Waterdeep (37 page)

Beyond Waterdeep, a small mountain lifted its crown seven hundred feet above the plains, watching over the city bearing its name. At the top of Mount Waterdeep stood a lone tower, around which flocked birds of enormous size. Even from this distance, Kelemvor could see their bodies and the shape of their wings.

The fighter urged his horse forward. It moved reluctantly, picking its way through the fish migration as though walking down a muddy street and not wanting to soil its hooves.

As he neared the gate, Kelemvor saw that the huge birds over Waterdeep were not birds at all. While they had the wings and heads of great eagles, their bodies and feet were those of lions. They were griffons, and upon their backs they carried men. The fighter could not help but imagine how much easier his journey would have been if his company had possessed such mounts.

In his weariness, Kelemvor was so absorbed by the griffons that, when his horse suddenly stopped, he almost did not realize he had reached the gate. Two men-at-arms stood in front of him, both wearing black scale mail embossed with an upturned, gold crescent moon surrounded by nine silver stars. Behind them stood another man, this one wearing a mixture of green leather and black chain mail, with only the gold crescent moon for a device. Over a dozen similarly dressed men stood in the gate, attending to other travelers.

“Halt and state your name and your business,” said the first guard. He avoided stepping too close to the grimy warrior. Though accustomed to unbathed travelers, this one appeared more sullied than normal.

“Kelemvor Lyonsbane,” the fighter sighed. He knew he smelled bad. Being cold, hungry, dirty, and exhausted, he suspected he looked even worse.

“And what’s your business?”

Kelemvor began to chuckle. The only response that came to mind was that he had come to save the world. He wondered if the guards would believe him.

The other guard stepped forward, irritated by what he perceived as disrespect. “What’s so funny?”

Kelemvor bit his lip, trying not to laugh. The euphoria of exhaustion had settled over him and he found it difficult to control his mirth. “Nothing. I’m sorry. There are these zombies that I was following-“

The two guards snickered, but the man wearing green armor stepped forward. “Zombies?” he asked. His employer had told him there might be trouble with zombies in the weeks to come.

“They attacked us and killed one of my friends,” Kelemvor responded.

“Your name again?” the guard asked.

“Kelemvor Lyonsbane.” The fighter realized he sounded incoherent, if not completely insane.

The guard’s eyes widened. This was one of the people for whom he was waiting. “Where are the other two - Midnight and Adon of Sune?”

“I told you,” Kelemvor yelled, suddenly angry at having to repeat himself. Though he knew his moods were a result of his fatigue, he could not control them. “Zombies attacked us! Adon’s dead and Midnight’s gone! She’ll be here somewhere - -I’ve got to find her!”

“Relax - you’re safe now,” the guard said, realizing his employer would be more adept at handling the traveler’s incoherence. “I’m Ylarell. We’ve been expecting you.”

“You have?” Kelemvor asked. His mind abruptly shifted gears. “There are zombies out there - you’ve got to find them!”

“We will,” Ylarell murmured. “The zombies won’t hurt you in here. Now come with me - there’s somebody who wants to see you.” The guard took the reins to Kelemvor’s horse and led the way through the gate. After passing through a vacant plaza of snow-covered grass, Ylarell led the fighter to another wall. He said a few words to the guards here, and then took Kelemvor into the city proper. Though the warrior had seen many cities in his time, Waterdeep’s size and magnificence stunned him. The streets bustled with carts and pedestrians, all intent on some task that must have seemed important to them. The briny odor of the harbor drifted over the rooftops on the left, where sturdy warehouses were interspersed with shabby tenements. To the right, a thicket of inns and stables stood shoulder to shoulder, packed so close Kelemvor did not see how caravans reached the ones deeper in the ward.

As they passed farther into the city, merchant shops and fine inns lined the streets. Then they entered a residential neighborhood, where grand houses and even a villa or two stood along winding avenues. Finally, Ylarell stopped before a large tower.

“Whom may I say is calling?” The voice came from the base of the tower, though Kelemvor saw no window or door there.

“Ylarell of the Watch, with Kelemvor Lyonsbane.”

A door suddenly appeared where none had been before, and a tall, black-haired man stepped out of the tower. “Well met, Kelemvor! I am Blackstaff Arunsun, friend and ally of Elminster. Where are your companions?”

Ylarell interceded on Kelemvor’s behalf. “He’s in bad shape, milord.”

Blackstaff nodded in understanding and retreated into the tower. “Bring him in.”

Ylarell helped Kelemvor dismount and took him into a small sitting room. A moment later, Blackstaff led another man into the room. Though ancient, the second man looked every bit as robust as Blackstaff. A full head of hair and a beard as heavy as a lion’s mane framed his sharp-featured face.

“Elminster!” Kelemvor growled - In his exhausted state, the fighter had no trouble blaming the ancient sage for the hardships he and his friends had endured. It was apparent to the warrior that Elminster had reached Waterdeep well ahead of him and with a lot less trouble.

“I ought to slit you gizzard to gullet!” Kelemvor snarled.

“I lack the gizzard,” Elminster replied, not intimidated. “Now tell me what has become of thy friends.”

Kelemvor related the events that had occurred at Dragonspear Castle, making the necessary digressions to explain about Bhaal and Cyric. When he finished, both Blackstaff and Elminster sat in dumfounded silence, pondering the effect of the fighter’s report upon their plans.

Finally, Elminster groaned in frustration. He had not counted on Midnight finding her own entrance into Myrkul’s realm. “If she went after the second tablet alone, the Realms may be in serious trouble.”

Kelemvor was heartened by Elminster’s unspoken assumption that Midnight had survived the underground stream. But he was far from encouraged by the sage’s concern about Midnight going after the second tablet alone.

Blackstaff stood, already formulating a plan to control the damage. “Ylarell, fetch Gower and meet us at the Yawning Portal Inn. Then gather a patrol to look for the zombies who attacked Kelemvor - we’ll need to recover that tablet right away.”

Elminster also stood. “The Pool of Loss, my friend?”

Blackstaff nodded. “Gower will show us the way.”

The two mages did not say any more. They both knew what had to be done. Located deep under Mount Waterdeep, the Pool of Loss was the closest access well to Myrkul’s realm. They were going into Hades to retrieve Midnight and the tablet - if that were still possible. Elminster and Blackstaff quickly turned to leave without any further explanation.

Kelemvor wondered if they had forgotten he was in the room. “Wait for me!” he demanded.

Blackstaff regarded the fighter with equal parts of aggravation and forbearance. “This is beyond you, friend. You’ve done well to get this far.”

“I’m coming,” Kelemvor replied, irritated at being patronized.

“You’re barely coherent!” Blackstaff objected.

“I’ll follow you anyway,” the warrior threatened.

Blackstaff looked to Elminster, who studied Kelemvor with cool scrutiny. “He might prove useful,” the sage said at last. “Give him a restorative.”

Blackstaff lifted his hand and a vial of murky green fluid appeared. He gave the potion to Kelemvor then noted, “This will numb your fatigue… for a while.”

Though curious about the vial’s contents, Kelemvor did not ask. The wizards were obviously not in a cooperative mood, and he thought it wiser to save his questions for more important things. The fighter drank the potion down. As Blackstaff had promised, he immediately felt refreshed.

Without paying Kelemvor any more attention, the two mages walked south through a maze of twisting alleys and streets, stopping only when they reached a sizable inn. The sign over the door read “The Yawning Portal.”

Blackstaff and Elminster entered and, oblivious to the attention of the patrons, went directly into the office. Kelemvor followed, taking a seat at the office’s single table. Without being asked, a serving wench brought them each a mug of ale, then left and closed the door.

The owner of the Yawning Portal was a retired, prudent warrior named Durnan the Wanderer. Unknown to his patrons, Kelemvor, and anybody in the room except Blackstaff and Elminster, Durnan was one of the mysterious Lords of Waterdeep, the secret democratic council that governed the city.

As with Durnan himself, there was more to the name of his inn than met the eye. “Yawning Portal” was a tongue-in-cheek reference to the tendency of those who indulged in the tavern’s fare to tell tall tales. But the name also referred to a deep shaft, resembling an indoor well, which led into the caverns beneath Mount Waterdeep. That shaft was why Blackstaff had brought his guests here, despite Kelemvor’s assumption that this was just where they would meet Gower-whoever Gower was.

Blackstaff and Elminster sat without speaking, so Kelemvor did not break their silence. Their bearing awed him, but he also thought they were being impolite to a man who had crossed the Realms at their behest. It did not matter, though. They represented his only chance of rejoining Midnight, and he would gladly endure their rudeness to see her again.

Ten minutes later, a stocky, broad-shouldered man entered the office. Ylarell and a ruby-nosed dwarf followed him. Not bothering with introductions, Blackstaff addressed the dwarf. “Gower, you’re going to guide us to the Pool of Loss.”

The dwarf sighed. “It’ll cost you.”

“Thy price?” inquired Elminster suspiciously, well accustomed to the dwarven tendency to overvalue service.

“Fifteen - no, make it twenty - mugs of ale,” Gower responded, deciding he might as well try for a large fee.

“Done,” Blackstaff answered, knowing Durnan would cover the fee without mention of repayment. “But only after we return. We need you sober.”

“Seven now-“

“One before we leave, and that’s final,” Blackstaff grumbled. He turned to the broad-shouldered man. “Durnan, may we use your well?”

Durnan nodded. “Would you like some company into the pool?”

Elminster, who knew of Durnan’s prowess, turned to Blackstaff. “If he’s as good with the sword as he claims-“

Durnan snorted at Elminster’s coyness. “I’ll fetch my blade and Gower’s mug.”

Blackstaff led the way into the next room, which contained an indoor well. Durnan met them there with Gower’s ale, a glittering sword, a coil of rope, and a half-dozen torches. After giving torches to everyone and lighting his own from the lamp on the wall, Durnan stuck a foot into the well’s bucket. “Let me down slowly, Ylarell. I haven’t been in here for some time.”

Ylarell lowered Durnan into the well. Blackstaff followed, then Elminster and Gower Finally, Kelemvor put a foot into the bucket and grabbed the rope.

“Lower away,” the fighter said.

Ylarell began cranking, and Kelemvor descended into the dark shaft for several minutes. Ten feet above the bottom of the well, Blackstaff reached out of a side tunnel and pulled the fighter toward him. Kelemvor stepped out, then Blackstaff turned to the dwarf and said, “Lead on, Gower.”

Not even bothering with a torch, Gower started down the tunnel. Durnan followed next then the two mages, and Kelemvor brought up the rear. They descended into a labyrinth of half-collapsed dwarven tunnels and natural passages. On occasion, the company was forced to wade through steaming water, sometimes so deep Durnan had to carry Gower to keep the dwarfs head dry. Finally, they reached a slick passage that dropped into the darkness at an uncomfortable angle. Kelemvor was sure that if someone fell onto it, he would slide all the way to the bottom.

Thinking the same thing, Durnan said, “I’ll tie off the rope and we can use it to descend.”

“Nonsense,” Gower said, sitting down at the edge of the steep passage. “We don’t need a rope for this.”

With that, he pushed himself forward and slid into the darkness.

Durnan, Elminster, and Blackstaff gave each other challenging glances, but hesitated to follow. Finally, Elminster put his hand on a boulder and said, “Ye could secure the rope to this.”

Durnan tied the rope off then the company followed Gower into the steep passage. The dwarf waited at the bottom, a condescending smirk on his face. The corridor had emerged in cathedral-like room so large the torches did not light the ceiling or the far side. The glowing, white spectres of hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of people were drifting aimlessly about the cavern.

“The Pool of Loss is over there” Gower said, pointing toward the middle of the room. “But there’s something strange going on.”

“What are those?” Kelemvor asked, nodding at the strange silhouettes.

Elminster did not bother to answer. His attention was fixed on the shimmering dome of scintillating lights that Gower had pointed to.

Blackstaff looked at Elminster. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yes,” Elminster said, returning Blackstaff’s gaze.

They both looked back to the dome.

“What? What are you thinking?” Kelemvor demanded, poking his head between the two wizards.

As usual, the mages did not answer, but they both suspected that the shimmering globe was a prismatic sphere, one of the most powerful defensive spells a magic-user could cast. They were trying to figure out what it was doing down here.

An instant later, again without saying anything, they started toward the dome. Durnan, Gower, and Kelemvor followed, though Durnan and Gower were much less apprehensive than Kelemvor. They had worked with Blackstaff before and were confident that if it was important for them to know something, he would tell them.

When the company reached the dome, they saw that it sat within a small stone-walled pool. It appeared to be a sphere with the bottom half hidden from view. The fit was so precise that there was not the slightest gap between the stone wall and the shimmering globe. The sphere continually flashed in a pattern of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, as though it were a striped ball spinning on its axis.