Waterdeep (36 page)

“The best way to guard a treasure is to lull the thief into thinking it’s unguarded - then trap him when he tries to steal it. I’d expect a magical ward or two near the tablet.”

Midnight did not bother asking Sneakabout how he knew so much about theft. Though he had claimed to be a scout, and had proven that he was when he was alive, it was no secret that many halflings learned the basics of thievery to survive. Right now, Midnight was grateful that he had. She would never have been foolish enough to go after the tablet without looking for possible defenses, but it was good to have the halfting confirm her suspicions. “Anything else?”

“That’s enough,” Sneakabout said. “A thousand guards and a trap or two will safeguard almost anything - unless you happen to have pretty potent magic at your disposal.”

Though she knew the halfling had added this last comment to bolster her confidence, Midnight was hardly encouraged. “Let’s hope it will be enough.” She studied the tower for a moment, considering her plan of attack. “We’ll turn invisible-“

“No good,” Sneakabout interrupted. “The denizens especially the dukes will see through that without a second glance.”

Midnight frowned then thought of another plan. “All right, then. We’ll fly up there, I’ll dispel the magical wards. Then we’ll take the tablet and be gone.”

Sneakabout considered this plan for a moment. “How long will that take you?” His use of the second person was deliberate. He knew he could not go with Midnight.

“Not long,” Midnight said confidently.

“Probably too long,” Sneakabout answered. “They’ll be after you in the time it takes you to fly up there, maybe less.”

“Then what can I do?” Midnight gasped.

“You’d better think of another plan,” the halfling said. “You can’t keep your promise if they capture you.”

Midnight fell into a long silence and tried to think of another approach. Finally, she said, “This will work. I’ll prepare our escape route before touching the tablet. Then, instead of going to the tablet, I’ll bring it to us. We’ll be gone in an instant.”

“That should work,” Sneakabout replied. “But I’ll take my leave before you try it.”

“Leave?” Midnight asked. “You aren’t coming with me?”

Sneakabout shook his head. “No. I’m dead. In the Realms, I’d be undead and more miserable than I am here.”

Midnight took the halfling’s hand. “You’ll never know what your help has meant to-“

“And I don’t care,” Sneakabout interrupted tersely. He could not help resenting the fact that Midnight would be leaving and he would not. “Just remember your promise.”

He pulled his hand away and walked up the alley.

Midnight watched him go, confused and hurt by his sudden coldness. “I’ll remember,” she said.

Sneakabout turned a corner and was gone.

Midnight looked after him for a moment, once again lonely and more than a little afraid. The mage silently vowed that, after returning the Tablets of Fate to Helm, she would find a way to help Sneakabout, and not only because of her promise.

But the first thing she had to do was recover the tablet and get out of Myrkul’s city before she was killed. The magic-user summoned Elminster’s worldwalk to mind. Then, remembering what Rhaymon had said about finding her way back to Waterdeep, she began to pick the spell apart, to look at how Elminster had put it together.

It required fifteen minutes of hard concentration for Midnight to understand the intricacies of Elminster’s construction. It took another fifteen minutes to alter the incantation so the other end of the portal would seek out the access well to Waterdeep. After finally finishing, Midnight was still unsure she would emerge near the City of Splendors. If she had known which one of the pinholes of light was the gate to Waterdeep, the alteration would have been much simpler. As it was, she would have to trust her fate to the fact that she had done her best.

Satisfied with her preparations, Midnight performed the worldwalk incantation. A tremendous surge of magical energy rushed through her body, tiring her. Still, it was nothing alarming - or even surprising, considering the power of the magic she was summoning.

A shimmering disk of force appeared. Midnight found herself wishing that she could see what lay on the other side, but there was no time for idle contemplation. Next, she summoned the incantation for telekinesis then performed it with the tablet as the target. An instant later, in response to her probe, the tablet slipped out of its supports and rose an inch into the air.

Without wasting any more time, Midnight willed the tablet to come to her. It moved slowly at first, then began picking up speed, and was soon streaking in her direction. Though the mage could hear nothing above the cries of the Faithless in the wall, Midnight imagined a wild chorus of surprised yells and outraged bellows spreading through the boroughs around the castle. If anybody was looking toward the tablet, they could not fail to notice that Myrkul’s trophy was being stolen.

As if to confirm Midnight’s suspicions, something rose into view from the other side of the wall. Huge, batlike wings sprouted from its fat feathered body. With its multifaceted eyes and protruding fangs, the creature’s head looked like a cross between a vampire’s and a fly’s.

The tablet arrived and Midnight caught it. Immediately, she felt magic so powerful she could detect it without a spell. Something was wrong, for the other tablet had no magical aura at all. The magic-user suspected Myrkul had placed a ward or sigil directly on the artifact.

But it hardly mattered at the moment. A dozen more denizens had risen behind the first, and a hundred more forms were approaching from the other side of the keep’s bone-white tower. Midnight did not have time to pause for a close examination of the Tablet of Fate.

She stepped into the disk and found herself running up a short corridor of light. The last time she had cast the worldwaik spell the mage had simply stepped through the disk and appeared on the Fugue Plain. There had been no tunnel. The mage began to fear she had spoiled Elminster’s spell by tinkering with it.

Then, thirty feet ahead, Midnight saw a wall of water covering the end of the corridor, as though she was running up the inside of a well. Remembering how she had altered the incantation so the portal would seek the access well to Waterdeep, the mage realized the worldwalk had worked exactly as specified. On the other side of the water lay Toril.

Midnight ran the rest of the way up the tunnel and stopped next to the wall of water. She turned around and tried to close the portal.

The shimmering disk remained in place, and the bat-winged denizen from Bone Castle entered the other end of the corridor. Midnight tried again to close the portal and again she failed.

The creature smiled, baring its wicked fangs. “It won’t work,” the creature hissed, its voice like the sound of metal scraping stone. “Wherever the tablet goes, we go.”

Two more of the monster’s fellows flew into the portal.

“How?” Midnight gasped.

“It doesn’t matter,” the bat-winged creature said. “Give the tablet back.”

Then Midnight understood. The magic she detected on the tablet was one of Myrkul’s fiendish traps. He had made it impossible for anyone stealing it to escape his guards. The Lord of the Dead could have used variations on hold portal, dispel magic, gate, passwall, and a number of other spells to make the tablet a homing beacon for his minions.

Exactly how he had done it was unimportant, though. What did matter was that when Midnight took the tablet to Waterdeep, she would unleash Myrkul’s hordes - the tablet would hold the gate open for the denizens and draw them through. She couldn’t let that happen any more than she could return the tablet to the Lord of the Dead’s vassals.

Midnight realized she had to block the corridor, and the perfect incantation for doing so came to her. It was a prismatic sphere, a globe of scintillating colors that the denizens would never penetrate. While they clawed and scratched at its exterior, she would be tucked safely inside.

“Last chance, woman,” the bat-winged denizen said, starting up the corridor. “There’s no escape.”

“That’s what you think,” Midnight replied.

She performed the incantation. An instant later, a shimmering sphere encased her, at the same time blocking access to Waterdeep.

Midnight’s body felt like it was on fire, and her head hurt so badly she could barely think. Within the space of a few minutes, the mage had cast two of the most powerful spells known to mages anywhere. The effort had taken its toll on her body. It didn’t really matter, however. The mage was safe as long as the prismatic sphere held out. And in Midnight’s case, that could be a long time.

After breaking free of the ice and spending a long night next to a small fire, Kelemvor had left the High Moor and walked to the caravan road on his frozen feet. At the roadside, he had stopped and built a roaring fire, then sat down to wait for the blaze to attract help.

While his feet thawed, Kelemvor had puzzled over what to do. Midnight had fallen into the underground stream, and he had no idea what had become of her after that. But it had seemed that the mage’s chances of survival were as great as his own, especially if she had called on her magic. Therefore, the fighter had decided to assume she was alive.

Still, Kelemvor had had no idea what Midnight might do. She might have tried to recover the tablet from the zombies, if she even knew that it had been lost. If not, the mage would have tried to go to the Realm of the Dead to recover the other tablet. There had also been the possibility that Midnight thought he was dead, in which case Kelemvor had not had the faintest idea what she would do.

The warrior had quickly realized he could not predict Midnight’s actions. The only thing he knew for sure was that she would eventually go to Waterdeep.

After reaching that conclusion, the fighter had considered trying to recover the tablet from the zombies. But, alone, without a weapon and disabled by frostbite, there would have been no chance of success. Besides, given the way the undead had pursued the tablet, Kelemvor had suspected the zombies were no longer at Dragonspear Castle. They had probably already fled toward their master, and the warrior had not had the vaguest idea where he might be hiding.

In the end, he had decided to go to Waterdeep. There, he would wait for Midnight. If she did not show up, he would recruit help and start out in search of the tablet and his lover.

Fortunately, the fighter had finished his plans before his feet thawed. When sensation had returned, it had been impossible for the fighter to think of anything but pain. He had felt as though he’d stepped into a vat of boiling water, and the torment had continued unabated for twenty-four hours.

A company of ten fast-moving riders had come by in the middle of the warrior’s agony. They had loaned Kelemvor a spare horse and invited him to accompany them to Waterdeep.

A day and a half later, they had come across the remains of the Roosting Gryphon Inn. For no apparent reason, the inhabitants had been slaughtered. The company had puzzled over this until a rider found the proprietor’s bloodless body. Immediately, the merchants had attributed the carnage to a vampire. But Kelemvor had voiced a suspicion that the attackers were the same zombies that had fallen upon his company at Dragonspear Castle.

Seven days later, camped half a mile off the road, the merchants had discovered the fighter was correct. In the middle of the night, a dozen zombies had wandered into camp, slaying the sentry and half the company before they realized what was happening. Kelemvor, recognizing the zombies’ striped robes, had grabbed a sword and tried to organize a defense. But the merchants had panicked, and those who did not perish had fled into the night. The warrior, still limping from frostbite, had made his way to a horse and escaped.

That had been three days ago. Since then, he had been playing an exhausting game of cat and mouse with the zombies. The undead were traveling toward Waterdeep, but were avoiding the road in a clumsy attempt at secrecy. Every now and then, Kelemvor rode close to them to make sure they were still moving to the northwest. The zombies kept tabs on him with scouts, and had tried to ambush him several times. The extent of their success was that the fighter had not slept since the attack on the merchants.

Kelemvor’s lack of sleep had taken its toll. As his horse cantered along the road, he had to concentrate on the countryside to stay awake. To the right, a vast, snow-covered plain extended as far as the eye could see. Somewhere out there, Kelemvor knew, were the zombies. To his left lay a brown ribbon of sand that could only be the Sword Coast. Beyond the coast, a glistening, azure plain of water stretched to the far horizon, the Sea of Swords.

The road topped a small hill and the horse stopped of its own accord, then snorted and stomped its foreleg. Kelemvor leaned down to pat its neck then noticed his mount had smashed some scaled thing. The fighter’s first thought was that the scales belonged to a snake, but then he saw fins and gills.

It was a fish.

Kelemvor looked down the road. On the other side of the hill, thousands of wriggling, flopping forms, all crawling inland, covered the plain. It was as if the sea had suddenly become undesirable and the fish were moving inland in pursuit of better water. Though he found the sight disconcerting, the warrior was not frightened. Like almost everyone in the Realms, Kelemvor had become accustomed to such strange sights.

Besides, from the top of the hill, he could see Waterdeep. The road ran for only one more mile, ending at a fortified gate that sat, almost, on the beach of the Sword Coast. To the gate’s south lay the Sea of Swords, dotted here and there with the sails of great cargo ships. To the north, a small escarpment, no more than a few feet high, rose from the white prairie. As the slope continued east, it grew both steeper and higher, until it could properly be considered a cliff over much of its length.

Atop this cliff ran a high city wall, dotted at regular intervals by sturdy towers. It was broken only in the center of the escarpment, where the cliff was so tall and steep that no man could possibly scale it. Behind the wall, a hundred stalwart towers proudly held their turrets just high enough to be visible from outside the city. The fighter had no doubt that, at long last, he was looking upon the City of Splendors.