This dungeon is deep, he thought, breathless. The steps seem to wind forever. It didn't take half as long to be dragged down here… of course, other legs did that work.
After his fourth circuit of the stairs. Noph saw a light above. The roar of battle had redoubled. By his sixth circuit, he reached a round doorway. Noph darted through it into a hallway. He halted, panting.
Which way to the sanctuary?
After a moment of indecision, he followed the echoing cries down the hall. In no time, he had reached the narthex.
Ahead of him, a shimmering curtain of darkness stretched across the doorway. A few nobles staggered out, their hands groping blindly forward. When they entered the light, the folk blinked in astonishment before gathering their wits and darting away from the sanctuary as quickly as they could.
Bring them out. That's what a hero would do here. Lead the people from the darkness into the light. One more deep breath, and into the crowded chaos he plunged.
Khelben writhed beneath an agonizing weight. It had fallen upon him just when the shadow warriors appeared. It had fallen with the very weight of the palace itself.
He had seen only the flare of candles, figures taking shape out of flames. Then, as the warriors became flesh and leapt to the floor, the terrific crushing blackness had fallen atop the Lord Mage of Waterdeep.
He gasped, air seeping damnably slowly into and out of his lungs. He struggled to hold to consciousness, all his spells lost beneath numb fingers.
Whatever magic had brought these warriors here, it was ancient-a sorcery that could shatter worlds.
Noph had made numerous forays into the wheeling black chaos of the sanctuary. Because of his efforts, hundreds of guests had fled to safety. Their battered rescuer did not even waste time watching them flee but rushed back for more souls.
It was dangerous work in that unnatural darkness. Each time Noph grappled a given guest, he was paid back with a royal pummelling. In a battle at midnight, saviours and slayers are hard to distinguish. In payment for his assistance, Noph had received two black eyes and a broken nose, as well as bruises and scratches ail over his body.
Once he had wrestled a guest into the light, though, it was a different story. Some were almost penitent. A few even apologized, or kissed him on the very cheek they had previously punched. All of them, though, quickly turned about and pelted for the nearest exit.
Noph returned to the sanctuary. Plunging back into the darkness felt much like diving into a cold sea where sailors drowned amid frenzied sharks.
This time, though, when his hand caught hold of a woman's arm, she shouted out with an unmistakable Calashite burr, 'Let go of me!' '
'Ah,' he replied. 'Music to my ears.'
With newfound energy, Noph wrestled the woman into a headlock-he imagined her still with a lizard head-and hauled her kicking and screaming into the light.
Instead of letting her go, he dragged her onward, and down the steps of a very deep dungeon.
Unsure where the warrior's blade would strike next, Piergeiron countered with a wide sweep of his own. Steel edges rang against each other. Piergeiron twisted Halcyon, entangling the man's weapon. He struggled to fling the sword to ground, but the shadow figure held the pommel tight. Blades slid and scraped, pushing off to one side.
Piergeiron stepped up next to the warrior and stomped on his foot The shock and pain jarred the man's hand loose. Piergeiron twisted his foe's sword free and flung it to the ground. Then he kicked the warrior's good leg out from under him and swung Halcyon to bear on the man's throat.
'Surrender, all of you, and I will spare this one,' Piergeiron commanded.
Laughter came from the circle of warriors around. 'Go ahead and kill him. Its your right, and we never liked him anyway'
“I will fight every last one of you' Piergeiron warned. 'I will slay every last one of you.'
More laughter. 'Open Lord, if your soul can see so well, why don't you take a look around?”
He did, sensing the ring of warriors, twenty strong, on all sides of him. 'So you have us surrounded. If you were men of honour, you would come one at a time to fight me.'
'Maybe you can see us with those paladin eyes of yours,' jeered one of the warriors. 'Maybe you can sense the presence of evil all around you, but what about the presence of good? What about your bride? Where might she be?'
Piergeiron whirled, his hand out. 'Eidola? Where are you?'
There came no response except the guffaws of the warriors.
'Where is she? What have you done?'
The shadow warriors were withdrawing, their circle widening around Piergeiron. The Open Lord charged the nearest one, skewering him with his sword. As the man fell dead beneath him, Piergeiron pulled Halcyon free and rushed onward. He stumbled over a fallen bench and the bodies beneath it.
The warriors continued to retreat, picking their way through the wreckage of the sanctuary. Piergeiron thrashed forward a few steps more, but was dragged down again by smashed wood and groaning forms. The invaders had reached the far walls of the chamber. Each turned and stood, stationed before the ensconced candles. Their bodies suddenly leapt up, forming six-foot high flames.
Piergeiron shielded his eyes from die sudden light, as did the remaining stragglers and dying victims in the ruined chapel. Then, with a pop, the candle flames shrank inward and disappeared. Darkness again settled over the smouldering ruins of midnight.
Chapter 7
'Anything yet?' asked Piergeiron. He leaned against a wall of Khelben's laboratories and watched the slow dripping of the mage's Kara-Turian water clock. Aside from requesting updates, Piergeiron could well have been a statue.
'I said five more minutes ' Khelben noted testily. The Lord Mage was stooped over a pile of books that were sprawled open atop each other.
'It has been four minutes thirty-eight seconds.' the Open Lord noted dully.
'I said five minutes.' Khelben repeated.
Piergeiron said no more, still pressed against the cold stone wall.
In the remaining twenty-two seconds, Khelben flipped me pages of several tomes, consulting charts and tables. When ten seconds were left, he looked up irately at his friend. With an off-handed flick of his wrist, Khelben cast a slow spell upon the water clock. Its constant gurgling slowed until it was nearly stopped. There was no reason to slow Piergeiron as well. The man could not be slower and still live.
Khelben sighed, and worked another two hours. When he was done, he dispelled his enchantment.
Piergeiron blinked. 'Ah, five minutes.'
'Here it is,' replied Khelben. 'I've been searching ancient texts for references to spells or artifacts characterized by their dweomer draw. What crushed me to the ground was a sorcery of great magnitude.'
'And?' Piergeiron asked listlessly.
'I found three possible artifacts, two of which were unlikely due to the-'
'And, which one?' Piergeiron asked.
'A Bloodforge. It was a Bloodforge that created that army.'
'What is a-'
'It's an artifact of great antiquity, a device that can form armies out of min air.'
