The proprietor smiled. "You have a keen eye for stones, sir," he said, pointing a finger toward the ceiling, "but only the gods are all-seeing."
Among the shop's high rafters four stout, dark-faced dwarves sat swinging their legs with ankles crossed. They grinned wickedly down at the Mouser, showing the huge, glittering knives they held on their laps. Despite their size, they had the look of dangerous men.
With the briefest of bows to the proprietor, the Mouser left the shop and stepped out into the street again. Pushing back his hood, he paused and frowned.
The quality of the sunlight seemed muted, and the bright blueness of the sky had leeched away.
Shading his eyes with a hand, he glanced squinting up toward the sun. Did he imagine it, or did the tiniest piece seem to be missing? Jerking his head away, he wiped at stinging tears and blinked hard.
From the east, saffron-robed priests of Aarth ran shrieking down the Street of the Gods, their bare feet slapping furiously on the cobbled paving. Then, without warning, the gates of Mog's temple flung open. Black-robed priests of the Spider-god poured out with upraised swords to intercept Aarth's fanatical followers.
Now the shrieking took on a new note—of terror. Swords rose and fell mercilessly, flinging blood. Mog's priests swarmed over Aarth's followers, hacking and chopping until none stood. Still, in a grisly fury, they swung their swords, beheading and dismembering the corpses.
Shoppers and pedestrians ran screaming from the streets. The Mouser pressed himself into the narrow alley between a pair of shops and dragged a rain barrel across the opening. Over the rim, he watched with his own sword in hand.
Covered with blood, Mog's priests ran down the Street of the Gods. Scores of them fell upon the lines of faithful gathered before the pillared entrance to view the body of Attavaq the Patriarch before its burial. A new chorus of screams rose up.
Then, from around both corners rushed squads of Aarth's followers. Brandishing swords and clubs, they surged through the gates, entering their own temple behind Mog's invading priests.
The clash and clangs of weapons rose over the temple walls. Bloody acolytes stumbled into the streets. Worshippers ran out in terror. The battle followed them, filling the street outside the temple.
Yet another cry drew the Mouser's attention. From farther down the street, the gates of the Rat God's temple opened. Red-robed priests, waving spears and blades, charged forth to attack the followers of Mog.
Above it all, the sun slowly vanished. The sky turned the color of gray slate, and still it darkened. An unnaturally cool wind blew through the narrow passage where the Mouser nervously crouched.
Madness swept through the street, growing, feeding upon itself. Armored soldiers from the North Barracks raced down Nun Street and Silver Street to meet the fray. At first, they attempted to break up the fighting, but soon, they battled for their lives in a chaotic sea.
Up from Nun Street and from the wharves, yet more squads of soldiers ran. Common citizens, supporting one god or another, or striving to protect shops and homes, or merely trying to get out of the way, drew steel and fought.
Suddenly, the Mouser leaped up. He slapped his thigh and slammed his sword back into its sheath as he shot another look toward the sun. His heart pounded in his chest. Overhead, nightbirds began to caw and circle, confused by the fading light. Here, in the midst of insanity, lay an opportunity!
Hurriedly, he slipped back through the passage, emerging in another narrow alley, and then another, until he found himself on Pimp Street. In the road or on their rooftops, citizens screamed or prayed at the tops of their voices, faces filled with terror as they pointed at the black shadow that crawled across the sun.
The Mouser paused, swallowing hard. The hand of fear squeezed his heart as he stared at the horrifying sight. Stinging tears clouded his eyes, forcing him to look away. Then, gathering his courage, he ran.
Cherig's dog stood howling in the open doorway of the Silver Eel, its muzzle thrust toward the darkening sky. The Mouser leaped over the beast and ran inside, finding no sign of Cherig or anyone else. Rushing up the stairs, he pushed open the door to the room he shared with Fafhrd, snatched up the coil of rope with the grapnel attached, and dashed out again.
Two at a time, he descended the stairs, and collided with a breathlessly ascending Fafhrd.
"The tower!" the northern giant shouted excitedly as he clutched the rail to keep from falling backward.
Of course, Fafhrd had had the same idea, seen the same opportunity. They thought alike, Fafhrd and he. Sometimes they seemed even to share the same mind.
The Mouser picked himself up and rubbed his bruised rump. "There's a good chance the guards are busy elsewhere," he said, moving past his partner. Outside, he paused again to stare upward. Now the great shadow obscured fully three-quarters of the sun. In the west, a pair of premature stars twinkled.
"Come on!" Fafhrd urged, grabbing the coil of rope from his partner and throwing it over his own broad shoulder. "What's the matter? You've never seen an eclipse before?"
The Mouser struggled to feign a sophisticated calm. "Eclipse?" he said. "Of course it's an eclipse." He ran on before Fafhrd could see the look of relief on his face. He'd heard of such things. He wasn't uneducated, and he knew more than just a little astronomy. He'd just never seen one.
"An eclipse," he muttered under his breath, disgusted that Fafhrd had known something he hadn't.
TEN
THE TOWER OF KOH-VOMBI
Over Lankhmar, a fiery crescent burned in the darkening sky. Unexpected night swallowed the city while fear and madness spread through the streets. A terrible lamentation rose as panicked citizens fled into the roads, pleading for mercy, begging their gods to spare them from the destruction of the world. In the southern part of the city, many hurried northward to seek their temples, unaware of the slaughter going on as priests made war on each other.
In the deepening shadows of Nun Street, Fafhrd and the Mouser crouched down and stared toward a lonely black-stoned tower.
"Can you hit that window?" the Mouser whispered.
Fafhrd eyed the narrow, dark opening halfway up the tower's facing wall. "Not if we lose the light entirely," he answered grimly. His gaze swept around. Rising, he adjusted the weight of the grapnel and line concealed under his cloak. "I don't see any soldiers or guards."
"Called to the Temple District," the Mouser said. "I expected it." He nodded ahead. "Let's go."
They charged the iron fence that surrounded the tower. Reaching the ten-foot barrier first, Fafhrd bent low and braced his hands on the rusted metal bars. Running hard, the Mouser leaped, one foot barely brushing Faffird's shoulder. Fafhrd sprang erect, catapulting his smaller companion into the air. Waving his arms for balance, his gray cloak flapping, the Mouser landed lithely in the tall weeds that filled the space between the fence and the tower.
Briefly, Fafhrd studied the top of the fence, which was only three feet above his head. Backing a few paces, he took a quick running step. One foot pushed off an iron bar as his hands caught the top cross-bar, and he vaulted over.
"It should be a crime to be so tall," the Mouser muttered as his partner landed beside him.
"It's a crime to be on this side of the fence," Fafhrd reminded. Looking quickly around, he noted people on the rooftops along Nun Street. The eclipse held them in thrall, and he doubted anyone had witnessed the tower's invasion. Still, he bent low, using the weeds for concealment as he ran toward the mysterious edifice.
After twenty paces, the soft ground and weeds gave way to a broken paving of large flat stones and a terrace of steps that ringed the tower. No entrance or opening revealed itself at ground level.