from the wreckage of the crypt. The ancient doors had stood at the end of a long corridor much like the one under Aetheric's palace, and a faint set of tracks marred the dust on the stone flagstones.
'No hard decisions yet,' Miltiades observed, advancing down the hall. 'She must have gone this way.'
The passageway led several hundred feet before opening high in a dank and lightless cavern whose sides stretched away into the darkness. A cold, foul wind sighed through the chamber, hinting at vast gulfs and trackless mazes in the endless night. What kind of place is this? It must go on forever, Belgin thought. I can feel eyes in the darkness. Beneath them, a narrow ledge circled the upper portion of the cavern, with a steep scramble through a forest of stalagmites to the cavern floor. They dropped lightly from the mouth of the finished passage to the shelf of natural stone, peering down at the yawning darkness below. 'How big is this place?' Belgin muttered.
'No one knows of a larger or more dangerous maze,' Miltiades said. 'Undermountain stretches for miles beneath the city and Mount Waterdeep. You wouldn't believe some of the things that inhabit Haalvar's dungeons, Belgin; keep your eyes open and watch your back down here.'
'I really wish you'd kept that to yourself.' The sharper glanced left and right, then slid down the slope to the cavern floor. He could sense water nearby, a lot of it; the wind was cold and damp, and the sound of the air seemed to indicate an immense cavern. At the bottom, a shelf of gray stone held a couple of muddy footprints. Carefully, he knelt to examine them. A few grains of wet sand remained in the tracks. 'Stay toward the right,' he said quietly. 'I think she's following that wall.'
'All right,' agreed the paladin. He moved off into the darkness, keeping the dank cavern wall close by his right hand. Ahead, the sound of water grew louder, and Belgin became aware of a strong salty reek to the air. After a lifetime of piracy on the open main, he knew the smell of the sea. They followed the cavern wall until it met a dark, lapping arm of water a hundred yards or so from the passageway they'd come from. 'Where did she go from here, Belgin? Can you tell?'
'Look here,' the sharper said. Smooth, dark pebbles made up the shoreline, but a shallow groove showed where some of the pebbles had been displaced. 'There was a boat here.'
'Eidola took it?'
'I couldn't swear to it, Miltiades. It's almost impossible to track over stone, and she might have turned out away from the wall before she came here. The boat that made this mark might have been here minutes past, or it might have only landed once years ago.' He stood and peered out over the Stygian lake. 'Can you dim your magical light?'
'Of course,' the paladin said. He lowered the hammer and allowed the silver light to fade.
As Belgin's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he became aware of a strange glimmer far off across the water. Phosphorescent green seemed to swirl and dance beneath the surface of the water, but beyond that a sickly yellow glow seemed to illuminate the far end of the cavern. 'I think that's lantern light over there,' he said. 'Do you know where we are, Miltiades?'
The paladin nodded in the darkness beside him. 'Yes, I think I do. It's Skullport.'
'Skullport? What's that supposed to mean?'
'Trouble.' Miltiades glowered across the underwater channel, his face unreadable in the gloom. 'Thaf s where Eidola must be.'
'How do you know?' asked Belgin.
'If there's anyplace in the world she can lose us, that will be it. Come on, we'd better find another boat.' The paladin led the way as they started up the shoreline, scrambling and slipping on the wet rocks. They'd only gone a few dozen paces when Belgin suddenly lunged forward to catch the paladin's arm, motioning him to silence. 'What is it?'
'Something's coming up behind us,' the sharper whispered. As they stood in silence for a moment, the clatter of rocks and scrape of awkward footsteps in the darkness behind them was obvious. Belgin quietly moved out away from the shore into the center of the cavern, seeking to flank their pursuer. Behind him, he sensed Miltiades steeling himself for a fight. With a whispered prayer to Tyr, the paladin brightened his hammer to the fullest power of the spell, flooding the cavern with silver light.
'Who goes there?' he called in challenge.
'Miltiades? Is that you?' Stumbling out of the darkness, Jacob blundered into the light, shielding his eyes with his hand. The fighter held his sword at the ready, and his armor showed battle damage and sand scratches from the desert storm. 'I never thought I'd see you again!'
'Jacob?' Miltiades clasped the fighter's arm. 'I'm sorry we left you behind, but I'm glad to see you now.'
'I understand; the quest comes first. You did the right thing, Miltiades. What happened to you after the storm hit?'
'We waited for you, but-'
'One moment,' said Belgin, advancing out of the darkness. 'Where is Rings?'
The fighter stood silent for a long moment, and then said flatly, 'He didn't make it, sharper. He died in the city.'
Belgin closed his eyes and sat down heavily on the cold stones. Kurthe, Brindra, Anvil, now Rings. Will any of us be left by the time this is all done? Any of us? The paladins watched him, but they kept their distance. They'd traveled with Rings only a few hours, and they didn't presume to offer any platitudes for Belgin. It would have been ridiculous. Of all of them, why is it that I'm the one still standing? the sharper thought bitterly. How much longer do I have, anyway? A month? Six months? But I'm alive, and they're all dead.
All dead.
Chapter 5
'I hate this place,' Miltiades muttered beneath a heavy cowl. Eyes narrowed at the mindless dead who milled and trudged past them in the warrenlike streets, the paladin clutched his dark cloak closer to his breast and shifted the hammer in his hand. 'When I've finished with the doppelganger, Fve a mind to muster a dozen or so of Tyr's bravest sons and return to set this wrong aright. It is an abomination in the eyes of the just.'
Good luck, thought Belgin, but he kept his remark to himself. Skullport rambled and twisted in the darkness of the great sea cavern, illuminated by sickly yellow lanterns and green fox fire. Its dismal alleyways and ram shackle buildings reminded him of the worst pirate dens he'd seen in the Five Kingdoms, but this place was far more sinister than the rough-and-tumble seaports he knew. Skullport was a place of dark pleasures and grim designs, a place where things that could not abide the light of day chose to do their business.
'I don't like it much, either,' Belgin admitted. 'Best we do what we came to do and get out of here fast.'
Miltiades's hood nodded. The paladin didn't care for Belgin's suggestion of a disguise, but he'd reluctantly agreed after the sharper had pointedly asked how many other paladins in shining armor he saw stomping around in Skullport's streets. 'She must have friends here. I've heard that the so-called Unseen lurk somewhere in this dismal pit. Well start with them.'
'Any idea of how to find them, Miltiades? They must be called the Unseen for some reason, after all,' Jacob pointed out.
The big fighter brought up the rear of their small party, keeping a sharp eye out behind them. In order to conceal their Tyrian armor, both Jacob and Miltiades had borrowed dark cloaks from ally drunks who'd never need them again. While Miltiades steamed and stewed in his shroud, Jacob grinned ear to ear, obviously enjoying the stealthy approach.
'Question one of these wretched villains scuirying by,' Miltiades said. 'Noph's lasso ought to elicit the answers we need. Sooner or later, well find one who knows something.'
Belgin rolled his eyes, but assented. 'Fine. It lacks subtlety, but well try it your way. I suspect that flashing gold in one of these alehouses would only mark us as targets, anyway.' He eased the rope into his hand and measured it carefully. Together, the three men waited in the mouth of a dark alleyway, watching the mindless dead come and go. Dozens of humans, drow, and more monstrous creatures passed while they watched, but almost all traveled in pairs or small groups, watching the streets carefully. Two times the three men lassoed solitary corsairs
