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 dwarf’s 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.”