J. King: Conspiracy

The silver paladin gestured to the others. "Check this plaza. Report any strange signs, especially symbols of Tyr perverted by fanatics of the Fallen Temple. Once we find the Fallen Temple, we will find Lady Eidola. As true believers, we must rescue not only the lady, but also the worship of Tyr in this savage land."

The others nodded, all except the youth. His lasso was snagged about the granite head of the wrestling god.

The golden paladin said to his leader, "Miltiades, might I suggest we go in pairs, ready for ambush?"

"Excellent, Kern. You come with me, but give your pendant to Trandon. Your antimagic aura may well be preventing the pendant from sensing Lady Eidola."

Kern's sweating, sunburned face colored more deeply. He lifted the jeweled pendant from his neck and handed it to the leather-armored man. "You're right, of course. It was only my pride that made me hold on to it."

"We'll patrol this side of the plaza." Miltiades gestured to the seated fighter and said, "Jacob, you and Trandon check out the other side." Miltiades turned toward the youth with the lasso. "And, Noph, get that rope off the statue before the mage-king's men haul you away."

Noph peered along the dripping length of his rope. He gave it two more flips, shaking saltwater from it. The lasso did not come loose. Noph sighed and stepped over the stony rim, into the pool. Up to his knees in sea-water, he visibly shivered.

Shaking his head, Miltiades said, "Let's go."

The paladins and pirates were destined to meet, as fresh water flows ever into the salty sea. But they need not have clashed so soon, or so violently. We had hoped, in fact, to keep them separate, to use them both. The paladins were useful for fighting our deadliest foes-the terrorists who called themselves the Fallen Temple. The pirates, on the other hand-we could smell their greed. They had come for riches and glory. They would be easy to manipulate. Before the tenday was done, they would be fighting for Doegan, too.

But it was not to be. The gods had placed a catalyst among them. A traitor. We could smell him. Traitors always smell of decay.

Among the pirates was a weak-bellied sea captain. He had lost his ship and, with it, his last scraps of courage and dignity. All that remained to drive him were despair, rage, and shame, the humors of betrayal.

Captain Jander Turbalt-let history dote on the traitor's name-had sold his companions even before he shuffled casually toward Kern and Miltiades and betrayed his leader.

"Excuse me, sirs, but you appear to be on official business," Turbalt said, grovelling ostentatiously.

"We are conducting an investigation into the Fallen Temple with the sanction of the mage-king," answered Kern.

"Perfect," said Turbalt. He wrung his hands in nervous anticipation. "Do not be obvious in looking, sirs, but the scrofulous band of pirates behind me have held me captive for the last weeks. They kidnapped me aboard my own ship, forced me to sail into the worst of storms, and destroyed my Morning Bird right out from under me. They've since dragged me across desert and dale, through fiend dens and icy streams. It is only by the good grace of the gods and my own courage-not to boast of it, though-that I have lived long enough to tell you."

These were, perhaps, not the actual words the coward spoke. We do not remember; so much has happened since. The captain may have merely identified his leader, Belmer, as an illegal immigrant. Or he may have spoken Belmer's true name; we do not recall. The words are lost, but not the traitor's name or his fate.

"Blessed hammer of Tyr," Kern remarked. He gazed past the man, and so did not see the captain's ingenuous look. "Look who that man is, there in front."

"Hold there," Miltiades called out toward the little man. The paladin drew his warhammer and marched toward the pirates. "We would speak with you." Kern followed likewise, and called the others.

The olive-skinned man smiled falsely. "Perhaps later. We have pressing business in another part of the city."

The silver paladin spoke in a voice of command. "I said hold. I am Miltiades of Tyr, and I speak with the authority of Justice. I wish to know what you are doing in Doegan-why the Sword Coast's most notorious assassin has come to the Utter East! Tell us, why have you come here, Artemis Entreri?"

Without awaiting a reply, Miltiades and Kern closed upon the stunned man and his party of pirates. Silver-haired Trandon and young Jacob also charged inward. Only Noph Nesher did not attack, busy climbing to the top of the fountain to free his lasso.

The rotten-bellied captain, meanwhile, made to slink away.

Artemis Entreri drew a small, deadly blade from concealment and flung it through the fountain's mist. The steel flashed for a breath before it buried itself in Captain Jander Turbalt's head. The sound was like a snake biting into an egg. The man's limbs went limp, though he remained upright, as if the dagger pinned him to the sky. Then he dropped.

He flopped into the base of the fountain. Tentacles of gore reached out from his pulpy head, toward the wrestling god, as though in mockery.

The pirates rallied to Entreri-all but one, the blind young man Ingrar. He drew his blade and shouted," 'Ware! Paladins!"

Could he smell paladins? — old armor scrubbed and waxed to shine hot beneath a cruel sun? Could he hear paladins? — voices of virtue in a world of vice? Somehow, he knew what and who they were. We marked this young man, Ingrar. He had gained a unique blessing. No longer could his eyes fool him. No longer was he the victim of illusions-double images and double walkers. The windows of his higher self were shuttered; the windows of his lower self, his animal self, were flung wide.

Black-haired Miltiades roared a holy vow and brought his warhammer singing down at Entreri's upraised sword. The massive hammer cracked off to one side and swung down by the paladin's hip.

Entreri's blade had no sooner deflected that attack than its tip danced in to jab beneath the warrior's breastplate. The tongue of steel tasted blood.

Miltiades pried it away with the head of his hammer and staggered back to take the measure of his foe;

In that moment's confrontation, just before the other fighters met in skirls of steel, Entreri and Miltiades saw each other truly.

It was as though these two men had been fashioned as eternal champions of opposite gods, and these two champions had battled their way across hilltop, threshold, and whitecap, through hundreds of pages of history, to converge at this spot beside this fountain. The statue at its center was, after all, a stone avatar of them, of their struggle against each other, the figure of a man wrestling the ineffable and inescapable unknown. All that remained was to determine which of them-Miltiades or Entreri-was the striving human hero and which the grasping and implacable monster.

The others converged.

The young golden warrior Kern hurled his hammer down at the onrushing head of the pirate woman, Sha-ressa. She had the foresight not to get beneath the maul. Kern overbalanced himself, a true idealist, and tumbled head over heels past Sharessa.

She stepped out of his way and helped him along, whacking the flat of her cutlass against his unarmored rump. She flipped her dark hair back over her slender shoulders and jested, "Find some hay, Sir Knight, and I'll roll you in that, too."

Kern, unamused, got up and advanced. "I can't decide whether you're worse off for having truck with this vicious scoundrel," he waved his hammer toward Entreri, "or he for having truck with you." With that, the golden warrior lunged. His hammer grazed Sharessa's narrow belly as she leapt back.

"Such language," the pirate laughed, "and from a paladin. If you aren't careful with that hammer of yours, I'll end up having truck with you!" She followed her comment with a suggestively lifted eyebrow and a wickedly thrust cutlass.