“No one in, no one out,” the gnome gritted out. He raised his voice and began to bellow orders. “Lower the portcullis and bar the gates! Archers, to the walls! Shoot down anyone who tries to leave the fortress before the murderer is found.”

Later that night, Danilo and his “servant” attended a grim gathering in the castle’s hall. The body of Bentley Mirrorshade lay in state upon a black-draped table. Candles lined the walls, casting a somber, golden light.

The crowd parted to allow a green-robed gnome woman to pass. Respectful silence filled the room as Gellana Mirrorshade, the high priestess of Garl Glittergold and the widow of Bentley Mirrorshade, made her way to her husband’s bier. She carried herself with admirable dignity. Her pale brown face was set in rigid lines, but her eyes were steady and dry.

The priestess spoke into the silence. “You are gathered here to see justice done. It is no small thing to speak with the dead, but an evil deed must not go unpunished.”

Gellana began the words and gestures of a complicated ritual. Danilo watched closely; nothing about the spell was familiar to him. He had studied magic since his twelfth year with no less a teacher than the archmage Khelben Arunsun, but the magic of a wizard and that of a priest were very different things. Apparently, the priestess was stifled and devout, for a translucent image of Bentley Mirrorshade slowly took form in the air above the pall.

“The dead must speak truth,” Gellana said softly, “and in life or in death, Bentley Mirrorshade would tell no direct lie. Tell us, my husband, who is responsible for this death.”

The specter’s eyes swept the assemblage. His stubby, translucent finger lifted, swept to the left, and leveled at Elaith Craulnober with a sharp, accusing stab.

For the first time in their acquaintance, Danilo saw the elf’s composure utterly forsake him. Elaith’s face went slack and ashen, and his amber-hued eyes widened in stunned disbelief.