Flame had just blossomed there, spitting from a torch held high by a familiar figure leaning over its rail. The elf all Waterdeep called the Serpent pointed at the last of the disappearing nobles and then spread his hands and addressed those still in the hall, uncertainly hefting belt-knives and swords of their own. "The hall trembles ever-more-perilously around us! And behold: The fine Lords of Waterdeep all flee into the wine cellars, whilst we remain here. What do they know that we don't?"

There was a silken edge to the Serpent's voice that suggested magical persuasion was at work-powerful magic, judging from the chorus of angry and frightened yells that rose in response, and the general stampede after the nobles.

The wizard Tarthus glared up at Elaith Craulnober, but he merely smiled, stepped back into darkness, and vanished-as another thunderous crash shook the hall.

"The hall's coming down," Korvaun said in sudden understanding, "and the elf, bless his black heart, is getting the people out!"

A fierce grin engulfed Taeros's face. "Then it's the tunnels for us, after all."

They worked their way swiftly through the chaos. The stream of running tradesmen and crafters was melting to a trickle, leaving a handful of revelers whose avarice was more powerful than Elaith's compulsion. Greedy hands plucked swords and daggers and gems from those who'd never need them again.

Then Faendra Dyre stiffened and cried, "Father!"

The man who'd just come staggering out of the dust-filled archway into the other hall was dazed, his face covered with lines of dusty blood, and he did not seem to hear her. Yet under the stone-dust that made him almost entirely gray-white, it was Varandros Dyre clearly enough.

"Come on," she said, in a voice that was almost a sob, and flung herself at the stairs back down out of the gallery. The others exchanged dismayed glances and followed her.

"Dyre! What happened to you?" Jarago Whaelshod rose from snatching a dagger out of a sprawled noble's sheath and blinked at the stonemason.

Karrak Lhamphur was hastening down the hall with two swords in his hands to join them and the words, "Who's this?"

'This' was the highcoin-lass Nalys, a lit lantern in her hand and a worried frown on her face, stepping out of the dust to seek Varandros. He wheeled around, embraced her with a fierce grin, and growled, "Lead us, gel! The winecellars!"

She nodded, smiled, turned-and the three New Day stalwarts plunged into the swirling dust a pace ahead of Faendra's rush across the hall and shouts of, "Father! Father!"

A fresh booming swallowed her cries, and with an ear-splitting crash brought down the uppermost gallery onto the one below, all along one side of the feasting hall.

The wizard Tarthus shouted something to Madeiron. The Lord's Champion snatched up Piergeiron as if he was an infant rather than a tall and well-muscled man, and hurried back through the arch with Mirt and Tarthus close behind.

And the dust swallowed them.

The smiling weaponmaster stepped away from the sewer-wall he'd been leaning against.

"Here we stand, all mustered as the Master commanded! And may I add my pleasure at hearing of your safe recovery, Tincheron. The Master can call on powerful healing."

Golden eyes remained cold, and massive silver-scaled shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Indeed," the half-dragon said curtly. "You know your orders?"

"Hunt down and slay every monster-man we see. Otherwise, butcher older nobles and all guards wearing the livery of noble houses. No heirs, and no servants."

"Correct. As we're being so talkative, Lurlar, know that Lord Craulnober doesn't want the noble houses destroyed, only weakened. Younger nobles are far more… pliable."

"Corruptible," sneered one of the roughblades Lurlar had mustered.

"So we're not murdering nobles," Lurlar offered, "but ah, pruning them-gardener-like."

"Precisely. Come, efficient gardeners!"

Beldar Roaringhorn ducked around a pillar and drove his blade into the throat of a man who had horns like a bull thrusting straight forward from his temples.

With a bubbling roar of agony, the man spewed blood and went down. A torch guttered out nearby, plunging that part of the sewers into near-darkness. Everywhere men were running and stamping and grunting, and steel was skirling on warsteel. Off to the left, lamps bobbed wildly, and all around Beldar, men who were part monster were rushing and pouncing. As he watched, one stepped from pillar-shadows Beldar would have sworn were deserted and slapped a tentacle around a noble's neck, twisting with brutal force.

The old lord-Beldar didn't recognize him; probably a drone-uncle like Beldar himself might become, if he ever lived so long, not that the gods were likely to grant that-died in a red-faced, eye-bulging instant. Two monster-men swarmed the body for knives and coins almost before it hit the floor.

A blade thrust past Beldar's shoulder, so close that he heard the cloth of his tunic whisper as it was cut. Then something that looked like the maw of a lamprey spiraled at his face… and he was fighting for his life. Again.

Blood was everywhere underfoot, slick and slippery, and the bodies were Naoni tripped over huddled death for perhaps the twelfth time, stumbled, and fetched up bruisingly against a wall. Everywhere men were crossing swords in these tunnels, shrieking, shouting and dying, and there was no sign of Father or those who'd been with him, lost in the wild rush from the feasting hall down into these tunnels. Faendra was streaming silent tears but kept her lower lip firmly between her teeth to keep back her sobs-and held her dagger out and ready.

The dull, rolling boomings went on, slower and more ponderous, but showers of dust and grit fell at every echoing impact. Torches and lanterns flickered here and there in the gloom, and spell-glows of magical weapons flashed where stronger lights had failed.

They were in a warren of intersecting tunnels, the wine racks far behind. The Gemcloaks kept close together, fighting off nobles, frightened merchants, and what seemed like half the thieves in Dock Ward. The vicious half.

A man lunged out of a side way to topple a barrel, sending apples rolling underfoot. Korvaun and Taeros both flailed arms, cursed, and fell.

The man sprang forward, extending impossibly long arms. The fingers of his hands became long, slender biting snakes. One almost sank its fangs in Faendra's face but bit only hair as she shrieked and ducked away. Another struck at Lark's cheek, but Delopae's wicked dagger reached out of nowhere to slice away its tongue and part of its snout, trailing blood and venom, and the man roared in pain.

A moment later, Roldo and Starragar had ducked under those snake arms and buried their blades in the monster-man's ribs. He sagged to the unseen floor, sobbing and gurgling.

Naoni stumbled on rolling apples, went to her knees, and down the passage saw a cloak catch fire from a torch. It flared up brightly, casting light across a face she knew. "Baraezym!"

As he drove his belt-dagger deep into the burning man's throat, her father's surviving apprentice heard her and peered toward her in astonishment.

Two creatures who seemed more wolf than man, but with large crab-pincers instead of paws, promptly burst out of another passage and pounced on him.

"Get to Baraezym! Save him!" Naoni shouted, pointing, and Starragar ran past her, wincing as he crushed an apple underfoot and wrenched his ankle in the doing, and sprinted down the passage. Taeros scrambled up and after him, running hard.