The street outside Aldanon's house was eerily deserted and terribly cold as Isaviel and a number of her companions rushed towards the large, ornate mansion. Two guards stood on the cobbles at the entrance to the old scholar's garden in a stand-off with a pair of thugs who were only half-visible in the darkness of the blasted doorway of the building. Their shouted words echoed crisply through the cold air, and several people had begun to peer out of their windows from within the surrounding houses.

Isaviel paused, seeing the fallen form of Cormick, face down on the garden path between the two groups, and whispered instructions into Bishop's ear. With a derisive grunt he nodded curtly and headed off down a side alley, motioning sharply for Grobnar to follow – something which the Gnome dared not refuse, though he did so with a short squeak of fear. Qara watched them curiously, unaware of her undignified dishevelled state, her hair sticking up at odd angles from an impromptu awakening so early in the morning. Elanee also watched the path of the ranger and his unlikely companion with a long, distrustful look, but Casavir, Khelgar and Shandra did not hesitate to follow Isaviel as she continued her approach, comprehending the urgency of the situation.

The two men of the Watch who had initially been sent to deal with the problem, both bleary-eyed and hastily armoured with probably half of the buckles holding their armour together left undone, turned with hopeful looks as Isaviel and her friends joined them. The shouted conversation paused for the time, the thugs who had purportedly broken into the mansion watching, invisible now, and the whole street rang with silence while all parties gathered their wits.

"Lieutenant…squire…I am so glad to see you here," the ranking man, a sergeant by his badge, gasped, wiping at his lined brow, an ageing man with bushy grey brows and untended stubble from his rude awakening.

"You would be," the Moon Elf noted dryly, "You have clearly failed to achieve what little has been expected of you," she gestured to the still form of Cormick, her golden eyes hard – there was no time to care about the offended expressions of the men beside her, "Is he still alive?"

"I am, Isaviel, though I might not have been if those imbeciles knew how to work that wand," the marshal groaned, his words faint rasps as he raised his head a little.

Hearing his words the two men at the destroyed doorway leaned into view, their faces obscured by plain cloth masks, their eyes wild with panic from what the Moon Elf could see. The one on the right of the doorway held a pale white wand in his hand, the globe at its end still sparking with tiny lightenings.

"Don't come any closer!" the man with the wand insisted, trying and failing to hide the shake in his high tone, "Any steps onto the path and we'll kill your marshal!"

Isaviel heard Khelgar grunt at those words, imagining him settling into a defensive stance behind her, fists up and ready for a fight, as if that might help in this delicate situation. Cormick had fallen forward whilst facing the house, and she could not get a look at his face even when he managed to raise his head to try to speak. She could see the blood on the ground though, and suspected he was badly wounded indeed – he was certainly not one to cease fighting easily.

"My la… Isaviel," Casavir murmured now, stepping up to the Moon Elf's side and putting a hand on her shoulder, his deep voice rumbling through the contact, "I fear he is gravely wounded."

The Moon Elf sent him a derisive glance…or would have if he had not caught her gaze. She saw his genuine concern there – for Cormick, but also for her. He assumed that she cared about the fallen man, and she felt a slight stab of guilt that she would try to save him now more for Sand and Duncan than anything else.

"Just rush 'em, Lieutenant," Cormick grunted, moving as if to try to push himself up and succeeding in rolling onto his back – the gash on his stomach was bleeding profusely and the leather tunic he wore was scorched away over the right side of his chest, "They're out of charges."

"They're not," Qara whispered into Isaviel's ear, "But they don't know how to use that thing. I could set them on fire quicker than they could aim…"

"Gods!" Elanee gasped, rather pointedly leaning between Isaviel and Casavir, "I have to be able to reach him to heal him as soon as possible."

"Better not listen to him, hounds," the other ruffian denied, "Us imbeciles have plenty charges left, so keep yer stinkin' distance!"

"What exactly is going on here, sergeant?" Isaviel hissed through gritted teeth, not taking her eyes off the pair twitching at the door.

"A botched robbery as far as we can make of it," the ageing Watch member explained, "The thieves were inside the house when Cormick knocked – he must have noticed that the old wards were down. Never stood a chance. They shot him with that wand of theirs and left him right there. Now they say they'll kill him if we come closer."

One quick look at Cormick lying there, barely conscious, burned and bleeding, his face ashen and his breathing shallow, Isaviel knew he could not stand another attack of any sort. Duncan would be distraught if he died, and Sand would know she had not tried hard enough if that happened. She preferred to believe Qara's information about the wand – the sorcerer would not have offered such helpful information if it weren't true (and in contravention to what Cormick had claimed).

Unknown to the ruffians, Isaviel had a shuriken concealed up each sleeve as she stepped forward onto the threshold of the open gate leading into Aldanon's garden. She raised her arms in a peaceable gesture, and though the man with the wand aimed his weapon at Cormick, his hand shaking tellingly, he hesitated.

"Stand down now, and things will go better for you," Isaviel promised, "He can't do you any more harm…"

"But you can! As soon as ye get yer marshal back, ye'll turn on us and kill us."

"If you do not allow us to reach him we may be forced to kill you," Isaviel corrected, "Put that wand down, and we'll talk terms."

A moment of silence passed while the two men at the door leaned back out of view, undoubtedly arguing over the best course of action. They seemed remarkably determined to hold the door, as well as uncommonly afraid and disorganised. That suggested there were others inside, and Isaviel wondered what had become of Aldanon and his numerous servants.

"What kind o' terms?" the man with the wand asked eventually as he and his companion appeared once more, this time daring to step out of the door. Dressed in leathers, they were well-armed but poorly trained, from the way they did not keep their hands close to their identical sheathed longswords.

"Money? A pardon? A day's head-start to run from 'the law that hounds you'?" Isaviel shrugged, hiding her smirk when the two men of the Watch behind her muttered indignantly at her audacious words. Of course she couldn't promise that kind of thing. She didn't need to be telling the truth – they just had to believe that she was.

"We want all o' them things," the man warned with as much of a growl as he could muster, twitching the wand, and she was ready for his next words when they came, "But we've been offered better."

Everything happened all at once. Isaviel brought one hand up to signal to Bishop and Grobnar, hoping they had reached their vantage points by then, and her other whipped around, sending a shuriken spinning towards the man with the wand as he raised that fizzling weapon to aim it at Cormick. The bladed projectile caught the wand with its serrated edge just as Casavir threw himself past the Moon Elf, covering Cormick with his shield, sending the electrical blast far off target, roaring into one of the lichen-patterned statues by the door. A stone head cracked and wobbled from the impact, while arrows came swooping in from behind; one, two…three, four. In a moment one man was shrieking, falling to the floor with an arrow in his right thigh, another quivering over his shoulder deep in the remains of the doorframe. The second man, the one who had now been forced to drop the wand, his hand visibly raw and blistered from its misuse, turned to flee. Two more arrows came for him, one pinning his injured hand, still upraised, to the doorframe by its sleeve, the other thrumming just over his head.

"A-alright, alright!" he cried, as if he had some kind of choice, while Elanee rushed over to tend to Cormick, her hands already glowing with pale healing light, "J-just don't kill me!"

Isaviel gestured impatiently to the sergeant and his companion who stood gawping behind her as Bishop dropped down from some hidden balcony at the side of the mansion opposite, whistling for Grobnar as if he were Karnwyr. Still, it took a moment before the two Watch men responded, moving over to the pinned men and attempting to extract them from the garden.

"Someone needs to make sure those two don't let them get away," Shandra pointed out dryly and Isaviel nodded her agreement.

"You're right. Grobnar! Give them a hand bringing those two fools to the Watch for questioning."

The Gnome looked both honoured and taken aback by her request, and though Bishop snorted at the words, perceiving the suggestion as a slight to the two Watch men, Isaviel suspected Grobnar of being easily competent enough. His bowshot had been the one to pin the man's arm…without harming him, an appropriate outlook for someone who needed to escort the men safely. The same could not be said for Bishop's aim; the first ruffian was now incapable of walking from the scene.

"Elanee, go to the Temple of Lathander, get some help for Cormick and the wounded man there. We need to get them out of the way – quickly, in case anyone more comes out of that door."

"At once," the druid agreed, standing and almost instantly morphing into an owl, flapping strong, silent wings a few times before swooping out of sight.

"We need to check inside the house. Aldanon may yet be inside," Casavir stated, standing and hefting his hammer.

Though the words were obvious, Isaviel could not disagree.

Aldanon's house had been so cluttered and disorganised to start with that it was hard to determine the extent of the break in at first. Passing beyond the splintered remains of the front door and through the main hallway, it was evident after a short time of picking through scrolls that a large area of his library had been hurriedly raided. A field of torn papers, spilled inkpots and broken quills all attested to this. There was no sign of any servants – a struggle had taken place in the kitchen, located across a narrow hallway beyond the library, where a still-bubbling broth had been overturned from its cauldron over the fire. The meat cleaver on the counter was covered in blood, but there was no sign of any meat for it to have cloven, and the window in that room was thoroughly shattered, the splintered frames strewn across the floor. It looked like someone else had come in that way.

It was only once they had moved back out of the kitchen, heading down the plain, wood-panelled servants' corridor that they turned a corner and Isaviel came up short with a startled gasp. Casavir almost bowled right into her, and Khelgar grunted in surprise at what he saw as well. Qara summoned flames into her palms reflexively and stood there looking resolute but anxious, her reddish hair a wild mess, the skirts of her dress rippled by magical winds the others could not feel.

"An interesting band of thieves," Bishop suggested sardonically.

On the ground before them lay three monstrous forms, one evidently a Succubus from its feminine form, wings torn and singed, scraps of clothing darkened with blood and gore. The two monsters flanking her were less familiar – humanoid in form, their arms and legs were impossibly long with knife-like claws on their hands, their leathery skin blackened from a magical blast. One had a deep gash in its side, presumably from the meat-cleaver in the kitchen, and both had enormous bared teeth that took up half the space of their emaciated heads.

"Demons," Casavir growled, as if anyone doubted it.

Isaviel continued to stare at the fallen monsters which had perished in the blast of Aldanon's wards as Bishop stalked closer, kicking at the corpse of the succubus, the talons of her tattered wings scraping against the floorboards. Slick black blood had seeped into the wood from all three, implying to Isaviel that there had been a simple trap there as well as spells – the sight was too grisly to observe for too long. Beyond this point the hallway dropped down in a steep flight of stairs towards a set of doors, presumably leading to Aldanon's vault or something with equally valuable implications.

"The wards are down. We shouldn't have any trouble getting past," Qara shrugged, the fires still dancing in her palms, "Really, I'm right," she insisted when Isaviel sent her a long, searching look.

"Fine," the Moon Elf sighed, and stepped quickly over the fallen demons, heading straight down the stairs and trying the handle of the double doors, "It's locked."

"So no one got past those doors…but someone wanted to," Bishop surmised.

"Who'd want to work wi' demons?" Khelgar mused doubtfully as he and Casavir automatically moved over to the doors.

"Not those fools at the door," Isaviel assured him, unsheathing her kukris as she stepped aside, pressing her back to the wall in readiness.

It did not take much effort from either Casavir or Khelgar before they shouldered through the mechanism…only for a crossbow bolt to come flying out from the darkness beyond. Qara brought up her hands reflexively, with no time to dodge out of the way, and the wooden projectile burned to cinders immediately in the flames pouring from her palms. Bishop made a disappointed sound as he watched her go unscathed, immediately following this by shooting an arrow blind into the void opened by the doors. A gurgle followed, and Isaviel could see beyond with her night vision that he had rather gruesomely caught the crossbow-wielding man through the throat with his arrow.

Casavir stepped forward, holding his palely glowing hammer high to light his path for him. Isaviel ignored this, creeping ahead with the shadows as her aids, past the dying man who wore the same leathers as those men who had guarded the door. Turning the corner she saw a large, empty room of feebly torch-lit stone, and there were the servants, huddled in a whimpering group at one corner. A tall man, another of the thugs, waved a longsword in one hand and a torch in the other, sweat beading his brow as he turned to face the group storming his hideout. But his two companions, those who had been charged with intimidating the servants into silence, kept their nerve for far less long, dropping their weapons and raising their hands with girlish shrieks. A moment later and their tall, burly leader did the same. There was no sign of Aldanon.

"We surrender. J-just don't send the d-demons after us again, please…w-we'll tell you everything you want to know!"

"I am most glad to hear it," Isaviel smirked sarcastically, "Bishop, Casavir, Khelgar, if you would be so kind as to escort these…gentlemen from the premises."

Casavir and Khelgar took a moment to round up the three men still alive in the room, Bishop with his bow drawn back tight in threat. The arrow notched there would merrily find any of their hearts, Isaviel knew. And that included the paladin and the Dwarf. As the group was retreating back up the stairs, hopefully to meet with a large Watch contingent, Isaviel turned to the servants, who were blinking at her uncomprehendingly. They did not seem to know if she was friend of foe.

"You…you are Isaviel Farlong," a young, immaculately dressed man stated at last, stepping forward from the group though they tried to pull him back, "I remember you…you came in talking about the shards. Master Aldanon gave you his."

"I am. And yes indeed, I still have it," Isaviel agreed, patting one of the pouches on her belt, "Where is your 'master'?"

"Kidnapped…he was looking for you when…the thieves came," the man explained, glancing with nervous eyes towards the dead man at the door, "They had a wizard with them at first, and he took Aldanon away in a flash of light. Then the demons came and the thieves barricaded themselves here with us."

"Do you have any idea why this happened?" Isaviel asked, but she suspected she already knew the answer, "Or who these people might have been?"

"I…believe I do, at least…he wanted to speak to you about…something about the shards. As we'd been looking for you when the thieves came, we believed them when they said they had a message from you."

"They knew my name?"

"Yes. But they wore no insignia…I do not know who they might have been."

"Alright then," Isaviel sighed, "Why don't we get out of this cave before they all go mad," she gestured towards the huddled servants in the corner, "And you can tell us what Aldanon wanted?"

"We had been researching the silver shards at the Archive," the young servant explained once they had been escorted to the City Watch headquarters in the centre of the Merchant District.

He had grown pale as he recounted the events of the break-in, slumping in his chair in Brelaina's office. The captain herself was perched on the edge of her desk, watching him intently. The room looked emptier without her ever-present marshal, but Elanee informed them Cormick had been instated safely in the Temple of Lathander amongst its famed healers. The other servants – as well as the ruffians they had captured – were all being questioned elsewhere.

"What did you find that was so important? Why would a group of 'thieves', accompanied by a far more competent wizard, kidnap Aldanon?" Isaviel demanded from where she leaned against the wall, appearing deceptively relaxed.

Bishop was by her side, spinning his bow around its tip on the floor, Casavir standing by the opposite wall. She had the uncomfortable feeling that when she was not looking, the men were eyeballing each other with significantly threatening glares. Khelgar shifted from foot to foot nearer the servant's chair, evidently anxious to be off. They had been told earlier that Nasher had need of them, and that undoubtedly meant more worrying news.

"Why would a group of demons follow in their wake?" Qara threw in from her place by the door, arms folded and foot tapping, as impatient as the Dwarf.

"I am not certain," the servant shrugged with wide-eyed honesty, looking about the room at the various members of Isaviel's group who had assembled, his eyes lingering on Elanee, who stood looking thoughtful and fragile by the window, Shandra frowning worriedly by her side, "We recently found a reference to a shard held in Neverwinter shortly after the war with the King of Shadows. It was held by a fraternity of lords, wealthy men who dabbled in matters arcane. According to the record there were four of these lords; Dalren, Brennick, Hawkes and Tavorick."

"Well, well, those names sound awfully familiar," Bishop noted, coldly amused, looking around at Isaviel and making sure her eyes met his before continuing, "Those are the men who've been turning up dead."

"Yes," the servant agreed, "All but Tavorick. We reasoned that the lords have been passing the shard from one to the other, just ahead of the demons. If our guess is correct, then Lord Tavorick has the shard and he is in considerable danger," his words were coming out in a frantic stream now and he was gripping the arms of his chair tightly, "Aldanon tried to send word to him, but the man is stubborn. He urged me to go away and said that I shouldn't return until I was 'younger and female'."

"We should tell Lord Nasher now – in case more of those men – or demons – return," Shandra suggested, and Isaviel nodded her agreement.

"Shandra, Casavir…come with me," she said, already turning to leave, ignoring Bishop's disgusted sound; you cannot let the others cloud your perception so much, "The rest of you stay here and see what more you can uncover from our…guests and prisoners."

Sir Nevalle met them in the main atrium of Castle Never, the same room where Isaviel had waited with Casavir and Lord Corett those weeks ago. The leader of the Neverwinter Nine, dressed as always in his chainmail and blue and white regalia, ushered them through a side door and down a plain white-washed corridor at a brisk pace, two heavily armed guards bringing up the rear.

"Any news of Lord Aldanon?" Nevalle inquired as they reached the end of the corridor, beginning to open a simple wooden doorway by a tall arched window with a view of the castle gardens and the gloomy morning, "Is he unharmed?"

"Unfortunately we have learned little so far," Casavir admitted before Isaviel could speak, "Except that…he has been kidnapped."

Sir Nevalle paused at that and looked around at the trio with a grave expression. Something about the set of his mouth and the seriousness in his eyes made Isaviel realise that he had not known…but that he had suspected.

"The information one of his servants gave us would suggest that Lord Tavorick will become the next murdered noble – and that it may well happen tonight, while the city's focus is on the commotion at Aldanon's house," Isaviel informed him as he looked away, pulling open the door and stepping through.

"This is ill news, though not wholly unsurprising," Sir Nevalle agreed as Isaviel and her companions followed him over the threshold, the guards closing the door behind them.

"Tell us all that you have learned, squire."

Nasher's deep voice rang through the small, brightly lit chamber, and Isaviel looked past Nevalle to see the Lord of Neverwinter seated at a table eating what could only have been his breakfast. He was dressed in a robe of blue and silver, his head appearing exceptionally bald without his customary crown. Yet it would have been folly to consider him vulnerable at that moment – the way he wielded the butter knife in his hand could attest to that. Nevalle relinquished command of the situation to his lord, moving over to the heartily crackling fireplace, eyes glinting in the greyish light flooding through the large, many-paned window to Isaviel's left.

Isaviel did as Lord Nasher bade her, explaining all that had occurred and everything they had learned, shifting her muddy Mere boots uncomfortably over the expensive Damaran rug upon which she had been left. The room was opulent even in its simplicity, the breakfast of Lord Nasher probably more expensive than Sal's entire kitchen. The curtains were distractingly embroidered with silver thread that glinted eye-catchingly in the morning light, and there was a man in the garden outside struggling to prune a particularly awkwardly shaped hedge. She found her eyes wandering that way as she spoke, rather than having to watch Lord Nasher staring so intently at her as she spoke, just as Casavir and Nevalle had a habit of doing. They took after their god in that sense; they were so judgemental. She was very aware of how out of place she felt, with Nevalle so blandly radiant in his knight's attire, Casavir glowing righteously beside her; Shandra took well to this serious, heavily-armoured atmosphere as well.

"Not news to my ears, sadly," Nasher stated, putting down his knife and fork with the air of a man sheathing a greatsword, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with an icy white napkin before sitting back in his polished chair, broad sleeves rustling softly as he settled his hands upon the armrests, "But I am glad you have come and it sounds to me as though you did all you could; that is what I wish of you."

"Why did you require us to come then?" Isaviel demanded.

She felt so out of place there standing in her plain dark tunic and leggings, her worn cloak limp about her shoulders, and her ancient boots leaving muddy prints in the beautiful ivory-coloured carpet.

"My lord," Nevalle corrected her sharply, but Nasher waved it aside with an impatient huff.

"You are right to tell me of your fears for Lord Tavorick's safety," the lord of Neverwinter nodded solemnly, "Cyran is a good friend of mine and I will not allow him to suffer the same fate as the others. I want you at his estate at once; I am sending Ballard with a contingent as well, he is the captain of the Watch here in the Blacklake and I trust him implicitly. You are to act as his second in command and take as many members of your…rag-tag group as you can spare. Those who do not already work for the Watch will be paid duly for their aid, if that is what it takes to persuade them to lend me their services. Whatever this shard you speak of means, it must not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands – and neither demons nor thieves are the right hands, I think we might both agree on that."

Isaviel smiled grudgingly at his words, but only briefly, crossing her arms in front of herself and stared back at him with steely eyes. Shandra laid a hand on her arm as if sensing her thoughts, looking from the Moon Elf to Nasher with incredulously disapproving eyes.

"And why am I suddenly expected to carry out this…duty for you?" Isaviel hissed, "I am but a humble lieutenant at the Merchant Quarter…under sufferance at that."

"Your honesty astounds me," Lord Nasher noted dryly, his lip curling at her tone as he gestured for the servant standing by the door to remove the remains of his food, "I understand that Cormick likes to keep an eye on you – you may be an impressive fighter, and I do not doubt you are innocent of those claims Torio laid against you, but I am no fool. I understand what company you keep, though Sand tries hard to protect you."

Shandra's grip on her arm tightened when her instincts sent her hands to the empty sheaths for her kukris. Nasher might be handy with a knife and fork…and he might be handy with that greatsword hanging by the door, but he certainly was no fool. His guards had taken their weapons from them at the atrium and crossed their halberds across the door now when Isaviel bristled.

"Your courage is impressive, though I think you are wiser than to strike out at me for such placid words, Isaviel Farlong," Nasher commented smoothly, his voice dripping with derision before he nodded towards Casavir, so still and dutiful by her side, "Your paladin trusts you implicitly though your hackles rise. I would have you leashed and tamed rather than rotting in a cell, for I know what it is that you carry, and I know of the threat growing in your homeland's marshes perhaps better than you. If you do not act as I say, I will make you do it, do not doubt me."

"My lord, surely…" Casavir began but Nasher gestured for silence.

"My aids tell me of your unlawful deeds, and I have seen your…foul…temper for myself at your trial. You are dangerous to the wellbeing of my city, and that I will not allow, but I cannot place charges against you when I cannot trace this Thieves' Guild for which I suspect you work."

That sent relief flooding through Isaviel – he could not stop her then…

"Against my better judgement, I see something of worth in you," Nasher admitted disdainfully, "Your expertise and past successes with these shards may well prove useful. And if none of that interests you, there is a knighthood and lands in this for you."

"A 'leash' for me, don't you mean?" Isaviel snarled, "And how do you intend to force this upon me?"

"Oh, I need not," Nasher denied, a self-satisfied smile upon his face now, "For it is your duty…and when the time comes, when this King of Shadows is upon us, you will need Neverwinter with you."

Casavir placed a heavy hand on her shoulder at those words, and when she turned to look at him, his eyes glowed like blue suns. Isaviel just felt a cold dread creeping up her spine. I fear he is right. When last the King of Shadows came, they needed an army to fend him off. Why would he return, if he is not stronger now?

"My lady, he speaks truly," the paladin told her softly, his conviction absolute.

"You know much of this King of Shadows, and you seem unsurprised regarding these shards," Isaviel noted, and Nasher shrugged unconcernedly.

"Of course, I have a city to protect, and all its lands, not just my own life, squire. I will do anything for my people. If that means I have to deal with the likes of you, then I will. If that does not persuade you, think on the power, the lands, the titles you will win from aiding me. A pretty leash – and a long one – for a rabid dog, if you ask me."

There it was again, the expectation of duty, the requirement for honour, the endowment of a title to bind her to the cause of the city. But she had to do this…for her own wellbeing, regardless of Nasher's derisive acknowledgement of that mind-set. Whoever wanted the shard from Tavorick would come for her next – and she suspected this as Black Garius's work. She might as well face him sooner rather than later.