Diir, Mialee, Takata, and Hound-Eye stood shoulder to shoulder in the cold spray at the edge of the bridge, staring down the gargantuan reptile. The crocodile now covered half the bridge, and what wooden planks remained behind the monster had been reduced to a tangled snarl of broken lumber. Hefty chunks of the structure had already broken free and floated downriver.

They needed inspiration. Devis launched into a ballad of ancient heroes, stalwart men and women standing tall, courageous in their resolve, the usual themes. He hated falling back on the standards, but circumstances didn't allow Devis the luxury of calling forth a new song from scratch, and in this case, the words of the music had very little to do with the magical effect he wanted.

The mist carried Devis's voice—cracking now and again, but serviceable—to his companions at the water's edge. Takata and Hound-Eye straightened and seemed to grow just a little bit taller as they held their short bows leveled at the croc, arrows nocked and ready. Diir twirled the gleaming, engraved short sword and shifted into a loose combat stance.

Mialee raised her right hand and Devis saw a ball of golden fire flare around her fingers.

Zalyn truly took Devis's song to heart. She loaded her small crossbow, pulled her feathered helm snugly over her head, and dashed past Devis to join the others with a war cry that made the bard's ears ring.

The remains of the shattered bridge cracked and popped with the crocodile's every shifting step. If the thing had been intelligent, Devis might have wondered if the creature was trying to drown out the bard's music with the cacophony of breaking lumber. The half-elf peered intently into the crocodile's black sockets through the swirling water spray.

Devis blinked and momentarily stopped strumming the lute. The crocodile's eyes had flashed blood red and the bard felt a blackness grip his soul. Devis's voice faltered, and he suddenly found himself fumbling for the lyrics to a fighting song he'd known since his eighth summer.

The bard wobbled with sudden vertigo and watched as his companions' resolve wilted. Zalyn visibly slumped in her armor, and the fire in Mialee's hand dimmed ever so slightly.

The crocodile chose that moment to charge, jaws flung wide. Jagged yellow teeth the size of a boar's tusks glinted in the filtered sunlight as the eyeless beast lumbered out of the mist. Heavy wooden slats snapped and flew into the foaming current as the croc's obsidian claws and considerable mass tore the bridge apart.

Diir held his ground and stared down the reptile's open gullet.

Devis felt an icy hand release his heart, and an entirely new ballad swelled inside him, demanding to be released. The words erupted uncontrollably and he swung his hand down to strike the lute strings so hard that his fingers bled. Devis's new tune magically drowned the sound of the river and the snarling, undead reptile that barreled snout-first toward the bard's most taciturn ally. He saw the others swell with martial pride.

Diir raised a gloved hand. The crocodile's jaws would close around him in seconds.

The elf's glove chopped the air. "Now!"

At his signal, Takata and Hound-Eye frantically pumped arrow after arrow into the creature's open maw. Zalyn's crossbow twanged and snapped as she fired and reloaded with surprising speed.

The bard rounded the second verse of his spontaneous melody and headed into the third movement.

Mialee shouted the last word of her spell and threw the ball of golden energy overhand into the crocodile's throat. The missile exploded and sizzled. Foul black smoke spread from the crocodile's jaws and mingled with spray from the raging river. Devis continued singing even as he lost sight of his companions in the haze.

Mialee and Takata emerged from one side of the cloud to Devis's left, while Zalyn and Hound-Eye circled out of the smog on Devis's right to flank the beast. Diir had disappeared.

No, there he is, Devis corrected himself as the monster's black-scaled jaws emerged, snarling, from the smog, followed by the rest of the enormous croc. Diir sat astride the crocodile's neck like a pixie on a warhorse. The bard backed away as quickly as he dared, leaving the third chorus behind and diving into an extended, improvisational bridge that let him lend some attention to where his feet were going.

The monster's jaws snapped shut with a deafening clap and the creature shook its neck like a wet dog, trying vainly to dislodge its unwanted rider. A real, living crocodile would have simply rolled into the water, but this undead creature seemed leery of exposing its underbelly to its opponents. The thing was fighting with intelligence, the bard realized, and hoped that Diir—who seemed to be a natural strategist and a hell of an acrobat—could hold on. Blast after blast of energy slammed into the creature's side from the tip of Mialee's wand while Zalyn and the halflings peppered the croc's thick hide with arrows.

Devis saw the croc-riding elf look him in the eye as the song rose to new heights. Diir raised his arms, staying connected to the crocodile only by virtue of his straining leg muscles. The elf twirled the short sword in his right hand so it pointed down, grasped the hilt in both fists, and raised the sword over his head. In one motion, Diir drove the point into the crocodile's brain.

The immediate effect on the crocodile devastated what remained of the span. The crocodile's massive tail slapped the wooden timbers into splinters. Water, smoke, and gore splashed around the leviathan's twisting body. The 30-foot reptile flung itself up onto its hind legs, thrashing and writhing. Bolts and arrows slammed into the monster's pale underbelly. Black gore welled up from the wounds.

The others had leaped clear as soon as Diir jammed the sword blade into the crocodile's head, and Devis, too, maneuvered to continue his ballad a little farther from the main action. The bard could not see what happened to Diir. He picked up the tempo on his lute and prayed for the haze to clear.

The upright crocodile snapped its head back like a whip, then the creature's body stiffened. Devis saw Diir fly into the air in a lazy arc that ended with a splash in the rushing waters of the Mormsilath. Devis squinted to see if Diir was floating or swimming, but could not spot the elf.

The crocodile stood improbably in midair for another full second. Devis thought he heard a keening, un-reptilian scream escape the crocodile's throat. The bard might also have seen a thin, blood red mist seep from the crocodile's empty eye sockets, but it could have been a trick of the smog and sunlight.

An involuntary, final twitch of the creature's tail, and the gigantic corpse belly flopped onto the southern bank of the river.

The bard wiped his eyes and scanned the river for Diir as he moved to help the others regain their feet. Takata was nowhere to be seen. Hound-Eye shouted her name with increasing urgency.

Devis spotted the quiet elf easily enough. The current held Diir pinned against the gore-splattered wreckage. The water level was rising rapidly against the elf's chest courtesy of the brand new dam formed by the fallen timbers and the crocodile's corpse.

Devis looked at his feet as cold water seeped into his boots, then back at Diir. The water bubbled against the struggling elf's face so that in a few seconds he'd be completely submerged. Devis caught Mialee's eye, but she shrugged—she had nothing that could help.

Pain creased the bard's side as he groped for his pack. He ignored it as his fingers closed around smooth metal and silk rope. He pulled the collapsible grappling hook over his head.

The hook was still collapsed, folded on clever hinges into a safe, rounded shape for easy packing. Devis's fingers fumbled with the device, trying to extend the prongs, then his eyes flicked over the water to check on Diir.

The peak of the elf's golden helm was all that broke the water's angry surface.

"Mialee! Magic?" he shouted.

"You want me to blast him? That's all I prepared for!" Mialee shouted back over the roar, stomping toward him.

"Takata! Takaaaaataaaaa!" Hound-Eye shouted.

Mialee snatched the silk rope and still folded hook without stopping. She twirled the metal over her head, then released the heavy weight. It splashed into the water with the rope across where Diir's body ought to be, if it had been above water.

Mialee pulled, but couldn't budge the rope. Her feet sank into the muddy bank and water swirled around her shins. Devis waded out to help her pull, hoping the rope wasn't snagged in the debris. It stretched taut, and Devis thanked Fharlanghn he'd bought the sturdy silk. The wetter it got, the tougher it got. Hemp might already have snapped against the raging current.

Through the tension in the rope, Devis felt small hands join his and Mialee's efforts a few feet behind. He glanced back, but still didn't see Takata, although Hound-Eye had stopped shouting for her. As Devis turned back to the river, something white flashed in his peripheral vision: a small, fur-covered boot at the end of a tiny, shattered leg protruding from beneath the crocodile's corpse. Devis understood the grim, horrified look in Hound-Eye's good orb as the tough little halfling hauled on the rope like an automaton. Hound-Eye, had found his wife. Now he was the last survivor ofTent City.

Takata was lost, but Diir could still be saved. The length of silk grudgingly began moving toward them. Four sets of arms hauled hand over hand. A few seconds later, Diir's face broke the surface with a loud gasp.

The soggy, exhausted band dragged themselves well clear of the Mormsilath's new course and flopped onto the road.

"Hound-Eye...sorry."

"Not your fault, bard," the gasping halfling replied. "She knew..."

"All the same...sorry. Bridge is out. Guess we're committed," Devis managed before blacking out.

Cavadrec popped Constable Muhn's last remaining eyeball into his mouth with a flick of a bony claw. The wight felt it pop between his teeth. He chewed deliberately as the fluid inside the morsel flooded his dry tongue.

He hadn't eaten this well in centuries. Animal eyes varied in quality and flavor, and Cavadrec found nothing was as sweet as the optic nerve of a sentient being. The halflings he'd discovered nesting in the Morkeryth ruins had been a nice appetizer—the first real feast of intelligent food he'd had since his confinement—but the dwarves' sizeable orbs made a much more satisfying meal.

The dwarves hadn't known what hit them, literally. As a wight, Cavadrec didn't necessarily need special magic to turn his enemies into minions, though that was his specialty. All he had to do was kill them personally. He'd relished the work, batting their useless weapons aside and pounding their faces into pulp with gnarled fists as one of them shouted curses at someone named Devis.

He made sure to pluck the delectable eyes while his victims still drew breath. Dead eyes, Cavadrec found, tasted simply awful. And his new wights could see well enough without them.

Cavadrec rolled the skin of Muhn's eyeball around his mouth and focused his concentration on the bridge. His second self, the semi-independent Cavadrec-mind that he'd sent to dominate the zombie crocodile, was finishing off Favrid's apprentice even as his wight-self enjoyed this repast. He felt a rush of physical power as his central awareness shifted from this skeletal form into the body of the massive crocodile. Again, he heard someone shout "Devis." Was this some local paladin? No, he saw through reptilian eyes, the Devis at the ruined bridge was plucking a ridiculous lute. The wight was reminded of his age-old defeat, in which a bard had played a part.

Through his crocodile eyes, he saw an elf wearing Silatham armor and clutching a silver blade yell and leap over the crocodilian snout. Cavadrec felt the weight of the warrior land solidly, and a pair of legs clamped around the back of his wide neck. Cavadrec's wight-body flinched involuntarily as the magical fire poured into the crocodile's flank from one side and arrows pierced its thick hide from the other.

One of the rangers had escaped the rats. Cavadrec was stunned. It was inconceivable that Favrid's young apprentice, the girl Mialee, could defeat the crocodile alone. Even half of the wight's power was more than enough to deal with the likes of her. But the elf woman had powerful allies. Cavadrec had not anticipated this development. Was the agile elf warrior the same one his wolves chased from Morkeryth? The dumb animals would not have recognized Silatham armor if they were wearing it.

Pain peppered his side and the bard's incessant singing rang painfully in his wrinkled, pointed, wight ears.

It was time to end this nonsense. Cavadrec began a prayer to Nerull, calling down a hideously powerful blast of necrotic energy that should not only destroy the elf woman and her allies, but the crocodile, the wreckage of the bridge, and most of the landscape for miles around. Cavadrec felt the complex spell building behind the crocodile's empty eye sockets as the legs around his neck tightened like a vise. Then the elf's blade split the crocodile's skull.

Miles away, Cavadrec the wight screamed.

He had been a wight for just under a thousand years, eight hundred more than he'd existed as a living elf. When he accepted the gift of Nerull soon after his imprisonment, he'd marveled at how his new wight body could tolerate harsh environments and most physical harm without the slightest discomfort. As an elf, he had been vulnerable. As a wight, he could endure the heat of the burning earth deep beneath Morsilath or a hail of arrows.

But in a thousand years of lurking beneath Morsilath, Cavadrec had never felt such pain.

His jagged talons dug into his own gray, leathery face and pulled strips of ragged skin from his skull. The wight dropped to his knees and screamed at the setting sun. Had any travelers been unfortunate enough to happen upon the scene, Cavadrec would have ripped them limb from limb. As it was, the wights he had just created, sensing weakness, surrounded their murderer.

He tore them apart instead, then turned and stalked back to the cracks in the rock face that led to his waiting mine cart.