The Nether Scroll (Lost Empires Series, A Forgotten Realms(r) Novel)
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Druhallen, a young magic user, must avenge the murder of his teacher and rescue her son from a dubious fate. But not everyone is telling Druhallen the truth.
Druhallen and his companions must brave the ruins of Dekanter to find a missing artifact . . . the Nether Scroll.
Without the Nether Scroll Galimer may die. With it Druhallen may go mad.
Perhaps the youth had been cured of his bad habits. Their horses were waiting for them at twilight-saddled, bridled and tied to a line. Eleven Zhentarim thugs waited with them, armed to the teeth with swords, knives, and bows. A twelfth Zhentarim wore the robes of a Banite priest. "You're expected for a late supper," the priest said with the friendliness of a man who knows his generosity won't be refused. ***** "You expect me to believe that's the full length and breadth of your story?"
this spring they said his opinion mattered, not as much as theirs, but enough so he'd no longer feel like a child tagging along behind his parents. Tiep had never had the luxury of parents. He'd been making his own decisions as long as he could remember-including the one that took him to the Berdusk temple when he'd heard that a sick lady and her moon-eyed husband were mourning an unborn child and likely to adopt an orphan if an orphan presented himself. Dru and Galimer were always talking about
more magic. That was according to plan-when they all in danger, she was pure muscle-a bodyguard and no one's wife. What wasn't according to plan was the dog-faced goblin with his bright-silk garments and stone-tipped spear darting between Rozt'a and the beast. While Rozt'a cursed louder than the beast's roars, Sheemzher launched himself and his spear into harm's way. If the goblin had been aiming at the beast's nose, then his aim had been perfect; and if he'd had the sense Great Ao had given an
possibilities. "Well, add this to your thoughts. Tiep needs rest. He's blaming himself for what's happened-not that he shouldn't be, but he throws off healing at the best of times and guilt is making everything worse. He's walking and talking, but he's punch-drunk from that rock and feverish from last night's filth. He should bounce back quick enough, but we'll up the odds if we settle in now for the night." "Up the odds of what? Another attack? We've just piled up enough fresh meat to attract
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