by Ed Greenwood
A smile crossed the face of the tall, impossibly thin combatant. It held no trace of mirth or friendliness.
"Did you think," the lien hissed in triumph, "that I'd come alone?"
A stalactite behind and above one bony shoulder blurred and descended-and became a floating sphere of many eyes. It drifted forward with dangling tentacles and many jaws snapping on stalks. From nearby shadows flew a bat-winged gargoyle waving a sword of black flame. A vast snake slithered out and lifted its gigantic, cruelly beautiful, human-seeming head. Near it stood a graceful she-elf with obsidian skin and spell-spun daggers whirling about her slender wrists.
These creatures strode or glided or floated down the hall to menace the lone challenger-a human not so tall or thin as the lich. He had little of a warrior's build and nothing about him sharper than his hawklike nose.
The human's eyebrows rose. "Strange bedfellows, indeed," he observed calmly. "Thy falling into league together-that's a tale I'd like to hear." He sat down on a piece of the tumbled stone beside him, propped his dusty boots on another stone, and got out his pipe. "Well?"
The lich stared. "Are you insane?"
The mage shook tobacco out of a little pouch and commenced to tamp it down into the bowl of his pipe with his thumb. "Probably," he replied cheerfully. Death advanced on him, spreading out with stealthy grace to outflank and surround him. "Are ye surprised?"
The lich did not bother to reply but instead snapped hurriedly, "Before Mysira and the Mages Arcane, I claim right of subsumption in this duel, that all my opponent's powers be granted to me-attack! "
Though the presence of allies and the failure to allow one party to claim before commencement were blatant breaches of the rules of Spelldown Hall, and though the creatures arrayed against him made death a swift certainty, the human puffed on his pipe and made no move.
As the first spell touched him-a bright bolt from the death tyrant-the hall was suddenly full of blue-white fire and a wordless singing that was both feminine and exultant. Drow limbs roared into flame and were gone. The gargoyle melted away into a brief whirling chaos of black flame and melting shards of sword. The gigantic snake burst like a boiled sausage and crumbled to dust. Silently, the beholder winked out.
As the last of its allies vanished, the disbelieving lich gasped, "How-?"
"Mystra gives ye greetings," the reclining human said pleasantly. He blew a smoke ring in the direction of his opponent before following it with the innocent question, "Does this mean ye don't want to tell me the tale of this little alliance?"
The lich's scream of fury was as wordless as Mystra's swelling song. Black flames and red roared out of its bony hands and snarled across the hall at the man with the pipe.
Elminster watched the flames come. As they struck home, he jerked his body this way and that in spasms that made his pipe shoot up to the ceiling. Smoke curled from his lips as he announced calmly, "Mystra niakes reply."
He closed his mouth. When he reopened it all the blue-white fire in Faerun poured forth, sweeping away one end of Spelldown Hall, frantic lich and all, in a single roaring instant…
Blue-white and so bright…
Aargh! Rrraaaaaghh! Oughhh!
[writhing flailing red-eyed pain, shuddering horns and tentacles, rocking and keening in helpless slithering agony, dying slowly to gasps]
[cautious peering, stealing forward from shadows to look at the smoking ruin of too many memories, with the smarting sentience of an archdevil smoldering at their heart]
Ohhh. Urghh.[slow roll over, curling of stiffened talons, flexing of torn tentacles, unfolding in the sudden absence of pain]Sweet fires of Nessus!
Nergal?
If i thought you'd done that deliberately, wizard, i'd tear you limb from limb and savage your remains!
I but yielded what ye forcefully sought.
So you did. Though it showed me nothing useful such fury rarely comes forth when i open my mouth.
Oh, I might disagree with ye there….
Have your smile, little man. Torment will come to you again soon enough.
[rising from the ruin to stand and then stagger, tentacles questing forth, the light growing more as the search begins once more]
So that's what the fire or a goddess tastes like. Spare me no warnings in future, when i take hold of any similar surprises!
I know not, devil, what can surprise thee.
Really? Nether do I. [grim mental smile] Well, we'll just have to learn togeth-
Spinagons swooped and tumbled out of the blood-red sky. They fell upon a hulk and stabbed with forks and raked with feet. The thing reared up, scattering them with two thrusts of its tentacles, and bellowed, "Who dares-?"
Shrieking, the devils flapped out of the hollow, fleeing in babbling panic.
Nergal glared after them, able to snatch only one of his attackers. Snaking tentacles slowly tore one limb after another from that hapless, shrieking spinagon. One end of a tentacle thrust into its mouth, breaking the jaw to keep from being bitten, and remaining.That muffled the shrieks. Nergal shook his head.
Whether agents sent by a rival or merely brainless hunters, these flapping annoyances were an overdue warning. Lost in the enjoyment of rummaging human memories, he'd been leaving himself vulnerable. Not all the denizens of Avernus were wise enough to avoid an arch-devil. Others might well decide to try their luck with a wounded, reeling Nergal-to say nothing of the naked, puny crawling thing that was Hminster. Alone amid smoke and scuttling things a few gorges off, he was well on the way to blundering into the arms of Tasnya, or Oomrith, or Skeldagon, or half a dozen others.
Caution was in order. Nergal moved across smoking fissures to a more defensible place. A pack of nupperibos had gathered there. Nergal gave them a many-fanged smile full of fell promise. The nupperibos fled from him in grunting haste. Nergal flung his awareness back to the dark caverns of Elminster's mind.
Back to the human's youth in Hastarl, and from there no doubt a long, tortuous chain of memories wherein the wizard knew ever more of Mystra's power, and magic mastered and then hidden. Magic that would soon belong to Nergal.
Diabolic laughter echoed in a cavern around the tentacled lord. The sound filled also the riven chambers behind the eyes of the Old Mage. Spines bristled, granted by Nergal to make Elminster a less obvious morsel.
Languid limbs stretched, cherry-red and glistening with the blood of the gutted, half-crushed lemures that filled the bowl-shaped bed.
"So," purred their owner, as little flames licked from between her lips and rose from the tips of magnificent breasts, "Nergal has a new toy-one alluring enough to distract him from his usual hunts and cruelties. Such a toy Tasnya must have."
She rolled over on the lemuran corpses, arching away from the razor-maws of the land lampreys whose gnawing brought her such pain and pleasure. She-devils knelt eagerly at the foot of the bed. She fixed one with a look that had fire in it. Its human-seeming tongue licked both its lush lips and the dainty fangs behind them, in anticipation of a pleasurable mission.
Tasnya did not disappoint her slave, though her voice dripped with irony. "Do you go forth, loyal Sressa," she told the erinyes, "and take an interest in Nergal's doings. Harm him if you can, and snatch away unharmed his human captive if possible, bringing it here to me. Tasnya has uses for mortal wizards-and blundering archdevils who come raging hence to recover them, too."
Chapter Nine
WHO'S KILLING THE GREAT LORDS OF WATERDEEP?
Many-spined, tormented, crawling…
[images of a fat, wheezing man and a slender lass, hurrying through a city at night] you're taking me on thkouch au. of this!1 there's best be some vivid and useful memories of magic by the end of fl, elmlnsteh, or i'll give you memories of agony that won't soon fade. and don't tell mb you've heard such threats before.
[silence] Well?
I but follow thy wish, devil, and so remain silent.
Hummph. Inside, you burn as dark as any devil, don't you?
&nbs
p; [smiling silence] Get on with it, wizard!
"Well use the tunnel," Mirt rumbled. "I've no time for pleasantries with courtiers."
"Do you ever?" Asper replied, amused. Mirt merely grunted. He'd been hurrying through the darker streets and alleys, his old boots flapping, for some time now, and retained little breath left for talk. For once.
Asper could hear him wheezing along ahead of her, his breath a constant whistle in the night. The Old Wolf, waved his sword carelessly in one hand and moved with surprising speed. Asper tried to keep her eyes on all the night's darker shadows, tensely alert for an attack she hoped would never come.
Mirt made no attempts at stealth or caution. He charged through the night like an angry bull, heading around the rocky arm of Mount Waterdeep on which the Castle stood. He scrambled through alleys, rubbish heaps, and backyards hung with washing. Mirt began to growl deep in his throat, a rising and falling rumble that boded ill for whoever-or whatever-got in his way. As usual.
They crossed Gem Street at a lumbering run, nearly bowling over a watch patrol. Mirt plunged down a side street. Asper ducked under a grasping watchman's arm and scrambled after him, ignoring angry shouts to stop.
Mirt was fumbling with something at his belt. "Here," he snarled at her, thrusting his sword into her hand. "Hold this!"
"I hear those words at least thrice a day," Asper panted. She turned… to face watch officers charging down the alley. Trust her lord to relieve himself at a time like this. But, no-
Mirt aimed with a louder growl than usual and dived at the ankles of the foremost officer. That unfortunate shrieked in protest as Mirt heaved him up into the air and flung him like a child's doll back into his colleagues. They crashed together with a meaty smack that made Asper wince.
Mirt spun back toward her. In one hairy hand he held a length of silken cord that ran up to his bell; its other end was tied to a key, which he had hidden in his codpiece. He fetched up against one wall of the alley,
"Huh!'' he said an instant later. A stray beam of moonlight winked on the key as he let it fall and dangle, turning back toward her. "Come on, lass!" he roared. "In with you!"
Without waiting for a reply, he spun about to boot aside the reaching staff of an officer of the watch. "We haven't time for these fools!" he snarled, wrestling the man aside and slamming him into the nearest wall.
Asper dived past him into deeper darkness. Mirt's fingertips trailed along her shoulder. He followed, kicking aside the grasping hand of the man he had felled so that it wouldn't get caught in the door.
"Perhaps later," he said with a ferocious smile. He leaned close to the watchman's startled face, displayed his discolored teeth, and slammed the door shut.
"Where are we, Lord?" Asper whispered softly and urgently in the darkness. Mirt chuckled.
"In Shyrrhr's house," he replied. "Stand still, lass, while I find a lamp." He deftly plucked his sword out of her hands, as though he could see perfectly.
"There's no need," a cool voice said out of the darkness. "I've one ready." A door opened with the faintest of grating noises. A hood rose from a lantern perhaps four paces away. "Welcome… Mirt?"
"Aye, Lady." Asper could hear her lord smiling. "Your alarm still works, I see."
Before them stood a tall, beautiful lady in slippers and a sleeping gown of emerald green worked with gold. She held the lantern in one hand and what looked like a wand in the other. Her eyes matched her gown. She smiled.
"Up to your tricks again, Old Wolf?"
Mirt unconcernedly stuffed the key back into his codpiece. "Lady, meet my lady, Asper. Asper, this is the Lady
Shyrrhr. I know you've seen each oilier from afar many times at court, so perhaps we can dispense with all the tongue work. We're in a hurry, Sheer, to reach the palace."
Shyrrhr's eyebrows rose. "Come," she said simply, and led them through several doors and down a steep spiral stair. "If you were not who you are, Mirt," she added softly, as they descended into cool dampness, "I would not let you pass this way. All is not well at the palace."
Mirt stared hard at her bronzen hair, as if the weight of his gaze could lay bare the thoughts in her head. "Nor outside it," he grunted shortly. "Watch officers followed us here."
Shyrrhr chuckled musically. "I know I can always count on you for an entertaining evening, Old Wolf. No offense, Lady Asper."
"None taken, Lady," Asper replied.
The stair ended in a stone-lined tunnel. Shyrrhr handed Asper a lamp from a shelf where a row of them stood ready. "He always drops them," she said, looking with her eyes to Mirt as she lit it. "Go in speed. Gods watch."
"And over you, Lady," Asper replied.
Shyrrhr waved and smoothly slipped back up the stairs. "I'll talk away the watch for you," she called back softly.
Mirt grunted. "Tamaeril Bladesemmer and the wizard Resengar are dead this night, Lady, Guard yourself."
Shyrrhr turned. Her eyes were very green. "1 always do," she said softly. "I thank you for the news, Mirt. Tell me more when you can." She turned again and was gone.
Mirt nodded in answer. "A good lass, Sheer. No doubt she has some envoy or other upstairs, spilling news they never intended to as they empty her wine decanters."
Asper crooked an eyebrow. "I take it you've emptied her decanters a time or two, without spilling whatever she wished to learn."
Mirt grinned. "She's Piergeiron's best agent,” he said dryly, "but not a lord, if you take my meaning. If Piergeiron were to marry again, though, I'd not be surprised to find Shyrrhr at his side kneeling before the priests.''
He grinned again, and strode forward down the tunnel. "Watch sharp, now. The stones're none too level." He wheezed and moved faster in a lumbering trot. "Hold that lantern high, lass, and pray to Tymora that we're in time!"
I'll wanted more than long enough for even a paltry things of mack. There had best be more-and better, too! Wizard, you entertain me, but you waste my time.
Ye have other pressing engagements, Lord Nergal? [growl, mental slap] [pain gasping pain] [teeth bared; satisfaction]
Torgent was old for a man trusted to guard the lord's person. His mustaches were snow-white, no longer gray, and his shoulders lacked the bulk and weight of years gone by. He still stood as proud as ever in his livery, and none had ever seen him as much as yawn on a night watch.
The three men under him could not match his years with all of theirs put together, but it was his old ears that heard it first: the soft scrape of a leather sole on one of the stones down the tunnel.
"Ready, lads!" Torgent snapped. "Someone comes!"
Ready-loaded crossbows were snatched up. Torgent drew his sword and raised his shield before him. He stood behind the great spiked and iron-barred gate to challenge whomever was corning. Waterdeep the Mighty depended upon him, and he was ready.
"Stand and declare yourselves, in truth and without omission," he issued the traditional challenge. His deep voice boomed in the tunnel. Through its echoes two came forward in haste, one rotund and puffing, the other slim and lithe. Both bore drawn blades.
'Torgent! Tis I, Mirt of Watercleep, with my lady, Asper," Mirt roared as he came up to the gate. "We must see Piergeiron, speedily, so tell your lads to put down those tows and open the gate as fast as they know how!"
"Mirt! Well met, Old Wolf!" Torgent chuckled, tossing sword and shield aside. The gate clanged and clattered as all present heaved at it from both sides to raise it.
"Not so much of the 'old,' youngling," Mirt growled as he rolled up from under the gate's iron spikes to clasp Torgent's gauntleted hand. "Where's Piergeiron, this hour?"
Torgent looked troubled, even as he smiled and handed Asper to her feet. "Lady," he said automatically, bowing. His face fell grim again. "The lord is no doubt in the Inner Audience Chamber, under heavy guard. I'm glad you've come. He's not himself, these last few days." The other guards murmured agreement. They wrestled the gate down again. "Keeps his armor on day and night, with the visor down. He's always been
one to use words sparingly, but he says even less lately. Just 'yes' and 'no1 and 'next' and 'enough.' I'd take it kindly if you'd let us know what's amiss."
Mirt's frown was black.
With a little shiver, Asper saw him in memory-once again in the saddle in his mercenary days, hearing of the treachery of a Tethyrian noble and vowing to repay it.
The blade in Mirt's hand leaped a little. Seeing it move, one of the younger guards reached for his own sword out of habit.
"I'll tell you what I can, when I can," Mirt said, striding on. "My thanks, Tor. I know the way." And he was gone, boots flapping. Asper danced at his elbow on lighter feet.
:
Torgent turned back to the gate, a fierce smile on his face. "Now, by my sword, we'll see something! I'd see the back of all this mystery, lads-and that man'll do it where others would strike stone and fall back. There'll be some wild times ahead, or I miss my guess!" He sat down again whistling a jaunty old marching song.
The younger guards exchanged glances, shrugged, and grinned. More than one of them stole a look the way Mirt and Asper had gone, Not one remarked on Asper's beauty. Torgent looked just a mite stirred up for that.
Magic, elminster. When do we get to the magic?
Soon, devil, soon.
That refrain has come so many times, it's almost a chant.
That it is, Nergal. Would ye like the entire ballad?
[disgust] get on with showing me remembrances, wizard. I'll not sit still for your singing.
[amusement, bright images flashing]
They took a secret passage, and another, and avoided most guards and almost all servants. Mirt was known, and his ready passwords and display of a signet ring of Waterdeep carried them swiftly to the doors of the Inner Audience Chamber.
The guards held ready blades and moved them aside not a finger's width while their captain went in to announce them. He was a long time coming out again. When he did, his voice was cold.