"Then you have a very poor imagination, Kern of Phlan. Lord Garkim will show you documents and bring you sages that confirm the truth of our words. Two months ago, we took pains to ward our city against attacks by tanar'ri from the Abyss, which were given knowledge of our bloodforge by Ysdar's agents. As we now speak, our city is slowly becoming besieged by fiends and monsters that lurk in the savanna and jungle around us, looking for a way past our walls to wrap their clawed fingers around our bloodforge and carry it away. The human debris that bows to Ysdar creeps past our gates, and the Fallen Temple grows stronger in our realm with each sunset. Our doom is truly at hand."
"Tanar'ri," said Trandon, getting to his feet. Though pale, he had gained control of himself again. "We fought tanar'ri, big vulturelike vrocks, at the gate in Undermountain that brought us here."
"They were doubtless among the first of the army that is arrayed against us, an army that is strengthening by the hour. There is but one course left to us all. You cannot destroy our bloodforge merely to allow Khelben Arunsun to see you through his crystal ball. Your gate to Undermountain is destroyed, and you are trapped within these walls with the rest of us. Our enemy is your own. You must work with us against our mutual foe."
"We did not come here to fight your wars," said Miltiades in abrupt dismissal. "We came to find Lady Eidola and open the way for her to go home, and no more."
The gigantic face in the black wall shifted, turning slightly to look directly down at the silver-armored warrior with its empty black eyes.
"We feel no pity for you, Miltiades of Phlan," said the voice. "You choose your own path in life and proudly bear the consequences. But we feel great sorrow for Lady Eidola, who is now in the hands of Ysdar's agents. She is no doubt becoming very familiar with the peculiar ways of Ysdar, the secret lord of the Fallen Temple, that creation of Tyr's justice-loving priests who contaminated our empire with their holy filth two and a quarter centuries ago. Is it not ironic that the righteousness of Tyr's paladins now throws her forever into the claws of cannibals and torturers who were themselves once among Tyr's chosen?"
"Liar!" roared Kern. His hammer arm whipped over and down.
"No!" shouted Miltiades. Garkim uttered a strangled cry, leaping forward as if he thought he could fly through space and seize Kern's hammer as it spun through the air at the mage-king's impassive face.
The hammer slammed into the wall directly between the mage-king's eyes. It rebounded with an ear-splitting crash, flying back to smash into the stone floor behind the crouching Trandon. Dust filled the air. Stone chips rang from metal armor.
Breathless, everyone stared at the hammer, then at the black wall. There was no mark on it.
The gigantic beautiful face had not once changed expression.
"Lord Garkim," said the voice. "You must forgive us for not mentioning to you long ago that this wall, though transparent like glass, is impervious to all physical forces. You would then have been able to warn our guests of this and thus prevent embarrassing mishaps."
Garkim stared at the hammer on the floor, too stunned to speak.
"My time grows short," the voice said. "Miltiades of Phlan, we challenge you to ask your god if you and your comrades should join forces with such as us. Our wards do not prevent communication with divine powers. The fate of our empire and your lady, if not the city of Waterdeep as well, hangs by a thread this day. Pray to your mighty Tyr and see if you will sever that thread or save it."
Miltiades glared hard at the empty black orbs. He was a fool to even think about this. The choices were so obvious. The mage-king was not to be trusted. Miltiades should lead his force out of this trap and set about escaping from the palace, then use the necklace to locate Lady Eidola. Nothing was simpler.
And yet…
Distrusting the mage-king, Miltiades cleared his mind and closed his eyes.
His comrades nervously watched as he did, glancing back and forth from him to the mage-king's face. A half-minute passed.
Miltiades opened his eyes. He lowered his weapon, seeming to relax. Then he stood stiffly straight and began tying his hammer to his belt by its strap.
Kern's mouth fell open in astonishment. Trandon, Jacob, and Noph looked at one another in confusion. Lord Garkim frowned, clearly surprised.
When Miltiades finished, he looked up at the beautiful face.
"We will destroy the enemies of Doegan," he said to the face, "and we will find Lady Eidola. On this you have my word." Then he turned and walked toward the doors. The doors thumped as he reached them. The paladin put his hand on a handle and pulled one of the two doors open with ease. He looked back at the others. "Well, come along," he said, as if speaking to children.
Kern retrieved his hammer. He and the others silently followed the paladin out, leaving only Lord Garkim behind. Miltiades looked back at Lord Garkim before he left with a curiously calm expression, then shut the door.
Lord Garkim looked back at the great black eyes floating above him. "Your Majesty, what did… ah, did you do something to-"
"We did nothing to him. He prayed to his deity. He will join us in our fight against Ysdar. We calculated a high probability that he would be told to do so by Tyr."
Garkim shook his head in wonder. "Your Majesty, he is a holy warrior, an instrument of his deity. I could not see how he could be ordered to take up our cause. He regards us as enemies, and-"
"You are correct, Lord Garkim," said the voice. The face began to withdraw from the black wall, fading into the darkness and pulling its coils back with it. The room rumbled as water shifted and sloshed in the distance. "You are correct. We are his enemies. We believe Tyr told him to liberate this land from our rule, from the tyranny of the bloodforges. He did not truly take up our cause. He said, We will destroy the enemies of Doegan,' by which he meant us, Lord Garkim-we, your emperor, as well as Ysdar, the Fallen Temple, the tanar'ri, and all beasts that inhabit this Utter East who dare oppose him. He left because he could do nothing else here; he will not waste his time on futile gestures. He is very wise, this Miltiades of Phlan. You must be prepared to kill him soon, Lord Garkim."
The last words had not fully settled into Lord Garkim's mind by the time the mage-king had fully vanished into the depths of blackness beyond the great wall, When they did, Garkim caught his breath, staggered at the implications. Kill Miltiades? This was a dangerous task indeed, the hardest he had ever been given. It was not a challenge he welcomed. It would have to be done, certainly, but how? He would have to kill or disable the other visitors, too, but they would be less of a problem. Poison was out, thanks to that ring Miltiades wore, and that other paladin was immune to most magical effects. This would be a serious problem.
And there was the curious thing that happened after Miltiades had prayed. Suddenly, Lord Garkim could no longer read the silver warrior's mind. Instead of the usual stream of thoughts, Garkim could pick up only a chanted prayer to Tyr from the paladin's thoughts. It reminded him uncomfortably of his parents' old trick. This was a bad development. Why had the paladin started this? Did he suspect…?
Lord Garkim looked after the vanished mage-king, then slowly walked to the chamber exit.
"Lord Garkim," said the voice in the air. "Yes, Your Majesty," he replied, never breaking stride.
"Send triple our usual offering to the Temple of Umberlee this evening. Then speak with Wavelord Gethonar if you feel the need for additional advice or assistance in this matter."
Garkim stopped for a moment, then resumed his walk. "Why, thank you, Your Majesty," he said as he left. There was no reply.