The Nether Scroll

10

6 Eleint, the Year of the Banner (1368 DR) The Greypeak Mountains

Tiep liked having a sword in his hand. He didn't mind that the hilt was the wrong shape for his human hand or the weapon was point heavy once he'd found a comfortable way to hold it. In fact, he rather liked the weighty sensation. Knives were nice, but if he couldn't reel off fireballs the way Druhallen did, Tiep wanted a sword riding below his hip.

He'd won a sword off a Scornubel swell last winter and worn it with a swagger until it had become embarrassingly apparent that Rozt'a wouldn't teach him how to use it. Worse, she'd whispered in the ear of the city's armsmasters and none of them would take him on as a student. Bitterly disappointed, he'd sold the sword back to the swell come spring and hit the road with his familiar knives.

In his wildest dreams, Tiep had never imagined Druhallen telling him to pick up a sword, and to tell the truth, he'd been none-too-eager to unfasten the scabbard from around the hips of something that clearly wasn't civilized. If the weapon had been enchanted, he'd have gotten the worst of it; he usually did. Fortunately there wasn't any magic to the sword or its scabbard and Dru's words were still swirling in his ears You could get lucky The phrase formed a satisfying counterpoint to one of Rozt'a's favorite sayings: I worry more about incompetence than skill.

With visions of bravery, Tiep cut the air in the egg chamber with a flourish. He knew he was incompetent, but he'd always been lucky. At least, he'd always thought he was, but if he'd been truly lucky, he'd have been paying attention before Rozt'a slapped her hand between his shoulders and shoved him toward the doorway.

It was disrespectful, that's what it was. Hadn't one of the first things Galimer ever said to him been, Don't sneak up on Rozt'a when she's drawn steel? Granted, Tiep's first thoughts as he staggered toward the doorway hadn't been a deadly counterattack. He'd been so surprised he'd let the tip clunk and scrape across the stone. Still there was principle to defend Tiep caught his balance and spun around. "Rozt'a-"

Something was wrong and the wrongness was unfolding so fast Tiep couldn't get his thoughts around it. Rozt'a's sword was out, her fist was cocked, and she wore her wolf-face. She didn't talk, she hissed.

"No noise… no noise," and "We're getting out of here."

Tiep had to backpedal for all he was worth to avoid her charge. But why? There was Druhallen beside the metal egg. Dru's arms were raised; he was poised to catch Sheemzher who'd scrambled up the egg like a lizard and was hauling on the golden scroll with all his puny strength.

Had the damned dog-faced goblin pulled when he should have pushed and started something he couldn't stop? That would figure.

Rozt'a changed direction between strides and, discounting the fact that her beloved foster-son was showing naked steel, reached across her body to grab him at the opposite shoulder and spin him around before giving him another, mightier, shove toward the door. On his way around, Tiep snagged a glimpse of what might be the cause of the chaos. The wall to the left of the metallic egg that had been solid stone when they entered the egg chamber had become a shimmering mirage-like the road ahead on a too-hot summer day-with a dead-black slit in the middle of it.

Tiep needed another look to be sure of what he'd seen. When he tried to get it, Rozt'a's fist landed in the middle of his back and he was crossing the threshold into the tunnel between the pool chamber and the egg chamber before he caught his balance again. It was pitch dark in the tunnel. Druhallen had their light and Druhallen wasn't with them.

Rozt'a must have guessed that Dru's name was primed on the back of his tongue, because when she hit Tiep again, it was with her open hand. She seized his shirt and didn't let go.

"Not a sound!"

There was a dogleg in the tunnel. It hadn't been a problem when they'd had Druhallen's spell illuminating their path, but they missed it going out. Tiep, who was shoved in front of Rozt'a, slammed into the stone chin and nose first. He smelled his own blood and his thoughts were echo and pain when they got to the pool chamber.

"Hide!" Rozt'a hissed and pulled, rather than shoved, him along the chamber's right-side wall.

Tiep spun out of her grasp. "Where's Dru?" He danced sideways. There was no light moving in the tunnel. "Where's Druhallen? We can't leave Druhallen."

His voice had risen; he expected a smack on the jaw, but Rozt'a's hands were shaking too much for her to deliver a punch, deserved or not.

"Hide! We've got to hide."

She was terrified. Tiep's foster-mother who'd laid open more men than Tiep could count was terrified. For the first time, the possibility that they were in serious trouble-doom-and-death trouble-entered Tiep's mind. Short of diving into the briny pools Tiep didn't see any hiding places, and he'd have to know exactly what they were running from before he jumped into one of those.

"Where? There's no place to hide."

Rozt'a's eyes, fortunately, were sharper and so were her wits. She'd spotted an empty shadow in the chamber's walls. It was more a fold in the rock than a cave and it was a dead-end passage-a very dead end if anyone came along with a lamp or light spell. But it was the best they were likely to find.

"Keep your head down-your face'll glow like the moon down here," Rozt'a whispered, sounding more like herself, more in control and command. A moment later she added, "We're kneeling in rock dust… we're kneeling in dust! Rub some on your face and into your hair."

Tiep was used to listening to Rozt'a in emergencies. He didn't know why he was smearing himself with dirt, but he rubbed vigorously and was attacking his ears when the rock began to rumble and vibrate. Tiep thought he was already as frightened as a man could get but, as rock icicles crashed to the cavern floor, he discovered untapped reserves of dread. The pale light in the central pool grew so bright Tiep could feel it as he crouched beside Rozt'a with his eyes closed and his dirty face pressed against his knees.

While the light brightened, the vibrations intensified until they were throbs that loosened rock. Tiep and Rozt'a bounced against each other as if they'd been huddled in the back of some scrap-collector's cart. He thought he might have screamed; he was sure that Rozt'a had. Then a rumbling pulse more powerfully than the rest combined lifted them off the stone and held them suspended.

Like a fool, Tiep opened his eyes. The light was so hot and bright that he couldn't see anything except his bones. Tiep closed his eyes-he thought he'd closed his eyes-but the bone vision lingered. He thought he'd died, thought that he'd gone beyond death, beyond his body, and hoped it would be over soon.

It was. The throbbing ebbed rapidly, along with the light and the heat-which had surely been imaginary because when feeling returned, Tiep found himself entirely unhurt, except for bruised knees and a ringing in his ears. Their luck had held.

"We're alive!" he whispered to Rozt'a.

They didn't have to rub themselves with dust now. The smell of granite was inside Tiep's nostrils and plastered his throat. It threatened to become cement when he first tried to swallow. Desperate for air, Tiep hacked and spat without regard for who-or what-might overhear.

Rozt'a stood beside him. She hadn't said a word, hadn't swallowed, hadn't fought with the gray gunk she'd breathed into her throat. They both flinched at the sound of tumbling rock. The light rising from the central pool was once again pale. It scarcely penetrated the dusty air. Any sound could mean they weren't alone, that their enemies stalked them or that Dru was nearby.

Tiep considered calling his foster-father. If Rozt'a had shouted Druhallen's name, Tiep would have joined her. Rozt'a remained silent, and Tiep did, too. At that moment, Tiep cared little for survival. If enemies moved in the chamber, he'd fight hard and eagerly to his own death.

Nothing emerged from the dust. There were other crunches which Tiep's ears slowly understood as the settling of rocks loosened by the magical eruption. The air seemed clearer after every rock rolled to its final resting spot. It was probably illusion or hope, but it could have been true.

Tiep was glad to be alive. Humans-living things in general-clung to life. It was only natural for humans-one street-raised human in particular-to worry just a bit about the future before he started celebrating the present.

Some of that shaken and fallen rock could be blocking the tunnel to the surface.

Or the one that led back to the egg chamber.

Rozt'a must have had the same thought-at least she started walking toward the egg-chamber passage before Tiep did. There was debris, but not enough to make the tunnel impassible. The dust made it darker, of course, but they were feeling their way slowly, not running. With the dogleg turn uneventfully behind them, they were no more than forty paces from the egg-chamber threshold.

It was very quiet-no moans, no footsteps. Tiep told himself that silence meant nothing either good or bad, but he wasn't really surprised when they came up against a smooth granite wall where the doorway had stood a few moments earlier. Rozt'a beat her fists against the stone, and Tiep did the same. The granite didn't budge, wasn't hollow. Tiep gave up before he hurt himself then put his arms gently around his foster-mother and forced her to retreat from the treasonous wall.

"There's another way in. I saw it just before you shoved me out. We'll find it."

"Too late," Rozt'a replied, her first words, and they left her gagging the way Tiep first words had left him.

He released her and she hurled herself against the rock. Rozt'a could scarcely breathe, but that didn't stop her from putting her fists into the granite and calling Dru's name.

"There's another way," Tiep repeated.

His foster-mother didn't seem to hear him. Tiep found her fists by touch and sound and tried a second time to gently pull her away from the wall. Rozt'a wouldn't yield to gentleness. She shook him off and when Tiep touched her again, she lashed out wildly, blindly with a backhand punch that set Tiep back on his heels.

Black panic nibbled into Tiep's thoughts-there was another way, but they'd have to look for it together. His mind couldn't contain the thought of splitting up without feeding panic. "Rozt'a?" he whispered, barely in control himself. He heard her crash into the wall again. "Tymora, help us? Help me? Rozt'a, please? Mother-?"

In the beginning Rozt'a had wanted Tiep to call her Mother. He'd tried a few times, but he'd been on his own too long. The instinct had died-until the goddess of luck reawakened it. With that single word, Rozt'a stopped her frantic hammering. They found each other and, arm in arm, walked toward the pool chamber.

"How should we start looking?" Tiep asked.

Rozt'a didn't answer. She was beside Tiep, holding him tightly, but that was only her body. Her mind was somewhere else-with Druhallen, inside the egg chamber, or with Galimer, in Weathercote Wood. In the dogleg part of the tunnel, where light was a promise but they couldn't yet see each other, Tiep hugged his foster-mother-his true mother-as he never had and received nothing in reply.

Panic said, You're in charge. You. You. You! and for a heartbeat panic was triumphant, then the scrappy stubbornness that had kept Tiep alive in situations every bit as bad as this-he'd picked Sememmon's pockets and survived, hadn't he? — took command.

"C'mon, Rozt'a. We've got to find that other way."

They walked slowly, quietly toward the light-and it was a good thing that they were both slow and quiet. Tiep heard sounds that said they weren't alone any more and they weren't about to be reunited with Druhallen, either. He nudged Rozt'a sideways. Some part of his foster-mother was still functioning-without hesitation she made herself small in the seam between the wall and the floor. She checked her weapons, then began creeping toward the light.

Tiep patted his hip before he crouched. His sword was in its scabbard. He didn't remember putting it there. Tymora had heard his prayers before he'd uttered them. As long as the luck goddess was watching out for them, they had a chance…

A long-limbed silhouette marched in front of the tunnel threshold, sword at its side. It could have been the twin of the creature who'd carried the sword Tiep wore. Other silhouettes followed it. The followers walked on two legs but wouldn't have been as tall as the sword-carrying creatures, even if they'd stood fully upright, which they didn't. Their shoulders and backs were rounded and their heads hung so low on their necks that they were looking down, not forward. One was limping badly, two others leaned on each other for support. Tiep couldn't guess whether they'd been injured in the shake-up or long before. He was still trying to answer that question when he realized the crippled silhouettes were goblins.

Two more of the long-limbed swordswingers followed the goblins. Slaves, he realized. Slavers and slaves. Slavers, slaves, and unnatural creatures hatched out of a metal egg. The pattern wasn't enough to reconcile Tiep with his goblin nemesis, and if Druhallen was dead because he'd stayed behind with Sheemzher, then no goblin was safe from Tiep's revenge-but he'd kill them cleanly, not like this.

With the egg chamber closed off behind them, Tiep saw two choices: stay where they were, hiding in the shadows, or get closer to the light and a better understanding of what they were up against. Tiep put his hand on Rozt'a's shoulder and together they crept forward. If only all his choices were that simple.

Most of the dust had settled, which meant that it was still pretty bad but Tiep could see all the way across the chamber. The tunnel where they'd first entered the chamber was open. If they could get to it-no, make that when they were ready, they could get out. Tiep didn't let himself think that he and Rozt'a might have to leave without Druhallen, but he did regret not paying closer attention when Sheemzher picked their path through the intersections.

Tiep had other things to worry about before then. By rough count, about ten swordswingers had herded about forty goblin slaves to the center of the chamber, facing the large, glowing pool. Nothing was said-at least nothing that Tiep heard, but after a few moments four of the healthier goblins went to work shoving fallen rocks to the sides of the chamber.

The goblins knew what they were doing. They'd done it before-the chamber was ringed with heaps of fallen rock. Tiep recalled the twisted metal debris in the egg chamber. This all had happened before. The big open egg with the golden scroll on top wasn't the first transformation egg. There'd been others; they'd exploded. The goblin slaves had cleaned up here in the pool chamber and in the egg chamber, too. All Tiep had to do was wait and the slaves would show him a way to the egg chamber.

Of course, forty slaves and ten swordswingers meant a lot of bodies between them and Druhallen, but Tiep was a born optimist. He'd offer freedom to the slaves-never mind that he didn't speak a word of their language. They'd get the message the instant he took a swing at one of the swordswingers. He and Rozt'a would have forty allies. By Tymora! They'd have guides, too, back to the surface! They'd be heroes.

And he'd be the biggest hero of all A high-pitched whistle disrupted Tiep's glorious daydream. The goblins who'd been shoving rocks abandoned their work. They rejoined the other slaves and they all bowed themselves low on the stone. Even the sword-swingers bowed low.

The pool got brighter. Tiep expected that whatever was going to happen would happen there. He wasn't looking at the chamber walls and couldn't see the walls to his immediate right and left. The tall man in a full-length dark cloak was several strides into the chamber before Tiep noticed him. He'd gone another stride before Tiep realized the tall man wasn't alone: one of the long-limbed swordswingers walked naked beside him.

The naked swordswinger didn't have a sword or the sense great Ao had given ants. It stumbled at every step and would have fallen if the tall man hadn't held it firmly by the upper arm. The pair approached the bright pool. The whistling got louder. Strange patterns flickered across the man's cloak. Writing, Tiep thought, spells.

The man had to be a wizard. Druhallen dressed like a shopkeeper, but Galimer would have worn a flashy cloak like that. Sememmon had been dressed like a merchant, too, that night when Tiep had tried to cut his purse strings. Dru and Sememmon were better at magic than Galimer was-especially Sememmon. Maybe the man in the flashy cloak wasn't as good as he thought he was. Maybe that was why his egg exploded and his monster had the blind staggers.

It would have fallen into the pool if the tall man hadn't reached left to grab Tymora have mercy!

Tiep's thoughts shattered. Man? Man? Had he thought the cloaked magician was a man? Tymora protect him, that thing was no man.

Tiep didn't know what race the cloaked figure had been born to, and didn't want to know. He called it a nightmare and begged his goddess to wake him up, but he wasn't asleep. Even after it had captured its stumbling slave and no longer faced the tunnel where he and Rozt'a were hiding, Tiep couldn't banish the horrific image from his mind's eye.

The nightmare magician's skin was a mottled purple in the pool's pale green light and stretched dried-corpse tight over its bones. Its head was too large and bulged behind, as if its brain had burst the back of its skull and then kept growing. Its eyes were a dull white with neither pupils nor irises. But it wasn't a nightmare because of its skin or its eyes or because its brain hung out of its head. The magician was a nightmare because it had four ropy tentacles hanging off its face.

The tentacles writhed and twitched. They caressed the bald head of the clumsy swordswinger. The other swordswingers pounded their chests while the crouching slaves rocked from side to side and the whistling grew so loud it was physically painful.

Tiep clapped his hands over his ears, which helped a little, and watched with open-jawed astonishment as the clumsy swordswinger folded its arms to its chest. It wove its mismatched fingers together, which might have been a of response to the tentacles caressing its head, but reminded Tiep of nothing so much as an insect about to feed The mantises!

The bug lady's messengers!

The metallic egg and Sheemzher's tale of the Beast Lord sacrificing his wife and a mantis and getting a demon in return.

Sheemzher's wife hadn't been exchanged for a demon, she'd been merged with a bug and transformed into one of the long-limbed swordswingers. The nightmare with worms on his face was the Beast Lord. Tiep imagined the look on Druhallen's face when he-the street rat with worse-than-no magic talent-told him how he'd figured out what was going on underneath Dekanter.

Then, like a cold breeze on a hot day, Tiep recalled that his foster father was trapped in the egg chamber. The breeze became a blizzard. If Tiep was right about the egg chamber and the egg, then that naked, just-hatched creature standing in front of the nightmare could be all that was left of Druhallen.

Come closer. Come closer. Share. Feed. Open your mind A thought that was not his own rode the whistling sound into Tiep's mind. The Beast Lord's tentacles lost none of their horrific qualities but, suddenly, Tiep wanted to be near them, to feel them against his skin, to offer up his paltry thoughts and emotions to a superior mind for its amusement, its pleasure.

Tiep was not alone in striding forward. All of the slaves did, and the swordswingers… and Rozt'a. He wasn't alone until he fought the compulsion and threw it out of his mind. The whistling went away, too, and Tiep swore to himself that he'd never again complain about the way magic didn't work around him. Then he reached out to stop Rozt'a from taking another step toward the nightmare.

Rozt'a fought him more vigorously than she'd fought him at the egg-chamber wall, and for no good reason. Desperate to avoid attention, Tiep punched her on the chin. Striking his foster mother was one of the harder things Tiep had done, good cause or bad, but it broke the Beast Lord's hold over her. Rozt'a was herself again-the remote, passive self she'd been since they'd found a solid granite wall between them and the egg.

Unless the Beast Lord had walked through stone, Tiep was sure the other egg-chamber tunnel was somewhere-not far-to his right. More than anything in the world, he wanted to find that tunnel and get back to the egg chamber. He was gathering his courage for a walk along the pool chamber wall when Rozt'a succumbed to the Beast Lord's compulsion for a second time. This time a hug, rather than a punch, was sufficient to keep her beside him in the dead-end tunnel, but the moment Tiep released her, she surged again.

Body contact with a body unaffected by the compulsion was apparently sufficient to keep Rozt'a free from the Beast Lord's compulsion but holding hands wasn't enough contact. Tiep draped his arm around her shoulder and kept it there as he weighed the risks of leaving the dead-end tunnel.

On the up side-the Beast Lord had his worshipers' complete attention, which meant no one was paying any attention to the chamber walls. Rocks had toppled since the whistling began and not drawn a sideways glance from the Beast Lord or his swaying congregation. On the down side-if Rozt'a slipped back into the Beast Lord's power or his own immunity weakened…

The down side won.

Tiep stayed put and watched the newly hatched swordswinger enter the green-glowing pool. The enslaved goblins joined hands in a circle around the pool. They blocked Tiep's view; he took that as a sign that Tymora hadn't abandoned him. His confidence rebounded-he and Rozt'a could wait. The pool chamber had been empty when they first arrived; it would become empty again.

He hoped.

Rozt'a leaned against him. She shuddered every few minutes. At first, Tiep thought that was the Beast Lord trying to get into her mind, then he noticed that his shirt was damp and he realized that she was sobbing. He'd be sobbing, too, if he let himself think about what had happened or what likely lay ahead, so he remembered the good times.

There had been good times in Tiep's life, but not many that didn't involve Galimer, Druhallen, or Rozt'a. He felt tears brewing and tried to think of nothing at all.

Time passed-more than a few minutes, less than an hour. The pool-side ritual showed no sign of ending: The goblins were still in a ring, and all the swordswingers were in the water. The Beast Lord was going from goblin to goblin, massaging their scalps with his tentacles. Tiep could watch now, he was beyond nausea.

A rock shifted to the right of their tunnel. Tiep thought nothing of it; other rocks had shifted. It would be a while before the chamber completely recovered from the shaking it had received when the egg hatched out a swordswinger.

Another rock moved and Tiep heard a sound that could have been a boot crunching over gravel. All the sounds had come from the right side. He tightened his hold on Rozt'a. He saw a shadow, then a silhouette.

It was tall enough, but the shape was wrong-headless and hunch-backed. It stopped in front of the tunnel… turned. It was lop-sided now, and maybe it did have a head… maybe it was carrying something over its shoulder.

"Dru?" Tiep called in a voice not loud enough to reach his fingertips. "Dru?" he called, a bit louder.

"Tiep? Is that you, Tiep?"

Dru came down the tunnel. Tiep got Rozt'a on her feet and they met him halfway. The lump on Dru's shoulder was the goblin, who wasn't moving and might have been dead for all Tiep knew or cared.

There was safety in his foster father's embrace, and not merely because they'd found each other. Druhallen hadn't merely thrown off the Beast Lord's compulsion the way Tiep had. Being a wizard, Druhallen kept the Beast Lord at an arm's length-at two arms' lengths. As soon as they'd entered Dru's shadow, Tiep felt the pressure ease in his mind. By the time they were touching each other, Rozt'a stood tall without any help from him, though maybe magic had nothing to do with that.

"What happened?" Tiep whispered. "Did you get the scroll?"

"Later. We've got to get out of here while the Beast Lord's distracted."

So much for impressing Druhallen with his cleverness.

Dru wasn't worried about being seen or heard as they escaped from the pool chamber. Speed was more important, and keeping a hold of Rozt'a.

"You can take care of yourself, can't you?" Dru asked.

Tiep straightened proudly. "Sure I can."

"Good. Stay close and be ready to grab Rozt'a if she breaks away. She's got no defense except what you or I can share with her. I'll whisk up some light as soon as we're out of range."

Out of range was farther into the escape tunnel than any of them would have liked. Rock fall cluttered the path. They couldn't move fast, or quiet, and there were no guarantees that the Beast Lord had called all his swordswingers to the pool chamber. Dru was in command of their path and pace. He said he remembered the way, but there was a danger they'd miss an intersection in the dark. Tiep was relieved when Dru finally cast his light spell. Not only did that mean that they were beyond the Beast Lord's compulsion, but they could see fallen rocks and the intersections, too.

They got more good news when they returned to the spot where they'd battled and blasted the Beast Lord's swordswingers. The corpses were untouched.

"No one's come back for their dead," Rozt'a said. Her voice was shaky, but her mind was working again. "That means the ones that ran off haven't reported yet and there've been no other patrols."

A fighter's morale, she said, depended in part on his confidence that he'd be given an appropriate funeral before his death was avenged. She seemed to think the Beast Lord cared about morale; she didn't remember anything that had happened after they'd found the granite wall. Tiep whispered and told her what she'd missed without going too deeply into the details.

"It's all a blank," she shrugged. "I remember hitting that rock until I saw stars, then nothing but a slice of empty in my memory. Damn strangest thing that's ever happened to me."

Privately, Tiep thought it was lucky more than strange, but neither he nor Dru said anything. And the goblin was still unconscious over Dru's shoulders.

"The little fellow knew what was happening, I think," Dru explained in a soft voice as they walked away from the swordswinger corpses. "I told him to jump, that we'd come back for it, but he knew a goblin was going to die, one way or another. He wasn't coming down without the scroll. He had both hands on it and was pulling for all he was worth when it came alive like a bolt of lightning and threw him against the wall. He started to come around once, when the Beast Lord was loading the athanor. I had to hit him pretty hard to keep him quiet."

Tiep was unimpressed. "You should've left him behind and come with us."

Dru replied with a sigh, nothing more.

"At least you got the scroll," Rozt'a added.

"No. We hid while the Beast Lord was loading up the athanor. I was pretty sure it couldn't see us as long as we did nothing to attract its attention. Things got pretty wild after it left and the transmutation was underway. I saw some things I'll never be able to explain and I think I lost a few slices of time myself-I never saw the scroll vanish, but when everything was done and over, there wasn't anything that I could see sticking out the top of that athanor.

"Something went wrong-you probably figured that much yourselves. The Beast Lord was a long time coming back into the chamber; I was starting to think maybe I was trapped in there. Mystra's mercy-I was starting to think that if I did get one of those doors open I'd find myself in the Outer Planes! It was just luck that I hadn't tried picking the locks on the athanor when the upper door finally cranked open. The Beast Lord had a hard time getting its newest swordswinger up and moving."

They'd come up to another intersection, which Dru had to study before leading them straight ahead. He forgot that he'd left his story unfinished.

Tiep wanted to hear the rest. "So the goblin made the scroll disappear. Then what happened?" He got another sigh for an answer. "What now? What did I say this time? He loosened it, didn't he? And that wrecked the magic, right? And now it's gone. Bully for Sheemzher-he didn't save a goblin or one of the damned bugs, and if it's really gone, how're we going to get Galimer back?"

Dru walked a little faster.

"Druhallen!" Rozt'a called sharply. "He's made a good point-what are we going to do?"

"Yeah, that's all I want to know. I don't care about the goblin."

"We'll go back. It's there. The scroll's still there. I can sense it-see its shadow when I look for magic. It's been displaced in time."

Feeling bold after Rozt'a's support, Tiep asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've heard the expression: He got kicked into the middle of the next tenday? Well, that's where the scroll is. Not as far as the middle of next tenday, though, maybe midnight, or dawn. It's already drifting backward. The Beast Lord wasn't surprised that it was missing. Maybe the scroll gets displaced every time it uses the athanor."

"You keep saying 'it,' Dru," Rozt'a said as soon as he'd finished talking. "Isn't the Beast Lord a he? Wyndyfarh said 'he.'"

"The Beast Lord's some sort of mind flayer, Rozt'a."

Tiep had heard of mind flayers before, but not from any of his foster parents. His mates in the Berdusk alleys used to whisper about mind flayers every time someone disappeared. As if it took big scary monsters to make a kid vanish from the streets.

"What sort of mind flayer?" Rozt'a asked in a serious voice.

"I wish I knew. The pieces don't fit together-it's alone, renegade, and using magic. The one thing I'm sure I do know about mind flayers is they don't touch magic. I'd almost pay good money to see Amarandaris's face when he realizes he's not dealing with a minor beholder."

"Is that what the Zhentarim think they've been trading with?" Rozt'a shuddered. "I'd rather take my chances with a beholder. What about Lady Wyndyfarh. She said the Beast Lord was a nuisance. What do you suppose she thought he-it-is?"

"That's just the question I want to ask Sheemzher here when we bring him around."

Tiep was satisfied. The dog-face didn't have a prayer if he'd crossed Dru. There were some nasty spells written inside Dru's wooden box, spells he never memorized unless he had to. Galimer once said that Dru could make the dead sit up and answer questions. He could unravel a goblin's secrets without half trying.

Of course, Sheemzher was sitting on a few secrets Tiep didn't particularly want Dru or Rozt'a to hear, which meant Tiep was in favor of necromancy. According to common wisdom-the only sort of wisdom Tiep laid claim to-dead folk answered only the questions they were asked. If the goblin were dead and Dru didn't get around to asking, specifically, What do you know about Tiep and Zhentarim? then Tiep's secrets were safe.

Not that Tiep, himself, didn't want to know how the goblin knew the Network had its hooks in his hide.

Damn Sememmon, anyway. Why couldn't the Dark Lord just have killed him when he'd made his one, admittedly huge, mistake on the streets of Scornubel three winters ago? But no-o-o-o, Sememmon had led Tiep back to a warm, comfortable room and offered him dark red wine-which Tiep prudently hadn't touched.

You've got a talent, boy, that deep, silky voice had purred. It would be a shame to waste such a talent. I could use that talent; and then I might forget how I discovered it.

Tiep had cut his teeth in the streets. He'd had no illusions about Sememmon's offer but he'd kept his pride and his honor. He'd told the Dark Lord that if the Zhentarim wanted him to betray his foster parents-if they wanted to use him to put pressure on his foster parents, then Lord Sememmon should kill him where he stood, because he'd never do it.

Sememmon had listened, smiled, and said: I don't want you to betray your foster parents, Tiep-and I warn you, the day you betray them will be your last. From time to time, the Zhentarim have need of men and women whose hearts are good and who do not know our faces. Druhallen of Sunderath, Galimer Longfingers, and the woman who calls herself Florozt'a are such folk, but you're not like them, are you, Tiep?

Tiep wasn't. He'd never been, never would be, and he did "favors" for Sememmon. Not many. Not often. And never anything that he wouldn't have done on his own. He'd never drawn blood, directly or indirectly-at least as far as he knew. He'd been offered rewards for his services-which he hadn't taken. Sememmon's memory of a midnight indiscretion on the Scornubel streets remained as sharp as ever.

The Dark Lord would never forget that night. Tiep had understood that much after he'd completed his first "favor" a week after that first meeting. He'd been too ashamed to tell Dru, Galimer, or Rozt'a what had happened. The shame had only grown as the months passed and he'd continued to do Darkhold's bidding-the last time in Parnast. He hadn't stolen the myrrh; he'd won that exactly the way he'd claimed. He hadn't stolen anything in Parnast.

The second night of the dust storm, when he'd been heading home from Manya's, Zhentarim henchmen had accosted Tiep and marched him upstairs above the charterhouse. Amarandaris gave him a sealed blue bottle-the kind ladies used for their perfumes-and instructions to put it in a certain saddle bag at a certain time. Tiep hadn't asked questions and he hadn't gone back for his reward, either. He'd been careful-doubly, triply careful the way he'd learned to be when he was doing Zhentarim "favors."

Tiep wasn't worried about getting caught by any town or guild's law. He worried about his foster parents finding out that he'd fallen deeper than they imagined possible.

Gods! In Weathercote, when Dru and Rozt'a had blamed him for Galimer's imprisonment and he'd thought they were going to turn their backs on him right there, it had almost been a relief. Tiep wasn't ashamed of stealing the lady's amber in Weathercote, or even of smashing her bug.

Sheemzher had set them all up and tricked him specifically. The goblin could die right now and Tiep would dance a jig on his grave.

But somehow Sheemzher had known about him and the Black Network.

"I don't know, Dru," he said, trying desperately to sound like Galimer. "Sheemzher's spent a lot of time with that bug lady. She's probably tangled up his mind. It's not his fault; he's just a goblin, but you can't trust anything that he says. I don't think it would be worth asking him. His answers would only make you mad and crazy."