The Paladins

Chapter 2

"Before we all rode together to the wedding of Lord Piegeiron and Lady Eidola, we did not know well these other good followers of Tyr, who came with us from Phlan, mlady," explained Miltiades as he introduced her to them.

"We know Able best," said Kern, presenting a warrior-cleric with iron-black hair, deep chocolate eyes, and a clean-shaven jaw that remained shadowed despite the daily razor. "He's revered in Phlan for both his puissant skill with the warhammer and his great clerical war magic.''

The massive fighter in sturdy banded armor bowed gravely, eyes focused on the floor, and said nothing. But Aleena detected within him a great sadness, that of someone who has begun to question the precepts by which he has lived all his life, and who now feels himself adrift in a hostile world.

"If I am not mistaken, you have already made Jacob's acquaintance," continued Miltiades. "He has often quested in the Western Heartlands and, I understand, has occasionally gone monster hunting with Lord Paladinson."

"And Piegeiron slays dragons with the best of 'em!" said Jacob, capturing and kissing the wizard's slender hand with a wink and a grin. "It's good to see you again, Aleena, and it's great to serve Tyr, Piegeiron, and these two paladins of legend, all at the same time!"

Aleena grinned down at the charming, curly-haired blond. I see you're still carrying that two-handed sword," she observed.

"Aye," said Miltiades sourly. "And not a warhammer, though that is the true weapon of the followers of Tyr. I will say, though," he conceded, "Jacob has demonstrated nimble adroitness with the blade in a joust. Both Kern and I have challenged Jacob to spar. Not only has he acquitted himself well in swordsmanship, but he often quotes Tyr's proverbs between blows."

The paladin gestured and Trandon, a leather-clad fighter of some fifty winters stepped forward. His long silver-streaked hair was tied behind him, and he leaned upon a fat, ashen quarterstaff.

"I'm not bad with a staff, myself," Aleena told him as they shook hands.

"I would prefer to wield the warhammer as befits a warrior of Tyr," the man answered. "But I've seen many battles and haven't always emerged unscathed." Trandon held up his right arm. "A close encounter with a vampire permanently drained the vitality from this arm, normal as it might appear to you, and left me unable to lift and wield the weapon of my faith."

"I've a magical ointment that I think could heal you," volunteered Aleena.

"Nay, Lady Paladinstar," said Miltiades. "I have called upon Tyr himself to heal Trandon, but his arm remains too weak to swing a hammer. There is no cure."

Trandon nodded sadly. "Tyr's will be done."

"Trandon has spent many years wandering Cormyr, recruiting servants for Tyr," said Kern. "He is highly trusted by the Hammers of Tyr, a prestigious order of paladins."

"I'm not one of the Hammers," added Trandon hastily. "I'm not even a paladin, although I do follow Tyr's way. I was merely asked to represent the Hammers' good wishes to Lord and Lady Paladinson, as they are forever busy serving almighty Tyr."

"And this is Harloon," said Miltiades, introducing the last of the Phlaness group. "He is but nineteen years of age. yet he has already seen more than his share of dungeons and dragons."

"True enough, your Ladyship," said the tall, dark young man. "I've been a sellsword since I was nigh fourteen."

"Until you found Tyr?"

"You could say that, I guess. A few months ago, a complete stranger saved my life and lost hers in the bargain. I wanted to know who she was, but she died before I could ask her, and the only mark she carried was the scales of Tyr on her warhammer." Harloon looked at Kern and smiled. "I met Kern in Phlan, learned about Tyr, and decided I wanted to become a paladin."

"And I never met a more persistent student," said Kern drily. Much to the merciless amusement of his beloved elvish wife, Listle, Harloon followed the paladin around like a puppy dog.

"I'm pleased to meet all of you, and honored to travel with you," announced Aleena.

"Let us commune with Tyr as our quest begins," pronounced Miltiades. "Rescue is our cause, our cause is just, justice is good, goodness is Tyr; the rescue of Lady Eidola is the will of Tyr!"

"Praise Tyr!" the other men cried.

There was a knock at the door.

"Praise Tyr, gentlemen, but don't forget that Lady Eidola is beloved of my father, who is the benevolent law of Waterdeep," said Aleena as she walked to the door and opened it, revealing a teenager with sandy hair, cropped short. His clean, tailored vest and freshly pressed trousers contrasted oddly with a new pair of heavy leather boots he wore. His legs bowed slightly under the weight of a gigantic backpack, overstuffed and lumpy, clothing spilling from the top and sides. From head to toe he bulged with weapons: a broadsword strapped to his back under the backpack, a bow and quiver across his shoulder, a dart belt wrapped around bis waist, a dagger tucked under the belt, a short sword sheathed at both sides, and a knife tucked in the back of his right boot, which promised to scrape his ankle raw if he hiked all day. His eyes twinkled with excitement.

"This is Freeman Kastonoph," announced Aleena, "known to his friends as Noph. He will accompany us in the rescue." The boy looked at the pretty spellcaster and blushed crimson.

All six men looked at each other and frowned. Miltiades raised his finger and opened his mouth to speak, but Aleena cut him off. "-and manage my supplies… as well as provide services to the group! Such as cooking and-and polishing armor!" Noph's expression of excitement-turned to one of surprise and distaste. She put her hand on his arm to stop his impending exclamation. "You'll learn that my assistant has many talents, and I won't hear of dissent."

Miltiades closed his mouth and dropped his finger.

"I'm off to Khelben's tower for last-minute preparations. We leave an hour before sunset. Noph, why don't you help the paladins, and get to know them?"

Aleena turned and left the room before Miltiades could come up with a reason to leave Noph behind. The boy mutely watched her go, sighed hopefully, then turned to look sheepishly at the powerful warriors of Tyr- Kern, Harloon, and Jacob slowly approached and circled Noph, inspecting him with grave expressions. He clasped his hands against his chest and bore their examination passively.

"Er, how many of these do you actually use in battle?" asked Harloon, politely, pointing at Noph's weaponry. He glanced at his comrades and fought down a smile.

"Well-uh-I haven't actually been in a battle, sir, but I thought I'd try them all and see which one works best," replied Noph.

"Interesting approach. But are there any nonlethal ways to tell when a weapon isn't working well?"

Kern and Jacob sniggered loudly; Miltiades silenced them with a glare. "Harloon," he said quietly. "You remember your first days of questing better than the rest of us, so we will leave it to you to be sure that Freeman Kastonoph is properly packed." The paladin turned and strode into his bedchamber, closing the door behind him. With a chuckle and a few winks, Kern followed.

Jacob bowed politely to Noph. "Farewell, Freeman Kastonoph. I go to pack my weapons. Mayhap if I should forget any, perhaps I could borrow some of yours." With a snort of laughter, he disappeared, leaving Harloon and Noph alone.

Harloon approached the young man and began stripping him of his weaponry.

"Hey, I'll need all this stuff if Undermountain is as bad as the guards say!" protested Noph.

"First of all," said Harloon, as he pulled the unevenly loaded backpack from the boy's back, "the danger is ten times worse than those sleepy Waterdeep guards could ever imagine. Second of all, Aleena may have designated you as the pack mule, but we both know better, don't we? Once we hit the trail, none of us can afford to carry your load, along with ours. Therefore, we're going to lighten it right now."

"I can carry it!"

"Not if your leg's broken."

"My leg's not broken."

"If you don't do what I ask, I'll break it." Harloon smiled pleasantly at Noph and opened the pack. He cast away three spare sets of clothing and an extra pair of shoes. Then he pulled aside a heavy blanket and looked underneath. "Have you ever cast a throwing star?" he asked, holding up a handful of them.

"Yes!.. Once."

"Did you hit anything?"

"I-uh-I almost killed the cat."

"You were aiming at your cat?"

"Of course not!"

Harloon dropped the throwing stars next to the weapons he had already extracted. "Do you know how to use throwing axes?" he asked, drawing out two shiny new ones from the pack.

"No, but-" The axes hit the floor.

"Do you know how to use throwing daggers?"

"No, but wait. Those looked like fun and they looked eas-" Five shiny new ones rattled and rolled over the axes.

"Do you know how to use a pitching disk?"

"No, but those were real sharp and throwing them wasn't har…" Three freshly oiled ones tumbled over the pile.

"Hey!" cried Noph, grabbing Harloon's arm as the young man dipped into the pack once more. "Do you mind if I carry something?"

"Not at all. That knife in your boot is more than enough."

"But it keeps sticking me in the ankle."

Harloon gave an exasperated sigh, then burst into laughter. As he reached down to show Noph how to sheath the weapon in his boot, he started laughing harder. Soon, he could only kneel and wipe the tears from his eyes.

"Can I at least keep the throwing stars?" asked Noph and he too started to laugh.

"Quiet, Freeman Kastonoph, if you please!" called Miltiades from the other room.

They looked toward the closed door, then back at each other, and continued their stifled laughter. They engaged in mock tug-of-wars with every article of clothing in the pack, while Harloon explained the rudiments of packing light and life on the wilderness trail.

In his bedchamber, Miltiades gazed into a jeweled hand mirror, from which his beauteous wife Evaine looked back. His stern features melted and all his lines of concern smoothed away, making him appear almost as youthful as the boy. He was more than a thousand years old, but his soul-swelling love for his spellcasting wife made time a toy that he carelessly tossed aside whenever he saw her.

"I know it was to be but a diplomatic appearance at the wedding, my darling, but Piegeiron Paladinson tea himself has specifically chosen us for this quest! The Blackstaff Arunsun is handling the teleportation! With Tyr's blessing, we should return in a day or two. If you like, I shall ask Khelben to send us home magically. That way, we'll be home sooner than expected."

Evaine's image wrinkled its nose and looked sideways at him. "I don't suppose a rage of dragons could keep a paladin from rescuing a princess."

"This is most serious, my love."

"Of course, of course."

"I depend upon you to make Listle understand," he added. Kern's fiery-tempered mate would not enjoy this surprise any more than Evaine.

"Certainly. As usual, I get the hardest part. You just be sure to wear the pendant and ring I gave you for your birthday. And don't let any wizards cast spells on you-especially female wizards," she said, wryly.

Miltiades smiled. "I know you would like to come, and bring Listle along for that matter, but time is our enemy. Plans are made and we leave immediately." He sighed and gently touched the smooth surface of the mirror. "I love you, my Evaine. Tyr keep you safe."

"Tyr keep you safe, my only," returned Evaine as she faded from view.

As the party marched to Khelben's tower, Miltiades noted the transformation of Freeman Kastonoph. The young man's pack, shrunk to a third of its previous size, rode close to his back, cinched tight with good thick straps. A slim dagger rode at his hip and a larger knife rested in his boot. Two canteens hung from the sides of his pack. He might live more than a day after all.

The rest of the party stood ready in Khelben's laboratory a few minutes later, where Aleena joined them. She looked approvingly at Noph, who grinned proudly back.

"Please stand together on the granite platform," ordered Khelben. "There will be a few moments of disorientation, and you'll find yourselves in a rough cavern on the eastern border of Undermountain. Look for rooms that match the configuration of the map and thence find your way to the gate. Good luck, and remember your oath!"

"Khelben, I'm not sure if you can teleport me," stammered Kern.

"Of course I can!"

"Of course he can!" echoed Miltiades. "Just concentrate on lowering your resistance," he quietly added.

Khelben began his casting. His words contorted into impossible syllables, and sparks of green arose and began to circle the round, granite platform. The screen of brilliant embers grew higher, rising over their heads, until Khelben uttered a final word, which sounded like a blast of wind. The sparks flared with blinding intensity and went out.

The group stood in the middle of Blackstaff s room.

Kern coughed.

"What is this?" hissed Blackstaff, incredulously.

"Ah, sorry," said Kern, stepping down from the pedestal. "I was afraid this might happen. You see, my mother's a powerful sorceress in her own right, and that had an effect on me. Most times, magic spells don't work on me. My mother says I'm anti-magical."

"Arafi-magical? Anti-magical? What in Waterdeep is anti-magical?"

"As I've said, spells don't work on me, although magical things still function around me… usually."

"That's why you have no aura!" cried Khelben, staring narrowly at the young paladin-if he was a paladin. Between the dopplegangers, the two-faced guildsmen, and the queer devices from the Utter East, which spawned solid warriors out of thin air, nothing could be trusted.

"Well Kern, it seems your quest is at an end," said the mage. "What?"

"If I can't teleport you down to Undermountain, then 111 have to send the others without you."

"That's ridiculous!" cried Able.

"Out of the question!" declared Miltiades. "Kern must go with us."

"If he can't be enspelled, there's no way I can get him to Undermountain."

"If Kern doesn't go, none of us goes," said Harloon.

"Fine! Then none of you goes. I'll send Force Grey, which is what I wanted to do in the first place! I don't know you, and I don't know how you'll deal with this situation-"

"Khelben!" called Aleena from outside the circle of warriors that closed upon Blackstaff. "Hold your temper."

"You defy the commands of your lord, Piegeiron," Trandon accused.

"My lord? Let's get one thing straight. Lord Paladinson is not my sovereign, he's my colleague. Don't try to use him to push me around! You know, the more I think about it, the more foolish this whole plan sounds…"

The warriors of Tyr erupted in protest. The word honor emerged from the din. Aleena tried to intervene again but could not make herself heard. Noph stood blinking. This is just like a meeting of father's fellow lumber merchants, he thought. They're all bickering for their shares. For a moment, he wondered if heroism was just an ordinary job. The thought made him angry.

"Hey! Hey! HEY!" he shouted, until the mighty wizards and warriors fell silent and stared indignantly at him. "Undermountain's right below our feet, isn't it? Why don't we just hoof it there?"

Can we walk to the third level of Undermountain from here?" asked Miltiades.

"Well… we can sail there," answered Aleena, hesitating. "But you paladins won't like it." She looked toward Khelben, who threw up his hands and looked away, thoroughly disgusted. "We'll have to pass through Skullport."

"Skullport?" asked Jacob.

"A city of criminals, outlaws, and… undead," said Miltiades. His voice was filled with dread, as he recalled his own existence as a death knight. He sighed heavily. "So be it. Piegeiron wanted the paladins of Tyr to lead the rescue, and Kern is one of the two. Through Skullport it is."

Aleena's eyes met Noph's, and she smiled reassuringly, but her face fell as she turned away.

Interlude 2

Knowledge is power. If you destroy your teacher, it will be all yours.

A twelve-foot stone wall surrounded the city where the bloodforge was hidden, but a thousand barriers could not bar the way of tanar'ri, were they not magically enhanced with powerful wards-as this wall was. The magnitude of its impregnability surprised the vrocks. Shaakat and Rejik circled above the habitation, carefully avoiding the invisible border, for no magic or might would allow them to enter. To the humans below, the vrocks appeared to be common vultures circling some unfortunate, fallen beast outside the city walls.

"There," thought Shaakat to his confederate, pointing with his gaunt hand to a dome within an enclosed courtyard of a large building, near the south wall. "Smell it?"

"Yes! A dimensional portal. A gate! In that round-topped structure surrounded by human sentinels."

The fiends laughed at the idea of a mere human protecting anything.

"Who knows where the gate's other side may lie?" whined Rejik.

"The primes in that burg below, leatherhead. See those humans just emerging from the keep? Let's scrag 'em!"

The vrocks spiraled lazily downward, waiting for the pair of riders to clear the warded walls before swooping in. As they cleared the magical barrier, the humans seemed to sense their peril, for they kicked at their steeds and broke into a gallop, making for the forest beyond. Shaakat and Rejik clucked in anticipation of sport and pulled in their wings, dipping into a dive. They leveled off and soared just over the riders' heads, parting their black beaks and piercing the air with a terrible, deafening screech, which stunned both the horses and the humans.

With horrible screams of their own, the horses writhed in terror and tumbled to the ground, pitching their helpless riders over their heads. Shaakat and Rejik came about just as the horses regained their feet. The fiends slashed the poor beasts from shoulders to rumps as they streaked by again. Both animals wailed piteously and collapsed twitching. One of the humans, the one in metal armor, quickly rolled to her feet and drew a gleaming blade with a flourish, turning to face her adversaries. The other lay groaning upon the ground, dazed or injured by his fall.

Shaakat and Rejik alighted before the warrior.

"Go back to the Abyss!" she snarled and charged them.

"Come with us!" they jeered, spreading wide their wings to expose rows of glands along their sides. With a sickening heave, the vrocks flexed their sinewy bodies, and a sticky spray shot from the glands, covering the woman in stringy mucous. Her sword sliced at them, but the fiends disappeared, blinking two steps to her side.

The warrior spun to face them again and raised her sword… then cringed and buckled in sudden agony while spores in the mucous covering her sprouted and wormed their spiny tendrils under her skin, swiftly covering her with thick, sinuous vines. She opened her mouth to scream, and the vines quickly swarmed into her mouth, choking her cry. She crumpled to the ground and thrashed about with a gurgle, then mercifully fell still.

Shaakat and Rejik turned toward the man, who struggled to a sitting position, cradling one arm while he gaped in shock at the heinous murder before him. They hopped, birdlike, toward him, but he made no move to escape. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open as they approached. He began to shake violently.

"There's a gate inside the building from which you've just come," said Shaakat's raspy voice in his head.

"Do not deny it!" squealed Rejik's mind.

"Where is its other side?" continued Shaakat, his arm emerging to clutch at the human's throat.

"Undermountain," thought the man in return, unwillingly. "Undermountain, far to the west."

"Undermountain," repeated the vrocks telepathi-cally, "far to the west."

Rejik's pointed beak opened impossibly wide while Shaakat bent low. They spread their wings about the fallen human. And a single scream rent the morning air.