on white skewers of energy. In the blink of an eye both were blasted to shards in a rolling thunderclap that left Belgin's ears ringing and his eyes dancing with spots. 'What now?' he groaned.
Miltiades shook his head. 'I know not.' Grimacing in pain, he straightened and faced the darkness, hammer held lightly in one hand. His silver armor gleamed like a brand of faith in the stinking mire and rot of the dismal street. 'Who goes there? Show yourself!'
'I should have expected you to start a war with the powers of Skullport the moment you returned, Miltiades,' a woman's voice replied. Stepping into the light, a tall woman of exquisite beauty and iron determination appeared, tapping a slender wand in her hand. Despite himself, Belgin blinked in astonishment. It wasn't every day that he was rescued from certain death by beautiful women. 'Come quickly. We must move fast to elude more of the skull guardians,' she said.
Belgin gathered up what dignity he could and looked to Miltiades. 'You know her?'
The paladin simply nodded. 'She is Aleena Paladinstar.' His eyes darkened. 'A friend, but one who has much to answer for.'
'Good,' said the sharper. Td get bored if anything ever became easy or obvious.' He began a sweeping bow to the lady before him, but as he moved tearing pain lanced through his chest. Gasping in surprise at the bright blood that fumed from his mouth, Belgin collapsed in the street, darkness whirling in to blanket him.
Silver light danced above him, cool, supernal. He felt light as a feather, almost as if he'd slipped free of some heavy shackle. I'm dying, he realized. He didn't feel much fear, only a little sadness. It wasn't as if he hadn't been expecting it, after all. That was the manner of the blood-forge's curse-you could be fine all day long, only to keel over dead at sunset. Belgin had seen it often enough. If he'd had the strength, he would have laughed until he cried. All the heartache, all the trouble, of the Kissing Shark's last voyage and Entreri's damned contract, and I was going to kick off anyway. There must have been a better way to spend my last days.
'He's fading fast.' A woman's voice, distant and concerned. 'Cure the affliction quickly, or well lose him.'
'I know, I know. But it's not a mundane disease. It's a magical curse, the effect of growing up in a land ruled by a bloodforge.'
'If I counter the curse, can you then heal him?'
'Tyr willing, I think so.'
Motion now, someone dumping him unceremoniously on a rickety wooden table. Belgin gazed up at the smoke-stained roof-beams of a tavern, impossibly far away. What better place for me to die than in some dismal alehouse? Irony on irony. I'm almost sorry I won't see how this turns out. The woman spoke words he knew, working a potent spell designed to undo curses. He wanted to tell her to save her magic, that the priests of Edenvale had tried that measure long ago, but he couldn't find his breath. Then Miltiades spoke loudly, calling on the power of his god, as his hands descended to rest on Belgin's chest.
Silver Hghtning jolted his chest, although his eyes saw nothing but a soft glow. The sharper gasped and bounced from the table in reaction, then drew a great cold breath that seemed to go on forever. It had been years since he could hold so much air in his lungs. Flinching, he waited for the inevitable fit to rack him again… but this time, it didn't come.
'Belgin? Can you hear me?' Beside him, Miltiades helped him to sit upright. Taut with worry, the paladin peered into his face. 'Speak, man! Tyr's power has made you whole again.'
'I can breathe,' Belgin whispered. He couldn't believe it. He felt weak as a kitten, drained and exhausted, but with some hidden sense he could feel that the wreckage that had cluttered his lungs and stolen his wind for so many months was gone. He sucked in another great gasp of air just to enjoy the sensation. 'Miltiades, what did you do?'
'Not I, but Tyr,' the paladin answered. He stood and smiled. 'The bloodforge disease that ravaged you could not be defeated by magical healing nor undone by simply removing the curse. But both spells together succeeded where either one alone would have failed. Through me, Tyr cured the disease, but only after Aleena here defeated the curse.'
The sharper looked from the paladin to the mage and back again. Beyond the two, he became aware of more details of the room beyond. It was the common room of a squalid alehouse, dank and smoky, so small that the three of them seemed to crowd the place. The front door was barred, and in the opposite corner a pair of villainous-looking pirates sprawled, dead or asleep. By the filthy ale tap, a small, mouselike man sat against the wall, bound by the lasso.
'Where are we?' asked Belgin.
'The Broken Pike,' answered Miltiades. 'We carried you here after you collapsed. Aleena and I had to secure the premises before turning our attention to you.' He grimaced. 'It's fortunate that we acted when we did. You were on the verge of death.'
'Fortunate, indeed,' the sharper breathed. 'Is that
Marks in the lasso?'
The paladin nodded. 'He wasn't inclined to offer us the hospitality of his establishment, so we decided to give him a chance to reconsider.' He glanced across the table at Aleena. 'Perhaps when we've finished with Marks, well find another use for the lasso of truth. What do you think, Aleena?'
Under the paladin's ire, most men would have flinched, but Aleena simply met his gaze with determination. 'I have nothing to hide, Miltiades.'
'Fine. Then maybe you'd care to explain why you destroyed the portal and stranded us in the Utter East. Or why we were sent to rescue a monster, not a high lady. Or for that matter why I shouldn't suspect you of being a doppelganger yourself.'
Aleena folded her arms and met the paladin's anger with misdirection. 'You've learned that Eidola is a doppelganger then? How did you find out?'
'It might have been when she took a crocodile's shape and killed Noph,' Belgin said. 'Or when she turned into a great black mastiff and ran off through the dungeons of Doegan, or perhaps when she turned into a horrible fiend and commanded a trio of vrock to attack us. Somewhere along the way we figured it out.'
The sorceress directed a fierce glare at him, but Belgin only laughed. 'Wasn't she wearing a girdle? A large belt, chased with gold and silver?'
'No,' Miltiades said. 'We never saw any such thing.'
'Damn,' Aleena sighed. 'Someone must have removed it for her.'
'Removed what?' Belgin asked.
'The girdle was a magical bond that locked Eidola into her human shape and personality. As long as she wore it, she could work no evil. If she wears it no longer, there's no telling where she could go or what she could do.' She frowned, thinking. 'You'd better tell me what happened after you arrived in Doegan.'
Miltiades started to answer, but Belgin broke in abruptly. 'Oh, no. You won't throw us off the scent that easily, my lady. Before Miltiades tells you what he was doing in the Five Kingdoms, maybe you should explain how you knew of this girdle that Eidola should have been wearing. And how you knew that she was a doppelganger.' In one fluid motion, he drew his rapier and set the point in the hollow of Aleena's throat. 'We've good reason to be suspicious of foes who look like friends these days.'
Eyes blazing, Aleena flushed and began to raise her hands. A gentle shake of the sharper's head persuaded her to hold still. 'Miltiades, tell this fool to lower his blade,' she grated.
The paladin looked at her thoughtfully. 'Not yet, Aleena. Answer his question.'
'The Blackstaff and I have known of Eidola's true nature for several months now,' she said, glaring at Belgin over the shining blade of the rapier. 'We keep a close eye on anyone who gets close to Piergeiron, and we spotted her as soon as she made her move against the Open Lord.'
'Why didn't you stop her then?' Miltiades demanded. 'What kind of game were you playing with your father's life, girl?'
'We didn't strike at her because she possesses a hold of some kind on my father's mind, perhaps even his very soul. We feared that slaying her would kill the Open Lord, too. And if she does hold his soul in her hands, my father would not only be dead but destroyed utterly. We couldn't take the chance.' A hint of uncertainty flickered across her proud, confident features. 'Khelben and I decided that we had to render Eidola harmless if we couldn't move against her openly. The Blackstaff crafted a girdle of righteousness to bind Eidola. It prevented her from working harm against the Open Lord, or anyone else for that matter, and held her in the shape she currently wore. She couldn't have removed it herself.'
