Her body struck the three iron spikes with a thick, wet rending thud, and rode them downward.
The tentacles collapsed into smoke. Wisps curled almost tauntingly around the twitching woman… and were gone.
It had all happened so fast. Beldar stared at down at what was left of the Dathran. Blood drenched the floor below the tripod, and the witch's flesh seemed to be melting away from the barbed spikes thrusting wetly up through her body.
A delighted cackle arose from the imp. It flapped unsteadily up from the floor to hover in front of Beldar.
'You've freed me from her service, so I don't suppose we'll meet again,' it hissed. Then it leered, pointed at its right eye, and added, 'And then again, we just might!'
It disappeared in a puff of stinking smoke, departing much faster than its parting chuckle.
Retrieving his dagger, Beldar clambered hastily through the skull, half-fearing it might start to close, and staggered away. Waterdeep held men who might help him without magic. Everyone knew of the barbers who sewed and slashed flesh in dark Dock Ward rooms, aiding-if that was the right word-those who spurned priestly prayers and couldn't afford potions. Surely one of them would be willing to free him from this abomination in his head!
If he died, what of it? It was becoming increasingly clear to Beldar Roaringhorn that his life was no longer his own.
The second bell past dawn was striking as Elaith Craulnober strode through the smoking ruins of what had been a barber's hovel and kicked aside the blasted, twisted thing that had been its owner.
The dead man's patient looked little better. A magical backlash had thrown him across the room before the Watchful Order's firequench spell had taken effect, and greasy soot from the barber's badly burned corpse had settled thickly over him. His eyes-the right one markedly larger than the left-were closed, but his chest was rising and falling shallowly. He was larger and heavier than the elf, but Elaith lifted him onto one shoulder with seeming effortlessness and carried him out onto the street.
A few curious onlookers saw the grim face of The Serpent and scattered like a flock of startled birds.
Elaith tossed a small glass vial to the cobbles. From its bursting spilled a glimmering liquid that promptly spread into a perfectly round puddle, which in turn birthed a rising cylinder of glittering motes. The elf stepped into it with his head-lolling burden and promptly vanished, taking all traces of his portal magic with him.
Handy things, jumpgates. Elaith's boot came down on the fore-hall tiles of one of his quieter Waterdeep houses.
An elf matron stared at her master and his burden and promptly hurried to a sweeping sculpture on a plinth. As Elaith dropped the scorched noble to the floor, she did something to its rainbow teardrops that made it chime and shift its outlines, offering her seven vials. Snatching several, she hastened to Elaith's side.
The Serpent had already gone to one knee and started to pry open Beldar Roaringhorn's jaws.
'Stupid, stubborn human,' he murmured, as his housekeeper carefully emptied a vial into the opening he'd forced.
She studied the result calmly, poured two more potions after the first, and announced, 'He's not swallowing.'
Elaith promptly punched the handy Roaringhorn gut. Air wheezed out of the noble, potion dribbling from the sides of his mouth, but there came a rattling intake of air, and Beldar sat up, coughing and sputtering.
'He's supposed to swallow them, not breathe them in,' the housekeeper pointed out.
Her master shrugged, rising from his heels in one swift, fluid movement. 'He's alive-more or less. Argue not with success.'
Beldar Roaringhorn writhed and spasmed, helpless racking coughs roaring out of him. When his agonies finally faded, he found himself looking at a patiently extended hand. A long-fingered, graceful, somewhat familiar hand.
He stared at it for a moment and then accepted it. With casual strength Elaith Craulnober pulled Beldar to his feet.
'The… barber?'
'Dead as last summer's hopes,' Elaith replied, watching Beldar's shoulders slump and bleakness creep into the noble's eyes. 'Care to reconsider my offer?'
'I seem bereft of options,' the young Lord Roaringhorn observed. 'What d'you want of me?'
Elaith pointed at Beldar's right eye. 'Take me to whoever did that. I'll do the rest.'
Beldar nodded. 'When?'
'Immediately. They have one of my… companions.'
The human studied Elaith's face. 'The half-dragon. You're truly concerned about your underling.'
'They cut up a beholder like cooks gleaning morsels for exotic dishes; do you imagine a half-dragon can expect a long and pleasant life in their hands?'
Beldar frowned. 'I'll take you, and fight beside you as best I can, but you must understand that I'm not in full control of my actions. I might be forced to betray you.'
The elf shrugged. 'As long as you don't expect a similar confession from me, we're agreed.'
Beldar's lips twitched.
Elaith smiled back. 'Is there anything else I should know about you?'
'Yes,' the youngest Lord Roaringhorn said grimly. 'I require your promise that you'll kill me if I become a threat to innocent folk.'
Elven eyebrows rose. 'For a moment,' Elaith said dryly, 'I feared you might ask me to do something unpleasant.'
The ringing in Beldar's ears became deafening… and then faded. He swam up out of darkness and pain to find himself staring into the mismatched eyes of Golskyn's son.
'He's awake,' Mrelder announced flatly.
Golskyn of the Gods bustled over, wild-eyed. Tentacles emerged from beneath his robes, curled about Beldar's waist and arms, and yanked the noble upright.
'Stand, as befitting Piergeiron's heir,' the eld man thundered.
Beldar looked inquiringly at Mrelder, who seemed the saner of the two.
'You've been granted an improvement because Lord Unity desires to place a puppet of the Amalgamation on the First Lord's throne,' Mrelder said flatly. 'As you've guessed, you won't be able to speak of this to anyone. You've already seen what results from any attempt to have the magic traced or the eye removed.'
'This one betrayal will be pardoned,' Golskyn added, 'but the next will not. You destiny will soon be upon you. The gods have shown me the best time and place: Midsummer night, at the Purple Silks revel.' Tentacles reared menacingly. 'Accept this destiny, here and now, or it will pass to another. Do you take my meaning?'
The noble managed a nod. The priest dismissed him with a wave of tentacles, and Beldar all but ran from the building.
This one betrayal, the mad priest had said. What had happened? Where was Elaith Craulnober? Had the Amalgamation managed to slay the justly feared Serpent?
Beldar frowned, dodging through the street crowds. The shop wasn't far ahead…
He vaguely remembered Elaith casting a spell on him that hadn't seemed to do anything but dull his thinking. Had it hidden his recollection of their agreement? Was The Serpent lurking, watching the monster-lovers right now?
There'd been no battle, as far as he could recall, no grand confrontation between Elaith and Golskyn-and no sign of the half-dragon… or his recycled limbs.
