They were halfway to the Lord Mage when lightning jabbed from the doorway, struck him, glowed along hair and teeth and bones, and flashed him away to smoke and ash.
Wide-eyed, Piergeiron and Eidola ran all the faster. Guards converged on the smoky scene.
Another Khelben fell out through the door his robes ablaze. The guards halted, stunned. One young soldier rushed in to pat out the flames. He, too, leapt back as a fireball roared into being atop the writhing form.
Khelben was toasted, yet again…
'What is this?' Piergeiron shouted to his running bride.
A third and fourth Khelben rushed from the crying room. These two clasped hands and barged past the stunned guards, dropping them to the floor. A whirling swarm of magic missiles spun out the doorway, shot past the guards, and pelted through the fleeing Blackstaffs. Light blazed within, and me two, still holding hands, fell in a burning heap together.
The fifth Khelben emerged from the crying room just as Eidola and Piergeiron fought their way through a stampede of guests fleeing up the aisle. Piergeiron pushed ahead of Eidola and raised his sword.
'Hurl no more magics!' the Open Lord commanded. The latest Khelben cocked a hairy brow at him. 'That would be inconvenient, just now.' He turned and flung out his fingers. A mystic hand appeared before the door, and into it two more Khelbens charged. The hand closed on them and squeezed, crushing flesh, bone, fabric, and magic.
'I said, hold!' cried Piergeiron. He rushed up behind the master mage and slid Halcyon beneath his neck.
'I suppose you did,' replied the fifth Khelben. Cautiously, he raised his hands up into the air. 'But there is one more of me coming. You'll have to tell him, too.'
A ninth Khelben darted from the door, halted in shock as the guards caught him, looked around at the tableau of drifting ash and dripping flesh, and snarled, 'Unhand me!'
The guards did. The mage straightened his rumpled black robes and glared at Piergeiron. 'Nice of you to get involved.'
The Open Lord said, 'Guards, slay that man if he makes so much as a sorcerous twitch.' The guards moved into position to do so. 'Good. Now, what is happening here?'
'Shapeshifters,' the Khelbens replied in unison. The fifth fell silent in Piergeiron's grasp as the ninth explained. 'Somehow they disposed of Lady Eidola’s attendants and took their places. When I found them out, I led them back into the crying room for questioning. One of them attacked. They rushed for the door, taking my form to confuse pursuit.'
'If I am a shapeshifter' said the fifth, 'why did I slay two of my comrades with a crushing hand?”
The ninth shook his head. 'He slew only those two, and in front of you so that you would believe him. I killed the rest'
'A crushing hand is no easy spell. Open Lord' said the fifth.
'Many shapeshifters know magic,' the ninth replied. 'Your casting is no proof of your identity.'
Piergeiron ground his teeth together. 'This is like blind-fighting. I'm as likely to kill friend as foe.'
'Wouldn't it be better. Open Lord,' said the fifth, 'to let a shapechanger free man to accidentally slay me Lord Mage of Waterdeep?'
He was right. Piergeiron released his hold on the fifth Khelben.
The mage staggered free, huffed, and then struggled to straighten his robes. He glanced up in irritation at Piergeiron. 'Thanks for the rough treatment. I have half a mind-'
Then, absurdly, his words were literally true. His head split down the middle and fountained red upon all those around. The Open Lord reeled back in surprise and revulsion, and the body slumped to the floor.
Eidola pulled back from the slain form, the sword in her hand dripping gore. She looked as surprised by her action as did everyone else. Her wedding dress was painted in crimson, and her hands trembled.
'You were quite right,' said the ninth Khelben, stepping toward her. 'You knew I would never try to save myself at the peril of the city. Gentles, if you would put away your swords-“
'Wait' shouted Piergeiron. 'We still have no proof.'
Eidola gave him a look of injured pride.
Piergeiron thought of all those in whom he had placed — his trust-Noph, who turned out to be an assassin; Khelben, who was eight parts shapeshifter to one part master mage; and beautiful, mysterious Eidola, the spirit and image of long-gone Shaleen.
'Put away your swords,' the Open Lord said, lowering his blade. “The judgment of my bride is proof enough.' “That's good' said the Blackstaff. 'The monster she just slew would concur.' He gestured toward the riven head and body before them. They all saw it, men. The body had returned to its true appearance-a grey-hided humanoid creature with huge eyes and a broad, spiky head.
'A doppleganger?' the Open Lord gasped.
'So it would seem' said Khelben, prodding the thing with an iron-toed boot. 'Not malaugrym, but dopplegangers'
'But why?' asked Piergeiron. He turned to his bride and clutched her hand. 'To kill Eidola?'
'I doubt it,' Khelben said dryly, shaking his head. 'They could have killed her a hundred times before now. Besides, as our young friend Noph has shown, there are much easier ways to assassinate a lady.'
'But if not to kill her' Piergeiron asked, 'then why?'
Khelben cocked a knowing eyebrow at the bride and said, 'That very simple question will take, I am afraid, a very long time to puzzle out.' He cast his gaze outward at the stone-silent crowd, many of whom stood with candlesticks and snuffers and other improvised weapons in hand. 'And this is neither the time nor place for such riddles'
With a wave of Khelben's hand, Eidola's dress, makeup, and hair were once again in perfect order. She looked admiringly at herself, then glanced at her groom to see that he, also, had been made over.
Khelben addressed the crowd, 'I fear I haven't spells for all of you, so tuck in those shirttails, straighten those gowns, and lick back those bangs. We've a wedding to celebrate!'
A wondering murmur circulated among the crowd.
'Music!' called Khelben.
The trumpets responded first, once again taking up the bridal march. The drums added their cadence, and the bagpipes growled to life.
Khelben motioned to the guards to remove the body and clean up the soot. They flinched at first from his flicking fingers, but then busied themselves about their tasksArm in arm, bride and groom headed down the aisle. striding to the martial strains of the wedding march. In waves, the crowd shook off its stunned silence and straightened its collective cummerbund. It even mustered a smile for the wedding couple.
Piergeiron tried to return the smile, but couldn't.
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't stop swallowing.
His head felt like a papier-mache mask.
Oh, to sleep…
This dread. This mourning. He had not felt such anguish since the night Shaleen had died. The image of his first wife again rose before him, filled his vision.
Oh, to sleep… The candles all through the sanctuary abruptly flared to life. Their flames leapt up six feet into me air. The congregation cowered away from this new assault, and the trumpets and drums faltered into silence. In the agonized dying of the bagpipes came human shrieks Fiery figures formed in the flaring candles: warriors, dressed in armour, their swords drawn.
With a final flash, the flaming beings became solid flesh. They dropped to me floor. With them descended a heavy, preternatural night.
Chapter 6
