"She can be anything she wants," Jacob said. "We might never catch her. Shouldn't we go after Entreri instead to make sure the bloodforge is destroyed? We've a better chance at that."
Miltiades shook his head. "You heard her. She means to return to Waterdeep and finish whatever plot she started there. Someone's got to stop her."
"We're in the Utter East, Miltiades. It'd take her months to get back to Waterdeep."
"It might take us months, too." The tall paladin closed his eyes, thinking or praying, and then opened them again. "We follow the doppelganger, Jacob. I fear for Kern and Trandon, too, but I feel that Tyr means us to take this path."
Jacob opened his mouth as if to argue the point further, but surrendered. "Okay. Well run her to ground, if we can. Now, what of these two?" He indicated Belgin and Rings with a jerk of his thumb.
Belgin watched the two warriors warily. He felt Rings shift behind him, moving closer for support. "You've known our intentions toward the lady all along," the sharper said. "You call it justice, we call it business, but we mean to see her dead. We gave our word on it."
"What's that worth?" Jacob said icily.
Belgin put out a hand to steady Rings as the dwarf stepped up, eyes blazing. "This day, as much as yours," he said. "We've got a better reason to cooperate now than we did before. If that's not good enough for you, Rings and I will go our own way. But we'll be following the doppelganger, I promise you."
Jacob's eyes narrowed, but he slowly relented, a shallow smile on his face. I know that look, Belgin mused. That's the look that says, I could kill you now, but I'd rather kill you later. Meeting the fighter's sneer with a smirk of his own, Belgin bowed formally. "If we're agreed, then, let's get to it," he said. "We've a shapeshifter to catch."
They scrambled down several levels, scaling the stone balustrades that ringed the gallery's upper corridors, then crossed on a narrow buttress of stone that bridged the dark hall. On the opposite side, they cautiously clambered up the ancient facade and set off down the hallway into which Eidola had disappeared. It was a dirty, strenuous exercise that left Belgin's limbs quivering with strain and a deep, burring rasp in his chest, but he found the strength to make the crossing without calling on his companions for aid.
"She's got a half-hour lead on us, at least," Jacob grumbled. "How can you catch something that can grow wings, or fins, or extra legs anytime she feels like it?"
"Perseverance," Miltiades replied. Drawn and haggard, bloodied by a dozen small wounds, it seemed that nothing but determination kept the paladin on his feet. "She'll give up before we will."
"Pray we catch up to her before she finds her way out of these crypts," said Belgin. "If she gets to the city above, perseverance won't matter."
"Well see." Miltiades shrugged sparely and returned his attention to the hall before them. The dismal sconces of the mage-king's dungeons were far behind them, and with a muttered prayer the paladin halted to conjure a shining white light on the head of his warhammer, illuminating the corridor. It was long and straight, faced with a faded and peeling plaster that bore hints of ancient murals. Dust lay thick on the floor, but scuffling paw prints showed where Eidola had passed.
With a silent exchange of glances, the four men pressed farther into the crypt. Belgin coughed in the musty air, holding a handkerchief to his face. "What kind of maze is this place?" he muttered into the darkness.
"Old work, old human work," Rings replied softly. The dwarf ran his gnarled hand along the rotten plaster of the wall. "It's not the same construction as the rest of Aetheric's halls."
"Ancient Mar stonework?"
"It might be. It looks like the Mar ruins I've seen scattered around the Five Kingdoms." The dwarf tugged on an earring. "This feels like a funeral chamber of some kind."
"Great. A crypt," Jacob remarked over his shoulder.
"If you're right, Rings, we might not have a long chase on our hands after all," Belgin said thoughtfully. "Eidola might have fled into a dead end-er, so to speak."
They traveled several hundred yards before the passageway ended in a great double door of stone. One valve stood ajar. Belgin knelt by the floor, examining the tracks. The four-footed paw marks had vanished, replaced by the slim outline of a woman's boots. "She took human form again here," he advised the others, rising and dusting his hands against his trousers.
"You seem to have a knack for reading tracks," Jacob observed. "I thought you were a sea dog, not a highwayman."
"I've a few tricks up my sleeve," the sharper answered. Miltiades moved up, turned his broad shoulders sideways, and slipped into the chamber beyond. Jacob followed, then Rings. Belgin paused a moment, studying the towering door. He was fairly certain he couldn't have moved it an inch. If you cross swords with her, Belgin my lad, remember that she's much stronger than she looks, he told himself. He straightened his tailored jacket and wriggled past the rough stone, shielding his eyes against the glare of the paladin's magical light.
The room beyond was magnificent, flanked by great statues of ancient warriors in long headdresses. A series of false arches carved in basrelief along the walls flanked the room, which was cluttered with mildewed banners, broken urns stained with redolent residue, old bronze weapons green with verdigris, and dozens of small casks and statuaries. In the center of the room stood a long, low pedestal supporting a stone sarcophagus, elaborately carved in the likeness of a handsome young man. Dust lay thick over the entire chamber.
Belgin searched the room with his eyes, alert for any threat or sign of Eidola's path. There was no other exit from the chamber.
"We have her," Miltiades said quietly. "Jacob, guard the door. Let nothing pass." The curly-haired fighter scowled at the paladin's order, but he grimaced and took up a watchful post by the door, sword poised like a toll pike. With the patience of a stalking cat, Miltiades advanced into the room, his eyes flicking from place to place as he searched. He circled to the left of the sarcophagus.
Rings watched Miltiades for a moment, then circled around the pedestal to the right, his short axe hanging from his fingertips. Belgin trailed Rings, choosing to cover his friend's back. He'd seen Miltiades fight, and besides, the Sharkers had to watch out for each other more now than ever. The room fell silent, the quiet broken only by the slow scuffle of leather on stone and the soft jingling of the paladin's mail and plate. Nervous sweat trickled down the pirate's brow as the hunt lengthened. "Careful, Rings," he whispered. "She might have changed her form again."
"Could she be a piece of furniture?" the dwarf asked over his shoulder. "A big vase, or maybe a wall hanging?"
"I've heard it said that doppelgangers are limited in how much they can change their shape. Look for something more or less human-sized… but don't turn your back on anything."
"That doesn't help," Rings growled in reply. "Belgin, you-"
"Silence, both of you!" barked Miltiades. Belgin shot a resentful glare at the paladin, but Miltiades wasn't looking at the pirates; he stood before a tall funereal statue. It was the image of an ancient warrior much like the others that stood guard over the sarcophagus, with a broad bare chest, a knee-length kilt, sandals, and a high headdress framing its stern face. Its hands gripped an oblong shield and a curving sword. "How many of these stone warriors stand against your wall, Rings?" asked Miltiades, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Seven," the dwarf answered.
"There are eight over here," Miltiades said. He raised his hammer to shatter the image before him.
With preternatural swiftness the stone warrior sprang from its pedestal, lashing out with its heavy blade. Miltiades caught the blow on his shield with a great ringing parry and was driven backward. With mechanical ruthlessness Eidola hammered at the paladin's guard. Rings dashed forward, rounding the central sarcophagus to come to Miltiades's aid. In the corner of his eye, Belgin saw Jacob take three steps from his post by the door, moving up to join the fight. "No, Jacob!" he barked. "Guard the door! We can't let her out of this room!"