He glanced down at his belt buckle. The faint, silvery glow of its holy power was fading away.

Korvaun's heart started to pound. This shouldn't be possible! The talisman was no wizard's charm but a blessed object. No ghost-not even that of a great wizard-could undo a holy blessing.

Or could it?

Torm preserve us… what if the ghostly spell had been cast on him, not the talisman? A magic to make him afraid…

"The presence of fear does not mean the absence of faith," he said fiercely, his voice almost steady. "I believe. Torm's blessing will protect us from the angry dead."

The ghosts did not retreat. "Protect you," came a hollow, mocking voice from deep in the tomb-shadows. "You."

That fell meaning was not lost on Korvaun, and his heart sank. A glance at the swiftly fading buckle confirmed his grim suspicions.

"Naoni?" he asked suddenly, voice quavering.

"Yes?"

"The talisman's power was meant for one. It protects us both, but overtaxed as it is, it will not last the night."

"And then the ghosts…"

"Yes," Korvaun said, gritting his teeth as the phantoms all around them began to move, whirling up into an eerie dance wherein they leaned at him, one after another, to reach for him with arms ending in dangling, almost-severed hands, leer with jaws that hung half-off, and glare at him from severed heads floating well below the bleeding stumps of necks that had once supported them.

Naoni lifted her head, saw, shivered, and quickly ducked back against him. "Your buckle keeps us safe for now, but is neither large nor powerful enough to see us safe to morning," she whispered, eyes large.

"I fear so," Korvaun replied. Unclasping his belt, he used his dagger to slice the silver buckle free.

"This will protect one person until daylight," he said, pressing it into Naoni's hand. "I want you to have it."

Her slender fingers closed around the faint silver glow, and Korvaun eased away from her. As long as Naoni was safe, he could die content. Like a true Helmfast, he But Naoni seized the front of his tunic and pulled him back. "I'm going to stand," she told him briskly. "Rise with me, and hold me close, but stand behind me with your arms about my waist, leaving my hands free."

He obeyed the firm purpose in her voice, encircling Naoni Dyre's waist with his arms, and despite the danger was struck by how right it felt.

Korvaun drew in a deep breath and stared into the dark, cold eyes of the ghosts. For a moment Naoni rested her head against his shoulder, then straightened, once more brisk and swift, and dug purposefully into her largest belt-pouch.

"I can spin anything into thread," she announced, taking something small and wooden from her bag and beginning a mysteriously complex twisting and turning. "Anything. And what I spin increases in the spinning. A single sweet can yield enough sugared-string to satisfy Faendra's sweet tooth for a tenday. A handful of gems becomes skeins and skeins of shining thread. The sugar-string retains its flavor, the gem-thread its luster. They're the same, only more."

Korvaun blinked. "You can do that to something magic?"

"We're about to find out. Quiet, and let me work."

Korvaun watched in wonder as shining, silvery thread spilled from Naoni's twisting fingers and fell to the odd wooden spindle whirling just above the stone floor. As the thread accumulated, the light grew.

"Take up the spindle," Naoni ordered, "and turn with me as I spin."

Lord Helmfast carefully cradled the whirling thing, and found himself moving with her in a slow, peculiar dance. Thread continued to stream from her busy fingers but now wound loosely about them, cocooning them together in a soft, shining web. With each turn, the ghosts retreated deeper into the darkest corners of the tomb.

Finally Naoni held up empty hands. "We can sit down side by side. 'Twill be easier waiting out the night than standing."

They shuffled carefully to the nearest wall and sank to the stones together. "This is as soft as fine linen," Korvaun marveled, lifting a handful of shining threads in his spread fingers. "How strong is it? Will I be able to cut us free, if someone charges in here with a blade?"

"Spidersilk's stronger than most metal," Naoni told him, "but you can brush it aside with a broom. Nearly anything, spun so fine, can be easily cut."

"Extraordinary," he murmured. "You can be sure the Watchful Order will be calling on you very soon. Such power can hardly be kept secret for long."

Naoni shrugged. "I'm a very minor sorceress. Speaking of the Watchful Order, why don't they drive down and bind these ghosts?" Her voice trembled as a phantom loomed up and caught her gaze.

"They do, but as more and more dead are laid here, and more and more spells cast, things have started, ah, leaking. A Palace wizard told me all about it at a revel. Usually they're not bad-vigils keep them back, and they don't leave the tombs, so the gardens and bowers are safe-but death, especially murder, draws them. And there's some dark magic at work here, this night."

Naoni shivered.

"Tell me of your spinning," Korvaun said hastily, not wanting her to dwell on the butchery she'd seen. "You're marvellously skilled at it, all magic aside. Who taught you?"

Naoni tensed. Though she didn't move, she suddenly seemed farther away.

"I taught myself," she murmured. "I taught myself many things. My mother died when I was twelve."

Korvaun knew old pain when he heard it. "What did she die of?" he asked gently.

"Lack of coins," Naoni said in a strangely lifeless voice.

Silence fell, and Korvaun carefully said nothing, waiting.

"Not something any noble would know about," she added bitterly, turning around in his arms until her back was against him. "You with your rich clothes and carefree carousing and days so full of whim and idleness."

Korvaun decided not to even try to defend himself or the other proud Houses. Instead he asked, as gently as before, "How can one die of poverty when married to a guildmaster?"

"Father wasn't guildmaster then, and commanded just a building crew. He did the work of six, but couldn't earn coins enough. Not nearly enough."

"For?"

"For cure-potions and temple-healings to banish Mother's fever. We barely had enough for her funeral."

"So you had to become mother to the Dyres."

"Yes," Naoni said, and added in a voice as soft and steely as the thread she'd spun, "and I will die before any Dyre lacks for coin again!"

"Well, the cloaks you made for us should soon have you set up in a grand house-in North Ward, say-with all you could want. We've been asked about them scores of times already, by many of Waterdeep's finest."

"Finest," Naoni echoed scornfully. "Finest thieves, finest swindlers, finest-gahh!"

Korvaun held silent, seeking the right words. A great wound begat Naoni's pain, but 'twas an old one. It seemed she'd spent a lifetime rubbing salt into it. If there was any chance of a life for them together, they had to be done with this.

"I wasn't aware that the gods gave any noble child the slightest choice as to the station it was born to, any more than they offer that choice to a babe born to a tavern dancer in some Dock Ward alley. That's a lot of venom to be born of mere envy," he said, picking words likely to goad her into wrath.

The woman in his arms almost exploded. Naoni Dyre managed to sit bolt upright and twist herself around to face him all in one movement. She glared at him with more fire than all the ghosts in all Waterdeep could manage.

"Envy? ENVY? Let me tell you something, Lord High and Mighty Helmfast! I don't envy nobles, I pity them-but I pity far more the folk who must live with them and suffer the hurts of their thoughtless or malicious caprices!"

"Caprices?"

"Hah, think you a mere stonemason's daughter can't know a fancy word or two, do you?"