The abduction ddt-1

by J. Robert King

  The bolt had missed Lady Eidola and Piergeiron. They were safe.

  "The whole of Waterdeep will owe you a debt of gratitude.” Except that Waterdeep had confused the details…

  Someone pointed up toward the Eye of Ao and shouted: "Assassin!"

  Noph went white. As other faces turned toward him, he backed away into the dark chamber. He was no assassin.

  He was the hero who stopped the murderers. Once the people saw the evidence… once they saw the stand and the strings and clockwork mechanism, they would understand the truth…

  The cries of the congregation were interrupted by the I fuss of a line of smokepowder, lit by the candles beneath the eye.

  Smokepowder?

  Boom! Searing heat. Noph was thrown against a very hard wall. He groaned and crumpled amid orange flames. They died back as quickly as they had come. Bleeding, Noph struggled to smother the fire on his cape.

  Numbly, he realized what had happened. The woman who had set up the crossbow had trapped it to explode once it had gone off, destroying the evidence other crime, destroying the evidence of Noph's innocence.

  Crossbow, stand, and clockwork machine had been blasted apart. "Assassin! Assassin!" came the cries from below.

  Chapter 5

  Where Trust Is Placed

  "Assassin!" Piergeiron clutched Eidola protectively to him and looked up toward the Eye of Ao. The crossbow bolt had come from there. In the pupil of the Eye was the frightened, hopeful face of young Noph.

  The Open Lord's heart sank. What treachery was this? Noph backed quickly away, turning to flee. "Guards!" called Piergeiron. 'To the Eye of Ao!"

  His command was interrupted when the Eye flared brilliantly, as though it had ceased to be stained glass and bad become the very flesh and soul of a god. Fire shot out through the pupil, jetting twenty feet into the sanctuary.

  Piergeiron clutched his bride all the more tightly as the holocaust roared overhead. He saw their shadows, cast downward by the bright blast-an image malformed and monstrous.

  Then the blast, too, was gone. Piergeiron looked up to see a charred Eye of Ao, black smoke bleeding up into the caliginous vault above. He stepped away from his bride and drew Halcyon for the third time that day.

  "Forgive me. Eidola, but the duties of office call." Piergeiron said, bowing to kiss her hand.

  Already, sounds of struggle came from the Eye of Ao; the guards had reached the would-be assassin. Kem and Miltiades rushed toward the sounds, swords unsheathed. Piergeiron looked the other way, where men carried away the wounded dowager.

  He shrugged, "Perhaps my aid won't be needed, after all." "Got him!" shouted someone in the Eye. "We got him!"

  During all this commotion, Sandrew, the Savant of Oghma, had remained unflappable. "Shall I continue?"

  Hushed flashes and muffled booms suddenly came from the crying room at the far end of the sanctuary. Screams answered, and more flares, and a man's angry voice shouting arcane words. Guests standing in the narthex shied back from the sounds.

  A smouldering door barked open and spilled flames out into the rear of the sanctuary. A gasp ran through the chapel. Guests scrambled over each other to get out of the way. A tattered and smoky Khelben Arunsun staggered out through the opening and stopped to cough violently.

  "Knelben looks to need some aid," Piergeiron noted mildly to Eidola.

  She was apparently in complete agreement, for she had already turned to dart down the aisle, dragging the groom after her. Piergeiron had to step lively to keep from getting tangled in her train.

  They were halfway to the Lord Mage when lightning jabbed from the doorway, struck him, glowed along hair and teeth and bones, and flashed him away to smoke and ash.

  Wide-eyed, Piergeiron and Eidola ran all the faster. Guards converged on the smoky scene.

  Another Khelben fell out through the door his robes ablaze. The guards halted, stunned. One young soldier rushed in to pat out the flames. He, too, leapt back as a fireball roared into being atop the writhing form.

  Khelben was toasted, yet again…

  "What is this?" Piergeiron shouted to his running bride.

  A third and fourth Khelben rushed from the crying room. These two clasped hands and barged past the stunned guards, dropping them to the floor. A whirling swarm of magic missiles spun out the doorway, shot past the guards, and pelted through the fleeing Blackstaffs. Light blazed within, and me two, still holding hands, fell in a burning heap together.

  The fifth Khelben emerged from the crying room just as Eidola and Piergeiron fought their way through a stampede of guests fleeing up the aisle. Piergeiron pushed ahead of Eidola and raised his sword.

  "Hurl no more magics!" the Open Lord commanded. The latest Khelben cocked a hairy brow at him. "That would be inconvenient, just now." He turned and flung out his fingers. A mystic hand appeared before the door, and into it two more Khelbens charged. The hand closed on them and squeezed, crushing flesh, bone, fabric, and magic.

  "I said, hold!" cried Piergeiron. He rushed up behind the master mage and slid Halcyon beneath his neck.

  "I suppose you did," replied the fifth Khelben. Cautiously, he raised his hands up into the air. "But there is one more of me coming. You'll have to tell him, too."

  A ninth Khelben darted from the door, halted in shock as the guards caught him, looked around at the tableau of drifting ash and dripping flesh, and snarled, "Unhand me!"

  The guards did. The mage straightened his rumpled black robes and glared at Piergeiron. "Nice of you to get involved."

  The Open Lord said, "Guards, slay that man if he makes so much as a sorcerous twitch." The guards moved into position to do so. "Good. Now, what is happening here?"

  "Shapeshifters," the Khelbens replied in unison. The fifth fell silent in Piergeiron's grasp as the ninth explained. "Somehow they disposed of Lady Eidola’s attendants and took their places. When I found them out, I led them back into the crying room for questioning. One of them attacked. They rushed for the door, taking my form to confuse pursuit."

  "If I am a shapeshifter" said the fifth, "why did I slay two of my comrades with a crushing hand?”

  The ninth shook his head. "He slew only those two, and in front of you so that you would believe him. I killed the rest"

  "A crushing hand is no easy spell. Open Lord" said the fifth.

  "Many shapeshifters know magic," the ninth replied. "Your casting is no proof of your identity."

  Piergeiron ground his teeth together. "This is like blind-fighting. I'm as likely to kill friend as foe."

  "Wouldn't it be better. Open Lord," said the fifth, "to let a shapechanger free man to accidentally slay me Lord Mage of Waterdeep?"

  He was right. Piergeiron released his hold on the fifth Khelben.

  The mage staggered free, huffed, and then struggled to straighten his robes. He glanced up in irritation at Piergeiron. "Thanks for the rough treatment. I have half a mind-"

  Then, absurdly, his words were literally true. His head split down the middle and fountained red upon all those around. The Open Lord reeled back in surprise and revulsion, and the body slumped to the floor.

  Eidola pulled back from the slain form, the sword in her hand dripping gore. She looked as surprised by her action as did everyone else. Her wedding dress was painted in crimson, and her hands trembled.

  "You were quite right," said the ninth Khelben, stepping toward her. "You knew I would never try to save myself at the peril of the city. Gentles, if you would put away your swords-“

  "Wait" shouted Piergeiron. "We still have no proof."

  Eidola gave him a look of injured pride.

  Piergeiron thought of all those in whom he had placed — his trust-Noph, who turned out to be an assassin; Khelben, who was eight parts shapeshifter to one part master mage; and beautiful, mysterious Eidola, the spirit and image of long-gone Shaleen.

  "Put away your swords," the Open Lord said, lowering his blade. “The judgment of my bride is proof enough." “That's good"
said the Blackstaff. "The monster she just slew would concur." He gestured toward the riven head and body before them. They all saw it, men. The body had returned to its true appearance-a grey-hided humanoid creature with huge eyes and a broad, spiky head.

  "A doppleganger?" the Open Lord gasped.

  "So it would seem" said Khelben, prodding the thing with an iron-toed boot. "Not malaugrym, but dopplegangers"

  "But why?" asked Piergeiron. He turned to his bride and clutched her hand. 'To kill Eidola?"

  "I doubt it," Khelben said dryly, shaking his head. "They could have killed her a hundred times before now. Besides, as our young friend Noph has shown, there are much easier ways to assassinate a lady."

  "But if not to kill her" Piergeiron asked, "then why?"

  Khelben cocked a knowing eyebrow at the bride and said, "That very simple question will take, I am afraid, a very long time to puzzle out." He cast his gaze outward at the stone-silent crowd, many of whom stood with candlesticks and snuffers and other improvised weapons in hand. "And this is neither the time nor place for such riddles"

  With a wave of Khelben's hand, Eidola's dress, makeup, and hair were once again in perfect order. She looked admiringly at herself, then glanced at her groom to see that he, also, had been made over.

  Khelben addressed the crowd, "I fear I haven't spells for all of you, so tuck in those shirttails, straighten those gowns, and lick back those bangs. We've a wedding to celebrate!"

  A wondering murmur circulated among the crowd.

  "Music!" called Khelben.

  The trumpets responded first, once again taking up the bridal march. The drums added their cadence, and the bagpipes growled to life.

  Khelben motioned to the guards to remove the body and clean up the soot. They flinched at first from his flicking fingers, but then busied themselves about their tasksArm in arm, bride and groom headed down the aisle. striding to the martial strains of the wedding march. In waves, the crowd shook off its stunned silence and straightened its collective cummerbund. It even mustered a smile for the wedding couple.

  Piergeiron tried to return the smile, but couldn't.

  He couldn't breathe.

  He couldn't stop swallowing.

  His head felt like a papier-mache mask.

  Oh, to sleep…

  This dread. This mourning. He had not felt such anguish since the night Shaleen had died. The image of his first wife again rose before him, filled his vision.

  Oh, to sleep… The candles all through the sanctuary abruptly flared to life. Their flames leapt up six feet into me air. The congregation cowered away from this new assault, and the trumpets and drums faltered into silence. In the agonized dying of the bagpipes came human shrieks Fiery figures formed in the flaring candles: warriors, dressed in armour, their swords drawn.

  With a final flash, the flaming beings became solid flesh. They dropped to me floor. With them descended a heavy, preternatural night.

  Chapter 6

  Blind Fighting

  This is not the end, thought Noph, not by a long shot. He had begun the evening a disaffected young noble. Judging by others of his breed, he had been clearly destined to become a jaded and decadent middle-aged noble. But something had happened along the way. Somehow he'd caught a glimpse of what he was going to be and had boldly worked to change it all.

  He had decided to be a hero.

  Why, then, was he imprisoned in a dungeon cell, awaiting trial and execution as an assassin?

  He had heard that such was often the lot of heroes-to be misunderstood and branded villains. Only now did it occur to him just how galling was such a fate. He had been disowned by his father, had risked his skin to save Lord Piergeiron and Lady Eidola, and at the end of it all, had been labelled a monster.

  "Some hero I turned out to be," he told himself dismally.

  A scream sounded above, then shouts, and curses, and the rumble of soldiers' feet. A man's voice came echoing down into the dungeon. "Guards, everyone! Above! Above!"

  The young soldier who had been sitting outside Noph's cell was suddenly gone, his chair no longer leaning against the wall but rattling dully where he had been.

  There was a new catastrophe in the sanctuary above.

  Noph's own voice echoed in his head: Some hero you'll turn out to be if you give up now. They need you up there.

  From all of Waterdeep, the Open Lord had selected Noph to trust-Noph and three others. Just because Noph was accused of betraying that trust did not mean he was guilty of doing so.

  Not yet, at least.

  He stood up. In the dim light sifting into his cell, he began to study the walls and door for some means of escape. He'd get out of this cell, aid Piergeiron in the new conflict, and find the woman with the burr in her voice-no, not just her, but her whole clan of assassins.

  A hero could do no less.

  As the shadows fell about him, Piergeiron wearily drew his sword. He glimpsed Eidola's white face, eyes wide, one hand clutching the gem at her throat.

  Next moment, the warriors solidified, flame to flesh, and dropped to the floor. With their descent, a magical darkness also fell.

  "Stay behind me," Piergeiron shouted to his bride. "I don't want to kill you in this blackness."

  Others were shouting or screaming. The rumble of their voices was augmented by the shuffle of feet and the thud of stumbling bodies. Overloaded benches groaned and began to topple. Bolts squealed as their threads were shredded loose. One bench went over, and then another, and two more. Blinded guests foundered atop each other.

  Those trapped beneath fallen comrades and overturned benches soon seemed the lucky ones. Screams rang out as the shadow warriors advanced into the crowd. The unarmed and night-blind guests were no match for them. Many Waterdhavians fell to swords and flails; more still were simply shoved out of the way as the invaders came on through the stygian hall.

  They're after us, Piergeiron realized grimly. Only now did his dread find its true cause. He thought, one of us will not survive this.

  The din of blind battle increased. The cries neared, converging on the couple.

  A shoulder knocked against Piergeiron's waist. Someone blundered into his legs. Panting, he raised his sword overhead, m this black crush of panicked guests, he could accidentally slay his own people. An elbow caught his jaw. Another body rammed into him. In moments, he was up to his shoulders in struggling, fleeing folk. At the edge of vision, he saw Kern attempting vainly to stem the tide. The flood of bodies pressed hard against Piergeiron, and he staggered. It was battle enough to keep to his feet in the mad press. He reeled.

  "Eidola!" he shouted. "Are you still there?"

  He could not hear her answer over the commotion, but felt her pressed, back to back against him.

  A man who had been rammed up beside Piergeiron suddenly was gone, sprawling onto the floor. Then another fell away, and another, until Eidola alone remained with him. The roar of panic was still around them, but the people had cleared away.

  "It's just us now. Eidola. They want one or both of us." His blade sliced the air before them. "I wonder where Khelben has gotten off to."

  Doggedly swinging Halcyon through a defensive drill, the Open Lord cried breathlessly to the attackers, "Who are you, and what business have you here?"

  "You know our business, I'm sure. Lord Piergeiron," came a nasty voice. The dialect was like that of the western Heartlands, but with a nasal edge. "As to who we are, you must find that out yourselves."

  "You have us at a disadvantage. You know us, but we do not know you. You clearly can see in this unnatural night, but we cannot," Piergeiron said, angered by the pleading tone in his own voice. He added in challenge, "Unless you are cowards, you would not fight this way." "Would you battle me, Piergeiron Paladinson, even in this darkness?" "If the way is clear of my countrymen, I would fight and slay you, yes," growled Piergeiron.

  "The way is clear, Open Lord," came the reply. "My warriors and I have cleared it. I challenge you to an honourab
le duel. My first officer will meanwhile fight your bride"

  "I accept," said Piergeiron.

  He closed his eyes-they were no good to him in this darkness anyway-and let his pure soul sense the presence of evil before him. Any true paladin, with concentration, could sense evil. Given practice, an elder paladin could almost see evil with his heart. Piergeiron concentrated. A smallish image came to his mind's eye-the faintly shimmering form of a warrior. Farther back stood the warrior's comrades, holding back the crowd.

  In a whisper, Piergeiron asked Eidola, "Do you see them? Do you sense them-with your soul? Close your eyes. You can feel where they are-"

  She was still behind him, but only silence answered his question.

  "You can do it, Eidola," the Open Lord insisted. "Summon the good in you"

  "Are you ready to die, Paladinson?" interrupted the nasty voice.

  Piergeiron drew a deep breath and said a silent prayer to Torm the True: Guide my sword, and guard my bride. Then he turned toward the shimmering form. "Your evil betrays you, shadow man."

  Raising his sword overhead, Piergeiron advanced on the figure. Halcyon swept downward in a deadly arc, and the shadow warrior jumped back. "Not so blind, after all, eh Thickskull?" taunted the voice.

  "There is blindness, and there is blindness," replied Piergeiron, swinging the blade again. It rushed in and rang off of a metal breastplate. At last, something to fight against. He followed with a third stroke, and this time the image seemed to wince.

  "First blood to me," Piergeiron noted calmly.

  "Last blood to me," responded the voice.

  Piergeiron was surprised by a stinging blow to his side. He drew back, considering. This man was evil, but his sword was not; of course it did not appear in his mind's eye. That mistake would not be made twice.

  Piergeiron darted in, quick for a man his size. He hurled a heavy blow down on his opponent. Sword rang on sword, then grated away to one side. Piergeiron followed the weight of his blade, turning its tip to drive inward. The shadow warrior was too fast, though, batting Halcyon away and sending out his own blow.