Tarl gazed at his wife with admiration and frustration. He shook his head in defeat and opened the door for her. By the gods, he loved this woman.

First Councilman Kroegel rose to meet the pair. "So glad you could attend our meeting. In these troubled times, it is comforting to have loyal citizens to defend Phlan."

Tarl bowed to His Holiness, Seventh Councilman Wahl. He was pleasurably reminded that a cleric of Tyr had held a seat on the council for the last hundred years. Tarl had been offered the seat, but he shunned politics. Administrative duties didn't appeal to his free spirit. Bishop Wahl was an excellent alternative; he and Tarl had always seen eye to eye on matters in the past.

Fifth Councilwoman Bordish motioned to several comfortable padded benches. "We've called you here to discuss an effort at peace."

"We're here to talk about a raid into the cavern, not about peace," Tarl said, jumping up and pacing before the Council of Ten. "How can you even think of talking peace? We've been attacked repeatedly and our homes have been moved to gods-only-know-where. If whoever did this had any intention of negotiating, don't you think we'd know by now? I don't see that we're in any position to bargain!"

"Sit down, Tarl," Bishop Wahl replied gently. "I posed the same concern to the council over the past two days. They want to attempt a truce, and I want you to lead the contingent making the attempt. If something goes wrong, the envoys at least have a chance of making it back to the city."

"With Tarl and I along, you can be sure of that," Shal said, smiling to her husband.

"You can't go," Tarl hissed under his breath. He gave her a silent stare that meant they would talk privately later. He turned to the council. "I will lead your peace mission. I want Thorvid of Porter, Alaric the White, and Pomanz as companions. I also want my opinion entered in the official record that this isn't going to work. I think the effort is doomed."

"Your fears are noted," sneered Fourth Councilwoman Eldred. "But the men you picked are all knights. How do you expect to talk peace with only warriors at your back?"

"I'll do all the talking. Those men are along to provide muscle if we're attacked. We'll leave within the hour. Please alert the knights I have named and ask them to wait at the Death Gates."

Husband and wife walked out of the council chambers, hurrying toward Denlor's Tower.

"Shal, I know you're angry and I know you want to come along. But I have a more important job for you. I'm going to try this peace attempt, but I'm sure it'll fail. I need you standing by to save this delegation when we're attacked."

The sorceress's mood softened. She smiled at her husband as they headed down the cobbled street. "I suspected you had some plan in mind. I appreciate the idea of riding in like an avenging angel when you get in trouble. I'll watch you magically and jump in when I'm needed. Just make sure nothing happens to you until I get there."

The couple walked arm in arm to their tower to prepare once again for war.

An hour later, Tarl and his party stood before the Death Gates, ready to leave. The cleric scowled at the truce flags his men carried.

Above the cavern that held Phlan hostage, high in the vermilion-stoned tower, the Red Wizard seethed.

"Truce flags? They can't surrender! I just finished lining up all the forest creatures sent by that fiendish god Moander. If Phlan surrenders, I can't pull down the walls," Marcus raved. "Tell them to go back to their pathetic city and suffer my wrath for resisting!" Red robes swirled as the fuming mage paced his chamber.

The mercenary commander who brought the message had turned to leave when a commanding voice shouted, "Stop! Latenat!"

"Fiend, don't hinder me now! Keep to your room and I will handle the war down below," Marcus said, conversing with the air around him.

The mercenary hadn't moved, but was silently confirming his opinion that no amount of gold was worth this job.

"Marcus," the voice continued calmly, "we are ordered to deliver as many souls as possible from Phlan into the pool of darkness. Do you suppose when you use the trees of Moander, the very trees of death I gave you, that a few of those souls might be lost in the battle? Latenat!"

"Yes, a few of the rabble can be expected to perish. On the other hand, after the dust clears, Phlan will be defeated, which accomplishes my personal goals. That's what's really important, after all."

The throne room suddenly became filled with the smell of blood. The now-terrified mercenary observed a distinct dimming of the lights in the chamber. A chill ran up his spine.

"Maaar-cus," the voice became honey-sweet. "Would you please dismiss your commander? Latenat!"

"Yes, of course." The Red Wizard of Thay waved the mercenary away. "I will get back to you momentarily with my decisions. Leave me now."

The warrior of Bane departed in relief. He noticed a dark object growing in the wizard's hand, but didn't want to be around long enough to learn what it was.

In the red-gold throne room, the pit fiend appeared, accompanied by a loud thunderclap.

"Master, do you still wish to become a demigod on this plane? Latenat!"

"Of course, fool. I haven't gone to all this effort to have my plans upset."

"Knowing this is your will, how can you expect me to make you all-powerful? You have left me only the souls of a washer woman and a baker boy to absorb through the pool! Latenat!"

"What do you mean, fiend? Make your thoughts known, I order you!" Marcus held the black heart out for the fiend to see and covet.

The pit fiend ignored the implied threat and stomped his twelve-foot body up to the throne of the wizard. The monster glared into his eyes.

"The more people you kill, the fewer souls remain for our purposes. Do you think you could use that famous cunning Red Wizards are known for and trick these people? Let them believe they can leave the city, according to their free will. Entice the populace into the pool of darkness. Latenat!"

Green drool splashed from the fiend's fangs and splattered on the red-gold floor of the throne room. The sticky, acidic poison hissed and sparked red. This time, however, the acid left no trace.

Marcus smiled. He had grown disgusted with the condition of the floor of his spellcasting chamber and had silently vowed that such oozing pockmarks wouldn't mar his throne room any longer. With some effort, he had devised a spell to protect the floor from all types of slimes. The Red Wizard, pleased with his game, gave the fiend a wide grin, thinking, It's the little victories that really count, after all.

Marcus addressed his powerful servant. "Yes, I can trick this city of fools. But this game would be more fun if I could defeat Phlan with the armies you gave me. Unfortunately, you are right, my fine fiend. Souls are more important to our futures. Consider this trickery done. Now, go back to the spellcasting chamber. You are stinking up my beautiful throne room!"

"As you wish, master," the deep voice grated as the fiend teleported out of the room.

"Fiends are such childlike creatures," Marcus sighed, before arising to see to arrangements.

Alone in the throne room, the erinyes hopped out of her alcove to stretch her feathered wings. The creature flopped down in Marcus's throne to lounge undisturbed. Having heard the entire conversation, she amused herself by dreaming of ways to vent her "childish" impulses on the entrails of the Red Wizard.

"A strange forest we ride through, my lord. I don't remember a forest growing in this part of the cavern before."

Eyeing the trees, the knight Thorvid sheathed his sword and unhooked a large battle-axe from his saddle. The four men on horseback slowly trotted through a forest of twisted, moldering trees. Moss dangled and swayed eerily from mottled brown branches.