Waterdeep (42 page)

Myrkul saw Elminster coming toward him and turned stiffly to meet the attack. But the old sage stopped five feet away, confusing the Lord of the Dead. Then Myrkul realized he could no longer hear. Midnight, still trembling from the effort of the temporal stasis spell, summoned the incantation for disintegration and another for a dimensional door. If she could destroy the avatar’s body, the god’s essence would disperse. Then, through the dimensional door, the mage could shift the explosion high over the Sea of Swords, where it would do far less harm.

An instant later, the griffon struck. Because of the silence surrounding Elminster, Myrkul did not hear the whisper of its wings and was taken by surprise. The god fell onto his left side, and the saddlebags with the tablet slipped off his shoulder. The beast followed the god to the roof and sank all four claws into the avatar’s body. One of the griffon riders jumped off the creature’s back. Even as the man’s feet touched the roof, the great beast flapped its wings to rise again.

Myrkul squirmed and grabbed at the saddlebags, barely clutching them into his grasp.

Seeing what was happening, Kelemvor charged across the roof. As the griffon lifted the god into the air, the warrior threw himself after the tablet. His hands clutched the bottom of the saddlebags then Kelemvor pulled the tablet from Myrkul’s grasp. He landed on the roof and rolled away.

Pain shooting through his avatar’s body, Myrkul felt himself being lifted off the roof. He made one last grab for the saddlebags as Kelemvor rolled away, but the griffon had already carried him too far into the air.

Myrkul twisted around so he could look up toward the rider. “You will all pay for this!” he cried, shaking his bony fist.

As she watched the griffon carry Myrkul into the air, Midnight prepared her incantations, but stopped short of performing them. If she destroyed the avatar, the rider was certain to die in the mayhem that followed. The magic-user went to the edge of the tower and watched the griffon fly over Blackstaff’s courtyard, Myrkul still struggling in its claws. The great beast continued flapping, all but ignoring the writhing body in its grip. Then the Lord of the Dead stopped struggling and pointed at the griffon rider. An instant later, the soldier slumped over. He slipped out of the saddle and plunged toward the cobblestoned street below.

Midnight performed the disintegration incantation. A green ray shot from her hand and touched Myrkul. The avatar’s body gleamed briefly then a brilliant golden flare erupted over the city. Midnight quickly cast the spell for a long range dimension door and transferred the dying avatar to a spot high over the Sea of Swords, far from Waterdeep.

There was a loud crack as the avatar fell into the door, and another burst of light washed over the city from the west. The explosion caused by Myrkul’s death was like a second sun rising over the sea west of Waterdeep. When it died away, there was no sign of the griffon, its rider, or Myrkul. A brown murk hung in the air east of the tower, where the avatar had been seconds earlier.

The murk settled over a two block area. Wherever it touched, plants withered and people fell to the ground choking. Whether they were built of stone or wood, the buildings turned to dust and collapsed, and even the streets themselves crumbled. Within moments, two square blocks of Waterdeep had been turned into a desolate, brown waste.

Midnight sank to her knees, shivering with exhaustion and remorse. Hundreds of people had died when Myrkul’s essence settled on them. She could not help feeling responsible for their deaths.

Somebody walked up behind her.

“I had to destroy Myrkul,” she whispered, still staring at the poisoned area. “What else could I have done?”

“Nothing else,” answered a familiar voice. “You cannot be blamed for saving the Realms.”

Midnight stood and, ignoring the wave of dizziness that rushed over her, turned around. “Adon!” she cried.

Cyric stopped just inside the stairwell and concealed himself in the shadows. The overhead trap door opened onto a circular roof, where several people were talking. Though the voices were muffled, he suspected that two of them belonged to Kelemvor and Midnight. The thief had watched them follow Myrkul into the tower.

Cautiously, Cyric went up the stairs and looked out onto the roof. Elminster was picking up one of the Tablets if Fate and putting it into the saddlebags Kelemvor and company had been using as a carrying case since Tantras. The thief could not believe who was standing next to Midnight. “Adon!” he hissed, his voice barely audible.

I thought you killed him? his sword said, the words forming within his mind.

“So did I,” Cyric whispered.

The thief frowned and shook his head. He had seen the arrow sink into Adon’s ribs with his own eyes, then watched the cleric tumble into a dark cavern. It hardly seemed possible that the scarred cleric was alive.

Four old friends have an uncanny knack for survival the red-hued sword observed.

“I know,” Cyric replied. “It’s beginning to irritate me.”

Midnight was more surprised than Cyric to see Adon. “You’re alive!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the cleric. The magic-user was still too fatigued to be standing on her own, however, and her knees buckled.

Adon dropped his mace, caught the mage, and gently lowered her to a seated position. “Are you well?”

Midnight nodded wearily. “Yes - just fatigued.”

Kelemvor joined them and cradled Midnight’s head in his lap. “This business has taken its toll on her,” he said.

“I’ll be fine,” Midnight replied. “I need rest, that’s all. Now what happened to you, Adon?”

“I don’t really know. After Cyric’s arrow hit me, I fell into an underground stream and was carried away. The next thing I remember is waking up in the care of a gnome named Shalto Haslett - he claimed I’d been clogging up his well.”

“How did you get to Waterdeep?” Kelemvor asked, remembering his own harrowing journey. “You couldn’t have healed quickly enough to walk.”

“Shalto had a crow carry a message to Waterdeep. Then somebody named Blackstaff sent a griffon for me.”

“Blackstaff!” Kelemvor and Midnight said simultaneously.

“I wonder how long Elminster has known you’re alive?” Midnight asked, glancing toward the ancient sage.

“And why he didn’t tell us?” Kelemvor added.

Adon shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him. All I know is that I’m glad I arrived when I did.”

Elminster approached, the saddlebags in his hands. Both Midnight and Kelemvor turned to the wizard and angrily began asking their questions, but no words came out of their mouths. Myrkul’s silence spell still clung to the sage, deadening the sound of the pair’s voices. But from their irritated expressions and the gestures directed at Adon, Elminster could guess what they wanted to know.

He and Blackstaff had decided not to tell Kelemvor and Midnight of their companion’s survival for good reason. The wizards had not wanted to distract the pair from the task at hand. Shako’s message had only said that Adon was alive and needed transport to Waterdeep. Without knowing what condition the cleric was in, the wizards had not wanted to raise Midnight’s and Kelemvor’s hopes.

Elminster tried to explain these things via gestures, but only succeeded in confusing and angering the fighter and the mage further. Finally, he simply shrugged his shoulders and looked away. To his alarm, he saw that his work was not yet over Myrkul’s denizens did not seem to have noticed the destruction of their lord, and were still savaging the troops in the Dock Ward. Elminster gave the saddlebags to Adon, then turned to Midnight and went through the somatic motions for a dispel magic spell.

Midnight quickly understood what Elminster wanted. But, despite wanting to hear why he had not told them about Adon’s survival, she was hesitant to call on her powers again. The fatigued mage was loath to risk the danger of a another misfired spell. Besides, she was still weak and feared that casting the incantation would drain what little remained of her strength. Midnight shook her head.

Elminster urgently pointed toward the south.

Midnight and the others turned. The battle had drawn closer. The city was burning as far north as Piergeiron’s Palace. Between Blackstaff’s tower and the palace, a hundred separate battles raged in the sky. The combats were graceful, looping things that seemed to move in slow motion. The dark specks circled each other, trying to climb higher than their opponents one moment, then swooped down to attack in the next. Midnight could tell Waterdeep’s guardsmen from Myrkul’s denizens only by the size of the griffons.

Every now and then, a speck plummeted out of the sky and disappeared into the maelstrom in the streets below. On the ground, the battle had progressed much farther north. Midnight could clearly see companies of black-armored guardsmen and green-armored watchmen lined up to make a stand along Selduth Street, which ran east and west. In front of their lines, approaching along the north-south running avenues, were thousands of the grotesque denizens common to the Fugue Plain in Hades. As the denizen horde moved northward, it drove before it the battered and bloodied remnants of dozens of guard companies that had already thrown themselves against the swarm.

Every now and then, some mage within the defending ranks would loose a fireball or hail storm at the advancing denizens. As often as not, the spell misfired, coating the streets with snow or showering the magic-user’s own ranks with sparks and flame. Even when a spell did work, it seldom affected the denizens. Magic missiles bounced off their chests harmlessly, and lightning bolts simply dissipated into the advancing throng with no effect.

Realizing Waterdeep had little hope of repelling the denizens unless something changed, Midnight motioned for Elminster to stand away so she could speak. Then she performed the incantation to dispel the magic on the old sage. Immediately, a wave of fatigue shot through her body and her vision darkened. Midnight collapsed, trembling, into Kelemvor’s arms, then slipped into unconsciousness.

Kelemvor clutched her close to his body. “Wake up,” he whispered. “Please, wake up.”

Adon knelt and touched his fingers to Midnight’s throat. “Her heartbeat is still strong,” he noted softly.

Kelemvor slipped Midnight into Adon’s arms, then stood and went over to Elminster. “What did you make her do?” he demanded.

“Calm thyself,” Elminster said, relieved to see that Myrkul’s spell no longer plagued him. “Midnight will recover. She did nothing more than exhaust herself.”

The wizard went to the edge of the tower and looked down at the battle. The denizens had driven the remnants of twenty shattered companies into the line along Selduth Street. Waterdeep’s defenders had opened holes in their ranks to allow the routed troops to pass.

“And she did so in a good cause,” Elminster said, pointing at the denizens. “They’re coming for the tablets.”

“Why?” Kelemvor asked. “Myrkul’s gone!”

“Apparently they don’t know that,” Elminster replied, “or they don’t care. In either case, I must stop them.”

“How can one man stop a host of those things?” Kelemvor demanded.

“Ye were a soldier. What’s the best way to demoralize an army?”

Kelemvor shrugged. “Starve it or cut it off from its home. But who-“

“Precisely!” Elminster said. “Cut it off from home.”

He addressed both Kelemvor and Adon. “When Myrkul’s horde begins to retreat, take the tablets to the Celestial Stairway. But don’t move before that or the denizens will come after ye. Do ye understand?”

Adon nodded. “But where is the Celestial Stairway?”

Elminster frowned as though the answer were obvious. “Up there,” he said, pointing toward the summit of Mount Waterdeep.

“Two more questions before you go,” Kelemvor said.

“All right, but be quick about it.”

“First, what are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure,” Elminster replied. “Go to the Pool of Loss and close it off, I suppose. Since the denizens aren’t from our plane of existence that should draw their attention away from the battle.”

“But you’ll need hours to get there,” Kelemvor objected. “Even if you can make it back to the Yawning Portal through the battle-“

A condescending smile creased Elminster’s lips. “My boy, have ye forgotten who I am? What’s thy second question?”

Kelemvor frowned, not entirely satisfied with Elminster’s first answer. Still, he knew the sage wouldn’t explain himself further. The fighter asked his second question. “Why didn’t you tell us Adon was alive?”

Elminster actually looked embarrassed. “Yes well, Blackstaff and I discussed that matter. There’s no time to explain at the moment. Perhaps when I return.”

With that, the sage went to the stairwell, already plotting his strategy. First, he would cross into another plane, where there would be no need to worry about the unpredictability of magic. Then Elminster intended to travel to the other side of the Pool of Loss and reseal it from there. It might be tiring, but the ancient wizard did not think it would be beyond him.

As the sage stepped into the stairwell, Cyric slipped into a room on the tower’s top floor. The thief had been watching and listening to everything that occurred on the roof. It’s good you didn’t steal the tablets immediately, his sword commented. Even I could not have defended you from an army of denizens.

Cyric did not reply. Instead, he waited for Elminster’s steps to descend well past his door. Then the thief returned to his position at the top of the stairwell, waiting for an opportunity to attack.

A few minutes after the wizard left, Midnight regained consciousness. She immediately noticed Elminster’s absence, and feared she had dispelled the sage with Myrkul’s spell, “Elminster,” she asked weakly. “Where is he?”

“The Pool of Loss” Kelemvor replied. “He went to seal it.”

“As soon as the denizens start retreating, we’re to take the tablets to the top of Mount Waterdeep,” Adon said.

Kelemvor turned to the cleric. “What makes you think the denizens will retreat?” the fighter asked doubtfully. “Elminster’s one man against an army”

“We’ll have to wait and see,” Midnight replied, “I need to rest anyway.”