied quietly. 'Born with coins enough to do as I please, in a city that has more well-to-do wastrels than any great kingdom might need, 'tis almost the only deed of worth I can do.'
Naoni swallowed. There'd been clear bitterness in his voice, but… 'Friend? You came seeking me?'
'Yes,' Korvaun said simply.
Then his gaze went past her, and his face changed.
'Into the tomb,' he snapped, reaching out a long arm to gather her in. 'I can defend-'
'No!' Naoni almost shouted. 'There's a ghost-'
'Well of course there is,' Korvaun replied, plucking her up like a bundle of cloth. 'Every tomb in the City's crawling with them.'
'No, no, no!' Naoni cried, struggling to get free. 'It was clawing at me!'
Korvaun swung around to look behind him, whirling her like a rag doll to do so. 'Inside,' he said urgently. 'There're six-no, seven-men running right at us, with swords out! I wear a talisman that can ward spirits away!'
'Well, give it to me!' Naoni said, finding her feet at last. 'I'm not going in there withou-'
'Naoni, I've no time to-'tis my belt buckle! I can't fight with my breeches half down-get in, woman!'
With a roar the foremost man arrived, a giant of a dockworker in a tattered black-buckle jerkin swinging a wicked, blood-smeared scythe.
Korvaun shoved Naoni back at the darkness-where three pale, watching faces now floated, with no bodies beneath them at all-and raised his slender sword in a desperate, ducking parry. He dare not let steel meet steel squarely, or his blade might snap off like There was a ringing clang, sparks danced, and the docker was snarling into Korvaun's face as his scythe rebounded. Two more dockers were coming up fast; Korvaun knew he had to down the man quickly. He spun up out of his crouch dagger-first, driving it in under the man's ribs and ripping up and out.
Blood spouted, and the wounded man wailed. Letting go scythe and his last meal in untidy unison, he staggered
