Plague of Spells (4 page)

Another mental assault blossomed from the illithid, but its aim was off. Only the merest edge of the psionic cacophony brushed her awareness.

“Finish it,” she commanded. But what could they do? They couldn’t produce another lightning stroke immediately. They would have to call on ranged battle prayers—

Curampah tensed to launch himself from the sea coach’s deck. Nogah snagged his harness with her free hand, restraining him. She hissed, “Fool! Don’t stray from the coach or the sea’s heavy foot will smash you!”

The illithid squealed something, a warning, Nogah thought, then melted into a column of spinning water. The column widened and dispersed, leaving nothing behind but drifting silt and sediment.

“That was more than a corpse reanimated by chance,” breathed Curampah. “It was dead, yet could still call upon the mental abilities it possessed in life. I think it may have been partially vampiric. Yet we defeated it!”

“We chased it away—but we failed to destroy it,” interrupted Nogah. “Because of your incompetence.” She pointed at the junior whip with her staff. “If I were less merciful, I would slay you here and now and offer your unworthy hide as a sacrifice to the Sea Mother.”

The junior whip froze, uncertain. He knew she didn’t make threats lightly.

Nogah considered ramming the pincer tip through his throat, despite her talk about being merciful. No—but it wasn’t mercy that stayed her hand. It was practicality. Despite nearly killing himself, and allowing the undead illithid to slip away, she still needed him. If Curampah hadn’t been present, the illithid would likely even now be supping on the contents of her skull.

“Bah,” she said. “We wounded the thing, nearly tore it apart. It won’t seek us out again soon, at least until it has regained its strength and form. We have some time. Let’s investigate what it guarded all alone down here in the depths.”

The structure was nestled into the great cavity’s rear wall. Though some of its outer rooms had crumbled, an inner core structure of greenish stone remained intact. A jade dome emerged from the rougher surrounding stone. Tools were scattered everywhere: shovels, picks, buckets, and a variety of more arcane equipment apparently useful for digging. Most had almost rusted away. Nogah also finally recognized the strange mounds arranged around the greenish outcrop. They were tailing piles, the refuse of a mining operation.

She saw no open mine tunnel. The mine mouth must be under the dome.

“The illithids thought they were digging up something special here,” she murmured. “Special enough to protect the mine mouth with this building. Not that it offered much protection when the water broke in.”

“The dome reminds me of a temple, almost,” volunteered Curampah. He gestured. “It even has a ceremonial entrance.”

A six-sided extension protruded from the side of the smooth green rock like a tumor.

Nogah guided the sea coach to rest next to the extension and saw Curampah was correct. Within the protrusion was a dull black metal door, also six-sided. It was apparently still sealed against the surrounding water. She leaned over and touched the door’s matte black iron. A familiar feeling thrilled up her arm and into her heart.

The strange influence of her dreams lived behind the door! The Sea Mother had guided her truly.

“We must enter,” she directed.

“How, Daughter of the Sea? If we stray from the nautilus…” Curampah finished by squeezing his hands together. “Do you think I am so ill-prepared?” Curampah looked at her with half-lidded eyes, waiting. “Bring me my chest. Be quick!”

The junior whip soon returned from the nautilus’s interior with a delicate chest fashioned of polished mother-of-pearl plates and placed it at her feet. Nogah whispered the pass phrase that bypassed the magical trap, and popped the lid.

Amid the clutter of needful things lay several vials. She selected a few and closed the chest before Curampah was able to see and understand the nature of all her treasures.

“These,” explained Nogah, “are magical draughts brewed in Sembia. I got them from Captain Thoster. You remember Thoster? His birth was an unlooked-for complication, but it has proved useful. In any event, if imbibed, this liquid allows humanoids to breathe water.”

Curampah merely blinked, but Nogah recognized the confusion that tightened his scales.

“You wonder what use these are to us; after all, as a superior breed, we can already breathe air and water both. However, another effect of the elixir renders the imbiber immune to the crushing weight of extreme watery depths. It shall work for us as well as for any humanoid.”

She handed the junior whip one of the vials. He carefully removed the wax-sealed stopper and sucked its contents down without mixing too much of it with the surrounding water. She did the same with her own elixir. It tasted of salt and kelp.

Curampah examined his hands and scaled forearms. He said, “I feel no different.” “We shall see,” she replied.

Nogah gave a slight tug on the reins, enough that the nautilus shell moved several body lengths away from the green stone and the black six-sided door.

“Now, Curampah—open that metallic door. Let us discover what these mind flayers worked so feverishly to uncover.” She gestured to the entrance with her staff.

The junior whip pushed away from the coach deck and swam toward the door embedded in the green mantle stone. To his credit, he merely hesitated, saying nothing, when he realized he swam alone while she remained behind, watching.

She judged the protective effect surrounding the coach ended somewhere halfway between the nautilus and the door.

When he made it all the way to the six-sided valve without ill effect, Nogah joined him.

Unsealing the valve was a lengthy process. Having no other way to force it, the two whips were finally reduced to directing co-generated strokes of lightning against the dull metal. Again. And again. They rested between each blast just long enough to rekindle their capacity to produce the next electrical discharge. Each subsequent blast showed some effect, just enough to hint that persistence would eventually sear the metal through. The only question was, how many bolts?

Nogah fretted. The effects of the elixir were temporary. Worse, the undead mind flayer was likely regenerating its own strength while they spent theirs against the stubborn entranceway.

Finally, the valve seared through.

Inrushing water snatched both her and Curampah, wrenching them through the irregular, red-hot puncture. Agonizing heat seared her flank. A mesh of madly spinning bubbles blinded her. The inrushing water dredged her forward, down an irregularly dug tunnel. She tumbled wildly, end over end. She flailed, trying to get a hold on something, anything. A muffled scream sounded somewhere within the roar of rushing water. Was it Curam—

A jutting rock smashed her temple, and she screamed too. She was hurtled along, her voice lost in the boil of crushing water. Nogah’s mind whirled as she tried to gain her bearings.

She was able to do so only when the inrushing water finally filled the space beyond the door. Though remnants of turbulence still spiraled around the narrow tunnel, Nogah managed to halt her forward momentum.

Bruised and burnt, the whip praised the Sea Mother for her survival. She floated in cold darkness. A figure drifted past her, limp and slowly revolving. It was Curampah. His arms were broken, and his head bore a terrible puncture from which dark fluid thickly jetted into the water, spiraling around his drifting body.

She hissed, a loss assaulting her like a physical blow. Poor Curampah; his faith had proved too weak.

Then she saw what the illithids had delved so deeply to unearth. The merest edges of something. Something horrible. The mere act of trying to comprehend it was like scraping her naked brain with a trowel. Surely it was an abomination. She turned to swim free, flexing her legs for the first mighty escape stroke…

Nogah blinked, and in that instant, her perception shifted. Curiosity rekindled.

Instead of swimming away as if her sanity depended upon it, she drifted closer through the swirling blood and sediment, hardly realizing she did so. She still couldn’t grasp the magnitude of the image. She tried to wrap some mote of comprehension around the object, partly chiseled from stone… from stone whose age dwarfed the mountains above. Which meant the enigma, the massive thing that refused to clearly reveal itself to her understanding, was older than continents.

Blinking, Nogah shuddered. Had the Sea Mother sent her to unbury this artifact, to finish what the mind flayers had started? A head-size stone lay near the greater object yet bound in its stone matrix. It seemed the illithids had broken away a sample from the far more gargantuan object still frozen in the wall, before their dig outside the seal had drowned.

She said a quick prayer to the Sea Mother, asking for guidance. Her inquiry fell into a void of silence.

Her hand moved to trace the spherical artifact. If she couldn’t grasp the whole, perhaps the tiny piece would yield up clues.

She picked it up. What was it? A stone bauble? A tiny portion of a… what? A petrified remnant of some long-dead sea beast? Something like that, a strange certainty informed her, though even that notion was, somehow, a failure of imagination. If she grasped a piece of something far larger, that which was in turn only the merest tip of something… monstrous.

The elixir’s duration was almost complete. Without giving herself time to weigh the decision, she retained her grip on the loose piece, rough from where the illithids had cut it away from its parent.

Her first impression had been correct—it was essentially round but already seemed lighter in her hands. Though the object was about the size of her head, she was able to carry it without difficulty.

As she kicked back toward the nautilus, past the drifting corpse of her junior whip, her fingers began to tingle, then her arms. Odd notions suggested themselves, like worms insinuating themselves through Nogah’s consciousness. Odd, even disquieting.

But so fascinating…

Eleven Years After the Spellplague The Year of the Secret (1396 DR) New Sarshell, Impiltur

A thin man with a pocked face chalked a flat expanse of gray slate in quick, precise strokes. The sharp scent of limestone grew in the stuffy chamber with each mark.

The scratching chalk grated at Lady Anusha Marhana’s ears. She glanced away from the lesson her tutor scribed to gaze out the open window. How she wished she were outside. She hated her lessons. She’d rather be down at the docks watching the ships come in, watching the men unload salvage from other lands.

More notably, she had planned to attend the revelry in the Marivaux mansion this evening. Anusha had bought a new gown, new shoes, had the servants do her hair, sent out a reply confirming her attendance, only to have her half brother dash her hopes. Behroun said Marivaux was of a social stratum lower than her own, and that it wouldn’t do for her to mix with them. Rubbish! In fact—

“Lady Marhana.” The reedy voice of her tutor pulled Anusha’s attention back to the board.

“Yes?” she said, as if she’d been paying attention all along.

The man gave her an admonishing glare and said, “Lord Marhana pays me to advance your education. Would you waste his hard-earned coin?”

Anusha’s first instinct was to shrug. Her half brother, Lord Behroun Marhana, cared only for appearances. He was all about the facade, and substance only for what it contributed to the image of courtly nobility. The man wanted to cement himself among the reforming aristocracy of scarred Impiltur. In an attempt to gain a seat on the nascent Grand Council forming after the failure of the royal line, Behroun required the family to appear to possess a polite education.

Despite her opinion, she restrained her instinctive, dismissive gesture. Anusha was twenty years old this month, and even without her recent course on high society manners, she recognized a shrug might be perceived as childish. Instead she merely looked her tutor in the eye, trying to appear interested.

The man sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to point at what he’d written on the board. “What does this say?”

Anusha read aloud, “I am old and battered and have left a heap of bloody, bitter mistakes behind me high enough to bury empires.”

“Good diction,” murmured her tutor. “Who said it, and when?”

“Elminster of Shadowdale, of course,” replied Anusha. She had no idea if she was correct, but it sounded like something the old sage might have said. It was just one more quote among the hundreds he was known for. Who cared what year he’d uttered it?

Anyway, the old sage had dropped out of common knowledge after the Spellplague. He’d been affected like everyone else, and some whispered the old man’s powers had been stripped in the disaster. She heard one story from a dock-worker, who had it from a Cormyrean merchant, who heard from a Mulhorandi refugee, that Elminster was glimpsed wandering the Planes of Purple Dust, bald and tattooed with spell scars so outre that—

“Good,” replied the tutor. He used the quote as a bridge into another historical fact about Faerűn, a story about how a black arrow was responsible for Imphras the Great’s reunification of Impiltur. Three hundred years ago!

History lessons were hard. It was all so dry and… pointless! Everything before the blue fire was irrelevant to how things were today. Anusha had been ten or eleven years old when the Weave collapsed. In Sarshel, the event had come and gone with little to mark it in its first days.

She did recall one particularly lurid account of the event in a report circulated among the sea traders. When Behroun was out of his office, she had slipped in and penned a copy of the report for herself. She could remember it almost by heart: “Magic goes awry, and the world trembles. Magic, earth, and flesh too, burn beneath veils of azure fire that dance across the skies, day and night. The hardest hit are the mages, who lose their magic, their minds, and sometimes, their souls. Where the blue fire touched down, everything changes. Whole villages are gone, save for a few horribly altered former inhabitants, now monstrosities. It is some sort of spell plague, one that even the gods fear to catch!”