The Paladins

Chapter 1

"Lords, you now know all Aleena and I know. I would appreciate your thoughts on the matter," said Khelben in his private council chamber, walled from its circular floor to its domed ceiling with overcrowded bookstacks. He sat at the apex of a large, triangular table of thick mahogany. The table's glossy surface swirled with curls of thick burgundy inlays flaring to crimson here and here and then dimming, as though fireflies crawled beneath the veneer. The inlays' enchantment rendered all languages into a tongue easily understood by those wound the table. To Khelben's trained ears, lies spoken ever the design resonated like tin.

To the High Mage's left and right sat Kern and Miliades, while Aleena Paladinstar occupied an overstuffed chair at the base of the triangle, opposite Khelben.

The wizard settled back in his high-backed dragonhide chair and mentally activated its arcane ability. In extradimensional space, he saw peoples' auras glow and diurn in patterns and colors. His eyes subtly shimmered as the magic took effect. Both paladins noted the reddish sparkle behind the wizard's pupils, but they said nothing. Just the same, Kern couldn't help but wonder if maybe glowing red eyes were an effrontery to Tyr.

Khelben's gleaming eyes first studied Miltiades and blinked against the blinding white essence of purity bathing the paladin, who sat ramrod straight in his chair. Even his graceful plate mail of ancient craft shone as brilliant as quicksilver in the sun. Here was a titanic force of order and law, with a presence of will capable of deflecting magic as a shield fends off blows. Although he appeared to be a man of about forty winters, Miltiades was 1,000 years old. Khelben's friend Elminster had once spoken of this knight, who died in the service of Iyr, was raised as a skeleton to quest for centuries, and was at last rewarded with mortality and love.

"You will need to send out a rescue party immediately. The enemy must not complete their plans," remarked Miltiades, a rolling burr in his speech. Unusually insightful if a bit cocky, this paladin had come to Khelben's conclusion without hesitation or pause. The tone of his voice carried the wisdom of many lifetimes and the brash confidence of affirmed heroism.

"Tyr loathes the injustice of personal attacks for political gain, and we shall be his tools on Faerun," added the paladin.

"Praise be to Tyr," Kern intoned.

Blackstaff s eyes squinted as he scanned Kern. His bushy brow cocked. Kern had no aura! Where was the unmistakable glow of a paladin? Where was his life force, his lawful illumination, his shimmer of holy magic, his shining truthfulness? When Khelben faced other null individuals in the past, they usually turned out to be baatezu or tanar'ri fiends.

Khelben kept his surprise to himself. There could be several good reasons why the young paladin thwarted his detection magic: He might possess a magical item that gave proof against scrying devices, or he might be deflecting the magic. On the other hand, there were plenty of bad reasons, too. Kern, he observed suspiciously, was completely different from Miltiades. Where the elder wasted no motion and presented himself in few words, Kern was the opposite-always moving, even when seated. Oh, the youthful knight spoke like a paladin, yet not with the solemn depth of his comrade. He was too likable to be a paladin.

Like Miltiades, Kern carried his age well; he had passed at least thirty years but appeared to have lived only nineteen of them. Elminster had mentioned this one as well, saying he fought hordes of fiends to recover the famed Warhammer of Tyr and return it to its great altar in Phlan. Indeed, any who knew Kern's name knew no one could match him with a warhammer.

Paladins are such odd creatures, thought Khelben. Pledged to live by a strict code of virtue, they should be ideally suited to lead a rescue, yet that very same code made them impossible to count on. With their often-strange and intractable senses of honor, they frequently jeopardized themselves and their missions-and that lay heavily upon Khelben's mind.

"Miltiades has saved many maidens from myriad dangers," said Kern with a bow to his friend. "I am honored to take part in this rescue! I thank Tyr for the opportunity! The cause is just, the Open Lord is deserved of our services, and the crime of kidnapping is an affront to Tyr!"

"Tyr be praised," Miltiades echoed.

Aleena Paladinstar snorted in amusement. "The mere idea of saving a damsel in distress would make a paladin foam at the mouth." She rose from her chair, and Miltiades and Kern stood as well. "Oh, sit down, for Tyr's sake," she snapped, crossing to a nearby table laden with mugs and bottles and pouring herself a cup of wine.

"What is the fastest route to the Utter East?" she asked.

"A dimensional gate, of course."

"Is there such a gate in the Western Heartlands?"

"Yes," answered Khelben. "It's in Undermountain."

"Undermountain!" echoed Aleena with a grimace, crossing back to the mahogany triangle.

"Undermountain?" repeated Kern, curious.

Khelben continued. "I've searched my records on Ha-laster's complex and found a map that purports to be a fragment of the eastern side of the third level." He reached into his robe and produced a bright orange gem, which he placed on the table and spun, whispering a word of magic. The stone gained speed as it twirled and shot yellow light upward, forming a map out of the beams in the air.

"This is the place, here," he said, pointing at a chamber on the suspended image. "Ill give you the parchment map itself before you go. Find your way to this room and you'll find the gate. It's marked by a pair of mammoth tusks, rising out of a pyramid. This afternoon, after we assemble a team, I'll teleport the lot of you to an access point on the third level of Undermountain."

"Teleport?" asked Kern, coloring slightly. "Are you a very powerful wizard, Mage Arunsun?"

Khelben looked at the impudent young paladin with irritation.

"Why not send us directly to the gate chamber?" asked Miltiades. "Time is of the essence."

"Because Undermountain is the province of the mad mage Halaster, and to protect it he's spent years making it impossible to teleport in and out of the great subterranean complex with any accuracy. You'll have to sniff out the gate, yourselves."

Khelben reached out and snatched up the spinning gem, and the light map dissolved. "When you find the gate, you must activate it. Stand before it and say, 'Open in the name of the past and present Lords of Waterdeep.' Its other side lies, according to my texts, within a magic area where my crystal cannot see." Khelben's fingers tapped restlessly on the table. "I cannot see…" he muttered to himself.

"The gate will take us to a place the enemy has shielded from us?" asked Miltiades, thoughtfully. "An ambush, mayhap?"

Khelben lifted his head with a jerk. "Possibly. The gate in Undermountain is the only known portal to the Utter East. But that blind spot is the only place in the Utter East that could hide Lady Eidola from my magic. In any event, we have no choice but to begin with the gate." He rose and began to pace the chamber. "What if there is an ambush? Aren't you warriors? Aren't you prepared for a fight?"

"Of course!" cried Kern. "But how do we find the Lady once we've arrived in the Utter East?"

The wizard reached into his robe. This time he drew forth the crystal pendant he'd taken from the Open Lord. "I made this for Aleena's father. The closer you get to the Lady Eidola, the brighter it glows. Piegeiron wanted it to light his lady's way. I found the sentiment rather romantic, so I indulged him."

Aleena reached for it, then pulled back her hand. "Give it to Kern," she said. "He is renowned for having sought and found the legendary Hammer of Tyr, which was lost for years. He must be a great seeker, so he may be the best finder."

"Aleena!" protested Blackstaff, but she held up her hand to silence him. For a moment, she looked just like her father.

"The paladins must lead the team, Khelben," she reminded him. She pointed at the chain dangling from his hand. "With that, they can lead the way to Eidola."

Khelben frowned at Kern, who stood and gravely reached for the pendant. The wizard hesitated a moment more, then with a grunt of assent handed it to the paladin, who put it over his head and tucked it under his chain mail. "I'll keep it safe, Lady Paladinstar. You can count on me."

Khelben stood looking from Miltiades to Kern and back. "All Waterdeep depends upon you, and all the Lords thank you for consenting to undertake this quest. I must, however, insist upon three things, and I expect as paladins you'll honor your oath to abide by my demands." The paladins glanced at each other and then assumed positions of attention.

"One. You are to avoid all discussion of and involvement with the trade pact that the Lords of Waterdeep are negotiating with Kara-Tur. Your mission is to locate Lady Eidola, not to seek justice against those whose political motivations may well have prompted her kidnapping.

"Two. Your orders are to locate Lady Eidola and report her whereabouts, not reclaim her from the kidnappers. I do not-I repeat-do not want you to boldly go forth and fight for her freedom. If necessary, we have thousands of knights who can do that, but such an action on your part could get her killed! Should you be captured, the Lords of Waterdeep will not acknowledge your mission or your association with them.

"Three. Destroy the source of the magic inhibiting my scrying. If you're successful, I might be able to locate her, myself, and bring her back magically.''

"Agreed!" blurted Kern. "That is, if Miltiades has no objections," he added. The elder paladin nodded.

"Aleena Paladinstar, a wizardess of the first rank and our lord's daughter, joins this rescue attempt," continued Khelben. "I expect you to defer to her authority."

Miltiades rose to stress his words. "I agree this mission must be conducted discreetly. Hence, Kern, the four other followers of Tyr who came with us from Phlan, and I are all who should go. I am against including Lady Paladinstar. With all due respect, the members of my delegation can get the job done more efficiently without outside help or interference."

Khelben stared at Miltiades. "Outside help? Outside help! This is a Waterdeep matter! There's much more at stake here than your honor as followers of Tyr!"

"Indeed, my honor may not be the only thing at stake, Mage Lord Arunsun, yet my honor is sufficient to assure the mission will be undertaken with as much success as anyone of Waterdeep," replied Miltiades evenly.

"I don't think you've quite grasped the situation. You've been requested to aid Waterdeep agents in the recovery of Lady Eidola."

"Kern and I are to lead the team. Was that not what Lord Paladinson decreed? Did not Lady Paladinstar say so just moments ago? As a leader of the quest, I choose the team."

Khelben leaned over the table, his eyes flashing with magical fire. "Look! You're going to be surrounded, not by monsters or thugs but by smiling liars who may or may not be the kidnappers! You won't find necromancers in black robes or stinking ores standing against you! You probably won't even know the difference between someone who's trying to help you and someone who's leading you to your own death."

"If your simple three objectives are the whole of our quest, then Tyr will guide us surely and swiftly."

"Simple objectives!"

"Miltiades, Kern," interjected Aleena before Khelben exploded, "you are wise and courageous, both, yet will you deny me this quest? This matter involves my father and future stepmother. Waterdeep's interests should be represented, but my personal interests should be even more compelling."

Aleena looked deeply into Miltiades's eyes. "Please," she pleaded. "I love my father, and I can't simply stand by while his beloved is missing and he lies in a coma. For the sake of justice," she said, stressing the word, "let me offer my humble assistance in all things magical. I must do something to help or 111 go mad with worry. I am a talented spellcaster; I can help your group."

Miltiades gazed back at the beautiful spellcaster, and for a moment he spied a passion he often saw in the eyes of his own beloved Evaine. "All right, I wave my objection and you shall join the team."

Khelben quietly sighed in relief. At least one person he trusted would be there. "And you'll swear to strictly abide by my three conditions?" he prodded.

"Upon our honor as paladins of Tyr."

"Then good luck, all of you," concluded Khelben. "I just hope this isn't a mistake," he added under his breath.

"Let's gather the team!" cried Kern, beaming. "We're going to rescue a princess!"

"She's not a princess," said Aleena, glancing at Khelben with a slight grin and shaking her head.

Interlude 1

It's not whether you win or lose that counts, it's how much pain you inflict along the way.

Lightless fire shrouded the ground in a hypnotic, tumbling blur on the sixty-fifth level of the Abyss. It obscured jutting razors of flint, erect and barbed, like swarms of devil's-grass. Unwholesome blackness swallowed and choked the plane, and a constant echo of wind blew through the barren chasm, carrying upon it the distant wail of futile death. The reek of curdled blood hung like hot sewage in the bitter-cold air.

General Raachaak inhaled deeply and flexed his bony wings while the trace of a grin played across his toothy maw. The towering tanar'ri fiend crossed his muscular arms and tucked jagged claws under massive biceps, against his bare, crimson torso. A serpentine whip of manifold tails, studded with whetted shards of obsidian, coiled and hung from his belt of baatezu hide. Faintly glowing steam curled along his leathery red, oily skin, enveloping the pointed-eared balor in a miasma of evil.

Before him, three vulturelike vrock tanar'ri stood reluctantly, casting their avian gazes from side to side, as if they sought some escape. Their long, pointed talons sank into the hard stone, crushing flat the keen blades of Abyssal flint like crusty sand. A slime oozed from glands beneath their wings, spreading a film over their thick coats of black and gray feathers. Their wide collars of pinfeathers, shining with mucous, stabbed outward like filthy, curved needles. The skin of their scrawny necks and knobby heads folded and cracked like mildew-ridden leather, but their curved, pointed beaks were glossy and fierce. They hunched like scavengers devouring the dead, masking their thoughts from the telepathic greater fiend, concealing a desire to kill and consume him. The central vrock extended a hideous pair of shriveled hu-manoid arms from beneath his wings and wrung his craven hands together in a gesture of humility.

"You're to go to the Prime Material Plane," the general's bass voice boomed in their scaly heads, making them wince and flutter nervously. "To a feeble world called Toril by the miserable primes who live there- humankind and its ilk. There, in an ancient city newly resettled, the primes have unearthed a most delightful contrivance, one that conjures countless warriors out of thin air! When I acquire the dark of this device, this bloodforge, I'll raise an army large enough to overrun stinking Baator in a single roll of the Sisyphus Stone!"

The balor laughed aloud, filling the plane with terrifying glee as he spread his wings wide and unclasped his arms. The vrocks shrieked and capered in agony and delight. Abruptly, Raachaak stifled his merriment. His eyes widened, and he bared his pointed teeth, clenching his thick jaw while his amber eyes burned gold. His slimy lips curled into a sneer.

"But… there is a problem. The sniveling low-life berks who brought me this information first tried to take the prize for themselves, and they failed! Now, the primes have warded the city of the bloodforge against all tanar'ri. That's why I've summoned you."

General Raachaak glared at the servile creatures before him. "Shaakat, Rejik, Morbaat, obey or die as larvae in a swarm of ravenous chasme!" he bellowed into their sinister brains. "See the city and its place on that world as I picture it in my mind, and go! Discover a way into that city and return to me with the answer! A portal to Toril awaits on the third strand of Lolth's Web, on the next layer! Now go!"

"Shall we not capture this bloodforge… and bring it to you, General?" thought Morbaat, impulsively.

In a blur, Raachaak seized the vrock by the throat and lifted her over his head. "You dare turn stag on me?" he roared. He hurled Morbaat to the ground with crushing force, scattering Shaakat and Rejik, and drew forth his whip. With facile and wicked grace he unfurled the scourge, twirled it over his head with a long sweep of his burly arm, and brought its glistening, obsidian-laden strands down like tenebrous lightning. They rent the air and sliced through the lesser fiend's feathers, driving deep into her wretched body. Morbaat went rigid, convulsing in torment. She began to screech again and again, in an ever-rising pitch, dragging herself along the ground toward Raachaak's taloned feet as the whip rose and cracked. At last she crawled and screamed no more.

General Raachaak looked up for the other two vrocks, but they were already gone, probably through Lolth's Web and halfway to the Prime by now. The balor threw back his head and howled in potent self-exultation as he deftly coiled his leather and hung it at his hip.