by Troy Denning
As Midnight studied the buildings, she observed that structures of similar condition were grouped together. Then she noticed the city was divided into boroughs of more or less equivalent size. The areas with pristine buildings were divided into orderly blocks with straight, clean streets. Where the buildings were crumbling, the streets were so clogged with rubble that it appeared impossible to traverse them. In areas with twisted and grotesque buildings, the streets were crooked and narrow, curling and winding back on themselves with mazelike confusion. There was no sign of anything that might be Bone Castle, and Midnight did not know where to begin her search.
But she knew she had to get off this wall. After waiting for another caravan of slaves to pass, Midnight pushed herself over the city and floated down to the road that ran along the wall. She paused a moment to reconnoiter the area. One group of three denizens was tottering down the avenue after her, and two more were approaching from the borough directly ahead. Fortunately, both groups were over five hundred feet away, so she sprinted down the avenue away from them. After ten seconds of running, she ducked into a borough of deteriorated buildings that had looked abandoned from the wall.
The thoroughfares were cluttered with rubble and deserted. From the building’s windowsills, sputtering yellow lamps cast putrid circles of light into the street. As Midnight passed one of the lamps, she inhaled a breath of the sulfurous vapor. She briefly choked and her skin stung where a wisp of black smoke had touched it.
The magic-user ducked down an alley and clawed over a pile of rubble half as high as one of the buildings. Then she tumbled down the other side and ran into the alley that connected with another street. She turned left and ran halfway down it. Finally, confident the denizens would never find her, Midnight climbed over another pile of rubble and stopped in a blind cul-de-sac.
She needed a guide. In a city of this size, it would be impossible to find Bone Castle without help. Even had she known the castle’s location, the city was so alien it would be a simple matter to make a mistake and get killed. Midnight realized she would have to summon help.
Immediately, the incantation for summoning monsters came to mind, along with all of the extraneous information about its creator and the theory behind its construction. It was not a monster she wanted, but after contemplating the original spell for a moment, Midnight saw how she could modify the incantation to suit her needs.
The spell was designed to call an unspecified monster to aid the caster. Instead of a monster, however, Midnight needed to call a person, but had no idea who. By adjusting a few finger manipulations and altering the intonation of the spell’s verbal components, the mage thought that she could call someone who both knew his way around Myrkul’s city and would be willing to aid her.
Midnight was a little frightened by what she was about to try. Normally, only the most advanced mages altered or created spells. But, considering the knowledge available to her and the stability of the magical weave in the plane, Midnight was confident of success.
After reviewing her adjustments, the magic-user performed the incantation. A moment later, someone began climbing over the rubble in the entrance to her cul-de-sac. Midnight waited anxiously, prepared to dash into a building if the visitor was not what she expected.
A halfling climbed into view atop the rubble, then stopped and frowned at her. He had the same drab features, gray hair, yellow-gray skin, and expressionless gray eyes as the slaves Midnight had seen from atop the wall. In fact, the halfling was distinguishable from those slaves only in size.
Atherton Cooper had no idea how he had come to be in this alley. Just a moment ago, he had been laboring to mortar a struggling woman into the wall.
“Sneakabout?” Midnight asked, peering uncertainly at the short figure.
The halfling’s frown deepened. He recognized something in the woman’s voice and in the name she had called him. Then he remembered: Sneakabout was his name. “Yes—that’s right,” he observed. “Who are—”
The answer came to him before he finished asking it. He had once been friends with the woman who now stood before him. “Midnight!” he exclaimed, sliding down the rubble. “What are you doing here?”
The mage held her arms out to the halfling. “Not what you think,” she replied. “I’m alive.”
Midnight’s comment about being alive kindled a painful realization for Sneakabout and he stopped short of her arms. “I’m dead,” he said, unpleasant memories flooding his mind. “Why did you let Cyric kill me?” he demanded.
Midnight didn’t know what to say. She had not expected to meet Sneakabout, and was not prepared to justify saving Cyric to someone the thief had murdered. “I wouldn’t make the same decision again,” she said, dropping her arms.
“That’s little consolation,” Sneakabout hissed. “Look at what you’ve done to me!” He ran his hand down his body.
“I didn’t let Cyric kill you!” Midnight snapped. “You threw yourself at his mercy!”
“I had to!” Sneakabout said, more memories washing over him. He looked away from Midnight’s eyes. “He had my sword. I had to get it back or go insane.”
“Why?” Midnight asked. So she would be at the halfling’s eye level, she sat down.
“It’s an evil, cursed thing,” he explained, still not looking at the mage. “If you lose it, you must recover it. The man I stole it from died trying to steal it from me, just like I died trying to take it from Cyric.”
Midnight suddenly understood why Sneakabout was in the City of the Dead. By pursuing the sword, by living only for it, he had betrayed his god.
“So you’re one of the False,” she gasped.
Sneakabout finally turned to look her in the eye. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“What does that mean?” Midnight asked. “What is your fate?”
The halfling shrugged, then casually looked away as if his fate was of little concern. “I’m one of Myrkul’s slaves. I’ll spend eternity mortaring the Faithless into the wall.”
Midnight drew a sharp breath.
“What are you worried about?” Sneakabout asked. He turned back with an irritated frown on his face. “I thought you worshiped Mystra? Not that being faithful is much better than being faithless when you’re down here. The Fugue Plain is overflowing with the abandoned souls of most of the gods’ faithful.”
“I’m not worried about myself,” the mage said. “A few weeks after he killed you, Cyric killed Adon … and Adon died with no faith in the gods.”
“Then its the wall for him,” Sneakabout said, shaking his head glumly. “I’ll probably be the one that mortars him in.”
“Is there anything that you can—”
“No!” the halfling snapped, waving his hand to cut off Midnight’s plea. “He chose his fate when he was alive. It can’t be changed now. If that’s why you summoned me—”
“It’s not,” Midnight said sadly, upset by the halfling’s curt response. She wondered if he would be as unwilling to help her recover the tablet as he was to help Adon. Hoping to look more commanding, she stood. “You must take me to Bone Castle.”
Sneakabout’s eyes widened. “You don’t know what you’re asking! When they catch us, they’ll …” He paused and considered his situation. The denizens could do nothing that was worse than what they were doing to him now.
“If you don’t help me,” Midnight said, taking the halfling by both shoulders, “the Realms will perish.”
“What’s that to me?” Sneakabout replied, backing away. “With luck, so will Myrkul’s city.”
“Help me get the Tablet of Fate and return it to Waterdeep,” Midnight said, following Sneakabout. “I’ll end your misery.”
He stopped backing away. “How?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ll find a way.”
The halfling raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Trust me,” Midnight pleaded. “What do you have to lose?”
Of course, Sneakabout had nothing to lose. If the denizens caught him h
elping Midnight, they would torture him for eternity—but they were already doing that.
“All right. I’ll help,” the halfling said. “But realize that you’ve made a very important promise. If you don’t keep it, you might be considered one of the False when you return.”
“I know that,” Midnight said. “Let’s go.”
Sneakabout turned and started over the rubble at the end of the cul-de-sac. For several hours, he led Midnight through a maze of twisting alleys and cluttered streets. Occasionally, they entered a region of straight clean avenues. The halfling always crossed these places quickly, then led them back into a deteriorating or twisted borough.
Midnight was glad to have Sneakabout as a guide. Although vaguely aware that they were walking toward the low end of the city, she was completely lost. Even the halfling stopped now and then to ask directions of one of the False. He always confirmed his directions with two or three others.
“The False,” he explained, “are not to be trusted. They’ll send you straight into a pack of denizens just out of habit.”
Finally, noticing that Midnight was stumbling with weariness, Sneakabout led her onto the roof of a decaying building. “You need to rest,” he said. “We’ll be safe up here.”
“Thanks,” Midnight replied, resting her head on her arms. As she looked up at the sky, the mage noticed pinholes of light that resembled stars.
Noticing where Midnight was looking, Sneakabout said, “Those are the gates to the Realms.”
“Are you sure?” the raven-haired mage asked. From what Rhaymon had told her, she had concluded the same thing. But, since one of the dots would be her escape route, she saw no harm in being certain.
“What else would they be?” the halfling asked. “There are no stars in Myrkul’s city.”
“If that’s an exit,” Midnight queried, rolling onto her side, “what keeps the dead and the denizens from using it?”
Sneakabout shrugged. “What prevents men from going to the real stars? They’re too far, I suppose, and there are certain barriers. You’d better rest—and eat something, if you have it.”
“I’ll rest,” Midnight replied, realizing she hadn’t eaten in what must be days. It did not matter. Even if she had possessed food, she could not have kept it down. The smell and the cries of the damned were simply too unsettling.
A few hours later, she and the halfling resumed their march toward the low side of the city. Sneakabout led the way through mile after mile of cluttered avenues and twisting alleys. Finally, he stopped on a lopsided bridge spanning a river of black ooze.
“We’re almost there,” he said. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Midnight replied. Despite her anxiety, she was telling the truth. Thanks to Sneakabout, she felt as fresh as could be expected after wandering Myrkul’s realm for the equivalent of almost a week.
The pair continued down the street, then turned into an alley that snaked through one of the chaotic boroughs. A few minutes later, an eerie moan began to drift up the narrow lanes. Sneakabout slowed his pace and moved cautiously forward. Midnight followed half a step behind.
The alley turned sharply to the left. The stench of rot and decay grew so strong Midnight began gagging. She tapped Sneakabout’s arm and they stopped so she could get used to the odor. Several minutes later, they moved forward again. The alley joined a broad boulevard, and on the other side of the boulevard was another wall built from human bodies.
Having seen one of the hideous barriers did not minimize the effect of this one. It still turned Midnight’s stomach. Now, it also enraged and depressed her because Adon would share the fate of its hapless building blocks.
“This is Bone Castle,” Sneakabout said. He pointed to a tall, ivory-colored spire that poked its crown above the barricade. “And that’s the keep tower.”
Midnight could not believe what she saw. Behind the wall, just a hundred feet away, rose a spiraling tower built from human bones. The tower ended in a steeple. Atop the steeple, lit by six magical torches and in plain view of anybody who could see Bone Castle, was a stone tablet. The mage immediately recognized it as the twin to the one she had left with Kelemvor.
Like a hunter displaying a prized trophy, Myrkul had put his tablet where all his subjects could admire it.
“There it is!” Midnight whispered.
Sneakabout sighed. “So I see. How are you going to get it?”
“I’m not sure yet,” the mage replied, studying the situation. “This is too easy—it doesn’t make sense to leave the tablet unguarded.”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s not guarded,” Sneakabout said. “There are thousands of guards.”
“How so?” Midnight asked.
“If we can see the tablet, so can all the denizens—and dukes and princes—within sight of Bone Castle.”
“Dukes and princes?” Midnight asked.
“Who do you think commands the denizens?” Sneakabout replied. “The dukes rule the boroughs. The princes rule the dukes. Each is more vicious than its vassals.”
Midnight nodded. If Myrkul’s court was like most others, there would be no shortage of dukes and princes near Bone Castle. “What else?”
“The best way to guard a treasure is to lull the thief into thinking it’s unguarded—then trap him when he tries to steal it. I’d expect a magical ward or two near the tablet.”
Midnight did not bother asking Sneakabout how he knew so much about theft. Though he had claimed to be a scout, and had proven that he was when he was alive, it was no secret that many halflings learned the basics of thievery to survive. Right now, Midnight was grateful that he had. She would never have been foolish enough to go after the tablet without looking for possible defenses, but it was good to have the halfling confirm her suspicions. “Anything else?”
“That’s enough,” Sneakabout said. “A thousand guards and a trap or two will safeguard almost anything—unless you happen to have pretty potent magic at your disposal.”
Though she knew the halfling had added this last comment to bolster her confidence, Midnight was hardly encouraged. “Let’s hope it will be enough.” She studied the tower for a moment, considering her plan of attack. “We’ll turn invisible—”
“No good,” Sneakabout interrupted. “The denizens—especially the dukes—will see through that without a second glance.”
Midnight frowned, then thought of another plan. “All right, then. We’ll fly up there, I’ll dispel the magical wards. Then we’ll take the tablet and be gone.”
Sneakabout considered this plan for a moment. “How long will that take you?” His use of the second person was deliberate. He knew he could not go with Midnight.
“Not long,” Midnight said confidently.
“Probably too long,” Sneakabout answered. “They’ll be after you in the time it takes you to fly up there, maybe less.”
“Then what can I do?” Midnight gasped.
“You’d better think of another plan,” the halfling said. “You can’t keep your promise if they capture you.”
Midnight fell into a long silence and tried to think of another approach. Finally, she said, “This will work. I’ll prepare our escape route before touching the tablet. Then, instead of going to the tablet, I’ll bring it to us. We’ll be gone in an instant.”
“That should work,” Sneakabout replied. “But I’ll take my leave before you try it.”
“Leave?” Midnight asked. “You aren’t coming with me?”
Sneakabout shook his head. “No. I’m dead. In the Realms, I’d be undead and more miserable than I am here.”
Midnight took the halfling’s hand. “You’ll never know what your help has meant to—”
“And I don’t care,” Sneakabout interrupted tersely. He could not help resenting the fact that Midnight would be leaving and he would not. “Just remember your promise.”
He pulled his hand away and walked up the alley.
Midnight watched him go, confused and hurt by hi
s sudden coldness. “I’ll remember,” she said.
Sneakabout turned a corner and was gone.
Midnight looked after him for a moment, once again lonely and more than a little afraid. The mage silently vowed that, after returning the Tablets of Fate to Helm, she would find a way to help Sneakabout, and not only because of her promise.
But the first thing she had to do was recover the tablet and get out of Myrkul’s city before she was killed. The magic-user summoned Elminster’s worldwalk to mind. Then, remembering what Rhaymon had said about finding her way back to Waterdeep, she began to pick the spell apart, to look at how Elminster had put it together.
It required fifteen minutes of hard concentration for Midnight to understand the intricacies of Elminster’s construction. It took another fifteen minutes to alter the incantation so the other end of the portal would seek out the access well to Waterdeep. After finally finishing, Midnight was still unsure she would emerge near the City of Splendors. If she had known which one of the pinholes of light was the gate to Waterdeep, the alteration would have been much simpler. As it was, she would have to trust her fate to the fact that she had done her best.
Satisfied with her preparations, Midnight performed the worldwalk incantation. A tremendous surge of magical energy rushed through her body, tiring her. Still, it was nothing alarming—or even surprising, considering the power of the magic she was summoning.
A shimmering disk of force appeared. Midnight found herself wishing that she could see what lay on the other side, but there was no time for idle contemplation. Next, she summoned the incantation for telekinesis, then performed it with the tablet as the target. An instant later, in response to her probe, the tablet slipped out of its supports and rose an inch into the air.
Without wasting any more time, Midnight willed the tablet to come to her. It moved slowly at first, then began picking up speed, and was soon streaking in her direction. Though the mage could hear nothing above the cries of the Faithless in the wall, Midnight imagined a wild chorus of surprised yells and outraged bellows spreading through the boroughs around the castle. If anybody was looking toward the tablet, they could not fail to notice that Myrkul’s trophy was being stolen.
