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paladin’s grasp. He staggered, falling to his knees and tightly clutching the clue in his hand.
    Piergeiron knelt beside the slain man, and both were shadowed beneath Madieron, who had appeared out of nowhere. The pixie held back a garnering crowd.
    Piergeiron pulled the sheep’s head mask from the dead man. He gazed down at a white, hair-lipped visage with blond curls and a hawkish nose.
    “Terrance Decamber—undersecretary to the Master Mariner’s Guild.” said Piergeiron heavily.
    Chapter 3 A Meeting with the Lads
    With shapeshifters at large in the castle and nobles and guildmasters plotting on all sides, Piergeiron could confide in very few, Eidola reduced the possible ranks even farther. She routinely balked at Piergeiron’s overprotectiveness, and even now she would certainly forbid him to enlist the aid of others.
    But enlist he would. She did not need to know of her defenders until she needed their defence—which might be soon enough.
    First, of course, was the inimitable Blackstaff. Khelben was no shapeshifting imposter; the Lord Mage of Waterdeep had a way of dispensing with imitators. He had already been aiding in security; his cursory scans at the gates had turned up plenty of weapons and minor magics. Now Khelben sought much greater and subtler sorceries, the sorts of elaborate wards that usually go undetected.
    Such protections might hide a shapechanger, or a whole platoon of them. The Lord Mage was even now combing the crowd of guests, servants, and guards.
    Next came Madieron Sunderstone. Most shapeshifters could not imitate creatures his size. Even to try, they would have to overcome the blond-haired man-mountain—no small feat. Besides, the man’s combination of dull wits and deep wisdom would defy duplication. Rergeiron was confident that the Madieron who had greeted him in his apartments this morning was the same man who stood by him now—and would stay at his side until he met Eidola at the altar.
    Then, there was Captain Rulathon, Piergeiron’s secondin-command of the city watch. This black mustachioed warrior was no imitation, either, for Khelben himself had teleported him in for the briefing. His expertise at subtle reconnaissance was matched only by his knowledge of the folk of Waterdeep. Few impostors could sneak past him.
    And, last—Noph Nesher. No shapeshifter would have thought to take his form, and the noble youth had already proved his worth. He had eavesdropped on various conspirators and had gathered the first hard evidence—a bit of fabric torn from one of them.
    Piergeiron, Madieron, Rulathon. and Noph met in a small vestibule off the palace kitchens. It was just the sort of unfinished and unwelcoming space that often hatched conspiracies, whispered plans that would shake continents.
    Rulathon listened closely, his black hair flaring wildly about his intent face. Noph tried to look equally focused, though a thin film of sweat glistened on his white brow. Madieron’s expression was ponderous and a bit vacant amid the dark and rough-hewn rafters.
    The Open Lord recounted what he had learned from the conspirators. “There is treason in it. It is no simple matter of impersonating a maid or whispers in the corners. It is a kidnapping plot, or assassination, or some such. And as yet, I still do not know who precisely is behind it all. At best, the shapeshifters are chaotic creatures working on their own, and Decamber was acting outside the orders of the mariners. At worst, these conspiracies might reach deep into the ranks of Waterdeep’s nobles and guilds.”
    “The mariners have plenty of reasons to block an overland trade route,” Captain Rulathon noted grimly.
    “Yes,” agreed Piergeiron,” but so would many other folk. Whoever is behind it all, I am convinced that the trade route to Kara-Tur is key.”
    “I came to the same conclusion,” Noph interrupted. The other three turned their attention on him, as he smiled sheepishly. “It’s where the money leads. Somebody wants