A roar again erupted in the streets, and the mob began chanting, "We are freed, we are freed, we are freed!"

Tarl bellowed to be heard over the noise. "I wish you to be free of danger, too! But leaving the walls of the city will not save you from the foes that have attacked us for months! You will march to certain death!"

"Shall I sing a song to answer Tarl?" the bard asked the crowd.

"A song-sing us a song!" the crowd called back.

The bard raised his lute and addressed Tarl.

"Noble and fearless stood a fine priest,

His city and people behind him,

They battled and fought but could not slay the beast,

So Tarl led the charge to a new land."

Latenat continued, verse after verse, about Tarl and his heroics. So persuasively did the bard sing that even Tarl began to wonder whether it wasn't indeed time for the people of Phlan to leave.

He looked longingly at the men who stood by to raise the gates. Shal knew it was time to step in.

"Tarl, dear husband! Hear my voice and no other!" She turned to the peculiar minstrel. "Sing no more songs, bard or whatever you are. No one is going with you."

Shal levitated herself into the air, a vision of magical power. As Shal glared down at the bard, the bewitched crowd became filled with fear. At one time or another, everyone had seen her power used against armies of monsters. There was no doubt she could blast the crowd to cinders if she wished.

"Come up into the light of truth, bard." The wizard raised her hand. A purple mist curled and streaked toward the minstrel. When the vapors tried to lift him, they puffed into harmless gas and dissipated.

"I can join you on my own power, if that is what you wish, my dear." He strummed his lute, and the chords of music wove into a silver staircase hovering in the air. Latenat strolled up to Shal as the crowd shouted its pleasure at seeing the two together. The wizard was startled, but hid her surprise.

The crowd hushed. Freedom was within their grasp. Many citizens shifted their packs, adjusting their bags of gold and silver. Surely the gates would be opening at any moment.

"Sweet child, your husband is prepared to join me. Learn from the other women of the city. Be a good little wife."

His condescending attitude only infuriated Shal further.

"Your spells and magical suggestions won't work on me. We can talk and you can leave, or we can fight. It's up to you." Shal's baby kicked hard, but her grimace only made her appear more determined.

"Why, lovely lady, I could never fight you. If gentle reason won't work, I can leave these good people to their fates. Perhaps they wouldn't mind living out their lives in this charming cave." The bard's sugary voice disgusted Shal, but his words upset the crowd and the citizens began grumbling among themselves.

"I only wish to… Argh!"

Suddenly the bard collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest. His lute fell from the staircase onto the stone street and smashed into hundreds of pieces. Shal's eyes widened. None of her group had used any magic against the bard yet. The sorceress suspected a trick.

"No! Not now!" Now the bard groaned and twisted in pain. Still on his magical stairway, he suddenly transformed into a black, horrifying pit fiend. His batlike wings thrashed on the staircase. Great talons scratched and gouged at the magical structure as the monster hissed and drooled.

The creature that had been the wondrous bard Latenat turned to vapor and vanished. Children screamed and cried. To the people of Phlan who had adored him only moments before, this new apparition filled them with horror and revulsion. Now they wept in terror at the creature's trickery, falsehoods that had nearly led them to tragedy.

Tarl came to his senses and reached for Shal, pulling her close. The people in the streets wailed in anguish. Shal collapsed in relief into her husband's arms as Tarl addressed the crowd.

"Good people of Phlan, we were nearly tricked into losing our city. We have tolerated this wretched cave long enough. It is time to abandon our walls and save ourselves. Our food is nearly gone. The attacks will only get worse. Take home your valuables, pick up your shields and weapons. Open the armories! Let us march out of here and write a new history for Phlan!"

A deafening cheer arose from the crowd. The citizens turned toward their homes with new hope in their hearts.

Still shaking at the thought of what might have been, Tarl swept up his exhausted wife in his arms and carried her toward Denlor's Tower.

20

After five hours of sleep, Ren, Evaine, and Andoralson all awoke within moments of each other under a sky that looked bleaker than usual. The druid arose first and stoked the fire. Gamaliel stirred as Evaine slid from her bedroll, but lay on the warm blanket as his mistress brushed and braided her long hair.

Ren watched the wizard weaving her hair. He had seen her do this nearly every morning since they'd met. At a glance, her mane looked brown; but a closer look revealed smoldering red tones. The ranger thought to himself that her hair reflected her personality-a subtle exterior with fires burning underneath. The woman looked harmless, but packed a wallop with her years of wisdom and extraordinary magical powers.

The ranger hauled himself to his feet and checked his saddle, saddlebags, chain mail, and weapons for what seemed like the tenth time since the group had made camp the night before. He wore his polished chain mail, exquisitely crafted by the elves, and the magical cloak that made his form seem to blur, making it difficult for an enemy to strike him. His numerous daggers were sharpened and tucked away in sheaths all over his body. The long bow was packed, and his huge sword hung within easy reach. It would be his most trusted companion in the hours to come.

Miltiades and his ivory steed were ready, as always. The paladin had prepared his armor and sword the night before. Without the need for food or sleep, he now waited calmly as the others checked their gear.

As Miltiades waited, he meditated and prayed to Tyr. He no longer prayed to gain courage, but to show acceptance of his fate. His spirit was growing tired after its lengthy wait for Tyr's call, and he longed for this chance for eternal peace. The undead paladin made one last vow to prove his worth and devotion.

"Tyr," he whispered, bowing his head, "your servant is grateful for this quest. My soul is dedicated to you. Know that I go forth this day to honor your name. I can be victorious only through your guidance, but my failure is my own. Accept the struggles of this humble servant as testimony to his devotion to you." The paladin silently continued his mediation as his companions finished readying themselves.

Evaine and Andoralson inventoried their spell components one final time. The druid chose a patch of grass away from the others, then knelt in prayer to Silvanus. Evaine settled crosslegged on her bedroll and began a ritual of meditation and concentration that would help her focus her magical powers.

Rising from his prayers, Andoralson planted one last ring of magical oak trees, knowing this might be his final chance to leave a mark of good in the world. As he concentrated on the magic, he could sense the other nineteen groves growing tall and strong. The druid would leave a small legacy behind, even if the battle ahead proved to be his last.

Gamaliel was ready for action, tensely pacing the camp in cat form. He started at every rustle of the wind and at every leaf that tumbled into the clearing. His eyes were deeply golden; his pink nose never stopped twitching at the wind. Twice the fur on his tail fluffed out as if a black dragon had swooped into camp.