Prince of Ravens

CHAPTER EIGHT

The party began to break up an hour or two after midnight, as more and more guests called for their carriages and left for their homes. Jack rather hoped that he might entice Seila to join him in the guest chamber at some point in the night, but Marden Norwood made a firm point of showing him to his room and explaining that a servant would be in the hall just outside his door all night long in case he needed anything.

“For a genial old fellow he seems to entertain an uncomfortably keen sense of curiosity and certain suspicions about my moral fiber,” Jack grumbled to himself.

Even with that precaution he might have been tempted to try his luck by stealing his way into Seila’s room instead-after all, spells of invisibility or changing appearance were extremely useful for that sort of thing-except that Seila’s mother had mentioned that the manor was absolutely full with so many relatives visiting, so Seila would be sharing her room with a couple of her dear cousins. Jack settled for a peck on the cheek at the top of the stairs under Marden’s watchful eye, and passed the night quite alone.

He slept late the next morning, recovering from the night’s revels, then passed much of the day in a long, chaperoned ride with Seila and several of her close friends. Jack was not an experienced rider, but he hid his discomfort as best he could-any nobleman would be expected to ride well, even one from such a distant realm as the Vilhon Reach of a century past. Later in the afternoon, with his thighs and back aching, he gamely helped Seila go over the previous night’s guest list, searching for a name to put with the face of Fetterfist. Based on Jack’s description of the man’s height, leanness, and yellow hair, Seila was able to line out all but twenty or thirty possibilities.

“This is too many,” she complained. “I can’t report all these men to the authorities. And most of them belong to very prominent families. It would be unthinkable to levy an accusation unless we were absolutely sure of ourselves.”

“You and your nefarious captor move in the same circles,” Jack pointed out. “If you and I attend enough social functions and gatherings together, sooner or later I’ll spot the man I saw last night and point him out to you. You’ll almost certainly recognize him at that point, and we’ll catch our secret slave-dealer.”

“Good thinking, Jack,” Seila replied. “That might work.”

Jack grinned to himself. He thought so, too; why, he was almost grateful to this Fetterfist fellow for showing up, since it would give him the perfect excuse to stick closely to Seila for the foreseeable future. “Send me word of any event you mean to attend,” he told her. “I will clear my calendar to make sure I am at your side.”

After that, he reluctantly took his leave, returning to Raven’s Bluff in a Norwood coach as the afternoon gave way to evening. He enjoyed a quiet supper, gave the day’s correspondence a passing glance, and retired at nine bells-he was expected at the Smoke Wyrm early.

The next day the weather reverted to a typical Ravenaar spring, with blustery winds and light showers that threatened to linger all day. Jack arose shortly after dawn and dressed himself with great care. Instead of the elegant tunics and fine capes he’d favored since coming into money, he pulled on a quilted leather jerkin sewn with small steel rings and a long, hooded cloak. He sheathed one dagger in his right boot and another at his right hip, while hanging his fine rapier in a plain wood-and-leather scabbard on his left. He slung a roomy pack over his shoulder, and set out while the cool shadows of morning were still long and dark in the streets.

He found the cellar door of the Smoke Wyrm unlocked, and let himself in with a sharp rap on the lintel. “Hello,” he called.

Tharzon appeared in the hallway, leaning heavily on his cane. “Ah, there you are, Jack,” he said. “I was afraid you’d sleep away half the day before remembering your work this morning. Well, come on in, you’re the last to arrive.”

Jack followed Tharzon into the common room. Kurzen stood by one table, checking a large pack of his own; he wore a coat of worn, blackened steel scales, and a kite-shaped shield was strapped over his shoulder. By the large stone hearth a tall, burly half-orc in a hauberk of chainmail fiddled with the straps of the iron greaves on his shins, while a halfling woman with russet hair tied back in a braid worked on a large dagger with a whetstone. A lean human with long, shaggy braids of red hair and a W-shaped patch of red stubble on his chin sat in a chair by the window. He wore the robes of a mage and smoked a long clay pipe while nursing a mug of steaming tea.

“The company’s complete,” Tharzon announced. “It seems some introductions are in order. Kurzen you all know, of course. Jack, these three are the remaining members of the Blue Wyvern Company. The tall fellow in the mail is Narm; he’s a stout hand in a fight. Next to him, the young lady with the knife is Arlith. And the fellow by the window is Halamar, who’s known as a master of fire magic.” The old dwarf pointed to the half-orc, halfling, and mage as he named them. “Wyverns, this is Jack Ravenwild, a very resourceful thief and sorcerer back in his day. You might have heard some talk of Lady Norwood’s rescue from enslavement in the dark elf realm below Sarbreen; he was the man responsible for that. Today’s work is Jack’s scheme.”

Narm looked Jack up and down and shrugged. “Right, then. What’s the prize today?”

“A book of spells named the Sarkonagael,” Jack answered. “There is a hefty reward offered for its recovery; we’re going to retrieve it from Sarbreen.”

“You know where the Sarkonagael is?” Arlith asked. “Half the sellswords and freebooters in this town have been turning the place upside down looking for it. Five thousand crowns is a handsome pile of coin.”

“Ah, but unlike all those other amateurs, I’ve actually seen the book before. I know what I am looking for.”

“What sort of spells does the book contain?” the sorcerer Halamar asked from his seat by the window.

“Shadow magic, mostly,” Jack answered. “I have no objection to your professional interest and I’ll be happy to let you have a look, but the disposition of the book is not negotiable; I keep it. Well, at least until I am ready to turn it in for the reward.”

Halamar took a draw on his pipe. “If it’s really full of nothing but shadow magic, then it’s not of much interest to me. As good Tharzon observed, most of my magic is in fire.”

“Now for the terms,” Jack said. “It’s my job, so I claim half the reward. The rest you can split four ways-” Tharzon cleared his throat, so Jack amended his split-“er, five ways, because Tharzon of course is owed a share as expediter. That makes five hundred crowns for each of you. And I’ve got good reason to think there’s more to find down there. Whatever else we find besides the Sarkonagael, we’ll divide into six equal shares, one for each of us and one for Tharzon. Is that agreeable to all?”

“It seems a little optimistic to divide loot we don’t have yet,” Narm muttered.

“In my experience, leaving these things to the last leads to hard words and hurt feelings. Better to set reasonable expectations right at the start, I believe.”

“Full shares for survivors and kin if one of us doesn’t come back?” Arlith asked. She gave Jack a small smile. “In my experience, we don’t want to give anyone a reason to think about improving their cut.”

“Fair enough,” Jack decided. He had no intention of engaging in any such dealings, but it was good to know that she didn’t, either, and that sort of understanding might serve as a check on anyone who did harbor such designs.

The halfling nodded. “Then I agree to the terms.”

“I agree,” Narm said. “And I,” Halamar added.

“Agreed,” said Kurzen. The younger dwarf looked around at the company, then back to Jack. “Have you got everything you need?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Jack answered. “Where’s the nearest entrance to Sarbreen?”

Kurzen pointed at a doorway behind the bar. “Right here.”

“That seems a little dangerous, keeping a door to a monster-filled dungeon in your place of business,” Jack remarked.

Kurzen motioned for the small band to follow him, and then led the way into the Smoke Wyrm’s storeroom. Dozens of kegs of ale lined the walls; there were no other exits. Jack was just about to speak again when Kurzen grasped a stack of kegs and pulled it clear of the wall. Instead of toppling over, the whole stack slid together on hidden rollers, revealing a very sturdy-looking door of iron plate secured by heavy bars and padlocks. The dwarf undid the mechanisms one by one, until he pushed the door open, revealing a dark corridor. Water gurgled in the darkness beyond, and a strong whiff of dank air filled the room. “Not the dungeon,” the dwarf barkeep replied. “The city sewers. It’s handy to have a way to get in and out of the Smoke Wyrm without being seen, after all. We’ll find passageways leading down to Sarbreen proper just a little ways in.”

“Charming,” Jack muttered. “A stroll in the sewers to begin the day. Well, lead on.”

Kurzen simply turned right and set off at once. Halamar whispered a word of magic, and a dim golden light began to shine from his staff, illuminating the tunnel. A dry walkway ran along the right-hand side of the sewer, which now ran fast and relatively clear with the runoff from the morning’s rain. Jack glanced once behind him; Tharzon gave him a nod, then pulled the hidden door closed. It blended perfectly with the brickwork of the tunnel. The company marched perhaps two blocks under the city streets until they came to a doorway off the sewer. Several steps up led to a dry chamber of strikingly different stonework. On the opposite wall, a wide, shallow staircase descended into darkness beneath an archway flanked by the carven images of two dwarf smiths.

“This was one of the old guardrooms of Sarbreen,” Kurzen explained. “The stair was one of the city’s main entrances.”

“Wouldn’t the sewer flood it?” Arlith asked.

Kurzen snorted. “My forefathers knew what they were about. You’re standing on the roof of Sarbreen; of course it’s designed to shed water away from the living spaces below. When the humans came along later and laid out their city above old Sarbreen, they used these channels as their city’s sewer system.”

The dwarf barkeep advanced to the archway and peered down the stairs beyond for a moment, then gave the rest of the party a nod and started down. The passage was wide enough for four people to walk abreast, its walls decorated with long, continuous friezes showing scenes of dwarves engaged in all sorts of trades and work. They went on for the better part of a hundred yards until they finally emerged in a wide hall marked by towering columns. A great fountain stood in the center of the hall, but its waters were black and stagnant. Rubble, debris, and dust littered the floor.

“The market hall,” Kurzen said softly. “Here surface traders brought their goods to trade with the City of the Hammer. From this point on, stay on your guard. We might meet anything down here.”

Kurzen turned to the right again and started to lead the party toward another passage mouth in the wall of the great pillared hall, but at that moment Jack became aware of a sudden soft, flapping rush of footsteps from the shadows by the fountain.

“Behind us!” he shouted as he whirled to meet the threat.

A ragged line of squat, scaly lizard-like creatures charged toward the explorers, armed with spiked clubs and heavy javelins. Several of the creatures paused to throw their darts; the missiles hissed through the air, clattering on the stone floor. Jack ducked under one; another struck Kurzen as he was turning, only to rebound from the dwarf’s large shield.

“Troglodytes!” Arlith shouted. She raised a crossbow and fired off a bolt that took one of the monsters in the throat; the creature stumbled to its knees and clutched at its neck.

Then Jack smelled the creatures for the first time, and very nearly threw up at the first whiff of them. They stank, not in the way that an unwashed beast might smell rank but with a revolting reptilian musk that was acrid and rotten at the same time. Jack drew his rapier and backpedaled, conjuring a pair of magical missiles in the shape of silvery darts with his left hand. He finished the spell with an arcane word and flicked out his fingertips at the nearest troglodyte; the silvery missiles flew from his fingers, striking the creature in its torso. The troglodyte stumbled and sank to the stone floor, but more monsters swarmed past their stricken fellow.

Narm drew his greatsword and charged forward to meet the oncoming troglodytes. Kurzen let out a dwarven war-cry and followed a step behind him, brandishing a heavy warhammer. The half-orc and the dwarf collided with the charging savages in a furious ringing of steel and iron, stemming their rush like twin battlements. The troglodytes fought in eerie silence, making not a sound other than faint hisses when they were wounded. More of the creatures veered around Narm and Kurzen, seeking to come to grips with the rest of the explorers. “Ware my fire!” Halamar shouted, then spoke the words of a spell that unleashed a torrent of flame. The furious blast burned down two or three of the monsters as they surged forward. Then the troglodytes were upon Jack and his comrades.

The monsters crowded in around the small company, spiked bludgeons rising and falling-but Narm’s sword whirled like a white razor, shearing off limbs left and right, while Kurzen’s hammer crushed scaly flesh and bone as he shrugged off the trogs’ blows in his heavy armor. Jack stabbed wildly with his rapier, ducking and dodging as the creatures pressed their attack. The foul musk seared his nostrils and clogged his throat; his eyes watered, and it was all he could do to keep his gorge in check. Halamar blasted the creatures with bolt after fiery bolt, until the sickening smell of charred flesh filled the hall. At that point Jack did lose his breakfast, but somehow he managed to wave his rapier around enough to keep any of the trogs from braining him while he was retching.

Then, as suddenly as the creatures had charged, they broke and scattered, fleeing back into the shadows. Narm leaped after the retreating monsters and cut one down from behind; Arlith’s crossbow sang again, dropping another. The ringing echoes of steel blades died away as Jack recovered from his distress and straightened up again. Nine or ten troglodytes lay dead or dying on the ground; by unspoken agreement the small company drew back from the thick reek hanging in the air where they’d fought.

“Looks like they’ve had enough for now,” Narm remarked. “Is anybody injured?”

“A dart bounced off the floor and struck my shin,” Halamar said. He peered down at his leg. “Ruined my boot, but it’s not too bad. I can walk.”

“You’re bleeding, Narm,” Arlith said. She pointed at the half-orc’s arm; there was a thin thread of blood running down to his elbow.

“It’s nothing,” the warrior said.

“Fine, then. Let me bind it up before we go on,” the halfling replied. Narm shrugged and held out his arm as Arlith retrieved a bandage from her pack.

Kurzen wandered back over to the nearest of the dead troglodytes, and frowned as he studied the body. “This fellow’s missing an eye. And so is this other one. And this one, too. I think they all are.”

Jack ventured as close as he could stand, and looked at the bodies on the ground. Sure enough, each of the troglodytes was missing its left eye. Leather patches had been sewn over the sockets. In fact, now that he looked more closely, he saw that what he’d taken for crude body decorations on their scaly hides were actually very comprehensive designs. Each troglodyte was painted with symbols of eyes, dozens of them. “How strange,” he murmured. “Some sort of tribal custom?”

“They’re weak-minded creatures, easily dominated by other monsters,” Kurzen replied. “I think it’s their way of pledging loyalty to their master.”

“What sort of master?”

Kurzen shrugged. “Hard to say. Let’s hope that our path just skirts their territory instead of leading us deeper in. I hate fighting troglodytes; can’t stand the smell of them.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Jack said. “Let us press on before any more of them show up.”

From the market hall, they turned northward again-or so Kurzen said, anyway-and followed a wide, straight passage for some distance. Suites of chambers were cut into the stone on either side, many littered with rubble and old debris. From time to time, Jack caught a whiff of troglodyte stench hanging in the air; either some of the musk had rubbed off on his clothes or more of the foul brutes were not as far off as he’d like them. Fortunately, no more of the creatures appeared, and he began to think that perhaps they’d left the trogs behind them.

At the end of the straight passage, they came to a cloverleaf-shaped chamber with fine masonry walls and great double-doors of bronze lying wrecked in a grand doorway to the right. Dead fountains stood before the doors, revealed by the golden light of Halamar’s light spell. “The Hall of Knowledge,” Kurzen explained. “The city’s sages and scribes gathered here. Few of my forefathers took to wizardry, but those who did were counted part of the sage’s brotherhood.”

“Is it worth exploring?” Jack asked, studying the darkened doorway with interest.

“It was plundered long ago,” Kurzen answered. “I’ve heard there are hidden vaults that haven’t yet been found, but the deeper reaches are guarded by magical constructs-gargoyles, golems, things of that sort. Best to leave it for another day.”

The rogue’s interest dimmed as soon as Kurzen mentioned guardians. “Maybe we’ll have a look if the rest of the day’s work comes up dry,” he decided. “Carry on.”

Kurzen led the band to another staircase leading down. This one descended only thirty feet or so before emerging onto a ledge in the side of a large natural crevasse. For a moment Jack thought they’d found the upper landing of the elevator to the deeper Underdark again, but he realized that this was a much smaller cavern. The stairs turned left and descended along the sheer side of the crevasse; the dwarf guide paused to scan the stalactites hanging overhead carefully before continuing down the stairs. Shadows thrown by Halamar’s light on the stone formations created vast, fanglike caricatures on the crevasse’s rough walls. They were more than a little unnerving, and Jack was glad when they reached the bottom of the stairs and turned back into a passageway surrounded by solid stone.

“Lower your light,” Kurzen said softly to Halamar. “We’re drawing near to the temple.”

The sorcerer waved a hand over the glowing crystal at the head of his staff, dimming its brightness to little more than a small lamp. With an exchange of glances between the members of the small company, they fell silent and advanced more slowly. Ahead of them a huge stone lintel loomed out of the shadows, covered with geometric designs and the sharp-edged runes of Dwarvish writing. Cautiously they ventured beneath the doorway, finding themselves in a great antechamber or narthex between the passage they’d followed and another hallway at the opposite end. In the middle a mighty archway led into the temple proper; Jack caught a glimpse of golden tile and the shadow of mighty columns waiting beyond.

“The Temple of the Soulforger,” Kurzen said in a hushed voice. “There are grander rooms in Sarbreen, but none more sacred or more beautifully wrought. Tread these chambers with respect, my friends.”

“Well done, Kurzen,” Jack answered.

He started forward … only to catch the sudden sharp reek of troglodyte-musk and the sound of scaly feet ahead. Dozens of troglodyte warriors poured out of the arch leading to the inner temple and rushed the small party.

“Bane’s blazing bollocks! Here they come again!” shouted Narm. He ran forward to meet the monsters’ charge, brandishing his greatsword.

Kurzen followed after him, raising his shield and guarding the big fighter’s back. Halamar conjured up a great curtain of fire that momentarily stopped the wave of troglodytes from simply overrunning the company; Jack decided to stick by to the sorcerer and defend him from any close attack. In a matter of moments Jack was hard-pressed by a pair of the degenerate monsters, fending them off with thrust after thrust of his rapier. Despite the company’s aggressive defense, the sheer weight of numbers forced the adventurers back toward the hallway outside the temple narthex.

“These fellows are the same tribe as the others.” Arlith called. “Look at their eyes!”

The halfling was right, Jack noted; the troglodytes he fought wore ragged eye patches like their comrades upstairs, and were likewise painted with eye-like symbols. Ragged volleys of trog javelins flew through the air, clattering all around the company. “Fall back!” he shouted to Narm and Kurzen. “We can hold them off on the stairs outside!”

The dwarf and the half-orc gave ground grudgingly, retreating back to the narthex entrance. A blast of green fire suddenly roared in the opposite archway, incinerating a number of the troglodyte dart-throwers that were hanging back from the press. The trogs pressing in against Narm and Kurzen hesitated, risking quick glances over the shoulders and hissing at each other in their thick, rasping voices. Then another party of adventurers appeared, bursting out of the smoking opening as their own battle spilled over into the temple’s great narthex. Two of the newcomers-an elf armed with sword and wand and an armored human wearing the robes of a cleric of Tempus-instantly turned to face whatever followed them out of the opposite tunnel, while a tattooed human swordsman and a tiefling wielding a scimitar of black fire simply cut into the back ranks of the troglodytes facing Jack and his companions without even breaking stride. Silhouetted by emerald fires smoldering in the doorway, a trio of umber hulks shambled into fray, pursuing the other heroes … only to be momentarily checked as a black-haired woman in dark mail appeared and took a stand against them, her katana flashing in the greenish light.

“Jelan? No!” Jack exclaimed. “What is she doing here?” The question was rhetorical, of course: Myrkyssa Jelan was seeking the Sarkonagael after all, or she wouldn’t be on the doorstep of the Temple of the Soulforger. And that meant that either the resting place of the tome was not quite as secure as he’d believed or the Warlord had been keeping her eye on him. Jelan glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes met Jack’s for an instant before she turned back to the monsters pressing her.

Jack started to shout a warning to his comrades or to simply protest this unfair turn of events, but the troglodyte battering at him redoubled its assault, feeling the threat approaching from behind it. Jack ducked a wild swing of its spiked club, which shattered the face of one of the figures shown in the ancient dwarven carvings that covered the walls, and riposted with a clean thrust into the troglodyte’s chest. The monster hissed in agony and staggered, but as soon as Jack drew back his point, it raised its club and came on again.

“Not fair!” Jack cried. “You are supposed to fall. Can’t you see that I’ve killed you?”

The trog lumbered ahead and swung again; Jack had no room to backpedal, so he leaped inside its swing and found himself breast-to-breast with the stinking creature. It dropped its club and seized Jack’s throat with one big, scaly claw, opening its mouth impossibly wide to reveal rows of sharp, serrated teeth. Blood spumed in its throat, but the creature held Jack fast as it prepared to take his face in its jaws. In desperation Jack dropped his rapier to the floor, drawing the dagger from his belt and plunging the blade into the trog’s neck just under its ear-hole. The monster shuddered and collapsed; Jack shouldered aside its body and scooped up his sword again.

The battle was absolute chaos. Troglodytes seethed back and forth between the two companies of adventurers, filling the air with their awful reek. The umber hulks chasing Jelan’s group waded into the middle of it all, lashing out with their mammoth claws and scissoring their horrible mandibles with an awful clacking sound. Adventurers and troglodytes both staggered about or stood struck senseless by the mind-whelming power of the umber hulks’ quadruple eyes. Others flew into blind berserk fury, lashing out at whatever was near, friend or foe.

“No amount of coin is worth this,” Jack muttered. “I hereby forswear dungeon-delving forever. There must be easier ways to throw away one’s life.”

Kurzen went down cursing, his leg yanked out from under him by a sweep of an umber hulk’s talons. The monster’s next strike crumpled the dwarf’s shield like tin, and the monster opened its mandibles wide to slice the dwarf in half-but it suddenly buckled in agony as Myrkyssa Jelan slashed it across its chitin-covered back. Arlith, overcome by the power of the umber hulks’ eyes, dropped her crossbow and fled the room, running off in blind panic. Half a dozen of the surviving troglodytes scattered and ran with her, some likewise confused and some simply abandoning the fight. Narm pressed forward to hack at another one of the hulks, while Halamar slung fire left and right and Jelan’s mage-the elf with sword and wand-hammered darts of magical force at the umber hulk Jelan had wounded.

Jack reversed the dagger with which he’d killed the troglodyte and took aim at the umber hulk fighting Narm. His throw took the creature in one of its large, multifaceted eyes. The hulk howled with a high screech of pain until the half-orc ducked under its fumbling grasp to drive his sword through a chink in its armor. The last umber hulk abruptly wheeled and fled, trampling over a couple of troglodytes who were milling about in their confusion. Jack wheeled, looking for another foe, but the troglodytes were all dead or in retreat, as were the umber hulks. Only the two parties of adventurers still faced each other.

“Who in the Nine Hells are you fellows?” Narm demanded, facing Jelan’s tiefling and his sword of ebony flames.

“The Moon Dagger Company,” the tiefling snarled. “And who are you?”

“Jack Ravenwild,” said Myrkyssa Jelan. She drew a small cloth from her belt to wipe the black gore from her katana, but kept her sword ready to hand as she cleaned it. “You have the infuriating habit of turning up when least expected.”

“Who is this, Jack?” Kurzen asked. He was limping, but he seemed like he could still fight.

“Myrkyssa Jelan, once the Warlord of the Vast,” Jack answered. He did not take his eyes off her. “And I fail to see how my presence here interferes with any business of yours, because I am simply following a design of my own. In fact, I might ask exactly what your purpose here is, Elana. What are you up to?”

“I am here for the Sarkonagael, of course,” Jelan replied.

“We were here first. The book is ours.”

“That remains to be seen.” She coolly surveyed Jack’s companions, taking their measure.

Jack fumed, glancing at the open archway leading to the temple. The situation was simply intolerable. Even if they agreed to retrieve the book together and split the reward, he was suddenly short half the purse he’d hoped to win with this little expedition. Or, worse yet, Jelan might have no intention of turning in the Sarkonagael for any kind of reward. She’d gotten her hands on that book once before and proceeded to employ its dark powers to create all sorts of mayhem in the city. If she still had an interest in it, Jack was certain it could be for no good reason.

To buy himself a moment to regain his composure, he met Jelan’s gaze and demanded, “How did you know it was here?”

“I arranged for the book’s location to be divined, of course.”

“Not so fast,” Jack shot back. “I am well acquainted with your peculiar condition, Elana. You are completely unaffected by magic. A diviner could do nothing to help you find the tome.”

Jelan allowed herself a small smile. “Well, in that you are correct. However, two people learn the result of a divination, do they not?”

Jack spluttered in outrage. “Why, that is unheard of! Diviners are supposed to adhere to a strict code of professional ethics respecting their clients’ confidentiality.”

“It would appear that I made Aderbleen Krestner a more convincing offer than you did,” Jelan answered. She turned and said something to the elf standing behind her … and the elf abruptly raised his wand at Jack and his companions, speaking a spell in his own language.

“On your guard!” Narm shouted, and surged forward-but at that instant a roaring wall of green fire sprang into life around Jack and his friends, ringing them where they stood. The half-orc jerked back from the searing flames with an oath; Kurzen and Arlith raised their weapons, ready to defend themselves, but Jelan and her mercenaries simply left Jack’s party trapped within the ring of flames.

“Forgive me, Jack, but I have a book to retrieve!” Jelan shouted through the roaring of the fire. “Stay where you are, and you shouldn’t be harmed. My mage Kilarnan-” the elf gave a small smile, and bowed at the mention of his name-“informs me that the flames will abate in a quarter-hour or so. I caution you not to follow me; if I have to discourage pursuit more forcefully, I’ll do so without a moment’s hesitation.”

Jelan raised her mailed hand to her brow in a mocking salute, then motioned to her mercenaries. As Jack and his comrades watched through the flames, the Warlord wheeled and strode boldly through the gate leading to the inner temple. Her mercenaries followed after her.

“They’re going to beat us to the prize,” Narm snarled. “Now what?”

Jack thought quickly. His instinct was to pursue at once, wall of fire or not … but if any more monsters waited in the temple proper, perhaps it would be better to let Jelan and her followers take their measure first. “Halamar, do you have a way to protect us against the flames?”

Halamar, the fire-sorcerer, gave a low laugh. “Trust me, fire is the least of my concerns. We can exit whenever we like.”

“And Arlith is still outside,” Kurzen observed. “If Halamar can protect us against the elf’s magic, then what are we waiting for? Let’s get out of this infernal trap. I mean to have a word or two with that so-called warlord.”

Jack raised his hand, motioning for patience. “Not yet, friend Kurzen,” he said. “Let Jelan find out what dangers wait in the temple. When she returns this way, it will seem that we are caught perfectly in her wizard’s cage … but we’ll simply be waiting to ambush her and take back our book.”

Kurzen ran his hand over his short-cropped hair and nodded. “I like it,” he decided. “Do we kill them, or just teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget?”

“I want the book, but I am not sure that I’m prepared to murder for it,” Jack replied. “Spare them if you can.” He was trying to become respectable, after all, and while the authorities might not make much of rival companies brawling in the dungeons below the city, deaths tended to invite official interest of the sort Jack didn’t want. He sheathed his rapier and dropped his pack from his shoulders to the flagstones, seating himself on the ground. He was rapidly becoming aware of a dozen small aches, pains, and injuries that he hadn’t noticed in the heat of the fighting; a brief respite seemed in order. “Rest now. They’ll be out soon enough.”

Jack drank deeply from his waterflask, then bandaged a nasty gouge just above his left boot where the spike of a troglodyte’s club had missed crushing his shinbone by a whisker. The emerald flames continued to dance and crackle around the small company; inside the circle it was growing uncomfortably warm, and perspiration gleamed on each face. Narm and Kurzen talked quietly as they drank from their own flasks, weighing the best strategy for taking down the Moon Daggers quickly. The minutes dragged on, and still Jelan’s party did not appear; Jack hoped that meant they were busy sorting through an immense pile of loot and hadn’t simply found the book and made their exit through some other passageway on the far side of the temple.

The mage Halamar came and sat down beside Jack, bringing his pipe out of his robes. “Is this truly the Myrkyssa Jelan of legend that we are facing?” he asked.

“That is the very Myrkyssa Jelan you have just met,” Jack said. “She, and I, were magically imprisoned for the last century, and released only a few tendays ago.”

“Astonishing. I thought she was only a myth, a legend. No one could do the things she is said to have done.”

“You don’t know her as well as I do,” Jack said glumly. He liked their chances of catching Jelan off guard … but that woman was damnably competent. He didn’t care for the idea of crossing swords with her again. “Listen, my friend: When we move against the Warlord’s company, deal with her wizard if you can. No spell of yours will have any affect at all on Jelan herself. She is completely immune to magic.”

“So that much of the legend is true,” Halamar mused. He fell silent for a moment, frowning in thought.

At that moment Kurzen suddenly scrambled upright and pointed back at the doorway leading from the hall into the narthex. “Gods have mercy!” he cried. “It’s a beholder!”

Jack leaped to his feet and whirled to look back the way they had come. A great, spherical shape easily eight or nine feet across floated slowly into the temple narthex. Writhing eyestalks crowned its upper surface, and its single central eye glared at the ring of emerald flames and the explorers waiting inside. Behind the monster more troglodytes slunk along, cringing and hissing to the eye-tyrant.

“Ahhh,” the beholder gurgled in its thick voice. “Here are the cruel ones who killed our servants and defiled our lair. We are not pleased with them. Do they think to hide from us within their magic? They are mistaken. Which of the ten dooms at our command do they deserve, we wonder?”

“Now I understand-the troglodytes maim themselves to show devotion to their master,” Narm remarked. He sighed and raised his sword into a guard position. “Eye tyrant, indeed. Well, with luck we will die quickly.”

That seemed like a poor aspiration to Jack. He wasn’t sure exactly what the beholder’s ten eye-rays did, but he didn’t care to find out. He glanced about the room, searching for a way out, then sudden inspiration struck him. “Wait!” he cried to the monster. “Wait, oh magnificent master. We are only lost travelers. The true defilers-your enemies and ours-have passed into the temple proper. We have no quarrel with you!” Behind him he felt Kurzen and the others exchanging wary glances, but they were clever enough to keep silent.

The beholder paused, studying Jack with several of its eyes. “Our servants are certain that your pitiful company slaughtered them with abandon.”

“A terrible misunderstanding, your spherical majesty,” Jack answered. “Ask your servants if there were not others besides our company who caused you even greater injury.” He pointed to the archway leading into the temple. “While we bandy words in this antechamber, they are already pillaging your treasures.”

The creature diverted several of its eyes to its troglodyte minions and rumbled a question in their language. Most of its eyes remained firmly trained on Jack and his company. The troglodytes seemed agitated to Jack, and he thought he caught a whiff of their horrible stink even from across the room. What manner of monster willingly accepted troglodytes into its service, he wondered. Clearly one that possessed little or no sense of smell.

“Do you really believe this will work?” Kurzen asked in a low voice.

“We will persuade the beholder that its true enemy is Jelan and her company, and wait while the creature chases them off or is destroyed in the attempt to remove them from the temple,” said Jack. He could sense the possibilities realigning even as he spoke, and had to hide a grin of satisfaction at the turn of events. “Regardless of whether Jelan and her sellswords or the beholder and its minions triumph, the winning side will doubtless be weakened, and our position correspondingly improved.”

“And if the creature is not dissuaded from attacking us?” the dwarf continued.

“Confidence, friend Kurzen, confidence. This is the oldest ploy in the book.” Jack nodded at the beholder. “See, the creature concludes its deliberations.”

The beholder drifted a little closer, having finished its discussion with its minions. “The issue is decided,” it rumbled. “There is no egress from the temple. We will destroy you first, and then deal with the intruders within.”

“Ah, damn it,” Narm muttered.

The beholder fixed its great central eye on Jack and his companions. There was a strange silvery flash around its huge red iris … and on the instant the wall of dancing green fire surrounding the company vanished, snuffed out by the antimagic of the monster’s gaze. “Go, loyal minions,” it burbled to its troglodytes. “Slay them all, but do not spoil the eyes.”

“New plan!” Jack cried. “Follow me! We’ll lead them to Jelan and make this her fight, too.” He spun on his heel and ran with all his speed for the archway leading into the temple proper.

Narm, Kurzen, and Halamar cursed and swore, but they ran after Jack as the trogs’ javelins hissed through the air around them. Arlith darted out of the shadows at the far end of the hall and joined them as they fled. Without a word the beholder’s servants surged forward, charging after the company, while the monster suddenly shut its central eye and lashed out with a half dozen ravening beams of magical energy from its twisting eyestalks. A green ray smote Kurzen on his shield, spreading a crackling verdant field over the wood and metal. With a curse, the dwarf flung away his warboard, which disintegrated before it reached the ground. A thin bluish ray intended for Narm was intercepted by a hapless troglodyte who ran into its path; the creature took three more steps before its skin grayed and it petrified in mid-stride.

Jack felt himself seized by an unseen force and lifted off his feet. A golden ray held him transfixed in some sort of telekinetic grip. He kicked and struggled to no avail before the beholder contemptuously flung him across the room. Jack hit the wall with enough force to knock him senseless for a moment, sliding to the floor with his back and skull aching and his ears ringing. He came back to himself just as a troglodyte reached him and raised its club to dash out his brains. In sheer panic Jack scrambled backward on his posterior, the troglodyte bounding and hissing after him, before he found his feet and dashed into the great temple beyond the arch.

The Temple of the Soulforger was almost exactly as he had seen it in the crystal ball of Aderbleen Krestner. Lustrous yellow marble gleamed beneath his feet; pillars of red marble carved in the shape of dwarf warriors towered over him. Ramshackle bookshelves covered with old tomes, scrolls, and various baubles and junk were arranged haphazardly in the great chamber, clearly the addition of the temple’s current tenants and not the original dwarf artisans. Jelan and her companions-the tiefling blacksword, the elf mage, the priest of Tempus, and the warrior with the tattoos-were scattered about the room, searching through the clutter.

Myrkyssa Jelan caught sight of Jack at once, and her face darkened. “You simply do not know when to leave well enough alone, do you?” she snapped. She drew her katana and advanced on Jack as he skidded to a halt in the middle of the temple chamber.

“Elana, there is something you ought to know,” Jack cried. At that very moment his comrades, the pursuing troglodytes, and the terrible round shape of the beholder all spilled into the temple through the archway from the narthex. The monster’s eye-rays flashed and sizzled in the air, throwing polychromatic flashes of light across the room.

“The beholder has returned!” shouted the tattooed swordsman beside Jelan-one of the most ridiculous statements of the obvious Jack had heard in some time.

Jelan did not hesitate a moment. “Slay the beholder,” she told her mercenaries. “We’ll deal with the others afterward.”

The Warlord’s mercenaries ran up to join the battle. A furious skirmish developed just inside the temple as the two companies of adventurers battled the beholder and its minions. Narm stormed toward the beholder with his greatsword, only to be blocked by troglodytes leaping to their master’s defense. Halamar scorched several troglodytes and turned his fire against the beholder, but the monster fixed its central eye on him and the sorcerer’s spells abruptly died. Eyes wide in sudden alarm, the young pyromancer seized his staff in both hands to fend off the rush of two more troglodytes trying to cut him down while his magic was suppressed. Arlith, skulking in the shadows, shot the beholder with a crossbow bolt that struck it dead-center on its side; the monster gurgled in pain and lashed out with a purple eye-ray that swept over the halfling. Deep cuts suddenly appeared across her face and hands, streaming blood; Arlith cried out and collapsed, cradling her useless hands. Another eye-ray, this one pure black, reached out to flick the tiefling with the ebony sword. The devil-kin warrior simply dropped where he stood, crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut, but the elf Kilarnan loosed a lightning bolt that crashed through two or three more trogs before blasting the beholder from its other side. The monster roared again and spun to fix its antimagic eye on the mage.

“Close in on the thing!” Kurzen shouted. “Don’t give it a chance to pick us off with its eyes.” The dwarf battled closer, shouldering his way through the troglodytes as he followed his own advice.

Jack wondered if it had been such a good idea after all to try to combine with Jelan’s company against the beholder. Flight might have been the better option … but they were committed now. He conjured his force-darts and pounded the beholder’s flank, only to be seized by the telekinesis-ray once again and flung into the nearest pillar. The impact drove the breath from his lungs, and he wheezed for air as he staggered to his feet once again, bruised and battered. Then Jelan charged into the fray with a piercing war-cry, deliberately trying to attract the monster’s attention. The beholder flicked its ebony ray at her, which struck her in the center of her breastplate and had no effect. The Warlord did not even break her stride; the beholder glowered and shifted two more of its eye-rays onto her, to no avail-her peculiar immunity meant that she had nothing to fear from the monster’s magical eyes. She threaded her way through the troglodytes, and leaped high to slash the beholder across its crooked fanged mouth. Blood spurted from its slashed lips, and sheared-off teeth scattered across the floor. “Keep after it!” she shouted.

“We will destroy you all!” the beholder roared in anger. “Death is the kindest of our retributions, foolish humans!” It raised itself higher in the air and rotated, spinning away from Jelan. The creature was a fast learner; having determined that its eye rays could not affect the mailed swordswoman, it changed its tactics. With its telekinesis-ray it grabbed the Tempus-priest from where he stood and flung him headlong into Jelan, using him like a living battering ram to drive her away. Then its disintegration-ray flashed at the marble floor beneath Jelan and her companion, vaporizing the ancient dwarf stonework in a sinister green flash to instantly dig a pit. Jelan and the cleric dropped out of sight before they could regain their feet.

The swordsman with the tattoos snatched a handaxe from his belt and threw it at the beholder, striking the monster in its central eye. Dark gore splattered, and the creature wailed in agony, contracting the heavy lid and reeling away. It struck back with a ray from one of its eyestalks; Jack didn’t see what the beholder did next, but the warrior suddenly gibbered in panic and bolted in response, throwing away his shield as he fled the temple. However, the beholder could no longer suppress the magic of the elf mage and the sorcerer Halamar; both lashed at the monster with furious battle spells. Jack spied a troglodyte lining up on Halamar with a heavy dart, and he dashed across the fray to make a running lunge at the monster. He skewered the creature through its back; it screeched and dropped its javelin. Jack turned to face the beholder, wondering how he could come to grips with the creature without being lashed by its fierce eye-rays.

Behind the creature, Kurzen momentarily found himself in the clear. The dwarf reached down and seized one of the heavy darts the troglodytes carried, wound up, and let it fly with all his strength. The heavy missile found a seam in the monster’s chitinous armor, sinking deep into its back and striking something vital. The beholder’s eyestalks flailed wildly, and it began to sink to the ground. Narm leaped forward and drove his greatsword deep into its bloated body. The eyestalks abruptly went slack, and the monster hung motionless in the air, dripping gore from its wounds. The few surviving troglodytes hissed and wailed in despair, abandoning the fight as they scattered and ran.

“Thank the gods,” Halamar panted. “It’s dead.”

The Temple of the Soulforger fell silent. Narm and Kurzen clasped arms, flashing grins of relief and victory at each other. Jack clapped the fire-mage on the shoulder before stooping to clean his rapier on the ragged hides worn by the last troglodyte he’d killed. Then he limped over to the edge of the pit the beholder had excavated for Jelan and peeked over the edge cautiously. The bottom was easily eleven or twelve feet down, and the sides were as smooth as polished glass. The priest of Tempus was sprawled on his back, unconscious, while Myrkyssa Jelan gazed back up at him.

“I take it the fight is won?” she asked.

“The beholder is dead,” Jack answered. “Without their master, the troglodytes have lost heart.”

“I see.” Jelan folded her arms. “It seems the day belongs to you, Jack. What do you intend to do?”

“I think I’ll have a look around. One never knows what one might find.”

The swordswoman grimaced. “My comrade Wulfrad is seriously injured. I hope you do not intend to simply leave us here.”

Jack offered a small smile. “My dear Elana, I would do no such thing. Of course we will help you out of your predicament, just as soon as I secure my prize.”

He straightened up and turned his attention to the elf Kilarnan, the only one of the Warlord’s followers still on his feet. Narm and Arlith faced the mage, not quite threatening him but not turning their backs on him, either. Jack approached and gave the elf a small bow. “I have no particular wish to be unpleasant,” he said, “but as I see it, I and my companions outnumber you four to one. We hold the field, so we will take our pick of the spoils. Stand aside, and as soon as we are finished, you may retrieve your employer and go about your business.”

Kilarnan swept the temple with his eyes, searching for some sign that he was not alone, then grimaced. “I have little choice,” he said. “I will wait.”

“Friend Narm, keep Kilarnan company,” Jack said. “The rest of us will have a look around and see what we can find.”

“Best not to dawdle,” Narm said. “The troglodytes may have friends nearby.”

Jack turned and faced the great anvil-shaped altar at the far end of the room, orienting himself in the chamber. When he’d seen the Sarkonagael in the crystal ball, it had been lying on a work table standing against a wall … he paced over to the shelves and benches along the nearest side of the temple chamber, looking for a table of about the right size and orientation. “What was the beholder’s interest in all these old books?” he wondered aloud as he looked. Was it searching for some specific knowledge, or was it simply interested in any sort of lore it could get its hands-or more accurately, its minions’ hands-on?

He spied a heap of books piled on one end of a large table that struck him as familiar, and hurried over to investigate. There, lying more or less in plain sight, lay the black leather and silver lettering of the Sarkonagael. Only the vast piles of clutter around it concealed the book. Carefully Jack picked it up, examining it closely before opening it for a peek within. It was exactly as he remembered, and he grinned to himself. “How curious a fate to steal the same book twice,” he said.

“Is that it, Jack?” Halamar asked.

“Indeed it is,” Jack replied. He quickly scooped it into his pack, and looked around at the rest of the beholder’s clutter. “Let’s have a good look around. The beholder has no further use for any of its treasures, after all.”

While Kurzen, Arlith, and Halamar quickly searched the room, Jack returned to the edge of the pit to make sure Jelan hadn’t somehow escaped already. The Warlord was waiting where he had left her. “I have what I want,” Jack told her. “We’ll be on our way shortly.”

Jelan stood with folded arms. Her dark eyes flashed with irritation. She started to speak, then stopped herself, glaring down at the rough floor of the pit. After a moment, she regained her customary composure and raised her eyes to meet Jack’s again. “What do you intend to do with the book?” she asked.

“I have no grand designs for the Sarkonagael. The reward is sufficient for me.”

“I thought as much,” she replied. “Before you turn in the book, you should ask yourself who wants it, and why. The Sarkonagael is dangerous, as I am sure you know.”

Jack was quite familiar with the potential mayhem hidden in the tome; he’d spent a wretched tenday or so dealing with a shadow-doppelganger created by a Sarkonagael spell when he and Jelan had crossed paths the first time. A dark suspicion came to him, and he peered more closely at the swordswoman. “You aren’t the one who posted the reward, are you?”

Jelan allowed herself a small smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “No, I am not,” she answered. “But if it is merely a matter of coin to you, then I’d be willing to pay you the five thousand crowns for the book. It is important that the Sarkonagael not fall into the wrong hands.”

Kurzen trotted up beside Jack, and leaned over to look down at the pit before speaking to him. “We’re done here, Jack. Best be on our way.”

“Excellent,” Jack replied. He glanced down at Jelan. “Your friend Kilarnan is unhurt. I’ll leave him with a rope. Farewell, dear Elana.”

He started to turn away, but Jelan called after him. “One more thing, Jack,” she said. “You would be wise to watch out for the drow. Two days ago a party of dark elves came in search of me, with some notion of taking me back down to Tower Chumavhraele. I discouraged them, of course, but they seemed interested in locating you, too.”

“I am inclined to regard all drow with suspicion at this point,” Jack remarked. He could only imagine how Myrkyssa Jelan had discouraged would-be captors. “I thank you for the warning, anyway. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a reward to claim.”