evidence was wrong. Now, with the knowledge that Haldan truly was involved in the theft of the dagger, the final fabric that held his former life together tore. The pain of that tearing was worse than any sword wound, and Aidan nearly toppled to the floor with the strength of it. Instead, he banked the smoldering fire of his anger and drew his sword in a white-knuckled grip. With a shout of fury, he pushed open the door and ran into the room, not caring whether Morgrim followed.
Haldan and a familiar white-robed figure turned at the sound.
“Traitor!” Aidan shouted.
He did not have a chance to hear Haldan’s response as four figures detached themselves from the shadows and attacked. This time, Aidan was prepared. He swung his sword in a wide arc, denying the thieves an opening. Although he was once again outnumbered, Aidan fought with a mind unsullied by ale. This battle would cost his attackers dearly.
The room flickered in a shower of sparks and blazing lights as Aidan ducked under a hasty attack. Dimly, he was aware of Morgrim locked in a deadly mystical duel with the white-robed man. Again and again the two opponents called upon magical forces beyond his ken, and the room nearly trembled with their power. With a shake of his head, Aidan blocked out the thundering display of pyrotechnics and turned his attention back to his opponents.
Fortunately, the arcane battle seemed to unnerve the cloaked figures, and he quickly took advantage of their distraction, dispatching two of them with a well-timed reverse stroke. The two remaining thieves were noticeably less enthusiastic and soon fell beneath the furious onslaught of his attack. He stood above the two corpses for a moment and carefully wiped the blood from his blade. It was then that he realized the room lay silent.
Desperately he cast about the chamber for any sign of Morgrim. He found the priest in the corner, struggling to rise to his feet. The body of his opponent lay scorched in the center of the room. Aidan shot off a prayer of thanks and started toward his companion. As he neared the corner, he saw Haldan step out of the shadows and raise a sword above Mongrim’s head. The priest tried feebly to defend himself, but it was obvious to Aidan that he was too hurt to do any good.
“No!” shouted Aidan, running toward the two. “You’ve lost, Haldan. Let him be.”
Haldan spun. Even in the dim light of the storage chamber, Aidan could see the runes engraved upon his former friend’s sword.
“Lost?” Haldan said. “I haven’t lost. I’m still alive.”
Aidan shook his head and tried to speak. He wanted to give voice to the anger and hurt that festered inside him, to condemn this man for destroying his faith in the world, but the words were stuck in his throat as surely as if he were bespelled. All he could do was blurt out a single word.
“Why?”
Haldan looked at him and chuckled. “Why?” he taunted. “For the money, of course. With the gold from this sale, I’ll buy a seat on the Council, and from there my associates and I will slowly pry Tilverton out from under the thumb of Cormyrean rule.” Haldan raised his voice and began to shout. “The regent has done nothing but drain the life from this city. She is unfit to lead us. It’s time for a new rule, a new ruler, in Tilverton!”
A light shone in the commander’s eyes as be spoke. At first, Aidan thought it madness, but soon realized it was something far worse… fanaticism.
“I suppose that you will lead Tilverton in this new era?” he asked, hoping to divert Haldan for a few more moments. He knew that there was no hope of convincing his former friend to surrender.
“Of course,” the commander replied. “Who else is more suited to handle the responsibility? And I will start right now by ridding Tilverton of this scum!” Without warning, his sword whistled down to Morgrim’s bleeding form… and rebounded as it met Aidan’s own blade.
The look of betrayal that passed across Haldan’s face only angered Aidan more. Ignoring the numbness in his wrist, he slid his blade out from under the commander’s and aimed a high strike at Haldan’s head. Engaged in battle, Haldan’s sword began to glow with bright blue intensity. Faster than any weapon had a right to move, it deflected Aidan’s blade.
Haldan grinned fiercely and sent his own sword snaking after Aidan’s blood. “It seems that you have made a choice, Alassalynn Aidan,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “So be it. Even if you kill me, there are others who won’t rest until Alassalynn and her Cormyrean lapdogs are nothing but a memory?”
Aidan said nothing, conserving his strength for the battle ahead. Although he was still quicker than the commander, Haldan possessed greater strength and a magical blade. Even now, he could feel his muscles weakening; every parry brought the rune-encrusted sword closer to his flesh. He crouched low, hoping to find an opening in Haldan’s guard. The commander attacked high and to the right. There was his chance! Springing forward, he thrust his sword at Haldan’s exposed midsection. Too late, Aidan realized his mistake. The commander completed his feint and angled his blade at the captain’s neck. Desperately, Aidan raised his sword, hoping to deflect at least part of the blow.
With a sickening twist, his sword flew from his hands.
He watched helplessly as Haldan moved closer. The commander could end this at any time, and they both knew it. He braced himself for the final blow, but Haldan just stood there with a surprised look upon his face. When he pitched forward, blood frothing from his mouth, Aidan automatically moved forward to help. Forcefully, he stopped himself. Behind the fallen commander stood Morgrim, holding two bloodied knives. The priest panted heavily in the silence of the chambers and smiled at Aidan before collapsing to the ground.
Slowly, Aidan retrieved his sword and knelt beside Haldan’s body. The commander was dead, his face frozen in a permanent rictus of surprise. Gently, and with more care than he thought possible, Aidan closed the corpse’s eyes.
“Rest well, my friend,” he whispered. Whatever had passed between them, he would always honor the man he knew as a young Dragon.
He sighed and moved to Morgrim’s crumpled form. The priest lived-barely. Aidan watched the shallow rise and fall of his chest and marveled at the priest’s vulnerability. Morgnim’s life was an ember smoldering beneath Aidan’s boot; a simple step would grind it into ash.
And yet, he knew that he would not take that step.
Though the priest served the whims of a dark god, he had more than proven himself worthy of respect. Aidan didn’t believe he possessed a heart of gold-that kind of naпvetй shattered in a dark alley late one night-but Morgrim’s actions spoke of friendship more eloquently than words.
Aidan watched the wounded priest for a few more moments, then turned away to search for the Lirithane. He didn’t want to stay in the sewers any longer. A few minutes later, he found the familiar blade clutched in the cold hands of Morgrim’s spell-wielding opponent. Prying it loose, he discovered a disc shaped symbol-the sign of Lathander-attached to a chain around the corpse’s neck. With a curse, he tore the symbol from the chain and tossed it back down the sewer tunnel. Haldan had spoken the truth; his allies would never rest until they fulfilled their plan.
Carefully, Aidan bent down and lifted Morgrim up from the dank floor. As he retraced their furtive passage through the tunnels, he thought about the events of the past tenday and smiled. He would speak to Lady Rowanmantle this very afternoon and pledge his help in rooting out the conspiracy.
Perhaps there was a place for an old, tired soldier after all.
Whence the Song of Steel
In my line of work a fellow gets used to lots of things- ear-splitting screams, daggers in the shadows, leering masks, wicked smiles, wailing widows, back alleys, bodies, and blood… lots of blood. I’d just never had to endure all of them in one night.
Opera’s what the Sembites called it. The word means “works.” Still, out of a cast of thousands, I was the only one working. Everybody else primped and bickered, pranced in patti-colored silks and grease paint, and gestured to a couple fat men who bellowed. Meanwhile, I stood there in the dark lee of a stage curtain and watched
