Gigantic stone legs, blocking every way out of the trembling, crumbling festhall. Legs attached to stone bodies that towered over the shattered roof, like disapproving Watchmen standing above a fallen citizen.

The Walking Statues of Waterdeep had surrounded the Purple Silks and made of it a prison-a prison that with a few blows or kicks they could collapse into a tomb for all still inside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Beldar's jaw clenched in fury. So Golskyn could control the Statues through him, without his knowledge.

Well, he didn't want this power, but by all the gods, he'd not let the mad priest use it!

Beldar growled aside the burning pain in his eye and hurled his will into a silent command. Overhead, the Statues took a single step back.

Mrelder looked up, hearing and feeling the Walking Statues moving. That was it; this battle was lost. He put a firm hand on his father's shoulder and steered the old priest firmly toward a side tunnel and escape.

But Golskyn pulled away, giving his son a scornful glare. Once it would have wounded Mrelder deeply, but he no longer desired his father's approval or believed the insane plans of Lord Unity could be made real.

"We can leave-or we can die," he said bluntly.

Golskyn raised hands that flickered with deadly magic, in clear warning. "I go no farther without the successor! Use your spells to bring us Beldar Roaringhorn!"

Mrelder wasn't sure that was still possible, but he nodded curtly and began to weave the sorcery that would roar commands inside the nobleman's head.

Terrible pain lanced through Beldar's skull. He tore off his eyepatch and sank to his knees, trembling. The beastman he'd been about to slay stopped his lurching retreat and trotted forward, spiked mace rising for an easy kill.

Beldar's beholder eye responded, forcing up the head that held it, to let it glare.

The noble watched a sore erupt on the beastman's face, oozing and spreading with incredible speed. It was rather like watching a wax party decoration tossed across a flame-if that wax figure melted, screaming, into greenish ooze and exposed bone.

The pain in Beldar's head ebbed, and he stared in revulsion at his dying foe. No one and nothing should die like this! He swung his blade across the beastman's throat and turned away as the gurgling scream faded.

Something stirred in his throbbing head: the faint echo of someone else's surprise.

So his watcher hadn't expected that mercy-slaying. Good. Then he knew that Beldar Roaringhorn was not yet a helpless puppet. His choices were still his own.

And by the gods, he would choose well!

Taeros coughed smoke and staggered to his feet. The foulness was billowing from burning corpses. Nearby, Starragar clung to his dead love, still sobbing. Roldo's tunic hung in slashed rags, but he stood wincing as Faendra worked to staunch the blood running from the gashes across his chest. Naoni knelt over Korvaun, who lay sprawled on the floor. Lark stood guard between her mistresses, eyes alert and dagger ready. Her gaze touched his, and Taeros blinked at the realization that she stood ready to leap to his defense, too.

A soft murmur came from the floor, and Taeros looked again at Naoni and Korvaun.

A good pair of Helmfast breeches had been slit away, revealing a row of round, red welts on his thigh. Naoni was lying beside Korvaun now, her head on his chest and her face deathly pale. Korvaun held her with one arm, but his other twitched, often and sharply.

Fear swept through Taeros in an icy tide. "Up, man," he said gruffly. "We're far from done yet."

Korvaun's smile was faint. "True enough… for you."

Taeros glared at the welts. "Venom," he said grimly. "That snake thing that took us down must have been-oh, blast it all, it matters not!"

He drew his dagger and dropped to his knees beside Korvaun. "This'll hurt, but lacking magic or the right poison-quell… I'll have to cut open each of those and suck the venom out."

"Too late," Korvaun said. "Look at my arm: 'Tis in my blood." He smiled faintly. "If you were a flock of stirges you might drain me dry, but that'd hardly be an improvement."

They stared into each other's eyes until Taeros shook his head angrily and snapped, "Faen, Lark: help me! Let's get Korvaun into yonder cellar-end."

"And what?" Roldo demanded. "Just leave him there?"

"Lark can stand guard. We'll go get a healer, and return as fast as we can."

Roldo looked to Korvaun.

"Listen to Taeros, my friend," the youngest Lord Helmfast said, his eyelids drooping. "He knows what must be done."

His eyes drifted shut. "Advising sage," he murmured. "The role you seek… suits you well. Take it up again when you can. For now, you must lead."

Taeros found himself choking back tears, for he knew no healer could come in time. "I'll take it up in Torm's halls," he said roughly, "when again I find myself at Korvaun Helmfast's side."

Korvaun smiled faintly. "I'll keep your seat warm and your ale cool. Go now, and see this through!"

A man with serpents as long as spears sprouting from his forearms dodged out of a sewer-tunnel behind one of Elaith's hurrying jackcoats.

The man whirled, sword flashing, but by then three or four snakeheads had sunk their fangs into him, and a fifth made short and savage work of his face.

Taeros Hawkwinter crouched grimly watching, one hand raised in an imperious "all keep silent" signal, his sword ready in the other.

Roldo whispered, "Are we just going to watch? Why aren't we-"

The beastman left the writhing, foaming jackcoat to die and ran on, calling some sort of wordless signal. Side-passages erupted with streams of monster-men, running up into the winecellars of the Purple Silks.

"That's why," Taeros muttered, eyes fierce and face hard. "If we throw our lives away trying to be glorious heroes, Waterdeep won't get warned in time, and all of those will be out in the streets, lurking and awaiting every nightfall, to slay at will!"

A tunnel rang with a sudden clash of steel, and a beastman staggered out of it, body transfixed by the blades of half a dozen of Elaith's jackcoats. Groaning, the man-monster fell on his face. The jackcoats jerked forth bloody blades and ran on-back up into the winecellars.

"It seems the Purple Silks is filling up again," Taeros observed caustically. "Ready for more festivities, everyone?"

More jackcoats and a few beastmen darted out of various tunnels to ascend into the wine cellars. The sewers were growing quieter-and darker, too, with almost all the lanterns and torches gone out. Soon there'd be none left but the dead… and whatever might come along to feed on them.

"Everyone's ready," Roldo announced grimly.

The Hawkwinter nodded curtly. "You step out that way, facing down into the sewers, and I'll face that way, toward the cellars. Everyone else come out between us. We form a ring of steel and go up, everyone looking to the sides as we go. Roldo, keep watch behind, and shout the moment you see any movement, even if it's something very small coming at you."

Roldo stared at his hitherto easy-going friend. "You sound like a veteran warcaptain of Hawkwinter Hall!"

For once, Taeros wasted neither time nor wit on a sharp response. If he fell short of a warcaptain's wisdom this night, there were graves waiting for them all.

Lord Ulb Jardeth staggered wearily into the feasting hall, face blood-streaked and leaning on a notched and blunted sword. He blinked in surprise at all the bright light.