Waterdeep (32 page)

“No, I can’t!” the spectre snapped. “I don’t have time - you’ll see!” With that, he turned and drifted away.

After the soul spectre left, Midnight continued down the street. Several times, shades approached her, demanding to know if she was a loved one or friend, though they seldom seemed as confused as the old man. Midnight was able to excuse herself with nothing more than polite denials then continue on her way.

For the first two blocks, the road was lined with empty shops, often with living quarters located directly overhead. Midnight poked her head into the doors of four of the buildings as she went. Each time, a small party of spectres greeted her - twice with polite invitations to join them, once with disinterested rudeness, and once with a rather hostile demand to be left alone.

As Midnight progressed farther into the city, she grew increasingly impressed by the thoughtfulness and planning that had gone into building it. The streets all intersected at right angles, and the blocks were more or less uniform in size. But the dwellings themselves were not drab or uninteresting. The buildings had been designed with a stoic artistry. They had clean, square forms and symmetrical plans that lent themselves to function as well as beauty. Exterior walls were adorned with simple etched lines that echoed the rectangular designs of the structures. Doors were always placed in the center of the building, with an equal number of windows located in similar positions on either side of them. The simple architecture left Midnight with a relaxed, peaceful feeling.

The city’s third block was entirely taken by a single structure that rose all the way to the cavern’s roof. This building lacked both doors and windows, its only opening being a great arch located exactly in the middle of the block. Midnight went to this arch and entered the massive structure.

She emerged in a great open courtyard. On three sides, it was lined by three-story promenades. Behind the promenades, arched doorways led into spacious rooms. A massive building, supported by white columns of the finest marble, dominated the end of the courtyard to Midnight’s left. The altar in its entrance suggested it was a temple.

At the other end of the courtyard, dozens of spectres lounged on the edge of a marble fountain. In the center of the fountain, a magnificent spout of water shot high into the air and turned to mist. A strange harmony, at once unsettling and calming, radiated from the fountain, and Midnight found herself drawn toward its waters.

The spectres near the font seemed oblivious to her presence, so she approached and peered into its pool. The water was as still as ice and as black as Bhaal’s heart, but also as clear as glass. The magic-user felt as though she were looking into another world, where peace and tranquility reigned supreme.

Beneath the water lay a great plain of shimmering light. It sprawled in all directions as far as Midnight could see, and she felt as though she could see to the edge of the Realms. The plain was entirely featureless, save that millions of tiny figures milled about on it.

Gazing at the magnificent plain, a mood of serenity and destiny supplanted the mage’s sorrow concerning Adon’s loss and her anxiety about Kelemvor’s absence. She felt it would not be long before she and her old friends were reunited. Midnight did not know why she felt this way, but suspected it had something to do with the vast plain below.

A deep, rough voice interrupted the magic-user’s reverie. “I’m sorry to see you here.”

Midnight looked up and saw a spectre addressing her. The shade was familiar, and she could not help flinching. The voice belonged to Kae Deverell, but to her, the form would forever be Bhaal’s.

“Don’t be sorry,” Midnight said—

Deverell took a seat on the fountain next to her. “And your friends - I forget their names - how do they fare?”

“I don’t know about Kelemvor,” Midnight replied, “but Adon’s down here somewhere.”

“And the halfling?” Deverell asked. “What about Sneakabout?”

“He died in Yellow Snake Pass,” Midnight said. She did not elaborate. The memory of Cyric’s treachery pained her too much.

Deverell sighed. “I had hoped to hear better news.”

A spectre leaped through Deverell and dove into the fountain, then sank toward the plain in long, graceful spirals. The lord commander draped a hand into the water and watched the spectre descend with a mixture of envy and fear.

“Oblivion - how it draws us,” Deverell mused. He closed his eyes as though he were pulling a long draft from his mug back at High Horn. Though his hand did not disturb the water’s glassy surface, the dark liquid was draining away the pain and anguish that came with being dead. It was also draining away the Cormyrian’s memories of life.

At length, he withdrew his hand. The time for him to leap into the pool would come soon enough.

As soon as they died, the souls of the dead were drawn by Myrkul’s magic to one of the thousands of places like this, the Fountain of Nepenthe - a pool or well filled with the black Waters of Forgetfulness. In normal times, Myrkul’s attraction was so strong that a soul spectre would immediately leap into dark waters then emerge on the plain on the other side.

With Myrkul barred from his home, however, his magic had been considerably weakened. Many soul spectres were finding the strength to resist his attraction - although only temporarily. All through the Realms, soul spectres were gathered outside long forgotten wells and pools and fountains, vainly attempting to resist the final call of death.

Deverell tore his thoughts away from the fountain and turned to Midnight. “Tell me, who has the tablets now? What will happen to Cormyr and the Realms?”

“Kelemvor has one of the tablets,” Midnight said, unaware that she was lying. “And the other is here somewhere.”

“Here?” Deverell asked, perplexed. “What would it be doing here?”

“It’s in Bone Castle,” Midnight explained. “Myrkul took it.”

“Then the Realms are doomed,” Deverell replied flatly.

“Unless I can get to the castle and recover the tablet,” Midnight said, dipping her fingers into the fountain’s glistening waters. Unlike Deverell, she caused expanding rings of ripples. The water both chilled and comforted her.

“Stop!” Deverell yelled, reaching for her arm. His fingers closed right through her bones, leaving the flesh cold and numb. “You’re alive!”

“Yes,” Midnight said reluctantly, unsure what to make of Deverell’s reaction.

“Pull your hand out of the water!”

Midnight obeyed, wondering if she had offended the soul spectre by touching the fountain.

This calmed Deverell. “You’re alive - and that means there is hope,” he said, “but not if you let those waters drain your memory. Now what is this about Bone Castle?”

“That’s where the other tablet is,” Midnight explained. “I’ve got to get inside and recover it. Can you take me there?”

Deverell’s form grew even whiter, if that was possible. “No,” he muttered and turned away. “I’m not ready for the Fountain of Nepenthe. And even if I was, I’ve never been to the Realm of the Dead.”

“This isn’t it?” Midnight demanded.

“Not by an arrow’s long flight,” Deverell said, shaking his head. “We’re in Kanaglym, according to the others.”

“Kanaglym?”

“Built by the dwarves when the High Moor was fertile and warm.”

Midnight could not imagine a time when the High Moor was fertile, much less warm. “But there are no dwarves here now,” she observed, looking around the fountain.

“No,” Deverell agreed. “They never inhabited it, at least not for long. The town well ran dry within a year of Kanaglym’s completion. The dwarves sank a deeper well on the site of the old one. Eventually, they struck a limitless supply of water, the Waters of Forgetfulness.

“Within a month, they realized their mistake and renamed their beautiful well the Fountain of Nepenthe. A month after that, most of them abandoned Kanaglym completely. Those who were too stubborn to evacuate simply forgot where they lived and wandered off into the dark.”

“Then this isn’t Myrkul’s realm,” Midnight sighed. “Bhaal said there was an entrance to the Realm of the Dead below Dragonspear. I thought I had found it.”

“That you have,” Deverell responded, nodding toward the fountain.

“Under the water?”

“Aye. The dwarves dug this well so deep they struck Myrkul’s domain,” Deverell explained.

“It should be easy to reach, then,” Midnight said, peering into the dark pool. “A simple water-breathing-“

“No,” Deverell interrupted. “Not through the water. It drains your emotions and your memories.”

Midnight was not worried. “I have other ways to pass.” She was thinking specifically of teleporting, but a better idea presented itself to her. It was something called a worldwalk, which created an ultra-dimensional connection between planes.

Midnight had never heard of that spell before, but she had a good idea why she would be able to use it. Then, without giving the matter any conscious thought, she realized she knew not only how to perform the incantation, but how it was constructed, the theory that made it work, and that Elminster had developed the original spell.

The magic-user was astonished. There was no reason she should know all that. The information had simply come to her. She decided to see what else she could do. Midnight searched her memory for a complete listing of Elminster’s spells. Her mind was immediately flooded with the incantations for, construction of, and theory behind every spell Elminster knew, which seemed an endless list of magic. Reeling from the plethora of information, she turned her thoughts away from the ancient mage’s magic. Remembering an interesting spell she had once witnessed, in which a mage interposed a disembodied magical hand between himself and an attacker, Midnight explored her mind for information about that spell. Again, she immediately discovered that she knew everything about it, from how to perform the incantation to the fact that a wizard named Bigby had invented it several centuries ago.

Somehow, Midnight realized, she had acquired an encyclopedic knowledge of magic, almost as though she had access to a mystical book containing every spell ever invented. There was no doubt that this new ability was related to Mystra’s power, but the magic-user did not understand why it had come to her at this particular moment. Perhaps it was because she was so close to an exit from the Realms. Or perhaps it was simply another development in her expanding relationship to the planet’s magical weave. Whatever the reason, Midnight could not help but feel encouraged. She would certainly need every advantage available if she was to recover the Tablet of Fate from Bone Castle.

Contemplating the task of recovering the tablet brought Midnight’s thoughts back to Deverell and his interest in helping her. Turning to the lord commander, she asked, “You’re already dead, so what do you care what happens to the Realms?”

“A man’s honor does not die with his body,” Deverell replied. “As a Harper, I swore to uphold the good and combat evil wherever I found it. That vow will bind me until…” He nodded toward the fountain.

“I hope that’s a long time,” Midnight responded.

Deverell did not reply, for he knew that he didn’t have the willpower to resist the fountain much longer. “You look tired. Perhaps you should rest before you go,” he said. “I’ll watch over you.”

“I think I will,” Midnight replied. She did not know how long it had been since she had slept, but the mage suspected that there would be little opportunity for rest in the Realm of the Dead.

They went to one corner of the courtyard and Midnight lay down. It took her a long time to fall asleep, and then her rest was filled with dreams and bad omens. Still, she slept as long as possible and when she woke, her body - if not her mind - felt ready to continue her journey.

As she stood and stretched, Midnight noticed that a crowd of several thousand soul spectres had gathered in the courtyard.

“I’m sorry,” Deverell said. “When you fell asleep, word of a live woman’s presence spread quickly. They’ve come to look at you, but mean no harm.”

Looking at the spectres’ envious faces, Midnight felt sad for them. “It’s all right,” she said. “How long did I sleep?”

Deverell shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I no longer have a sense of time.”

Midnight started forward, then a thought occurred to her and she turned to Deverell. “If somebody died at Dragonspear Castle, would his soul come to Kanaglvm?”

Deverell nodded. “Of course. The Fountain of Nepenthe is the closest access to the Realm of the Dead from the ruins.”

Midnight turned and addressed the crowd. “Kelemvor, are you here?” she cried. The crowd of soul spectres shifted uneasily and looked from one to another, but nobody came forward. Midnight breathed a sigh of relief.

The magic-user addressed the crowd again, this time expecting a response. “Adon, how about you? Come here so we can talk.” Midnight was not sure how she would feel about speaking to a dead friend, but she had to try. “Adon, it’s Midnight!”

Adon still did not show himself.

Five minutes later, Deverell said, “Perhaps he is scared, or could not resist the fountain for long.”

Midnight shook her head. “That’s not like Adon. He isn’t one to give up.”

Deverell searched the crowd. “Well, he’s not coming forward, I don’t think you’ll gain anything by waiting for him.”

Midnight reluctantly nodded. “Perhaps it’s for the best. It would only cause us both pain.”

“Then, if you’re ready,” Deverell said, extending a glowing hand toward the Fountain of Nepenthe.

Midnight gathered her courage and nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Deverell led the way through the crowd of soul spectres. When he reached the Fountain of Nepenthe, he stopped and turned toward Midnight. “Until swords part, then.”

Deverell’s farewell heartened Midnight, for she recognized his words as a warrior’s sign of respect. “May your noble heart save your soul,” she replied.

The magic-user looked back to the throng of soul spectres, searching for Adon’s face or some sign that he had come to see her off. The crowd remained a swarm of impassive and unfamiliar faces.

Midnight turned to the pool, trying to imagine what she would find on the white plain below. Finally, hoping that if her magic was ever going to be reliable, it would be reliable now, she summoned the incantation for Elminster’s worldwalk and performed it. A shimmering disc of force appeared over the fountain. Midnight took a deep breath and stepped inside.