Chapter 28 - Meanwhile, in Spellhold

Spellhold’s lower level – isolation ward


Irenicus paced about in the place that was now his world. A blank, gray realm utterly without feature. Neither ceiling nor wall could be perceived, and exploration had yielded no clue or reference point to its boundaries. It could be he stood in a pocket plane the size of a festhall, or it might be he was marooned in an infinite expanse. Of course, Irenicus knew that this was not *truly* a physical prison. His body was…outside of him, somehow. He sensed that much. It mattered little at the moment. He would have to find his way out of this limbo first. Irenicus felt something akin to faint, passing respect for his captors. The binding had been cleverly conceived, if rather obvious in its implementation. The sorcerer stared into the void, sure that it was only a matter of time before he found the flaw in the spell’s weaving.


“Do you think he can hear us?”

The first of three junior Cowled Wizards assigned to stand watch over Irenicus breathed the words in a hoarse whisper.

“Of course not!” snapped the second mage. “Do you doubt the elders’ skill?”

“They say that it took the entire council to subdue him” the first mage responded.

“Impossible” the third mage said, smugly. “No outsider is a match for any * one * of the elders.”

“Really?” the first shot back. “Tell me then, have you ever seen an isolation like this one?”

The mage pointed in the direction of Irenicus. Behind three circles of warding glyphs and sigils, the sorcerer’s sleeping body hung from massive fetters. A softly glowing rune had been placed on Irenicus’ forehead.

“Perhaps the elders merely wished to conduct an experiment” the third mage answered, his voice no longer matching the confidence of his words.



*


Spellhold’s main level – inmate cell area


Imoen stared at the ceiling of her cell, marking the time.

Won’t be long now before that smelly old dwarf comes around with those rotten cookies of his.

Imoen made a face and stuck out her tongue. Lonk’s cookies were as hard as a rock, and they tasted like medicine. Imoen suspected that they *were* medicine, of a sort. After she ate them she felt better, but she could never seem to keep her mind focused for a long time after that. Which is why Imoen had stopped eating them three days ago.

Not gonna make me all buffle-headed anymore, you old rumduke!


Imoen’s thoughts darkened. Her mind had cleared, but with clarity came remembrance. Not everything, and not all at once. She still could not remember exactly how she came to this place. She had simply woken up in this cell. For that matter, she didn’t know exactly where she was. Lonk had told her she was in Spellhold, but that meant nothing to Imoen. But Imoen remembered more than she ever wanted to remember of the events preceding her capture.

Irenicus...

Imoen mouthed the word silently, the panic rising in her again. In her mind, she had visions of her friends at the mercy of the sorcerer. Minsc, Jaheira, Theodoric. She clutched at her temples, forcing the thoughts back.

I don’t believe it! I won’t believe it! Theo’s alive, somewhere. I can…feel it.


A telltale jingling of keys and an annoyingly manic whistling brought Imoen back into focus.

Snacktime, already? she thought. The jingling of keys was close, but not quite to her cell.

Rolling off her bed, Imoen reached down and pulled at the hem of the linen robe she wore. With a sharp tug, she tore off a long strip of the flimsy material. She folded it into a small square bundle and palmed it just as the tumblers to her cell door clicked.


“Well hello, little one.”


“Heya, Lonk!” chirped Imoen.

“My, aren’t you in good spirits today?”

Imoen smiled broadly, hiding her irritation at the dwarf’s patronizing tone.

“Didja bake any cookies today?”

Lonk smiled as he changed the linens on Imoen’s cot. “Of course, little one.”

“Yummy!” Imoen squealed, while thinking of places she’d like to tell Lonk to put his cookies.

“Oh, if only the other inmates appreciated me as much as you do, little one” the dwarf said, with more than a touch of melodrama. Imoen made a conscious effort not to roll her eyes.

The dwarf finished with his duties and laid a burnt, misshapen cookie on the cot. “I must be off now, little one” he said.

“So, watcha doin’ today?” Imoen asked, following Lonk to the cell door. “How ‘bout I help ya out, with your rounds an’ stuff?”

Lonk smiled as a parent might smile at a precocious child. “Now, little one” he said, reaching up to pat Imoen on the head. “You know that isn’t allowed.”

“Aw, yer no fun” Imoen pouted, wedging the wad of cloth into the lock behind her.

Lonk merely chuckled and exited the cell, closing the door behind him.

Imoen went back to her cot and laid on it. She closed her eyes, waiting for the telltale sound of the tumblers turning. Three clicks and it’s locked.

One click….then two…..then nothing.

Imoen caught her breath and held it. She waited a long moment to see if Lonk had noticed anything amiss.

When the dwarf cheerfully proceeded to the next cell, Imoen grinned from ear to ear.



*


The hours dragged out for Imoen, each moment longer than the last. Finally, when she was sure Lonk had turned in for the evening, she sat up and crept over to the door of her cell.

Here goes everything.

Imoen knelt by the door and gave it a gentle push. The door moved slightly. Leaning her shoulder into it, Imoen gave the door a not-so-gentle shove.

The door swung open with a lurch, prompting Imoen to grab for it. She froze in place, heart pounding in her chest. Fortunately, no one had heard her.

“Whoof” she whispered, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could.


*


Imoen kept count of the cells she passed in the darkness, making sure to give her fellow inmates a wide berth. She’d had little time outside of her cell, other than a weekly exercise period. In that time, though, she’d become familiar with the general layout of the cell area, and of the people that were held with her. She looked at one cell in particular. The woman in there was known for her sudden outbursts. She could be lucid one moment, and screaming about seeing demons the next. Even now she was mumbling loudly to herself about ‘the beyond’.

Imoen was but a few feet away from the cell when the woman’s voice rose, as if she were about to erupt. Imoen swallowed hard. She stared at the distance between her and her cell. She calculated her chances of getting back in there before someone spotted her.

Please, please just shut up for one night! Imoen silently pleaded as she froze in place. I’m sorry you’re in here, but I have to get away!

After the longest moment in Imoen’s life, the woman in the cell quieted down, resuming her normal mutterings. Imoen drew a hand across her face, then slipped away into the shadows.



*


“What about the girl they brought in with him?”

The mages guarding Irenicus had muted, if not entirely silenced, their worries about the sorcerer for the moment. Boredom had superceded fear, and each of the mages was anxious to make their watch pass quickly.

“What about her?” asked the first mage.

“Heh, guess you didn’t see her.” The second mage grinned. “A fine looking lady.”

“Lady, nothing” leered the third. “That one’s been around, I can tell.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“There *you* go” the third said to the second. “Just because I have a way with the ladies…”

“You have a way with the charm spells and love potions, you mean” corrected the second.

“Haw, as if *I* would need them with the kind of women that are on *this* island” the third boasted. “Though this one might be worth an enchantment or two.”

“You two” sighed the first mage. “That’s all you two ever talk about, chasing women. “It’s boring. Where I come from, we have a name for men like you.”

“Where *I* come from” the second deadpanned, “We have a name for men like *you*."


*


The stairwell leading upstairs lay just a few yards in front of Imoen. Her heart raced. I'm close, so close…

Close to what? she wondered. I don’t know what’s up there, or who’s up there. *He* might be up there.

Panic gripped Imoen, rooting her to the spot. Her breath came in deep gasps, making her dizzy. Slowly, she forced herself to pull back from the brink.

Hafta think Imoen. Think!

“I need gear” she whispered softly.

Imoen looked over at the last door on the left. Lonk’s chambers.

Imoen bit her lip. The dwarf was certainly asleep, and probably drunk, too. Imoen smelled the liquor on him many mornings.

His keys and staff will be in there. Maybe his spell book, too!

Lonk was the first dwarven mage Imoen had ever seen. She had no idea what kind of skill he head. But if he was strong enough to handle all of the inmates without guards…

Imoen released her lip and headed for Lonk’s chambers.



*


“Look, I’m just saying it’s possible!” the first mage argued.

“No, it isn’t.” The second mage responded wearily. He'd had this argument many times before.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t, but…”

“A-ha!”

“But common sense dictates your theorem is highly improbable” the third mage interjected. “Honestly, do you really believe coconuts came to the isle via migrating swallows?”



*


Imoen slipped into Lonk’s chambers, grateful the dwarf hadn’t bothered to bar the door. Some part of Imoen’s mind recalled the fits she’d had figuring out the thief’s nightmare that was Durlag’s Tower and she nearly chuckled. Nearly.


The dwarf was passed out on his bed in the adjoining chamber. He was snoring noisily, a half-empty bottle of wine still loosely clutched in his hands. There were several more wine bottles on his desk in the outer chamber, two of them empty.

He’s worse than ol’ Puffguts on his worst day Imoen thought. All the better for me.

Imoen carefully searched the desk, looking for both traps and hidden compartments. To her frustration, she found nothing of use. She glanced over at Lonk. His ring of keys was still on his belt, and his staff was leaning against the bed itself. Imoen thought to go for them, then decided that might be tempting fate a bit far. She let out a mental sigh and turned to go.

She was near the door when something caught her eye. A small patch of the wall nearest the desk looked a bit off, the stone a bit lighter than the rest. Imoen squatted down and traced her finger over it. She grinned at the fresh grit on her finger and the hairline gaps between the patch and the rest of the wall.

From the back chamber, Lonk coughed and snorted in his sleep, his snoring nearly waking him. He shifted about on the bed, each movement sending a chill through Imoen. Finally, he settled down and resumed his normal snore rumble. Imoen relaxed, satisfied the dwarf was asleep. She did not see the wine bottle in his hands roll to the edge of the bed.


Carefully, Imoen pried the stone out of the wall, revealing a narrow space beyond it. In it were books – spell books. Imoen pulled several of them out, her hands trembling with excitement. They were traveling spell books by the looks of them, bound in a variety of hides. Imoen realized that they must have once been the property of the other inmates. Imoen’s own spell book had been lost in Irenicus’ dungeon, but there were plenty to choose from here. She skimmed through one of them. She didn’t recognize some of the spells, but many were familiar favorites.

No time to rest and memorize she thought. But maybe I don’t need to.

Dynaheir had shown her how, in extremis, a mage’s spell book could be used as a scroll. She could cast the spell right from the page. It would destroy the page, but all she needed was enough magic to make her escape. She gathered up the spell books and turned to go.

Imoen was almost to the door when Lonk shifted slightly, sending the wine bottle to the floor with a crash.

Oh no.

“grunkth…* cough * eh, whoosh dair?”

Lonk rolled to his feet, grasping his staff. The dwarf staggered forward, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“What are yew doin’ here, little one?!? Whash are you doin’ out of your cell?!?”

From outside the chambers, Imoen could hear the nearest inmates waking and making their own noise. In moments the whole ward would be awake. Including that screaming woman.

“No, No it’s not fair!” Imoen sobbed. She glanced at the spell books, but knew instinctively she would never win a battle with a mage, drunken or not, who’d already memorized his spells. She let the books fall to the ground.

“Now don’t chu worry none” Lonk said. “Everything will be all right, little one.”

“No, I won’t go back” Imoen cried, backing away from the dwarf, She backed into the desk, knocking over another wine bottle.

I was so close. So close…

“Ish for your own gude” Lonk breathed heavily, reaching over to pat Imoen on the head.

“No” Imoen said, her tears drying up unexpectedly. A strange feeling came over her. Her blood rushed in her head, and her heart pounded in her ears. Without realizing it, she grabbed one of the wine bottles behind her.

“No. I *won’t* go back” she hissed, her grip tightening on the wine bottle.

“Now, don’t be that way” Lonk burbled. “I promise I’ll-”

Lonk’s words would be his last as the wine bottle came smashing down on his head. He fell to the ground and Imoen pounced on him, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her howls could be heard even over the shouts of the other inmates. Imoen was still screaming when a pair of Cowled Wizards burst into the chambers and subdued her.


*


In his gray prison, Irenicus stirred. He felt the faintest touch of the familiar. It was the scent of a peculiar kind of violence. It faded as briefly as it had appeared, but in its brief existence it had focused Irenicus completely. In the midst of his limbo, he had received a signal, a pointer to the path out.


“Thank you, godchild” he said aloud. “You have shown me the way. Soon I shall be able to thank you personally.”