"Or three," another of the drow agreed, as other hands made the same movement, and slim black cords curled and cracked.

Mirt sighed, opened his cupped hand to reveal the thing he'd taken from his pouch in the House of the Long Slow Kiss, and murmured a word.

The battered metal chevron in his palm erupted in a ringing, leaping sparkle of steel-and the old moneylender stood, calmly watching, as the magic he'd unleashed became a hundred slashing, darting swords that flew about the alley in front of him in a deadly whirlwind. Drow leapt desperately for safety, anywhere it might lie ... but died anyway, amid screams from open windows above. Someone paused on a catwalk to watch-and someone else smote that watcher from behind, contributing a helplessly plunging, senseless body to the flashing carnage below.

"Enough!" Mirt growled, as he watched the unfortunate falling man get cut to ribbons. The moneylender spat a second strange word, and the blades obediently melted away, leaving the alley empty of menacing forms in his path. He strode on.

His next few steps were in slippery black blood, but the motes were still twinkling in the gloom ahead, heading for a sudden, distant flash of spell light. In its flare, Mirt saw many folk gathered to watch something off to the left, crowded together to enjoy-a fight? a duel? Bets were being placed, and the more belligerent were jostling for a better view.

There was another flash-which resolved itself into the blue pinwheel that marked the appearance of someone using an old catch-teleport spell-and out of its heart stumbled Durnan, moving fast. Mirt's old friend was in some sort of ruin, caught in the midst of a spell duel between-G.o.ds blast all!-a beholder, and someone ... a mage? Nay, mauve skin; that could only mean a mind flayer.

Ye G.o.ds. Hasty business indeed!

"Idiot!" Mirt described Durnan fervently, and broke into a trot, feeling in his pouch for some handy small salvation or other.

"Hearken, all!" he panted, to the uneven stones ahead of him as his s.h.a.ggy bulk gathered speed, "and take note: 'tis the Wheezing Warrior to the rescue- again!"

Something cold struck the back of his neck, and clung. Durnan snarled and chopped at it, even as a pair of black tentacles twined about his blade and pulled, trying to drag it down.

Durnan slashed out with the dagger in his other hand, seeking to free his sword. The chill at the back of his neck was spreading, cold caressing fingers spreading along his shoulders. "What, by the bones of the cursed-?" he snarled.

The beholder smiled down at him. "Your memories will be mine first. . . before I take the tiny candle that you call a mind-and blow it out!"

Durnan rolled his eyes. "You sound like a bad actor trying to impress gawping n.o.bles in North Ward!" And then the point of his dagger found the pommel of his sword. He pressed down firmly, and hissed a certain word.

The gem in the pommel burst with a tiny blaze of its own-and slowly, in impressive silence, all of the black tentacles faded away. "So much for your spell," the tavernmaster grunted, throwing the dagger hard into the beholder's large, staring central eye.

The world erupted in a roar of pain and fury. The eye tyrant bucked in midair like a wild stallion trying to shake off ropes, shuddered, and then rolled over with terrible speed, eyestalks reaching out to transfix Durnan in many fell gazes.

Nothing happened."Mystra grant that this my spellshatter last just a trifle longer," Durnan prayed aloud, hands stabbing down to his boots for more daggers. That great mouth was very close now, and the roaring coming from it was shaking the tavernmaster's body. Teeth chattering helplessly, Durnan watched those fangs gape wide. . ..

Not far away, a black cobweb quivered and seemed to stiffen. Then a hoa.r.s.e, dusty voice issued from it-a voice that squeaked and hissed from long disuse.

"Someone is using a spellshatter," it told the empty darkness of the crypt around it.

Not surprisingly, there was no reply.

After a moment's pause, the cobweb shot forth an arm like the tentacle of a black octopus, and plunged it into the stone of the far wall-as if the tentacle were a mere shadow, able to freely drift through solid things. Then the entire cobweb shifted like a gigantic, ungainly spider and followed the tentacle, sliding into the stones of the crypt wall.

A breath later, the black tentacle emerged from a solid wall in Skullport, wriggled out across an alley, and turned to probe up and down the narrow, reeking way. A rat paused in its gnawings and scuttlings to watch this new, probably edible worm or snake-but sank back down behind a pile of refuse when the tentacle grew swiftly into a spiderlike growth that covered most of the wall. This spiderlike thing then became a flapping black cloak . . . from which grew the shuffling figure of a robed, cowled man, whose eyes gleamed in the darkness as brightly as the rat's own orbs.

The man's robe swished past the cowering rodent. He stepped out of the alley, looked out across a blackened, tumbled area of devastation where a building had burned or been blasted apart, and said clearly, "Hmmm."

A beholder was bobbing above a lone human, the magelight of carelessly crafted spells streaming around it, but was constrained from reaching its human by some invisible shield or other. The spellshatter, no doubt.

"Hmmm," the man said again, and stepped backward into the wall, sinking smoothly into the solid stone until only two dark, watchful patches remained to mark where his eyes must be.

Wisely, the rat scuttled silently away. With archwizards, one can never be sure. Halaster Blackcloak was known to be both one of the most powerful arch wizards of all, and more than a little . . . erratic in his behavior. He seemed to be settling into the wall to watch whatever was going on in the ruins, but-if one could ever be safe in Skullport-it was better to be safely away from him ... far away from him.

Asper slid to a stop on a high catwalk and clutched its rail for a moment to catch her breath. It had been a long, hard run, and more than one foolish beast had tried to make her its supper along the way. The blade in her hand was still dark and wet from her last encounter. The leap from the end of a little-known tunnel-which wound down through the heart of Mount Waterdeep to end in a sheer drop, high in the ceiling of the cavern that held most of Skullport-down to the dark roofs below was always a throat-tightening thing.

Gasping for air, Mirt's lady tossed her head. Sweat streamed down her face despite her frequent wipes at it, plastering ash-blonde tresses to her forehead and dripping from the end of her nose. Asper sighed air deep into her lungs, shook her head to hurl away more sweat, clipped the ring on her sword-pommel to the matching one at her throat, spun the ribbon around so the still-gory blade would bounce along at her back as she traveled on, and peered out over Skullport, waiting for her breathing to slow.

The often-deadly place seemed somehow quiet tonight. The mysterious guardian skulls-or whatever they truly were-drifted here and there through the gloom high above the streets, where the stone fangs of the cavern ceiling made a silent forest close overhead. Asper loved this world of flitting bats, occasional screams, and muttered conspiracies. She enjoyed a leisurely prowl among the crumbling roof gargoyles, silently glowing wards, and wrought iron climb-nots, where crossbows waited for sneak thieves to trip their lines and folk seldom opened shutters covered with rusting crazy quilts of overlapping,battered old shields, whose owners no longer needed them-or anything.

But this journey had been anything but leisurely. Asper clung to the rail as if it were a lover, and peered north. There had been something ... a flicker .

. . there!

Spell light flashed in a place of darkness-some sort of ruin, it seemed, liberally endowed with rough heaps and pillars of blackened stone. In this second flash, Asper saw the unmistakable sphere of a beholder, eye-stalks writhing in pain or rage, quivering in the air low over some sort of foe . . .

probably a man. It was the sort of trouble Durnan or her beloved were almost sure to be drawn into.

Asper vaulted lightly over the rail and fell through the cool air, ignoring the oath uttered by a startled face at a window as she pa.s.sed. Her boots found a second catwalk, slipped for a moment on damp boards that danced back up under the weight of her landing, and then held firm. Asper crouched low as the catwalk's tremblings grew gentler, the fingertips of one hand just touching the boards in front of her, and looked again at the beholder. The problem was, Skullport was all too apt to be crawling with this sort of thing: the kind of strife Mirt and Durnan would get caught up in ... but had they chosen this particular strife, or found amus.e.m.e.nt elsewhere?

Then her eyes fell on what she'd been searching for- far ahead of her, along the narrow alley that ran from beneath her catwalk to the ruins where the beholder danced. A familiar lurching form, portly where he wasn't burly, shambled and wheezed along with that bluff, fearless unconcern she loved so well. Mirt the Moneylender, the man whose heart drove and carried the Lords of Waterdeep, was lumbering like a hopping hippo over the heaped rubble where the alleyway emptied into the chaos of the ruin-trotting up to an enraged beholder to rescue his friend.

This was their fight, then. Asper frowned. She quickly undid her belt, plucked something from behind its buckle, and set it down carefully on the boards beside her. It would not do to be touched by the sort of magic a beholder's eyes could hurl while carrying that little bauble.

She buckled up her belt again, bit her lip in thought, turned smoothly, and ran a little way along the catwalk. There, someone bolder than most had strung a line of washing from the high, hanging way to a balcony. Though the cord was old and soft where glowmold had been washed away many times, it held one hurrying, catlike woman in leathers long enough for her to reach the balcony.

Asper got one boot on the balcony rail and kicked hard; the aging iron squealed in protest as she leapt away into darkness, fingers straining for the lantern line she sought.

It was barbed to keep unscrupulous folk from winching down the iron basket of glowworms that served some fearful merchant as a back door lantern. The gloves Asper wore ended in middle-finger rings, leaving her fingers and most of her palms bare to grip things unhampered-but she shed only a little blood as she caught hold, swung, and let go again, heading feetfirst for another catwalk.

Her eyes were on the battle ahead. The eye tyrant seemed to be trying to bite Durnan, who was ducking and rolling among stubby fingers of stone wall. As Asper's feet found the boards of the catwalk, slid in something unpleasant, and shot her right across it into empty air beyond, she saw the beholder bite down. Blocks of stone crumbled, and Durnan dived away, a dagger flashing in his hand. Mirt was getting close now, and beyond them all-as she brought her feet together to crash down through the rotting roof of a bone-cart-Asper could see a few warily watching creatures. A minotaur and a kenku were among them, pointing at Mirt disgustedly and shouting to each other. Wagers were being changed, it seemed.

Then Asper's feet plunged through silk that was gray with age, and into brittle bones beyond. She shut her eyes against flying shards as she sank into a crouch, letting her legs take the force of her landing.

A rough male ore's voice snarled, "What, by all the brain-boring tentacles of dripping Ilsenine's sycophants, was that?"

"Special delivery," Asper told the unseen merchant, as her sword flashed out.Silk fell away like cobwebs, and she sprang past startled, furious eyes and gleaming tusks onto the street beyond.

"Grrrenarrr!" The ore's roar of rage echoed off the buildings around, and Asper dodged sharply toward one side of the alley, bringing her sword up and back behind her without looking or slowing. A heavy hand axe rang off its tip and rattled along an iron gate beside her. Asper ran on into the darkness, calling back, "Pleasant meeting, bloodtusks!"

The ore term of respect was unlikely to mollify a merchant whose cart-top had just been ruined, but she was in a hurry. Up ahead, the beholder shook the air in a roaring frenzy that far outmatched the snarls of the ore behind her. Rays lashed out in all directions from its writhing, coiling eyestalks. Those that stabbed down met some sort of shield and faded away, and one that lashed out toward Mirt had a similar fate. The others were causing spectacular explosions, bursts of flame and lightning-and in one spot, the stone was melting like syrup and slumping down upon itself in a slow flood.

Magelight flashed and curled around the eye tyrant as it poured forth spells in a display that had the audience scrambling for cover. The shouted adjustments to wagers rang back hollowly from windows, balconies, and corners all around as the ground shook, stone shrieked, and the last of the ruin's blackened walls toppled, with slow majesty, down atop the struggling tavernmaster.

Dust rose slowly, the heaving underfoot subsided, and the ringing that had risen in Asper's ears was not enough to drown out Mirt's roar of challenge.

"About! Turn about, ye blasted lump of floating suet! I'll look ye in all yer eyes and stare ye down, and there'll be a blade-thrust into every one of 'em before ye'll have time to flee! Turn about, I say!"

Asper winced at her lord's imprudence, even as a rueful smile twisted her lips. This was her Mirt, all right.

Winded by his shouting, the fat old Lord of Waterdeep puffed and wheezed straight at the beholder. His old boots flopped as he scrambled up a shifting pile of rubble. At its top, he made a show of drawing his stout old sword and raising it in challenge. "Do ye hear me, ball of offal? I-"

"Hear you quite well enough," the beholder said with menacing silence, "Be silent forever, fat man." Beams of deadly radiance flashed from its eyes.

Something unseen in the air blocked the rays, which struck with such savage force that the very emptiness darkened. The fat moneylender staggered to keep his footing, thrust back under the weight of the magic that clawed and tore at his shields.

The eye tyrant screamed in fresh rage - was every puling human protected against all his powers? - and lashed out repeatedly with spells and thrusting eye beams. The ground shook anew, and Mirt disappeared down a sliding mound of rubble as stones broke free from buildings all around and plunged to the streets. As Asper crouched low and scrambled forward, a balcony broke off a large mansion to her left and crashed to its iron-gated forecourt, splitting paving stones.

A stone shard whirled out of nowhere and laid her cheek open with the ease of a slicing razor. Asper hissed at the close call and put a hand up to shield her face, spreading her fingers to see Mirt struggling along like a man battling his way into the face of a gale-force wind. Blackness sparked and roiled around him as his shields slowly melted away - soon they would surely fail, and he would be blasted to a rain of blood . . . and she would lose him, forever.

There was only one way she could help, and it might mean her life. Thrown away vainly, too, if she fouled up the lone chance she'd get. Asper swallowed, tossed her head to draw breath and blow errant hairs from her eyes, and slapped the hilt of her sword so that the rune carved there would be smeared with the gore still leaking from her torn fingers. She felt its familiar ridges, slick and sticky with her blood, and nodded in satisfaction. Turning herself carefully to face the raging eye tyrant, she firmly whispered two words aloud.The sword shuddered in her hands and then bucked, and she clung to it grimly as the rune's power was unleashed. It blazed away into nothingness as the sword dragged her up into the air and flung her forward. Eerie silence fell.

She was invisible now, she knew, springing up into the air on a one-way vault that would end in a bone-shattering encounter with the cavern wall or a sickening plunge to the ground if she judged wrongly.

The beholder hadn't noticed her; it was still lashing her lord with futile gazes and hurled spells as she rose out of the flashing and trembling air, pa.s.sing up and over the monster-now!

The rune's power winked out in obedience to her will, and Asper found herself falling, sword first, as Mirt's roars and the excited shouts of the watching Skulkans rushed back around her. Straight down at the curving, segmented body of the eye tyrant she plunged, headed for just behind the squirming forest of its eyestalks. Asper spread her legs and braced herself for the landing-she'd have only a bare breath to strike before it flung her away.

She'd mixed the stoneclaw sap and creeper gum herself, and spread it on the soles of her boots more thickly than most thieves, miners, and sailors would.

It had seen her through more catwalk and rooftop landings on this foray than she cared to think about just now, and if it served her just once more . ..

With solid thumps, Asper's boots struck the beholder's body, and the blade in her hands flashed once and back again before she'd even caught her balance.

Almost cut through, an eyestalk flopped and thrashed beside her, spattering her with stinging yellow-green gore as another eye turned her way. Her boots found purchase on the curving body plates, and Asper lunged desperately, putting her sword tip through the questing eye and shaking violently to drag the steel free before another orb could bathe her in its deadly gaze.

Three of the eyestalks were turning, like slow serpents, and the beholder was rolling over to fling her off. Asper kicked out at one eye, as her balance went, and flailed with her blade at another. She fell hard on the bony plates of the monster's body, arm wrapped around an eyestalk. She clung to it with one hand and drove the quillons of her blade into the questing orb that came curling at her. Milky fluid burst forth, drenching her. Spitting out the reeking slime, Asper grimly slashed at another eye. Then she was falling, the beholder's bony bulk no longer under her.

Stones rushed up to meet her, and Asper tucked herself around her sword, trying to roll. There was no time, and with numbing force, she crashed into what was left of a wall, and then reeled back helplessly. Mists swirled in front of her eyes, and a new wetness on her chin told where she'd bitten through her lip.

Mirt was roaring out her name and sprinting toward her, arms spread to embrace her. Would his failing shields protect them both?

Not from this death.

The beholder's large central eye was a rent, shriveled ruin, milky liquid dripping from a slash in the sightless bulge, but the smaller eyes on their stalks glittered with maddened rage. They stared at her, growing swiftly nearer. The charging monster would either ram her into the stones and crush the life from her, or roll over at the last instant to shred her with its fangs- teeth adorning a jagged mouth quite large enough to swallow her.

Asper shuddered, shook her head to clear it, and raised the gore-streaming blade she still held. Mirt came gasping up to her, stout sword raised-and the beholder's eyes vanished behind its own bulk. It rolled over to reveal the gaping maw that would devour her.

A giant among its own kind and armed with spells that they lacked, magic enough to overmatch many a human mage, Xuzoun had been contemptuously overconfident. It was always a mistake with humans, he vaguely remembered an older tyrant telling him once.

It would take many spells and long, long months in hiding to regain what had been lost in a few moments of red, reaving pain . . . but first to still the hands that had done this, forever!

Mirt fetched up against Asper, panting. "Are ye mad, la.s.s? Yon-"Asper shoved him away, hard, spun about, and dived away. Mirt staggered backward and, with a roar of pain, sat down hard on bruising stone. The beholder crashed into the stones where they'd stood, snapping and tearing with its teeth.

Rubble sprayed or rolled in all directions as the beholder raked the heap of stone apart, teeth grating on rock. The impact sent it cartwheeling helplessly away through the air-and uncovered a battered, unsteadily reeling tavernmaster.

Durnan found his feet and climbed grimly out of the heaped stones, growling at the pain of several stiffening bruises. He'd been buried long enough to know the first cold touch of despair and was in a mood to rend beholders.

"Urrrgh," Mirt snarled, waddling awkwardly to his feet. "What's this the earth spits forth? Tavernmasters gone carelessly strolling through Skullport?"

"Well met, old friend," Durnan said, grinning and clapping Mirt on the shoulder with fingers that seemed made of iron.

Mirt's mustache made that overall bristling movement that betokened a smile.

"I saw the little minx ye came seeking, sitting as cool as ye please in Bindle's Blade, tossing down amberjack-so I came in haste, knowing ye'd be avidly hunting down a trap!" He cast a look at the beholder as it thudded into the wall of a stronghouse, where pale faces had just suddenly vanished from view. "So what did ye do to get a tyrant mad at ye? Refuse to kiss it?"

"Your wit slides out razor sharp, as always, Old Wolf," Durnan said with a sly smile that belied the light, innocent tone of his words.

Mirt gestured rudely in reply, and added, "Well?" "Nothing," Durnan said flatly, as they watched the beholder reel, steady itself, and begin to drift their way with menacingly slow, careful speed. "I came out of the Portal to aid a n.o.ble lady-and strode straight into a spell that s.n.a.t.c.hed me here." He grinned suddenly. "Well, at least it saved me a bit of walking."

Mirt harrumphed. "Pity it didn't do the same for me." Rock shifted behind him, and he whirled around, sword out and low-only to relax and smile. "La.s.s, la.s.s, how many times have I told thee how much I hate being sneaked up on from behind?" he chided Asper halfheartedly. She gestured past him with her sword.

"You'd better turn around again, then, my lord," she told him calmly, as a plucking at his belt told him that Durnan had s.n.a.t.c.hed one of his daggers.

Mirt grunted like a walrus and heaved himself around, puffing-in time to see the beholder rushing down at them again, beams of reaving light lancing out from its eyes.

"Keep behind me, both of ye!" the fat moneylender roared. "I'm shielded!"

"Against teeth like those? That's a spell you'll have to show me some time!"

Durnan said, standing at Mirt's shoulder with a dagger in either fist. He'd lost his blade under all the rocks, and one eye had swollen almost shut, but the tavernmaster seemed content-even eager-as death roared down at them again.

With the ease and fluid grace of a prowling serpent, Asper slid up to stand at Mirt's other shoulder. "It seems strange to be worrying about a beholder's teeth," she said, "and not its eyes, for once."

"Get back, la.s.s!" Mirt roared. "As if I haven't worries enough to-"

The beholder crashed into them, snarling and snapping. They hacked and slashed ineffectually against its bony body plates.

Its hot breath whirled around them as they jumped and hewed vainly and ducked aside-only to be struck and hurled away by what felt like a fast-moving castle wall. Durnan grunted as the tyrant smashed him down like a rag doll, and then rolled away into a gully as the beholder tried to crush him. Asper could not keep her feet when the jaws reached for her. She slid out of sight beneath the monster, only to duck up again, stab at it- and be thrown end over end across the ruins, sword flying from her numbed hands to clang and clatter to its own fall. With a gasp and a moan, she fetched up against a broken-off pillar, but Mirt was too busy to hear her.

He was scrambling and cursing and flailing away against persistent fangs, sword ringing off bony plates and fangs alike. In the end, he managed to avoid losing an arm only by setting his sword upright against the closing jaws andletting go. The eye tyrant's jaws caught on the blade, bent it, and spat it out. By then, the three battered, wincing companions were rising out of the rubble widely scattered about the ruin. The bettors yelled fresh wagers in the distance.

"Oh, by the way: this is Xuzoun," Durnan said formally, indicating the eye tyrant with a flourish.

"Ill met," Mirt growled, struggling to his feet. "d.a.m.ned ill met."

Then the faint, everpresent singing of his shields fell silent: his defense against the beholder's eyes was gone.

"G.o.ds blast it," the old moneylender muttered. "To die in Skullport, of all places, and win someone's wager for him . . ."

"Keep apart," Asper said warningly from the rocks off to his right, "lest it take us all down at once."

"Cheerful advice," Durnan commented, watching Xuzoun as it turned slowly to survey them all, unaware no shields remained to foil its magic. "Anyone still have magic to hand?"

"That'll help us against this? Nay," Mirt growled, watching death slowly come for them. All it would take now would be for the beast to lash out with one eye, on a whim, and discover they were defenseless.

Xuzoun had sent forth much magic against these humans and seen it all boil away harmlessly, or come clawing back to harm its hurler. Lords of Waterdeep were tougher than most mortals, it seemed. How to defeat these two-perhaps three, if the woman was one, too-without destroying their bodies?

The doppleganger was dead, so preservation of these humans-their bodies, at least-more or less intact was important. They foiled all magic with ease, and there seemed no way to overcome their wills. And yet, to flee from battle with them now, before an audience of Skulkans, galled.

The beholder's advance slowed, and then stopped. It rose a prudent distance above the ruin and hung there, considering.

"Right, then, I'm off," Mirt said heartily, turning to go. "It's not the season for beholder-hunting, anyway, and I've business to see to, that I left-"