Марк Энтони - Crypt of the Shadowking

One of the prisoners, an older woman with steel-gray hair and eyes to match, said something when Tyveris helped her from her cell that seemed to speak for all the cityfolk. “The wheel is turning,” she said in her worn voice. “The captors become the captives, and the prisoners fly free once again. If one soul perishes in the wheel’s turning, such is the way of things. The wheel cannot be stopped. We must shed our tears, and then go on.”

And go on they did.

“We need to be even more careful now,” Kyana said to Tyveris as once again they started down the corridor. “The dungeon’s central chamber is not far ahead. That’s where there are likely to be the most Zhentarim.”

“How many?” Tyveris asked gravely.

“According to Ferret’s reports, at least a score of them,” Kyana said. “The numbers are on our side.”

They encountered another pair of guards as they approached the central chamber, but the cityfolk dispatched them swiftly and silently. Tyveris motioned for the prisoners to hang back while he, Kyana, and Talim crept forward toward the glow of torches.

From Ferret’s reports, they knew that most of the cell blocks were arranged around the dungeon’s central chamber almost like the spokes of a wheel. Tyveris and the two thieves moved silently as they approached the open doorway. Beyond was a walkway with a stone balustrade. Staying close to the floor, the three eased forward until they could peer down toward the large, circular chamber below them. Tyveris barely managed to stifle an oath.

The stone-walled room was filled with guards.

There was not a score of them, but rather five times that number. And all of them were armed. Tyveris could see the stairwell leading up to the tower no more than fifty feet away, but it might as well have been a hundred miles for the sea of guards blocking their way. He looked at Kyana in desperation. The thief shook her head.

“It appears we were expected,” was all she said.

Caledan was not certain how far beneath the Old City they had descended, but he knew they must be deep within the heart of the Tor.

Ravendas moved through the rough-hewn tunnel at a swift pace, Snake following subserviently on her heels. Caledan, Estah, Ferret, and Mari stumbled along after Ravendas. Their hands were bound tightly behind their backs with leather thongs; their ankles had been hobbled with heavy rope so that they could not run. A dozen cruel-faced Zhentarim warriors trod behind the four, pushing them roughly onward each time one of them hesitated. Behind the warriors walked Morhion, his face as cold as granite.

Without warning the rocky passageway widened, and the odd party of friends and enemies came to an abrupt halt. They stood in a sort of antechamber, a roughly square room perhaps two dozen paces in width. Acrid, smoking torches lined the walls of dark, jagged stone, and piles of rubble littered the corners. However, Caledan barely saw any of this, for instantly his attention was fixed on the door.

The portal dominated the far wall of the antechamber. It was a slab of perfect, unblemished onyx, as tall as two men and as wide as six abreast.

“The crypt of the Shadowking,” Caledan whispered in awe.

“Indeed,” Ravendas purred. “My greatest triumph lies within.” She tossed aside her dark robe and stood before the door resplendent in a silken gown as deep and rich in hue as dried blood. “The time has come.”

She clapped her hands, and two Zhentarim stepped from a dim alcove Caledan had not noticed. By their deep purple robes and the disturbing, misshapen symbols that hung about their necks, Caledan guessed these Zhents were priests of some sort. Between them stood a small figure clad in a velvet tunic.

It was the boy, Kellen.

Caledan felt his throat tighten. The boy looked up at him with his wide, dark-lashed eyes. He knows! Caledan thought suddenly. He was certain of it. For a moment he saw a look of pleading in the boy’s deep green eyes. Then Ravendas approached her son and brushed his pale cheek with a solitary finger.

“Your time draws near, my son,” Ravendas said in her crystalline voice. Kellen nodded slowly but said nothing. He clutched a set of polished reed pipes tightly in his hands. Mari, Estah, and Ferret regarded the boy with surprise. None of them had known Ravendas had a son. But they still don’t know the full truth, Caledan thought bitterly.

“There is one last thing,” Ravendas said. She stepped forward and reached inside Caledan’s leather jerkin, drawing out the set of pipes that he had concealed in an inner pocket. “I know you still have not discovered the secret of the shadow song, but then, I do not care to take unnecessary chances.” She dropped the pipes on the stone floor and ground them under her heel until they were nothing more than splinters.

Caledan could not help but wince. That was the first set of pipes he had ever made, and the truest. He had brought them along as a last-ditch hope, in the event he somehow managed to discover the secret of the shadow song.

“You’re a fool, Ravendas,” Caledan said harshly. “You’ve always been a fool. You’ll do anything for power. But it’s a desire that blinds you.” He nodded his head toward Snake. “So how do you intend to kill her, Snake?” he asked in a cutting voice. “I suppose you don’t need her or the Zhentarim any longer, now that the crypt has been found. Ravendas would just stand in the way of your ultimate plans, wouldn’t she? Why don’t you just kill her now and get it over with?”

“I am afraid you are quite mistaken,” Snake replied in his sibilant voice. His eyes were flat, his face emotionless.

“Stop this idiocy!” Ravendas snapped. “I will hear it no longer. All my servants obey my will and my will alone, Caldorien. As will you.” A blotch of color touched each of her pale cheeks.

She is uncertain, Caledan thought. He had planted the seeds of doubt in her heart, and they had taken root.

“Tell me, my lord steward,” she said, turning to the green-robed man. “Is there any truth to this base accusation? Do you intend to cross my wishes?”

“By all the powers that be, I swear not I serve only to see the Nightstone placed in your hand, my Lord Ravendas. That is my sole purpose.”

Ravendas nodded in satisfaction. “You see?” she said smugly to Caledan. “I own him, as I own all of you. Once the power of the Nightstone is mine, I will own far more. Now the door must be opened.” She lifted a hand and pointed a finger at Morhion. “You, mage, shall perform this momentous task for me.”

Morhion nodded, stepping toward the onyx door. He spread his arms wide and closed his eyes. He spoke a single guttural word of magic, and a small, silvery ball of light burst into existence before him. Caledan watched as thin, glowing tendrils began to stretch from the orb of light. Like silvery threads, the tendrils caressed the door and began to trace their way across its dark, flawless surface.

Caledan realized that the silvery threads were outlining strange symbols and weird runes. In moments the entire door was covered with their glimmering decoration. Morhion spoke another word of magic, and the ball of light vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. The magical tendrils faded, yet a curious luminescence remained. The symbols and runes could be faintly observed.

For long moments Morhion studied the ancient writing. Finally he nodded. He gestured to a dark, perfect circle in the center of the doorway, a place where the smooth stone was untouched by rune or sigil.

“The circle is as dark as the moon is this night,” Morhion intoned. He gazed at Ravendas. “One who desires to enter need only touch it.” He stepped away from the door.

Caledan saw Ravendas hesitate only briefly. Then she thrust her chin outward and boldly stood before the door. “All that lies beyond this portal, I claim for my own,” she proclaimed. She reached forward, laying her hand full upon the dark circle.