The paladin offered a deprecatory smile. "Whether you know it or not, Belgin, everyone serves something greater than himself. With some souls it's money, or power, or even doubt, but for those who can find faith, death holds no terror." He looked up at the sky, then studied the ruins nearby. "I've lost track of the hour," he said, changing the subject. "The lich who watches this place struck me as the type of creature who does exactly what he says he will. Let's not tempt fate."
"Agreed. It looks like the storm's clearing some. There's the palace of portals again." Together, Belgin and Miltiades trotted over to the building. It was still dark and windy in the ancient city, but at least they could now see twenty or thirty yards through the dust and sand. At the palace doorway, Belgin paused to chalk a simple rune on one pillar. "In case Rings or Jacob come this way," he explained.
"Good idea." Miltiades led the way as they retraced their steps back down the narrow stairs they^d climbed in pursuit of Eidola. Whispering a prayer to Tyr, the paladin created a soft, silver glow from the head of his warhammer, illuminating the black passageway. "Keep your eyes open, Belgin. The dead who pursued us might still wait below."
In the soft shadows, the steps under his feet caught Belgin's eye. "Wait a moment, Miltiades," he said. Turning, he stooped to examine the stairs they'd descended. "Look here. There's a layer of old dust, marked by three trails leading up-our own, the trail of a woman in riding boots, and a ragged set of prints of feet in cloth wrappings. The column we rolled down the stair covered this with a new layer of dust and debris. Here are the tracks we just made now as we came down the stairs… and here are the woman's prints again, over the debris but under our latest track."
"So Eidola did come this way, after we'd rolled the stone down these steps."
"Exactly. She doubled back, as you guessed she would."
Miltiades straightened. "I didn't realize you were such a tracker."
"Another of my old talents, I guess." Belgin slipped past the paladin and descended the stair, now watching for the doppelganger's trail. At the bottom of the flight they clambered over the heavy round stone and the ancient skeletons that lay crushed beneath its weight. Belgin circled the scene twice before picking up the faint impressions of Eidola's footsteps in the sand-blown floor. He followed the track into the hall of pillars as Miltiades watched warily for any new threats. "Hmmph. This is odd."
"What's that?" asked the paladin.
"The woman's footprints vanish here, replaced by a new set. A tall but lightly built elf, I'd say, probably male; the feet are too wide for an elf maid, I think."
"Eidola must have changed again. But why an elf?"
Belgin shook his head. "I've no idea. Here, she-er, he-went this way." The track meandered past dozens of portals, finally pausing in front of one, where it ended altogether. The sharper looked up at Miltiades. "He stopped here and then stepped through this portal."
"It's nothing but blank stone now."
"Well, I'll see about that," Belgin said. He studied the cryptic runes and hieroglyphs surrounding the stone archway, delicately tracing them with one finger. "Does the name Halaster the Mad mean anything to you?"
Miltiades gaped in amazement. "Halaster the Mad? This can't be!"
"It actually translates as 'The Domain of Haalvar the Mad,' but yes, that's what it says. Why? Do you know of him?"
"He is the wizard who created the dismal maze known as Undermountain, below the city of Waterdeep. Tyr curse that wretched Eidola! She's found a way home in the middle of all this ruin." Miltiades set his jaw in determination. "Can you open this door, Belgin? If Eidola returns to Waterdeep, we are lost. We'd never find her in a city that large."
"What of Rings and Jacob?"
"We can't wait. Eidola is only a few minutes ahead of us. If we hurry, we can catch her before she finds her allies in the Undermountain or escapes to blend in with the city throngs. Unless we stop her now, she can tell any tale she likes of her abduction when she returns. Who could suspect her?" The paladin doffed his helm and ran a hand through his hair.”I don't want to leave Jacob and Rings here, but I don't see an alternative. If we don't see any chance to follow Eidola on the other side, we'll come back here and try to find our companions before sunrise."
"All right," Belgin said after a long pause. "Stand back. IH need to work a spell." With a sidelong glance at the paladin, he slowly and deliberately wove his hands together and hummed the words of one of his few useful enchantments. Never thought I'd have a use for this again, he thought bitterly. The Art's soiled by my hand. Beneath his eyes, the ancient marks seemed to glow and brighten, revealing a delicate tracery of azure that limned the doorway. The blank gray stone seemed to vanish as a sheet of impenetrable blackness ghosted into view, yawning like a tomb. But I still remember after all these years, Belgin thought, no matter how I try to forget. What does that make me?
Miltiades nodded his thanks and readied himself to enter the gate. Belgin halted him with one hand on his shoulder. "Just a moment." Kneeling on the floor, the sharper cleared a large space on the floor and retrieved a piece of chalk from his belt pouch. He scribed a large mark, with an arrow pointing at the portal and a cryptic word beneath it. "Rings and Jacob will know which way we went, if they find this place," he said. "Now we can go.
Ready for battle, the paladin and the sharper stepped through the blackness.
"At least the thrice-damned storm's letting up," muttered Rings, blundering through knee-deep sand and shattered walls of old brown stone. He'd fought his way clear of two more encounters with the ancient dead who watched the city, becoming completely disoriented in the process, but as the storm abated, the withered brown mummies had taken their rest. The dwarf didn't consider himself superstitious or particularly sensitive to the supernatural, but he could feel the retreat of the evil presence that haunted the ruins. Whatever it was, it was content to watch for a time.
He came to a narrow intersection and considered the streets in front of him, trying to choose. "Which way now?"
"Rings!" The dwarf whirled at the shout. Staggering through the sand-choked alleyway to his left, Jacob appeared, sword in hand. The curly-haired warrior bled freely from a nasty cut high on his head and favored his left leg with an awkward limp, but his clear blue eyes showed no sign of defeat. "I thought you dead!"
"Me, too," the dwarf answered. He raised his axe defensively, eying the human suspiciously. "You're not Eidola in disguise, are you?"
Jacob looked up sharply, then winced. "Damn. Forgot about that. You might be Eidola, too."
"Well, I know Fm not," Rings growled, "But I guess you'd have no way to know if I'm telling the truth. Now, how would Belgin sort this out?" He thought a moment, and then said, "Open your gorget and show me that you don't have a rope around your neck, and I'll do the same."
Jacob rolled his eyes, but he complied. Rings grunted, then undid his own collar to show that his own neck was bare. "Satisfied?" the Tyrian warrior asked.
"That'll do. Any idea where Belgin and Miltiades are?"
"No, but I was thinking that I'd start with the last building they went into."
Rings nodded. "They're probably long gone, but it's worth a look. Which way is it?"
"I thought dwarves didn't get lost," Jacob laughed coldly.
"Underground we don't," Rings snapped. "At night, in a sandstorm, in a set of ruins I've never seen before today, yes-I can get lost."
"The palace is straight ahead," Jacob said. Hefting his heavy war blade again, he set off down the street, moving fast. Rings had to trot to keep up with his long-legged stride. He glowered at the human's back, but Jacob paid him no more attention.