"Egg big-" Sheemzher shaped the largest oval his arms could manage in the air between himself and Druhallen. "Elva here." He indicated the bottom portion of the oval. "Mantis here." He indicated the top. "Doors close… bang… bang… bang! Sheemzher hide. Sheemzher scared. Come lightning under Dekanter. Sheemzher think Sheemzher never more scared then doors open… bang… bang… bang! Elva gone. Mantis gone. Demon come… Taker."
"Then I was right-someone-the Beast Lord-is transforming the Dekanter goblins, changing them into the creatures you've been calling demons. When did this happen, Sheemzher? When did-?"
The goblin couldn't contain himself. "No," he insisted. "No. Never. Taker. Taker demon, not Beast Lord. Beast Lord not demon. Takers take Elva. Elva inside egg. Elva gone. Demon come-not Elva. Not. Not. Not! Elva gone. Elva not demon. Beast Lord not Taker."
The truth, which Druhallen could see so clearly, wasn't worth the argument. "How does Lady Wyndyfarh fit in?" he asked, though he was pretty sure he knew.
"Sheemzher find more mantis in box. Many mantis. One mantis say: Take me to Lady Wyndyfarh. Take me to Weathercote Wood. Sheemzher take. Good lady listen Sheemzher. Good lady listen mantis. Good lady say: Stay with me Sheemzher and I will give you vengeance. It is too late to save Elva, but together we will save your children from the Takers."
"And us? My friends and I?"
"Good lady not leave forest very far. Greater lady not allow. Good lady obey greater lady, yes. Dekanter far, too far. Good lady not go Dekanter. Good lady say, good men will come in due time, Sheemzher. You must wait for them in the village and after they come, lead them to me. Sheemzher say, how know good men? Good lady say, you'll know him by what he does. Sheemzher wait six years. Six years too long. Sheemzher children grown. Six years make Sheemzher very much wiser. Sheemzher learn read. Sheemzher learn write. Sheemzher learn listen. Parnast little-all talk, Sheemzher listen. Zhentarim know good sir come. Zhentarim know why. Sheemzher listen. Sheemzher alone. Sheemzher not sure. Good sir save child; Sheemzher sure. Sheemzher very much sure, yes?"
"It couldn't have been planned," Dru muttered, thinking of the chicken coop. "All this because of an accident-the right place at the right time, or the wrong place and the wrong time."
Sheemzher shook his head solemnly. "Not accident. Good lady say, good men will come. Good lady never wrong."
"Then your lady shouldn't have mind-locked Galimer!" Druhallen said abruptly.
"Sheemzher sorry. Sheemzher very much sorry. Gold-hair man good man. Sheemzher wish gold-hair man here."
"But not Tiep, right? He sees through magic; he saw through you and your lady. What went on between you two in Weathercote after we killed the reaver? I've heard his side. He thinks you've arranged everything. Exactly how much did you set up?" Calling Sheemzher clever was neither a lie nor an exaggeration. Beneath the garbled language was a mind as devious as any man's.
The goblin made his double-fist gesture again. "Dekanter no place for that one. Dekanter bad place for that one. Sheemzher think, that one not come Dekanter. That one stay Weathercote. Good lady help that one, teach that one. Sheemzher make mistake. Gold-haired man come between that one, good lady. Sheemzher very sorry. Sheemzher sorry for gold-hair man. Sheemzher sorry for good sir, good woman. Sheemzher sorry for Sheemzher."
"If you'd been honest-" Dru stopped himself. Cut was cut and they were days beyond useful hindsight. "This scroll we're supposed to bring back to Wyndyfarh, where does it fit in?"
"Egg top, good sir."
"What?"
"Egg top, good sir." Sheemzher patted his scalp. "Gold scroll fit egg top. Gold scroll eat Elva, children. Demons come… Takers."
Dru covered his eyes and swore. He couldn't imagine what part of a wound sheet of Netherese gold might have played in the transformation of Sheemzher's family, but he could imagine the egg. Alchemists used such devices to transmute elements and called the devices athanors. The few Druhallen had seen were small, no bigger than a skull, and required the might of more fire spells than he could cast in a week before they'd kindle. A mage would need to harness the sun or the sea tide to power an athanor large enough to transmute a goblin. The sun, the sea tide, or the forbidden magic of Netheril.
And he, Druhallen of Sunderath, had to pit himself successfully against such a mage if Galimer were going to walk out of Weathercote Wood.
He swore again.
Child-sized fingers touched his. "Sheemzher help. Sheemzher wait six years. Sheemzher plan. Sheemzher ready."
Druhallen successfully resisted the impulse to smash helpful Sheemzher against the cave walls. "Leave me alone now," he said stiffly. "I haven't had six years."
"Sheemzher understand." The goblin made his double-fist gesture as he backed away. "Good sir make plan. Sheemzher keep watch, yes?"
Not a chance. "I'm keeping the watch, Sheemzher. You curl up and get some sleep."
The goblin did as told, at least as far as huddling up under a blanket and staying put. Dru opened his folding box. He ran his fingers over the inscribed partitions. So much depended on choosing the right spells to study each night and he hadn't been doing a particularly good job of balancing offense, defense, and maintenance these last few days. Should he assume the worst and commit his mind to fire?
His thoughts wandered away from an answer to Galimer and a huge white egg with a gold scroll rising from it. The rain eased, stopped. Looking through the cave's entrance, Dru thought he saw a star.
Did that make fire more attractive or less?
Dru sat with his box open when Rozt'a cast her blankets aside. She awakened Tiep-with all his worrying about tomorrow's magic, Dru had forgotten to wake the youth-and stared hard at the goblin, whose snoring rhythm held steady under observation, before joining Druhallen near the cave's entrance.
"I heard you talking to Sheemzher," she began without the edge and irritation that had marked her earlier conversation. "If this golden scroll is truly surrounded by demons, we're doomed."
"Wyndyfarh wants the golden scroll, not a demon's heart. And she thinks we've got a good chance to grab it."
Rozt'a sat cross-legged on the stone. "Whatever makes you think that?"
"You trusted her. Twice."
"Gods protect us!" Rozt'a snorted. They both looked toward their sleeping companions, lest the impolite sound had awakened them. "I've been wrong many times, and this might really be one of them."
"You're right about people-"
"That woman's not people. I don't know what she is, but she's not human."
"She kept Galimer."
Rozt'a retorted, "That's a token in favor of humanity and trustworthiness?"
"In a way. I don't think Wyndyfarh ever intended to keep Tiep. She'd proved he was a thief. She'd looked in our minds, knew how we'd feel about that. She couldn't be sure we'd come back for him after we had the scroll. Think of it-beyond the value of the gold, which is surely great-there's the value of what's written on the gold. There's a legend-I've heard twenty versions if I've heard one-that says the Netheril Empire was born when someone known as the Finder found the twice-fifty scrolls of magic-all the magic that ever was or will be."
"Don't tell me-the Takers took the scrolls from the Finder who found them."
Druhallen sighed. Rozt'a would never be either a wizard or a poet.
"I don't think there's a connection. The scrolls disappeared long before the Empire fell. What did she say-The Beast Lord was a nuisance until he found the scroll?" Dru closed his eyes, but concentration couldn't resurrect Wyndyfarh's exact words. "It's something to think about. She had to give her thieves the strongest possible incentive to bring her the scroll rather than keep it for themselves. Though I'm sure she mentioned the Beast Lord and didn't mention Takers or demons-Not that it matters who's got the scroll, who we steal it from or how, so long as we bring it to her in Weathercote Wood."