"This-this is not right!" an old noble growled, reaching for his sword. "Give me that, man!"

And he plucked a Watch-horn out of the hands of a paling, stammering officer and blew it as hard as he could, in the old, frantic dah-DAH, da-DAH blast that meant Aid! Aid here! All aid here NOW! That call was echoed in the streets around the City of the Dead, and helmed heads turned, peering down from the towers of the city wall along the east side of the cemetery.

"They're coming for us!" a cobbler shouted, waving a stool around his head like a club. "They'll hunt us down! Fight for your necks! Fight for your freedom! Fight for Waterdeep!"

"For Waterdeep!" the roar went up, as furious as any beast's howl, and all Watchmen within reach died in a few panting moments of furious hacking.

Watch-horns were sounding closer, now-and the high, clear song of a City Guard muster-horn rang out from a wall-tower.

Some folk cowered, but others bawled defiance and fury, and ran at all who stood against them. The old noble's blade bought the whimpering young Watchman a few moments more of fearful life ere they were both hacked down. Then everyone was running, racing amid the tombs as Watchmen and armored Guardsmen with drawn swords burst into the cemetery at every gate. Women and children screamed and wept and ran wildly across the sward, men snatched up cobblestones and funeral urns and turned to fling and overwhelm anyone in uniform-and swords were snatched from failing hands to be swung against the law-keepers.

"The New Day!" someone shouted. "For the New Day! Down with the Lords!"

"They killed Piergeiron! For Piergeiron!"

A fat man swung a captured Watch blade so hard that it burst apart in shards and sparks around him as it bent the sword it struck and drove a tall Guardsman head-over-booted-heels down a short stone stair into bushes, where shrieking women, clawing and kicking, overwhelmed him.

Guard-horns sang out over the tumult as astonished commanders stared open-mouthed over the sea of angry citizenry.

"'Tis a bloody war! A war within our gates!" one snarled, and blew the horncall that would summon the Watchful Order. Surely this fury must be spell-driven…

A few frantic breaths later, he blew his horn again, this time the call for his men to rally around. It was soon accomplished, for anyone who'd dared stray too far from his fellows had already been slain.

"This is madness!" he shouted, to those who were left. "If we try to stand, we'll be butchering fellow citizens until it's too dark to see! So: Sword-ring, blades out, and walk steadily back to the gate we came in by! We'll form a shield-wall outside the Deadrest!"

With his horn he told Guardsmen elsewhere what they was doing as screaming, curse-spitting citizens crowded close around his men again, striking with bench-slats, lamplighting poles, and anything else long enough to outreach a Guard's blade.

Hardened Watch and Guard officers cursed in amazement as they fought their way back to the gates.

"They've gone mad! Mad!" one snarled, and others nodded grimly, their eyes wide in sweating faces.

"That's it," a white-haired Guard officer snapped from his saddle, as blood-drenched Guardsmen staggered out through the gate in front of him. "Form two shield-walls, funneling back that way! Arrest all who leave, and at sunset, close this gate!"

The woman sitting cold-faced on the horse behind his lifted her hand in a swift gesture, and a sudden blue glow swirled around the officer's mouth. Abruptly, the sounds of other men shouting came out of it, and another cold order, from unseen lips: "Spread the word. I, Marimmon of the Guard, do so order: round up all who flee the City of the Dead before sunset-and close the gates at that time on those who don't. Fell magic's at work among the tombs! Ghosts or no ghosts, I'm not having this butchery spill out into the streets!"

CHAPTER TWENTY

Something-she never knew what-brought Naoni out of her reverie and abruptly to her feet with a small cry of dismay. The shadows had deepened alarmingly while she'd been lost in thought; the sky was already the soft purple of coming twilight. She gathered her skirts and ran down the path, plunging through the cold magic of the portal.

A strange din- battle?-grew louder as she hurried from the Rest toward the grander tombs, but Naoni never slowed. Better to dash through a scuffle than cower in the shadows and be locked in when the gates were closed at nightfall.

A flung cobblestone flew past her shoulder. She ducked hastily into the nearest tomb, spun around, and peered back out.

Ahead, men and women were throttling each other, punching and thrusting daggers into whoever was nearest, clubbing people bloodily to the ground with walking-sticks and bench-slats. More than once Naoni winced and turned away, feeling her gorge rise.

Only to turn back again, not daring to look away too long, lest someone come charging her way with murder in their eyes.

She felt sick. So many shouts of "New Day" and "Down with the Lords"… and now, so much blood.

Half the shopkeepers and crafters in Waterdeep seemed to be out there on the grass and now-trampled gardens of the City of the Dead, angrily trying to slay each other. Soon it would be dark, and the Watch patrols were nowhere to be seen. Were they just going to let people kill each other here all night?

Here, in with the restless dead?

Something cold touched her spine, sliding down to her hips in what was almost a caress, and Naoni whirled around, unable to stifle a little shriek of alarm.

There was no one there-nothing but a hint of movement in the gathering darkness of the tomb.

Naoni swallowed hard. The dead walked the City of the Dead after dark, 'twas said. She'd always thought that a scare-tale, put about to keep honest folk out of the walled cemetery by night, to cut down on carousing and trysting and knifings-but now she could see something grinning at her. Something not quite seen, not quite there… something with teeth that glinted as it came toward her, a shifting darkness in the darkness.

She couldn't stay here!

Naoni whirled and ran out of the tomb. She shrieked as a thrown dagger flashed over her arm and past her, almost catching on her bodice.

Its owner was a tall, burly man, stinking of fear and of badly cured hides. He struck out wildly with his fists, catching Naoni on the forehead and sending her reeling. The target of his fury, however, was a crawling, stumbling scents-seller Naoni had seen in Ship Street a time or two.

"Now you're caught, you dirty Lords' spy!" the big man snarled, pouncing.

A hooked hide-knife flashed across the perfumer's throat. Dark blood sprayed, and the doomed man's cry of protest came out as a despairing, sobbing gurgle.

The murderer let go of a fistful of hair, and the dying man's face thumped onto the turf at a sickening angle. The leatherworker turned, wearing a bloodthirsty grin.

He caught sight of Naoni, who'd fetched up against the tomb wall to wait for the world to stop spinning-and his smile changed.

"Well now," he said hungrily, gazing at the swift, frightened rise and fall of her chest. "I never much favored skinny, flame-haired wenches… but here we are."

Oh, gods. Naoni scrabbled for the tiny shears in her belt-sheath. Waving them like a dagger, she backed away along the roughness of the wall and all too soon felt it end, and that cold, bone-chilling caress come again. On her leg, this time, and She whirled with a despairing sob, knowing she couldn't hope to outrun the leatherworker, and launched herself across the grass with ghostly fingers tugging at her and the leatherworker's eager chuckling right behind her.

Then another man came around the corner of the tomb with a bloody sword in his hand, heading right at her with stern murder in his eyes: Korvaun Helmfast!