hall lined with rows of plain stone columns. Around the perimeter of the room dozens of blank stone archways were evely spaced along the wall, each surrounded by an intricate ring of rune-etched stone. The long, low chamber extended into the darkness.
'These look familiar,' breathed Belgin quietly.
'Aye. More portals,' Miltiades agreed. 'Where do they all go?'
The sharper moved closer to the nearest portal and carefully brushed the dust from its circle of runes. He traced the inscription with one finger, whispering under his breath, then stepped back. 'This one goes to Chessenta, I think. Or an old Mulhorese ruin that I've heard of that lies in that land.' He moved over to the next one, scrutinizing it carefully. 'Here's one that goes to a place called Myth Drannor. Ever hear of it?'
'Don't open it!' Miltiades barked quickly. 'It wouldn't make things any better.'
I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to. Gates such as these often need very specific keys to open. Unless the builders of these archways were kind enough to hide the activating phrase in these inscriptions…' The sharper turned back to study the archway.
Miltiades watched Belgin for a long moment. The ancient hieroglyphs meant nothing to him, preceding the ancient days in which he'd led his first life by thousands of years. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as Belgin moved to the next archway and softly traced the stone carving. 'Hold, scoundrel!' he cried, darting forward to catch the sharper by the wrist. 'You worked magic to comprehend these runes!'
'Tyr has no problem with the practice of magic, does he?' Belgin answered angrily, pulling his hand from Miltiades's grasp. 'How could I read this gibberish otherwise?'
'Tyr takes no offense at the working of magic, but he does have a problem with deception,' grated the paladin. 'Who are you, pirate? What are you doing here? Explain yourself!'
Belgin straightened and drew back his shoulders, a scowl settling over his round face. 'What do you care?' he said sharply. 'I'm exactly what you see-a pirate, a cutthroat, a dandy and a sharp. I take from those too weak or too stupid to defend themselves. I've stolen from kings and from beggars. I've killed good men and bad. I've reneged on my bargains, lied to those who trusted me, turned my back on those in need. Sometimes I've dared a deed worthy of a song, and more often I've murdered a song before it was born. That's who I am, paladin. If you don't like it, keep your judgments to yourself.'
'You have led an unjust life,' said Miltiades.
'Well, life's been unjust to me.'
'You feel remorse,' the paladin said.
'What does it matter if I do? It's a vanity of mine.'
'No, it's not vanity. I know evil when I see it, Belgin. That's the weight and the gift of paladinhood. And whatever you think, evil isn't in your heart.'
You've got to be kidding me. Belgin almost laughed, but his damaged lungs could only manage a shallow wheeze. 'It's a bit late to save me, paladin, although I'm sure my mother'd thank you for trying.'
Miltiades laughed quietly. 'Fine. So how much do you know of magic?'
'Only a smattering. I've knowledge of about a dozen spells, none suitable for battling a creature such as Eidola. Most of my magic is in illusion and charms.'
'How did a pirate come to learn the wizard's art?'
Belgin straightened, a grimace of pain flitting across his face. 'You'd be surprised at how far a little illusion magic goes at the card table, or at what a swindler can do with a simple charm.' How's that for irony? he thought. I can't even take a shill without cheating somehow. He laughed again, his strength returning. 'Besides, I wasn't always a pirate. I learned what I know years before I came aboard the Kissing Shark.' Suddenly the pirate straightened, looking back toward the passage they'd descended. Something dragged softly on the stone steps above.
The paladin opened his mouth, but Belgin silenced him with an upraised hand. The air grew cold, and the bitter chill threatened to start him coughing again. 'We're not alone,' he whispered.
'I feel it, Belgin.' Biting his lip, the paladin stepped away from the door. He glanced around, then nodded across the dark hall. 'I still sense Eidola in that direction. Come on.' Leaving the stair behind, they crossed the hall of pillars, only to find another stair leading up.
Bounding up the steps, they emerged into the shrieking chaos of the sandstorm. They stood in the ruins of a small shrine or stone patio, its roof long since gone. Belgin could feel something climbing steadily up the dark steps behind them, deliberate and unhurried. 'Where's the doppelganger?' he shouted at Miltiades.
I’m not sure. She's moving again!'
'Well, pick a direction! I don't want to find out what's behind us!'
Miltiades glanced over his shoulder at the dark stairway, then scanned the rubble around them. His eye fell on a drum-shaped piece of masonry, evidently once a piece of a pillar. He stumbled over to the stone and triecT to lift it. 'Help me!' he cried. Belgin scrambled over and joined him. Together they flipped the stone onto its edge and hauled it to the top of the steps.
Green-glowing eyes looked up at them as something clad in ancient bronze climbed toward them, a long glaive of emerald fire burning in its yellowed hands. More eyes glinted in the darkness beneath it. The paladin and the sharper exchanged one look, then set their shoulders to the stone. It teetered for a moment on the topmost step and then tipped over, rolling down the stairs with an ear-shattering clatter. The skeletal warriors moved slowly to avoid the block, but there was no room to dodge. In a roar of dust and stone they were swept away down the stairs. 'What was that?' Belgin panted as the resounding echoes died away.
'You don't want to know,' Miltiades answered. He straightened, setting a hand to his back with a wince. 'I'm getting too old for this. Come on. Eidola's somewhere in that direction.'
Staggering against the storm's rage, they blundered out into the ancient streets.
Jacob slashed his way clear of the dessicated mummies with a burst of superhuman speed and strength, leaving a dozen or more of the ancient warriors dismembered in the sand-swept street. For the moment, no enemies stalked him. Shielding his frail human eyes with an upraised arm, he trudged back into the wind, seeking the colonnaded palace. Rings he dismissed as dead; if the creatures that had attacked them didn't get the dwarf, something else surely would. Jacob could sense the malignant sentience behind the sandstorm and the walking dead, and it seemed likely it would try to isolate and destroy them. 'Well, feel free to try,' he snorted into the storm. I’ve a surprise or two for you, whatever you are.'
The storm didn't bother to reply. Jacob shrugged and continued, feeling his way across the open square. A dark shape loomed up out of the gloom, with another behind it, and a third dimly visible behind that-a row of columns, standing on a stone porch. 'I'll be damned,'
Jacob muttered. Now, which way? He'd been wrong before and gone too far to the right, which meant that he needed to follow the portico to the left to find the doorway inside… or so he thought. He decided to turn left and slogged on through the drifting sand, keeping the columns in sight.
A prickling in the back of his neck warned him of danger. Whirling, he lashed out with his sword, just in time to meet the attack of a tall, powerful mummy with eyes of green flame. The undead thing hissed in frustration as white steel met the fall of its black scythe and pressed closer, drawing back for another strike. Jacob scrambled back for space to fight, slipped on the stone steps, and fell back into the sand. Dazed, he shook his head to clear his vision.
The ancient warrior towered over him, scythe poised for the kill. 'I don't think so,' Jacob said. With boneless ease he shifted his form, instantly transforming his left arm into a steel spear and punching it through the mummy's empty skull. The withered torso collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Jacob quickly resumed his original form and stood, looking around for the next attack.
'Very good,' said a voice behind him, cutting through the wind like a blade of cold steel. Jacob turned slowly, a feral grin on his features. Watching from the shadows of the colonnade stood an athletic human woman in black leather, a strand of hemp hiding at her collar. 'I didn't expect that.'
I’ve been looking for you,' Jacob said.
Interlude
… Of Monsters and Men Portals, portals everywhere. Which one do I seek?
Eidola won't do for this. She's strong, swift, and beautiful, but she doesn't know a thing about the works of ancient Netheril or the crafting of spells. The minotaur and the mastiff are useless now, the cuttlefish demon too. The great fiend? No, it was merely a shell. If I'd really conquered a balor, I'd have no need of a wizard's magic-I
