by Monte Cook
“I don’t recall ordering this, barkeep,” Caledan said good-naturedly. “Mind if I return it?”
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the object hurtling back toward the barkeep. A second later, the bony man took a step backward, clutching feebly at the knife embedded in his throat before collapsing over the filthy surface of the bar.
Hands on her hips, Mari gazed at the rest of the tavern’s occupants. “All right, who’s next?” she asked sweetly. “No pushing, please. I promise, each of you will be killed as promptly as possible.”
There was a second of silence. Then came a scraping of chairs and a clattering of boots as the remaining customers departed hastily out the tavern’s door. In moments Mari and Caledan were alone save for three rapidly cooling corpses.
“I have to admit, you certainly know how to clear a room,” Caledan commented.
Mari shrugged. “It’s a talent. Now let’s get moving. This isn’t over yet.”
Caledan nodded, following her through a dim archway into the back room. After a few minutes searching, they spotted the corner of a trapdoor, hastily hidden beneath a stack of old ale casks. The two pushed the casks aside and crouched down to examine the iron door. It was locked.
Caledan looked up at her. “Can you …?”
Mari cut him off. “With my eyes closed.” She began rummaging in a leather pouch.
“I think we’re beyond the stage where you need to show off to impress me,” Caledan noted acidly. “With your eyes open will do just fine.”
“As you wish.” Mari slipped a pair of thin wires—one bent, one straight—into the trapdoor lock. Carefully, she began probing, constructing a mental image of the lock’s interior. The mechanism was of good but not exceptional construction. Four minutes was all she would need, five at most. Her brow furrowed in concentration.
It was then that the screams began. The sounds echoed up from beneath the trapdoor, muffled shrieks of terror and agony. Mari and Caledan stared at each other. More screams drifted upward. Something in them made Mari’s blood run cold.
“I won’t tell you your business,” Caledan said hoarsely, “but you just might want to hurry it a bit.”
She nodded silently, bent over her task. After what seemed hours, the lock sprang open. Caledan pulled up the trapdoor. Silence. The screams had ended. All the two could see was a square of perfect blackness.
Mari swallowed hard. “You know, I got to enter the tavern first. I think you should lead the way here. It’s only fair.”
“How thoughtful of you.” Caledan gripped the edges of the trapdoor and lowered himself through, disappearing into darkness. A moment later he whispered, “There’s a ladder.”
Taking a deep breath, Mari followed. In the blackness, her hands found rusted iron rungs bolted to the rough stone wall. In moments she reached the bottom. They were in some sort of low tunnel. The musty air was cold, and she sensed Caledan’s nearness only by the heat of his body. Hunching over, they moved swiftly down the passage. Tomblike silence pressed in from all sides.
The tunnel ended abruptly in a door. A thin line of ruddy light glowed above the sill. Slowly, Mari turned the door handle, which creaked softly. She tensed her body, then threw the door open. Crimson torchlight spilled outward like blood. The two Harpers leapt through the doorway, daggers drawn.
The Zhentarim were all dead.
With caution, Mari and Caledan moved into the long subterranean chamber. It took Mari several moments to count up the corpses, for they were all horribly mangled. Stray body parts were strewn haphazardly across the room, and the floor was slick with blood. She clamped her jaw shut, trying not to retch. Seven, she decided at last. There had been seven agents of the Black Network in the underground lair. And someone had slain them all. Or something.
Caledan knelt beside one of the corpses and touched a finger to a gory puddle on the floor. “However they died, it happened only a few minutes ago.”
“The screams we heard,” Mari said with a shudder. “Those were their death cries.”
Caledan wiped his hand on the dead man’s tunic, then stood. “I can’t say that I’m sorry. I wanted the scum dead myself. But I’m more than a little curious to find out who managed to do my job before I had the chance.”
Mari shuddered. “Whoever … whatever … they were, they’re gone now.” She moved to a table littered with sheaves of parchment. The ones on top were illegible, spattered with blood, but those below were unstained. Several showed schematic drawings of the interior of the High Tower. Mari realized that they were plans for an attack. “Look at these, Caledan. The Zhents were plotting to take over the city. These plans prove—”
“Mari.”
Caledan’s voice was low and quiet, but the tension in it made her freeze.
“Mari, I want you to turn around. But do it very slowly. Do you understand?”
She nodded jerkily. Then, as slowly as she could, she spun around.
They were streaming out of the shadows that filled the far end of the chamber. Dozens of them. Even as they drew near, Mari could not identify them. They reminded her of sea creatures she had once seen off the coast of Amn, far to the south. Raystingers, the creatures were called—flat, boneless animals that floated in the warm tides, trailing whiplike tails barbed with poison. These things that drifted out of the shadows toward the two Harpers were not so different from raystingers, except they were dark as obsidian, and were floating on thin air, not water.
Heart pounding, Mari followed Caledan’s lead, backing slowly toward the door. Suddenly, she felt something cold and slick brush against her hand. She gasped, looking down to see one of the dark creatures float past her and move toward the others. She twisted around. More of the things rose from a shadowed corner behind her. They spilled out of the darkness and streamed silently past. Their touch made her flesh crawl, yet they did not harm her. She saw that the creature’s touch had left a red smear on her hand. Blood.
“By Milil, what are they?” she gasped.
Caledan’s halting reply came from behind her. “I don’t … I don’t know. Perhaps the Zhentarim conjured them, but the spell of binding went awry, and the things turned on the Zhents. I …” There was a pause. Then Caledan’s voice came again, a hoarse whisper. “Mari, help me …”
Dozens of the dark creatures had surrounded Caledan. They drifted around him like a dense black vapor. Caledan gazed at Mari, face pallid, eyes shining with terror. The creatures circled him slowly, brushing gently past his hands and letting their long tails slip softly around his neck in movements that seemed almost like caresses.
Caledan shuddered uncontrollably. Finally he could remain still no longer. “Get away from me!” he hissed, lashing out with an arm.
Like a cloud of smoke, the creatures swirled away from him. The dark mass drifted apart. Caledan stared in amazement, then lurched forward. He grabbed Mari’s wrist. “Let’s get out of here.”
Choked by fear, Mari could barely voice the words. “The door … they’re blocking it.”
A score of the amorphous black creatures had drifted before the open portal. The fear in Caledan’s eyes was quickly usurped by rage. He shook a fist at the nameless creatures, snarling. “Let us pass!”
At once, like a curtain of black velvet, the creatures parted before the doorway, leaving room to pass. Caledan pulled Mari’s arm. “Come on!”
She froze, staring at him. She was struck by a sudden, inexplicable fear. At that moment, Caledan seemed as alien as the jet-black blobs that floated before them.
“What’s wrong with you?” he growled, tugging at her arm.
It was irrational—perhaps even mad—but he frightened her as much as the unnameable creatures. She tried to pull away, but he held her tight. At last she managed to speak. “They … they listen to you. They obey your commands.” She felt dizzy and ill. “But why …?”
Caledan’s eyes were wild with urgency. “What does it matter?” he shouted at her. “The way is open. We have to go!”
This time he pulled her hand so fiercely it seemed to nearly dislocate her shoulder. Brilliant pain flared, but she welcomed it, for it cleared her head. Later she could deal with what had just occurred between Caledan and the things of darkness. Now they had to flee. Hand in hand, she and Caledan dashed between the floating ranks of onyx creatures and careered headlong down the twisting stone tunnel.
* * * * *
To Belhuar Thantarth
Master of Twilight Hall
In Milil’s name, greetings!
I am gladdened to report that the Zhentarim threat to Iriaebor has once again been averted. It is now clear that the unexplained murders were indeed part of a Zhentarim plot to assume control of the city. I have concluded that the unfortunate victims were being fed to ravenous magical creatures conjured by a group of Zhentarim sorcerers hidden in the New City. In the lair of the Zhentarim were found schematic drawings of Iriaebor’s High Tower, suggesting that the magical creatures were going to be used as a weapon in a bloody coup attempt. Ironically, it seems that the Zhentarim’s own magic turned against them in the end; all the Zhent sorcerers were found slain in their hideout. Scores of the strange creatures were discovered in the Zhent lair. It appears that, in their hunger, the creatures turned upon the evil sorcerers who had conjured them. However, when I returned later to investigate with the mage Morhion Gen’dahar, the creatures were not to be found. Apparently, without victims upon which to feed, the magical creatures were dispelled.
With this mission completed, I am ready to assume the new task you have described in your latest missive. I will report again in one moon’s time. Until then, may Milil’s music be sweet upon your harp!
Yours in the fellowship of Harpers
Mari Al’maren
Alone in the chamber she shared with Caledan on the upstairs floor of the Dreaming Dragon, Mari set down her quill pen. She sprinkled a dusting of fine sand across the missive she had written, then tilted the crisp piece of parchment, shaking off the excess sand. Finally, she rolled it up with the sketches she had made of the dark creatures and sealed the scroll with hot wax from the single candle resting on the writing table. For a time, she stared at the neatly rolled parchment, thinking how the eerie creatures had drifted around Caledan in what almost seemed to be reverence; how she and Caledan had fled the Barbed Hook in terror; how only at Morhion’s urgent prompting, after they told the mage what they had witnessed, did they return to the Zhent lair and find them vanished.
Why the things had seemed to obey Caledan’s commands was a mystery. Perhaps it had something to do with his shadow magic. After all, the creatures had come from the shadows. Morhion had discovered a black, noxious residue in the corners of the underground chamber, and had collected some in a vial in order to perform experiments on it. The mage’s research might explain why the creatures had behaved as they did.
The other piece of the puzzle that still did not fit was the thief who had been caught in the act of one of the brutal killings. Of course, it could be that the man had simply committed that murder in imitation of the others. It was unfortunate, but such things did occur.
It had been a long day, and there was still one last task to complete … one Mari was not at all looking forward to.
The chamber door opened quietly.
“Mari. You’re still awake. I thought … I thought you’d be asleep.”
Mari regarded Caledan as he shut the door. His face was drawn, his eyes shining with weariness. For a moment her love for him washed over her like a wave. How could she possibly do what she intended? But she had made her decision.
She gestured to the writing desk. “I’ve just penned my report to the Harpers. They’ve sent new instructions. We both have new orders. I’m to go to Easting, and you—”
“I know. I’m to travel north to Corm Orp. I received a missive as well.”
Mari nodded. Silence reigned between them. At last Caledan spoke, his voice gruff. “You’re going to tell me good-bye, aren’t you, Mari?”
It took her a long moment to find the words. “I don’t know, Caledan. Perhaps I am. I think we should let this be a parting of ways for us. At least for now.”
He swallowed hard. “Have I been so terrible, then?”
Mari turned away, crossing her arms across her chest to hide her trembling. “No,” she said hastily. Then she decided to speak her mind. “Yes. Yes, you have, but not in the way that you think. Today, in the Zhentarim hideout … what you did with those creatures … I …” She turned toward him, and only as the words sprang to her lips did she realize how true they were. “I’m afraid of you, Caledan. I think I have been for the last six moons.” She lifted an unconscious hand to touch her cheek. “I’m afraid of who you are becoming.”
A mirthless smile touched his lips. “It’s funny you should say that, Mari. You see, I’m afraid, too.” He approached, enfolding her in his strong, lean arms. She stiffened for a moment, then melted into his embrace. His whisper was fierce now. “I know I’ve been acting strangely lately. I do feel … different somehow. And the truth is, I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s something I’ll be able to find out on my next mission. But whatever is happening between us, believe me when I tell you this, Mari. I would never harm you. Do you understand me? Never.”
“I know that, Caledan.” She held on to him, feeling his hard, muscular body beneath her hands. Yet she could not shake the disturbing sensation that this was not her Caledan she held in her arms, but a stranger. “Perhaps, after we’ve been apart for a while …”
He pressed a finger softly to her lips, silencing further words. Slowly, he ran his finger down her chin, her throat, to the leather laces that bound her green jacket. He bent down and kissed her. She returned the kiss urgently. Their clothes slipped softly to the floor as he bent to blow out the single candle. For a time, fear was lost in the familiar warmth of each other’s touch.
Later, when she floated drowsily in the misty realm between sleep and waking, she thought she heard him rise from the bed. A softness touched her cheek, a low voice whispered in her ear.
“Fare thee well, Harper.”
Perhaps it was just a dream. But in the morning, when she woke to gray daylight, Mari found herself alone and shivering beneath the bed covers.
Three
The boy sat at a table high in the mage’s tower, chin on hands, gazing into the multicolored center of a small, pyramid-shaped gem.
“Tell me, Kellen, what do you see within the crystal?”
Morhion spoke softly as he paced around the table. His long vest of dusky purple rippled gently as he moved, causing the runes embroidered on its edges to undulate like silver serpents.
“I see the light of the candles, refracted by the crystal’s facets,” Kellen answered solemnly.
“Are you certain that is all?” Morhion’s voice was almost hypnotic. “Look deeper, Kellen. Do not be so certain you already know what you will see. Open your mind to unexpected possibilities.”
Kellen frowned skeptically but leaned over the crystal once more, furrowing his forehead in concentration. “I see … I see …” Suddenly his green eyes widened. His voice became a whisper of wonderment. “I see stars, Morhion! Shining against the deepest sea of black. And there are bright moons, fiery comets with glowing tails, and … and a strange orange ball with striped rings around its middle. I don’t know what it is, but I can tell that it is very large. Larger than I could even imagine.”
A fierce spark glinted in Morhion’s ice-blue eyes. “Yes!” he said quietly, more to himself than to the child. “Well done, Kellen.”
“It is all so beautiful,” the boy said dreamily. He was swaying in his chair now.
“Do not lose yourself in the crystal!” Morhion warned sharply. He gave Kellen’s shoulder a hard squeeze, snapping the boy out of his trance. Kellen gave a shudder, then with great effort turned away from the gem. “You must always maintain control of your senses when gazing into the crystal,” Morhion told the boy sternly
. “Once lost in its depths, you might find it is not so easy to return.”
Kellen nodded, apprehension written on his round face. Morhion reminded himself that, despite Kellen’s remarkable perceptiveness, he was still only a boy of eleven winters. The mage’s expression softened. “Fear not, Kellen. You will never become lost in the crystal so long as I am near.”
Kellen smiled at the mage. “I know, Morhion.” He touched the smooth surface of the crystal. “It is magic, then, isn’t it?”
Morhion nodded. “There are some small magics bound into the crystal, yes. But they merely provide the catalyst, that is all. True magic comes from within.”
Kellen thought about this for a long moment. Then he asked, “What is the world I perceived in the crystal, Morhion?”
“I cannot say, Kellen. There exist many worlds beside our own. There are mages who believe that some of these worlds are the wells from which we are able to draw our magic. Perhaps just such a world you saw.”
Outside the arched window, the full orb of the moon was rising above Iriaebor’s spires. The autumn evening was chilly, although Morhion’s study was warm and comfortable. Most people thought mages live in drafty old towers littered with musty tomes and rotting scrolls. Morhion enjoyed living against stereotype. Vibrant tapestries hung from the circular chamber’s stone walls; the floor was thick with expensive Amnian carpets. Books, parchments, and all manner of magical paraphernalia were arranged neatly in dark wood cases, and a fire burned brightly in a copper brazier in the room’s center.
Morhion poured two cups of spiced wine. As he handed one of the silver cups to Kellen, he watched the boy. The mage found he was curious to discover the limits of Kellen’s abilities. True, such inquiries would be premature. Most youths did not test their magic until their fifteenth year, or even later. And yet …
Morhion moved to a glass cabinet and took out a small wooden box. He set the box on the table before Kellen, opening the lid. Inside, resting on a cushion of purple velvet, was a small, dark stone. Carved into the pebble was an arcane sigil, the rune that symbolized magic.