Just before the golem struck the desk with his remaining hand, crushing it to splinters, Olive Ruskettle and Thistle Thalavar dashed out from beneath the tenuous cover. They ran toward another desk, with the creature plodding after them. When it had them against the wall, Olive Ruskettle whirled about, her sword raised, in a hopeless effort to ward off the creature’s blow.
Alias released the peace knot tying her sword to her scabbard and drew her weapon. The swordswoman leaped from the stairs onto the golem just as it raised its remaining fist. Her sword connected with the golem’s dragon-shaped head, sending sparks flying as the steel of her magical blade cleaved through the iron skull.
The beast spun about and seemed to examine Alias for a moment. Then it turned again, pivoting slowly, stopping when it finally faced Olive and Thistle. Alias realized she was being ignored for a target of higher priority—either Olive or Thistle. Yanking free the tablecloth from the smashed desk, Alias whirled it like a net over the golem’s head.
“Olive, Thistle, quick! Hide,” the swordswoman shouted as she slashed at the creature’s leg with her sword. “Then stay very still.”
Olive dragged Thistle down behind the remains of a deceased noble, pulling the dead man’s cloak over their bodies. Thistle started to argue, but the halfling stifled her protest with a quick elbow in the ribs.
Alias slashed into the golem’s leg, and the monster turned toward her as it tugged the tablecloth off its head. Upon spying the swordswoman, however, the golem once again ignored her in favor of scanning the room for its previous prey.
From the staircase, Victor looked on the carnage in shock and muttered, “Sweet Mystra,” an oath to the goddess of magic. Hearing the nobleman, the golem turned toward the stair.
“Victor, get back up the stairs and stay there!” Alias ordered, shifting so that she stood between the monster and the staircase. “It seems to be interested only in the nobles.”
Alias couldn’t tell if the nobleman obeyed her, but the golem spun about, once more checking for targets. Then it turned again. Finding no more nobility to smite, it made its way for the exit.
A rust monster, bloated from gorging on more iron than it usually ate in a year, made a halfhearted wave at the retreating golem with an antenna, but did not bother to pursue the iron creature. The golem passed beneath the portcullis and trundled from the Tower.
Durgar, who knelt beside a bloodied but still breathing member of House Athagdal, looked up at Alias. “Follow the golem,” he ordered her. “I will follow when I can. Go with Alias,” he instructed three of his watchmen, who stood by uncertainly.
Alias dashed from the Tower with the watch behind her.
The injured golem was halfway down the Tower hill, moving northwest. Alias had no trouble keeping up with the monster, which even at top speed was ponderously slow. The swordswoman remained behind it and instructed the watch to do likewise. With mounting excitement, she realized the golem may actually lead her back to its point of origin—the Faceless’s new lair.
Alias was just wondering what had happened to Dragonbait when Victor ran up beside her, sword in hand.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said vehemently.
“I have to see where the golem goes. As long as I don’t let myself get cornered, I can always outrun it,” the nobleman argued.
Alias nodded, unable to counter Victor’s logic or his desire to see this through to the end.
The golem moved through the streets without incident. Any nobles that were left in the city were no doubt at home piling furniture in front of the doors, and no one else in the streets was so foolish as to challenge the monster.
Finally the golem halted before a ramshackle warehouse near the House Urdo docks. It banged once on the door, which swung open, bathing the golem in a yellow glow. The monster disappeared inside.
Alias ordered Victor and the watchmen to remain at the warehouse gate as she crept up to the door. The golem stood just inside, unmoving, as if awaiting instructions. Alias slipped past the creature, turned about, and tapped on its chest with the tip of her sword. The creature loomed over her, but remained perfectly still.
The swordswoman waved for the others to join her. Alias kept an eye on the golem as Victor entered the room, but the noble’s appearance did not reactivate the monster. Its killing spree was over for the time being.
The room was a cavernous vault. In the center stood a great table of ebony stone glittering with veins of gold, a twin to the one in the Night Masters’ last conference room. Most of the ten chairs surrounding it were pushed out, a few overturned, but the tenth chair remained against the table. What appeared to be a man was slumped in the chair. The man’s face was obscured by some strange magic, which blurred its features like rain damages a chalk portrait. A bloodstain clotted his robes. He was as immobile as the golem.
On the table before the figure lay a sheet of paper. Scrawled in blood was the message, “Death to all who betray and defy our will, noble or common, Night Mask or outsider. So say the Night Masters.”
As Alias was examining the sheet of paper, Durgar entered. He had battled the golems until they were no longer a threat, then spent his last remaining energies casting magical curative spells on the wounded. The old priest looked drained, but he would not, Alias realized, forsake what he perceived to be his duty.
Durgar stepped forward and took the paper from Alias’s hand. He scowled angrily at the words. Without ceremony, his face as emotionless as the golems’, the priest ran his hand down the dead figure’s face. A jingling mask of threaded coins came away in his hand.
The illusory blur of the Faceless became the features of Croamarkh Luer Dhostar.
Alias reached out to steady Victor, who swayed in shock and gasped, “Sweet Mystra! It can’t really be true.”
Durgar collapsed into the nearest empty chair, dropping the mask onto the table and cradling his head in his hands. “The croamarkh in league with the Night Masks. I can’t believe it,” the old priest whispered.
“It’s true, Your Reverence,” Alias said. “We have other evidence linking him to them. No doubt they turned on him for some perceived betrayal. Perhaps they decided to turn their golems loose against the nobles, but Lord Luer fought against them. Perhaps the golems perceived he was a noble and turned on him first. Perhaps—”
“Perhaps once I have recovered my powers I should cast a spell to speak with Luer’s dead spirit,” the priest said gravely. “Then we will get to the heart of the matter. There will be no— Look out!” Durgar shouted suddenly.
Alias spun about, her sword at the ready, just in time to see the golem bat away the watchmen who stood guard over its form. The swordswoman threw herself in front of Victor before the monster could harm the nobleman, but instead the creature strode toward the dead body of the croamarkh.
Durgar rose, drawing his mace, but, with its remaining hand, the golem flipped the table onto the priest. Then the creature hefted Luer Dhostar’s body over its shoulder like a sack of potatoes and began plodding toward the door. Alias was prepared to follow, to battle the golem for the croamarkh’s corpse, but Victor held her back.
“Durgar will be crushed!” he exclaimed. “We have to get this table off him.”
Alias nodded. Victor was right. The priest’s life had to take priority. She laid down her weapon and helped Victor heft the table from Durgar’s pale form. Durgar groaned, but he still breathed.
The golem had left the warehouse. Alias could hear members of the watch shouting and banging on the monster with their useless weapons. She retrieved her sword and rose to leave, but Victor grabbed her gown. “Where’s Dragonbait?” he asked. “We need him to heal Durgar.”