Realms of the Dragons vol.1

THE PRISONER OF HULBURG

1 amp; 2 Mirtul, the Year of Rogue Dragons

His leather cloak rattling in the cold night wind, Pavel Shemov hurled his god-granted power against the pale, twisted things hovering around the sailboat. First, assuming them to be a product of sorcery, the priest tried to wipe the gaunt, translucent figures from the air with a counterspell. Next, suspecting them to be spirits of the dead, he tried to burn them away with a blaze of conjured sunlight.

Nothing worked. Every second, more phantoms oozed into view, whispering obscenities, pawing at their prey. At first, Pavel had been unable to feel their touch. Then it had become a slimy brushing. Soon, he reckoned, the specters would be substantial enough to hurt a person.

The three-man crew realized the same thing, and panic-stricken, yammered and flailed ineffectually at the phantoms.

A child-sized figure among the humans, Will Turnstone shouted, "Ignore them! Put in to shore!"

The halfling might as well have been a mute for all the good his exhortations did. An apparition raked at Pavel's forehead. The attack stung, and blood dripped down into his left eye. Across the deck, specters ripped the flesh of sailors, or assailed the boat itself, clawing at the timbers.

"Dive overboard!" Pavel shouted.

It was their only chance. He cast about for Will.

Swinging his curved, broad-bladed sword, the half-ling slashed one glimmering assailant to fraying ecto-plasmic tatters and sidestepped the talons of another. He was holding his own, but it couldn't last. There were just too many phantoms.

Pavel dashed forward, snatched up his friend, and leaped over the side. As he splashed down in the frigid waters of the Moonsea, he invoked the magic of his enchanted cloak.

The folds of the leather mantle expanded into rippling, pulsing wings to propel him through the depths like a manta ray. He could breathe like a fish as well. The water was cool in his lungs.

Will squirmed in his grip, pointed upward, and he realized that though he could breathe, his comrade couldn't. He surfaced warily, but found he'd swum far enough to evade the apparitions. They remained intent on the sailboat and its immediate vicinity.

Pavel carried Will on to shore, then swam back to look for the sailors. By then, the wraiths had disappeared, and unfortunately, the mariners and boat had, too. Nothing remained but drifting planks and other flotsam.

Will crouched and hid in the shadow of a stand of brush, then waited, shivering, his heart still pounding, for Pavel to return. At last the lanky, handsome cleric reared up from the shallows and waded onto the pebbly strand.

Will was relieved to see his friend, but it wouldn't do to show it. It would violate the spirit of their perpetual mock feud.

The half ling straightened up and sneered, "Nice job out there on the boat. It's good to see your magic is as useful as ever."

Though plainly upset at the slaughter of the crew, Pavel made the effort to answer in kind: "At least I had sense enough to flee when the situation became hopeless. What were you trying to accomplish by standing and fighting? That was idiotic even by your standards."

"The spooks piled on me-obviously, they knew which of us posed a threat to them-and I had to cut my way clear. You might want to fix that scratch on your brow before what passes for your brains leaks out."

"Right. I forgot all about it."

Pavel recited a prayer to his patron deity, Lathander, lord of the dawn, sketched a sacred symbol on the air, and his hand glowed with a red-gold light. He touched it to the cut, and the wound closed.

Will ripped up some grass and wiped his exquisitely balanced hornblade, as such oversized halfling swords were called, and asked, "So what happened out there?"

"I don't know," Pavel admitted. "Obviously, something uncanny attacked us, but it didn't feel like conventional magic, or spirits, either."

"Which leaves…?"

The human shook, his head and answered, "At this point, all I know is, we've seen how the Zhentarim are destroying 'unlicensed' ships and caravans."

"But we were sailing a stolen Zhentish patrol boat," said Will. "We were supposed to be safe."

"Apparently that trick has stopped working."

"No, really? You think?" The half ling sighed. "What do we do now?"

"Well, at least we made it almost to Hulburg before the Zhents spotted us." Pavel pointed to the ruined city farther up the shore, a vague mass just visible in the dark. "Let's find a safe place to rest, then start our explorations in the morning. We can worry about how to get back to Thentia when the time comes."

For centuries, war had plagued the Moonsea, laying waste to town after town. Hulburg was one such casualty. Twenty-five years past, the Zhentarim sacked the port. The wilderness was well on its way to reclaiming it. Animals laired amid the rubble of crumbling houses, while grass, brush, and small trees choked the streets. At least, Pavel thought, it meant a fellow didn't have to look too hard to find breakfast. He picked berries, taking care to avoid the long thorns protecting them, and handed half to Will. His curly black lovelocks bedraggled from the dunking they'd received, Will eyed the fruit askance.

"What's this, a prank to give me the runs? They're green."

"It's spring, cretin," said Pavel. "Naturally, they're green. They're still edible."

The halfling chewed one up and swallowed it, grimacing the while, and said, "Why did I ever leave Saerloon?"

"Because your thieves' guild, showing excellent judgment, decided to kill you. Look, if you don't want the berries, give-"

"Hush!" Beckoning for Pavel to follow, Will darted into one of the decaying houses. The thatched roof had fallen in, but skilled hunters both, they nevertheless managed to traverse the floor without their steps snapping and crunching. They hunkered down behind a window and peered out.

Pavel understood what was going on. Will had heard someone, or something, coming. It wasn't necessarily a threat. They'd assumed they might find a few people still dwelling among the ruins, inoffensive farmers or fishermen most likely. But it seemed wiser to find out for sure before revealing themselves.

Pavel scowled when four men-at-arms tramped into view, chatting, uncocked crossbows dangling in their hands. Each wore the somber trappings of a Zhentilar soldier, with the Black Network's dragon-and-scepter emblem emblazoned on their tunics.

Once the warriors had drifted on past and out of earshot, Pavel said, "Do the Zhents know we survived? Are they hunting us?"

Will snorted, "Of course not. Those soldiers weren't expecting any trouble. It was a routine patrol."

"If so, it means the Zhents have taken control of Hul-burg. But why allocate troops to occupy a ruin? There's nothing here anymore."

"Could they be looking for the same lost knowledge we are?"

Pavel shook his head and replied, "I don't see how. They don't have Sammaster's notes. But even so, with Zhents prowling about, it's going to be difficult to explore the ruins unmolested."

"No fooling."

"Curse it, anyway! How many are there, where are they camped, and what are they up to?"

"Seeing as how I'm the scout," Will answered, grinning. "I guess I'd better find out."

A battered castle, its crenellated ramparts stained and jagged as a beggar's teeth, overlooked the harbor. As soon as he caught a glimpse of it, Will surmised the Zhentarim had set up shop there, and when he spotted the black-clad sentries walking the battlements, he knew he was correct. Two vessels, a war galley and a patrol boat, were moored at one of the sagging docks below.

Will turned and skulked on, through streets overgrown with weeds and littered with rubble, slipping from one bit of cover to the next. Until, at the juncture of two lanes, he heard approaching footsteps. He squatted behind a horse trough and peeked around the side.

A freckled, snub-nosed youth, his Zhentish uniform too loose and short on his gangly limbs, slunk by with many a glance back over his shoulder. Will inferred that the lad had slipped away from the castle without permission, to shirk work or scratch a carnal itch in private.

Will pulled the warsling from his belt, glad that oil and enchantment had kept the leather supple despite its immersion the night before. He rose and let fly.

The polished skiprock hit the Zhent in the back of the head. An expert marksman, Will would have been astonished if it hadn't. The only question was whether it had done more harm than intended, some skulls being more brittle than others. As the youth pitched forward, the halfling darted forth to check him.

It was all right. The warrior was still breathing, and any damage short of death, Pavel's prayers could reverse.

Pavel could also do something else that Will couldn't accomplish. He could haul the ungainly bulk of a fellow human away before some other Zhentilar discovered the youth lying unconscious in the street. The halfling ran to fetch his friend.

"We're running a risk," Pavel said. "What if somebody misses him?"

"The longer you dawdle," Will said, "the more likely that is. So get on with it."

Pavel had carried the youth into a shadowy derelict shop and set him on the dusty floor. Will then tied the prisoner's hands and feet with strips of cloth cut from his tunic. The soldier still lay motionless where they'd secured him, the hair on the back of his head matted with blood.

It struck Pavel that the wretch didn't look much like the popular notion of a vicious Zhentilar. Maybe he wasn't. Perhaps he was just a callow lad the Black Network had conscripted into its forces.

But even if he was, Pavel and Will still couldn't afford to be gentle with him. The Zhentarim garrison posed too great a danger, and their mission was too important.

Pavel murmured a prayer. His hand tingled with warmth and radiated a rosy light. He pressed his palm to the wound in the Zhent's scalp, and the gashed skin twitched as it knit itself back together. The captive gasped and jerked away from his touch.

Will pounced on the Zhent and pressed a dagger to his throat.

"Don't call out, and don't struggle!" the halfling snarled. The soldier froze.

"That's good," said Will. "Now, we're going to ask you some questions, and I recommend you answer truthfully. Do you see the sun amulet hanging around my partner's neck? He's a priest of the Morninglord, and he's going to weave a spell that will alert him if you lie to us. If you do, I'll cut you. Understand?"

"Yes," the youth wheezed.

Pavel murmured and swept the talisman through a mystic pass, pretending to weave an enchantment. He couldn't really utilize the magic Will had described, because, unable to anticipate that he and his comrade would soon be interrogating a prisoner, he hadn't requested that particular spell when praying for his daily allotment at dawn. But the Zhent didn't know that, and thus would fear to dissemble.

Pavel gave the youth a cold stare and asked, "Why is the Black Network occupying this empty place?"

"Please," said the youth, "if I betray them, they'll torture me to death."

Will shifted the knife. The Zhent gasped and flinched away as best he could with his limbs bound and the halfling holding onto him. A drop of blood slid down his neck.

"If you don't cooperate," said Will, "I'll do the same right now."

It was another bluff. Will and Pavel weren't torturers. But the Zhent had no way of knowing that, either.

"I swore oaths to Bane," the soldier pleaded. "If I break them, then, after I die, he'll rip my soul forever."

"No," said Pavel, "he won't. Renounce the Black Lord, run away from the Zhentarim, find a decent way of living, and he'll have no power over you. I give you my word as a servant of the Morninglord."

"So," said Will, "you can die today, or have a second chance. What's it going to be? Decide fast, I'm getting bored."

He flicked the knife, making a second superficial cut.

The Zhent cringed and said, "All right! Ask your questions."

"I already asked one," Pavel said. "Why are you here?"

"To protect the dragon."

Pavel and Will exchanged glances.

"What dragon?" the half ling asked.

"He's called Vercevoran," said the Zhent. "Somebody said he's an emerald dragon. He looks like he was carved out of a big, green jewel."

"Oh, blessed powers!" Pavel exclaimed.

"What?" asked Will. "Does that tell you something?"

"The forces that attacked us on the water," said the priest. "They didn't seem like true magic, or actual unclean spirits, either. But there's another sort of power, exceedingly rare, a pseudo-wizardry of the mind. Gem dragons are among the creatures possessing such abilities, talents well suited to keeping watch over the entire Moonsea and striking at those who journey without the Zhentarim's authorization." He turned back to the soldier. "Am I right?"

The youth goggled in amazement at his perspicacity and said, "Yes."

"I don't understand" said Will. "Why would an emerald dragon help the Zhents? Gem wyrms aren't totally evil, are they? And why aren't his keepers worried about him succumbing to the Rage and running amok?"

"He's a prisoner," said the Zhent, "magically forced to serve. The spellcasters back in the Citadel of the Raven called up something special to control him. I don't know what. It keeps to itself, and walks abroad shrouded in a cloak and hood."

"Then explain this," Will said. He stalked to the doorway to take a wary look at the street outside. "The dragon's important to your masters' plans. So why keep him in Hulburg? Why not in one of your strongholds, the citadel, Zhentil Keep, or Mulmaster?"

"I think I know," said Pavel. "This one creature, mighty as he is, can't perform the task the Zhentarim have set him all by himself. The dastards need a ring of watchers linked mind to mind positioned around the Moonsea. They need a psychic hereabouts to close the circle." He smiled at the youth. "Am I correct?"

"I think so," said the captive. "I mean, common soldiers like me aren't even supposed to know, but you hear things. Vercevoran and the other slaves are all linked in a pattern that makes their minds stronger than normal."

"This is… interesting," said Will.

"And important," said Pavel. "We knew we were in peril every time we traveled. Now we know why."

"And we know how to remove the threat. Break one strand loose and the whole psychic web collapses."

"Exactly."

Will played with his bloody dagger, tossing and catching it as he mulled the prospect over.

"We could try hiking back to Thentia for reinforcements," said the halfling, "but the wyrm would probably sense us making the trip and hammer us again. Whereas you and I have already slipped in close enough to strike."

"Right. I wouldn't like our chances fighting an entire Zhentarim garrison and this shrouded demon, too, but that's not the point. We simply have to creep in and divest them of Vercevoran."

"Any thought as to how?"

"I may be able to dispel the enchantments binding him."

Will arched an eyebrow and asked," 'May?'"

"It could be tricky, time-consuming, or dangerous."

"Then how about this? We kill the wyrm. If the Zhents have taken away his free will, he may not lift a claw to defend himself."

Pavel frowned and said, "That option doesn't sit well with me."

"Me, either, really, but think about it: Jewel drakes aren't utterly wicked by nature, but they're not exactly good, either. I've heard tales of them killing folk and raiding for treasure."

"We don't know that Vercevoran has ever done such things."

"But we do know there's a Rage building. What if the wyrm's already in frenzy, with only his bonds holding him in check? What if he goes berserk as soon as we free him, and tears into us?"

"Look," said Pavel, "let's evaluate the situation when we actually reach the creature, and decide then."

"Fair enough." Will pivoted back toward the captive, who, having overheard their exchange, was gaping at them as if they were crazy to contemplate such a venture. "We need to know everything about the layout of the castle and the disposition of the guards."

The weathered limestone curtain wall provided plenty of handholds for a burglar of Will's abilities. He just wished Selune would see fit to hide her silvery smile behind a cloud. If, as Pavel claimed, the hunters were doing the work of the deities of light, it seemed the least she could do.

Still, moon or no, people seldom saw Will when he didn't want them to, and he made it onto the battlements without incident. Crouching low, he peered about, making sure none of the sentries was close at hand, then crept down a stairway into the courtyard. The smells of wood smoke, fried sausage, and the Zhents' sanitary arrangements drifted on the chilly night air. Snoring sounded from the outbuildings along the base of the wall.

But a few of the Zhents were awake, and the spearman sitting on a bench behind the sally-port was one of them. Will spun his warsling, bounced a skiprock off the warrior's head, and the human toppled off the seat. Will dragged the bench closer to the secondary egress, climbed atop it, and slid the bar to the side.

As soon as he opened the postern, Pavel, wrapped in the black mantle he'd appropriated from their prisoner, slipped inside. He peered across the bailey at the central keep that, according to the gangly youth, held Vercevoran.

Will gave his comrade an inquiring look. Pavel nodded, and they advanced on the massive slab of a tower. In the dark, wrapped in his black war cloak, the priest hoped to pass for a Zhent if anybody noticed him at all. Will continued to trust in his thief-craft to hide him from hostile eyes.

The keep had two entrances, an imposing set of double doors on one face and a smaller one on the opposite side. The intruders skulked to the humbler entry, and Pavel tried to open it. It wouldn't budge. Will selected a pick from his pouch of thief s tools and inserted it in the keyhole.

After a moment, he whispered, "It isn't locked."

"You mean, you're too incompetent to defeat the mechanism."

"I mean, it isn't engaged. Now that I think about, where would the Zhents have found a key to this old lock anyway? The door's magically sealed, which means it's your job to open it."

The priest frowned and said, "I only have three dis-pellings prepared. I'd hoped to save them all to attack Vercevoran's bindings."

"Don't be even stupider than usual. We have to reach the wyrm, or we're beaten before we start."

Pavel murmured a rhymed couplet and swirled his hand through a pass. Power whined, and for an instant, the whole door shone with a golden light. Will winced at the commotion, but when he peered about, saw no sign that anyone else had noticed.

Pavel twisted the tarnished brass handle, and the latch clicked open. He cracked the door, and he and Will peeked inside. Will caught his breath.

The keep's entire ground floor was one big, high-ceilinged room. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been large enough to hold its prisoner. Vast and serpentine, batlike wings furled, Vercevoran lay motionless in the middle of the floor, with only the slow expansion and contraction of his chest demonstrating he was still alive. The blank, phosphorescent eyes, a paler green than the scintillant scales, stared at nothing.

Despite the wyrm's immobility, his evident helplessness, he was so imposing that Will needed a moment to take in the other features of the hall. Crystal globes atop wrought iron tripods shed the soft, steady light illuminating the captive. Limned in gold and scarlet pigments, intricate geometric designs entwined with writing radiated out from Vercevoran across the floor. The air smelled of bitter incense and the drake's own dry, reptilian scent.

"What do you think?" whispered Will.

"I need a minute," Pavel replied.

He prowled the room, examining first the glowing orbs, then stooping to inspect the figures painted on the floor.

"Well?" Will demanded.

"Patience."

"Bugger that. We're in danger, lingering here. Look, it's wizardry holding the drake, and you're no wizard. It's no shame to admit you can't figure out how to free him."

"I do know, in theory. I've studied how arcane magic works, and I understand how to pit my own kind of power against it."

"I don't want to butcher the poor creature, either," said Will, "but if we don't fix it so we can travel freely, we're never going to solve the puzzle of Sammaster's journal in time to do anybody any good. It's thousands of lives against one."

Will drew his hornblade from its scabbard.

"No. The Morninglord teaches-"

Pavel cried out and clutched at his head with both hands.

For an instant, Will didn't understand what was wrong. Then he too staggered as agony burned inside his skull. When the pain finally abated, his upper lip was wet with the blood flowing from his nostrils, and a figure stood on the stairway that ran up the wall to the higher levels of the tower.

Will had never seen anything like the creature, but reckoned it could only be the demon the Zhents had summoned to control Vercevoran. In the keep, the tanar'ri had dispensed with its cowl and mantle to reveal a slimy, burly, ogre-sized frame so hunchbacked it was natural for it to lumber about on all fours. Fanged jaws jutted beneath a protuberant brow, a long, thin tongue flickered beyond its teeth, and a sort of cage of bony extrusions ran all the way along its crooked spine. Within that latticework glistened moist, whorled tissue like a prodigious quantity of exposed brain.

"Splendors of the dawn," breathed Pavel, "it's a cere-brilith."

"I'm guessing that's bad," said Will.

The demon knuckle-walked farther down the steps. "Who are you?" it snarled. "How did you get in here?"

Will's head still throbbed from the cerebrilith's psychic attack. But he knew he and Pavel had to shake off the shock of the unexpected assault and fight. The hal-fling leaped to the side-a sudden maneuver he hoped would startle his foe-readied his warsling, and let fly. The skiprock struck the demon in its round black eye. The cerebrilith recoiled.

"Hit it, you idiot!" Will shouted.

Spurred into motion, Pavel rattled off a prayer. The air grew warmer for an instant, and sparks of red-gold light danced about the cerebrilith's misshapen head. Will couldn't tell exactly what his friend had done to the demon, but the magic must have had some effect, because the tanar'ri let out a screech.

Amazing, Will thought, snatching for another sling stone, we're winning.

Then the cerebrilith roared, "Kill them!" Whereupon Vercevoran surged to his feet and spun around toward the intruders.

Gigantic jaws gaping, sinuous throat swelling, the emerald dragon howled. Knowing the noise could kill anyone caught in front of the wyrm's head, Will and Pavel flung themselves to opposite sides. Still, the cry shook the half ling's bones and spiked pain through his head and torso, even as it vibrated the floor, threatening his balance, and jolted dirt loose from the rafters.

Vercevoran pivoted, chasing Pavel. Reeling, the priest only barely managed to dodge the dragon's raking talons. So long and heavy were the hooked, glittering claws that if only one of them snagged in his flesh, it could easily rip him limb from limb.

And if no one intervened, taking the pressure off Pavel, enabling him to recover his equilibrium and come on guard, Vercevoran certainly was going to rend him. Bellowing, Will cut at the wyrm's hind leg. The hornblade penetrated the shimmering jade scales to gash the flesh beneath, but not deeply. The wounds wouldn't even slow a dragon down.

They likely stung, though, and the reptile whirled toward him. The time had come to vault or somersault clear, away from its fore claws and jaws. Unfortunately, though, Will had never fought a gem drake before, and some subtlety in the way Vercevoran moved threw off his reckoning. He hesitated, unable to gauge precisely when or in what direction to spring, and in that instant, the chance was lost. The emerald wyrm lunged forward, and he had to scramble backward to avoid being trampled.

It only took a second for Vercevoran to pin him against the wall. The dragon struck at him. He sidestepped, and the enormous fangs clashed together on empty air. He riposted, but the hunting sword failed to penetrate the reptile's natural armor.

Vercevoran lifted a forefoot. Still caught against the wall, Will poised himself to dodge, and a voice whispered in his mind, commanding him to stand still. He froze, and the dragon's claws slashed in a horizontal arc.

Somehow, at the last possible instant, Will broke free of the compulsion and leaped to the side. Vercevoran's attack caught him anyway, flung him through the air, and only a tumbler's trained reflexes enabled him to roll and avert a skin full of shattered bones when he smashed down on the floor. He scrambled up and took stock of himself. His last-ditch defensive maneuver had thrown off Vercevoran's aim just enough to save him from serious harm. The drake's claws had slashed his leather armor and cut the flesh beneath, but not deeply enough to incapacitate him. Above him on the stairs, the cerebrilith snarled in frustration.

Will didn't think the tanar'ri had any actual reason to be upset. If it could still attack despite the enchantment Pavel had cast to hinder it, then it and Vercevoran were likely to kill the intruders soon enough. It was obvious the hunters couldn't contend with a demon and a dragon simultaneously in that cramped, enclosed arena.

The only hope, then, was to change the game. Grateful that, when Vercevoran had tagged him, the blow had at least served to fling him to a spot where he didn't have his back against a wall, Will spun his warsling and slammed skiprocks into the reptile's head.

"You want me?" he cried. "Here I am! Come get me!"

He faked a dodge to the right, then sprinted toward the smaller door, which was too low and narrow for a full-grown wyrm to use. Will reached it ahead of his pursuer. He plunged through and spun himself to the side, where Vercevoran couldn't reach him. Behind him, the wyrm's claws clacked on the floor, and his tail swept from right to left. Inferring from those noises that the drake had turned, Will risked a peek back inside. Sure enough, Vercevoran was racing toward the double doors on the far side of the hall. When the dragon hit them, they burst apart as if they were made of paper.

When Vercevoran followed Will out into the night, Pavel understood what his partner had in mind. While the halfling led the dragon on a chase, Pavel was supposed to slay the cerebrilith, then dissolve the enchantments holding Vercevoran in thrall. All this in the brief time before an old and powerful dragon would otherwise catch and kill a lone halfling.

Even though the cerebrilith was presumably still blind from the spell he'd cast on it, Pavel had no idea if he was up to the challenge, but knew he had no choice but to try. He began a prayer, reciting the words under his breath so his adversary wouldn't hear.

Then the cerebrilith vanished. Perhaps it had become invisible, but Pavel knew there was another possibility: Some demons could translate themselves instantly from one location to the next. He whirled, and standing more or less erect for the first time, shovel-sized hands poised to rake, jaws gaping, the hulking tanar'ri was right beside him. Though Pavel had blinded it, its clairvoyance enabled it to orient on him.

But maybe the blindness slowed it down. It hesitated before lashing out with its talons, and that gave Pavel time to skip back out of range, still maintaining the precise cadence and enunciation his incantation required.

Red-gold light washed through the room. A luminous mace appeared in the air, then bashed the cerebrilith as if a ghost were swinging it.

Pavel smiled. With luck, the conjured weapon would confuse and hold the demon back while he assailed it with more magic.

But the harassment didn't hinder the cerebrilith as much as he'd hoped. The tanar'ri roared, and a harsh white light blazed from its body. The radiance seared Pavel like a brand, and the agonizing heat didn't end with the flare. The priest looked down. His clothing was on fire.

He dropped and rolled. That extinguished the fire, but by the time he finished, the demon was stooping over him. The hovering mace bashed chips from the bony spikes along its spine, but it ignored the punishment to reach for the human laying supine on the floor.

Pavel swung the enchanted mace of steel and oak he carried in his hand. Sprawled as he was, he had no hope, of striking with much force or accuracy, but somehow managed to knock the cerebrilith's big, gnarled hand away. He scrambled backward, trying to get clear.

He wasn't quick enough. The tanar'ri caught him by the leg and lifted his foot toward its stained, jagged fangs.

"Freeze!" Pavel cried.

That too was a spell, and it snagged the creature's will for a second. He kicked free of the demon's grip.

Not unscathed, however. The creature's talons had pierced his boot and the muscle beneath, and in the course of flailing loose, he tore and enlarged the wounds. When he floundered to his feet, his leg nearly buckled. It would give way if he didn't favor it.

Indeed, he hurt all over, and reckoned he was hurt pretty badly. Fortunately, he could heal himself, but he couldn't focus on that and fend off a demon at the same time. He had to neutralize the tanar'ri first, and quickly, before shock and blood loss eroded a critical measure of his strength and agility.

Commencing another spell, he backed away from the cerebrilith. The demon turned its head, tracking the movement, then vanished from beneath the pounding, luminous mace. The conjured weapon streaked forward, pursuing its target. The line in which it flew pointed to the spot where the creature had reappeared, otherwise Pavel would never have sensed it on his right flank in time to recoil to the left.

Even so, a swipe of its claws ripped his brigandine and scored the skin beneath. It hurt, but he refused to let pain ruin his spell. He kept the rhythm, and lashed his unarmed hand through the proper figure.

Power burned in his palm, and when the cerebrilith lunged after him, he thrust out his hand and discharged it. A beam of brilliant light leaped forth and caught the demon square in the muzzle, shattering a number of its fangs. The tanar'ri stumbled, and the flying mace smashed through a section of the bony extrusions on its spine and started pulping the whorled tissue beneath. The demon fell to one knee. It lifted an arm, evidently to ward off the glowing weapon, but then the limb flopped back to the floor as if it had run out of strength.

Pavel hobbled forward to strike at the cerebrilith. It roared, startling him. Not so weak after all, it grabbed the wrist of his weapon arm and yanked him close. Its jaws spread wide, and alas, Lathander's light hadn't broken all its teeth-it still had all the dentition required to bite him to pieces.

Will knew it would only take Vercevoran a moment or two to dash around the outside of the keep. He spent a precious instant standing still, listening, until he knew from which direction the dragon was coming. Then he sprinted in the other, keeping ahead of his pursuer.

When he'd circled the tower, he dashed on toward the line of outbuildings at the foot of the curtain wall. Zhents, roused by the commotion, were scurrying from the barracks. Some spotted him, and maneuvered to intercept him. Without breaking stride, he spun his warsling. The skiprock cracked into one soldier's head, then rebounded to strike the comrade next to him. The first human fell, and the second reeled.

Then the remaining Zhents balked and peered upward, eyes wide. Will didn't need to look back to know they'd just caught sight of Vercevoran. The dragon was still on his track, and he was flying.

Something-hunter's instinct, maybe-warned Will the wyrm was about to unleash that devastating roar. He sprang, somersaulted, trying to dodge. It must have worked. The deafening bellow jolted him, but did no crippling harm. Whereas three Zhents flailed and dropped, blood streaming from every opening in their heads.

Vercevoran attacked again just a heartbeat later. Glowing white strands of some unearthly stuff writhed from the empty air around Will's body to snatch for him like tentacles. He dived and flipped to his feet beyond their reach.

Above him, something occluded the light of the moon and stars. He ran on, plunging through a doorway of an outbuilding. Vercevoran, thwarted in his attempt to swoop down on the half ling like an owl catching a mouse in its talons, landed on the ground instead, then lunged, jaws gaping. Will slammed the door. The whole wall banged and shook as the drake rammed into it.

Will cast about. The wall would only keep out a wyrm for a few seconds. His survival depended on finding another way out of that room.

There! A small, round opening intended for ventilation, high in the right-hand wall, it wouldn't accommodate a human, but a halfling might manage. Will sprang onto the desk, leaped again, and caught hold of the laths crisscrossing the hole. The wood was soft and easy to bash away. He squirmed through an instant before Vercevoran smashed down the wall behind him.

He dashed out of the narrow space between one outbuilding and the next and on through another door.

Vercevoran had caught up with him, so he couldn't run around in the open anymore. His only chance was to take cover in enclosed spaces, slipping from one to the next before the dragon crashed in on him.

Time after time, a collapsing wall or roof nearly battered him and buried him in rubble. Again and again, he only escaped a storeroom, carpenter's workshop, or kitchen in the last second before the drake burst in. Meanwhile, he was grimly aware he was running short of outbuildings.

He scrambled out a window. To his left, Vercevoran roared. The noise had a different timbre than before. Something about it made Will pause in his frantic scuttling and try to determine what was going on.

His head and forelegs inside, wings, hindquarters, and lashing tail outside, Vercevoran had jammed in the doorway of the armory his quarry had vacated mere moments before. In a matter of seconds, the wall surrounding the opening would crumble and liberate the wyrm. But for the moment he was stuck.

Will stared at the creature's flank, — at the vulnerable point so temptingly exposed, the thin spot in the scaly hide with the pulsing heart behind. If he advanced quickly but silently, he had a fair chance of landing a mortal blow.

He glided forward, then, recalling what Pavel had said, he hesitated. The Zhents had enslaved Vercevoran. He wasn't responsible for his actions.

He spat. To the Abyss with Pavel's squeamishness. Will needed to kill the dragon or Vercevoran would kill him, simple as that. He skulked onward.

Too late. The wall shattered, and Vercevoran rounded on him.

Will spun around to flee, but his legs wouldn't run. They tangled, and as he fell, he realized a psychic assault had paralyzed him.

A great weight pressed him down into the mud. Vercevoran had his forefoot on him, and for a moment it seemed the reptile simply intended to crush him. Then, however, the dragon gripped him in his talons and lifted him toward his jaws.

Pavel planted both feet on the cerebrilith's breast, exerting every bit of his dwindling strength, and braced his legs to keep the tanar'ri from dragging him to its fangs.

The cerebrilith raked at his head with its other hand. He jerked up his free arm, and the creature's claws tore it from wrist to elbow. It was better than if they'd ripped his face away.

Still, it was only a matter of time before the demon, its blindness and the trauma of its various wounds notwithstanding, landed a crippling or lethal attack. With his weapon hand locked in his opponent's grasp, Pavel needed another way to strike at it, and the knife in his belt wouldn't serve. Since it bore no enchantments, it wouldn't pierce a tanar'ri's flesh.

He started gasping out an incantation, yanked the sun amulet from around his neck, and swept it through the initial pass. The cerebrilith snatched to stop him. Somehow Pavel managed both to avoid its groping talons and complete the figure properly as well. Golden light pulsed from the pendant.

He had to drop the amulet to receive the second luminous mace materializing inside his bloody fingers. He used it to beat at the demon's head, while the flying weapon he'd conjured previously continued to hammer its spine.

The demon collapsed and sprawled motionless, acrid fluids leaking from its wounds. Pavel didn't know which weapon had struck the, mortal blow, nor did he care. He pried his wrist from the tanar'ri's death grip.

The effort made his head swim. He was in danger of passing out. He wheezed a prayer that drew Lathander's warm, healing radiance into his body. He felt steadier, though still weary, weak, and sore. It would have to do, because he lacked the time for anything more. Will needed him.

Pavel scrutinized the glyphs on the floor. When he thought he understood them, how they interconnected and how to disassociate them, he croaked out the incantation and lashed his amulet through the proper pass.

To no effect. He could feel that nothing changed.

Perhaps that was because he didn't fully understand the bindings, but he wasn't going to comprehend them any better, not without hours of study. He simply had to try again with his final counterspell.

He drew a deep breath and declaimed the incantation with all the precision and force of will he could muster. A sweet and intricate harmonic, like a note sustained by a choir, sang through the hall. The painted words and symbols burst into flame, and the lights in the orbs atop the tripods guttered out.

Vercevoran stumbled. Helpless in the drake's grip, Will certainly hadn't done anything to cause it. Could it be that Pavel had finally set the reptile free?

Evidently so. Will had no extraordinary facility for reading what passed for a dragon's facial expressions, but still, as Vercevoran hissed and shook his head, he could see something-intelligence, maybe, or self-awareness-returning. It showed in the set of the wyrm's jaw, the flare of his nostrils, and the narrowing of his lambent eyes.

Then those eyes blazed. Vercevoran lashed his wings, a snap like a thousand whips cracking at once, and gave a prodigious roar.

Wonderful, thought Will, he's got the Rage, and he's still going to eat me. Pavel, you jackass.

But Vercevoran didn't pop him into his mouth. Instead, the dragon wheeled toward the Zhents the halfling hadn't even noticed until just then. The chaos following on Will and Pavel's intrusion had caught them by surprise, but the officers had managed to rally the men-at-arms to sort the situation out. The reavers stood in formation, facing the wyrm, but thus far, not attacking. They were hoping they didn't need to, that Vercevoran was still under the cerebrilith's control.

The dragon dashed that hope by setting Will down, then launching himself at his erstwhile masters. He hadn't fallen into frenzy after all, but that didn't keep him from hating those who'd presumed to bind him.

Will stood back and watched the slaughter. It only took a minute or so. Then the wyrm leaped up and flew away into the night.

Pavel reckoned he and Will had found the archives Sammaster had visited Hulburg to consult, records not scribed on paper but graven in stone. Dimly lit by the shafts of golden sunlight spilling through the doorway and the cracks in the roof, the cavernous temple of Oghma, god of knowledge, had endless lines of words and pictographs chiseled from floor to lofty ceiling on the white marble walls.

Pavel tried to feel excited, but perhaps because his half-healed wounds still ached, simply couldn't manage it. It was going to take days, maybe tendays, to decipher all that lore and determine which parts pertained to the frenzy, if, in fact, any of it did. It was time the search could ill afford.

"What's wrong?" asked Will.

Evidently Pavel had let his demoralizing reflections show in his expression.

"Nothing," said the priest, trying to shake off defeatism. "Let's each take a wall. You'll find a lot you can't read, but just look for anything pertaining to dragons."

"What is it exactly you wish to learn?" asked a cold bass voice.

Startled, the hunters jerked around to behold a tall, thin figure clad in shades of jade and olive. The slanted eyes in the hairless, ascetic face were likewise a blank and luminous green. Vercevoran had assumed an approximation of human form to fit inside the temple.

"Brandobaris's dirk!" Will swore. "Don't sneak up on a fellow like that!"

"What is it you seek?" Vercevoran persisted.

"Information on the Rage," said Pavel. "We're trying to determine how to stop it."

"Then you're fools," the dragon said. "Nothing can stop it. Yet I owe you a debt for freeing me, so if you wish, I'll help you."

The transformed reptile stalked through the temple, scarcely breaking stride to gaze at the various sections of wall. Pavel wondered if Vercevoran could actually be perusing all that information so quickly.

Glories of the sunrise, what manner of intellect could accomplish a feat like that?

Vercevoran pointed to a string of symbols and said, "Here. This is all there is, and it's merely the usual warning: 'When the King-Killer shines, then burns the Rage.'"

"It's not 'usual' to us," said Will. "What's the King-Killer?"

Vercevoran sneered but answered, "You don't even know that? It's a red star that appears in the sky every few centuries."

Will shook his head and said, "It's not there now."

"We already knew," Pavel said, "that Sammaster altered the elves' magic to suit his own purposes. They evidently tied this King-Killer to the enchantment, but he severed the link."

"It's a pity the undead whoreson was too impatient to wait for the star to return," the halfling said "This whole dung storm could have broken a century hence, when it would be somebody else's problem. Anyway, I guess the point is, what we just learned here is worthless."

For a moment, Pavel thought so too. Then he realized the possibilities.

"No," he said, smiling, "it gives us a cross-reference."

"A which?"

"A signpost, ignoramus. Something to guide us as we sift through the ancient lore. Now that we know the elf wizards drew power from the stars, we look for allusions to the King-Killer, and the heavens in general. With luck, it could save us tendays, even months of seeking."

Pavel turned to Vercevoran and said, "As could you. You've just demonstrated how valuable you could be. Let me explain exactly what's going-"

"Don't bother," the dragon said. "I don't care for the society of humans, my debt is paid, and I feel frenzy eating at my mind. I go to the Plane of Air, to wait out the Rage as my kind has always done."

The wyrm vanished, leaving only a fleeting ripple on the dusty air.