Part 22 (1/2)
After they ate, they left the inn and Quillian took Midnight to a small, featureless, and deserted building, not far from the tavern. ”The wors.h.i.+pers of Ilmater, G.o.d of Endurance used to meet here,” the boy told the mage. ”The city levied taxes on the church that the priests couldn't dream of paying. When they defaulted, the city guards put them in the poorhouse. Some even live in the House of Meager Living.”
Midnight pictured the derelict who had attacked her with a spike in the poorhouse and shuddered. ”What kind of taxes?” the mage asked quietly.
Quillian shrugged. ”Once word got out that Torm was in the city, Tormites from all over Faerun flocked here, putting a ton of gold in the coffers of the church. Of course, the government took its share, too. After a while, the city told the wors.h.i.+pers of Ilmater to match the taxes paid by the Tormites or get out. You can guess what happened.”
”How very odd,” the mage noted as she turned to her guide. ”In some places, the churches are exempt from taxation. Here, they're driven away by it.” Midnight paused for a moment then recollected her thoughts. ”How far are we from Mystra's shrine?” she asked at last.
”Not far at all,” Quillian told her brightly. ”It's down in the southern section of the city, near the garrisons.”
After a long walk, Quillian led the mage up a low ridge to a small footpath that had nearly been worn away from neglect. The path, in turn, took the travelers right to the Shrine of Mystra.
The shrine was a simple stone arch, surrounded by a rough stone wall a few feet high, with entrances at regular intervals around its circ.u.mference. Midnight ordered Quillian to remain behind as she walked around the circle of stones, viewing the shrine from every angle. Then she pa.s.sed into the circle and stood before the small, white statue of the Lady of Mysteries that rested under the center of the arch. Though she wanted to, Midnight found that she could not bring herself to kneel down and pray before testing the shrine with the sphere of detection. She ran from the circle of stones then stopped.
”You're not a child anymore,” she whispered to herself, then took out the sphere and approached the shrine again. As she got close, the sphere vibrated very slightly.
A residue of spells that might have been cast years ago, Midnight thought. The raven-haired mage turned away from the shrine. A large bell tower in the distance caught her eye. ”What's that?” she said to her guide, pointing to the tower.
”A place where children used to play,” the boy told her, stifling a yawn. ”Legend has it that the bell was made by the great mage, Aylen Attricus. He was one of the founders of Tantras. They say he was a thousand years old when he pa.s.sed away, a century ago.” The boy picked up a small rock and rolled it down the worn path.
”He forged the bell himself, and built the tower, stone by stone, with his own two hands,” Quillian continued. ”Then he used his magic to weave a spell preventing any mortal from ringing the bell. He inscribed some type of prophecy on the bell, but even the city's scholars can't decipher the code he used.” The black-haired boy shrugged and stifled another yawn. ”All I know is that the bell has been there for hundreds of years. They say it rang once and somehow saved the city, but I don't believe it.”
”Why not?” Midnight asked.
”Because the only people around who still believe that are wizards, and wizards never tell the truth,” the boy laughed. The mage frowned. ”I want to see it,” she said grimly.
A slight whistle escaped Quillian's lips as he tried to work out a plan. ”It's in the Forbidden Area, where the army garrisons are laid out. The soldiers usually won't let just anyone through.” He paused and smiled. ”But they know me because of my father. You and I both have dark hair and deep skin. Maybe we can get in by playing aunt and nephew again.”
”Then let's go,” Midnight said.
”There's a problem,” Quillian said flatly, his hand on Midnight 's arm. ”Morgan Lisemore, the commander who would normally give us access, is away from the city until late tomorrow. If I ask anyone else, there'll be a lot of questions, most of which you won't want to answer.” As he finished speaking, the boy tried to stifle a third yawn, but failed.
Throwing her hands into the air, Midnight looked away from the young man. We're obviously not going to solve this now,” she sighed. ”You'd better get some rest. And try to get us a horse, for tomorrow. We'll cover more ground that way.”
As Quillian turned and started toward home, Midnight put her hand on his shoulder and said, ”Thank you for your help, nephew. Meet me at the Lazy Moon Inn before morningfeast.”
”Aye, milady,” the dark-haired boy said happily. ”By the way, you'll want to buy a sleeping mask before you go to bed. If you're not used to it, the constant daylight here can make it difficult to sleep.”
It was more than an hour's walk to the inn. Quillian bade the mage goodbye again then left her. There were no messages from Adon or Kelemvor in the room she shared with the fighter, so the mage tried to relax and sleep.
After nearly an hour of lying in bed, the suns.h.i.+ne causing her to think in the back of her mind that she should be get-ting up, Midnight dressed and found the innkeeper. The obsequious, smiling man, Faress by name, located a sleeping mask for the mage and parted with it for the price of a tankard of ale, a rather large sum for a piece of rough cloth with a string attached.
Before she went to sleep, Midnight tried to study her spellbook. When that endeavor failed, she sat down at a small desk in the corner of the room and wrote messages for Kelemvor and Adon. She retired then, and after sleeping fitfully, was startled awake by a pounding on her door.
”It's Quillian Dencery, milady,” a voice on the other side of the door cried. ”You've overslept.”
”I'll be there in a moment,” Midnight mumbled and dressed hurriedly. The mage and her guide soon resumed their journey, now on horseback, and spent the day visiting deserted temples and places of clandestine wors.h.i.+p. Through it all, the sphere of detection never registered more than a slight tremor. At the end of the day, Midnight accompanied Quillian to the military outpost in the southernmost district of the city. There they found Morgan Lisemore, a tall, sandy-haired man who was easily old enough to be the guide's father.
”If it isn't Quillian Dencery,” Morgan said ruefully, the listened to the boy's story. When Midnight 's guide had finished his tale of addled aunts and research trips, the soldier sighed. ”You know I hate to deny you anything, lad. But there are rules to be followed.”
The young man shook his head and pointed to Midnight .
”She may he called back home at any moment, Morgan. This could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for her.”
Morgan looked up at the sky and sighed again.
”Very well. Go on,” Morgan grumbled then motioned for his guards to let Midnight and her guide pa.s.s.
Midnight said nothing as she rode with Quillian to the bell tower nearly a half-mile in the distance. They pa.s.sed a number of hastily erected barracks and were forced to detour twice to avoid groups of soldiers in the middle of training exercises. Soon, however, theTowerofAylen Attricusstood before them.
The tower was a gray stone obelisk. Within the monument lay a winding stairway that led to a bright, silver bell. The bell itself stood exposed to the cool afternoon air through large windows on each side. Midnight felt an odd tingling sensation in her back as she gazed at the tower and prepared to dismount. The tingling felt like a thousand fingers capped with razor-sharp nails lightly tapping the mage's back. Midnight realized what was happening just as she got off the horse and her feet touched the ground.
”Look out!” Midnight yelled and threw the travel bag from her shoulder. Quillian leaped to the ground. The bag was glowing with a bright amber light as it landed twenty feet from the entrance to the tower. For an instant the bag seemed to be on fire, and then the sphere of detection exploded soundlessly. The tough canvas sack was shredded, and the stone doorway to the tower was seared black from the noiseless explosion.
Midnight walked over to Quillian. The boy was sitting up, but he scampered away from the raven-haired mage as she extended her hand.
”You didn't tell me you were one of them!” he cried and backed a little farther from Midnight .
”One of who?” Midnight asked irritably.
”You're a mage! Your stinking art could have gotten us both killed!” Quillian yelled and rose to his feet. ”I knew I shouldn't have trusted you!”
The mage turned away from the dark-haired boy and looked at the tower. I can afford to lose a guide, she thought, but not the Tablet of Fate... and from the reaction of the sphere, it just might be nearby!
But the sphere was meant to explode when it came within range of any object of sufficient magical power, the mage recalled bitterly. It might have exploded because of the d.a.m.ned bell. She moved toward the doorway and Quillian cried out, ”We have to leave! Someone might think you're trying to blow up the bell!”
”You leave,” Midnight hissed without turning around. ”I have to see what's inside the tower.”
Entering the tower, Midnight was greeted by absolute silence. The sounds of the garrisons and the training exercises going on nearby, even the noise of the wind from the Dragon Reach, suddenly vanished. The mage looked through the door and could see Quillian moving his lips, shouting a warning, but she couldn't hear his voice. Turning from the boy, Midnight examined the interior of the tower and found it completely bare except for the winding stairway that led to the bell. She climbed to the top of the tower.
At the head of the perfectly carved, spotless stone steps, the mage gazed at the inscription on the bell. Sunlar, Mid-night's teacher in Deepingdale, had insisted that Midnight make a study of ancient languages. The message was a con-fusing jumble of many tongues, but it reminded the magic-user of puzzles Sunlar had created for her years ago. And then, as she stared at the strange letters and words, a blue-white glow erupted from the inscription, and Midnight found she could decipher it quite easily. It read:
This bell was created to throw a s.h.i.+eld of impenetrable mystical force over the city I helped to found. To protect my fairest creation from great harm.
Once, my beloved ally, the sorceress Cytheria, rang the bell and saved the city from the dire magics of a wizard I battled nearby. It took great courage to stay and protect our home, though she would have preferred to fight by my side. Now, only by the hand of a woman with power and heart such as my wife had, and only in the greatest time of need, will this bell ever sound again.
The mage pondered the message as she climbed down the Steps and walked out of the tower. The sounds of the day rushed to her ears the moment she walked through the doorway. Quillian was upon his horse, and he had led Midnight 's mount to the tower.
”I put in a long day today and I expect to get paid,” the dark-haired boy growled. ”Now let's get out of here before we're caught.”
”Lead on,” Midnight said flatly as she mounted.
The mage and her guide rode back to the checkpoint where Morgan was waiting. He waved them through without a word, and the pair rode for over an hour before either spoke.
”Don't worry about me keeping quiet,” Quillian grumbled without looking at Midnight . ”I don't want to be a.s.sociated with mages if I can avoid it.” After a moment, he added, ”I sense there are some hard times in your future, milady. Try not to drag any innocent bystanders down with you.”
”I'll keep it in mind,” Midnight told him, angry to be on the receiving end of a lecture from the boy. Although there was less than a decade between Quillian and the mage, she felt as if she had aged a hundred years since she called out to Mystra on Calantar's Way two months before. She had seen far too much in the last few weeks to be scolded by a child who had probably never been more than a hundred miles from Tantras in his entire life.