Crypt of the Shadowking

Eight

Twilight crept on soft, padded feet into the garden behind the Dreaming Dragon. Mari sat on a stone bench, watching as the pale crescent of the moon rose above the city's spires, its silken light glimmering off the moon-and-harp pin she wore on her jacket. The faint, sweet scent of the first crocuses hung upon the cool evening air, and the mourning doves that nested in the branches of an ancient oak tree sang their gentle song. She folded the piece of parchment she held and slipped it into her pocket. It was a missive from the Harpers.

She had managed to slip away to the free market in the New City that afternoon to meet the messenger, but later Caledan had nearly caught her reading the secret communication. That would not have been good. The missive came from the hand of Belhuar Thantarth, from Twilight Hall in Berdusk. Continue your close contact with Caldorien, the Hussive had instructed her. However, he is not to discover from you what we already know. His resentment of the Harpers runs far too deep for him to believe what we have learned. He must discover the importance of the shadow magic himself.

Mari heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching and looked up to see the big loremaster, Tyveris. He smiled broadly as he walked toward her, his teeth white in the moonlight, and Mari could not help but smile in return. There was a gentleness about the priest of Oghma despite his size, and he seemed perpetually good-natured.

"Estah would not be pleased if you caught a chill out here, Mari," Tyveris said reprovingly, though as always there was a kindly note in his voice. He held out a midnight blue cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders. Mari tensed for a second when she realized that the cloak was Caledan's, then she relaxed. Tyveris meant well, and besides, he was right. The air was chilly, and she had been shivering.

"Thank you, Tyveris," she said, pulling the cloak tightly about herself.

"It really isn't safe to be out here so long, you know." Tyveris's dark eyes were concerned behind his spectacles. "The Zhentarim are combing the city for us after our exploits yesterday. Ferret's already… er… disposed of one guard who ventured too near the inn. You should come inside."

"I will," she said. "I was simply… thinking, that's all."

"Are you well, Mari?" Tyveris sat next to her on the bench. It groaned alarmingly beneath his bulk.

Mari smiled at the massive Tabaxi. "Oh, it's nothing really," she told him. "This is just a day for memories, that's all." She took a deep breath of the purple air, sighing. "I was raised by a Harper, you know. Master Andros was his name. When I was a child, in the city of Elturel, both of my parents died of the fever. After that, I lived on the streets for several months, finding food where I could. But then winter came. I don't know if I would have survived. Or, if I had survived, what I might have become. That was when Master Andros found me."

Mari thought back to that cold day, to the small, thin girl she had been, shivering in her rags in a storm drain beneath an abandoned building. She had been so afraid at first when the man had stopped and peered in at her through the grating. But his blue eyes had been so kind that finally she had reached out and taken his hand.

"He took me in, like you take in children at the abbey, Tyveris. We lived in a small, rambling cottage, filled with books, and maps, and musical instruments. He was growing older and didn't travel for the Harpers anymore. We spent our evenings together by the fire, reading, making music, or talking about ancient days. But Master Andros was more than just my teacher. He was my father, Tyveris, and my friend."

The loremaster laid one of his big hands gently on Mari's own. "How long ago did his spirit move on?" he asked her softly.

"Three years ago today," she said, surprised at the tightness in her throat and the trembling in her voice. What would Master Andros think of her? He had always taught her to be strong. "I joined the Harpers after he died," she said, clenching her jaw and forcing her trembling to stop. "I want more than anything to make him proud of me."

They sat in silence for a time while the doves sang their sorrowful song. Finally Tyveris squeezed her hand and then stood. "Why must you make him proud of you, child?" he asked her softly. "Was he not already?"

Before Mari could reply Tyveris turned and walked back into the firelit glow of the inn, leaving her alone in the darkness of the garden.

Caledan headed down the narrow back stairwell and joined the others in the private dining chamber.

Tyveris and Mari were helping Estah set supper on the board as Ferret entertained Pog and Nog with a copper coin the thief had borrowed from them. The weaselly little man sent the coin dancing about his knuckles, the penny disappearing in one hand only to reappear in the other. The two halfling children watched in rapt delight, and Nog squealed when Ferret seemingly pulled the coin right out of the boy's ear.

"All right, that's enough," Estah scolded the three of them. 'To the supper table with all of you." Pog and Nog groaned in disappointment but shuffled off, dragging their feet, to obey their mother. Ferret, of course, pocketed their coin as he followed.

"So are you ever going to tell us why Lord Ravendas wanted to string you up, Ferret?" Caledan asked the thief as they broke bread.

Ferret shrugged. "All you had to do was ask, Caledan. It isn't as if it's a secret. I was making plans to escape from Ravendas's work gangs beneath the city, along with the other prisoners who were going to be hanged." He scratched at the dark stubble on his pointed chin. "But then one of the prisoners in on the plan got scared and betrayed us to the Zhentarim. That's when Ravendas decided to make an example of us. Oh, by the way." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object. He handed it to Mari. "I believe this is yours."

"How-?" Mari started. He had handed her the moon-and-harp pin she always wore on her jacket, the sigil of the Harpers.

"Just trying to keep in practice," Ferret explained with a wink.

"Well how did you get yourself captured in the first place, Ferret?" Tyveris asked.

"A minor miscalculation," Ferret replied, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "I had decided to relieve one of those spineless lords of a portion of his rather considerable store of gold. Unfortunately, I had the bad luck to pick one who had managed to get himself on Ravendas's bad side. Just as I was about to leave his tower, the Zhentarim broke down the door and threw the lord in chains, hauling him off to the dungeons. They captured me as well, even though I was merely an innocent bystander."

"'Innocent bystander?'"

Ferret shot Caledan a sour look. "Anyway," he said in his raspy voice, "Ravendas has quite an operation going on down beneath the tower's dungeons. The tunnels go on for miles. She must have close to a thousand cityfolk slaving for her against their wills. I don't know what it is she's digging for down there, but it must be something pretty important."

Caledan nodded intently. "I'd pay handsomely for that information."

"Really?" Ferret asked, a gleam in his beady eyes. "I might be able to… ask around."

Caledan grimaced, reaching for his purse. "All right, Ferret," he grumbled. "How much is it going to cost?"

It was midnight. Caledan and Mari stood in the shadows of a deserted intersection in the Old City, waiting. "Where is he?" Mari said in a whisper. "You don't suppose he ran off with the gold we gave him, do you? He is a thief, after all."

He'll be here," Caledan whispered back. Unless the rogue ends up with a knife in his back, Caledan added silently to himself. "Ferret may not be strictly honorable, out there is a certain consistency to his actions, and we've been friends a long time. Besides, he wants the Zhentarim gone from the city just as much as we do, and I'm sure the thieves' guild does as well. They must be losing a fortune to Ravendas."

"I'm still not certain petitioning a thieves' guild for help is a good idea," Man said.

Caledan disagreed. "Thieves are as much a part of city life as temples, schools, and markets are. They keep the merchants from getting fat and lazy, and give the city guards something to do besides troubling honest folk. Now what could be wrong with that?"

It was scant minutes later when the shadows stirred, and Ferret abruptly appeared. "So did you have any luck?" Caledan asked.

Ferret nodded. "A little, I think. I tried all day to find out if there were any thieves in the city who had done work for Ravendas since she's been here, someone who might have heard what it is she wants, or know something concrete about her underground operations."

"And?"

"Most thieves have been avoiding her," Ferret explained. "No one wants to do work for someone who's likely to dispose of you when the job's finished. But I did hear of one old fellow, named Tembris, who did a job for her when she first came to Iriaebor. He may know something."

"So where is this Tembris?" Mari asked.

Ferret cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. "Uh, I'll tell you on the way. I don't think it's such a good idea to stand around here for long." He started off at a brisk pace down the street, and Caledan and Mari hurried to keep up.

"All right, Ferret. Who did you kill?" Caledan asked the rogue sternly.

"No one," the thief answered in his raspy voice. "Er, no one you know, that is." He gave Mari a sheepish look. " pie can be so uncooperative sometimes."

The Harper glared at the weaselly thief. Caledan, ever, didn't care how Ferret had gotten his information as long as it got them some answers.

"This Tembris is a member of the Purple Masks Guild," Ferret explained as they made their way through the darkened streets.

"Well, that's going to complicate things," Caledan muttered.

"How so?" Mari asked.

"Ferret and his family are independent thieves, Harper," Caledan replied.

"He means we're not aligned with the guild," Ferret added. "Guilds don't usually tolerate independents like us. They generally give independents two choices-either join or be killed."

"Why hasn't your family joined?" Mari asked with a puzzled frown.

Ferret laughed nastily. "You don't know my grandmother Jewel, the head of my clan. She refuses to answer to anybody. Even a guildmaster would think twice before tangling with her."

Soon they stood before a temple built of pale marble. Graceful columns supported an intricately carved facade, behind which rose a lofty, tapering spire. An elaborate frieze glimmered in the moonlight beneath the temple's cornices, depicting a woman with flowing hair holding the reins of a chariot that rode through the sky, bearing the orb of the moon.

"The Purple Masks Guild is in the temple of the goddess Selune?" Caledan questioned Ferret.

"Of course not," the rogue protested. "It's beneath it. The Moon Goddess is revered by all who walk the night, you know."

They stepped through massive doors of polished Mahogany into the shadowy temple. Within was a long, column-lined hall. Moonlight poured through windows high in the pale walls, caught and reflected by mirrors so that the entire temple glowed with an unearthly light. A few priests and worshipers moved quietly about the temple, but none seemed to take notice of the three newcomers.

A row of teakwood prayer boxes lined one wall, each large enough for a person to kneel in while making a silent, private plea to the goddess. Ferret counted the boxes as they passed by. When he had counted to thirteen, he stopped. He opened the door and stepped into the small, dark space, gesturing for Caledan and Mari to follow. The Harper protested, claiming they couldn't possibly all fit inside.

"You can wait outside if you like," Caledan told her, stepping into the cramped space.

She swore under her breath, tossed her dark auburn hair, then stepped into the prayer box. Caledan shut the door. The only light came from a grate in the box's roof. The three barely fit, and Caledan was forced to take shallow breaths. The Harper was pressed close against him, and for the first time he noticed how small she really was. Her head barely came to his shoulder, and her hands, each cupping an elbow of her crossed arms, seemed half the size of his own.

Ferret rapped three times on the wooden back of the prayer box, paused, then knocked twice more. Suddenly the wooden panel slid to one side, revealing a corridor beyond. The three stumbled into the larger space.

Caledan froze. A swordpoint glittered in the torchlight an inch from his chest. A man clad all in gray except for a silken violet mask held the hilt of the sword, watching him warily. Caledan looked to either side and saw that Mari and Ferret had been similarly greeted.

"Well, if it isn't the famous Ferret," one of the thieves said with an unpleasant smile. "The guildmaster is going to be pleased to see you, my friend." Caledan looked questioningly at Ferret, but the thief only shrugged.

They were led down a long flight of stairs and then through a labyrinthine network of corridors and chambers that must have spread beneath the entire temple. Caledan had known the thieves of Iriaebor were organized, but he had no idea the guild had such an elaborate headquarters. Finally they were escorted into a lavishly decorated chamber Many-hued silks hung from the walls, and the floor was strewn with thick rugs and embroidered cushions. On a heap of pillows in the chamber's center reclined an enormous man. He was dressed in maroon and silver silk and held a goblet of wine in a fat, ring-covered hand.

"Guildmaster Bock," Ferret said, nodding his head. The little man sounded calm, but Caledan knew he was nervous. His pointed nose was twitching furiously.

"My good Ferret, what a pleasant surprise," the guild-master said in a surprisingly rich, clear voice. "Do drink some wine with me."

"Er, I don't think we're really all that thirsty," Ferret said, eyeing the three goblets a servant carried on a tray.

"But I insist," Bock intoned. Caledan felt the swordpoint poking into his side.

"Now that I think of it, though, I could use a drink," Ferret said, grabbing a goblet and swilling down the contents. Reluctantly, Caledan and Mari did the same. The vintage was excellent, but Caledan detected a slight bitterness in the wine's aftertaste. He set the goblet back on the servant's tray and regarded the guildmaster.

"Which poison was in that, Bock?"

The guildmaster laughed. "Very good, Caledan Caldorien. Yes, I know who you are, and you as well, Harper Mari Al'maren. Neither of you are very inconspicuous, after all. And might I add, Ferret, that your taste in friends has gone downhill again. I thought your grandmother Jewel told me you had outgrown this disturbing practice of befriending Harpers."

Ferret shrugged. "Old habits are hard to break."

"You still haven't answered my question," Caledan said.

"Ah, yes, the poison," Bock replied with a smile, displaying a row of surprisingly even, white teeth. "It's sindari, a native herb of Thay. A very unusual substance. It shows absolutely no effects for an entire day, and then, without warning, the victim lapses into violent convulsions. I'm told they're quite painful. However, they are also quite brief. Death comes within but a few minutes. But not to fear, Caldorien. It is a precaution only." He waved a chubby hand, and the thieves sheathed their swords, retreating from the room.

"You see," Bock went on, "I also have the antidote. You might call the sindari a bit of insurance for my safety, that's all. Harm me, and you shall never have the antidote. Conduct yourself as civilized guests, and the antidote is yours."

Caledan shook his head. He had to admit, it was a clever method of ensuring good behavior.

"We're looking for a thief named Tembris," Caledan explained, deciding to lay all their cards on the table. Deception at this juncture could easily prove fatal.

"Interesting," Bock said. He stroked his numerous chins with a pudgy hand. "Let's see what I can extrapolate from this," he mused. 'Tembris is one of the few thieves in the city who has done work for the Zhentarim, Lord Ravendas-though it was a mistake, to be sure. You yourself are a Harper no longer, Caldorien, but you come to me in the presence of one who is. Knowing there is little love lost between the Harpers and the Zhentarim, I can only assume you are working against Ravendas, trying to discover her weaknesses to see if she can be defeated. And what has Tembris to do with this?" A calculating expression crossed his face. "Ah, yes, perhaps the work he did for Ravendas may shed some light on what it is she seeks deep in the heart of the Tor."

The guildmaster's logic was flawless. Caledan flourished his road-worn cloak and bowed deeply.

"Did Ferret tell you I enjoyed flattery, Caldorien?" Bock snapped. Then he chuckled, a deep, bubbling sound. "If he did he was correct. Very well, Caldorien. You may see Tembris. He is here in this very guildhouse. However, you may be disappointed after you meet him."

“Thank you," Caledan said, but the guildmaster waved the remark away.

"Don't thank me. I'm doing this purely out of my own interests. When a city falls on hard times, so do its thieves. It's difficult to rob people who are destitute, you know. I would like nothing more than to see Ravendas ousted from the tower. However, if the Harpers and the Zhentarim manage to annihilate each other in the process, that would be so much the better."

Bock clapped his hands twice. Moments later a servant arrived bearing three small vials-the antidote to the sindari. Caledan drank his down quickly, surprised at the trembling in his hand. It figured that the antidote would taste far worse than the poison. Mari's face was pale as she glared at him. It was apparent she hadn't enjoyed this little transaction with the thieves' guild.

"Now, Ferret," Bock said, "won't you give up your poor taste in company and come work for me? I can always use a thief of your caliber."

Ferret shook his head. "I'm flattered, Guildmaster Bock, but somebody has to keep on eye on the Harpers."

Bock nodded. "Good lad. Give my greetings to your grandmother. And let me know if she's reconsidered my Proposal." Ferret promised he would, and then the three followed a thief who led them out of the chamber and down a twisting corridor.

“What 'proposal' to your grandmother was Bock talking about?" Man asked Ferret.

"A marriage proposal," he replied. "Bock's been asking her to marry him for the last twenty years."

"But she keeps saying no?" Mari asked.

"No," Ferret said with a sly expression. "She keeps saying maybe."

Bock's servant led them to a door at the end of a narrow corridor. "This is Tembris's room," she said as she opened the door.

They stepped into the small, dim chamber. The room was sparsely yet comfortably furnished. On a pallet in one corner sat a thin spider of a man dressed in a simple black tunic. His skin was wrinkled with age, his long hair iron gray. The old man turned his head when they entered the room. Where his eyes should have been there were only two deep, shadowed pits bordered by loose folds of skin. The old thief was blind.

"Ravendas did this to him," Bock's servant explained. "I'm telling you because he can't. Tembris is also mute. He has been since birth. That was why Ravendas hired him, because he wouldn't be able to talk after the job was done. He stole something for her, and you see how Ravendas rewarded him. She had his eyes cut out."

"But he can hear us?" Caledan asked, and the servant nodded. She left the three in the room with the old thief, shutting the door behind her.

"Greetings, old father," Caledan said, kneeling down to touch the thief s fine, wrinkled hand.

Tembris nodded, smiling placidly.

"We need your help against Lord Cutter," Caledan explained. Tembris clenched his jaw tightly. He was listening.

"Iriaebor is dying under her rule, Tembris. She's draining the life out of it. Even at midday the streets are filled with shadows and ghosts. The people have lost hope. You may be their last chance." Mari gave Caledan a look of surprise, but he concentrated on Tembris. "Will you help us?" The old thief reached out, searching until he found Caledan's hand, gripping it tightly. Tears glimmered beneath his ruined eyes. Tembris nodded.

"We need to know what it was you stole for Cutter," Caledan said gravely. Another nod, but followed by a shrug. Tembris gestured to his mouth. He could not tell them.

Mari knelt down. "Can you write, Tembris?" she asked. The old thief grinned then and gestured with his hand. A little, he indicated.

Mari pulled a blank sheet of parchment and a piece of charcoal from her pocket. She spread the paper before the old thief and placed the charcoal in his fingers. She guided his hand over the parchment. "Write for us, Tembris. Write what it was Lord Cutter had you steal for her."

The old thief nodded, biting his lip in concentration as he slowly moved the charcoal across the parchment. Caledan and Mari exchanged glances. Tembris seemed to grow confused after a minute. He scribbled fiercely at the first lines he had made, marking them out.

"It's all right, Tembris," Mari said, reaching for the charcoal, but the old thief held on to it tightly, shaking his head. He put the charcoal to the paper again and started over. He slowly moved the charcoal over the page, concentrating as he tried to summon the letters. Finally he finished and nodded, setting the charcoal down.

Caledan picked up the parchment. Scrawled across the Page were several letters. They seemed to spell a word, but it was not one he recognized. Malebdala. He showed it to Man and Ferret, but they shook their heads. Still, maybe it was a clue. Caledan carefully folded the parchment and put it in his pocket.

"Thank you, old father," he said, gripping the thief's hand. Tembris gestured to his eyes, to the air above his head, and then made a fist. The message was clear.

"We'll do our best to stop Cutter," Caledan told him. "I promise." The old thief nodded, then lay down on his pallet, weary. Caledan, Mari, and Ferret left the small chamber, shutting the door softly.

"Do you think the word he wrote means anything?" Mari asked the others.

"It has to," Caledan replied grimly. "It has to."

He was having the dream again.

He moaned, a low sound of fear deep in his throat, struggling against the tangled silken sheets of his bed. The chill night air coming in through the chamber's window did little to cool his fevered brow. It was the dream that had set him afire, as it always did. He could not escape it.

He was running through the labyrinth of sewers and drains beneath the city's dungeons, his feet splashing through foul, murky water. He was dripping with sweat, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He could hear the sound of booted feet echoing in the corridors above him, but he knew that the dungeon guards would not catch him. His fate lay deeper down, farther into darkness.

The mouth of the empty drainage pipe loomed before him. Shadow seemed to pour thickly from its lip, as if the pipe carried not water, but darkness itself. He knew what horror awaited him down there, but he could not resist its pull. He began crawling down the dry, dusty pipe. He couldn't breathe in the cramped space and could hear the staccato beat of his own heart bouncing off the crumbling tiles around him. The sound was driving him mad.

Suddenly the floor gave way beneath him. Even though he had known it would, it did not lessen the terror of it. He fell down into endless darkness for what seemed an eternity. Finally a bloody, crimson light sprang to life all around him. He lay on a polished floor of darkest jet in a vast, columned chamber. His body was twisted and broken, and he could see his own hot blood oozing out to pool on the dark floor.

Weakly, in great agony, he lifted his head and gazed up at the massive throne he knew would be there before him. The throne was constructed entirely of dark steel, its edges as sharp as knives. Upon it sat a figure lost entirely in shadow, save for its gleaming crimson eyes. The dreamer moaned. That bloodred gaze filled him with such horror he felt it would rend his mind.

The figure upon the cyclopean throne lifted a hand. Its eyes pulsed in time with the dreamer's fading heartbeat. Then the throned figure spoke.

Be made whole, thief!

The dreamer screamed in agony as searing fire coursed through his body. His back arched off the stone floor, his fingers clawing helplessly at the dark marble.

Then he woke.

The lord steward of Iriaebor, the man named Snake, sat up suddenly in bed, clamping his jaw shut against a scream. For a moment his close-set eyes were wide in utter fear. In them shone a look of purest madness. Then it was as if a veil descended over those eyes, making them once again as hard and dark as polished stones. The madness of the dream slipped away. There was something Snake had to do.

He rose from his bed and, clad in his green silken nightrobe, moved to an ornate wooden cabinet near the window. He could see the city outside far below the tower, dark in this hour of the night. He opened a drawer in the cabinet and took out a small ebony box. Inside was an opaque polished crystal as large as an egg. He spoke a single arcane word, and suddenly the crystal darkened. An image appeared within its heart.

The image showed a moonlit ridgetop above a windswept plain. In the center of the image stood a figure clad in heavy black robes.

"Report," Snake whispered harshly into the crystal.

"Both with the shadow magic are in the city still," the figure's hissing, strangely accented voice emanated from the crystal. "Caldorien left the walls for a time, but he returned before I could take him."

"Then you must wait. And when he leaves the city again, be ready. I will concern myself with the other."

Snake spoke another ancient word of magic, and the image in the crystal vanished. He slipped it into its box, but he did not return to bed. For the rest of the night he watched the darkened city outside his window. With sleep would come dreams. And Snake did not want to dream again.