Waterdeep (28 page)

Midnight finished her knot then returned to the wall’s edge. The rope ended eight feet off the ground, easily within Kelemvor’s reach. However, the warrior was so busy fighting zombies that he could not start climbing.

The magic-user climbed onto the rope and slid down, stopping a foot before its end. Midnight knew she lacked the strength to pull the warrior out of battle, but she hoped that with her aid, Kelemvor could grab the rope and quickly climb out of the zombies’ reach. “Kel, give me your hand!” she cried.

The warrior glanced up and saw Midnight’s outstretched hand then the zombies landed several blows. He swung his sword viciously, buying himself a foot of breathing space. Immediately, he lifted the saddlebags and placed them in Midnight’s hand.

“Take it!” Kelemvor veiled.

At first, Midnight didn’t want to obey. But then the zombies turned their attention to her, simply trying to walk over the warrior. She accepted the saddlebags, slung them over her shoulder then started up the rope. The warrior stayed on the ground and continued slashing at zombies.

A few seconds later, Adon arrived at the top of the wall and helped Midnight climb up the last few feet. After she was safely on the wall, she turned and yelled, “I’m safe, Kel. Come on!”

The warrior immediately sheathed his sword and, ignoring the zombies, turned and grabbed the rope. He pulled himself to the top of the wall as quickly as he could. Midnight cut the rope behind him, then said, “Follow me!”

She led the way back to the tower, entering the first doorway she came to. Though this room lacked an iron chandelier and an age-worn desk, it was similar to the one from which she had taken the rope.

As soon as they were inside, Adon asked, “What now?”

“We’ve got to think of a plan,” Midnight replied, sheathing her dagger. “And we’d better do it before the zombies find a way to get up here.”

Kelemvor went to the window and watched the zombies stumble around the ward. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” he said. “I just thought - oh, damn it, I just didn’t think.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Adon responded, gripping the fighter’s shoulder. “Those zombies would have attacked no matter what you did. Somebody sent them after the tablet.”

“It was Myrkul,” Midnight sighed. “I told you that he and Bhaal were working together. Well, he must have tried to contact Bhaal and discovered that I had escaped with the tablet.”

“Whether Myrkul sent them or not,” Kelemvor grumbled, “I should be skinned and roasted alive.” He took the saddlebags from Adon and started to remove the tablet. “Maybe I can trick them into following me.”

The scarred cleric pushed the tablet back into a saddlebag. “No, Kel. We stand a better chance of surviving if we stick together.” Adon had purposely left the tablet in the warrior’s hands. In the coming battle, he thought it best to have it protected by their most capable fighter.

Kelemvor frowned and, when Adon did not take the saddlebags back, threw them over his shoulder.

Sensing the fighter’s mood, Adon added, “It’s better things worked out this way. Otherwise, the zombies would have, attacked us by surprise.”

“Aden’s right,” Midnight added, touching Kelemvor’s arm. There was nothing to be gained by making the warrior feel bad, and she did not enjoy watching him vilify himself. “Let’s just see if we can find the entrance to the Realm of the Dead. After all, we were headed here anyway.”

“Where do we start?” Kelemvor asked, peering out the window. To his alarm, the warrior saw that many of the zombies had stumbled onto the stairs and had reached the top of the wall. Worse still, they were coming toward the tower.

The fighter stepped away from the window, saying, “We’d better get out-“

A loud clatter rang through the room, startling all three of the companions. Midnight grabbed Kelemvor’s arm and jerked him out the window, then pointed at an arrow lying on the floor. On the stone wall was a fresh scratch where the arrow had struck the stone. Kelemvor nonchalantly picked it up. “Zombies don’t use bows,” he said. “Where’d this come from?”

“We’ll figure that out later,” Adon said, fearing the zombies were only one part of Myrkul’s trap. “Let’s get out of here!” He led the way down the stairs.

They descended the spiral staircase past three rooms, not pausing until they reached ground level. Here, the heroes took a moment to peer into the room on the ground floor. Its only door was the one they were now standing in.

“We’d better go down to the basement,” Adon noted frantically, continuing down the dark staircase.

“Wait! We’ll be trapped!” Kelemvor objected.

“We’re already trapped,” Midnight replied, following the cleric.

“And the zombies will probably go up first since they saw you and Midnight go up the wall,” Adon added. “Maybe we can sneak out when they climb the stairs.”

Kelemvor nodded and Adon led the way down into a dim, dank basement. The muffled whisper of running water echoed from the walls, though no one could identify the source of the sound. High in the middle of the inner wall, a small window opened into the inner ward at ground level. The little light the room received entered through this opening.

Adon briefly considered trying to escape out the window, but quickly rejected the idea. It was large enough to provide ventilation and light, but far too small to accommodate Kelemvor’s broad shoulders - or even Midnight’s, for that matter.

The room contained only moldering debris. There were sacks of spoiled grain and casks of rancid wine - obviously left by wanderers who had used the tower as temporary lodging - empty, rotting barrels and a coil of moldy rope attached to a worm-eaten bucket. The room’s wooden floor was decayed and spongy.

While Adon and Kelemvor listened to the zombies ascend the stairs, Midnight explored the room, occasionally picking away pieces of plank with the tip of her dagger.

After five minutes, Adon shook his head and cursed. “The zombies aren’t doing what we’d hoped, Midnight. The ones from the courtyard are still on the ground floor.” The cleric paused and looked at Kelemvor. “We’re trapped.”

“I’ll lead the way up,” the fighter growled. “Maybe we can fight our way out.”

“Not yet,” Midnight said, puzzling over the floor. The other rooms in the tower had not had any rot, and she didn’t understand why this one should be any different. Then she thought of the bucket and the rope, which were similar to the ones used in wells. She went to the center of the room. “Kel, use your sword to pry up one of these planks! Quickly!”

Although puzzled, the warrior did as asked. A section of floor three feet square came up. The thin, muffled whisper echoing from the walls changed to a quiet roar.

“What is it?” Kelemvor asked.

“An underground stream!” Adon answered, kneeling next to the warrior.

Pointing at the bucket and rope, Midnight added, “It’s an emergency water supply, used in case of siege.”

Adon smiled and pointed into the hole. “The zombies won’t follow us down there!”

“If we have the courage to go ourselves.” Kelemvor stuck his head into the blackness.

“What do you see?” Midnight asked.

“A cavern,” he muttered. “But it’s dark. I can’t see the bottom.” He pulled his head out.

Midnight kneeled next to her friends and looked into the hole. She could see nothing but darkness, but it sounded as though the stream running under the tower was fairly large.

Kelemvor grabbed the rope and bucket. “I guess we’ll have to trust this thing.” He tied one end of the rope around a beam on the ceiling, then grabbed it and pulled himself off the floor to test the strength of his knot.

Adon scowled. “Perhaps we’d be wiser to look for something-“

The room grew a shade darker, as though something was blocking the light. Without finishing his sentence, Adon turned toward the cellar window and saw a man’s form kneeling on the ground outside. The man had a familiar hawkish nose.

“Look out!” Adon screamed, realizing he was the only one who saw Cyric. The scarred cleric lunged at Kelemvor and shoved him to the ground.

Midnight turned. Something buzzed past her ear and struck Adon with a wet thump. The scarred cleric groaned loudly and dropped to his knees beside her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Midnight asked.

Adon didn’t answer. His eyes rolled back into his head then he pitched forward into the hole. Midnight lunged and caught him by the shoulder and the bloody shaft that protruded from his ribs. The stick snapped and the cleric’s body slipped from the mage’s grasp. A moment later, she heard a distant splash.

“Adon!” she gasped, unable to comprehend how she had come to be holding a broken arrow shaft in her blood-smeared hand.

Kelemvor understood perfectly. He was looking at Cyric, who was nocking another arrow. “I’ll kill you!” the fighter roared, rushing to thrust his sword out the window.

“You missed your chance,” the thief replied, easily retreating out of Kelemvor’s reach. “But you should know that I was aiming for you just then. That foppish cleric got in the way.”

“I haven’t missed my chance,” Midnight hissed, turning to face the window. At the sound of Cyric’s voice, her heart had turned as cold as ice, and she had thought of the perfect way to kill him. The incantation for a cone of cold appeared in the mage’s mind. She pointed her finger at the window and called upon her magic.

Cyric hit the ground and rolled, expecting to meet some hideous magical death. Instead, a wave of black frost rolled out of the window. As the thief cringed on the ground, the frost coalesced into a black ball and zipped past him, ricocheting from one of the keep’s walls to another. Wherever it touched, the stones sprouted hoarfrost and icicles, then crumbled to dust. The ball finally bounced over the wall and, leaving a trail of icy destruction in its wake, went bounding off into the High Moor.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the hawk-nosed thief scrambled away from the window. Now that Kelemvor and Midnight knew he was on their trail, it would be much more difficult to kill them.

After watching Midnight’s spell misfire, Kelemvor peered out the window. Cyric was nowhere in sight. “You missed,” he reported, still too numbed by Adon’s death to react.

Midnight did not respond. She lay curled up on the floor, gasping for breath and sweating uncontrollably. Her body ached from head to toe, and the magic-user felt as though willpower alone held her spirit inside her body. She recalled Bhaal’s warning that she would burn herself up if she did not learn how to wield Mystra’s magic.

That was exactly what it felt like she had done. Any spell wore a magic-user down, and part of a mage’s training involved increasing her body’s tolerance to magical energies. But Midnight, newly gifted with the ability to call upon a limitless supply of magic, did not yet have the endurance to withstand such energies. In theory, she could call upon her magic to do almost anything, but she now understood that the effort might leave her a lifeless husk of flesh and energy.

When he turned around, that was exactly what Kelemvor feared he was seeing. “Midnight!” he gasped.

For the first time since Adon had entrusted it to him, Kelemvor set the Tablet of Fate aside. He dropped the saddlebags, knelt beside Midnight, and took her into his arms. “How can I help?” the fighter asked softly. “What can I do?”

Midnight wanted to tell him to hold her, to keep her warm, but she was afraid to speak. Right now, she needed her strength just to stay conscious.

Kelemvor heard the shuffling of heavy steps on the stairway, and he knew the zombies had discovered their hiding place. His first thought was to charge the stairs, but he knew the undead would tear him to pieces. That would leave Midnight alone and at their mercy.

Instead, he cut the bucket away from the rope and threw it aside. The fighter tied the free end of the rope around Midnight’s waist. He intended to lower her into the cavern then climb down after her.

He quickly realized he did not have time. The first zombie appeared in the door just as he slipped the mage into the hole. Kelemvor ignored the thing and began lowering Midnight. Two more of the walking corpses entered the room.

Midnight only knew that Kelemvor was lowering her into the darkness and that her strength was slowly returning. With the cavern walls echoing its bubbles and gurgles back toward her, the stream sounded incredibly large, more like a small river.

A few moments later, her descent stopped and she found herself hanging in darkness. Though it sounded as if she were only a few feet above the stream, there was no way for the mage to confirm or deny that suspicion. Midnight looked up and saw a dim square of light. There were forms dancing around it, but she could not make out any details.

Back in the tower’s basement, the first zombie ignored Kelemvor and picked up the saddlebags containing the Tablet of Fate. The fighter finished lowering Midnight, then grabbed his sword and hacked at the zombie. The thing’s arm fell off and it dropped the tablet. But before Kelemvor could retrieve the artifact, the zombie’s fellows joined it and all three attacked.

The fighter slashed at them to no avail. He connected solidly with the one whose arm he had already lopped off, opening a gash in its abdomen and temporarily stunning it. Heedless of their own safety, the other two corpses closed in, flailing wildly.

Forced to retreat away from the tablet, Kelemvor stumbled into the pit in the middle of the room. He grabbed the rope to keep from falling then leveled a vicious slash at one of his attackers. The zombie’s head flopped off its neck and dropped to the floor. Another of the undead threw itself at the hand Kelemvor was using to hold onto the rope. The fighter instinctively slashed and connected. Then the stroke continued past the zombie’s body and the warrior could not draw back quickly enough to avoid cutting the rope.

Midnight heard Kelemvor scream, then the rope popped and went slack. She dropped into the stream, felt the current grab her then began fighting to keep her head above water. Though she was still exhausted from the misfired spell, she knew that she had to find a reservoir of strength or drown.

Two splashes sounded to Midnight’s left as Kelemvor and the sword he had dropped hit the water in quick succession. The mage tried to swim toward the disturbance, but she was too weak and the current was too strong.