"So we wouldn't have to face your friend out there," Varden growled, pointing at the door. "Believe me, I'm as much in the dark about this place as you are. Start searching the edges of the room for another door."
The crash at the door came again. This time the wooden door splintered slightly and bent inward on its hinges. As Midnight approached the edge of the hall, near one of the suits of armor, she heard whispering again. It seemed to come from the rusted suit of plate mail. In other parts of the hall, Varden and Adon heard the voices, too.
"Conflict," a battered suit of armor whispered. "We lived and died for conflict."
To Adon's right, a set of antique plate mail with a large hole in its ornate breastplate turned to face the cleric "For law and the cause of good, we gave our lives. Fought rust and wear to save our masters. In Anauroch, my lord was slain. They bore me back, a monument to his greatness."
Varden started and began to back away, but a rusted mail hauberk coiled its chain sleeve around his arm. "At the foot of the Glacier of the White Worm I fell, unable to prevent a giant's club from bashing in my lord's skull." The thief tried to pull away from the ghostly armor, but it held him tight. "We serve the force of good," a voice whispered from the hauberk. "Whom do you serve?"
All around the room, creaking suits of plate mail stepped off pedestals and grabbed rusting halberds and swords. Chain mail hauberks tilled out, as if worn by invisible knights, and stepped to the center of the room. "Yes, whom do you serve?" a dozen phantom voices rasped.
"We — we work for the good of the Realms," Midnight cried. The suits of armor paused for a moment, and for that moment there was silence in the festhall. The hauberk released Varden, and the thief hurried to Midnight's side. Adon walked slowly across the room, shaking his head.
"The whole world has gone mad!" the young cleric sighed. Before anyone could respond, though, the door to the alley splintered into a dozen pieces, and Sejanus burst into the room.
"In the name of Bane, what's going on here?" The assassin gasped as he looked around the room at the ten full suits of armor holding weapons, standing as it poised for battle. In the shadows at the edges of the room, incomplete or badly damaged suits waved their battered, rusting arms and turned toward Sejanus.
"Your armor gives you away, servant of darkness!" the suit of plate with the gash in the breastplate rasped and raised its bent sword.
Sejanus began to laugh nervously. "Little mage, is this your doing?" Midnight didn't answer, but she and her companions moved behind the advancing armor.
"Born in fire!" a set of armor whispered as it grabbed a halberd and pointed the poleax at the assassin. Sejanus glanced to his left and saw a second suit of armor approaching him.
"This is madness!" Sejanus growled and tossed his bolos at the suit of plate wielding the halberd. The armor easily deflected the bolos with its halberd and continued to advance on the assassin. Sejanus drew his sword. "I grow tired of your display, mage. Stop this at once or you will pay for your impudence later!"
As they backed toward the far end of the hall, Varden leaned close to Midnight and whispered, "Are you responsible for this?"
Midnight frowned and shook her head vigorously. "No. This is just another of nature's tricks or some ancient magic that was set here long before we stumbled across it."
Adon grabbed Varden's sleeve and pointed into the darkness at the end of the room. A small wooden door lay in the shadows, but a series of boards were nailed across it, holding it tightly closed. "We can escape through here while the armor keeps the assassin occupied," Adon said and turned toward the door.
Suddenly there was an explosion of wood from above. Sunlight flooded the warehouse as huge chunks of rotting wood fell to the floor. The heroes dove under the long table. Sejanus and the animated suits of armor stopped moving. All eyes turned to the roof of the festhall.
There, hung in the air above the hole in the ceiling, was Durrock, riding his nightmare. The horrible creature was shattering the boards that covered the hole with its flaming hooves. Obviously Durrock desperately wanted to get inside the warehouse. He wanted Midnight.
"We're leaving now!" Varden yelled as he grabbed Midnight's hand. "Cover your head."
Taking advantage of the confusion caused by Durrock's appearance, Varden, Midnight, and Adon broke from the cover of the table and rushed between two living suits of armor toward the door that led out into the alley. Sejanus was howling with rage as the ring of animated suits of armor tightened around him.
"Durrock, the mage is getting away!" Sejanus screamed as he parried a sword thrust from one of the suits of rusted plate. Durrock and his nightmare vanished from the jagged hole in the roof just as the heroes emerged into the alley. The sounds of swords crashing against one another echoed from inside the warehouse, mixed with Sejanus's screams of anger.
As the heroes ran down the alley toward the street, the sound of the nightmare snorting and whinnying drifted down from above their heads. Midnight looked toward the sky and saw Durrock and his mount hovering over the rooftops. "The alley is too narrow for his mount, but on the street we'll be at his mercy," the mage cried. "We're right back where we started!"
"Well, we can't camp here all day," Varden exclaimed.
Midnight turned to the thief. "I'm the one the assassins are after," the raven-haired magic-user stated flatly. "Lead Adon to safety. As long as I'm trapped in this alley, Durrock won't follow you."
"Don't be absurd!" Varden snapped as he grabbed Midnight's arm and tried to drag her forward. "The next thing I know, you'll want to try using magic! There's nothing more infuriating — "
Midnight shifted her weight away from Varden, dug her left leg into the ground between his legs, and shoved the thief over her leg against the wall of the alley. The golden-haired man struck the wall with such impact that he was momentarily stunned.
"Never put your hands on me like that!" Midnight growled, then backed away from the thief. "I know what's best. Now, go!"
Adon walked to Midnight's side and put his hand on her shoulder. "No," the cleric said softly. "We've got to trust Varden." The scarred young man paused for a moment and looked up at the assassin, still hovering over the alley. "We've got to stay together."
Midnight had run out of arguments. She considered their circumstances for a moment, then followed Adon and Varden down the alley. At the edge of the street, the thief paused and turned to the mage.
"I know where to go from here," Varden whispered. "We need to get to the alley five stores to the east of here." The thief looked up and saw the nightmare descending into the street. "Run!" he cried and bolted into the street filled with corpses.
"We still have your lover, Midnight!" Durrock shouted as the nightmare landed and started to race down the street after the mage and her allies. "Surrender now or he will pay the price for your foolishness!"
Chancing a look back over her shoulder, Midnight saw that Durrock had picked up a new weapon when he had gone back for his mount. In the assassin's hands was a black net, large enough to contain a man, with heavy weights secured to its edges. The scarred assassin was no more than twenty feet from Midnight and her companions, holding the net open wide, when Varden suddenly turned into another alley.
In the cramped lane that ran between two dilapidated buildings, Varden charged up a rickety set of stairs and dove into an open window. Midnight and Adon turned down the alley just in time to see the thief disappear. At the same time, Durrock released the net. The metal mesh struck the corner of the building as the heroes raced into the alley and climbed through the window.
Inside the building, Midnight and Adon found themselves in a small room that was covered in paper. The room looked as if a whirlwind had passed through the interior of the building and scattered pieces of parchment everywhere. Varden was lying in the center of the mess, lifting himself up from the floor, when the heroes entered. In the corner of the room, sitting cross-legged, with a large pile of papers in his lap, was a man in his early sixties, with two patches of white hair at the sides of his head and a shining bald pate between them.