'What?'
'Egg top, good sir.' Sheemzher patted his scalp. 'Gold scroll fit egg top. Gold scroll eat Elva, children. Demons come… Takers.'
Dru covered his eyes and swore. He couldn't imagine what part of a wound sheet of Netherese gold might have played in the transformation of Sheemzher's family, but he could imagine the egg. Alchemists used such devices to transmute elements and called the devices athanors. The few Druhallen had seen were small, no bigger than a skull, and required the might of more fire spells than he could cast in a week before they'd kindle. A mage would need to harness the sun or the sea tide to power an athanor large enough to transmute a goblin. The sun, the sea tide, or the forbidden magic of Netheril.
And he, Druhallen of Sunderath, had to pit himself successfully against such a mage if Galimer were going to walk out of Weathercote Wood.
He swore again.
Child-sized fingers touched his. 'Sheemzher help. Sheemzher wait six years. Sheemzher plan. Sheemzher ready.'
Druhallen successfully resisted the impulse to smash helpful Sheemzher against the cave walls. 'Leave me alone now,' he said stiffly. 'I haven't had six years.'
'Sheemzher understand.' The goblin made his double-fist gesture as he backed away. 'Good sir make plan. Sheemzher keep watch, yes?'
Not a chance. 'I'm keeping the watch, Sheemzher. You curl up and get some sleep.'
The goblin did as told, at least as far as huddling up under a blanket and staying put. Dru opened his folding box. He ran his fingers over the inscribed partitions. So much depended on choosing the right spells to study each night and he hadn't been doing a particularly good job of balancing offense, defense, and maintenance these last few days. Should he assume the worst and commit his mind to fire?
His thoughts wandered away from an answer to Galimer and a huge white egg with a gold scroll rising from it. The rain eased, stopped. Looking through the cave's entrance, Dru thought he saw a star.
Did that make fire more attractive or less?
Dru sat with his box open when Rozt'a cast her blankets aside. She awakened Tiep-with all his worrying about tomorrow's magic, Dru had forgotten to wake the youth-and stared hard at the goblin, whose snoring rhythm held steady under observation, before joining Druhallen near the cave's entrance.
'I heard you talking to Sheemzher,' she began without the edge and irritation that had marked her earlier conversation. 'If this golden scroll is truly surrounded by demons, we're doomed.'
'Wyndyfarh wants the golden scroll, not a demon's heart. And she thinks we've got a good chance to grab it.'
Rozt'a sat cross-legged on the stone. 'Whatever makes you think that?'
'You trusted her. Twice.'
'Gods protect us!' Rozt'a snorted. They both looked toward their sleeping companions, lest the impolite sound had awakened them. 'I've been wrong many times, and this might really be one of them.'
'You're right about people-'
'That woman's not people. I don't know what she is, but she's not human.'
'She kept Galimer.'
Rozt'a retorted, 'That's a token in favor of humanity and trustworthiness?'
'In a way. I don't think Wyndyfarh ever intended to keep Tiep. She'd proved he was a thief. She'd looked in our minds, knew how we'd feel about that. She couldn't be sure we'd come back for him after we had the scroll. Think of it-beyond the value of the gold, which is surely great-there's the value of what's written on the gold. There's a legend-I've heard twenty versions if I've heard one-that says the Netheril Empire was born when someone known as the Finder found the twice-fifty scrolls of magic-all the magic that ever was or will be.'
'Don't tell me-the Takers took the scrolls from the Finder who found them.'
Druhallen sighed. Rozt'a would never be either a wizard or a poet.
'I don't think there's a connection. The scrolls disappeared long before the Empire fell. What did she say-The Beast Lord was a nuisance until he found the scroll?' Dru closed his eyes, but concentration couldn't resurrect Wyndyfarh's exact words. 'It's something to think about. She had to give her thieves the strongest possible incentive to bring her the scroll rather than keep it for themselves. Though I'm sure she mentioned the Beast Lord and didn't mention Takers or demons-Not that it matters who's got the scroll, who we steal it from or how, so long as we bring it to her in Weathercote Wood.'
'The price of a man's life measured in gold and magic,' Rozt'a mused, staring past Dru at the dying fire. 'He'd have to be a special man.'
'He is,' Dru insisted quickly. Rozt'a said nothing for several moments, leaving Dru to wonder if he'd misread her completely. 'You wouldn't-You don't-You two, you're still-?'
She took a while to draw a breath and sigh before saying, 'We're none of us easy-keepers, Dru. He's Galimer Longfingers and nothing's turned out the way he hoped it would, but, yes, I love him-if that's the question you're asking. I want him back; I want him back from her. There's not enough gold or magic in the world to make me change my mind about that.'
'You're twice the woman Wyndyfarh is, Roz.'
It seemed, at last, that he'd said the right thing. Rozt'a leaned back against the cave wall and relaxed. Moments passed. Dru should have gone to his blankets, but he stayed put, savoring peace and quiet with an old friend. His mind was drifting when Rozt'a asked a question.
'Sheemzher said he left Dekanter six years ago. Do you think he's got the count right?'
Druhallen blinked foolishly, his thoughts had wandered a long way from goblins. 'Yes,' he answered slowly, then repeated himself as his opinions crystallized. 'Yes, six years sounds about right. Amarandaris said things began changing in Dekanter about seven years ago.'
'When the Beast Lord stopped being a nuisance and became a problem?'
Sometimes one casual statement brought everything else into line, like stranded pearls. 'Exactly!' Dru nodded. 'The scroll? Did the Beast Lord always have the scroll or did he find it seven years ago? Tymora's tears! How long has the Beast Lord been Ghistpok's god? How long has he been filling these mountains with misshapen goblins? So many questions and no one to ask!'
'Except Sheemzher.'
'Except Sheemzher,' Dru agreed. 'Tiep had a point-the way Sheemzher talks, you think you understand what he's said because you think he's simple.'
'You've noticed how he repeats things exactly as he hears them? Lady Wyndyfarh told him that together they'd save his children. She didn't say anything about that to us. When you said you'd bring her minions back in a gilded cage, she told you not to bother. She never said a word about goblins.'
'And Sheemzher himself said it was too late to save his children.' Dru took a deep breath and shook his head. 'Goblins live fast, Rozt'a. Most of them are probably dead by the time they're twenty-five. Six years is a long time at that rate.'
'That's an excuse? Goblins don't live very long, so just let whoever's running that egg he described hatch out misshapen goblins to his heart's content?'
Rozt'a took Dru by surprise with her vehemence. He thought carefully before answering her 'Galimer comes first. We get the scroll, we get Galimer. Nothing else matters. There's too much going on in Dekanter that we can't begin to understand and shouldn't poke our noses in. I've forgotten about the Red Wizards, Rozt'a; you don't want to start thinking about the goblins. Let Amarandaris, the Red Wizards, and the Beast Lord worry about the goblins.'
'I'm not worried about goblins.' The tension was back as Rozt'a got to her feet. 'I'm worried what our guide's going to do when he realizes that his 'good lady' isn't worried about them, either.'
9
6 Eleint, the Year of the Banner (1368 DR) The Greypeak Mountains
