round as a dark moon, and three more swaddled in dark tabards that might have been covering armor or mere flesh.
Like all good assassins, they wasted no time with preliminaries. The square-chinned wizard took the lead, launching himself straight at Elminster, his dark fingers already flashing through a spell to dismiss his foe's magic shields. Elminster countered with his own dispelling enchantment, and Storm sent a ball of silver fire over his shoulder toward the wizard.
Elminster had a bare moment to wonder if that was a good idea, then the sphere of blazing raw magic struck the shadow mage's spell shield. Instead of blasting through the barrier, as it would have any normal protection, the silver fire spread over the wizard's shadowy shield, silhouetting his body in white radiance. The shadow mage howled and covered his eyes, then the silver fire imploded, crushing the fellow in its iron grip and shrinking to a brilliant orb barely the size of an eyeball.
The remaining shadow princes countered with a volley of dark bolts and black flame. For the first time in a century- perhaps twice that-Elminster actually cringed at the thought of what might happen next The attacks came roaring and thundering at him-then suddenly curved toward the silvery sphere and vanished from sight
A deafening rip filled the air, and the silvery orb stretched into a jagged line. Elminster pulled his thumb away from the ring it had been rubbing and pointed at the ground.
Too late. The blue ray extended only feet from his hand, then curved upward and vanished into the crooked streak of brilliance-as did the lightning bolt Storm sent dancing over his shoulder. There was another zipping sound, so powerful Elminster felt it in his guts. The jagged line expanded into a rift-a deep, silver-sided crevasse with crimson flames at its bottom-and continued to expand. 'By all the holy gods, it's-if s ripping!'
It took Elminster a moment to realize he was the one yelling-and even he was not sure exactly what was ripping-He knew only that he had seen those fuming swirls once before, when, searching for a lover as cherished as she was flawed, he had dared look where no man should.
And now those same flames were licking at Shadowdale, boiling out of the Nine Hells to lap at his beloved home. The raw magic of his silver fire had fused with the shadow mage's dark magic and imploded, tearing a hole in the world fabric itself. It was, he realized, exactly what had happened when Galaeron's magic bolt struck Melegaunt's shadow magic at the Sharn Wall-but the things that might flee this breach would make the phaerimm look like mere cantrip-tossing goblins.
When the rift continued to open, the shadow princes drew their dark weapons and began to circle warily. Though hardly concerned about Shadowdale's safety, they were as surprised by the breach as Elminster-and hardly eager to get themselves knocked inside. Storm took advantage of their hesitation to unsheathe her own sword and start forward. Elminster raised an arm to stop her. 'No.' 'But these shadow princes-'
'Are welcome to follow me, if they dare.' Elminster glared at the circling princes. Seeing no sign that any of them intended to accept his invitation, he shooed Storm away. 'See ye to the phaerimm. Ill tend to this other trouble from the inside.'
'From the inside?' Storm stopped outside the circle of shadow princes and cast a wary eye toward the widening rift. 'Elminster, tell me you're not-'
'But 1 must, dear Storm.' Elminster started forward. 'I can't have the Nine Hells erupting beneath my own tower, can I?'
The flames leaped up, a lot like a lover's arms reaching for an old friend, and Elminster flew into Hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
30 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp
Galaeron spread the last coffer of gems across the table. Melegaunt passed first one hand, then the other over the stones. Finding nothing, he worked his way around the table, repeating the process from all sides to be certain his hand passed over every stone. Finally, he shook his head.
'No magic, no evil. If Wulgreth's life-force is here, it's undetectable by my best magic.'
Unable to control his frustration, Galaeron swept the gems onto the pile of scintillating wealth already heaped on the floor. Malik, kneeling half-buried in the heap, winced as they struck him, then began to sort with a expert eye, pitching the most valuable stones into the second of two large coffers he intended his beloved horse to carry back Vala, who had grown more distrustful since learning he was the Seraph of Lies, eyed him suspiciously 'Have you taken anything that wasn't checked?'
'I have touched nothing that did not come from the table,' Malik replied. 'Do you think 1 am eager to keep a lich in the treasury of my new manor?' 'If you're lying-'
'How many times must I tell you?' Malik demanded. 'I was crippled by that harlot Mystra's truth magic and cannot lie! You may inspect everything I have taken.' Vala reached for a coffer, but Galaeron put out a hand.
'He hasn't lied to us yet, which is more than we can say for Melegaunt,' he said. The phylactery's not here, or Wulgreth would be on us like a spider on flies.'
Takari turned to Jhingleshod. 'Is there another place he lairs?' When the knight did not seem to register the question, she gingerly pushed his arm. 'Are you still with us?'
The iron knight disappointed them all by meeting her gaze. 'There is no other place. He stays near the butte.'
'Then he would store the phylactery somewhere visible from here.' Galaeron glanced toward the door. 'As overgrown as the ruins are, it will take time to find.'
Melegaunt stepped in front of Jhingleshod. 'I have done everything possible to keep my word, but there is more at issue here than Wulgreth. We will find the phylactery, I promise you, but Aris should be finished with his passage by now. Would it not be possible to take the Karsestone outside and summon Shade? There are thousands in the city, and they will help us search.' Jhingleshod looked to Galaeron.
'It would be best,' Galaeron said. 'Otherwise, it could take months.'
'Months?' The disappointment in Jhingleshod's eyes was as easy to read as Galaeron had prayed it would be. The promise of the end to any ordeal could make days seem like tendays, and this looked to be as true for Jhingleshod as for an elf.
Glancing at his weary companions, Galaeron added, 'I don't know that we could survive that long.'
Jhingleshod waved Melegaunt toward the crawlway in the corner and said, 'Summon your city.'
'A wise choice.' Though Melegaunt tried to sound restrained, the joy in his voice was unmistakable. 'You won't regret it.'
Giving Jhingleshod no time to change his mind, the wizard led the way through the green barrier. Vala, Takari, and Malik followed, with the iron knight next and Galaeron last
As the elf dropped through the door, a booming crash shook the cavern below. He looked down to see Melegaunt skittering across the silver pool on his back, limbs flaying and forks of magic dissipating against his spell guard. Leaping off the Karsestone after him was a skeletal form with a rotting, noseless face and lipless mouth. The filth-stained claws and fiery pinpoints in its empty eye sockets left no doubt that they had finally found Wulgreth.
Hurling himself into an oblique somersault, Galaeron grabbed his sword and had it half drawn by the time he splashed into the pool. He swam half a dozen strokes toward the rear of the cavern, then surfaced behind Jhingleshod.
The iron knight was splashing toward the battle behind Vala and Takari, his big axe raised to strike. At first Galaeron thought their guide was rushing to attack Wulgreth, but something inside much wiser and darker suggested otherwise. Jhingleshod had been trying to exterminate them since the sunken bridge. Had he not forced them to cross separately, so it would be easier for the undead to attack? After they survived that, he had led them through a savage gauntlet of wights and wraiths. When even that failed, he had found excuse after excuse to stall until Wulgreth returned. Probably, it had even been Jhingleshod who alerted the lich to their presence in the first place-after all, they had only his word that he had ever killed Wulgreth at all. Galaeron swung at Jhingleshod's neck. Even sharp elven steel did not bite deep into the iron flesh, but it did catch the knight's attention. He whirled around, his gruesome jaw hanging almost as low as his guard. Galaeron sprang for the opening, driving his sword at the knight's exposed throat.
