"It seems your decision has been made for you," Kyana said, watching Tyveris carefully.
Tyveris was silent for a long while. Finally he spoke. 'To the stairs," was all he said.
Tyveris was forced to admit that when the cityfolk rushed into the dungeon's central chamber it was a glorious moment. "Iriaebor!" the prisoners cried as they raised their weapons high. "For the Thousand Spires!"
They poured down the ramp which led into the large, circular chamber. Those prisoners who bore crossbows loosed a rain of bolts down upon the Zhentarim from the high walkway that circled the room.
Yet the Zhentarim had been warned there would be a battle that night and were not caught unaware. A few fell with arrows quivering in chest or throat, but far more blocked the flurry of deadly bolts with wooden shields. The rest of the prisoners streamed into the chamber, and the room erupted into chaos.
Abruptly two score prisoners came rushing out of one of the cell blocks, knocking several spear-wielding guards aside. Talim was with them. Somehow the wiry young thief had slipped past the guards and freed the prisoners. They dashed into the chamber, grabbing weapons from fallen Zhents or fighting with the very chains that bound their wrists. Even so, the battle-hardened Zhents pushed them back with almost comic ease.
It's not enough, Tyveris realized, standing numbly on the edge of the battle. They have the hearts of lions, but their hands are those of merchants and artisans, not warriors. He tried to say a prayer to his god, but his lips were unable to form the words. Already the cityfolk were faltering. In minutes, it would be over.
The battle surged before him. A prisoner, a young woman hardly more than a girl, was clumsily brandishing a rusty sword, fending off the hard blows of a grinning guard. Even as Tyveris watched, the sword spun from her hand to clatter against the slate floor. The Zhent's grin broadened luridly as he readied a killing blow.
Forgive me, Oghma, my god, Tyveris said inwardly. Forgive me, Tali, my sister. This is something I must do.
Tyveris let out a roar of fury as he leaped forward and grabbed the young woman's fallen sword. Tyveris swung the blade with lightning-quick skill. The Zhent's grin faded as he slipped off the blade and into a pool of his own blood.
Tyveris stared at the corpse dully, but he did not drop the sword. There was no more time for prayers or regrets. Now was the time to fight.
He reached down a powerful hand to help the young woman to her feet. Her eyes were filled with gratitude.
“Here, you're going to need this." He pushed the blade back into her hand. She nodded fiercely. Tyveris bent down and pried the saber from the guard's fingers.
"What's your name?" he asked the young woman.
"Erisa, sire,"
"All right, Erisa, I want you to stay by me," Tyveris rumbled. With his bare hand, Tyveris ripped the livery-the azure river and silver tower with Ravendas's crimson moon above-from the fallen guard's jerkin. He hastily tied the piece of cloth onto the end of a broken spear he found nearby, fashioning a makeshift standard. "May Oghma and all the gods grant us strength this night," Tyveris said solemnly. As Erisa watched in wonderment, the symbol of the crimson moon suddenly burst into flame, flared brightly, and then went dark. At the same time the outlines of the river and the tower, the traditional symbols of Iriaebor, began to glow with an unearthly silvery light.
"You're going to be my standard-bearer, Erisa," Tyveris said, handing the stunned young woman the banner. "Hold it high for all to see. And do not let the standard fall, not at any cost"
Erisa stared at the glowing banner for a moment, then nodded, lifting the standard high. "I won't fail you, sire!"
"Then I'll try to do the same," Tyveris said gruffly. He joined the throng making for the flight of dark stone stairs that led up toward the tower and freedom. He swung his sword with easy, practiced strokes, cutting a swath through the Zhentarim. Erisa followed close on his heels, holding the gleaming standard high in one hand, and protecting Tyveris's back with the sword he had given her in the other.
“To me! To me!" Tyveris bellowed in his enormous voice. Despite the din, all around him the cityfolk looked up to see him striding through the battle, his sword flashing under the magical illumination of the banner. Hope ignited in their eyes. Heartened anew, the prisoners hacked at the Zhentarim ferociously, fighting to make their way to the lore-master.
A fierce grin spread across Tyveris's face as he swung his sword tirelessly. Zhent after Zhent fell beneath his blade. 'To me!" he cried again. 'To the stairway! To freedom!"
Whatever the outcome, he was determined to make this a battle the gods would never forget.
Twenty-one
Ravendas snatched the pipes from Kellen and tucked them into the sash of her gown. "Out of my way, child," she snarled. "I have need of you no longer." She struck Kellen sharply across the cheek. The boy cried out in pain and tumbled backward, rolling down the steps of the dais.
"You will pay for that," Caledan swore, clenching his hands into fists behind his back.
"I pay for nothing," Ravendas replied, her cheeks flushed. "I take what I want."
"Talembar said that only one with the shadow magic can take up the Nightstone," Mari called out desperately. "You must not touch it!"
"And why, by all the gods, would I believe you, Harper?" Ravendas spat. Without any further hesitation she bent down and closed her fingers around the dark stone. With an exultant smile Ravendas lifted the Nightstone above her head. "You see?" she cried. "You are wrong! The power of the Nightstone is mine. With it, I shall rule the greatest empire Toril has ever known!”
"Now kneel before me," Ravendas declared, her voice ringing in the subterranean chamber. "Kneel and pay homage to your new queen. Kneel and perhaps I shall-"
Ravendas winced, faltering as a momentary spasm of pain crossed her features, but she quickly regained her composure.
"Kneel," she repeated, "and perhaps I-"
This time the pain showed clearly on Ravendas's beautiful face. The blood drained from her cheeks, her eyes widening as she stared at the Stone. "No!" she cried out in horror. She shook her hand, trying to drop the Nightstone, but she could not loosen her grip.
"It's burning me!" she shrieked. Ravendas screamed in agony. The pale skin of her forehead was undulating, as if something was writhing beneath the surface, something alive. Kellen had regained his feet, and he stood by Snake at the foot of the dais, watching his mother in horror.
"Kellen, don't look!" Caledan cried out. "Don't look at her!" Caledan tried to lunge forward, but the hobbles about his ankles tripped him, and he nearly fell to the hard floor. Kellen slowly turned away from the grisly spectacle.
Ravendas let out one last, soul-wrenching scream, and suddenly two dark objects burst from the smooth skin of her forehead. They were antlers of onyx, thrusting and branching like saplings from her brow. Ravendas's eyes went blank, her face twisted, and Caledan knew that she was dead.
But whatever writhed inside her was not.
The form that had been Ravendas began to crack like ancient porcelain. Without warning the shell exploded outward in a spray of pale shards. Her silken gown was ripped to shreds. The reed pipes clattered down the steps of the dais.
A shadow unfurled itself from the shattered remains of Ravendas's body, a thing of utter darkness. The shadow was shaped vaguely like a man, except for the antlers sprouting from its head. With every moment it rose higher off the dais, its outline coalescing, growing clearer and sharper. And in the center of the shadow hovered the Nightstone, pulsing rhythmically with a vermillion glow.