Waterdeep

16 Myrkul

“No!” Kelemvor hissed. He took the tablet off the floor and put it on the table. “Here’s your tablet. Take it and get the other one yourself!”

“This discussion does not concern you, Kelemvor,” Blackstaff retorted. He was not accustomed to being addressed so sharply, especially by mercenary warriors.

“That’s right, not anymore. And it doesn’t concern Midnight, either.”

Blackstaff scowled and started to suggest Kelemvor was a coward, but Elminster stepped between the two men. Frowning at Blackstaff, the sage said, “Calm down. We can discuss this like gentlemen, can we not?”

Blackstaff’s scowl changed to an embarrassed grimace. Elminster’s comment was directed primarily at him, and he knew his friend was right. The young wizard should have enough self-control so that a stubborn warrior did not irritate him. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “The stress is telling, I’m afraid.”

Kelemvor also relaxed, but did not apologize.

They were in Durnan’s office in the Yawning Portal. Midnight lay on the couch, where she had collapsed into a deep sleep. Her black hair was as coarse and as stiff as a horse’s tail. Her complexion had faded to the color of ash, and her red-rimmed eyes were sunk deep into their sockets.

The Realm of the Dead had taken its toll on her. Kelemvor could not bear to see her join another battle, which was what Elminster and Blackstaff proposed. “She braved Myrkul’s city,” the fighter said. “Hasn’t she done her part?”

“Others have also sacrificed,” Blackstaff retorted. “Ylarell was a fine man.”

Kelemvor did not know how to respond. When he and his five companions had returned to Durnan’s tavern, a member of the city watch had been waiting with bad news. After lowering Midnight’s rescue party into the well, Ylarell had taken a group of men to find the undead Kelemvor had described. The patrol had tracked the walking corpses into the foul-smelling tunnels that carried away Waterdeep’s offal and refuse.

The undead had ambushed the patrol two hours later. Ylarell and his company had been winning the battle until an evil-looking human appeared and used magical poison to aid the zombies. Only one guard had survived, and only because he had remained unobserved. The watch commander knew of Blackstaff’s interest in the zombies, and had elected to send no more men into the tunnels until he spoke with the wizard.

Connecting what Midnight had learned from Bhaal with some of his own research, Elminster had suggested that the man who had aided the zombies was Myrkul. Now, the ancient sage and Blackstaff wanted to use Midnight and the tablet to bait a trap for the Lord of the Dead.

Kelemvor thought his lover had done enough. More importantly, he doubted she had the strength to face Myrkul. “She’s too weak,” he said, kneeling at her side.

“Weak as she is,” Elminster replied patiently, pointing a gnarled finger at the female mage, “she wields more power than Blackstaff and I together.”

“No!” Kelemvor said, standing.

“The decision is hers,” Durnan said. He sat slumped in a chair behind his desk, a mug of ale in his hand. “In Waterdeep, no man speaks for a woman unless she asks him to.”

“You’ll take her over my dead body,” Kelemvor snapped, putting himself between Midnight and the others. “Or not at all.”

Midnight opened her eyes and reached for the fighter’s hand. “Kel, they’re right. I must go on.”

“But look at you!” the warrior protested, kneeling at her side. “You’re exhausted!”

“I’ll be fine after I rest.”

“You can hardly stand,” Kelemvor said, running his hand over her dry hair. “How can you fight Myrkul?”

Elminster laid a wrinkled hand on Kelemvor’s shoulder. “Because she must—or the whole world might perish.”

Kelemvor dropped his head and stared at the floor. Finally, he looked at Elminster and said, “Can you explain this to me? Why must Midnight draw Myrkul out? Why do we need the other tablet?”

Blackstaff snapped, “Elminster doesn’t need to explain himself to the likes of—”

The ancient sage raised a hand to silence the bearded wizard. “He has a right to know,” Elminster said.

“While ye and thy friends have labored to retrieve the tablets, this is what I have learned.” The sage motioned at the air above the table. “Out of the mists at the beginning of time there came a will who called itself Ao. Ao wished to create an order.” Elminster flicked his fingers and a golden scale hung in the air. “He balanced the forces of chaos and order, spending the first eons of his life cataloguing and setting them into opposition.”

Dozens of lumps of coal appeared and settled onto the scale’s dishes. “By the time he completed his task, the universe had grown too vast and intricate for even Ao to watch over.” The scale wobbled and spilled the coal.

“So Ao created the gods.” The chunks of coal compressed into glittering diamonds, each with the symbol of a god etched upon it. “To preserve the order, he assigned each god certain duties and powers.” The diamonds returned to the dishes and the scales again hung balanced.

“Unfortunately, so he would not need to watch over them constantly, Ao created the gods with free wills. But with free will came ambition and greed, and the gods were soon struggling to increase their power at each other’s expense.”

The diamonds started moving from one dish to another, again unbalancing the scales. “Ao could not stop the struggle without eliminating the gods’ free will, so he began to oversee the transfer of powers and duties.” In an even stream, the diamonds began moving from one dish to another. The scales steadied.

“And he created the Tablets of Fate to reflect the powers and duties of each god. Now the gods could exercise their ambition, yet the tablets would allow Ao to be sure the Balance was always maintained. But Myrkul and Bane were more concerned with their own aspirations than the Balance.”

Two dark-colored diamonds left the dishes and circled the scales in crazy, erratic patterns. “So they took the tablets and hid them away, intending to steal as much power as possible during the confusion that followed.”

All the diamonds bounced out of the dishes and whirled about the room. The scales spun and jerked wildly, until at last they overturned and crashed to the table. “In anger, Ao cast all the gods from the Planes, sparing only Helm. To the God of Guardians, Ao assigned the task of keeping the other gods out of the Planes.

“Without the gods to exercise their powers and perform their duties, the Realms began slipping into chaos.” The diamonds rained down on the table. “Unless we recover the tablets and return them,” Elminster concluded, “the Realms will perish.” A bright flash filled the room, then the scales and the diamonds disappeared in wisps of smoke.

Kelemvor could not argue with Elminster’s conclusion. Somebody had to return the tablets. But he still did not see why it had to be Midnight.

Before the fighter could voice his thoughts, though, Durnan set his mug aside and spoke. “It seems everybody—gods and mortals alike—should want the same thing: to return the tablets to Ao. I shudder to say this, and I only bring it up to be sure you’ve considered the possibility, but would it matter if Myrkul returned the tablets?”

“Very much!” Midnight snapped, rising to her feet. Durnan’s suggestion appalled her. She had not endured Bhaal’s touch, watched Adon die, and braved the Realm of the Dead in order to let the Lord of Decay prevail. “Ao will look favorably upon whoever returns the tablets. Allowing Myrkul that privilege would be worse for the Realms than not returning the tablets at all. Can you imagine a world where the Lord of Decay is favored?”

“Besides,” Kelemvor added, “if Myrkul stole the tablets in the first place, I doubt he would return them now.”

“True,” Blackstaff concurred, surprised to find himself in agreement with the warrior. “He’d be afraid Ao would punish him for his theft.”

“We have no choice,” Elminster said, laying both hands on the tablet. “We must recover the other tablet from Myrkul.”

“But why does Midnight have to do it?” Kelemvor asked. He looked from Elminster to Blackstaff. “Why can’t you two do it? After all, you’re supposed to be great mages.”

“We are,” Blackstaff said defensively. “But not great enough to kill Myrkul.”

“Kill Myrkul! You’re mad!” Kelemvor yelled.

“No,” Blackstaff replied, meeting the warrior’s heated gaze with a calm demeanor. “Midnight can do it. Shortly before the Arrival, I lost much of my control over magic, as did all mages. But, unlike clerics, our powers did not fade at the moment of the fall or perish entirely. We could see no reason for this. So, while Elminster was investigating what had happened to the gods, I was trying to find out what had happened to magic.”

“What did you find out?” Durnan asked, for the first time sitting up straight.

“He discovered that I was in contact with Mystra just before Ao banished the gods,” Midnight said. “She gave part of her power to me.”

“Correct,” Blackstaff replied. “Somehow, Mystra learned of Ao’s anger before he exiled the gods. Perhaps Helm warned her, for it’s rumored that they were lovers. Be that as it may, Mystra entrusted part of her powers to Midnight, intending to recover that part when she entered our world.”

Midnight sighed, “Unfortunately, Bane captured the Lady of Mysteries when she arrived. Kelemvor, Adon, and I had to rescue her.” Midnight left out Cyric’s name, for she did not care to remember she had called the thief a friend. “While captive, Mystra learned that Bane and Myrkul had stolen the tablets. She tried to return to the Planes to tell Ao, but Helm destroyed her when she tried to fight past him. Her last act was to invest her powers in me so that I could recover the tablets.”

“And that’s why Midnight must be the one who confronts Myrkul,” Blackstaff said, laying a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “She’s the only one who can defeat him.”

Kelemvor did not bother to object. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, the warrior saw that Midnight was the one who had to confront the Lord of the Dead.

But he still disliked the idea of using her as bait. She would have a better chance of surviving if they attacked Myrkul, instead of allowing the Lord of the Dead to surprise them. “If we must fight Old Lord Skull,” he said, “then let us do it on our terms, not his. Maybe we can catch him unprepared.”

“Carry the battle to his ground?” Blackstaff asked.

Kelemvor nodded.

“I approve,” Elminster said, smiling. “Myrkul will not expect it. The survivor from Ylarell’s patrol shall lead us to his lair.”

“If that’s what Kelemvor thinks is wise, then that’s what I’ll do,” Midnight told them, smiling at the warrior. “But first, I must rest.”

“Then I suggest we go to my tower and see if we can’t dispel the magic on this,” Blackstaff said, picking up the tablet. “If we intend to surprise Myrkul, we can’t have his wards detailing our moves for him.” He led the way out of the Yawning Portal.

As they stepped into the street, Midnight paused to look at the sky. It was a sickly green instead of blue, and the sun was purple instead of yellow, but she did not care. After enduring the white sky of the Fugue Plain and the drab gray of Myrkul’s city, she was just glad to have a sun and sky over her head.

Then she noticed a ribbon of scintillating colors descending from the heavens to the summit of Mount Waterdeep. It was too distant for her to see details, but she suspected it was a Celestial Stairway.

“Don’t stare,” Elminster whispered. “Most people cannot see it. They will think ye’ve gone daft.”

“I don’t care,” Midnight said. Still, she tore her gaze from the stairway and followed him down the street.

They had not taken more than a dozen steps before flapping wings startled Kelemvor. The fighter spun around and came nose to beak with a crow on Blackstaff’s shoulder. The bird’s left leg had been neatly splinted.

The crow screeched in alarm and pecked at Kelemvor, who barely managed to raise an arm and save his eye.

“Leave me alone, dung-eater!” Kelemvor flailed and came away with a handful of feathers.

The crow squawked, then fluttered to Blackstaff’s other shoulder. Peering nervously around the wizard’s head, the crow croaked what sounded like a sentence.

“Do you know this avian messenger?” Blackstaff asked Kelemvor.

“As well as any man can know the worm that would eat his corpse,” Kelemvor responded, glaring at the bird.

“Crow apologizes,” Blackstaff said.

When Kelemvor made no move to accept the apology, the bird squawked twice more.

“He says you’d have done the same thing if you were hungry.”

“I don’t eat crows,” Kelemvor replied. “And I don’t talk to them, either.” He turned away and started for Blackstaff’s tower.

Fifteen feet below Kelemvor, in the dark sewer under Rainrun Street, Myrkul suddenly stopped moving. Behind him, twelve zombies also halted, though fetid water continued to slosh around their legs.

“The tablet’s in the street, my friends,” the Lord of the Dead whispered, as if the zombies actually cared what he was saying. None of his worshipers were with him. Over the past few weeks, the Lord of the Dead had sacrificed his entire Waterdeep sect to provide energy for his magic.

Myrkul stared at the ceiling of the dark passage and absent-mindedly touched the saddlebags slung over his shoulder. The saddlebags contained one of the Tablets of Fate—the one his zombies had stolen at Dragonspear Castle.

An hour and a half ago, via the locate object spell he had placed on it, Myrkul had sensed that Midnight had brought the other one to Waterdeep. Immediately, he had set out after the mage, intending to recover the tablet before assuming leadership of the host of denizens he expected to besiege the city at any moment.

But things had not proceeded according to plan. It had taken him far longer than expected to lead his zombies through the labyrinth of Waterdeep’s sewers. Now that he had finally arrived, the tablet was being moved. His original intention had been to attack while the tablet was inside a building, where the battle would not be observed by the city watch.

He did not think it would be wise to alter his plan and attack in the streets. Already, he had destroyed one patrol, and the watch commanders would soon grow curious about what had happened to it. Tangling with another did not seem smart, at least not until his denizens gave the commanders something else to worry about.

Unfortunately, something was wrong. The denizens should have arrived right on the heels of the woman. But it was evident that she had spoiled his plan and prevented his subjects—and all the spirits of the dead—from following her to Waterdeep.

Just then, Myrkul sensed that the tablet was moving again. “Let’s see where they are taking this tablet,” he said to nobody in particular. “Then we will decide what to do.” The Lord of the Dead turned and started sloshing back the way he had come.

A hundred feet down the tunnel, Cyric heard the zombies reverse direction and cursed under his breath. He had been in the absolute darkness and stinking water of the tunnels for half a day, following the zombies and their master. His nerves were beginning to feel the effect of close call after close call.

Once, right after he’d entered the sewers, he had come close to stealing the tablet. The zombies had attacked a watch patrol. By the light of the patrol’s torches, the thief had seen the tablet slip into the rank water when a watchman had hacked an arm off the zombie carrying the saddlebags. Cyric had ducked beneath the surface and swam through a jungle of legs after it. Two hands had snatched the saddlebags away just as he reached it.

The thief had drawn his sword and surfaced with the idea of attacking whoever had the tablet, but had seen Myrkul casting a spell, then smelled a caustic odor. He had ducked back beneath the water and swam away while a cloud of poison killed the patrol. Since then, Cyric had been following the Lord of the Dead through the sewers, waiting for another opportunity to take the tablet.

As he heard the zombies come closer, Cyric moved up the tunnel ahead of them until his hand touched one of the intermittent ladders that led up to an access hole. The thief climbed up the ladder and remained perfectly motionless as the zombies passed beneath him. He did not come down until the sound of sloshing was a hundred feet away.

Unaware that he was being followed, Myrkul concentrated solely on maintaining contact with the tablet. He followed it through a twisting maze of sewer tunnels. Sometimes he had to pause while Midnight and her company passed through a tangle of streets and followed no direction in particular. Sometimes he had to backtrack when the tunnels took an unexpected turn.

Eventually, however, the tablet stopped moving, and Myrkul was satisfied it had reached its destination. He went down the tunnel to an access ladder, then climbed up and raised the iron cover just enough to see the building into which his enemies had gone.

It was a large tower with no windows or doors—one that had come to his attention in the past. The tower belonged to Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun, one of Waterdeep’s most powerful mages.

Myrkul descended back into the cloaca. “We will leave the tablet with Blackstaff for now,” he said to his uncaring zombies. “Recovering it would draw attention to us, wouldn’t it?” He paused and smiled a rictus grin. “We’ll go to the Pool of Loss now, and see what is keeping my denizens. Then, perhaps, we’ll worry about the other tablet.” The Lord of the Dead turned and led his zombies into the darkness.

A few moments later, when he was confident Myrkul would not see him, Cyric climbed the ladder and looked at Blackstaff’s tower. At least one being in the tunnel had been paying attention to Myrkul’s words.

The thunder of five hundred hobnailed boots on cobblestone ended a slumber as deep and as restful as any Midnight could recall. She rolled over and buried her face in the feather bed, cursing the city for its noise. An officer barked an order and the soldiers rumbled to a stop outside her window.

Her dim room suddenly seemed as quiet as a graveyard. The silence woke her more fully and quickly than any clamor. At once both curious and frightened, Midnight leaped from her bed and threw her cloak over her shoulders.

At the base of Blackstaff’s tower, a voice asked, “Whom may I say is calling?”

“Mordoc Torsilley, Captain of the Company of the White Wyvern, of the City Guard of Waterdeep, for Khelben ‘Blackstaff’ Arunsun. And be quick about it!”

Midnight threw open her window shutter, which was magically hidden to people on the street. In the courtyard below, over two hundred troops stood at strict attention. Their commander was facing the blank wall at the base of Blackstaff’s tower. Each man wore black scale mail embossed with an upturned crescent moon of gold encircled in nine silver stars. The entire company was fully armed, with halberds in hand and daggers and bastard swords on their belts.

Though all of them kept their attention fixed directly ahead, their faces were far from expressionless. The older men had the grim look of veterans returning to battle, while the younger men could barely keep themselves from trembling.

Midnight’s door opened and Kelemvor rushed into the room.

“What’s happening?” the raven-haired mage asked.

“I don’t know,” Kelemvor replied, leaning out her window to study the troops. Though he was no longer a soldier and had no desire to become one again, his heart stirred at the spectacle of a company fully dressed and ready for battle.

“How long have I been asleep?” she asked, hoping the answer would give her some clue as to the excitement’s cause.

“Six hours,” Kelemvor said, without turning away from the troops. He had seen the look in their eyes many times before, and he knew what it meant. “They’re off to battle,” the fighter noted. “And they don’t think they’re coming back.”

He turned and limped toward the stairs. Blackstaff’s restorative had worn off, and the warrior’s feet still suffered the effects of having been frostbitten. “We’d better see what’s happening.”

Midnight followed him down three flights of stairs to the anteroom on the ground floor. Blackstaff and Elminster were already there, Elminster holding the tablet beneath his arm. Both men looked as though they had not rested in more than a day. While Midnight had slept, the two wizards had been laboring to remove Myrkul’s magic from the tablet. She wondered if they had succeeded.

Mordoc Torsilley, commander of the White Wyvern, was just unrolling a long scroll. He addressed Blackstaff. “Are you Khelben ‘Blackstaff’ Arunsun?” he asked.

“You know who I am,” Blackstaff answered. “We’ve met many times.”

Mordoc looked up from the scroll apologetically. “This is official business, Your Splendidness.” He began to read from the scroll, “For the good of all citizens of Waterdeep, and in order to defend the city from its enemies, Khelben ‘Blackstaff’ Arunsun is hereby commanded—”

“Commanded!” Blackstaff snorted, insulted that anyone would dare use such a term to him. He ripped the scroll out of Mordoc’s hands and read the rest silently. Finally, he asked, “I am to take command of the Wyvern Company?”

“Aye, that would be the long and short of it,” Mordoc replied, hastily adding, “sir!”

“Incredible,” Blackstaff muttered. “I’m no general.”

“And our enemy is no army,” Mordoc replied.

“What is it then?” Elminster said, irritated at the intrusion.

“And be quick about it. We have important business to attend to.”

“As near as we can tell, sir, they—”

“Who?” Blackstaff demanded. “What is it you want?”

“Fiends, sir. Hundreds of ’em, and their number is increasing all the time. They came from the caverns beneath Mount Waterdeep, then started pillaging the city. They’ve got everything from Harborwatch Tower to Snail Street—that’s most of the Dock Ward. We’ve slowed them down, but that’s about all. And the griffons are taking a beating from the ones that can fly. Before long, they’ll have all of Waterdeep—unless you can stop them.”

“The denizens,” Midnight gasped. “They escaped the Pool of Loss.”

“So it would appear,” Elminster replied, scratching his beard. He immediately realized that Myrkul was the only one who could have countered Midnight’s spell. But he did not understand why the Lord of the Dead would have bothered. Even for the God of Decay, destroying Midnight’s sphere would have been far from easy. Elminster did not see why Myrkul would waste the energy, when he undoubtedly knew what he wanted was in Blackstaff’s tower. The old sage and Blackstaff had been unable to dispel the magic the Lord of the Dead had placed on the artifact.

“We’d better act quickly,” Blackstaff said to Elminster. At the same time, he thrust the scroll back at the captain.

“The men are outside, sir,” Mordoc said, assuming the black-bearded wizard had been talking to him.

“Men?” Blackstaff retorted. “Take them and begone. I have important matters to attend to.”

Mordoc frowned and reached into his cloak. He looked as though he were a dog that had just been kicked, and with good reason. It was not safe to be the one who told Blackstaff Arunsun he had to do something against his will.

Mordoc withdrew a ring, then handed it to Blackstaff. “Sir, the warden of the guard ordered me to give you this.”

Blackstaff reluctantly accepted the ring. It belonged to Piergeiron the Paladinson, the only acknowledged Lord of Waterdeep, Warden of the Guard, Commander of the Watch, Overmaster of the Guilds—and a dozen other titles. Blackstaff sighed and slipped the ring onto his finger. He had been summoned to serve his city. If he did not answer Piergeiron’s call, he would lose his citizenship. Turning to Elminster, he said, “I have no choice.”

Elminster nodded. “Go. It will be better if somebody keeps the denizens at bay. Undoubtedly, they’re coming for the tablet.”

“You know where to hide it?” Blackstaff asked.

Elminster nodded. “Aye, the vault. Now go.”

Before leaving, the dark-haired mage turned to Midnight and Kelemvor. “If you need anything—”

“A dagger,” Midnight requested immediately, recalling that hers had melted in the caverns below Dragonspear Castle.

Blackstaff nodded. “Elminster can get it for you.” He turned and walked through the wall, saying, “Perhaps this will take only a little while.”

“Perhaps,” Elminster repeated absently. After Blackstaff left, he remained silent for a long time, puzzling over why Myrkul had released the denizens.

Finally, Midnight ventured to ask, “What now?”

Her question snapped Elminster out of his musings. “Yes—what now? We hide the tablet, I suppose.”

“Why?” Kelemvor exclaimed. “I thought we were going to attack Myrkul!”

“The situation has changed,” the old sage said. “It appears he is coming to us.”

“Which is why we should attack” the fighter maintained. “It’s the last thing he’ll expect.”

“True,” Elminster noted thoughtfully. He liked Kelemvor’s aggressive strategy, but suspected the warrior had not thought through the details of his plan. “How are we going to sneak up on our enemy when he can track us by our tablet?”

Kelemvor remained confident. “We leave it here, so he thinks we’re still in the tower.”

“Leave the tablet unguarded?” Elminster objected.

“Why not?” Kelemvor said. “If we defeat Myrkul, we’ll be the only ones who know where it is. If Myrkul kills us, at least he’ll have to steal it from Blackstaff’s tower.”

“And how are we going to find Myrkul?” Elminster asked, drumming his bony fingers on a tabletop.

“The same way he’s finding us,” Midnight replied. “I can locate his tablet as easily as he can locate ours.”

Elminster shook his head doubtfully. “Ye know how unpredictable magic—”

“We’re fighting for the fate of the Realms,” the warrior said forcefully. “We’ll have to run a few risks.”

“I think we should carry the fight to Myrkul, too,” Midnight said. “I, for one, am tired of running. Will you come with us or not, Elminster?”

Elminster raised his eyebrows at Midnight’s gentle rebuff. She had just taken leadership of this small company, but that was to be expected. “Of course I’ll come,” the sage replied. “Ye are going to need all the help ye can get.”

Elminster went to the library and took the tablet into Blackstaff’s sub-dimensional vault, where he also retrieved a dagger for Midnight. To the sage’s consternation, he could not seal the room when he left. After a couple of quick experiments, the ancient wizard determined the door simply could not be closed while the tablet was inside. Myrkul’s magic kept it open, in effect raising the sub-dimensional vault back into the normal dimension. The only thing guarding the tablet would be an illusion of a wall.

Still, as nervous as that made Elminster, he realized Kelemvor was right about one thing. If they stopped Myrkul, the tablet would be safe anywhere inside Blackstaff’s tower. On the other hand, if Myrkul killed them, it would be better if the tablet was not along. The wizard pushed a bookshelf in front of the vault, then went back downstairs.

While Elminster hid the tablet, Midnight performed her locate object incantation. She nearly went mad as it misfired, flooding her mind with the present location of every item she had ever owned. However, after collapsing in a confused heap for a few minutes, the mage sorted through the jumble of contradictory directions and focused on Myrkul’s tablet.

By the time Elminster returned, she and Kelemvor were ready to go. After accepting Blackstaff’s dagger from the sage, Midnight led the way into the courtyard, a queasy feeling of dread settling in her stomach. Her magic was pulling her south and a little east, the same way a lodestone pulled toward north. She started down Swords Street, brushing past hundreds of people rushing in the opposite direction.

“We’re going toward the battle,” Kelemvor observed, elbowing a path through the mass of refugees. In the distance, columns of smoke rose over the city.

They had not walked more than two hundred feet before Midnight sensed the tablet was now more to the east than the south. She turned onto Keltarn Street and walked down a short block, to where it joined the Street of Silks.

“That’s strange,” she said, pausing at the intersection. “It’s to our north now.”

The mage led her friends up the Street of Silks into another throng of refugees. She feared her magic had become unreliable. Still, the sensation of being pulled toward the tablet was clear and strong, so she continued forward.

Two hundred feet later, Midnight turned west. “The tablet’s over there.” She pointed across a solid block of buildings.

“This way, then,” Kelemvor said, running up the Street of Silks to where Tharleon Street joined it. He turned west down the narrow alley, then waited for Midnight and Elminster to catch up.

“It’s straight ahead,” Midnight said.

They walked down the street until it reached Swords Street again. Blackstaff’s tower stood across the avenue and to the right.

“We’ve made a circle!” Kelemvor observed.

“Perhaps I located the wrong tablet,” Midnight said meekly, trying to sort through the confusion in her mind.

“I don’t think so,” Elminster grumbled. He pointed across the road and to the north, at a figure in a black robe. The man carried saddlebags over his shoulder. He was walking straight toward Blackstaff’s tower, violently pushing aside anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way.

“Myrkul!” Midnight cried.

“Yes,” Elminster replied. “He’s come for the other tablet.”

Kelemvor drew his sword. “And he doesn’t know we’re behind him.” The warrior started across the road.

So she could summon another incantation if needed, Midnight stopped concentrating on the tablet. The three allies crossed the street and moved up behind Myrkul, finally getting a clear shot at his back just as he reached the tower.

Midnight summoned a lightning bolt. “Cover your eyes,” she warned.

The instant Kelemvor and Elminster obeyed, the mage pointed at Myrkul’s back and uttered the words to the incantation. A loud crackle filled the air. A dozen blue streaks leaped off Midnight’s finger and shot into Swords Street, striking buildings and people. Tiny blasts flared wherever the bolts touched, gouging small craters in walls and burning fist-sized holes into bodies.

Myrkul stopped at the tower’s entrance and turned around. He saw Midnight, flanked by Elminster and Kelemvor, staring in horror at the results of her botched incantation. The Lord of the Dead had not expected to find the trio outside the tower, but it did not concern him. He had ways of occupying them while he retrieved the tablet.

Myrkul gestured at the sewer entrance behind Midnight, then entered the tower. A cry of alarm spread up the street. Kelemvor turned in time to see several soggy corpses climb out of the sewer. They wore the same striped robes of the undead that had stolen the tablet at Dragonspear Castle. The skin on their faces was wrinkled and decaying, and their expressions were dull and lethargic.

“Zombies!” the warrior gasped.

“Ignore them!” the ancient wizard yelled. “Into the tower.”

Kelemvor and Elminster ran for the tower. Behind them, they dragged Midnight, who was still dazed and anguished by the destruction her spell had caused. When they reached the tower, Myrkul was nowhere in sight, though the rank odor of sewage still hung in the air.

“Upstairs!” Elminster said. “In the library!”

Kelemvor led the way up the spiraling staircase, advancing slowly and cautiously. Midnight followed, while Elminster came last. The first zombie entered the tower just as the ancient sage stepped onto the stairs.

On the second floor, Elminster told the mage and the warrior to stop outside a closed door. “The tablet’s in there—which means Myrkul is, too,” he explained.

“We can’t use magic,” Midnight whispered. “I’ve already hurt too many people.”

“Nonsense,” Elminster growled. “If we don’t stop Myrkul, the citizens of Waterdeep will be dead anyway.”

“Elminster’s right. Waterdeep’s a battlefield now,” Kelemvor said. “Innocent people are going to die no matter what. The only thing we can do—must do—is win the battle.”

The first zombie appeared around the bend in the staircase. Elminster calmly turned and touched one of the stone stairs, then whispered a complicated chant. Kelemvor moved to meet the advancing zombie, but a stone wall sprang up where the sage had touched the stairs.

“It worked,” Elminster sighed. He turned toward the door. “Be ye ready, Midnight?”

She nodded, but did not speak.

Elminster looked at Kelemvor, and the warrior kicked the door open. Midnight stepped into the room, searching for the dark-robed figure they had seen in the streets.

“There’s nobody in here!” she reported.

Kelemvor and Elminster peered over her shoulder. The library was, indeed, deserted. One bookshelf had been tipped over, revealing a section of blank stone wall.

Elminster cursed, then said, “He’s already got our tablet!”

“There’s only one place he could have gone,” Kelemvor yelled.

“Up!” Elminster confirmed. “Quickly, before he escapes.”

They started up the stairs, pausing to look into the rooms on each floor.

Meanwhile, Myrkul slipped the second tablet into the other side of the saddlebags. Then he slung the bags over his shoulder and stepped out of Blackstaff’s vault into the library.

“Remarkable,” he said, walking over to the stairway and examining Elminster’s wall. “They are hunting me!” He thought for a moment, then added, “We can’t have mortals trying to destroy me, can we?”

Myrkul cast a passwall spell at the stone barrier blocking the stairway. A rectangular section of stone separated itself and began hopping down the stairs as though it were alive.

Myrkul watched the stone crush one of his zombies, then disappear around the bend in the staircase. His spell’s misfire did not concern the Lord of the Dead. He would soon have plenty of undead to call in Waterdeep.

“Up the stairs!” Myrkul said. “Kill the woman and her friends. They’ve caused me too much trouble already.”

As the zombies shuffled past, Myrkul contemplated his next move. He would return to the Pool of Loss to call the spirits of the dead. After harvesting the energy of their souls, he would go to the Celestial Stairway. With luck, Helm would let him pass, for he now possessed both tablets. Then the Lord of the Dead would destroy Ao. Everything was again proceeding according to plan.

On the flat roof atop Blackstaff’s tower, Kelemvor could not believe Myrkul had escaped so easily. “Where is he?” he roared.

Elminster turned to Midnight. “You can’t trace the tablet anymore?”

Midnight tried to reactivate her locate object magic, but it was gone. “I can redo the incantation, but it’ll take a minute,” she replied.

“We don’t have time. Let’s go,” Kelemvor said, rushing back down the stairs. Midnight and Elminster followed.

Ten steps later, the warrior came face to face with Myrkul’s undead. The lead zombie opened a long gash in the warrior’s shoulder. Kelemvor reacted instantly, backing away and countering with a backhanded slash that removed the corpse’s arm. In the same breath, the fighter kicked the thing, knocking it down the stairs and into the zombie behind it. Both corpses fell.

“Run!” Kelemvor screamed.

Elminster took Midnight’s arm and fled back up the stairs. As they retreated, a third zombie climbed over the pile in the stairway. Kelemvor waited for it, then hacked at its neck with two savage slashes. The thing’s head came free with a pop, then dropped to the stairs and rolled away. The body remained standing, flailing its arms.

The two zombies Kelemvor had knocked over regained their feet and pushed past their headless comrade, intent on tearing the warrior to pieces. He backed up the stairs slowly, slashing periodically to stall his attackers.

Outside the trap door leading into the stairwell, Midnight turned to Elminster. “We’ve got to help him,” she cried.

“Kelemvor can take care of himself,” Elminster said. “Let’s use the time he’s buying us. How can we retrieve the tablets?”

Midnight tried to summon some magic that would help, but all she could think of was her lover. Occasionally, the clang of steel on stone or a loud grunt rolled out of the stairway to announce that he still lived. Each time, the sound grew closer, so Midnight knew the sage was right. Kelemvor was buying time and not simply throwing his life away. Still, she could think of nothing but helping him.

Midnight returned to the stairwell.

“Where are you going?” Elminster demanded. “The tablets—think of the Realms!”

“In a minute!” Midnight retorted.

She found Kelemvor staggering up the stairs, covered from head to foot with scratches and small wounds, scarcely beyond the reach of two pursuing zombies. Midnight paused, trying to think of something to halt the corpses.

Kelemvor slipped on a small stone and nearly fell. The rock bounced toward the zombies, and then an incantation came to Midnight. She performed it as quickly as she thought of it, and the stone instantly became a boulder.

It smashed into the first zombie, crushing him. Then it slowed its descent and bounced into the second corpse, knocking it off its feet. The boulder tottered on a stair for a moment, then reversed direction and sluggishly started rolling uphill. It gained momentum steadily, and a moment later the rock was bouncing up the stairs as rapidly as it had started down them.

Midnight pointed at the boulder and screamed, “Look out!”

Kelemvor took two steps, glanced over his shoulder and saw the boulder. He dropped to his belly and it bounced over him. Midnight barely jumped out of the way as the huge rock shot out of the stairwell and arced away into Waterdeep.

The warrior scrambled out of the stairs behind it. He slammed the trap door shut, then hopped on top to prevent the zombies from opening it.

“Perhaps now we can attend to the tablets?” Elminster suggested, tapping his foot impatiently.

Midnight glanced at the stairwell. Kelemvor looked secure enough for the moment. “I have something in mind,” she said. “But I don’t know how much good it will do. I can only grab one of the tablets with the spell, and it won’t stop Myrkul from coming after us.”

“We’ll handle Myrkul when he gets here,” Elminster said. “Right now, our only concern is getting the tablets back.”

Midnight nodded, then closed her eyes, envisioned a tablet, and performed an instant summons incantation.

At the bottom of the tower, Myrkul was about to step into the courtyard when the saddlebags suddenly became unbalanced and slid off his shoulder. He picked them up and looked into the side that had grown lighter. It was empty.

He cursed an oath so profane that even one of his clerics would have winced, then turned and ran back up the stairs.

On top of the tower, Midnight stood staring at the tablet in her hands. Until now, her magic had not fatigued her. But the instant summons was complicated and demanding, and she felt slightly weakened.

“Marvelous,” Elminster said. “Call the other one, and we’ll be on our way.”

“How are we going to get off the roof?” Kelemvor demanded, still standing on the door. The zombies were pressing on the other side, but did not have the leverage to push the fighter off.

“We’ll think of something,” Elminster replied.

Midnight shook her head. “I’m tiring. Even if the incantation doesn’t misfire, I won’t have anything left to fight Myrkul.” She did not doubt the Lord of the Dead was coming at this very moment. “You summon the other Tablet of Fate, Elminster.”

“I can’t,” the sage replied. “I haven’t studied that spell in years. But I can get us off this roof if you get the other tablet.”

The comment reminded Midnight that, as powerful as he was, Elminster still had to study his spells and impress their runes on his mind.

“I’ll try,” Midnight sighed, setting the first tablet down.

She called the instant summons incantation to mind again, then pictured the other tablet and performed it. An instant later, a storm of fist-sized rocks appeared over the tower and pelted the trio mercilessly.

“It failed!” Midnight said, feeling a little dizzy. Her body ached where a dozen stones had hit her, and her muscles burned with fatigue.

The trap door bucked beneath Kelemvor, then it flew open, launching him into the air. He landed six feet away and rolled to his feet, still holding his sword.

A zombie climbed out of the stairwell. Kelemvor charged, cleaving the corpse in two with a slash so vicious he nearly threw himself off his feet.

“Myrkul!” he screamed, staring at a dark-robed man behind his zombies.

Kelemvor’s sword suddenly changed into a huge snake and slithered around his body. The serpent’s scales were covered with a filthy green ooze, and a forked, black tongue flickered from its mouth. Myrkul shrugged. He had intended to heat the sword and burn the warrior’s hands, but he would be just as happy if a snake strangled the man to death.

The serpent wrestled Kelemvor to the floor, then Myrkul sent his remaining zombies out onto the roof. Midnight grabbed her tablet and backed away. Elminster, however, calmly waited for Myrkul’s corpses to leave the stairway. Then he cast a spell he hoped would take them by surprise.

To the sage’s immense relief, a swarm of fiery globes leaped from his hand, each one striking a corpse in the chest. Most of the spheres carried the zombies off the tower roof. Some exploded into miniature fireballs that reduced the corpses to piles of ash and charred bone. In an instant, the meteor swarm had destroyed Myrkul’s protectors.

After hearing Elminster’s voice and seeing the fiery trails streak over the stairwell, Myrkul knew he would have to confront the woman and her friends alone. They had dared to hunt him, and when that failed, they had stolen a tablet off his person. The trio would continue to harass him until he destroyed them. Sighing in exasperation, the Lord of the Dead prepared a defensive spell and climbed out of the stairwell.

Elminster was the first to see Myrkul step onto the roof. Kelemvor was being strangled by the snake, and Midnight, tablet beneath her arm, was rushing to her lover’s aid. The Lord of the Dead wore a black hood pulled over his head. Beneath the hood, he had scaly, wrinkled skin covered with knobby lesions, black, cracked lips, and eyes so sunken that his face looked like a skull. Fiery blue embers burned where his pupils should have been. The saddlebags containing the other tablet were slung over his shoulder.

Elminster began to throw an ice storm at the avatar, but Myrkul lifted a hand and cast the silence spell he had prepared. Everything within five feet of the ancient sage suddenly fell quiet, as did the mage himself. Without the ability to speak aloud, Elminster could not complete the verbal component of his spell and it did not go off.

Noticing what had happened to Elminster, Midnight shifted her attention from Kelemvor to Myrkul.

“Come, my dear,” the Lord of the Dead said, his voice guttural and rasping. “Give me the tablet. I will spare your friends.”

Midnight had no time to bandy promises with the god. She called a simple magic missile to mind, dropped the tablet, and performed the incantation. A dozen golden bolts leaped from her fingers and struck Myrkul—then dissipated harmlessly, leaving a golden aura clinging to the Lord of the Dead’s putrid form.

Myrkul lifted a hand and examined his new radiance, then laughed at her botched spell. “How you taunt me, mortal!”

Midnight found herself trembling and feverish. Although the incantation was normally a rudimentary one, its potency had increased with her power. It had taken more out of her than she’d expected.

Myrkul held out his hand. “Once more, give me the tablet.” He turned toward Kelemvor and gestured at the snake. The serpent drew tighter around the warrior’s throat and his face immediately turned purple. “You have only a little time before your friend dies.”

Even for an instant, the mage did not believe Myrkul would keep his word and spare her lover. She had no intention of doing as asked, but neither could she bear watching Kelemvor die. Hoping the appearance of indecision would buy her time to think, Midnight tore her gaze away from Myrkul and looked out over the city.

To the south, great pillars of black smoke rose from the city’s North Ward. Midnight could even hear distant screams and faint clashes of steel. Dozens of griffon riders were battling tiny forms in the air. A few griffons rode over other quarters of the city, acting as messengers or scouts trailing enemy groups that had broken through the line. One griffon, carrying two riders, was flying toward Blackstaff’s tower.

The riders were too distant for Midnight to identify and she had no idea why they were coming toward the tower. Whatever their reason, she did not think they would arrive in time to save her and her friends, or to prevent Myrkul from getting both the Tablets of Fate.

“What is your decision?” Myrkul demanded.

“You win,” Midnight said, kneeling to retrieve the tablet at her feet. At the same time, she summoned the most powerful spell that came to mind: temporal stasis. The incantation was so difficult it would probably drain her, perhaps even burn her up completely, but she had no choice. If it worked, Myrkul would be trapped in suspended animation. Then she and her friends could deal with him at leisure. If it did not work, Myrkul would win.

Midnight cleared her mind, then performed the incantation. A wave of fire rushed through her body and she collapsed to the roof. Her muscles ached and her nerves tingled as though she had fallen onto a bed of needles. The mage tried to breathe, but lacked the strength to open her mouth. A curtain of darkness descended over her eyes.

Midnight forced herself to stay alert, the curtain to draw back, and her lungs to expand. Gradually, her vision returned and, weak as she was, the mage could see again. Myrkul stood motionless, the saddlebags containing the other tablet still slung over his shoulder.

Without its creator’s will to guide it, the snake wrapped around Kelemvor seemed confused and uncertain. It was squeezing less fiercely now, its attention turned toward the Lord of the Dead’s motionless form. The warrior also seemed dazed, but managed to slip an arm inside the coil squeezing his throat, preventing the serpent from choking him.

Midnight stood and, carrying her own tablet, stepped toward the motionless god. The embers that served as Myrkul’s eyes flared.

“I—I’m not finished quite yet,” the Lord of the Dead croaked through quivering lips. The avatar’s whole frame was shaking. He was breaking free of the spell.

As she looked into the Lord of the Dead’s eyes, Midnight’s heart sank. It seemed nothing could stop him. Then the mage noticed a gray streak plummeting out of the sky. The griffon she had noticed earlier was diving to attack Myrkul’s back. Midnight dropped her eyes to the roof, not wanting to alert the evil god to the bravery of the griffon riders. Although the attack would stun Myrkul, it would not kill him. The magic-user knew she had to find a way to take advantage of the surprise.

While Midnight and Elminster, who was still under the influence of the silence spell, prepared to take advantage of the griffon attack, Kelemvor took several deep breaths and recovered some of his strength. He thrust his other arm through the coil around his neck, then grabbed the snake’s head. Locking one hand onto the upper jaw and the other onto the lower, he pulled in opposite directions with all his might. An instant later, bone popped and the warrior ripped the jaws apart. The serpent’s body slackened and it began writhing in pain. Kelemvor slipped out of its grasp. He pitched the slimy, squirming thing over the side of Blackstaff’s tower, then turned toward Myrkul.

Myrkul saw Elminster coming toward him and turned stiffly to meet the attack. But the old sage stopped five feet away, confusing the Lord of the Dead. Then Myrkul realized he could no longer hear.

Midnight, still trembling from the effort of the temporal stasis spell, summoned the incantation for disintegration and another for a dimensional door. If she could destroy the avatar’s body, the god’s essence would disperse. Then, through the dimensional door, the mage could shift the explosion high over the Sea of Swords, where it would do far less harm.

An instant later, the griffon struck. Because of the silence surrounding Elminster, Myrkul did not hear the whisper of its wings and was taken by surprise. The god fell onto his left side, and the saddlebags with the tablet slipped off his shoulder. The beast followed the god to the roof and sank all four claws into the avatar’s body. One of the griffon riders jumped off the creature’s back. Even as the man’s feet touched the roof, the great beast flapped its wings to rise again.

Myrkul squirmed and grabbed at the saddlebags, barely clutching them into his grasp.

Seeing what was happening, Kelemvor charged across the roof. As the griffon lifted the god into the air, the warrior threw himself after the tablet. His hands clutched the bottom of the saddlebags, then Kelemvor pulled the tablet from Myrkul’s grasp. He landed on the roof and rolled away.

Pain shooting through his avatar’s body, Myrkul felt himself being lifted off the roof. He made one last grab for the saddlebags as Kelemvor rolled away, but the griffon had already carried him too far into the air.

Myrkul twisted around so he could look up toward the rider. “You will all pay for this!” he cried, shaking his bony fist.

As she watched the griffon carry Myrkul into the air, Midnight prepared her incantations, but stopped short of performing them. If she destroyed the avatar, the rider was certain to die in the mayhem that followed. The magic-user went to the edge of the tower and watched the griffon fly over Blackstaff’s courtyard, Myrkul still struggling in its claws. The great beast continued flapping, all but ignoring the writhing body in its grip.

Then the Lord of the Dead stopped struggling and pointed at the griffon rider. An instant later, the soldier slumped over. He slipped out of the saddle and plunged toward the cobblestoned street below.

Midnight performed the disintegration incantation. A green ray shot from her hand and touched Myrkul. The avatar’s body gleamed briefly, then a brilliant golden flare erupted over the city. Midnight quickly cast the spell for a long range dimension door and transferred the dying avatar to a spot high over the Sea of Swords, far from Waterdeep.

There was a loud crack as the avatar fell into the door, and another burst of light washed over the city from the west. The explosion caused by Myrkul’s death was like a second sun rising over the sea west of Waterdeep. When it died away, there was no sign of the griffon, its rider, or Myrkul. A brown murk hung in the air east of the tower, where the avatar had been seconds earlier.

The murk settled over a two block area. Wherever it touched, plants withered and people fell to the ground choking. Whether they were built of stone or wood, the buildings turned to dust and collapsed, and even the streets themselves crumbled. Within moments, two square blocks of Waterdeep had been turned into a desolate, brown waste.

Midnight sank to her knees, shivering with exhaustion and remorse. Hundreds of people had died when Myrkul’s essence settled on them. She could not help feeling responsible for their deaths.

Somebody walked up behind her.

“I had to destroy Myrkul,” she whispered, still staring at the poisoned area. “What else could I have done?”

“Nothing else,” answered a familiar voice. “You cannot be blamed for saving the Realms.”

Midnight stood and, ignoring the wave of dizziness that rushed over her, turned around. “Adon!” she cried.