“We don’t need to dismantle the whole sphere,” Kelemvor exclaimed.
Blackstaff frowned, irritated by the interruption.
Kelemvor ignored the mage, then continued, “All you have to do is negate the first sphere. Then we can throw something inside to get Midnight’s attention.”
Elminster looked doubtful. “I don’t like—”
“What other choice do we have?” Durnan said, expressing an opinion for the first time. “We can’t stay down here forever. I have a business to run!”
“Very well,” Elminster sighed, reaching into his robe and pulling out one of his distinctive meerschaum pipes. He gave it to Kelemvor. “She should recognize this—try not to break it. If ye will do the honors, Blackstaff?”
“With pleasure,” the mage replied.
Inside the sphere, Midnight had just identified the nature of Myrkul’s trap. He had combined powerful variations of locate object and hold portal spells to ensure that his denizens could always follow wherever the tablet was taken. In effect, the locate object spell served as a beacon marking the tablet’s location, and the hold portal spell prevented the thief from closing his escape route.
Fortunately, Midnight’s prismatic sphere had not closed her escape route, it had merely blocked it. She could leave and the denizens could not follow. Because she had used an incantation to make the sphere permanent, it would never fall. In effect, the door between Myrkul’s city and the Realms remained permanently open, but the hallway had been filled with an impassable obstruction.
As Midnight contemplated her discovery, something flew into the globe and landed in her lap. She jumped to her feet and nearly stepped out into the waiting hands of Myrkul’s denizens.
Then the raven-haired mage picked up the object and discovered that it was a clay pipe—a distinctive, familiar clay pipe.
Outside the sphere, everyone was breathing a little easier because Blackstaff’s spell had not misfired. Also, Kelemvor had tossed Elminster’s pipe into the sphere without it rebounding.
“What if she doesn’t recognize your pipe?” Kelemvor asked.
At that moment, Midnight stepped out of the sphere, the tablet in one hand and Elminster’s pipe in the other. “Does this belong to one of you?” she asked.
“Midnight!” Kelemvor whooped.
They rushed into each other’s arms and embraced—but not before Elminster snatched his pipe back.
For a long, uncomfortable minute, Blackstaff, Elminster, Durnan, and Gower waited while the reunited lovers kissed and hugged each other. Finally, when it became apparent the pair was oblivious to the presence of others, Elminster cleared his throat.
“Perhaps we should attend to the business at hand?” he suggested.
Midnight and Kelemvor reluctantly separated.
Addressing Midnight and pointing at the sphere, Elminster said, “Perhaps ye would care to explain why ye’ve been hiding inside that thing for the better part of a day?”
“Not here,” Gower insisted. “I’m thirsty—and you owe me nineteen mugs of ale!”
“One moment, Gower,” Blackstaff said impatiently. “Is it safe to leave?”
Midnight nodded. “Oh, yes,” she replied. “We can leave now. The sphere is permanent.”
Both Elminster and Blackstaff raised an eyebrow.
“There—you see?” the dwarf said. “Let’s go.”
With that, Gower started toward the exit. Realizing they could not find their own way back to Durnan’s tavern, the others reluctantly followed, barraging Midnight with questions as they walked.
16
Myrkul
“No!” Kelemvor hissed. He took the tablet off the floor and put it on the table. “Here’s your tablet. Take it and get the other one yourself!”
“This discussion does not concern you, Kelemvor,” Blackstaff retorted. He was not accustomed to being addressed so sharply, especially by mercenary warriors.
“That’s right, not anymore. And it doesn’t concern Midnight, either.”
Blackstaff scowled and started to suggest Kelemvor was a coward, but Elminster stepped between the two men. Frowning at Blackstaff, the sage said, “Calm down. We can discuss this like gentlemen, can we not?”
Blackstaff’s scowl changed to an embarrassed grimace. Elminster’s comment was directed primarily at him, and he knew his friend was right. The young wizard should have enough self-control so that a stubborn warrior did not irritate him. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “The stress is telling, I’m afraid.”
Kelemvor also relaxed, but did not apologize.
They were in Durnan’s office in the Yawning Portal. Midnight lay on the couch, where she had collapsed into a deep sleep. Her black hair was as coarse and as stiff as a horse’s tail. Her complexion had faded to the color of ash, and her red-rimmed eyes were sunk deep into their sockets.
The Realm of the Dead had taken its toll on her. Kelemvor could not bear to see her join another battle, which was what Elminster and Blackstaff proposed. “She braved Myrkul’s city,” the fighter said. “Hasn’t she done her part?”
“Others have also sacrificed,” Blackstaff retorted. “Ylarell was a fine man.”
Kelemvor did not know how to respond. When he and his five companions had returned to Durnan’s tavern, a member of the city watch had been waiting with bad news. After lowering Midnight’s rescue party into the well, Ylarell had taken a group of men to find the undead Kelemvor had described. The patrol had tracked the walking corpses into the foul-smelling tunnels that carried away Waterdeep’s offal and refuse.
The undead had ambushed the patrol two hours later. Ylarell and his company had been winning the battle until an evil-looking human appeared and used magical poison to aid the zombies. Only one guard had survived, and only because he had remained unobserved. The watch commander knew of Blackstaff’s interest in the zombies, and had elected to send no more men into the tunnels until he spoke with the wizard.
Connecting what Midnight had learned from Bhaal with some of his own research, Elminster had suggested that the man who had aided the zombies was Myrkul. Now, the ancient sage and Blackstaff wanted to use Midnight and the tablet to bait a trap for the Lord of the Dead.
Kelemvor thought his lover had done enough. More importantly, he doubted she had the strength to face Myrkul. “She’s too weak,” he said, kneeling at her side.
“Weak as she is,” Elminster replied patiently, pointing a gnarled finger at the female mage, “she wields more power than Blackstaff and I together.”
“No!” Kelemvor said, standing.
“The decision is hers,” Durnan said. He sat slumped in a chair behind his desk, a mug of ale in his hand. “In Waterdeep, no man speaks for a woman unless she asks him to.”
“You’ll take her over my dead body,” Kelemvor snapped, putting himself between Midnight and the others. “Or not at all.”
Midnight opened her eyes and reached for the fighter’s hand. “Kel, they’re right. I must go on.”
“But look at you!” the warrior protested, kneeling at her side. “You’re exhausted!”
“I’ll be fine after I rest.”
“You can hardly stand,” Kelemvor said, running his hand over her dry hair. “How can you fight Myrkul?”
Elminster laid a wrinkled hand on Kelemvor’s shoulder. “Because she must—or the whole world might perish.”
Kelemvor dropped his head and stared at the floor. Finally, he looked at Elminster and said, “Can you explain this to me? Why must Midnight draw Myrkul out? Why do we need the other tablet?”
Blackstaff snapped, “Elminster doesn’t need to explain himself to the likes of—”
The ancient sage raised a hand to silence the bearded wizard. “He has a right to know,” Elminster said.
“While ye and thy friends have labored to retrieve the tablets, this is what I have learned.” The sage motioned at the air above the table. “Out of the mists at the beginning of time there came a will who called itself Ao. Ao wished to create an order.” Elminster flicked his fingers and a golden scale hung in the air. “He balanced the forces of chaos and order, spending the first eons of his life cataloguing and setting them into opposition.”