Crypt of the Shadowking

Twenty

"Where are they?" Tyveris muttered repeatedly. He paced the small stone antechamber. Kyana watched him, her arms folded across her doeskin jerkin. A score of prisoners huddled in the cold, dank chamber behind her. Their clothes were in rags, their faces dirty and haggard, many of them gaunt with hunger. However, they clutched makeshift weapons in their hands, along with several short swords and crossbows Tyveris and Kyana had brought with them.

"I know the Harper is your friend, monk," Kyana said, "but we can't afford to wait much longer. We've been lucky so far that we haven't run into any guards. But eventually our luck is going to run out. I'm afraid we have to assume that something has happened to the Harper and the others." "You can assume what you like," Tyveris growled. The prisoners watched him with worried eyes. "Where are they?" he muttered one more time.

Much as he hated to admit it, he knew Kyana was right.

It had been nearly an hour since he and the thief had freed a score of men and women in one of the dungeon blocks. It was only a matter of time until the escape was discovered, and then they would lose their only advantage-surprise. Cormik's agents were poised outside the tower, ready to send the signal to the bands of cityfolk waiting throughout the city that the prisoners had been safely freed. Then the rebellion would begin in earnest.

Tyveris could feel Kyana's eyes on him. She was pressing him to make a decision. Tyveris had hoped Mari and the others would catch up with him before it was necessary to make the final assault on the tower. I'm a priest now, not a warrior, Tyveris swore inwardly.

Suddenly Kyana stiffened. She lifted a hand to her lips for silence. Tyveris caught the faint sound of footpads echoing off cold stone. Someone was hurrying toward the antechamber. Kyana loosened her saber and moved to the door. Tyveris prepared himself to spring. A shadow moved outside the doorway.

"Wait, it's me-Talim!" a voice gasped just as Kyana raised her saber. Tyveris sighed in relief as the young, red-haired thief rushed into the room. His freckled face was pale, his gray eyes wide.

"What is it?" Kyana asked him, concerned.

"I have bad news," the young thief said, swallowing hard. He told his story: Mari, Caledan, and the others had been captured by Ravendas and taken to the crypt of the Shadow-king. "It was the mage who betrayed them," Talim said sadly. "But I was at the rear of the party, and I managed to melt into the shadows. They didn't notice me."

“You did well," Tyveris said somberly. His heart felt as cold as the surrounding walls. Almost instinctively he started for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Kyana demanded.

“To help my friends," he declared fiercely.

"And what do you propose we do with them?" she asked quietly, nodding her head toward the prisoners gathered in the antechamber. "Return them to their cells?"

Tyveris glared at her. Then his shoulders slumped. Again, the thief was right. He couldn't turn his back on the prisoners. No, he had to trust that Man, Caledan, and the others could take care of themselves. He had his own job to do now.

"All right," he said gruffly. "We'll go on as planned, without Mari. But I'm not much of a warrior nowadays, Kyana. You're going to have to take charge."

"Oh, no, you don't," Kyana said slyly. "They're looking to you, monk, not me." All faces turned expectantly toward Tyveris.

He swallowed hard. I will lead them, but I will not kill, he vowed inwardly. I gave you my promise, Tali, my sister. I promised you there would be no more killing.

"All right, then," he growled. "Let's go."

Despite the weeks and even months each of them had spent laboring beneath the Tor, the cityfolk moved with a speed and energy that amazed Tyveris. With Kyana and Talim scouting ahead, they made their way past the slime-covered walls of the corridor, toward the heart of the dungeon. They moved as stealthily as they could, with the brave, though pale and haggard, faces of people determined to win their freedom or die.

The group came to a corridor leading off to a block of cells, and Talim and Kyana swiftly picked the locks on the iron doors. Tyveris quickly explained to the newly-freed prisoners what they intended to do. "If you do not wish, you do not have to come with us," the loremaster said. When they left the block, however, not a prisoner chose to remain behind.

It was at the next block of cells that they encountered several guards, three dungeon warders, gambling with dice of polished bone. The first two died before they realized what was transpiring, one with Kyana's saber in his heart, the other with Talim's dagger in his back. The third tried to shout an alarm as he scrambled for his sword, but his cry was strangled into silence as a trio of crossbow bolts buried themselves in his throat and chest.

Tyveris whirled in surprise to see three of the cityfolk reloading their crossbows. He reminded himself not to underestimate these courageous people.

One of the guards had a ring of keys at his belt, and these made the task of freeing the prisoners quicker. The thieves of the Purple Masks Guild had hidden several caches of weapons in lesser-used parts of the dungeon, and one of these was nearby. Soon Tyveris found he had over a hundred cityfolk crowding the corridor behind him, each with a weapon in hand, be it sword, knife, cudgel, or crossbow. Some of the cityfolk were but children, others were gray and weathered. There were as many women as men. All of them were ready to fight, and none were afraid to die.

One of the prisoners, an older woman with steel-gray hair and eyes to match, said something when Tyveris helped her from her cell that seemed to speak for all the cityfolk. "The wheel is turning," she said in her worn voice. "The captors become the captives, and the prisoners fly free once again. If one soul perishes in the wheel's turning, such is the way of things. The wheel cannot be stopped. We must shed our tears, and then go on."

And go on they did.

"We need to be even more careful now," Kyana said to Tyveris as once again they started down the corridor. "The dungeon's central chamber is not far ahead. That's where there are likely to be the most Zhentarim."

"'How many?" Tyveris asked gravely.

"According to Ferret's reports, at least a score of them," Kyana said. "The numbers are on our side."

They encountered another pair of guards as they approached the central chamber, but the cityfolk dispatched them swiftly and silently. Tyveris motioned for the prisoners to hang back while he, Kyana, and Talim crept forward toward the glow of torches.

From Ferret's reports, they knew that most of the cell blocks were arranged around the dungeon's central chamber almost like the spokes of a wheel. Tyveris and the two thieves moved silently as they approached the open doorway. Beyond was a walkway with a stone balustrade. Staying close to the floor, the three eased forward until they could peer down toward the large, circular chamber below them. Tyveris barely managed to stifle an oath.

The stone-walled room was filled with guards.

There was not a score of them, but rather five times that number. And all of them were armed. Tyveris could see the stairwell leading up to the tower no more than fifty feet away, but it might as well have been a hundred miles for the sea of guards blocking their way. He looked at Kyana in desperation. The thief shook her head.

"It appears we were expected," was all she said.

Caledan was not certain how far beneath the Old City they had descended, but he knew they must be deep within the heart of the Tor.

Ravendas moved through the rough-hewn tunnel at a swift pace, Snake following subserviently on her heels. Caledan, Estah, Ferret, and Man stumbled along after Ravendas. Their hands were bound tightly behind their backs with leather thongs; their ankles had been hobbled with heavy rope so that they could not run. A dozen cruel-faced Zhentarim warriors trod behind the four, pushing them roughly onward each time one of them hesitated. Behind the warriors walked Morhion, his face as cold as granite.

Without warning the rocky passageway widened, and the odd party of friends and enemies came to an abrupt halt. They stood in a sort of antechamber, a roughly square room perhaps two dozen paces in width. Acrid, smoking torches lined the walls of dark, jagged stone, and piles of rubble littered the corners. However, Caledan barely saw any of this, for instantly his attention was fixed on the door. The portal dominated the far wall of the antechamber. It was a slab of perfect, unblemished onyx, as tall as two men and as wide as six abreast.

“The crypt of the Shadowking," Caledan whispered in awe.

"Indeed," Ravendas purred. "My greatest triumph lies within." She tossed aside her dark robe and stood before the door resplendent in a silken gown as deep and rich in hue as dried blood. "The time has come."

She clapped her hands, and two Zhentarim stepped from a dim alcove Caledan had not noticed. By their deep purple robes and the disturbing, misshapen symbols that hung about their necks, Caledan guessed these Zhents were priests of some sort. Between them stood a small figure clad in a velvet tunic. It was the boy, Kellen.

Caledan felt his throat tighten. The boy looked up at him with his wide, dark-lashed eyes. He knows! Caledan thought suddenly. He was certain of it. For a moment he saw a look of pleading in the boy's deep green eyes. Then Ravendas approached her son and brushed his pale cheek with a solitary finger.

"Your time draws near, my son," Ravendas said in her crystalline voice. Kellen nodded slowly but said nothing. He clutched a set of polished reed pipes tightly in his hands. Mari, Estah, and Ferret regarded the boy with surprise. None of them had known Ravendas had a son. But they still don't know the full truth, Caledan thought bitterly. "There is one last thing," Ravendas said. She stepped forward and reached inside Caledan's leather jerkin, drawing out the set of pipes that he had concealed in an inner pocket. "I know you still have not discovered the secret of the shadow song, but then, I do not care to take unnecessary chances." She dropped the pipes on the stone floor and ground them under her heel until they were nothing more than splinters.

Caledan could not help but wince. That was the first set of pipes he had ever made, and the truest. He had brought them along as a last-ditch hope, in the event he somehow managed to discover the secret of the shadow song.

"You're a fool, Ravendas," Caledan said harshly. "You've always been a fool. You'll do anything for power. But it's a desire that blinds you." He nodded his head toward Snake. "So how do you intend to kill her, Snake?" he asked in a cutting voice. "I suppose you don't need her or the Zhentarim any longer, now that the crypt has been found. Ravendas would just stand in the way of your ultimate plans, wouldn't she? Why don't you just kill her now and get it over with?"

"I am afraid you are quite mistaken," Snake replied in his sibilant voice. His eyes were flat, his face emotionless.

"Stop this idiocy!" Ravendas snapped. "I will hear it no longer. All my servants obey my will and my will alone, Caldorien. As will you." A blotch of color touched each of her pale cheeks.

She is uncertain, Caledan thought. He had planted the seeds of doubt in her heart, and they had taken root.

"Tell me, my lord steward," she said, turning to the green-robed man. "Is there any truth to this base accusation? Do you intend to cross my wishes?"

"By all the powers that be, I swear not I serve only to see the Nightstone placed in your hand, my Lord Ravendas. That is my sole purpose."

Ravendas nodded in satisfaction. "You see?" she said smugly to Caledan. "I own him, as I own all of you. Once the power of the Nightstone is mine, I will own far more. Now the door must be opened." She lifted a hand and pointed a finger at Morhion. "You, mage, shall perform this momentous task for me."

Morhion nodded, stepping toward the onyx door. He spread his arms wide and closed his eyes. He spoke a single guttural word of magic, and a small, silvery ball of light burst into existence before him. Caledan watched as thin, glowing tendrils began to stretch from the orb of light. Like silvery threads, the tendrils caressed the door and began to trace their way across its dark, flawless surface.

Caledan realized that the silvery threads were outlining strange symbols and weird runes. In moments the entire door was covered with their glimmering decoration. Morhion spoke another word of magic, and the ball of light vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. The magical tendrils faded, yet a curious luminescence remained. The symbols and runes could be faintly observed.

For long moments Morhion studied the ancient writing. Finally he nodded. He gestured to a dark, perfect circle in the center of the doorway, a place where the smooth stone was untouched by rune or sigil.

"The circle is as dark as the moon is this night," Morhion intoned. He gazed at Ravendas. "One who desires to enter need only touch it." He stepped away from the door.

Caledan saw Ravendas hesitate only briefly. Then she thrust her chin outward and boldly stood before the door.

All that lies beyond this portal, I claim for my own," she proclaimed. She reached forward, laying her hand full upon the dark circle.

There was a sharp sound like ice cracking, and Ravendas took a startled step backward, staring at the door. The writing on the portal flared brilliantly. Then it went dark. A faint, sharp line appeared in the portal's center. The line darkened, growing into a crack. Then, propelled by some unseen force, the two halves of the onyx slab swung silently inward. A puff of stale air rushed out of the open doorway, bringing the smell of death. Beyond lay only impenetrable darkness.

"The portal is open," Morhion spoke softly.

"Then let us enter the crypt of the Shadowking." The fear had left Ravendas's face, replaced by a look of exultation. She took a torch from the wall and stepped through the portal.

"Follow," Snake said harshly, and the warriors pushed the four companions through the portal. Caledan felt a momentary chill as he passed through the doorway, then he blinked in surprise. He could see. He had expected the room to be utterly dark, or at most to be faintly lit by the single torch Ravendas carried. Instead the vast chamber was filled with a peculiar, ruddy illumination.

The crypt of the Shadowking was a vast, circular chamber. The floor was fashioned of the same flawless dark stone as the doorway, and the perimeter of the tomb was lined with massive buttresses of basalt, thirteen in number. The spandrels between them were carved with nightmarish friezes, the bas-relief gargoyles leering evilly down at the companions. Beneath each stone buttress was a shallow alcove. Those few into which Caledan could see were filled with burial offerings: one with ornate jewels, another with casks of wine and cups of gold, still another with ivory figurines, servants to wait upon the dead in the afterworld. The Shadowking may have been Talembar's foe, but he had been a king also. Talembar had given him a burial deserving of royalty.

Farther into the chamber stood a circle of huge columns, surrounding the center of the crypt like a ring of sentinel giants. The tomb was deathly silent. The stale, ancient air seemed to smother all sound, as if it resented the intrusion of living beings in a place where nothing had stirred in a thousand years.

When they reached the ring of columns Ravendas stopped. She clapped her hands, a signal for the Zhentarim warriors and priests to withdraw from the crypt. The Zhents, especially the warriors, seemed more than willing to leave the eerie chamber.

"Don't get any rash ideas," Ravendas said to Caledan. "What will transpire within this circle is not fit for simple eyes to behold, so I have sent my servants away. But they will guard the portal with their lives. I needn't remind you there is only one exit from the crypt."

"I really don't think we'll be going anywhere," Caledan said sarcastically, glancing meaningfully at the rope that hobbled his ankles.

With a gesture of mock politeness, Ravendas gestured for the others to follow her. They passed between two of the gigantic columns and entered the circle within.

Caledan could see now that there were seven of the massive columns, each resting on an enormous basalt plinth as big as a small house. The surface of the columns was without carving or sigil, except for a single word that had been incised into the stone of each column perhaps twenty feet above the floor. Caledan squinted at the words through the hazy crimson light, but he could not discern them.

He let his gaze drift upward. The columns supported a domed ceiling about a dozen fathoms above his head. A mosaic covered the ceiling, but in the half-light all Caledan could see were pale, cruel-looking eyes staring down at him from above. He noticed a dark, jagged line running across the center of the domed ceiling. It was a crack, the single flaw he could detect in the construction of the crypt.

In the very center of the tomb stood a dais of basalt bear-ing a huge sarcophagus of flawless onyx. Upon the coffin's lid was carved a figure that could only represent the Shadowking. The figure was manlike in shape, but massive and twisted, the gnarled arms ending in claws, the legs in cloven hooves.

But the face of the Shadowking was the face of a man Unlike the rest of the figure's body, the visage was smooth and perfect, even beautiful. This was how the sorcerer Ver-raketh had looked before dark magic had twisted him into the being of maleficence called the Shadowking. His features were crowned by a pair of dark antlers springing from the unfurrowed brow of the death mask, a bestial symbol of violence.

Caledan could not help but shiver. Within that sarcophagus lay a being of terrible malevolence. But the Shadow-king is a thousand years dead, he reminded himself.

"Cheerful-looking fellow, isn't he?" Ferret whispered. Caledan winced. How could the thief joke at a time like this? "By the way, did you notice those words on the columns are written in Talfir?" Ferret said softly. "I thought you might be interested to know…"

Caledan stared at the thief in surprise, then he jerked his head up to look at the runes carved high on the basalt columns. He squinted through the dimness and saw that Ferret was right. By now the ancient language was familiar enough to recognize, though he cursed himself for being unable to read it.

He thought back to that day when the phantom of Talek Talembar had appeared on the windswept cliff top. What had the phantom told him? What were the words he had used? The exact words?

For a long time his mind was empty. He almost swore aloud in frustration. Then abruptly, like a dam bursting, the memory came to him. It was as if Talembar was speaking once again, only this time inside his mind.

.. .thou might look for its echo in the place where last it

was played…

"Ferret," Caledan whispered hurriedly, his voice barely audible. "I understand the secret of the shadow song. Don't ask how. There isn't time for that. But I need those pipes the boy has."

Ferret did not nod, but by the glimmer of excitement in his beady eyes Caledan knew he understood. Caledan returned his inspection to the seven words of Talfir inscribed upon the columns. His knowledge of the ancient language was sorely limited. He wished Tyveris was here.

His concentration shattered as Ravendas spoke. "Come, my son." She held out a hand to Kellen. "It is time." Slowly the boy reached out a small hand. Ravendas led him up the steps of the dais. Caledan could see the terror in his eyes, but the child did not falter. He is brave, my son, Caledan thought. His hands strained reflexively against his bonds.

For the first time Caledan noticed that there was something standing at the foot of the massive sarcophagus. It was a small wooden box of simple, almost crude construction The box seemed oddly out of place amidst the magnificence and grandeur of the rest of the crypt.

"Open the box, my son," Ravendas said when they stood atop the dais. Her voice was gentle, but her lovely face was twisted with desire. Kellen hesitated. "Open it," Ravendas repeated, her voice more harsh. The boy winced and knelt before the box. Slowly, he reached out a small hand and opened the lid.

Shadows leaped forth.

Kellen screamed as he fell backward. Around the box whirled a small maelstrom of rippling shadows. Caledan almost thought he could glimpse faces amidst the swirling tatters of darkness. They were forlorn faces, hopeless and hateful, faces of death.

"To touch the shadows which surround the Stone is to die." Snake proclaimed.

Ravendas did not appear alarmed. "Play, my son," she instructed. 'This is the time for which you have prepared all your life. Play your song. Make the shadows disappear They will do your bidding, if only you play." Kellen stood frozen, clutching the reed pipes tightly as he stared at the whirling shapes of darkness.

"Remember what I told you, Kellen," Caledan called out, his voice cutting across the wail of the shadows. "You don't have to do this, not if you don't want to!"

"Silence!" Ravendas yelled.

Kellen cast a desperate look at Caledan. Then he turned his round face toward his mother. The pipes slipped from his fingers to fall against the hard stone.

"I won't do it!" he said. His voice trembled. "I won't pipe the shadows away!"

Ravendas cast a venomous look at Caledan. She knelt before Kellen, gripping his shoulders cruelly. "Listen to me, my son," she said in a cloying tone. "I am your mother. You must obey me. If you do not, there will be a price to pay And do you know what that price will be?" Kellen's eyes widened in horror. 'That is right, my son. I will kill Caledan-your father-even as you watch." She stood and folded her arms. "Are you prepared to pay that price, Kellen? Or will you obey me?"

Kellen hung his head. Caledan's companions, even Morhion, stared at him at this revelation. Finally Kellen looked up at Caledan. There was a deep sorrow in his eyes. Kellen knelt to pick up the pipes and lifted them to his lips.

You don't have to do what she says, Caledan wanted to shout out again, but he knew it would be no use. He had become the weapon Ravendas now wielded against the boy.

The sweet notes of Kellen's song seemed muffled at first as if the ancient air was trying to subdue them. But as Kellen played on the music grew in clarity and strength. Caledan felt his skin tingle. He recognized the power of the shadow magic. It ran in the blood of his son even as it did in his own veins.

The whirling maelstrom of shadows slowed, then began to fade In moments the darkness surrounding the box was gone. All could now clearly see the object that lay within. It was a rough, uneven Stone, unusual only because it looked so completely ordinary. But Caledan had no doubt of what it was. Even from this distance he could feel the pulsing of dark energy emanating from the thing, washing over him in sickening waves. It was the Nightstone.

"They want to go on, Tyveris," Kyana said softly. She and the monk stood slightly apart from the mass of prisoners who huddled in the dim dungeon corridor. Not two hundred paces down the passageway was the dungeon's central chamber-and the Zhentarim.

"By all the gods, they'll be killed, every one of them," Tyveris rumbled as quietly as he could. Tyveris cast a glance back at the cityfolk. They stood in the corridor, their faces pale, their hands gripping their weapons tightly. "If we head back to the thieves' entrance now, at least some of these cityfolk will be able to escape," he growled.

Kyana shook her head. "They're not going to retreat," she said fiercely. "Look at them, monk. These folk are ready to fight. All you have to do is give the word."

"I can't," Tyveris said, shaking his head. His dark eyes were mournful behind his spectacles. "Maybe Mari could have, but I cannot."

Then we have no hope of driving the Zhentarim from the city," Kyana said flatly.

The two returned to the crowd of prisoners. However, when Tyveris told them of his intention to turn back, a burly man with the calloused hands of a blacksmith stepped forward.

"Begging your pardon, sire," he said hesitantly, "but I don't think there's any here who want to turn back." The crowd murmured in agreement. "You see, it wouldn't be right for us to escape while all the others are still caged up like so many animals. Besides, we've had enough of Cutter and her guards." He shook the stout cudgel he gripped in his hand. "We've acted like frightened pups long enough. Now's the time to fight"

Tyveris opened his mouth to protest, but the sound of quickly padding footsteps stopped him. Talim pushed his way through the crowd of prisoners, breathing hard.

"There are a dozen guards patrolling the corridors not far from here, and they're headed this way," the young thief said hoarsely.

Tyveris groaned in dismay. They couldn't get back to the thieves' entrance without fighting the patrol. And if they did that the other Zhentarim were bound to hear the noise and rush to join the fray.

"It seems your decision has been made for you," Kyana said, watching Tyveris carefully.

Tyveris was silent for a long while. Finally he spoke. 'To the stairs," was all he said.

Tyveris was forced to admit that when the cityfolk rushed into the dungeon's central chamber it was a glorious moment. "Iriaebor!" the prisoners cried as they raised their weapons high. "For the Thousand Spires!"

They poured down the ramp which led into the large, circular chamber. Those prisoners who bore crossbows loosed a rain of bolts down upon the Zhentarim from the high walkway that circled the room.

Yet the Zhentarim had been warned there would be a battle that night and were not caught unaware. A few fell with arrows quivering in chest or throat, but far more blocked the flurry of deadly bolts with wooden shields. The rest of the prisoners streamed into the chamber, and the room erupted into chaos.

Abruptly two score prisoners came rushing out of one of the cell blocks, knocking several spear-wielding guards aside. Talim was with them. Somehow the wiry young thief had slipped past the guards and freed the prisoners. They dashed into the chamber, grabbing weapons from fallen Zhents or fighting with the very chains that bound their wrists. Even so, the battle-hardened Zhents pushed them back with almost comic ease.

It's not enough, Tyveris realized, standing numbly on the edge of the battle. They have the hearts of lions, but their hands are those of merchants and artisans, not warriors. He tried to say a prayer to his god, but his lips were unable to form the words. Already the cityfolk were faltering. In minutes, it would be over.

The battle surged before him. A prisoner, a young woman hardly more than a girl, was clumsily brandishing a rusty sword, fending off the hard blows of a grinning guard. Even as Tyveris watched, the sword spun from her hand to clatter against the slate floor. The Zhent's grin broadened luridly as he readied a killing blow.

Forgive me, Oghma, my god, Tyveris said inwardly. Forgive me, Tali, my sister. This is something I must do.

Tyveris let out a roar of fury as he leaped forward and grabbed the young woman's fallen sword. Tyveris swung the blade with lightning-quick skill. The Zhent's grin faded as he slipped off the blade and into a pool of his own blood.

Tyveris stared at the corpse dully, but he did not drop the sword. There was no more time for prayers or regrets. Now was the time to fight.

He reached down a powerful hand to help the young woman to her feet. Her eyes were filled with gratitude.

“Here, you're going to need this." He pushed the blade back into her hand. She nodded fiercely. Tyveris bent down and pried the saber from the guard's fingers.

"What's your name?" he asked the young woman.

"Erisa, sire,"

"All right, Erisa, I want you to stay by me," Tyveris rumbled. With his bare hand, Tyveris ripped the livery-the azure river and silver tower with Ravendas's crimson moon above-from the fallen guard's jerkin. He hastily tied the piece of cloth onto the end of a broken spear he found nearby, fashioning a makeshift standard. "May Oghma and all the gods grant us strength this night," Tyveris said solemnly. As Erisa watched in wonderment, the symbol of the crimson moon suddenly burst into flame, flared brightly, and then went dark. At the same time the outlines of the river and the tower, the traditional symbols of Iriaebor, began to glow with an unearthly silvery light.

"You're going to be my standard-bearer, Erisa," Tyveris said, handing the stunned young woman the banner. "Hold it high for all to see. And do not let the standard fall, not at any cost"

Erisa stared at the glowing banner for a moment, then nodded, lifting the standard high. "I won't fail you, sire!"

"Then I'll try to do the same," Tyveris said gruffly. He joined the throng making for the flight of dark stone stairs that led up toward the tower and freedom. He swung his sword with easy, practiced strokes, cutting a swath through the Zhentarim. Erisa followed close on his heels, holding the gleaming standard high in one hand, and protecting Tyveris's back with the sword he had given her in the other.

“To me! To me!" Tyveris bellowed in his enormous voice. Despite the din, all around him the cityfolk looked up to see him striding through the battle, his sword flashing under the magical illumination of the banner. Hope ignited in their eyes. Heartened anew, the prisoners hacked at the Zhentarim ferociously, fighting to make their way to the lore-master.

A fierce grin spread across Tyveris's face as he swung his sword tirelessly. Zhent after Zhent fell beneath his blade. 'To me!" he cried again. 'To the stairway! To freedom!"

Whatever the outcome, he was determined to make this a battle the gods would never forget.