Chapter 16.

Kaulder was the first to look up. Surrounding The Black Rose, on all sides, were armor-clad archers mounted on flying horses. The same held true for the other airjammer, The Dire Shark. He then looked at the corpses riddled with arrows, one of which had been pulled loose by Logar for examination of the arrowhead.

"Orc-slayerium," the dwarf bard muttered: "What my people call 'blood metal.' There's only one race who use this for arrowheads. And there's only one elf who rides with the Flying Huntsmen. Captain Valendra Greycloak of the Moonstar Rangers!"

As if on cue, one of the winged warhorses swooped down towards the aft end of The Black Rose. Its gray-hooded rider landing on the stern railing with a superhuman grace that would have identified her long before she doffed her hood to reveal silvery-white, pointed ears, and ice-blue eyes.

"Logar Ythm of the Harpers Guild," she formally greeted him. "Fancy meeting you here."

"It's been a long time, captain."

"Too long, perhaps. I suggest we go below deck, where we can talk in private, while my compatriots return to their new airjammer with the bodies of the dead.

"Don't ask me," replied Logar, pointing behind him with his right thumb. "It's her ship!"

"In that case," said Valendra to Captain Damati. "Permission to come aboard?"

"Permission gratefully granted," intoned the latter.

They reconvened in the dining room next to the galley. There, Logar got right to the point.

"What brings you so far north of Waterdeep, Valendra?"

"The same thing as you," she answered bluntly. "Glordelia's impending nuptials and the culmination of the prophecy, thereby."

"Prophecy?" echoed Kaulder. "What prophecy?"

Valendra smirked. "Oh! Didn't he tell you? When the Covenant of Trombli first came to power in Pylea, its first high priest foretold that, someday, their mother goddess Vlaakith would be reborn as a fair-skinned woman. Crowned with all three of the Silmarils! And furthermore? That, nine months after she wed her chosen champion -Pylea's mightiest warrior- the collective power of those gems would be permanently absorbed... by their firstborn son. Trombli reincarnate!"

Kaulder glared at Logar. "No. For some reason, he forgot to mention that."

The elf-captain's grin widened. "Then, I'm sure he was equally negligent in telling you that he is no ordinary bard. That the Harpers Guild is actually an order of musicological wizards! They channel their magic through singing just as the numerologists of the Zhentarim do so, mathematically. And Logar is among their finest, as his clan is descended from the legendary dwarf mage... Radegast the Brown!"

Logar practically snarled as he lifted his mace in right hand, evidently planning to throw it straight at Valendra's forehead! But, quick as he was in the heat of anger, Helene Frisson was even quicker! Her left hand aiming a silver hunting sword at his bottom jaw, ready to vertically impale it should he make any further unwise moves.

"Merci," Kaulder remarked with a grateful nod of his head. Then he turned back to the elf-captain. "Why would he keep such information from us?"

"Because there's not one ambitious mage on this world who wouldn't go to undue lengths to obtain just _one_ of the Silmarils in order to augment their power! Yet, if the prophecy is fulfilled, all three of them become nothing more than useless trinkets."

THE GREAT GLACIER OF ZENDIKAR,

PLANET ZEIST (TWO YEARS EARLIER)

Welcome, Turok of House Balor.

The troll wizard knew almost instantly that he had heard that greeting telepathically. Yet, he still replied vocally, out of pure force of habit.

"Thank you, Milord! How may I be of service to thee?"

Let me tell thee a story. A story of how, once upon a time, I was better known as Nicol Bolas. A topaz dragon/sun wyrm hybrid who sought to become not only the most powerful planeswalker in the entire multiverse. But, sole ruler of it, as well! Alas, I was undone. Thwarted by a coalition of enemies led by my draconic arch-rival, Ulgin. Eldest of the force dragon elders.

Now, I am imprisoned here. With no one in the multiverse aware that I even existed! Instead, they remember me only as 'Nicobolas'. The courageous 'gold' dragon who selflessly guards the icebound body of Acecerak the Lich King. So that never again can any necromancer, with delusions of godhood, try to become an avatar or him.

Yet, with the help of this one...

Here, the dragon used his massive head to indicate Ethan Rayne.

...and yourself, I may finally achieve release.

"I would be honored, Milord," replied Turok. "Simply elaborate upon what thou require of me, and I shall ensure it comes to fruition!"

The one who calls himself Ethan has devised a way of nullifying the geas that binds me to this cave. But the catspaw he sends north, to implement it, would have to fly over the castle of he who rules the land immediately south of here. Thus, all I require of thee... is to overthrow that ruler. Destroy him and his whole family, so that none of his issue may seek to redress their sense of outrage! Let alone, prevent the overflight necessary to my liberation.

"Nothing would please me more greatly, Milord," said Turok, as cagily as possible. "I have but one boon to ask in return for providing that service."

I know what thee want, replied the dragon lord. And I can easily grant it to thee. One-third of the fabled Silmarils! A gem of such power that the one currently inset in thy magic ring, the so-called 'Eyelet of Balor', could easily be discarded as paling by comparison. It would certainly not meet its match in any wizard from thy former Order of Hermes!

Whereupon, Turok smiled. "Thy wish is my command, Milord."

TUROK'S PALACE,

KINGDOM OF CARPIA

(8 HOURS EARLIER)

Vargo Kent gazed into his crystal ball as he looked through the regenerated left eye of Drommel Borngray, which only lasted as long as he remained in shadow dragon form. That was how he had seen the reanimated corpse of Commander Soth- -now known as "Lord" Soth- -stride forward and mount his draconic steed. Encased in a suit of armor fashioned from the same darksteel as the lance with which the Death Knight was to slay Nicobolas!

"Are they airborne, yet?" demanded Turok.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the purple-robed seneschal replied, in as fawning a tone as possible.

"What about the rest of the Flaming Fists?"

"According to Captain Vrackmul, most of them are now thoroughly addicted to 'Blue Dragon' whiskey."

Turok smiled, as the aforementioned beverage, a mixture of amberfire whiskey and thannaberry juice, had been used to gradually gain mind-control over that esteemed order of knights via the inclusion of liquefied illithid tadpoles. The latter, obtained through a bluespawn brainstealer dracolich named Sapphiraktagaun, had, of course, then been distributed by the greedy, corrupt, and now-deceased innkeeper, Shandalar.

Fortunately, Sapphiraktagaun was more than capable of carrying on Shandalar's business through impersonation via telepathic hypnosis.

The self-styled "troll king" chortled. "Good! Then all we have to do is wait for The Flying Hunstmen to return to Baldur's Gate with their new airjammer."

tbc

Okay! Now is everyone finally up to speed as to why all these various Big Bads are so desperate to get their hands on these baubles? Good! Then, let's head for... THE GLOSSARY.

Blue dragon: desert-dwelling species of cunning and manipulative evil dragon that breathes lightning rather than fire.

Brainstealer dragon: any dragon that was implanted with a mind-flayer tadpole while still a hatchling.

Dracolich: generic term for any undead dragon.