The cleric blushed slightly as he thought of the way that the threesome's exploits had become famous in Phlan. They were honored heroes of the town. Any of them could have easily risen to be a ruling councilman, but these were honors they always refused. All three wanted only peace for Phlan and themselves.

The streets of Phlan were nearly deserted by the time Tarl entered Denlor's Tower. The door banged shut behind him, and he turned to secure the lock. "Shal?" he called up the spiraling stairs. Gripping his basket, he raced up the stairs, two at a time, in search of his wife. He found her upstairs in her reading room. As he unpacked the basket, they discussed a topic the cleric had come to dread.

"Tarl, First Councilman Kroegel wants you to join the council. I think it's a good idea. Your temple leaders think it's a good idea. Phlan needs a strong leader on the council, and you're the best man for the job. If you don't take it, we might get stuck with Gormon on the council. And the only position he's suited for is chief of sanitation."

Irritated, Tarl paced around the reading room and into Shal's spellcasting chamber. He thought much better on his feet, and he needed to think clearly right now. He wasn't good at resisting his wife. "Shal, you know why. You've been asked to join the council as many times as I have. Please, let's not fight about this. We both know I'm a priest, not a politician. Besides, now that I'm Phlan's military advisor, I'll never get any rest. I can't juggle both positions."

"Rest! Is that all you think about is rest? If ever Phlan needed you, it's now. Fiends and armies are threatening the city!"

Tarl stopped his pacing and went to her side. He tried to put his arms around his beloved wife.

"Don't even try it, cleric," she snapped, shaking him off. Tarl was a big man, six feet tall and all muscle, but an old mishap with a magical wish had left him shorter than his wife and less muscled. When she didn't want to be touched, she usually got her way.

Shal's purple robes swished about her with a life of their own. Tarl smiled, thinking that something magical probably did give her clothes some animation. His mind wandered as he thought how wonderful it would be to spend some time as her clothing, wrapped around her firm body and feeling her every move. He sighed but was abruptly brought back to reality.

"Tarl, we aren't through arguing about the councilman's position." Shal spoke in her most authoritative voice, waving a finger at him. It was the same finger that had launched purple fireballs and lightning bolts to halt ogres and giants in their tracks.

"Look, Kroegel gave me until the end of the week to give him my answer. Can't we forget about this for a while? Let's enjoy this peaceful interlude while it lasts. We both know an attack could come at any time." Tarl had discovered the poppyseed cake in his basket and now held it up for Shal to see. Taking a bite, he teased her. "Mmm, I'm really hungry!"

Shal saw through his diversion but allowed herself to succumb. She suddenly realized she was ravenously hungry. Striding over to her husband, she broke off a piece of cake and wrapped her arm around his waist. "Don't think you'll get out of this discussion so easily next time," she said softly.

"I know you far better than that. I wouldn't think of it." He kissed her hair, and the couple sat down to dine on the bread, cheese, and apples from Tarl's basket.

Shal grew more and more quiet as they ate. Finally she looked at her husband with wide eyes. "Tarl, I'm scared."

The cleric leaned close and wrapped his arms around the sorceress. "As long as I'm here, there is no force in this world that can hurt you. What's scaring you?"

Shal sighed. "Just being here in this hole is enough to frighten anyone. Not knowing how or why we're here makes it worse. But I've used all the detection spells I know and haven't learned anything. The other wizards in Phlan are in the same predicament. You'd think that we'd be able to figure something out. I know that somewhere out there is a great evil ready to pounce on Phlan, and we're almost powerless to do anything about it."

This worried Tarl. His wife usually showed more confidence. "Come with me," he whispered.

He led Shal through her casting chamber to their favorite balcony. Denlor's Tower was high enough to survey most of the city, and part of the Moonsea, too, had they not been deep in some cavern.

"Shal, what can I do to do to make you feel safe?" He could feel her tension and wished he could just rinse it away with a warm bath and a mug of tea. But this was more serious, and Tarl knew it. "I don't mean the kind of safe the farmers get when they lock the door at night. Or the kind of safe my Aunt Dorinna gets when she puts that disgusting smelling mud all over her face."

His last comment brought a giggle. "Your Uncle Amis really hates that stuff. You don't like it much either, do you? Lately, I've been thinking about trying it. Maybe it'll keep me looking young." Tarl rolled his eyes, but was glad to see some humor coming from his wife. He held her close.

"I want to make you happy-as happy as our lives will allow. It's hard being in the front of battles all the time. Half the time when we're hurling spells and fighting side by side, I'm terrified at the thought of you facing the same blades and awful creatures I face."

Shal's chest heaved. "I'm sorry I'm so upset. This whole mess is getting the better of me. The best we can do is to keep looking for a way to rescue the city."

Tarl stroked his wife's hair and gently led her back inside. "What you need is a good back rub," he whispered. Shal smiled and sat down on the bed. As she tugged on her robe, a voice sounded in the street below.

"The alarm!" Tarl said, disappointed. He and Shal dashed about to gather weapons and prepare for battle. "Sorry, love. I'll have to owe you that back rub."

Shal laughed as they hurried out the door. "Don't worry. I won't let you forget! Now, let's go see if we can't quash our enemies once and for all!"

Impenetrable darkness filled the casting chamber at the top of the magical tower. In the cool blackness, a horrid pit fiend basked in the silence. It flapped about the chamber with its twenty-foot bat wings, drooling and slobbering. The room's stale air held the salty-sweet smell of blood that the fiend savored. It inhaled through flared nostrils, drinking in the foul scent. The heinous killer, summoned from the Nine Hells, was thrilled with his new assignment and accommodations. In all his soulless existence, he couldn't remember a better opportunity or one that promised more fun.

Marcus, a Red Wizard from Thay, had foolishly summoned the fiend to the Prime Material Plane to help do the bidding of the god Bane. The fiend and the wizard were to add their personal touches to their god's plan, and if all worked out right, in a few years two new evil demigods would be loose on Toril.

"Aaargh," the fiend groaned in pleasure. "It's good to be back on this plane, regardless of the outcome of the battle. Ah, better wars will come. Latenat!" Green sticky goo dripped from the fiend's foot-long fangs. The acidic slime oozed to the ground and sizzled, making coin-sized pits in the black granite. Similar indentations covered the entire floor.

The massive bulk of the twelve-foot fiend zipped quickly around the room as it cast powerful spells. Its black bat wings glowed red as the beast conjured several unique protection spells. Giant taloned hands evoked detection and communication spells simultaneously, and as the spells activated, each talon became red-hot, the color of molten metal. The creature barely noticed the heat.