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"Yes!" Piergeiron roared. "Arise, just as you are-fancy-costumes, finery and all-and go out through yon arch into the other hall and down into the winecellars! For your proud names and your forefathers, strike hard and strike true! Smite and slay those you know not, who seek to ascend into this hall and slaughter us all!"

The nobles stared at the Open Lord, as the pale-faced Paladinson drew his own sword. The shielding-spell made it flare golden as he swung it on high and cried, "For Waterdeep!"

All over the hall, monocles dangling on ribbons and faces flushed, old Lords of Waterdeep brandished their own blades, or belt-knives, or chair legs and roared back, "For Waterdeep!"

Lord Brokengulf was the first to start running, his hired lass sprinting along at his side with his dagger flashing ready in her hand… and then all the nobles were hurrying, men and women both, roaring wordlessly and awakening glow-spells on blades as they went, racing out into the other hall in a howling stream.

"How does he know foes of the city are attacking?" Naoni demanded with a frown. "You said Beldar didn't warn-"

"Mayhap someone else did," Korvaun replied. "Or perhaps no warning was needed. I doubt yon shielding stops Tarthus from hearing the spell-sent words of other Watchful Order wizards. They always work scrying magics when the Open Lord appears in public, and no doubt saw something sinister."

"Speaking of which…" Delopae Melshimber said urgently, pointing across the hall at the gallery above theirs.

Flame had just blossomed there, spitting from a torch held high by a familiar figure leaning over its rail. The elf all Waterdeep called the Serpent pointed at the last of the disappearing nobles and then spread his hands and addressed those still in the hall, uncertainly hefting belt-knives and swords of their own. "The hall trembles ever-more-perilously around us! And behold: The fine Lords of Waterdeep all flee into the wine cellars, whilst we remain here. What do they know that we don't?"

There was a silken edge to the Serpent's voice that suggested magical persuasion was at work-powerful magic, judging from the chorus of angry and frightened yells that rose in response, and the general stampede after the nobles.

The wizard Tarthus glared up at Elaith Craulnober, but he merely smiled, stepped back into darkness, and vanished-as another thunderous crash shook the hall.

"The hall's coming down," Korvaun said in sudden understanding, "and the elf, bless his black heart, is getting the people out!"

A fierce grin engulfed Taeros's face. "Then it's the tunnels for us, after all."

They worked their way swiftly through the chaos. The stream of running tradesmen and crafters was melting to a trickle, leaving a handful of revelers whose avarice was more powerful than Elaith's compulsion. Greedy hands plucked swords and daggers and gems from those who'd never need them again.

Then Faendra Dyre stiffened and cried, "Father!"

The man who'd just come staggering out of the dust-filled archway into the other hall was dazed, his face covered with lines of dusty blood, and he did not seem to hear her. Yet under the stone-dust that made him almost entirely gray-white, it was Varandros Dyre clearly enough.

"Come on," she said, in a voice that was almost a sob, and flung herself at the stairs back down out of the gallery. The others exchanged dismayed glances and followed her.

"Dyre! What happened to you?" Jarago Whaelshod rose from snatching a dagger out of a sprawled noble's sheath and blinked at the stonemason.

Karrak Lhamphur was hastening down the hall with two swords in his hands to join them and the words, "Who's this?"

'This' was the highcoin-lass Nalys, a lit lantern in her hand and a worried frown on her face, stepping out of the dust to seek Varandros. He wheeled around, embraced her with a fierce grin, and growled, "Lead us, gel! The winecellars!"

She nodded, smiled, turned-and the three New Day stalwarts plunged into the swirling dust a pace ahead of Faendra's rush across the hall