The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [192]
Mirt nodded. "The phantom city walls, the dragon-wards, aye."
"Aye, indeed. Such castings have multiple anchors. One is a stone in this building's foundation. If this place falls and those stones get shattered or shifted, spell after spell will collapse in a rolling, ever-increasing chaos only Khelben or Laeral can fix-unless Azuth or Holy Mystra herself happen to be strolling by."
"Barring that, the collapse comes, and what then?"
Amaundra shrugged. "Nothing much, perhaps. Wards that won't work when we call on them, later, city walls that won't appear when the orcs come howling… that sort of thing. On the other hand, the breaking spells might shatter others nearby, in magical mayhem none can predict-mayhap awakening spells any of Waterdeep's defenders can use or causing old enchantments to fail here and there."
"Making buildings fall, and all that."
"And all that, indeed. The problem isn't so much the wards we know about. It's all the ancient, half-forgotten, lingering Ahghairon-cast-this magics everywhere."
"Oh, tluin," Mirt growled.
"Oh, tluin, indeed," the magist agreed tartly, "which is a fine word for a woman to be using while she's lying flat on her back wearing only a bit of rag with three lusty men about!"
Madeiron Sunderstone promptly stood up, unbuckled his ornate revel-cloak, and laid it gently over Amaundra. "I believe the appropriate phrase is: 'The things I do for Waterdeep.'"
"That, young sir," came the tart reply, "is the appropriate phrase for us all."
* * * * *
"I thought they were just young ne'er-do-wells, wasting our coins and their days wenching, mocking and breaking things," Ulb Jardeth growled. "For once, I was wrong, and I don't regret my error one whit."
"Likewise!" Eremoes Hawkwinter laughed. "Gods, but that was splendid! Our new young lions, fighting for Waterdeep!"
"And some older lionesses, too," Lord Jardeth added, looking down at his wife.
There was dried blood all over Allys Jardeth's hand and bodice and dagger, none of it her own, but she was nestled in the crook of his arm quite happily, with none of her usual fussing about how she looked or who was wearing a better gown.
She grinned up at him. "So is it all over?"
"You sound disappointed," her proud husband observed. Lord Eremoes Hawkwinter gave the handful of surviving monster-men a hard look-where they were spread out bound on the floor, with swords held to their throats-and shook his head, frowning.
"We're still prisoners in here," he said quietly, "with the Walking Statues blocking all ways out, and there's something wrong with Piergeiron, or he'd be commanding them elsewhere. Moreover, the Lord Mage of Waterdeep, who could do the same with a wave of his hand, seems nowhere to be found. I've been hearing rumors no one's seen him for days-including some powerful outlander mages who came a long way to climb the steps of Blackstaff Tower. I'd say we're far from out of the shadows yet."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Lark almost swallowed her tongue in startled fear when the quiet voice nigh her ear said her name.
Her mewing jump brought her around, dagger up-to face Elaith Craulnober. He held a sword and a roll of parchment, and there was a small band of warriors behind him, one of them a silver-crested, scaled man who looked to be half a dragon.
"Well met," Elaith said dryly. He slapped the parchment into her hand. "A sewer map. Use it. Round up as many of these idiot humans as you can and get them out."
Then he was gone, and all his blades with him, leaving her staring at empty darkness.
Shifting stones grated and rumbled overhead.
Then something burst into sudden brilliance at her feet. Lark jumped back again, hissing out a curse, and stared at the lit torch that hadn't been there a moment earlier.
Then she swallowed, looked up to find three halflings from the Warrens nodding gravely to her with swords ready in their hands, sighed-and unrolled the map.
"Come," she