Jorde and his small company were dressed immaculately in gleaming armor in a mix of Sword, Rose, and Crown emblems. They were well armed and positioned in the shadows of the high walls. There were two gates, both leading into the gatehouse itself or the training yard around the barracks of the city guards.
“There they are!” shouted a watchman suddenly, and Blayne and Billings turned to look up the road. The column marched into view, the men in the black tunics and armor, and at their head rode Captain Blackgaard, the commander of the Black Army and the liberator of the High Clerist’s Tower.
The advance columns of the Black Brigade were mounted and rode at an easy trot. The sentries on the city walls pointed and watched expectantly as the riders drew closer.
Blayne didn’t hear who it was who shouted the warning, but the words rose suddenly from one of the footmen outside the wall. “Beware! These are Dark Knights!”
“No!” cried young Lord Kerrigan. “That can’t be!” But he realized even as he raised the protest that it was possible. Could he have been so stupid?
“I recognize that captain-he was the Butcher of the Dark Tower here, when Mina ruled!” cried another man.
“Close the gate!” Sir Jorde shouted to his men. They rushed toward the passage out of the courtyard only to have the gate slam shut in their faces.
And Blayne saw why: There was another man in the courtyard. He was dressed utterly in black, even to the point of wearing a mask over his face. His hands waved before him as he chanted arcane words-speaking in a strangely familiar voice. Almost immediately, a greenish-yellow mist swirled around him, a heavy vapor that seeped along the ground, filled the small courtyard, and rose to clutch at the legionnaires with sinister tendrils.
Blayne stared in horror as one of the legionnaires clutched his throat and doubled over, kicking violently then falling utterly still, his body grotesquely contorted. Another, then more of the trapped men toppled over, thrashing and gasping, though none of them struggled for more than a few moments.
“A killing cloud!” grunted Jorde, lunging toward the man in black. “We’ve been betrayed!”
The knight’s sword was in his hand, but the other person-he was a priest of darkness, Blayne realized-held up a hand in a gesture that brought Jorde to a sudden stop. His face twisted in anguish. Staggering, the legionnaire dropped to one knee, swaying clumsily before falling on his face. Like the other victims, all probably dead by then, he vanished beneath the miasma of mist that oozed and billowed across the courtyard floor.
“No!” cried Blayne, starting for the stairs. “We’ve got to close the city gate!” He spun toward Billings, and that movement saved his life.
The archer had his short sword out and was driving the tip toward Blayne’s back. The lord whirled away, pulling out his own weapon and smashing it sideways to block the blow aimed at him.
“You were more help than you’ll ever know,” Billings said tauntingly. “Bringing the secret knights out into the open, where the Nightmaster could find them!”
“You lie!” gasped Blayne, even though he realized it was the pathetic truth. In a frenzy he came at the other man, driving him back with savage overhand blows. The archer’s face betrayed fear as he retreated until the solid parapet was behind him, fighting desperately to hold Blayne’s furious attacks at bay.
But young Lord Kerrigan stabbed him in the right arm and, with a scream of pain, Billings dropped his sword. He squirmed back, between two of the battlements on the parapet.
Blayne charged forward, dropping his sword, pushing with both hands. Billings toppled over the wall, screaming for just a moment before he landed on his back, disappearing beneath the layer of gas that ebbed and flowed in the courtyard. Blayne watched for a moment, making sure that the traitor didn’t get up from the ground.
By then the first of the Dark Knights were through the gates. Blayne frantically released the winch, and the portcullis came crashing down, splitting the formation in two. He looked down to see that only a score of black-clad horsemen were inside the city. They dismounted with smooth efficiency.
“Up there!” cried the masked priest, indicating the tower where Blayne stood alone. “Kill him and open the gates again!”
In a rush, the Dark Knights headed for the stairway leading up to the gatehouse platform. Blayne raised his sword, already slick with Billings’s blood, and took a position at the top of the stairs.
He wondered what it would be like to die.
Coryn teleported directly to the temple of Kiri-Jolith, where she startled Melissa du Juliette in the midst of her midday prayers.
“I’m sorry for intruding, but I think I’ve located Selinda!” the white wizard exclaimed.
“You found her? Where is she?”
“Actually, I’ve located the ring I gave her. It’s in the city, near the waterfront. I can find the place, I’m certain.”
“Let’s go!” the high priestess said, dropping her prayer beads and throwing a ceremonial cloak over her shoulders. She snatched up a stout cudgel of ironwood with a steel cap at the head. Impressed, Coryn noted the formidable weapon and hoped they wouldn’t need it.
The two women hurried from the temple, one in her robe of immaculate whiteness, the other in the flowing green garment of her high station. After a moment’s consideration, they wrapped themselves in cloaking magic, muting the distinctive colors of their garments so it looked as though they were both wearing simple woolen cloaks. Coryn led them toward the waterfront, and they quickly made their way down a dark street, so narrow it was almost an alley. It was well after nightfall, and the darkness was thick around them.
“Hello, pretty ladies,” came a voice from the shadows. “What brings such illustrious lovelies to our little corner of the city? May I welcome you to the Hale and Farewell? I am Hale, himself!”
He lifted a hand, indicating the dark door behind him. Coryn saw a flash of silver on his finger and felt a jolt of recognition. He wore the ring!
The man continued speaking as he limped toward the door to his establishment. “I guarantee you will find the finest-”
Hale never got to finish his remark as a blast of magic struck him from behind, propelling him into the door, which cracked and broke open under the impact of the man’s body. He sprawled on the floor just within the entry.
But Hale was tougher than he looked. He jumped up from the floor, drawing his dagger as the two women pushed after him. An unseen force knocked him against the wall of the room, so hard that he slumped to the floor. Struggling against the unseen power, he dropped his knife and raised his hands in front of his face.
The two females came closer, and close up they looked very different than when he had accosted them on the street. One was dressed in a pure white robe, and the other wore a cloak of bright green, emblazoned with the fist of Kiri-Jolith. Hale uttered a strangled sound, holding up his hands as he struggled to his feet.
Melissa du Juliette, high priestess of Kiri-Jolith, raised a hand and the invisible hammer of her god-the force that had blasted Hale against the door-slammed into the man again.
Stunned, Hale collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain.
Coryn stood over him, the sheer brightness of her white robe causing him-and every other patron in the place-to throw up a hand against the blinding glare. “Where is she? The woman who wore that ring in here?”
“I–I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Hale murmured, reaching to cover the ring with his right hand.
Coryn gestured, and a sparking missile smashed against his free hand, drawing a howl of pain. Hale lifted his burned, blistered fingers to his mouth, groaning.
“Tell us!” demanded the priestess. “Or her next missile will be a death blow!”
“She-I turned her over-she’s in the palace! The lord regent’s palace-he sent his agent to collect her!”