The Nether Scroll (28 page)

Tiep had learned the marks of Darkhold's forge and armory before he'd learned to read,
and he'd learned to read before Galimer sat down to teach him his letters. It wasn't an iron
box, but he could tell Horace, Amarandaris, and Sememmon himself—if the Dark Lord were
interested—that the Beast Lord was arming his bug-brained goblins with Zhentarim swords.

The discovery might not get him his promised reward, which he wouldn't accept under any
circumstance, but it might back the Network off for a little while.

Tiep left the sword and the southern gatehouse behind. Sheemzher waited for him in the
gorge.

"People begin feast. People begin celebration."

Tiep shook his head vigorously. After Rozt'a and Galimer had adopted him, he'd become
fascinated by food, studying it as only a boy who'd often gone hungry could. He knew how to
make stew. "They can't be. Meat doesn't cook that fast. It's half-cooked, worse than raw.
You've made another mistake, Sheemz. Your eyes aren't good enough."

"People begin feast. Sheemzher not need eyes. Sheemzher use nose."

There was no arguing with Sheemzher's nose. Halfway across the quarry floor, Tiep could
both see and smell the truth. Druhallen and Rozt'a were easy to pick out among the goblins.
They had bowls in their hands. Through light rain, Tiep couldn't tell if they were eating. He
wasn't getting closer for a better look.

Sheemzher was where Tiep had left him between the two gatehouses. Their eyes locked,
and Tiep tried, with neither magic nor prayer at his disposal, to will the goblin into one of the
buildings so he could hole up in the other. The exercise failed and Sheemzher followed him
into the southern house. The remains of a wall hearth provided an almost dry, almost
comfortable place to sit and wait. Of course, Sheemzher had to share it with him, but so long
as the goblin kept his mouth shut Tiep didn't mind the company.

As the afternoon wound down and the feasting became some of the worst drone-singing
Tiep had ever heard, he introduced Sheemzher to dice. The goblin took to gambling like a
duck to water but was convinced that a double-six was easier to roll than any lower
combination. If they'd been playing for gold, or even copper, Tiep could have transferred all
the goblin's wealth to his purse, but they were playing for bits of an endless supply of soggy
charcoal. He was sorry he'd gotten his dice out long before darkness put a halt to their
playing.

A breeze blew the last of the rain down the gorge. The clouds broke up overhead and the
stars of late summer became visible overhead. The temperature began to drop. It was only
the first eve of The Fading, but the temperature dropped like stone once the sky was clear.
Tiep stamped around the gatehouse, trying to keep warm in clothes that wouldn't dry, while
Sheemzher stayed on the hearth, completely unperturbed.

When the chill reached Tiep's bones, the pull of Ghistpok's bonfire became too strong to
resist. He returned to the mounds with Sheemzher at his side. The goblins, except for
Ghistpok and maybe a few other males, were packed around a hissing fire in the clearing in
front of the old Zhentarim headquarters. Their monotonous singing was accompanied and
guided by four drummers, all female, all pounding furiously. Tiep had to breathe deep to keep
his heart from racing to their rhythm. That meant filling his lungs with the bonfire's pungent
smoke.

Tiep warmed himself until he couldn't stand the smells and sounds any longer, then went
looking for Druhallen and Rozt'a. They were behind the headquarters. Rozt'a was curled up
in an old wool blanket. Tiep didn't ask where she'd found it, but it wasn't one of theirs. He
wasn't surprised that she could sleep through the din of goblin music. Rozt'a claimed that
anyone who said he wasn't tired was a liar, and anyone who couldn't sleep when he was tired
was a fool.

Dru had his box out, waiting for midnight. He held the dark glass disk—the mystery that had
dragged them here in the first place and which remained unsolved—in both hands and studied it with a
frown and furrowed brow. Tiep approached him slowly; bad things could happen when wizards were
interrupted. Dru's concentration was not as complete as it looked. He heard them when they were still
several paces away and quickly slipped the disk back into its compartment within the box. Dru didn't
ask Tiep where he'd been or what he'd been doing, and Tiep didn't ask Dru what he'd been thinking
about while he held the disk or whether he'd enjoyed the feast.

Tiep did ask, "Any idea what happens next?"

Dru shot an inquiring glance at Sheemzher before answering. "They're not talking much
and I'm no better at understanding goblin than I was this morning, but Ghistpok's inside
working himself up for some sort of trance-ordeal. When he's ready, I think we all follow him
down to the chalk circle."

"People dance, good sir," Sheemzher explained. "Ghistpok talk Beast Lord. Beast Lord
talk Ghistpok."

"They dance, they drink, too, don't they?" Dru scowled. "A bunch took off into the mines a
while ago."

"Wine there, yes. Sheemzher think people not drink much wine anymore, good sir.
Zhentarim gone long time. Wine gone, maybe."

"Or maybe we follow a tribe of drunken goblins to the egg chamber. Outhzin's been
chipping away at his spear all evening. I guess that's a good sign."

"Good sign, yes. Grouze brother Outhzin. Very angry. Same Sheemzher when Sheemzher
lose Elva. All good now. All good for good sir, yes?"

"So long as nothing happens before midnight. I need time to study. I've been light all day. I
don't want to go below this empty. While you're both here, though, let me show you how
these work—"

Druhallen pulled a pair of Rozt'a's heavy leather gloves off his belt. Tiep knew they'd been
enchanted as soon as he saw them and clutched his hands behind his back.

"I can't wear them," he said quickly. "My jinx is tingling."

"That's good to know, but I was counting on Sheemzher to climb back up atop the egg—if
you're up to it?"

"Sheemzher climb, good sir. Gloves or not gloves, Sheemzher climb."

"When you're up there, clap your hands twice before you grasp the scroll. I've put an
unbinding into the leather, it should help pull the scroll free and keep the flareback from
burning your hands. You understand?"

The goblin nodded.

"And you, Tiep: two claps, then pull."

"They're not going to do me any good."

"I'm asking you to remember how to kindle the enchantment, in case someone forgets."
Dru's glance darted to Sheemzher and back again.

Tiep's heart skipped a beat, and not because the goblin might forget his instructions. "Dru?
What do you mean, Dru? You're sounding like you're not going to be in the egg chamber ..."
His voice trailed off. "What's going on, Dru?"

His foster father shrugged. "I don't see myself there, so I'm being careful."

"What do you mean you don't 'see' yourself. You haven't—you know—had a vision or
something?"

"No visions, Tiep." Dru tried to laugh; the attempt wasn't entirely successful. "Not even
close to a vision. When I cast an enchantment that's tied to a future act, sometimes I get a
flash of that act. Most of the time I don't; most of the time, I'm not there when the spell
kindles, so why should I get a flash? This time I'd expected to be there when this unbinding
kindles. In case I'm not—two claps, then pull. All right?"

"Yeah," Tiep muttered. "You're sure everything's going to be all right?"

"No one's ever sure, Tiep. That's why I'm being careful. I've told you and Sheemzher. I told
Rozt'a before she went down for a nap. I could wish I had more time, more gloves, but wishes
don't count. You sticking close until we head below with Ghistpok?"

"You're sure we're going in with him?"

"That's the plan right now. I told you; no one's ever sure. Settle in. Grab a nap, like
Rozt'a's doing. I need to rest my mind."

Tiep went through the motions of settling in amid the trash piled up behind the old
Zhentarim headquarters. He closed his eyes. Usually he had no trouble falling asleep—the
exhausted innocence of youth, Galimer called it. Sleep wasn't waiting for him in Dekanter. Maybe he
was growing up.

He thought of Manya and Pulsey, the girl he'd met in Llorkh, and Basienne, who was
prettier than both Manya and Pulsey together and might be waiting for him in Scornubel, if he
was lucky enough to get back to Scornubel. He thought of Galimer, too, and how close they'd
be to Parnast and Manya when they got to Weathercote. Then he thought of Amarandaris
and how cold the air in Dekanter had gotten.

The goblins were still singing and drumming, though not as loudly or rapidly as before. It
was good to know there were limits. The camp was quiet enough that Tiep could hear Dru
whispering nearby. He cracked an eyelid—in case his foster parents were having an actual
conversation—but it was just Dru preparing himself for the Underdark with his fists clenched and his
eyes squeezed shut. When push came to shove, spellcraft demanded a lot from the wizards who
practiced it. Tiep was long past the days when he mourned the vocation he couldn't have.

Druhallen had worked up a sweat by the time he'd finished preparing his spells. His hands
shook just a little when he folded his box. Tiep wondered what he'd studied, but wasn't bold
enough to ask. It was like asking someone if they wore undergarments to bed. When Dru
glanced his way, Tiep closed his eyes again and feigned dreams.

He didn't have to pretend for long. The drummers and singers kicked up a sudden racket.
Dru gave both him and Rozt'a a gentle shake to awaken them.

"Ghistpok's come outside. They're all headed down to the chalk circle. We're under way."

For a man who hadn't slept, Tiep was both stiff and groggy. He yawned mightily but
couldn't get enough air into his lungs to shake off the lethargy.

"You can stay behind," Rozt'a suggested when she saw him struggling.

They were always suggesting that, as if he were still a child and not up adult
responsibilities. "I'm coming. I'm ready."

"Then keep moving. Sheemzher, what are they singing about now?"

The goblin song had changed. It had words, now, though it was still mostly drone and
entirely sour.

"People calling Beast Lord, good sir. People say, Beast Lord wise, Beast Lord good, Beast
Lord come—" Sheemzher lapsed into a bit of goblin so-called melody.

"That's enough," Dru chided.

Starlight revealed an easy path from the Zhentarim headquarters to the chalk circle. Dru
didn't have to waste a light spell, if he had one to spare. The goblins had arranged
themselves on the chalk: males surrounded by children, then females. Those males with the
largest family rings clumped closest to the black standing stone. Those with fewer, sat farther
away.

If Sheemzher had had only Elva and six children, then Sheemzher had sat on the circle's
very edge.

While Ghistpok anointed the stone with various oils, wineskins the size and shape of rats
were passed from one harem to the next. Everybody took a sip, even the children. The males
took several, but nobody got as much as a goblet's worth. Within minutes, they were on their
feet swaying and droning again.

"Doesn't take much to get a goblin drunk," he commented.

"They're smaller," Rozt'a chided.

Dru had a different perspective, "They could be adding something to their wine.
Mushrooms. I imagine they get quite a crop of mushrooms. There are mushrooms that will
have you looking at the sky and seeing green."
When all the goblins had had their wine and mushrooms, and all of them were swaying
together, the drumming started again. If there was a rhythm to their pounding, Tiep couldn't
detect it, though something kept the goblins moving together rather than crashing into one
another as their dance grew steadily wilder. The trick Tiep had used earlier—deep breathing to
thwart the drumbeat rhythm—failed against this new assault. His heart pounded, and he found himself
gasping for air.

Sheemzher was completely gone, hopping about and waving his arms like the rest of the
goblins. If the goblin was only pretending to be drunk, he was doing it very well. Slowly it
occurred to Tiep that the goblins weren't particularly inebriated or performing a traditional
dance, they were entranced and imitating perfectly the moves and gesture their chief,
Ghistpok, made as he circled the glistening black stone.

He shared his insight with Druhallen, to whom it came as no surprise. Maybe it was the
noise and the heart-stopping irregularity of the drumbeats, but Dru seemed a bit entranced
himself. When Ghistpok stiffened and started screaming in goblin, Dru didn't seem to care.
Rozt'a was the one who shook some sense back into Sheemzher.

"What's he saying?" she demanded of the glaze-eyed goblin.

"All well now. All mistake. Grouze mistake," Sheemzher crooned. "People wrong, all
wrong. Beast Lord say, come, come now, see the truth. No egg. No bugs. No slaves. Come
see. Ghistpok come. People come. All come to Beast Lord. All worship. All learn."

Tiep saw what was happening. "The wine and the drumming gets them all thinking the
same, and then the Beast Lord gets all thinking the way he wants them to. This isn't going to
work!" He was shouting at Rozt'a who was still shaking Sheemzher.

"It's still our best chance," Dru countered. He seemed to be himself again, though his face
had the look of someone with a serious headache. Maybe he was doing something magical,
because Sheemzher stopped babbling the instant Dru touched him. "Blind obedience is as
good as a sentience shield for our purposes," Dru explained. "We stay with them until it gets
them into the pool chamber, then we slip back to the athanor while it's planting lies inside
their minds."

" 'Slip back to the athanor'!" Rozt'a sputtered. "Dru, you're mad! This isn't what we
planned."

"We were counting on Ghistpok to stand up to the Beast Lord. He can't do it. He's not
strong enough or clever enough. None of them are. And they wouldn't, even if they could.
That was our mistake—These goblins worship the Beast Lord. They're not like us, picking and
choosing through a pantheon. They'd sooner die than admit the Beast Lord's deceived and betrayed
them."