of the Zhentilar behind them, so there was no doubling back. The street to her left was lined with bodies and rubble from burned-out buildings. To her right, a huge, overturned wagon blocked the street, and a raging fire consumed a short, squat building. Thick smoke covered the road obscuring everything that lay beyond the wagon.
'The Zhentilar are following us!' Adon wheezed between breaths. 'Where can we hide?'
'How close are they?' a voice hissed from Midnight's left. Midnight looked sharply and saw one of the corpses raise his head. The corpse frowned. 'From your expressions, I would guess they're right on your heels.'
The 'dead man' rose to his feet and dusted himself off. His violet clothing was trimmed with gold mesh, and bloodstains that had turned a deep brown covered him from head to toe. His yellow boots were almost brown with dirt, and he wore a cape with a crimson lining. The man's fine, golden hair was matted and tangled, but Midnight could see that it was very long, curling about his shoulders. He was armed with a short sword and a dagger. On his forehead was a large, ugly purple welt.
'Come on, then,' the man said cheerfully as he gestured for Midnight and Adon to follow him. 'Don't just stand there. You've already called enough attention to me. We might as well make a run for it.'
Midnight looked back and saw Sejanus, Durrock, and a few Zhentilar approaching. Although the assassins were trying to run, their armor did not allow them much more than a brisk walk. The Zhentilar, on the other hand, broke into a sprint when they saw the mage and the cleric. When Durrock saw the heroes break into a run after the golden-haired man, he stopped and headed back toward the garrison.
Midnight glanced over her shoulder as she ran and saw the scarred assassin quit the chase. 'He's going to get his mount!' the mage gasped. She tightened her hold on Adon's hand as they ran through the street lined with corpses.
After several hundred yards, the man ducked around a corner and led the heroes into an alley between two large buildings. As the shadows of the alley engulfed them, Midnight and Adon realized that they faced a dead end. Midnight was about to speak when the man turned, smiled, and said, 'If we're going to die together, I'd like to know who I'm dying with.'
'I'm Midnight of Deepingdale. This is Adon, a cleric of — '
'Adon,' the cleric hissed and ran his hand over his scar. 'Just Adon.'
'Fair enough,' the man answered, running his hand through his long, golden hair. 'My name is Varden.' The man turned toward the end of the alley, but Adon grabbed his arm.
'Why are you helping us?' the voting cleric asked.
Varden turned back to face the heroes, the slight smile gone from his face. 'You're being hunted by the Zhents, right?'
Midnight and Adon nodded. A handful of Zhentilar ran past the alley. The three fugitives held their breath and pulled farther back into the shadows. Luckily none of the soldiers stopped to investigate the alley.
The man nodded toward the street where the soldiers had just passed. 'That's reason enough,' Varden growled. Adon took his hand from the man's arm. Varden turned back down the alley. 'Now let's get rid of your slow-witted pursuers so we can talk in less… stressful circumstances.'
Adon and Midnight followed Varden deeper into the shadows. Soon the golden-haired man uncovered a side door to a building flanking them on the right. He yanked at the door and found that it was locked.
Just then, Sejanus appeared at the entrance to the alley, bolos in hand.
'I hate working under pressure,' Varden hissed as he pulled a small set of tools from a hand at his wrist.
'You're a thief?' Midnight gasped, her eyes growing wide with disbelief.
'I assure you, I am fully licensed and accredited by the Thieves' Guild,' Varden said as he fitted a skeleton key into the lock. He did not take his attentions from his work. 'I suppose that lummox is still coming.'
Midnight looked back toward the head of the alley and saw Sejanus approaching, the bolos whirling over his head. The assassin was less than seventy-five feet away. 'Come, little mage!' Sejanus rumbled. 'I have no wish to bring damaged merchandise back to Lord Bane. Make this easy on me, and I promise to return the favor later on.'
Shuddering, Midnight looked back to the thief. 'Hurry!' she urged.
'There! That should do it!' Varden cried. A series of tumblers fell inside the lock, and the thief grabbed the door's handle. Varden pushed Midnight and Adon into the darkened hall, then slammed the door closed behind him. Sejanus screamed in frustration and threw his bolos. The weapon crashed into the door.
In the semidarkness of the cluttered festhall, Varden struggled to find the locking mechanism on the inside of the door. It took him a moment to find the proper levers and lock the heavy oaken door. 'That should hold him for a moment or two,' the thief chuckled as he turned to survey the musty, deserted hall. 'What have we here?'
A dull yellow light shone in the main room of the festhall, its source a rather large hole in the ceiling that had been partially covered with rotting timber. The light revealed a long room with a decrepit wooden staircase and a crumbling balcony that ran around the edges of the entire building. The ground floor of the hall was dominated by a large oaken table. The table was warped and decaying in places, and it ran for almost the entire length of the building.
Though the edges of the room on the first floor were hidden in deep shadows, Varden could see that at least twenty suits of armor lined the walls. All were rusted, half were incomplete. Above each suit, a few weapons, many twisted or broken, hung on display. Midnight thought she heard the hushed whispers of a dozen or more voices, but she devised that it must be the wind through the hole in the roof.
'Seems like we've stumbled across some old meeting hall.' Varden said as he walked toward a shield on the wall. Any coat of arms the shield had once held had been erased in time and rust. 'From the armor and weapons, I'd guess it belonged to some order of knights — maybe even paladins,' the thief added.
There was a loud crash at the door through which the heroes bad entered, and Midnight heard Sejanus curse loudly. Midnight and Adon quickly scanned the room for another exit. When she saw none, the mage turned to the thief, panic in her eyes. 'Where can we hide?'
Varden laughed. 'We need to escape, not hide. Any minute now, the Zhents who ran past the alley will come running back, looking for their leader.' The thief paused and looked around the room. 'If we hide here, we're as good as dead.'
Sejanus crashed against the door again. 'You cannot escape me, mage!' the assassin bellowed.
'That's just what you'd expect him to say,' Varden chuckled. 'Those Zhents have absolutely no imagination!'
'That's a clever observation,' Adon snapped. 'So use your imagination to find the other exits.'
Varden leaned against the wall and shrugged. 'I haven't the slightest idea where they might be.'
'What do you mean, you don't know!? Then why did you bring us here?' Midnight cried.
'So we wouldn't have to face your friend out there,' Varden growled, pointing at the door. 'Believe me, I'm as much in the dark about this place as you are. Start searching the edges of the room for another door.'
The crash at the door came again. This time the wooden door splintered slightly and bent inward on its hinges. As Midnight approached the edge of the hall, near one of the suits of armor, she heard whispering again. It seemed to come from the rusted suit of plate mail. In other parts of the hall, Varden and Adon heard the voices, too.
'Conflict,' a battered suit of armor whispered. 'We lived and died for conflict.'
To Adon's right, a set of antique plate mail with a large hole in its ornate breastplate turned to face the cleric 'For law and the cause of good, we gave our lives. Fought rust and wear to save our masters. In Anauroch, my lord was slain. They bore me back, a monument to his greatness.'
Varden started and began to back away, but a rusted mail hauberk coiled its chain sleeve around his arm. 'At the foot of the Glacier of the White Worm I fell, unable to prevent a giant's club from bashing in my lord's skull.' The thief tried to pull away from the ghostly armor, but it held him tight. 'We serve the force of good,' a voice whispered from the hauberk. 'Whom do you serve?'
All around the room, creaking suits of plate mail stepped off pedestals and grabbed rusting halberds and swords. Chain mail hauberks tilled out, as if worn by invisible knights, and stepped to the center of the room. 'Yes, whom do you serve?' a dozen phantom voices rasped.
'We — we work for the good of the Realms,' Midnight cried. The suits of armor paused for a moment, and for that moment there was silence in the festhall. The hauberk released Varden, and the thief hurried to Midnight's side. Adon walked slowly across the room, shaking his head.
