J. King: The Diamond

It was at that moment, of course, that the dirge ended. In the sudden echoing hush, the private protests of the twins became all too public. "When we tell Mamma-"

Awe brought them to silence as a white-robed priest of Ao drifted across the dais, hands spread in benevolent greeting. A grim expression of collective sorrow and solemnity filled his fleshy face. Reflected candlelight glowed from his bald pate. He reached the front of the dais and halted, his raiment swaying magnificently around him.

"Come, ye mighty! Come, ye small! Come all peoples, elf and human, dwarf, halfling, and gnome! Come to gather and behold! Behold what grim truth is upon us!" The priest gestured at the two bodies lying in state before him. His eyes lit on the canted candles stuck to the glass, but his voice rolled on steadily, "Behold the end for us all!"

The priest gestured with both arms, tragedy leaking grandly into his voice. "See that heart, large enough to hold whole realms in its compass, large enough to seat the soul of this immeasurable man! Now it holds neither lands nor souls nor even blood, but nothing at all. And that breast, broad enough to breathe life into all the world, languishes now in eternal rest. Without him Faerun suffocates."

The acolytes were glaring uncomfortably at the Open Lord's chest. Why is it that if you stare at a dead body hard enough, it looks like it's breathing?

"See those fingers lying in repose, fingers that wielded pens and grasped swords, firm and sure digits of flesh and blood that cast down walls and lifted up children. See them now, still as stone."

The eyes of the congregation shifted to those folded hands. Perhaps it was the dance and play of candlelight atop the glass, or the vivid words of the priest, but more than a few watchers thought they saw fingers "still as stone" twitch. A silent thrill shivered through the crowd.

Halting in momentary fear, the priest recovered and went on. "See those very eyes that were wont to gaze upon vast Waterdeep in all its splendor, and the Sword Coast beyond, that look now down the halls of. eternal memory, as they shall forever more!"

A crease became visible across the eyelids, as if the corpse strained to draw them open. Were it not for the delicate stitchery of the funerary priests, the Open Lord might have, it almost seemed, gazed back at the crowd gathered to honor his passing.

"Our friend, our comrade, our leader…" The priest of Ao let his grand words roll down the chapel, casting an uncertain glance at the lord's casket once more. "Our Piergeiron Paladinson, the Open Lord of Waterdeep, at last is dead."

He hung his head, and the congregation hung theirs with him, looking up as the white-robed priest lifted his voice with fresh energy. "Consider his mouth, which once proclaimed law and justice to we, his people! Lips which once opened in acceptance of this woman, Shaleen, as his bride. A mouth that will nevermore open again, to guide and reass-"

Said mouth suddenly opened in a roar of terror and loss that, albeit muffled by air-tight glass, shook the chapel to its foundations. "No!"

Piergeiron's corpse sat up, whacking its head against the glass. The Open Lord fell back only momentarily onto the richly embroidered velvet before lifting those still-as-stone hands to punch awkwardly at the curved glass confining him.

"Truly he is dead!" the priest shouted, stumbling back from the horrific sight. He repeated his declaration loudly, as if hoping to convince the corpse of its demise. "Truly he is dead!"

"Truly he is alive!" someone bellowed from the balcony.

Heads snapped up, but the balcony no longer held he who'd spoken. Once more Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun was sailing above the heads of the cringing congregation in a flurry of black wool. Someone shrieked.

Khelben descended like a magnificent storm cloud, huge and unstoppable. Lightning seemed to dash from his furious brows. "Fools! Piergeiron lives! Open the coffin! Bring pry bars, augers and saws! Where are the crafters? Bring them here! Open that coffin!"

Khelben landed beside Madieron. The man-giant's fists were crashing like twin hammers on the glass of the Open Lord's casket; it boomed like a thunderous war drum. Piergeiron's own fists were answering, blow for blow, from within the case.

"It's no good!" Khelben shouted to Madieron, peeling the grieving giant back from the coffin by main strength. "Yon glass is hard as diamonds-impenetrable! We've got to pop the bolts!"

Craftsmen were scurrying up the aisle now, their rugged wooden toolboxes odd against the ceremonial garb they'd been given for the funeral. Horns sounded as Watch officers summoned men to run far and fast in search of tools, all the tools that could be found in the ward and beyond!

"How many bolts are there?" Khelben snarled, his eyes fairly spitting sparks.

"Fifteen hundred," a smith gulped, looking away from that fiery gaze.

"Well, drill, man! Air holes- hurry!"

As men crouched beside the coffin and lifted their tools to the task, Madieron let out a howl of despair and hammered the glass again.

"Stop!" Khelben shouted. "Give them room! You'd have to weigh ten times as much as you do to have a chance of breaking through."

Madieron stared for a frustrated moment at the mage, tears standing in his eyes. Then he let out a roar that rang around the chapel, and rushed off through the stunned crowd.

Pry bars bit along the side of the casket. Men groaned, and metal creaked. A golden bolt popped, and then another. Men and dwarves crawled forward on their elbows under those wielding the bars, to crank large drills hard and as fast. Curls of gold sheered away from whirling bits and fell. Sweat beaded hands and foreheads. More bolts popped. Auger bits gnawed and dug.

All the while that hands gripped and wrenched at the outside of the casket, the Open Lord's hands pounded against the inside. His breath had quickly frosted over the glass. Insistent fingers scratched long trails in the condensation, but each puff of the dead man's breath filled in these frantic marks.

"Faster," growled Khelben, his fingers weaving a spell. The pumping arms of gasping, groaning workmen became a sudden blur. Five more bolts. Ten more. Drill bits were smoking in their holes as gold melted away. With a sharp crack, one auger snapped. Its wielder fell back, stunned, and was flung aside like a doll by a furious figure in black robes. " Faster!" the Lord Mage bellowed. "He's dying in there!"

Hooves clattered abruptly at the rear of the chapel. Heads snapped around as Madieron charged into view astride a massive plow horse. The hooves of the great beast struck sparks from the chapel floor as it thundered through the citizenry, parting merchants and nobles in their finery as a shark parts a school of fish. One lady was too slow to leap clear, but the Champion of Waterdeep hauled expertly on the reins, and the gigantic beast reared. Its shaggy forehooves beat ominously at the air. Anxious hands plucked the moaning woman from under the very shadow of the horse, as Madieron, eyes blazing, urged it into a gallop, straight at the casket of the Open Lord.

With a sigh, Khelben stepped aside, slapping the shoulders of the frantically working crafters to get them out of the way, as the juggernaut came pelting down the aisle. Men scrambled, tools ringing on the stones.

Madieron rode clatteringly to the dais, pulling the horse up severely at the last. The massive animal reared again, its hooves lashing the air between the chandeliers. Madieron crowded his mount against the coffin, and those hooves dropped on the glass like twin mauls. "Impenetrable" glass cracked and shattered. The Champion hauled on the reins, spinning the horse around.

Piergeiron's own fists finished the job, punching glass aside in a scintillating shower of knife-edged pieces. Madieron leapt from his saddle through the flying shards, to lift Piergeiron from the riven casket.