glimmering in warning as their bony jaws moved in unison, and the Dathran's voice hissed, 'Go fight your battles elsewhere, Lord Roaringhorn. When next you come, come alone!'
Beldar groaned at his own stupidity. No attack by the half-dragon, this, but one of the Dathran's wardspells.
He staggered to his feet and stumbled away into deeper darkness. Fumbling for his eyepatch, he found with relief that it still hung about his neck, but he didn't don it, for only his beholder eye could see in this gloom.
To its gaze, the pulsing ward was almost blinding, but even as he fought to clear his sight, Beldar saw something moving beyond its bright curve-something silver and scaled.
When the half-dragon came into clear view, one of its hands was empty. At least one dark bulk was bobbing along behind it. Beldar hissed a curse and turned away, seeking The first bright flash and roar almost lifted him off his feet, but he got turned around again in time to see the snarling half-wyrm swing the smoking, twisted stub of its sword at the second hurtling skull.
Steel shards clanged and sang off stone in all directions in the roiling heart of the blast that followed, and Beldar winced and shrank away as the third skull came flying out of the mist. The half-dragon hurled a dagger at it and flung itself back, crashing into the bladesman behind it. Beldar found himself seeking the floor, too, as The skull exploded.
The roar of its rending echoed strangely, making his ears ring, but nothing tore at Beldar this time, and he heard no cries of pain.
When he turned back to face the ward, it was pulsing as if nothing had befallen, and the portal behind it was gone. The Dathran had thrown them all out into the sewers to settle this on their own.
The half-dragon was already struggling to its-his?-feet, and Beldar strode forward and glared at the creature, closing his left eye in case this would help the beholder graft unleash its full power.
Beldar felt a strange warmth in his head, a dark stirring that flared into excitement, even hunger…
Elven magic was not alone in seeking Beldar Roaringhorn. Mrelder, Golskyn, and Hoth bent over a large scrying bowl, watching Beldar's attempt to use his beholder eye.
'He's a bold one, to hurl magic so soon after the graft,' the priest said approvingly.
Stupid, more like. Mrelder knew better than to say those words aloud.
'Look at that magnificent creature,' Golskyn breathed, his lone remaining human eye shining as he gazed at the half-dragon. 'What a marvel. A natural melding of man and monster.'
The epitome of your insane aspirations, his son thought silently.
'A good sign,' the priest continued. 'Waterdeep's future ruler has the sense to consort with superior beings. Very good.'
And with those words Golskyn ambled away, not seeming to notice that the 'magnificent creature' and 'Waterdeep's future ruler' seemed bent upon mutual destruction.
His father, Mrelder concluded grimly, was utterly insane.
Glancing up from the bowl, he found himself looking into the eyes of Hoth and saw his own opinion of Golskyn mirrored there.
Hoth held his gaze, not in challenge but inquiry. He seemed to be waiting for something.
A moment later, Mrelder realized Golskyn's many-armed second-in-command was awaiting instructions. From him!
This had possibilities!
'This place isn't far,' Mrelder said calmly, pointing into the bowl. 'Take two men in all haste to help Lord Roaringhorn. If possible, retrieve the half-dragon alive. If we can't convert him, I'm sure we can find another use for him.'
Hoth offered neither scorn nor argument. His nod was curt but respectful, and he turned and left the room at a run. The young sorcerer watched him go, feeling a smile slowly spreading across his own face.
The half-dragon was on its feet with another blade in its grasp now, eyes glaring angry gold at Beldar as it strode to meet him.
Roaringhorn's new eye quivered, and the beast rocked back on its booted heels, grunting in pain. It had short, backswept silver horns instead of ears, Beldar saw, as it staggered under whatever wounding magic his eye had visited upon it.
Then it opened its jaws and spat at him-a white, frostlike roaring that sprang out, spreading swift and wide in a deadly racing chill that told Beldar all too painfully that he wasn't the only one able to unleash magic.
He flung himself back, ducking into a side-passage that reeked chokingly of human waste. Biting cold settled over him. A warding talisman an aunt had given him long ago crumbled to worthless powder all down his chest, and a gem adorning his belt shivered into fragments with what sounded eerily like a whimper. Cold gnawed at him like a small beast with many teeth as the half-wyrm and the other two bullyblades advanced again, blades out.
Slowly and warily they came on as Beldar winced at the chill still clinging to him and retreated reluctantly into the choking stench behind. He'd rather attack and meet his death with sword in hand, but wasn't certain his numbed fingers could hold a blade.
He was going to die here in the darkness, somewhere beneath the hurrying boots and rumbling cartwheels of unwitting, uncaring Waterdhavians. He'd go down, hacked and stabbed, destiny unfulfilled, not even knowing who'd ordered his death.
This was no chance encounter. Three slayers wouldn't simply find the alley leading to the Dathran's lair by chance. These were assassins sent for him.
Beldar smiled grimly. It was the first indication that his graft had resulted in a rise in his status. Cold comfort indeed!
His three pursuers were in the mouth of the passage now, crouching against the walls to shield themselves against any attack from him. They knew about his wounding eye, so there'd be no more surprises.
A door swung open almost beside his nose, startling him almost into heart-stop. Beldar sprang back, giving way to a tall and very wide man with shoulders almost as broad as the doorframe-and a familiar face.
Hoth of the Amalgamation was coming through the door with a hot shuttered dark-lantern in one hand and an iron staff bristling with vicious-looking spikes in the other. Judging from the sound of hurrying boots, he'd brought others with him.
Hoth looked at Beldar with something in his eyes that just might have been respect, and growled, 'Stand aside, Lord Roaringhorn, and leave the vermin to us.'
Beldar stumbled back to let the burly man stride past. Two men in leathers followed at his back, swords out. One of them had a wrist encircled by half a dozen coiling eels that held daggers ready in their jaws for the human hand to pluck and throw. The other had a forearm that bristled with a row of long, sharp fangs that lengthened as Beldar stared at them, sliding forward out of sheathing flesh in preparation for battle. The hand at the end of that wrist was no longer human, but a head-sized knob of bone studded with well-worn bony spurs, like a great mace.
The half-dragon stepped away from the passage wall and strode to meet Hoth, one of its hands reaching to pluck daggers from hidden sheaths as it came. The two humans moved, too, spreading wide to gain sword- room.
'Kill the humans,' Hoth told the two Amalgamation believers. A thrown dagger flashed from the half-dragon's hand, and a swift movement of Hoth's dark-lantern sent it clanging aside.
Then Hoth tossed his lantern behind him. Beldar's jaw dropped in astonishment as it halted to hover in midair, casting its light over suddenly rushing men. Steel rang on steel, men snarled and grunted, and the sewer-passage was alive with blood and men seeking to spill it.
Beldar glared at the half-dragon again, seeking to harm it with his eye as he snatched out his sword, leaping high to avoid two rolling, struggling men Too high. Something cold and very, very hard slammed into his head, or he slammed into it, and all Faerun went away into darkness amid a sudden, fading roar…
