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.There was a sudden rush of rubble and a crash that shook the room.Fflarast cursed and staggered back, trying to keep his feet, but ended up sitting down hard on rubble.When he'd scrambled up and could see again through the rising dust, his mouth went suddenly dry.Baeremuth Asanter lay under a fallen block of stone nearly as large as a pack mule.Thin rivers of blood were running out from beneath it — and Fflar could just see the tips of the fingers of one hand, reaching vainly for aid.It would reach forever now.Death GROOJS ImpatientFflarast Blackriver peered again at his comrade's remains and then backed away very carefully.The rock-fall hadn't been accidental.Someone had gone to a lot of trouble with wooden wedges and spars and balanced stones—and even flung dust around afterward to hide their work.The wedges were the bright hue of newly cut wood; this had been done within the last day or so."Oh, Bane preserve us," Fflarast whispered, backing out of the chamber.At that moment, a heavy booming off to the right marked the discovery of another trap.It was followed by a faint, raw screaming that went on for a long time before ending suddenly in a gurgle.Fflarast knew those sounds.Someone had put a half-crushed man out of his agony with a quick sword thrust to the throat."Ye gods and small creeping things hear my plea," the Zhentilar warrior whispered, invoking the old, old prayer of desperate warriors.He wasn't facing half a hundred ores alone on a crag, like the legendary Bor-thin had been when he roared out the invocation, but dead is dead, and Fflarast Blackriver had only one life to lose.Moreover, he valued it just as much as Borthin had his own.There came another rushing of stone off to the left, and startled cursing.Ah—one trap had missed.Good; that meant they were probably all clever feats, and not magic.Maybe—-just maybe—Fflar would see the end of this day.There came a ringing of steel from behind him."What's ahead, scout?" a self-important swordcaptain snapped.Pelaeron himself, scourge of lazy soldiers.Oh, joy."Traps, sir," Fflarast said, indicating the fallen block and Baeremuth's arm."I'm deciding how best to safely proceed.""Well, hurry up about it," the officer snapped, prodding Fflar's mail-covered backside with his sword tip."We haven't got all night, you know." A file of warriors was crowding into the room behind the swordcaptain.Fflarast looked at them—and at Pelaeron's steely eye— and then swallowed, shrugged, and carefully climbed over the rubble to the left of Baeremuth, on into the darkness.Darkness where there should have been light.The torch had been with Baeremuth, and no mage lights were near."Torch," Fflarast rapped out, keeping his voice as laconic as possible, and reached back.The swordcaptain curtly waved an armsman with a blazing torch forward.The man reached to hand the torch to Fflarast, shuffled amid loose stones, tripped, and measured his length on the rubble.Stones shifted—and Fflar flung himself backward into unknown darkness as hard and fast as he could.An instant later, armsman, torch, Pelaeron, and all vanished in a roaring and tumbling of stone as two carefully balanced blocks collapsed sideways, and the floor of the chamber above came down.Fflarast landed hard on his tailbone on rough-edged rocks and lay there groaning.The chamber he'd come through was now a new-sealed tomb in front of him.He was lying in a cross passage—and listening to fresh crashings off to the left as heavy stones dropped and rolled.Tortured metal shrieked briefly as it crumpled, a man screamed for an instant, and then there were only echoes.Echoes that faded slowly into silence.Fflar shuddered.He snarled wordlessly.Gods take all wizards! Save my bruised behind! Grunting, he rolled slowly and carefully to the left, to his knees, and felt for his sword.There was another rolling crash in the distance, and shouts.Fflarast found his sword and clutched it, not moving as he fought down fear.He was alone in chill darkness with death waiting all around him.For the greater glory of Zhentil Keep, whose proud lords would not even know that Fflarast Blackriver had died in the service.Or care one whit, if someone told them."Hungry beasts take them all," Fflar told the darkness softly, and stayed on his knees, wondering how long it would be until dawn.and if he'd dare try to find his way out of the ruin even then.Far down the passage, many torches glimmered and danced, and a voice said, "There—that's armor!""I serve Zhentil Keep!" Fflar shouted desperately, flinging up his arms in case someone was very eager to fire his crossbow.No quarrels answered.The voice came again."Who are you, soldier?""Fflarast Blackriver, of Pelaeron's Mace." He cleared his throat and added, "I'm alone.Pelaeron and most of his swords lie under stone beside me.We've struck two traps already.""It seems a contagious habit," the voice responded dryly."Stay where you are.I'm going to throw you a torch."A moment later, fire whup-whup-whupped end over end through the darkness, trailing sparks, and fell amid rubble, showing Fflar a row of archways on one side of the passage, and doors or fallen walls on the side he'd come in by.A boot—still twitching feebly—could be seen in the fall of rubble beside him.Fflarast swallowed and turned his back on it, looking through the nearest arch."What can you see, soldier?" the voice asked."A huge chamber—probably a great hall," Fflarast answered."It has balconies around its inside walls, and the roof's gone somewhere.There's moonlight at one end.""Off to your left—my right?""Aye," Fflarast called."It looks open—big empty stretches."Voices murmured down the corridor.The officer called, "Can you get to the torch?"Fflarast struggled over rubble for a few sweating moments, half-expecting the ceiling to fall on him, but reached the guttering torch safely."I have it," he called, and swung it nigh."Good.We're going to throw you another.Pitch it out into this large hall of yours and tell us what you see."Fflarast did so.The chamber rivalled the main hall of the Black Altar back in Zhentil Keep.He'd stood honor guard in that dark temple more than once, and knew this hall was fully as large.He told them so."Can you say anything of interest?""No.broken tiles.heaved and stained flooring, but open.The torchlight doesn't show it all.Nothing moving or alive that I can see.""Good man.Stay where you are.We're coming to join you."Fflarast sighed heavily and stood as still as he could, watching the slow and cautious advance of a long file of black-armored men.It seemed half the Sword of the South was in the passage.Someone had cut a long, bent sapling and lashed a torch to it, and was lighting the high ceiling as they came, finding holes and old rockfalls
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