The Nether Scroll

"Sheemzher's egg—the athanor which defiled my servants—was it intact when you left the mines?"

Tiep was defensive, "How would I know? Sheemz and me got the scroll. No one said 'break the egg.'"

Wyndyfarh brought her hands together in the familiar mantis gesture. "I will send servants again," she resolved, ignoring her guests. "They will tell me who and what survives at Dekanter."

"Begging your pardon," Dru interrupted, "but as best I could determine, the Beast Lord had gone beyond studying the scroll, it had stuck it atop its athanor and was using it as a conduit for its transformation spells. If the Beast Lord survived and can find another kindling source— lightning comes to mind—it won't miss the scroll. It was melding goblins and mantises that looked a lot like your servants into gith the day we arrived in Dekanter."

Black nails clicked rhythmically as Wyndyfarh wove her fingers together. "I chose only females to be my servants," she muttered. "The males are unsuited. The alhoon could not establish a mantis colony with just one sex."

"That's all they need for themselves. Maybe the Beast Lord learned that from the scroll, too."

The black nails clicked louder, faster. "One more question. Then I must retire."

"Ask it, we can only say 'no,' " Druhallen said, thinking that she schemed to send them back to Dekanter.

"You may ask one more question. You have one. You want to know about a glass disk you've carried around for all these years."

Dru looked across the table at Galimer who squirmed and studied his empty plate. What was cut, stayed cut. He unfolded his wooden box and slapped the disk on the table. "Does this look familiar?"

Wyndyfarh picked it up. She balanced it edge-wise on a fingertip and spun it. "Netherese," she said after a moment and returned it to the table. "I've never seen one. I was not here when the Empire ruled. It is a simple enchantment... simple for Netheril at its height. Carry it openly and you will not be noticed by those who do not expect to see you. Carry it in a box, as you have done all these years, and it does nothing. It keys to living touch. You must have slain the wizard who carried it before you, else you could not have seen it to find it."

"The scryers at Candlekeep saw none of that," Dru said, looking at the disk, not Wyndyfarh, and feeling oddly free of both disappointment and expectation.

"They have not read the Nether scrolls, have they?"

Suddenly, Dru had a thousand questions. He shook his head and willed them away. "No," he admitted.

"Take it," Wyndyfarh advised. "I have no need for such toys. I do not leave Weathercote. I do not make ambushes. And now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do—"

Work, but not an ambush, Dru thought with heavy irony. "—There are rooms where you may rest."

Wyndyfarh gestured toward the larger marble building. Dru had looked up and seen the moon—it was the wrong phase, the wrong size, the wrong color.

"I'll sleep outside, where I recognize the sky," he announced and headed for the waterfall. Weathercote Wood was strange enough for him.

Dru expected to be alone, but Tiep followed him; Galimer and Rozt'a followed Tiep.

"I hadn't noticed the moon," Galimer admitted as he and his wife looked around for a soft spot among the rocks and mosses.

The familiar sky was already bright in the east. Dru told himself to stay awake while his friends slept but it had been a long day and Sheemzher had been a heavy enough burden. He was getting too old to go without sleep. He closed his eyes before the sun rose and opened them again when it was nearly overhead.

Sheemzher sat at his feet. The goblin was healthy again and decked out in new blue-and- green clothes—his lady's favorite colors. He had a new hat with a broader brim than before. Its shadow almost hid the red-orange patch he wore over his right eye.

"Good sir awake?"

"No," Dru grumbled and stretched himself to a seated position.

"Good sir go home now?"

"Soon." He looked around at his sleeping companions.

"Good sir take Sheemzher?"

Dru wasn't surprised. "It's not my decision and, Sheemzher—the places we go, a goblin won't always be welcomed as a man."

"Sheemzher know. Sheemzher understand. Sheemzher good ears, good nose. Sheemzher quiet, no trouble. Sheemzher find trouble, Sheemzher tell good sir, yes?"

"You can travel with us to the next town—Parnast, I suppose." He sighed. "Whichever way we go, we need to stock up first. We'll talk, but don't get your hopes up."

"No hopes. Sheemzher leave hopes behind. Behind Dekanter. Behind good lady. Sheemzher alone now, good sir. All alone. Choose friends, yes?"

Rozt'a and Galimer were moving now, roused by the sound of conversation. Rozt'a was pleased to see Sheemzher up and about, but she was less enthusiastic when she learned the goblin would be traveling with them.

"To the next town ... to Parnast. We need supplies. I can talk to Amarandaris, if he's still there."