Ed Greenwood - Shadows of Doom

Elminster rubbed his chin. "It's been many a winter," he said slowly, "and they've made some changes… but what I'm looking for should be about-here."

His slowing stride brought him to a halt between two closed doors. He retraced his steps to the first door and paced carefully along the passage from it. At a certain spot he took off one boot, leaving it as a marker, and padded unevenly on to the second door.

Pacing back carefully from that door, the Old Mage found himself at his boot again, nodded, and put it back on. He looked up at Sharantyr almost challengingly.

She merely shook her head. Elminster knelt down, touched with a questing finger the stone he'd marked, and nodded again emphatically.

Sharantyr cast a quick look behind her, sword in hand. The passage was dark and empty. Then she bent forward to watch as Elminster dug the fingers of his undamaged hand into a dark crack that looked no different from a hundred others in the flagstone floor, and heaved.

The stone shifted a little. Dust puffed up and swirled as it sank comfortably back into its place again.

Elminster grunted, dug his fingers in again, shifting for a better grip, and heaved. His shoulders shook.

Sharantyr leaned closer. "Want any help?"

The slab rose very slowly as Elminster looked at her sourly. Sharantyr shrugged.

Unseen above them, the floating eye drifted nearer.

The slab grated sideways. Sharantyr stared into the darkness of the hole that the Old Mage had uncovered. Air was moving upward. Foul air.

Sharantyr sniffed and wrinkled her nose. "A cesspool. You've found the castle's cesspool."

Elminster sat unconcernedly on the edge of the hole. A lip ran all around its edge to hold the slab he'd dragged aside. He sat on the edge and felt around in the darkness with his feet for the footholds he knew would be there.

"Lass, we've no defense against magic anymore," he said, holding up his blackened hand. "With the people roused, and the Harpers and Cormyrean agents I recognized among them, the Zhentarim cannot hope to hold this dale any longer and dare not try to openly seize control of it, not with so many Zhentish coins owed to Sembian merchants right now."

One foot found what he was seeking. The Old Mage nodded again and went on. "Our work here is done. I'd as soon be gone before some Zhent mageling or other finds us and decides to enhance his reputation by blasting Elminster of Shadowdale into little wisps of smoke."

Sharantyr raised her eyebrows. "Another gate?"

Elminster nodded. "Very old, spell-shielded-and just beside the cesspool, where no Zhent or other high-and-mighty mage would ever get dirty enough to look for it. If we find it now, Mulmar can feast as much as he likes, and we'll be long vanished in the night before anyone comes looking for us."

He climbed down into the hole until only his head and shoulders could be seen and beckoned her. "Ye're young, Shar," he said gently. "I know how it tugs at thy desires to leave this place before we've seen an end to it all. But learn a little wisdom and come now."

He waited until she moved forward, and added, "Oh, aye. Bring the stone, lass, and pull it down above thee. Ye'll find lines scratched on its underside to mark how it fits."

Sharantyr rolled her eyes in the gloom as she went to pick up the slab. With a sudden grunt of effort, she lifted it, staggered to the edge of the hole, and carefully set it down. A strong whiff of air from below made her cough.

"You certainly know how to find troubles to land me in," the lady Knight complained as she started to follow him down the hole.

"Ah, that's adventure, lass. Adventure," Elminster said cheerfully from somewhere in the darkness beneath her. "Some folk would envy ye."

Sharantyr rolled her eyes again. They were beginning to water. This gate had better be close by.

As the stone settled slowly back into place, the floating eye dipped to inspect it carefully. After a moment it soared into the darkness near the ceiling of the passage and sped away like an arrow fired from a strong forester's bow.

"Lord Most High," Councillor Xanther Srildar said, in the safe confines of a tiny secret room deep under the oldest tower of the High Castle, "Brothers Angruin Myrvult and Heladar Longspear have both perished this day, and Harpers and agents of Cormyr lead the people of the dale in armed rising. This dale is lost to us. Over my head, they're taking the castle as I speak. Almost all of our sword brothers and mages are dead." Xanther's words shook only a little.

When it issued out of the floating, darkly glowing black spindle in front of him, Manshoon's voice was silken in its easy softness. "Indeed. Have you an explanation for how this came about?"

Xanther swallowed. His throat was suddenly dry again. The lord's tone was a sudden and cold reminder that his position as Manshoon's spy on the other Zhentarim here, a Brother above and secret from them, would not preserve his life if the lord was sufficiently displeased.

"Yes, Lord," Xanther said boldly. "Elminster of Shadowdale led the forces that attacked the dale, accompanied by at least one of the Knights of Myth Drannor. I saw Elminster myself and overheard him talking to this Knight, a woman in leathers. He called her 'Shar.' They're presently going down a shaft that leads to the castle cesspool, where there's a hidden gate Elminster hopes to escape by."

"Escape?" came that smooth voice out of the speaking stone, quick with interest, and Xanther began to breathe more easily. It might be that his news would please the Dread Lord of the Zhentarim enough to save his own life after all.

"Yes, Lord," Xanther confirmed. "I heard him tell the Knight that they had no defense against magic anymore. His hand was burned where Stormcloak's magic missiles destroyed a ring of spell-turning he was wearing-I didn't know such rings could be affected that way, but I saw it fly apart. He said it as if the ring had been his only defense against magic. Then he said their work was done and he'd prefer to be gone before some 'Zhent mageling or other finds us and decides to enhance his reputation by blasting Elminster of Shadowdale into little wisps of smoke.' Those were the words he used."

The speaking stone floated before him, silent for the space of two long breaths. Then the silken voice came again. Its words made Xanther glad that the stone's magic carried only voices, and that he could neither see nor be seen by the leader of the Zhentarim.

"Tell me, Xanther Srildar," Manshoon's voice asked him, "why-hearing that as you did-you did not attack them both at once?"

"I-was far away, Lord," Xanther said, swallowing, "using the wand you gave me. By one of its eyes I followed them across half the castle full of men fighting."

The spindle floating at the height of his head hung silently.

Emboldened, Xanther added, "Had I been there, Lord, I doubt Elminster would have spoken so plainly."

"You've done well, Xanther," the smooth voice came again. "The Brotherhood is pleased with you, despite the disaster in the High Dale. Hear now my orders. Do whatever you can, and enlist whomever you feel necessary, to destroy Elminster of Shadowdale. Bring evidence of his death to me if you can-but whatever befalls and by any means, you must bring about his death. Your reward will be very great."

The silently listening figure that neither Manshoon nor Xanther knew was there decided it was time to withdraw before being discovered, with a chance to earn a reward instead of the cold, deadly weight of Manshoon's disfavor.

Hcarla Bellwind drew his robe more tightly about himself and hastened to a dark and winding stair he knew of. It descended directly to the part of the cellars where a certain noisome cavern held the cesspool.

Bellwind was in too much of a hurry to close the secret door to Xanther's little room, once a private treasury vault, no doubt, and discovered by the Brotherhood long ago. The councillor, hurrying along soon after, felt cold fingers of fear touch his spine as he stared at the open door. Who had found his secret place and listened?