Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [121]
"Not as simple as that," Belkram said kindly. "Get up, and bring your sword. Elminster's gone."
"Oh, dung," Itharr said, coming all the way awake, little chilly feet of foreboding racing down his spine. "When?" As he asked the useless question, he gently slipped a warm but very heavy head from his shoulder. Its owner murmured something, slid a caressing hand along his thigh, settled into a new position, and began to snore.
"Mine did that, too," Belkram said in amused tones, handing Itharr his scabbarded sword. The buckle hit the younger Harper in the face.
Itharr spat it away and snarled, "Clothes first, you dolt. I don't consider them optional."
"Here. Hurry."
Itharr hurried, grumbling all the while in low, muttered whispers. "He's probably just gone to relieve himself, or look at the stars, or find a wench who'll have him."
Belkram tried to hand him his sword again. This time, Itharr was ready.
"Remember what Storm told us," Belkram said. "Even if he is just out on the nearest battlement, his safety is too important to risk. Besides, Sharantyr's gone too, and their clothes and weapons."
Tymora aid us," Itharr groaned, leaping up. Together they ran to the door. Itharr winced as a lonely and bewildered voice called his name softly and sleepily from the bed behind him, but he did not answer or slow down.
Belkram clapped him on the shoulder as they hurried down the passage. "Gedaern woke me up, and he did it by running into the room bellowing at the top of his lungs. He smashed straight into the bed and fell on top of us. I thought you'd appreciate a gentler awakening."
"My thanks," Itharr said dryly. "Has he left it just to us, or have we a band of willing idiots to help us scour the dale in the dark?"
"We have such a band, and now they have two willing idiots to lead them," Belkram replied brightly.
Itharr grunted something that his companion didn't quite catch.
* * * * *
Zalarth Bloodbrow smiled grimly at the startled shout and the splash. A fitting reward for disobedience, he thought, watching the thief thrashing and spluttering in the cesspool. There were only two others left. The rest of his men had walked exactly as he'd directed, and the gate had taken them elsewhere already. He motioned those two forward as if to aid the one in the pool. The moment they were in front of him, he moved his fingers in the quick movements of a spell.
The limbs of the thrashing man abruptly froze, and he stared at the wizard in wide-eyed, openmouthed, silent horror as he sank slowly into the thick brown ooze. The soundless mouth slid from view, then the unmoving, staring eyes. The hair coiled momentarily amid bubbles… and then there was nothing.
The two Brotherhood thieves turned to look at Zalarth, their throwing knives leaping into their hands as if they commanded their own magic.
The cruel-faced Zhentarim shook his head and sighed. "His heart? A seizure, perhaps? Better it happened here, I suppose, than in the midst of whatever we'll find through there." He nodded at the empty air where the gate must be.
"Mind you step off the edge there, between the two bumps, and not try to jump in from one side as Lesker did." He shook his head again, frowning, thin-lipped. "He didn't have seizures, did he? Or anything of the sort?"
The two men shook their heads silently. The knives did not leave their hands.
Zalarth frowned down at the now-placid surface of the cesspool. "Unless," he said slowly, "there's something alive in there, feeding on Lesker now."
He looked up and said briskly, "We'd best be gone from here before it sends up tentacles or the like."
He'd scared them sufficiently. Without further demur the thieves stepped forward into the gate-and were gone. Zalarth hastily advanced to position himself between the two stone knobs before the torch went with them.
In the sudden darkness, he conjured up an invisible protective shield of force around himself, just in case one of his men had second thoughts and decided to greet him with a