Marth’s quarters were on the second floor of the main keep, roughly twenty feet from the stone courtyard. In the heat of mid-afternoon, only a few soldiers were still busy preparing the Seventh Moon for departure. He could see that the sleek silver hull of the ship was badly burned in places, as if she had recently seen a terrible battle. Many of the soldiers appeared quite busy putting the final touches on the repairs, sanding and repainting the hull. Shaimin noticed that a massive Cyran crest hung above the gates of the fortress, a golden crown on a field of green. Shaimin was no saint, but it often astonished him the terrible deeds that people did-or occasionally paid him to do-in the misbegotten name of country. How many true Cyrans, Shaimin wondered, would approve of what Marth planned here today?
Shaimin glanced about to make certain no one was watching, then dropped to the ground. He hurried across the courtyard and up the stairs leading to the wall. Crouching amid the battlements, he stalked back to the tower where Zed and Eraina waited. He knocked on the door softly.
“You’re late, d’Thuranni,” Zed whispered, opening the door and looking around.
“That was never two hours,” Shaimin said in an offended tone, slipping inside and closing the door behind him.
“What did you discover?” Eraina asked.
“More from spying on Marth than from actually speaking to him, sadly,” Shaimin said. “It seems he hardly trusts me anymore.”
“What a sad day when a maniac can’t trust his own assassin,” Zed said.
“Indeed,” Shaimin agreed. “At any rate it seems that this stronghold is built upon some sort of cavern containing a significant passage of the Draconic Prophecy. I wonder if the ruins here, like Zul’nadn, were one of the discoveries that placed Marth upon his path.”
“We’ll leave Tristam to sort that out,” Eraina said. “Any idea what Marth is planning?”
“He’s headed for Sharn,” the elf said.
“Norra Cais is in Sharn, researching the Legacy,” Zed said. “Could he be after her?”
“I doubt it,” Shaimin said. “Look down at the courtyard. He’s mobilizing as many of his troops as he can, loading weapons and supplies into the Seventh Moon. I think this is bigger than that. Marth is through learning about the Legacy. He intends to use it.”
“We need to get out of here,” Eraina said. “We have to get back to Nathyrr and contact the Karia Naille.”
“Agreed,” Shaimin said.
The clamor of an alarm bell echoed in the courtyard below. Cyran soldiers began swarming out of the keep, armed with swords and crossbows.
Zed glared at Shaimin. “Did you kill anyone on your way here?”
“A few,” the elf confessed, smiling.
“We’ll have to take our chances in the forest,” Eraina said.
“Take these,” Shaimin said, offering them two of the guards’ badges. “Apparently these protect the wearer from the undead in the forest.”
“Seems it would take more than a simple charm to protect against what we saw back there,” Eraina said, accepting hers.
“Marth himself claimed they work,” the elf replied, pinning one to his cloak. “They may not think to search for us in the forest at first. We may yet have a chance to escape.”
They had barely reached the edge of the forest when Marth’s guards found Shaimin’s grappling hook. Crossbow bolts thudded into the trees around them, urging them to greater speed. A hideous moaning rose around them as they ran deeper into the forest. Shambling figures appeared between the trees, lurching after them. One erupted from the earth beside them, clawing savagely at Zed before he put it down with his sword. Three more dropped from a tree and rushed them, only to be scattered by Eraina’s holy symbol.
“I cannot turn them away forever,” Eraina warned.
“They don’t seem bothered much by your badges, d’Thuranni,” Zed said.
The elf did not reply, but only kept running.
They crested a hill to find dozens of the undead meandering between the trees. Glancing back, Shaimin saw that Marth’s soldiers had begun pursuit. The sizzling flash of green flame showed that the changeling himself was burning through his reluctant undead guardians to find them.
“There,” Eraina said. She pointed to the crumbling ruins of what once might have been a chapel. It appeared to be mostly intact. “Maybe we can make our stand there, hold off against the undead and the Cyrans while they kill each other.”
Zed nodded and ran in that direction. Shaimin hesitated. Being discovered and pursued was bad enough. The idea of crawling into a hole and waiting to die was distasteful to say the least. He considered, for a moment, striking off on his own. The inquisitive glared back at him, as if reading his thoughts. He sighed and trudged on after them.
The inside of the broken chapel looked as if it had been untouched for centuries. Green mold crawled upon the walls. The wooden floors were cracked and warped. In the gaps between them Shaimin could see water glinting far below.
“There’s some sort of cave under here,” he said, kneeling and examining the gaps between the floorboards. “Perhaps we could escape.”
Zed stood beside the elf, spitting between the floorboards and turning an ear. “That’s a sixty foot drop at least,” he said. “We don’t even know if the water is deep enough for us to drop safely, or what else is down there.”
“We know what’s up here,” the elf retorted.
Outside the moans of the undead were met with the thunderous explosions of Marth’s magic. Zed and Eraina stood side by side at the narrow door, watching the battle outside.
“I wish I’d brought a crossbow or something,” Zed said. “I might have a clear shot at Marth from here.”
“He wouldn’t have offered you such a target if his magic didn’t protect him, Arthen,” Shaimin said. “We are no threat to him, cornered like we are.”
“If you don’t have any helpful ideas, be quiet,” Zed snapped.
Shaimin scowled. For most of his career, he had prized the calm control with which he approached all situations. If there was one thing he detested more than anything else, it was feeling helpless. Only children and cripples could not help themselves-and a Thuranni was neither. He had weakened himself by associating with these people. Perhaps Dalan was his equal, in certain arenas, but these two were too weakened by interdependence and compassion. To remain here with them would only hasten his demise.
At least this was what Shaimin told himself. He saw a crack in the rear wall, too thick for his human allies but perhaps just enough for an elf. He wriggled through the cracks and crawled away through the forest’s thick, leafy carpet. The Cyran soldiers were too occupied at the entrance of the chapel to notice his escape. The undead were too maddened by Marth’s brutal magical assault to notice much of anything. The assassin peered back once he had crawled a safe distance. He watched as Marth struck down the last of his undead attackers with a lash of fire from his wand. The Cyran soldiers flanked out immediately, surrounding the ruined chapel.
Shaimin could see no way out for the others. The chapel stood within a small break in the forest. Marth’s soldiers now flanked it. Several, including the changeling himself, were on horseback. Even if Zed and Eraina were to split up and run for it, Marth would easily capture them.
“Thuranni!” Marth called out. “Those men you murdered were my countrymen! By aiding my enemies you forsook my trust, but in slaying my brothers you have earned your House a place beside all those who will tremble before the power of the Legacy. If you have any honor left, surrender yourself, and House Thuranni will be spared my vengeance.”