A hail of arrows arched above the square from rooftops across the way, and the wizard staggered back into the room, killed by the unexpected barrage.

The battle raged with missiles magical and mundane. A group of warriors charged across the square at the house, only to be driven back by a devastating volley of magical flame and lightning.

A second magical volley rose up just south of the house, aimed at it, and despite all the wards of the Hosttower wizards trapped inside, a corner of the building roared in flames.

From a large palace some distance to the northwest, High Captains Taerl and Suljack watched it all with growing fascination.

“It’s the same tale each time,” Suljack remarked.

“No less than twenty o’ Deudermont’s followers dead,” Taerl replied, to which Suljack merely shrugged.

“Deudermont will replace archers and swordsmen far more readily than Arklem Greeth will find wizards to throw fireballs at them,” Suljack said. “This is to end the same way all of them have, with Deudermont’s men drawing out every ounce of magical energy from Greeth’s wizards then rushing over them.

“And look out in the harbor,” he went on, pointing to the masts of four ships anchored in the waterway between Fang and Harbor Arm Islands, and between Fang Island and Cutlass Island, which housed the Hosttower. “Word is that Kurth’s shut the Sea Tower down, so it can’t oppose Sea Sprite, or anyone else that tries to put in on southern Cutlass. Deudermont’s already got Greeth blocked east, west, and north, and south’ll be closed within a short stretch. Arklem Greeth’s not long for the world, or not long for Luskan, at least.”

“Bah, but ye’re not remembering the power o’ that one!” Taerl protested. “He’s the archmage arcane!”

“Not for long.”

“When those boys get close to the Hosttower, you’ll see how long,” Taerl argued. “Kurth won’t let them cross Closeguard, and going at Arklem Greeth by sea alone will fill the harbor with bodies, whether Sea Tower’s to oppose them or not. More likely, Greeth’s wanting Sea Tower empty so that Deudermont and his boys’ll foolishly walk onto Cutlass Island and he can sink their ships behind them.”

“Nothing foolish about Captain Deudermont,” Suljack reminded his companions, something every living man who ever sailed the Sword Coast knew all too well. “And nothing weak about that dog Robillard who walks beside him. If this was just Brambleberry, I’d be thinking you’re right, friend.”

A loud cheer went up across the way, and Suljack and Taerl looked across to see Deudermont riding down one of the side streets, the crowd swelling behind him. Both high captains turned to the wizards’ safehouse, knowing the fight would be over all too soon.

“He’s to win, I tell you,” said Suljack. “We should all just throw in with him now and ride the wind that’s filling Deudermont’s sails.”

The stubborn Taerl snorted and turned away, but Suljack grabbed him and turned him right back, pointing to a group of men flanking Deudermont. They wore the garb of city guards, and seemed as enthusiastic as the men Brambleberry had brought along from Waterdeep—more so, even.

“Your boys,” Suljack said with a grin.

“Their choice, not me own,” the high captain protested.

“But you didn’t stop them,” Suljack replied. “Some of Baram’s boys are down there, too.”

Taerl didn’t respond to Suljack’s knowing grin. The fight for Luskan was going exactly as Kensidan had predicted, to Arklem Greeth’s ultimate dismay, no doubt.

“Fires in the east, fires in the north,” Valindra said to Arklem Greeth, the two of them looking out from the Hosttower to the same scene as Taerl and Suljack, though from an entirely different direction and an entirely different perspective.

“Anyone of worth to us will have the spells needed to get back to the Hosttower,” Greeth replied.

“Only those skilled in such schools,” said Valindra. “Unlike Blaskar—we have not heard from him.”

“My mistake in appointing him overwizard,” said Greeth. “As it was my mistake in ever trusting that Raurym creature. I will see her dead before this is ended, don’t you doubt that.”

“I don’t, but I wonder to what end.”

Arklem Greeth turned on her fiercely, but Valindra Shadowmantle didn’t back down.

“They press us,” she said.

“They will not cross Closeguard and we can fend them off from the rocky shores of Cutlass,” Greeth replied. “Station our best invokers and our most clever illusionists to every possible landing point, and guard their positions with every magical fortification you can assemble. Robillard and whatever other wizards Deudermont holds at his disposal are not to be taken lightly, but as they are aboard ship and we’re on solid ground, the advantage is ours.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as need be!” Arklem Greeth yelled, his undead eyes glowing with inner fires. He calmed quickly, though, and nodded, conceding, “You are correct, of course. Deudermont and Brambleberry will be relentless and patient as long as Luskan accepts them. Perhaps it’s time we turn that game back on them.”

“You will speak with the high captains?”

Arklem Greeth scoffed before she ever finished the question. “With Kurth, perhaps, or perhaps not. Are you so certain those foolish pirates are not in fact behind this peasant uprising?”

“Deudermont learned of our complicity in the piracy along the Sword Coast, I’m told.”

“And suddenly found a willing ally in Brambleberry, and a willing traitor in Arabeth Raurym? Convenience is often a matter of careful planning, and as soon as I’m finished with the idiot Deudermont, I intend to have a long discussion with each of the high captains. One I doubt any of them will enjoy.”

“And until then?”

“Allow that to be my concern,” Arklem Greeth told her. “You see to the defense of Cutlass Island. But first pry Overwizard Rimardo from his library in the east tower and bid him go and learn what has happened to Blaskar. And remind our muscular friend that if he is too busy shaking hands, he’ll have one less arm available for casting spells.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go find Blaskar while Rimardo prepares the defenses?”

“If Rimardo is too stupid or distracted to do his work correctly, I would rather have the consequences befall him when I’m not standing right behind him,” said the lich. He grinned wickedly, taking Valindra’s measure with his undressing stare. “Besides, you only wish to go that you might find an opportunity to unearth our dear Arabeth. Nothing would please you more than destroying that one, yes?”

“Guilty as charged, Archmage.”

Arklem Greeth lifted a cold hand to cup Valindra’s narrow elf chin. “If I were only alive,” he said wistfully. “Or perhaps, if you were only dead.”

Valindra swallowed hard at that one, and fell back a step, out of Greeth’s deathly cold grasp. The archmage arcane cackled his wheezing laugh.

“It’s time to punish them,” he said. “Arabeth Raurym most of all.”

Late that night, Arklem Greeth, a gaseous and insubstantial cloud, slipped out of the Hosttower of the Arcane. He drifted across Closeguard Island and resisted the urge to go into Kurth Tower and disturb the high captain’s sleep.

Instead, he went right past the structure and across the bridge to the mainland, to Luskan proper. Just off the bridge, he turned left, north, and entered an overgrown region of brambles, creepers, broken towers, and general disrepair: Illusk, the only remaining ruins of an ancient city. It wasn’t more than a couple of acres—at least above ground. There was much more below, including damp old tunnels reaching out to Closeguard Island, and to Cutlass Island beyond that. The place smelled of rotting vegetation, for Illusk also served as a dump for waste from the open market just to the north.