Crypt of the Shadowking

Seven

It was midmorning two days later when Estah returned from a trip to the free market in the New City. The few patrons in the common room looked up in astonishment from their tables. Most had known the innkeeper for years, but few had ever seen her angry.

"She has gone too far this time!" Estah exclaimed furiously.

Jolle hurried into the common room. He took one look at his wife and, sensing something was terribly wrong, gave the signal. Instantly the inn's occupants leaped from their tables. The shutters were closed, the door locked, and lookouts headed upstairs to keep watch. Caledan entered as Jolle was trying in vain to calm down the healer.

"She has gone too far!" Estah repeated, her cheeks flushed. She snatched the board bearing Lord Cutter's Rules from the wall and flung it to the floor.

"Ravendas?" Caledan ventured, his expression grim. Look at this," Estah said, her voice trembling as she thrust a crumpled-up piece of parchment toward Caledan. "I saw it just a few minutes ago, posted in the free market." Caledan unfolded the parchment. It was an official notice. Quickly he read it, his heart sinking.

"What's going on?" Mari asked as she descended the stairs. She and Caledan usually kept out of the common room, but the commotion had brought her down. Caledan handed the parchment to her, and she read the declaration with a solemn face.

"It looks like Ravendas has arranged a bit of entertainment for the city," he said, gritting his teeth. "There's going to be a public hanging tomorrow afternoon. One of the criminals to be executed is an old friend of ours. His name is Ferret."

Estah sank down into a chair. All the spirit seemed to go out of her, and she buried her face in her hands.

"It's all right, wife, I'm here," Jolle said, holding her shoulders tightly. "All's going to be well. You'll see."

Estah wiped her eyes with the corner of her skirt. "I'm sorry, husband. I'm weary, that's all. I'm just so weary of Ravendas ruining everything that I care about." She shook her head. "She's wounded this city so deeply, I wonder if we will ever be able to heal it"

Mari looked at Caledan, her face tense. The message was clear: We have to do something.

He nodded. There was no question about it. Ferret had once been one of his best, if not most trustworthy, friends. He was not about to let Ravendas claim another member of the Fellowship.

"Estah," Caledan said gravely, kneeling down to talk to the healer, "Ferret got us out of more scrapes than I can count during those years we all traveled together. We both owe our lives to him, several times over. This is the time for us to repay him. We can't lose hope.

"Still, a little extra help wouldn't hurt," Caledan went on, standing up. "Estah, you said once that Tyveris still lived near the city. Can you tell me how I might find him?"

"I think so," Estah ventured, "but…"

"No buts," Caledan said, striking his palm with a fist. "If we're really going to rescue Ferret, we're going to need that warrior's sword."

Caledan rode through the New City toward Iriaebor's north gate, keeping the hood of his blue traveling cloak drawn over his head. It seemed as if city guards were more common than rats these days, and he had no doubt they were still searching for him and the Harper. It had felt a little strange donning the old cloak that morning, knowing that Cormik's young apprentice, Dario, had died wearing it. But Cormik had given it back to Caledan after Dario's body had been returned to the city for burial. And Caledan couldn't bring himself to throw the cloak away. He had worn it for too many years, on too many journeys.

A trio of guards were keeping watch over the city's north gate. They might have given Caledan some trouble, but they were distracted by a flock of sheep being driven into the city for slaughter. The sheep balked as a red-faced peasant man tried futilely to herd them through the gates. The scene erupted into a cacophony of bleating and cursing. Caledan took the opportunity to slip through the gates unnoticed.

"Remind me to be grateful the next time I eat mutton stew," Caledan commented to Mista as they left the walls of the city behind. The gray mare replied with a snort that sounded uncannily like laughter.

The day was fine and clear and the midday sun warm.

Caledan breathed deeply as he rode across plains that were in midst of taking on spring's brilliant hues. It was good to get out of the city.

To Caledan, Iriaebor looked like some vast, dark toadstool looming on the Tor, a blight on the land, a thing of disease and decay. Every day the city's streets were growing dirtier, its buildings shabbier, its people poorer and more desperate. And every day the streets grew emptier, as well. Soon it was going to be more ghost town than city. The Zhentarim continued their mysterious abduction of able-bodied cityfolk, forcing them to dig into the hard rock beneath the city lord's tower. But for what purpose? That was a secret even Cormik's agents were unable to fathom. Caledan sighed, putting the troubles out of his head for the moment.

It was early afternoon when he found the standing stone Estah had described, marking a road branching off from the main highway. He followed the road up a low, rounded hill, finding himself before an edifice of gray stone, its ornately embellished spires rising above a walled courtyard.

"This must be the place, Mista," he said with a frown, dismounting.

Caledan pulled the rope that hung next to the wall's stout oaken gate and heard the clang of a bell. After several moments an ancient man clad in a simple robe of drab brown opened the door. When Caledan explained that he had come in search of his old friend, Tyveris, the man smiled and bade him enter.

Caledan left Mista in the courtyard. The old man led him inside to an entrance hall, gestured that he should wait, and then shuffled away.

The entrance hall was a high, narrow room paneled in mahogany. Faded frescoes decorated the ceiling, and dappled light from an intricate stained glass window fell to the floor like so many scattered gems. The hall was silent.

Suddenly that silence was shattered.

"Caledan Caldorien!" a deep voice thundered, the sound of it rattling the stained glass. Caledan spun on a heel to see a man clad in a brown robe stride into the room. The man stood no taller than Caledan himself, but he took up considerably more space. His monumental shoulders looked ready to split the brown robe he wore, and the homespun cloth did little to conceal his thickly muscled arms and chest. The man's skin was a dark, coppery color, and his eyes were as black as obsidian, encircled by a pair of gold wire spectacles. He grinned broadly as he crossed the room, enfolding Caledan in a bear hug.

"It's good to see you, too, Tyveris," Caledan gasped, wondering how many of his ribs were cracked.

"I thought old Ebrelias was seeing things again when he said someone had come asking for me," the big man said merrily, releasing Caledan. "How long have you been back in these parts, old friend?"

"Not long," Caledan said, rubbing his chest. "I've been staying at the Dreaming Dragon in the city, with Estah."

Tyveris smiled broadly. "How is Estah? I haven't seen her in years. I'm afraid I don't really get to the city these days. Maybe you can tell me something more of the dark rumors I've heard about Iriaebor. Can you stay awhile? I can send to the cellar for a bottle of wine." He winked slyly. "I still have some of that Sembian red. You know, from that time we raided the caravan of that Amnian merchant who was running slaves to Thay…"

Caledan laughed at the memory. "That was a good vintage, wasn't it? As I recall, the grand finale to that evening was when you sang Chultan war songs on the roof of one of the caravan wagons, then slipped and fell on your head."

Actually, Caledan," Tyveris rumbled, "that was a duet. And it was your head that I fell on when we hit the ground, not mine."

"Oh, that's right," Caledan said, wincing as the details came back to him. "But I don't really have time for wine now, Tyveris." Quickly, Caledan told Tyveris that the city's new ruler was their old nemesis, and about the notice Ravendas had posted that morning. Tyveris listened carefully, his face grave. When Caledan finished, he sighed deeply.

"Of course I'll help you free Ferret, Caledan," the big man said. "The gods know we all owe our lives to that little scoundrel a dozen times over. But there's one thing I think you don't understand. Didn't Estah tell you?"

“Tell me what?" Caledan asked.

"I gave up my sword more than five years ago," Tyveris said slowly. 'This is an abbey, dedicated to Oghma. Caledan, I'm a monk now, a loremaster of Oghma, not a warrior."

Caledan stared at the big man in amazement.

"I think we'd better go have that wine after all," Tyveris said, gripping Caledan's shoulder and steering him out of the entrance hall. Caledan could only nod dully. Seven years ago Tyveris had been the most fearless and ferocious swordsman Caledan had ever known. Now he was a… monk?

They spent the next hour talking intently in Tyveris's small, spare chamber, furnished only with a low bed, a chest, and a table with two chairs. A coarsely woven mat of rushes was the lone covering for the cold stone floor. The single window looked out over a garden, perfectly framing a small pear tree just coming into bloom. Tyveris had sent a young boy-an orphan and refugee from the city taken in by the abbey-for that bottle of wine, and it was every bit as delicious as Caledan remembered.

They spoke of old memories for a while, but finally, after a long silence, Tyveris explained what had led him to trade his sword for a loremaster's robe. "You remember how I came to these lands," he said, gazing out the window thoughtfully. 'The ships traveled from Waterdeep across the Shining Sea to my homeland, to the jungles of Chult. They promised much gold and glory to those young Tabaxi men and women who would come with them, to train with the sword and become mercenaries. Despite our parents' tears, both I and my sister went with the ships, leaving our homeland behind, never to return."

Caledan nodded. He recalled the familiar tale. "You lost your sister on that voyage, didn't you?" he asked gently.

A flicker of pain passed briefly across the big man's face. "The ship was crowded and filthy. Almost half of my people died of sickness before we reached the Sword Coast. Tali was one of them. That was when I vowed to become the greatest warrior I could, to make her spirit proud of me." He lifted his cup of wine, draining it to the bottom. They both knew the rest of the story. Tyveris and the other Chultans spent many years as mercenary fighters in the service of a wizard from Calimshan whom they could not escape. It was the Harpers-and Caledan-who had freed them. That was when Tyveris joined the Fellowship.

"But I was living a lie, Caledan. I realized that, after you left and the Fellowship disbanded. For a long time I had made your purposes mine, and that was enough to sustain me. But for the first time since I had left the jungles of Chult, I was faced with my own purposes, not another's. Killing held no true joy for me, and no glory. I realized that I could no longer honor Tali's spirit by acting as a warrior. Killing only mocked her death.

"That was when I found this place, the Abbey of Everard. The loremasters here let me work for them and sleep in their stable. Abbess Melisende herself taught me to read, and soon I learned that there was a whole different power besides swinging a sword. Finally, I asked if I could join the order, and the other loremasters agreed. That was four years ago." Tyveris paused, pushing his spectacles up higher on his nose. "It's a good place, Caledan. The loremasters take care of the poor and sick as best they can, though these days far more come from the city than can fit within these walls. And there's a library, filled with books." His dark eyes gleamed as he smiled, and Caledan couldn't help but return his expression. "I think Tali would be pleased with my choice."

"I think she would be, too." Caledan stood up. "But sword or no sword, I would still like to have you by my side, Tyveris."

The big man stood and gripped Caledan's hand tightly. Caledan winced, hoping that none of his bones would break. "Then you can count on me tomorrow," Tyveris said firmly. "Ferret deserves our help. And Oghma knows, there is no love lost between myself and the Zhentarim."

Tyveris promised to be at the Dreaming Dragon early the next morning, and Caledan bid his old friend farewell. The gloom of dusk was just beginning to gather as he rode back toward the waiting city.

It was full dark when the stranger caught scent of the trail, but the black-robed one did not need any illumination to follow the prey. The call of the shadow magic was strong. The other was still within the city's walls, still beyond his reach. But not Caldorien. Caldorien was outside the city- in the stranger's territory.

Heavy robes billowed out like dark, fantastic wings as the stranger sped across the shadowed land. An evening wind hissed through the grass. There was no moon, but the stranger did not know this, did not care. All that mattered was finding Caldorien, finding him and tearing the life from his body.

All with the shadow magic must die. All. The master had decreed it.

The scent grew stronger, the trail fresher. Caldorien was close now, very close. No more than a minute or two ahead. The stranger's black-gloved hands opened and closed in anticipation of the flesh they would crush.

Suddenly the stranger faltered and slowed. Caldorien's scent dwindled, faded, was lost in a roar of other odors, pungent and overwhelming-the city. Caldorien had reached its walls, eluding the stranger's grasp once again. The figure reeled, turned, and slipped back toward the plains, letting out a high, blood-chilling shriek of fury.

Then the night was silent.

Caledan rose in the gray light before dawn. There were preparations to make. He found Mari and Estah already in the kitchen. "Can you shoot a bow, Harper?" he asked gruffly.

She set down her cup of tea and looked him straight in the eye. "Try me."

Dawn was just breaking over the city's towers as Caledan and Mari strung a pair of longbows in the garden behind the inn. Jolle had brought the two bows down from the attic, along with a longsword now belted at Caledan's hip. There was quite a store of weapons, armor, and traveling gear up there, left over from the days of the Fellowship. Estah had thrown nothing out.

Caledan nocked an arrow and aimed at an apple dangling by a string from a tree branch across the garden, a good hundred feet away. His hand steady, he pulled the arrow back until the fletching brushed his cheek. Then he let it % The arrow hissed through the air. A heartbeat later, the apple spun on the string.

Caledan was smug. "Beat that, Harper."

He watched as she carefully selected an arrow and nocked it, lifting the bow with a sure, easy grace. The morning mist clung to her green velvet jacket like translucent pearls, and the first rays of the sun seemed to set fire to her dark auburn hair. She looked almost beautiful in this light, Caledan suddenly thought. Almost. Not that he particularly cared.

Mari paused for a moment, then the arrow raced through the air. The apple dropped to the ground.

"Damn, you'll have to try again, Harper," Caledan growled, walking toward the target "The string broke."

"It didn't break, scoundrel," Mari said, a hint of mirth in her rich voice.

Caledan frowned in puzzlement. What was she talking about? He bent down and picked up the apple. Then he saw. The end of the string had been sliced cleanly through. He looked at her, a smile spreading across his angular face.

"It looks like you've got the job, Harper."

"Good," was all she said.

Tyveris arrived at the Dreaming Dragon a short while later. Caledan had feared that the guards at the city gates might give him trouble, but they had let the monk pass. The Zhentarim had taken one look at the massive Tabaxi Chultan and had thought better of bothering him.

At the first sight of Tyveris, Pog and Nog squealed in terror, running upstairs to hide. However, despite his booming voice, which seemed to rattle the very timbers of the inn, there was a gentleness about Tyveris that eventually drew Pog and Nog from their hiding places. Before long they each sat upon one of Tyveris's broad shoulders.

"Come on, Tyveris," Caledan said finally, helping the huge loremaster disentangle himself from the tiny halfling children. "There's someone we need to pay a visit to, someone in need of holy guidance, I think."

"Really?" Tyveris rumbled, his dark eyes gleaming behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. "Well, don't let it be said I'm one to turn my back on a soul in peril."

The two slipped out the garden gate behind the inn and down the dank, narrow alley that led deeper into the Old City Tyveris had to turn sideways to make it through the cramped passage. When they reached the alley's end they had to wait for a city guard on patrol to pass by. Then they made their way through the city's grim streets.

Caledan had paid a visit to the Prince and Pauper the night before to get some information and to make a few arrangements for today. Cormik had been happy to oblige.

"Anything to put a little vinegar in Lord Cutter's wine," he had said with a raucous laugh. He gave Caledan the name and residence of the priest who was to speak the final rites over the prisoners before the execution. The priest was a disciple of Cyric, a god devoted to murder and lies as surely as Oghma was the deity of knowledge and illumination. Cormik had learned that many of the Zhentarim in the city worshiped Cyric in secret, abominable ceremonies of blood and fire. Ravendas herself was rumored to be a follower of the dark god, though Caledan doubted that. Ravendas was not the kind of woman who would kneel before anyone, even a god.

The priest's tower stood on the east side of the Tor. Caledan rapped on the door, and a scar-faced guard answered. Scant moments later Tyveris was muttering a prayer over the guard's body while Caledan quietly shut the door. He bent down and pulled his dagger from the man's chest, cleaning it on the guard's uniform.

They found the priest of Cyric sleeping in a lavishly decorated bedroom high in the tower. They had encountered a few servants on the way up, but these had hurriedly scurried away after one look at Caledan and Tyveris. Apparently there was little bravery among followers of the evil god.

The priest was in for a rude awakening.

"What in the Abyss!" he cried, throwing off his bedclothes and trying to scramble to his feet. "In the name of Cyric, I command you to-"

“To what?" Tyveris asked a moment later, standing over the priest's limp body. The big Tabaxi's fist hadn't left much of the man's now-bloodied nose intact.

Caledan regarded Tyveris curiously. "I thought you said you had given up fighting."

"The gods didn't give us swords, Caledan, so I won't use one," Tyveris said solemnly. "But the gods did give us fists," he added slyly.

They bound and gagged the groaning priest of Cyric, then rummaged through a cherrywood wardrobe until they found his dark purple ceremonial robes. Luckily the priest had led a soft life, and his garments were rather roomy. Tyveris tried on the garb. The fit wasn't perfect, but it would do.

"Let's get out of here," Caledan said, stuffing the priest's robes into a sack.

The sun stood high overhead in the azure sky. It was time for the execution.

Caledan lay low against the stones of a weathered, lichen-covered bridge that spanned from tower to tower high above an open plaza. Thirty feet directly below him stood the gallows, a tall platform reached by a set of narrow wooden steps. A half-dozen nooses dangled from the stout crossbeam. It was to be a multiple hanging. Ferret was just one of the unlucky ones.

Seven years ago the plaza had been called the Fountain Square, but it had been unofficially renamed under Cutter's rule. Now it was called the Scarlet Square, for all too often the gutters ran, not with water, but with blood.

Two gigantic statues carved of ancient gray stone stood facing each other at opposite ends of the square. These, too were Ravendas's additions. Each of the statues stood at least fifteen feet high on a basalt throne. The Gray Watchers Caledan had heard them called. One was carved in the image of a stern-looking man, the other a regal woman. The king and queen of cruelty, both wore circlets of stone upon their brows. Rumor had it Ravendas had discovered them in the ruins of an ancient keep in the Sunset Mountains to the west and had them transported here to keep watch over her executions.

Caledan turned his gaze away from the forbidding statues. They chilled his blood just to look at them.

A crowd was beginning to gather in the square. Eight guards led by a Zhentarim captain stood before the gibbet, keeping the folk away. The crowd's mood was hostile, and it was clear they would have torn the gallows down but for Cutter's guards standing there, hands on the hilts of their swords.

Caledan squinted up at the sun. It was almost time. Cor-mik had made his promised arrangements. Even now, a man-one of Cormik's agents-stood by one of the three archways leading into the square, hawking ale for the hanging. Several wooden casks were stacked around him, though he did not seem to be doing a very good business. Perhaps it was because he was closer to the guards than to the cityfolk.

An angry murmur rose up from the crowd as four heavily armed guards led a half-dozen shackled prisoners into the square. One woman counted among the unfortunate Prisoners, all of whom looked pale and wan. The last prisoner who came into view was Ferret.

The old rascal hadn't changed a bit. A small, wiry man, his dark, beady eyes glittered sharply, and his thin nose almost visibly twitched as he looked from side to side- obviously searching for a means of escape. One of the guards shoved him brutally from behind. A grimace of pain crossed his face, but despite the hobbles about his ankles Ferret managed to keep himself from falling. Caledan swore under his breath.

The prisoners were pushed up the narrow steps of the platform. A monstrously obese, black-hooded executioner covered their heads with hoods of sackcloth and slipped nooses about their necks. The guards returned to the plaza to help keep the crowd away.

A startling figure strode into the square then, a massive man clad in the thick, deep purple robes of a disciple of Cyric, his face lost in the shadows of his cowl. A pall fell over the crowd. Even the guards exchanged nervous looks. Caledan bit his tongue to keep from laughing aloud. He hoped this little masquerade wasn't going to get Tyveris in trouble with his god.

The massive figure made his way through the crowd and ascended the steps of the gallows ceremoniously. He paused before each of the prisoners in turn, weaving his hands in arcane patterns and whispering strange words.

Finally Tyveris arrived at his place next to the executioner. He turned and spread his arms out to the crowd in a gesture of benediction. "Let this be an example to you all!" he boomed to the crowd. "In the end, the gods will punish all transgressors, and there is but one punishment!" The cityfolk murmured with fear. Taking this as his signal, the executioner reached for the lever that would drop the floor of the platform out from beneath the prisoners.

Only his hand never reached it. With a swiftness impressive in one so huge, Tyveris grabbed the executioner by the belt and heaved him off the platform. The man's scream ended in a wet, sickening thud as he hit the cobblestones fifteen feet below. Shouting, several guards clambered up the steps to the platform. Tyveris gripped the top of the steps and pulled, his straining muscles ripping through the purple ceremonial robes. Nails groaned. Tyveris wrenched the steps loose and with a grunt heaved them to the pavement. The guards fell in a tangle. The crowd erupted in screams as people tried to flee the plaza.

Abruptly a hissing sound cut through the air. A flaming arrow sped from the window of an abandoned tower on the edge of the square, striking one of the ale seller's wooden casks. The ale seller himself was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Caledan looked up in time to see Mari, her face hard with concentration, loose a second arrow from her perch high in the derelict tower. The Harper's timing was as good as her aim.

The second flaming arrow struck another wooden cask. For a moment the arrows burned into the wood as the guards nearby stared in puzzlement. Then the casks exploded in a blossom of brilliant, fiery light. The towers around the square swayed on their foundations. A half-dozen guards flew through the air like strange, dark birds, and when they landed they did not rise again. The square plunged into chaos. Half of the guards were dead, the others stunned. Tyveris was cutting the prisoners free of their nooses and lowering them down to the ground, where they escaped easily in the confusion.

Caledan looked up to make a sign to Mari, but the window in the tower was empty. The Harper was already gone. Now it was time for Caledan's part.

Quickly he tossed down a coil of rope he had securely anchored to the bridge's balustrade. He slid down the line and landed on the platform. Tyveris, hood fallen back and robe in tatters, had just one more prisoner to free-Ferret.

"You know, this probably makes you a heretic in the Church of Cyric," Caledan commented.

"I can live with that," Tyveris replied. With his bare hands he snapped the rope around Ferret's neck. The little roan snatched away the sack that covered his face, then his beady eyes went wide. He stared at Tyveris, his nose twitching. "I must be dead already. Tyveris, you look like a monk!"

"I am a monk, you weasel," Tyveris bellowed, reaching out to catch the small man in an embrace. Ferret's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

"You're breaking me," he gasped. He wormed his way out of Tyveris's grip.

"Let's save the joyous reunions for later, all right?" Caledan told them. "We're not out of here yet." Some guards were regrouping and were getting ready to charge the platform. "All right, everybody, up the-" rope, he was going to say, but the pounding of hooves interrupted him.

Five iron-shod chargers thundered into the square. Astride four of them were Zhentarim warriors clad in the livery of the city guard, their short swords drawn and ready for violence. On the fifth horse rode a figure both Caledan and Tyveris recognized, a massive man with blood soaking through the large bandage covering his nose. The priest of Cyric.

"I guess I should have hit him harder," Tyveris grumbled darkly. Ferret, who needed no further prompting, scrambled nimbly up the rope.

"I'll bring up the rear," Caledan said. The big Tabaxi nodded and followed the thief, swiftly pulling his bulk up the rope.

One of the square's three exits had been blocked by rubble from the smoke powder blast. Now the four mounted Zhents moved to guard the other two arches leading from the plaza. As they did, the priest of Cyric gripped a hideously twisted amulet of dark, wrought steel that hung about his neck. He began shouting something in a harsh, foul-sounding tongue.

Ferret and Tyveris had reached the bridge above. Caledan leaped onto the rope and began hauling himself up, arm over arm.

A low groaning sound shook the air when Caledan was only halfway to the bridge. Suddenly there was a deafening crack. Caledan briefly wondered if it was another smoke powder explosion, then heard Tyveris shouting frantically. Caledan looked away from the rope and nearly lost his grip in his utter shock. The Gray Watchers were moving. The priest's chanting had mounted to a triumphant crescendo. The two massive statues slowly, ponderously pushed themselves up from their thrones of basalt. The circlets around their brows glowed vile purple, the same color as the magical aura surrounding the priest's amulet. "Caledan, watch out!" Ferret called down. The words spurred Caledan to action. He scrambled farther up the rope barely in time to avoid a startlingly swift blow from the statue of the ancient queen. For a moment he found himself gazing directly into the soulless eyes of the statue. He kept climbing.

"No offense-I mean, I appreciate this and all-but you two didn't plan this escape all that well, did you?" Ferret asked.

"Well we don't all have your extensive experience with escaping," Tyveris rumbled angrily. The big monk stood on the edge of the bridge and spread his arms in a mirror image of the priest of Cyric. He began chanting in a flowing, musical language, trying to drown out the evil priest's dark prayers. The gigantic statue stepped closer to Caledan, wounded guards crushed unnoticed beneath its feet. The statue of the king was still rising from its throne, reaching toward its full height, five times that of a man.

"Andebari al Oghma, al d'bai altanl" Tyveris roared. "In the Name of the Binder, may evil's enchantment be shattered!"

Suddenly the priest of Cyric let out a strangled cry. The circlet about the stone queen's brow flared brilliantly, shattering into countless splinters of stone. The statue halted Then slowly, almost gracefully, it toppled to the street smashing the cobbles as it struck, shaking the very foundations of the city.

But the statue of the king showed no such reaction. It continued to move toward Caledan, who dangled halfway up the rope.

"Hurry, Caledan!" Tyveris shouted down. His face looked ashen and haggard. "I dispelled the magic coursing through one of the statues, but I don't think I can break the enchantment in the other!"

Meanwhile, the priest of Cyric had regained his composure, and his chanting rippled forth once again as he gripped the steel amulet.

"Allow me," Ferret said. He took the knife Tyveris had used to cut the prisoners' ropes and hefted it experimentally, testing its weight. Then he let if fly with a precise, expert throw.

The priest's chanting abruptly stopped.

The flabby disciple of Cyric slipped from the back of his horse, Ferret's knife embedded deep in his throat. Blood flowed out to pool with the grime of the street. The purple glow of the amulet flickered, faded. The statue of the nameless king slowed to a halt.

Then a rivulet of the dead priest's blood trickled across the steel amulet. The dark blood hissed and steamed. The purple aura strengthened and grew brilliant once again. Blood flowed more quickly toward the amulet now, defying gravity as it rose from the cobbles to the evil symbol.

The stone king began to move, once more, toward Caledan.

"Uh-oh," was all Ferret said.

The statue of the king reached out a hand of granite to crush Caledan.

Caledan's arms were going numb. He wasn't going to make it.

"Break the king's circlet, Caledan!" Tyveris bellowed. "It's the heart of its power!"

The stony fingers, each as thick as a tree branch, began to close about Caledan. There wasn't time to think. Holding on to the rope with one hand, he drew his sword. Just as the cold, hard fingertips brushed against his chest he swung the rope forward and brought the hilt of his sword down on the circlet resting on the statue's brow.

His hand was thrown back painfully with the force of the blow. The sword clattered to the street far below. The stony fingers closed about his chest, tightening until he could barely breathe-before shuddering to a stop.

His blow had cracked the king's crown. Brilliant purple sparks flared about the dark fissure, sizzling like lightning. The violet glow wavered, then vanished. The gigantic statue lurched precariously to one side. Caledan tried to free himself from its grip, but he was stuck in its grasp. The stone king started to topple.

"Oh, no you don't," Tyveris growled. The loremaster, his chest against the bridge, reached down, just managing to grab Caledan's collar. Caledan felt himself pulled roughly from the stone king's grasp as the statue fell next to its queen. With a grunt Tyveris hauled him up onto the bridge.

Caledan groaned. His shoulders and chest felt as if they were on fire. "I am really far too old for this," he managed between gasps.

"So are we all," Tyveris rumbled wearily, rubbing his aching temples. Breaking the priest's enchantment had left him exhausted.

"Speak for yourself," Ferret replied in his raspy voice, his dark eyes shining.

Caledan could have, he would have strangled the little thief.

The trio made their way westward along a mazework of bridges far above the city streets. Some Zhentarim tried to follow, but the smokepowder blast had blocked the western exit from the plaza. The three companions quickly left the turmoil of the square behind.

Finally they descended to a quiet side street. Estah, clad in simple peasant garb, sat on the bench of a farmer's wagon filled with straw, holding the reins to a pair of ponies. Man was with her.

"Ferret!" Estah cried out in joy at the sight of the thief. He bowed deeply in response.

"What took you so long?" Man asked, her eyes flashing. Caledan and Tyveris exchanged a weary look. "I really don't think you'd believe us, Harper." She laughed. "You're probably right." "We'd better go," Estah warned. "The guards will be coming this way soon enough."

No one argued with the healer. Caledan, Mari, Tyveris, and Ferret burrowed themselves deep into the concealing straw in the bed of the wagon, and Estah flicked the reins. The wagon clattered down the street.

Estah was right. Minutes later a pair of hard-faced Zhentarim warriors pounded on their chargers down the street. However, all they saw was a halfling farmer driving her wagon to market. They swore as they continued on, knowing that if they didn't find the troublemakers Lord Cutter was going to have their heads.