J. King: The Diamond

Helmed heads nodded in unison, and Khelben smiled grimly. "Back to work!" he barked. "You've a pair of condemned men to guard!"

Midnight was fast approaching, yet still no Lord Mage. Noph sat alone on a bench well down the passage from the cells. Only five hours remained before sunrise and a double execution. Where was the Blackstaff?

For that matter, what good would his warding magics be now? If Entreri and Trandon hadn't tried to escape yet, they wouldn't.

"'Ware!" a Watchman shouted. Noph blinked. A gangly, redheaded armsman stood outside Entreri's cell, struggling to free his sword from its scabbard. "The assassin's loose! He's picked the lock with his fingerbones!"

Boots pounded on flagstones. Noph joined the general rush. Armored shoulders and helmed heads jostled in the passage ahead. Blades slid and rang from their sheaths, glinting in the lantern light. Noph shouldered forward through the press of guards, peering to see what was happening by the cells.

The redheaded guard's sword grated out at last, aided by a muttered curse. Its owner promptly lunged at the cell door, thrusting the blade between its bars to the hilt. If Entreri were there, he'd be skewered. The guard's hand, arm, and shoulder-suddenly thinner than they should be-followed his sword through the window. Steel clanged on stone. The guard hissed in pain and snatched his arm back into view. The sword was no longer in it.

"He bit me," the armsman growled, clutching his wrist.

"Now he's got a blade, dolt!" someone shouted. The hurrying guards reached the cell door, and stopped suddenly, those in front shrinking back from something Noph couldn't see. He charged on into his packed fellows. There were stumbles, grunts, and the skirl of metal-clad elbows and knuckles on unyielding stone. Struggling to keep his footing, Noph peered ahead.

A strange fight was in progress. The gangly guard ducked as if a sword swept the air above his head, but Noph saw no blade nor attacker. Springing desperately aside, the red-haired armsman barreled into two other guards, and all three sprawled along the passage wall.

A lithe guard leapt over this pile of armsmen to the cell door, his sword dancing in intricate thrusts and parries before him. "Clever with a blade, Entreri?" the guard taunted. "Aren't you more familiar with dagger thrusts into kidneys from behind?" He lunged twice more before dodging away from an unseen blow.

Something massive and invisible slammed into the guard's head with a sickeningly damp crack. He toppled like a piece of lumber, stiff and uncaring.

"Watch that door!" someone shouted. "He's killed a man with a door!"

"Watch that sword!" another guard snarled.

"Watch that bony hand!"

"Back! Back! Give me room to fight!" bellowed a hulking guard at the head of the crowd. He swung a spiky mace once, twice, and then with a roar he charged, seeming to think he was backing someone up against the wall. Noph could see no one. The giant swung his mace, growling, and then yelped and stumbled back, trampling two men behind him.

"Fire! Fire! He'll burn us all!"

"Water! Bring water!"

"Not water, for an oil fire! Bring sand!"

"Damned lanterns! What was wrong with good old torches, I'd like to know?"

Ahead of Noph, the guards were jammed solidly, metal shoulders shrieking against each other. Those in front flung up their hands before their eyes as if shielding themselves from blinding light, yet the passage stood as dim as before. There was no smoke, heat, or light-no fire.

Noph struggled to squeeze through the packed ranks, hauling on shoulders and crying, "Way! Make way!"

"Let him through," one guard cried. "He's got sand!"

"Hurry, Noph!" another called. "Entreri's almost got the sorcerer's cell open!"

Noph at last won free of the press of bodies, stumbling out into the clear area before the cells.

"What're you doing? You'll burn alive!" came a shout from behind him.

Noph ignored it, striding straight to Entreri's cell. Its door was closed and locked, and within the assassin still lay unconscious on the straw. Noph peered through the window of Trandon's cell. The sorcerer stood just inside the bars, gazing quizzically out at him.

Noph turned to the other guards. "What's the matter with all of you?"

"Get out of there, Noph-save yourself! They can't get past us all!"

"You're right," Noph replied, bewildered. "They're still in their-"

A new commotion erupted. The three nearest guards, in the front rank, swung their swords at empty air, faces tense and blades whistling. Steel fangs sliced and thrust, but met no enemy metal. The three battling guards grunted with effort, shouting, "Back to your cell, assassin!"

"You can't defeat all three of us!"

"If you want out of this dungeon, you'll have to kill me fir-Aughh! Cruel stroke!" The speaker's sword clattered to the stones. Clapping a hand to his neck, he crashed heavily into the wall. "Oh, unkind cut," he gasped, and slowly brought his fingers back to gaze at them in magnificent pathos. They were none too clean, Noph saw, but bare.

"Blood so bright," the guard groaned. "My blood! To be shed, if shed it I must, in bright meadows, not in a dungeon drear. Ahhh, I am slain… Oh, to die so deep and dark…"

As the 'slain' man declaimed, his two fellows fought all the harder. Sweat streamed down their faces as they plied their blades, but Noph could still see and hear no foe. He went to them, taking care to stay out of sword range. "Who are you fighting?"

"Stab him from behind, Noph!"

"Stab who from behind?"

"We've got him trapped between us!"

"I see no one," Noph told them. "You're battling some sort of illusion."

"… Oh, the dusky shore," the guard against the wall moaned. "Swept by winds of sorrow, heedless beneath the feet of those who pass, forgotten by the living. I come to you now, Kelemvor, Lord of the Dead, borne upon the dark tides of mine own lifeblood…"

"You're not dying," Noph said in disgust. "You're not even hurt!"

"Slay him, Noph! Strike now, while his sword is bound by mine!"

"Too late! 'Ware the fell mage!"

"Thunder and lightning!"

"Fireballs-they burst so bright! 'Ware more magic!"

"How can we stand against this?"

"Gods take your wits!" Noph shouted. " Nobody's attacking you!"

"… at least they'll say of me: he died defending great Waterdeep. Died fighting valiantly, brought low by the vicious blade of a dastardly man. The bards will sing, down the years, of my all-too-rapid end…"

At last the jammed armsmen were on the move. Those at the rear retreated, white-faced and flinching. Those in the middle flailed about, tumbling with each imagined blast of arcane fire or sorcerous lightning.

Those in the fore slumped down in faints or succumbed to illusory injuries. Noph stood in the center of the supposed conflagration, and shook his head in amazement. At his feet a guard gasped, "I'm coming, Mamma, at last. This is it."

Noph stalked to Trandon's cell. The tall mage stood within, innocent amusement on his features. "All right, Trandon," Noph said sourly, "Is this your mass delusion spell?"

Trandon shook his head. "I wish it were, but this sort of magic is beyond me. Moreover, if you can tear your attention away from all these wretched thespians, you might notice I am still locked up."

"Well," Noph growled, looking at Entreri still unconscious on his straw, "it's sorcery from somewhere."

Trailing shouts, groans, and threats, the battle was retreating down the passage, leaving only Noph to watch the prisoners. The young hero looked from the battling guards to one cell, and then to the other, and let out a sigh.

As if the exhalation had been a cue, a figure in flapping black robes surged around the corner. Noph whirled, sword coming up. "Halt!"