“No dracos,” Maelstrom said, and he pointed to the sign, “Humans only.”
“We’re here in the name of the Dark Queen,” said Slith.
“Oh, well, that’s different,” said Maelstrom, and he grinned and opened the door. “Go right in.”
“You men wait,” Slith ordered, leaving his squad in the street.
He walked inside the tavern and came to a dead stop, blinking in astonishment.
The tavern was packed. Every table was occupied, and those who hadn’t been able to find a seat lined the walls. Most of the patrons were soldiers, but a large number of dark pilgrims were there as well, seated in places of honor near the front. Slith recognized some of Talent’s best black market customers. As the sivak stood, gaping, one of the dark pilgrims rose and began to lead the crowd in prayer.
“Forgive us, Dark Majesty,” the pilgrim cried out, raising her hands. “We ask you to restore to us the moons you have swept from the heavens! Hear our plea!”
As the soldiers and pilgrims began to chant the name of Takhisis, Talent Orren, spotting Slith, made his way through the crowd.
“What in the Abyss is going on here?” Slith asked, staring.
“You are welcome, Commander,” said Talent solemnly. “You and your men. Come, join us in our supplications to the Dark Queen.”
Slith gave a snort. His tongue flicked in and out of his fangs. “Cut the crap, Talent,” he rasped.
“The Dark Queen has taken the moons out of the sky,” Talent continued in loud and reverent tones. “We have come together to seek her forgiveness.” His voice dropped. “All of us have come together, if you take my meaning.”
Slith saw old man Snaggle looking extremely irate. Judging from the way he was squirming, he was tied to his chair. A female kender sat beside him, grinning widely. And there was Lute, his great bulk overlapping a stool, his two dogs lying at his feet.
“You were tipped off,” Slith said in sudden realization.
“Join me in prayer!” Talent cried loudly.
He grabbed hold of Slith’s shoulder and drew him close and whispered in his ear. “I think it only fair to warn you, my friend, that these pious men, who have come here tonight to pray, are armed to the teeth and outnumber you three to one. They will take it very badly if you interrupt their prayers, and they’ll take it far worse if you burn down their tavern.”
Slith saw that everyone in the crowd was watching him. He saw hands resting on knives and clubs, the hilts of swords, or sacred medallions.
“I suppose they’re holding prayer services in the Hairy Troll tonight as well,” said Slith.
“Indeed they are,” said Talent.
Slith shook his head. “You won’t get away with it, Talent. The Nightlord will be furious when he finds out. He’ll come here himself to arrest you.”
“He’ll find the birds have flown the coop,” said Talent. “Maelstrom and Mari and Snaggle and myself.”
Talent’s expression grew serious and, under the cover of some particularly loud exhortations, he said softly, “Have you seen Iolanthe?”
“The witch? No.”
“I don’t know where she is. She was supposed to meet me here.”
Slith eyed his friend. The sivak was not particularly good at reading the emotions of humans, probably because he didn’t really give a rat’s ass, but Talent’s affliction was so obvious, the draconian couldn’t very well miss it. There being no female draconians, Slith had never experienced that particular emotion himself, and although sometime he regretted the loss, at times such as this, seeing the pain of worry and fear on Talent’s face, Slith considered himself lucky.
“Iolanthe’ll be all right,” Slith said phlegmatically. “The witch can take care of herself. If it’s any comfort, she wasn’t at home when they burned down her house.”
Since Talent didn’t seem particularly cheered by the news, Slith changed the subject, “Where will you go?”
“Wherever the forces of Light are fighting the Dark Queen. The army will be hunting for us. We need a couple of hours start.”
Talent pressed a large purse that jingled with the sound of steel coins into the draconian’s hand. Slith weighed it and did some rapid calculations in his mind.
“I hear the Hairy Troll is serving free dwarf spirits,” said Talent.
Slith grinned. His tongue flicked out of his mouth. “I suppose I should go investigate.”
He stuffed the purse into his belt, then gave a sigh. “I guess this means our little business venture has come to an end.”
“It’s all coming to an end, Slith,” said Talent quietly. “The long night is almost over.”
Slith patted his purse. “I’m thinkin’ all hell’s going to break loose around here. I might just take this opportunity to retire from the military—again. Join up with some buddies of mine.”
“Build that city you’re always talking about,” said Talent.
Slith nodded. “Good luck to you, Talent. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Same here. Good luck to you.”
The two shook hand and claw. Slith saluted Talent, then turned in brisk military fashion on his heel, and marched back out the door. He cast a glance and a grin at Maelstrom, who winked in return.
Slith’s troops were disappointed when they heard they were not to burn down the Broken Shield, but cheered up immediately when he told them they were going to the Hairy Troll.
“Could be they’re serving bad dwarf spirits,” Slith said. “You’ll need to taste them to find out.”
“Where are you going, sir?” asked Glug.
“I’ll be along,” said Slith. “Take the boys and go on ahead. I’ll meet you there. Don’t drink all the dwarf spirits before I get there.”
Glug saluted and ran off. The squadron pounded eagerly behind him.
Slith stood in the streets, gazing at the temple that writhed in the distance. He lifted his clawed hand in farewell and turned and walked in the opposite direction.
“Good luck, Your Majesty,” he called out over his shoulder. “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”
6
The Night of No Moons.
The Tower of Wayreth was the oldest Tower of High Sorcery in Ansalon, one of two Towers left standing, and the only Tower still in use. Built after the end of the Second Dragon War, the Tower of Wayreth rose out of a disaster. In those days, magic was wild and raw. A spell cast by three powerful wizards, intended to end a war, slipped from their control and devastated much of the world. The gods of magic realized that something must be done to keep magic and those who wielded it under control. Nuitari, Lunitari, and Solinari taught the discipline of magic to three wizards and sent them forth to establish the three Orders of High Sorcery, which would be ruled by a governing body known as a Conclave.
The wizards needed a central location, a place where students of magic could come learn the skills of their art, where the newly designed Test of High Sorcery could be administered, where artifacts could be created and stored, spells tested, books written and archived. It would also need to be a fortress and refuge, for many in the world did not trust wizards and sought to do them harm.
The three wizards came together to construct the Tower of Wayreth. The Tower’s two spires, built atop a dome and enclosed by a triangular wall, were conjured out of silver mist, which slowly, over time, coalesced into stone. During that period, the Tower came under attack from a tribe of barbarians, who wanted to make it their own. The Tower and the wizards inside were saved by a black robe wizard who cast a spell that created a magical forest surrounding the Tower. The wizard died, but the enchanted Forest of Wayreth sprang up and drove away the barbarians. From that day forward, the forest’s magic hid the Tower and protected it from foes.
“You do not find the Tower of Wayreth,” the saying goes. “The Tower finds you.”