The Nether Scroll (13 page)

Midnight was hours away when mist crept into the grove. It dampened Dru's cloak, not his
mind, and seemed a natural mist—as natural as anything in Weathercote Wood. Druhallen folded
his box and went for a walk around the glade. Tiep was curled up in an untroubled sleep. Dru stood
over him, torn between anger and envy. A part of him wanted to use the boy's head as a battering ram
on the glassy black stone, but that was a lesser part. The greater part offered absolution in pure self-
interest; his heart couldn't contemplate another loss.

Rozt'a hadn't moved from her post outside the sealed cave. Not surprisingly, the mist was
thickest there. At arm's length, Druhallen could scarcely see her face in the faint amber-and-
green light. He didn't need to. Her sunken silhouette told him everything he needed to know.

"We'll find a way," he promised softly.

She answered with silence, and Dru completed his circuit the same way. The midnight
moment came without warning, as it always did. His mind was once again receptive to
magical instruction. He unfolded his box. If true learning had been the order of the night,
Druhallen would have been in a bad way, but for his tried-and-true spells—his gloomy pall and
the various types of fire—habit sufficed. Intention alone was almost enough. Someday, some
midnight, he'd manage to recall them without opening the box ... but not this night. This night
Druhallen left nothing to chance.

Dru would swear his eyes never closed after that and that he passed the quiet deadwatch
hours fighting both sides of a private war between mourning and not mourning. He failed,
though, to notice the sun's rise or the mist's dissipation and his night-chilled limbs were
aching stiff when he straightened them. Rozt'a and Tiep were already awake. They sat
beside the waterfall, sharing breakfast and making no noise that reached Druhallen's ears.

Considering the mysteries they faced, Dru could be grateful for sleep he didn't remember
and dreams that had seemed like memories—until he saw a feather in the moss at his feet. It was
a blue-green feather and it seemed safe to assume it had fallen from Sheemzher's outlandish hat. He
imagined himself dozing and the goblin standing near—as Dru had stood near Tiep.

The image disturbed Druhallen not because he despised or feared goblins but because
Sheemzher was so unlike the little halfwits he'd previously known. The world wasn't ready for
thoughtful goblins.

Dru pulled the feather through a partially closed fist and past his magic-sensitive ring. It
sparked no alarms against his flesh, but he hadn't expected it to. The ring worked best on
living creatures. He'd need a day alone and a mind filled with different spells than those he'd
memorized at midnight to unravel any substantial enchantment, assuming that Wyndyfarh's
spells weren't so far beyond his comprehension that he could not detect them.

With that thought in mind, Dru's conscience advised leaving the feather where it had
fallen. They'd all had an object lesson in the risks associated with stealing from Lady Mantis.
It was a rare wizard who outgrew the recklessness of his youth, and Druhallen tucked the
feather gently into his pack and hoisted it across his shoulder.

Rozt'a and Tiep noticed him when he was halfway down the hill. They both wore anxious,
haunted expressions but seemed to have rebuilt their bridges. That impression was
confirmed when Tiep, but not Rozt'a, clambered to his feet as he approached.

Tiep looked Dru square in the eye and announced, "I'm sorry."

"You should be," Dru agreed, taking his cues from Rozt'a who'd developed an unexpected
interest in a cheese rind.

"Look," the youth continued, "I know it was my fault. Taking that amber wasn't just wrong,
it was stupid—the stupidest thing I've ever done in my whole life. I'd give anything to go back there
and just walk away from that tree with nothing to show for it, but I can't do that. I can't do anything
except say my prayers to Tymora—which I did all night. I didn't sleep a wink. I know you can't
forgive me, not now or ever. I'm not asking that, but, please Dru, don't throw me out. I can never make
it up, but I'll try. I swear to Tymora—may She hear my words and hold me to them—I'm a changed
man. I'm never going to do something stupid again."

Druhallen considered a number of replies. The boy was lying. Dru had seen him fast
asleep, but maybe—considering that he, himself, had missed the sunrise and the goblin—Tiep
deserved the benefit of doubt on that score. More significantly, he seemed more chastened by the
consequences of his theft than by the wrongness of it. And most significant of all, even if Tiep were
completely sincere, he was making a promise he couldn't keep. To be alive was to be stupid once in a
while.

Rozt'a had gnawed one last mouthful of cheese from the rind and was chewing it slowly.
Her face was without expression, but she was watching him carefully. Realistically, her foster
son's fate and possibly her own future hung on Dru's next words.

He settled on, "We'll see," which sounded more evasive than he'd intended. "We have to
get Galimer back before we start talking about the future."

Tiep had hoped for more and tried to swallow his disappointment. His silence would count
in his favor when the time for reckoning did arrive. Rozt'a's attention had changed focus when
she heard Galimer's name.

"Do you have a plan now that you've read up on your magic again?" she demanded.

Dru shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm ready to give it a try."

They followed him behind the waterfall where Dru took a stick of beeswax from his folding
box and drew an eye-high, wrist-to-elbow diameter circle on the glassy stone. He uttered the
Auld Thorassic word for "revelation." The wax sizzled like fat in a pan and gave off the scents
of clover and roses. It was quite impressive but not notably successful. Dru's most reliable
method for dispelling magic worked best on the spells he himself had cast or the non-specific
enchantments that merchants—figuring any protection was better than none—bought by the scroll
from wizard shops throughout Faerun.

The merchants were right about the value of protection, but Lady Mantis was no cost-
cutting merchant. The glassy stone didn't budge. For a moment, though, and to Dru's eyes
alone, it became darkly transparent. He glimpsed another rocky overhang, another waterfall,
and a mossy greensward beyond it.

His spell was already waning, taking the transparent moment with it, when Dru made out
three figures near a mirror-image marble temple. Softly striped Wyndyfarh and Sheemzher in
his brilliant blue and green were unmistakable. The third figure, a slender, gold-haired hair
man, had to be Galimer, but it was a changed Galimer who sat on a bench, slightly apart from
the other two, and resembled nothing so much as a living statue.

The last of the wax evaporated with a pop! The vision ended and Dru stepped back from
the stone.

"What was that supposed to be?" Rozt'a demanded.

"There's another grove, on the other side. I saw it through the spell. She's got Galimer
there with her."

"And?"

"She's got him. They're talking, her and the goblin, not Galimer. Galimer's ..." He sought
words that wouldn't push Rozt'a over the edge. "He's sitting on a bench by himself, watching
the waterfall."

"What are we waiting for? Blast this thing and we'll grab him." Rozt'a checked her
weapons.
If the best his efforts had accomplished was a few moments of shadowed vision, then
there was no way Druhallen could blast his way into Wyndyfarh's inner grove. He couldn't tell
Rozt'a that, not yet.

"We're waiting to see if she'll come to us. A little restraint on our part—"

Dru got no farther with his argument when a damp wind whirled suddenly around them.
Instinctively, he blinked and when he looked at the glassy stone again, it was gone. There
was no twin grove, only a pitch-black emptiness and the sounds of falling water and steel
sliding over oiled leather as Rozt'a drew her sword.

He closed his hand over her wrist. "Not yet."

She made a sound worthy of a lioness.

"We're on her ground, Roz. She can influence everything, even your dreams—or have you
forgotten that? Let her come to us, or wonder why we haven't rushed to her. Let her do a little guessing
for a change."

Rozt'a frowned, with Druhallen still clinging to her wrist, she shoved her sword home in its
scabbard. She gave him a look that said, What's your hand still doing there?

"Take a breath and hold it," he advised and when she'd done so, he cast another spell
he'd known for many years but rarely used. The Auld Thorassic word defied translation but it
meant something akin to strength-of-mind. Rozt'a's eyes widened as the magic flowed over
her. "Just in case Lady Mantis tries to influence you again. To be honest, I don't think it will
prevent her from doing whatever she wants, but she won't take you by surprise."

"Thanks, I guess," she muttered, rubbing herself as though she been drenched in a cold,
stinging liquid. Tiep, come over here. Dru's conjured something up for us."

He hadn't conjured anything. He'd learned the spell from a tome of basic abjuration rituals,
and he'd prepared himself for only two recitations of it. Tiep's natural resistance to magic was
already stronger than anything he could put together from his folding box, but Dru didn't want
an argument with Rozt'a—or Tiep. He led the youth away from the waterfall, cast his second
strength-of-mind spell and hoped he wouldn't regret leaving himself unfortified against the bug lady's
meddling magic.

They didn't have long to wait. Tiep was still chafing his arms when Rozt'a let out a hiss and
motioned for them to join her at the cave mouth. Dru rejected her invitation and pointed
instead to the ground at his feet. Rozt'a had barely joined them when the tall, pale woman
emerged from her cave leading Sheemzher who, in turn, guided Galimer by the sleeve. Dru
tried to restrain Rozt'a, but when she saw her husband standing slack-jawed and blinking in
the morning sunlight, she broke free. Neither Wyndyfarh nor Sheemzher made any effort to
stop Galimer's wife from embracing him.

Galimer was steady on his feet. His balance accommodated Rozt'a's vigorous greeting,
but he never looked at her, never acknowledged her words or kisses. After a few moments of
hugging a warm statue, Rozt'a released him. She turned on Wyndyfarh.

"What's the matter with him? What have you done to my husband? He doesn't recognize
me. He doesn't know me or if he's dead or still alive!" As always, her hands dropped to her
sword. She showed five-fingers worth of steel.

Lady Mantis was unimpressed. "Your husband contemplates the paths of his life. It is a
long journey and he has barely begun." Her voice was as musical and pleasant as it was
imperious. "When you return, he will be ready and waiting for you."

Dru spoke up quickly, before Rozt'a said something they'd all regret. "We're not going
anywhere without Galimer."

"Damn straight we're not," Tiep affirmed from somewhere behind Dru's right shoulder.

"Your Galimer's mind is on a journey it very much needs and his body is in no condition to
follow you. I am giving you a chance to right the wrongs you've done me. You cannot bring
my servant back to life, but you can avenge others against my enemies and return to me with
proof that my will has been done."

Considering the lady's magical prowess, that didn't sound like an easy assignment, but if it
were the only way to get Galimer back ... Dru tested his resolve and found that he'd agree to
almost anything if it would release Galimer from mindless torpor.

Predictably, Tiep took a more pragmatic view: "If you can't avenge your servants, how in
blazes are we supposed to pull it off?"

Lady Mantis studied Tiep with slow menace. "That is not my concern. If you wish to
redeem your companion, your path leads beyond Weathercote Wood to the ruins called
Dekanter. Sheemzher will guide you there."

When he heard the words "Dekanter" and "Sheemzher," puzzle pieces fell into place in
Druhallen's mind. He was tempted to believe Tiep was right: They'd been set up. The goblin
had laid his trap—Wyndyfarh's trap—back in their Parnast rented room. The plot seemed perfect,
except for one small detail: Tiep's theft had been pure opportunism. There had to be something Dru
was missing. In his mind's eye, he recalled the map on Amarandaris's wall and wished he'd made
time for curiosity.

While Rozt'a and Tiep sputtered their unwillingness to be guided by a goblin, Dru stood
silent, shaking his head. He drew Lady Wyndyfarh's attention.

"Is Dekanter not where you wished to go? I promise you a chance to view the wonders of
Netherese magecraft as no human has seen them in four thousand years."

Bitterness and anger got the better of discretion as Dru answered, "Yes, we wanted to go
to Dekanter. It was never that much of a secret, but the whole world seems to know now. If
you had a commission for us, you could have asked." He nodded his head in oblivious
Galimer's direction. "Now it's too late. You've sent our negotiator on a journey."

White lightning played across the lady's eyes. "Don't push me," she warned, all soft and
pleasant and oozing lethal power.

Dru braced himself for a mental onslaught and wasn't surprised when Wyndyfarh's image
went cloudy in his mind's eye. He glimpsed someone who was more raptor than woman, with
wings as well as arms and an obsidian beak.

Wyndyfarh warned Dru, "I have set you a task that serves you as it redeems you. Accept
it, if you wish to release your friend."

Seeing Wyndyfarh as she truly was—as, perhaps, Tiep had seen her from the start—Druhallen
understood that everything else was shapeshifting or pure illusion. Her lips need never move to convey
her points. Having seen her in her true form, Dru knew as well, that Lady Mantis wasn't natural or
native to Faerun. He didn't want to do her bidding but to save his friend—?