Waterdeep (38 page)

The mages circled the well for several more minutes, inspecting the dome first closely, then from farther away. Finally, Blackstaff asked, “What do you make of it?”

Elminster frowned and turned to Kelemvor. “Could this be Midnight’s work?”

The fighter shrugged. He had no idea what the globe was or whether Midnight could have created it or not. “All I can tell you is that she was growing more powerful all the time. She once -” He searched for the word the mage had used to describe plucking them from one place and depositing them in another. “She once ‘teleported’ four of us halfway from Boareskyr Bridge to Dragonspear Castle.”

Elminster’s eyes widened. “She did?”

“Then she could have cast this,” Blackstaff concluded.

Inside the sphere, Midnight had been resting for hours. The magic-user was recovering from performing the worldwalk and prismatic sphere incantations in quick succession. She was completely unaware that help had arrived. The deafening screams and howls of a thousand enraged denizens were drowning out the voices of Elminster and company.

Fortunately, noise was the only thing that had entered the globe. Several denizens had flung themselves against the sphere or tried to assail it with spells. Each time, Midnight had heard a cry of pain or anger as the sphere directed an attack back at its originator.

As long as the sphere remained up, both Midnight and the Realms were safe from the denizens. But the spell would expire soon, and the mage feared it would take most of the strength she had recovered to recast it. While this would keep her safe and the denizens out of the Realms for a little while longer, it was only a short-term solution.

And Midnight did not dare leave the sphere until she countered Myrkul’s trap. Until then, the tablet had to stay inside the sphere. Otherwise, she could be creating a passageway for the denizens between Myrkul’s realm and wherever she went.

Then, with a start, the mage realized she could use a permanency incantation to indefinitely prolong the prismatic sphere. The gestures and words came to mind easily. It would be as wearing as renewing the sphere, but at least it only had to be done once.

With a sigh, Midnight performed the incantation. The effort drained her, but not completely. Within eight hours or so, she would have the strength to overcome the magic Myrkul had placed on the tablet.

Back outside the sphere, Kelemvor and the other four rescuers were still puzzled.

“These things don’t last forever,” Blackstaff was saying. “And if Midnight cast it, she’s probably around here somewhere.”

“Yes undoubtedly inside,” Elminster said. “That’s what prismatic spheres are designed for.”

“She’s inside that thing?” Kelemvor exclaimed. He started toward it, but Durnan quickly restrained him.

“No, my friend,” Durnan said. “If you touch it, you won’t be fit to feed to the dogs.”

“Then how do we get her out?” Kelemvor cried.

“Perhaps we don’t want to,” Elminster sighed, running a hand through his beard. “The mage who casts a prismatic sphere can enter or leave at will. If Midnight is inside, there’s a reason.”

“Then what do we do?” Kelemvor demanded.

“We let her know we’re here,” Blackstaff said. “When I count to three, let’s all shout her name.”

Their shout might have worked, if not for the cacophony of denizens’ screams on the side of the sphere facing Myrkul’s city. As it was, however, their voices were lost in the maelstrom of noise, and Midnight never knew her name had been called.

Next, the company tried throwing things into the sphere: bits of clothes, stones, rings. Nothing got through. More often than not, the sphere hurled the items back at whoever had thrown them. Blackstaff even tried to penetrate the globe with a telepathy spell, but it either misfired or the sphere repelled it. The bearded mage was stunned into dumfounded shock for twenty minutes. Kelemvor found Blackstaff s silence a welcome respite from the wizard’s condescending manner.

“Well, Elminster, what do we do now?” Kelemvor asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We wait,” Elminster replied. “The thing will fall after an hour or two.”

So they sat down to wait. Eventually, a few soul spectres drifted over and idly gossiped with Elminster and Blackstaff, but Kelemvor, Durnan, and Gower superstitiously avoided speaking with the dead. Several times, one of the silhouettes found itself unable to resist the call of the Pool and tried to enter despite the sphere. In each instance, it was repelled or disappeared in a white flash.

Four hours later, Blackstaff stood. “This is ridiculous! Nobody can keep a prismatic sphere up this long!”

“Apparently Midnight can,” Elminster observed.

“I’m going to dismantle it!” Blackstaff declared.

“That might not be wise,” the elder mage replied. “Even if ye cast all the spells without a misfire, we dare not risk eliminating the sphere without knowledge of why she cast it.”

“You can dismantle the sphere?” Kelemvor asked. He stood and rushed to Blackstaff s side.

“Yes,” Elminster explained. “It’s a most complicated and tedious procedure.”

“Tell me about it,” Kelemvor demanded. Like Blackstaff, he was tired of waiting.

“Very well,” Elminster sighed. “It appears we have nothing better to do at the moment. A prismatic sphere is in reality seven magical spheres, each providing a defense against different attacks.”

“To dismantle one,” Blackstaff interrupted, “you must cast a cone of cold to destroy the red sphere, which defends against mundane missiles like arrows, spears-“

“And rocks with messages on them!” Kelemvor finished.

“Precisely,” Blackstaff said. “Next, you must use a gust of wind to-“

“We don’t need to dismantle the whole sphere,” Kelemvor exclaimed.

Blackstaff frowned, irritated by the interruption.

Kelemvor ignored the mage then continued, “All you have to do is negate the first sphere. Then we can throw something inside to get Midnight’s attention.”

Elminster looked doubtful. “I don’t like-“

“What other choice do we have?” Durnan said, expressing an opinion for the first time. “We can’t stay down here forever. I have a business to run!”

“Very well,” Elminster sighed, reaching into his robe and pulling out one of his distinctive meerschaum pipes. He gave it to Kelemvor. “She should recognize this - try not to break it. If ye will do the honors, Blackstaff?”

“With pleasure,” the mage replied.

Inside the sphere, Midnight had just identified the nature of Myrkul’s trap. He had combined powerful variations of locate object and hold portal spells to ensure that his denizens could always follow wherever the tablet was taken. In effect, the locate object spell served as a beacon marking the tablet’s location, and the hold portal spell prevented the thief from closing his escape route.

Fortunately, Midnight’s prismatic sphere had not closed her escape route, it had merely blocked it. She could leave and the denizens could not follow. Because she had used an incantation to make the sphere permanent, it would never fall. In effect, the door between Myrkul’s city and the Realms remained permanently open, but the hallway had been filled with an impassable obstruction.

As Midnight contemplated her discovery, something flew into the globe and landed in her lap. She jumped to her feet and nearly stepped out into the waiting hands of Myrkul’s denizens.

Then the raven-haired mage picked up the object and discovered that it was a clay pipe - a distinctive, familiar clay pipe.

Outside the sphere, everyone was breathing a little easier because Blackstaff’s spell had not misfired. Also, Kelemvor had tossed Elminster’s pipe into the sphere without it rebounding.

“What if she doesn’t recognize your pipe?” Kelemvor asked.

At that moment, Midnight stepped out of the sphere, the tablet in one hand and Elminster’s pipe in the other. “Does this belong to one of you?” she asked.

“Midnight!” Kelemvor whooped.

They rushed into each other’s arms and embraced - but not before Elminster snatched his pipe back.

For a long, uncomfortable minute, Blackstaff, Elminster, Durnan, and Gower waited while the reunited lovers kissed and hugged each other. Finally, when it became apparent the pair was oblivious to the presence of others, Elminster cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we should attend to the business at hand?” he suggested.

Midnight and Kelemvor reluctantly separated.

Addressing Midnight and pointing at the sphere, Elminster said, “Perhaps ye would care to explain why you’ve been hiding inside that thing for the better part of a day?”

“Not here,” Gower insisted. “I’m thirsty - and you owe me nineteen mugs of ale!”

“One moment, Gower,” Blackstaff said impatiently. “Is it safe to leave?”

Midnight nodded. “Oh, yes,” she replied. “We can leave now. The sphere is permanent.”

Both Elminster and Blackstaff raised an eyebrow.

“There-you see?” the dwarf said. “Let’s go”

With that, Gower started toward the exit. Realizing they could not find their own way back to Durnan’s tavern, the others reluctantly followed, barraging Midnight with questions as they walked.

“No!” Kelemvor hissed. He took the tablet off the floor and put it on the table. “Here’s your tablet. Take it and get the other one yourself!”

“This discussion does not concern you, Kelemvor,” Blackstaff retorted. He was not accustomed to being addressed so sharply, especially by mercenary warriors.

“That’s right, not anymore. And it doesn’t concern Midnight, either.”

Blackstaff scowled and started to suggest Kelemvor was a coward, but Elminster stepped between the two men. Frowning at Blackstaff, the sage said, “Calm down. We can discuss this like gentlemen, can we not?”

Blackstaff’s scowl changed to an embarrassed grimace. Elminster’s comment was directed primarily at him, and he knew his friend was right. The young wizard should have enough self-control so that a stubborn warrior did not irritate him. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “The stress is telling, I’m afraid.”

Kelemvor also relaxed, but did not apologize.

They were in Durnan’s office in the Yawning Portal. Midnight lay on the couch, where she had collapsed into a deep sleep. Her black hair was as coarse and as stiff as a horse’s tail. Her complexion had faded to the color of ash, and her red-rimmed eyes were sunk deep into their sockets.

The Realm of the Dead had taken its toll on her. Kelemvor could not bear to see her join another battle, which was what Elminster and Blackstaff proposed. “She braved Myrkul’s city,” the fighter said. “Hasn’t she done her part?”

“Others have also sacrificed,” Blackstaff retorted. “Ylarell was a fine man.”

Kelemvor did not know how to respond. When he and his five companions had returned to Durnan’s tavern, a member of the city watch had been waiting with bad news. After lowering Midnight’s rescue party into the well, Ylarell had taken a group of men to find the undead Kelemvor had described. The patrol had tracked the walking corpses into the foul-smelling tunnels that carried away Waterdeep’s offal and refuse.

The undead had ambushed the patrol two hours later. Ylarell and his company had been winning the battle until an evil-looking human appeared and used magical poison to aid the zombies. Only one guard had survived, and only because he had remained unobserved. The watch commander knew of Blackstaff’s interest in the zombies, and had elected to send no more men into the tunnels until he spoke with the wizard.

Connecting what Midnight had learned from Bhaal with some of his own research, Elminster had suggested that the man who had aided the zombies was Myrkul. Now, the ancient sage and Blackstaff wanted to use Midnight and the tablet to bait a trap for the Lord of the Dead.

Kelemvor thought his lover had done enough. More importantly, he doubted she had the strength to face Myrkul. “She’s too weak,” he said, kneeling at her side.

“Weak as she is,” Elminster replied patiently, pointing a gnarled finger at the female mage, “she wields more power than Blackstaff and I together.”

“No!” Kelemvor said, standing.

“The decision is hers,” Durnan said. He sat slumped in a chair behind his desk, a mug of ale in his hand. “In Waterdeep, no man speaks for a woman unless she asks him to.”

“You’ll take her over my dead body,” Kelemvor snapped, putting himself between Midnight and the others. “Or not at all.”

Midnight opened her eyes and reached for the fighter’s hand. “Kel, they’re right. I must go on.”

“But look at you!” the warrior protested, kneeling at her side. “You’re exhausted!”

“I’ll be fine after I rest.”

“You can hardly stand,” Kelemvor said, running his hand over her dry hair. “How can you fight Myrkul?”

Elminster laid a wrinkled hand on Kelemvor’s shoulder. “Because she must - or the whole world might perish.”

Kelemvor dropped his head and stared at the floor. Finally, he looked at Elminster and said, “Can you explain this to me? Why must Midnight draw Myrkul out? Why do we need the other tablet?”

Blackstaff snapped, “Elminster doesn’t need to explain himself to the likes of-“

The ancient sage raised a hand to silence the bearded wizard. “He has a right to know,” Elminster said.

“While ye and thy friends have labored to retrieve the tablets, this is what I have learned.” The sage motioned at the air above the table. “Out of the mists at the beginning of time there came a will who called itself Ao. Ao wished to create an order.” Elminster flicked his fingers and a golden scale hung in the air. “He balanced the forces of chaos and order, spending the first eons of his life cataloguing and setting them into opposition.”

Dozens of lumps of coal appeared and settled onto the scale’s dishes. “By the time he completed his task, the universe had grown too vast and intricate for even Ao to watch over.” The scale wobbled and spilled the coal.

“So Ao created the gods.” The chunks of coal compressed into glittering diamonds, each with the symbol of a god etched upon it. “To preserve the order, he assigned each god certain duties and powers.” The diamonds returned to the dishes and the scales again hung balanced.