The Nether Scroll

Dru had tried to reason with her; at least he'd thought he was using reason. The Nether scroll hadn't given him any new insights into women, especially Rozt'a. When he'd refused to judge Tiep immediately and send him on his way to Yarthrain at the junction of the old and new branches of the Dawn Pass Trail, she'd turned her back on them both. Add one delirious goblin and he had all the reagents necessary to conjure disaster, which was exactly what he foresaw once the green trees of Weathercote Wood lined their horizon.

Rozt'a was adamant, Tiep was forlorn, and Sheemzher was useless as their guide through the treacherous forest. Dru solved one problem when he removed the amber pendant from the goblin's neck. The red jewel sparkled when he warmed it between his palms.

"We're here," he whispered. "Sheemzher's hurt. If you want him and your scroll, you're going to have to show us the way."

The amber went cold but, in the distance, red light winked in the trees.

"We're on our way," he said, kneeing Fowler off the trail and hoping Rozt'a and Tiep would follow quietly.

Dru had no luck in getting his companions behind him and bad luck when Fowler balked before they'd gone a hundred yards. With the fevered, twitching goblin still draped over his shoulders, Druhallen dismounted and walked back to Rozt'a.

"Get down," he told her. "We have to talk."

Rozt'a dismounted cavalry-style, swinging her leg over Ebony's neck and sliding to the ground without ever breaking Dru's stare. She began the discussion with, "I don't trust him."

"All the more reason, then, to keep him with us ... until we can talk it through and put it behind us."

"There's nothing to talk about. He's gone over."

"Tiep's no more Zhentarim than you or I—but he will be, if we don't pull him out of this now."

Rozt'a gave Dru a mighty scowl. "Is this more of your 'truth through illusion' nonsense? Helm's eyes, Dru—you were the one who started worrying three winters ago, right when Tiep made his little mistake. You were right; I was blind. Cut is cut, right? I want him gone from my life ... now ... before Galimer comes back."

"Because Galimer will agree with me? You're angry with yourself because you didn't see that he was in trouble. That's the reason you want him gone."

If Rozt'a had had her sword drawn then, Dru would have been skewered on the spot, but he knew a little about timing even if he didn't know why it worked.

After a painful silence Rozt'a said, "He's doing personal favors for Darkhold. The Dark Lord owns his soul." Dru shook his head. "No more than he owned Ansoain." He hoped that was a true statement.

Rozt'a blinked and swore and listened to Dru describe the piece of parchment he'd seen in Amarandaris's quarters. "You might have told us."

"I didn't want to upset Galimer. Tiep didn't want to upset us. We're all human."

"It's different. Very different, and Tiep's in too deep. There's no pulling him out."

"There might be. The Network—Sememmon in particular—is toying with Tiep. They don't want or need him, it's the thrill—the possibility—of corruption that keeps their interest. I think I can offer them a better thrill."

"Dru ..."

"I have an idea. It might work. I'll talk it over with you, and him, and Galimer after we're done with Weathercote Wood. Can you wait that long? We can still get out of this better than we were when we came in. It's that, or we leave Tiep here with the horses, and I don't like that for more reasons than I can count."

He didn't like leaving the horses behind, period, but there was no riding or leading them closer to the Wood. Men owed something better to the beasts that served them than a grassy trail-side in the middle of nowhere, even if the animals seemed perfectly content. Setting the horses free had one unanticipated benefit. Without Tiep's shoulders, they'd have had to leave even more of their gear behind. Rozt'a made swift, practical peace with the idea of walking behind him to Wyndyfarh's glade.

Wyndyfarh's amber lights shone clearly throughout the afternoon. Rozt'a kept watch for big trouble in the form of reavers and anything else the Wood might throw their way. Dru watched for the smaller problems. He saw them—pairs of bright colored insects—in every tree, but they kept their distance. At sunset, Dru kindled his light spell and they pressed on until a snare-string crescent moon hung above the trees. The distance between the amber markers shortened until the path was a continuous line of red and the ground beneath their feet was a carpet of silver-glowing moss.

They came to the bottom of a familiar hill.

"Do you want to do the talking, or shall I?" Dru asked, fully aware that Rozt'a usually declined a leader's role if it was offered.

"You do it," she conceded quickly. "This is magic. Just get Galimer, fair and square."