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Valas； eyes blazing。 Then； like a cork being pulled from a wine bottle； a portion of the ceiling disappeared as the spell bored a tunnel through it。 Daylight streamed into the vault。 Valas had a brief glimpse of red eyes； streaking toward him less than a palm's breadth away…and the eyes were gone。 Squinting against the glare of the shaft of light； he looked around the vault。 The wraiths； driven off by the sunlight； had vanished。
He closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief。 Then he glanced down at his sun amulet。 The metal had lost its bright gold sheen。 It was left a dull； lead gray。 All of the rays were drooping。
Valas tucked the amulet inside his tunic； out of sight。 It had done its duty。
So had he。
〃I'm leaving；〃 he told Pharaun and Danifae。 〃You two can stay and fill your pockets with treasure if you like。〃
He glanced down at the floor and saw the magic that had limned the portal in light had faded。 No matter； he remembered where it was。 As he stepped forward onto the portal； Pharaun； the vault…and Danifae； who had risen to her feet and was glaring at him with eyes that blazed more furiously than the wraiths' had…all disappeared。
The air around Valas was cooler and more humid； a wele change from the vault's oppressive atmosphere of death and dust。 He had the sense of enormous distance in front of him and a stone wall at his back。 Shaking his head to clear the slight dizziness that traveling through the portal had produced； he saw Quenthel and Jeggred standing nearby on a narrow shelf of rock that was splattered with bat guano。 Far below the ledge a vast； dark lake stretched as far as the eye could see； illuminated by beams of winter sunlight that shone in through crevices in the rock above。 The ceiling of the cavern was high overhead； but even from a distance Valas could see the thousands of bats that clung； sleeping； to it。 When dusk fell the air would be thick with them。
〃Where's Pharaun？〃 Quenthel asked urgently； confirming Valas's earlier guess about himself and Danifae being little more than wraith fodder； in her eyes。
Jeggred； meanwhile； sniffed at the rock face； prodding it with a finger。
〃We can't go back；〃 he growled。 〃Pharaun didn't follow us…and we can't go back。〃
〃Pharaun's still in the vault；〃 Valas told them。
The vipers in Quenthel's whip gave Valas a baleful look。
〃You left him？〃 Quenthel spat。
〃Why not？ The wraiths are defeated…no thanks to you；〃 Valas grumbled…then realized he'd spoken out loud。
Stepping back a pace； he lowered his eyes； but the reprimand he'd expected did not e。 Quenthel's whip was still in her belt； and her attention was entirely on the wall behind him。 Her body radiated tension as she waited； silently staring at the wall； as if willing Pharaun to step through it。
A few moments later； Pharaun obliged by emerging from the portal； together with Danifae； whose legs were articulated normally again； Pharaun's spell having ended。
Jeggred growled softly at the mage； but Quenthel silenced him with a curt wave of her hand as she spotted the object Danifae held in her hands。 It looked； to Valas's unschooled eyes； like a forked twig； plated in silver； but Quenthel seemed to recognize it at once。
〃A wand of location；〃 she said； holding out her hand in silent demand。
〃It is indeed； Mistress；〃 said Danifae； her face expressionless。 〃The rogues who were in the vault before us must have dropped it。〃
She handed the wand to Quenthel； bowing her head。
Quenthel stroked Danifae's hair in what Valas； had he not known Quenthel as well as he did； would have taken to be a sign of affection。
〃At last； Danifae； you've proven your usefulness。 This will make finding the ship of chaos much easier。〃
So fixated on the wand was Quenthel that she missed something that Valas did not： the look on Pharaun's face。 Once again； the Master of Sorcere was plotting something。 Valas； neither wanting to know nor caring what it might be； turned away and stared； brooding； out at the lake。 Then； spotting something in the distance with his keen eyes； he stiffened。
〃What is it？〃 Pharaun asked； peering in the same direction。 〃More wraiths？〃
Valas shook his head； and pointed to a distant spot where bats were frantically circling above a disturbance in the water。
〃Something's stirring up the bats 。 。 。 something big。 And it's headed this way。〃
Chapter Twenty…nine
Ryld trudged along the open； treeless plain； following Halisstra's trail。 She'd forbidden him from acpanying her； saying the quest for the Crescent Blade was something she had to undertake alone…but she hadn't forbidden him from following her。 Not in so many words。
And so he'd bade her farewell when she left Eilistraee's temple； then set out after her as soon as she was out of sight。 He'd been able to trail her closely during the three days she'd traveled through the forest； but when she struck out across the Cold Field； he'd been forced to fall back and follow only under cover of darkness。 Even with his magical piwafwi there was no way for him to hide on the flat； featureless plain in full daylight。
He followed the faint traces of Halisstra's passage： a blank spot on the frosted ground where a pebble had been kicked out of place； a patch of lichen that had been scuffed off a rock； and a concave fragment of bone； recently kicked over； the frozen dirt clinging to its underside still fresh。
Flicking the fragment of skull aside with the toe of his boot； the weapons master stared across the desolate landscape； looking for Halisstra。 As far as he could see the frozen ground was studded with crumbling pieces of bone； rusted lance heads； shield bosses； and chunks of chain mail so rusted the links had fused into a single； solid mass。 It was as if the remains of the armies that had fought there centuries past had been seeded into the ground in the hope that they would one day rise again。 Yet nothing grew there； save for a few faint traces of lichen on those rocks that hadn't been melted to slag by the fiery breath of dragons。
A bitterly cold wind began to blow； plucking at the ends of Ryld's piwafwi like the ghosts of the dead。 Shivering； he peered into the gloom； searching for Halisstra。 She must have still been far ahead of him； he couldn't see her。 Ryld wondered if the ground had swallowed her up； just as it had the fallen armies； then he realized his nerves were getting the better of him。 That was the way of the place； though。 The bination of the moldering death beneath his feet and the vastness of the sky above him made him feel vulnerable； exposed。 If the dead truly did walk that barren landscape； there was nowhere to make a stand against them…no cavern wall to place his back against。
Running a hand across the crown of his head…his close…cropped hair had almost grown out and would soon need to be shaved back again…he trudged onward； eyes constantly flicking down to search the ground for Halisstra's trail。 After a few paces； however； he stopped。 There； some distance ahead of him in the direction Halisstra had been heading…was that someone moving？
Not someone…something。 The figure was definitely drow…shaped but seemed to be lacking its lower half。 Ryld could clearly see a head； shoulders； and arms silhouetted against the spot on the horizon where the moon was rising behind the clouds； but below the waist there was nothing but a trail of dark fog； twisting in the wind like smoke from an extinguished candle。 He didn't need to see its legs； however； to determine which direction the thing was moving in。 It sped briskly along； stopping every now and then to stoop down low over the earth。 With a shudder； Ryld realized it too was following Halisstra。
He drew Splitter from the sheath on his back and sprinted forward。 The ground beneath his feet blurred as his magical boots propelled him along at several times his normal running speed。 To attempt stealth on the featureless plain was futile。 All Ryld could count on to tip the balance in his favor was speed。 That； and the magic of the greatsword in his hand。
Within moments he was close enough to the creature to see it clearly。 The thing had once been human。 It wore a soldier's surcoat over chain mail…the surcoat emblazoned with a stylized tree…and an ornate silver helmet topped with a plume of white hair that spilled over the creature's shoulders； marking the soldier as an officer。 The helmet shone in the cloud…shrouded moonlight； and the links of the officer's chain mail still clinked。 At least part of the creature was corporeal； then； though Ryld was doubtful it could be wounded by a normal weapon。 Ryld was thankful he had Splitter； its enchantments would help even the odds。
Ryld was still two dozen paces away…and closing the distance swifter than a charging rothe…when he heard the low muttering。 He couldn't make out the words； but the emotion attached to them made him stagger。 It was as if he'd run into a pool of chest…high water。 Waves of disappointment； sorrow； and loss crashed one by one into his chest； slowing him to a stumbling walk。
The undead officer stopped； then slowly turned。 It was a human male； with a dark mustache that framed a drooping mouth； and eyes creased with sorrow。 Every aspect of the apparition cried out despair； from its drooping shoulders to the listless way it held its dagger。
A dagger that was thrust； hilt…deep； into its own chest。
As the eyes of the undead officer met Ryld's； the tide of emotions rose above the weapons master's head； drowning him in despair。 With it came a voice…a telepathic voice； for the officer was still muttering； and the movements of the ghost's mouth bore no relation to the words that pounded into Ryld's mind。
It is finished； the voice moaned。 Our army is defeated。 It was our duty to die in defense of Lord Velar； yet we few did not fall。 We cannot return to him in disgrace。 Only one course remains open to us…one path that leads to honor。 We must take our place beside those who have already fallen。 Like them； we must die。
The words echoed in Ryld's mind。
Die。 。 。 die。 。 。 die。 We must die。 We must take our place beside the others； it is your duty。 You must die。 。 。
Rooted to the spot by the intensity of the mand； Ryld tried to obey。 He turned Splitter； holding it by the blade and placing the hilt on the ground between his feet。 All he had to do was lean forward； and his agony would be at an end。 His honor； hanging in tatters like the banners of his fallen army； would be restored。
Letting his head droop； Ryld stared down at his hands…and the point of the blade he held between them。 He leaned forward until the magically keen blade punched through his breastplate to prick his chest； and felt the eyes of his manding officer watching him approvingly。 All he had to do was allow his weight to fall forward； and the defeat of the army of Lord Velar would be 。。。
Ryld's eye was caught by a ring on the finger of his own left hand。 Shaped like a small； twisting dragon； it was obviously an insignia of some sort。 The army of Lord Velar had been laid low by dragons…what was a ring shaped like one of those foul creatures doing on his finger？ It was just plain wrong。 。 。
No 。 。 。 the ring was the only thing that was right。 It marked Ryld as a Master of Melee…Magthere and triggered in him a realization。
He was not an officer in some army that was defeated centuries before he was born。 He was Ryld Argith； Weapons Master of Melee…Magthere； citizen of Menzoberranzan。
Shaking his head violently； Ryld threw off the last of the magical pulsion。 He let Splitter fall from his hands and drew his shortsword…a weapon that had been enchanted with just such a foe as this in mind。 The weapons master leaped forward； plunging it into the undead officer's chest。
His blade met resistance； just as if it had been thrusting into solid chain mail and living flesh； and the thrust did the job。 Glancing down at the sword that was buried in its heart…beside its own dagger…the undead officer let out a groan。 Ryld yanked his short sword free and danced back out of range。
A wisp of dark mist spurted from the pu