"A temple complex or holy city, then," Miltiades said. "Deliberately removed from the mundane world, isolated as a retreat for worship and ceremony."
"It would be appropriate for a city of the dead," the dwarf added. "The builders interred their kings and nobles in a sacred city far from the common folk. They could hide the tombs anywhere in Faerun with those magical gates."
"Who would go to that much trouble?" Jacob asked.
"I can think of someone," Belgin said. "The mage lords of ancient Netheril."
"Netheril?" Jacob guffawed. "Tell me another tale, charlatan."
"The statues in the tomb we found were carved in the mode of ancient Netherese dress," Belgin said, tugging at his ear. "The runes and hieroglyphs marking the portal, they were Netherese as well. And I've seen a few faint traces of more hieroglyphs in walls sheltered from the wind. Besides… we're sitting in the middle of a desert. If these are Netherese ruins, I'd expect we're somewhere in Anauroch."
Rings stared at Belgin. "What's a Netherese? And where in the Five Kingdoms is Anauroch?"
The sharper shrugged. "I'm no expert, Rings. I'm just guessing. But Netheril was once a great empire ruled by mighty wizards, far to the northwest of the Five Kingdoms… fairly close to the homeland of these gentlemen, in fact," he said, nodding at Miltiades and Jacob. "A long time ago, the Netherese brought some kind of awful magical doom down on their heads, and their kingdom fell, only to be buried by the sand and rock of the desert called Anauroch."
"I've traveled Anauroch before," Miltiades said. "I've never seen this particular place, but it feels right. How did you learn of these things, Belgin?"
"I was given an unusual education." Belgin spread his hands with a disarming gesture. "I've read a hundred books and learned a thousand tales. But just as my old mentor predicted, I've wasted my learning on a life of iniquity, deceit, and moral ambiguity." He grinned abruptly. "If only she could see me now, battling fiends and consorting with paladins. She might think I'd tinned out right after all."
"Do any of your tales offer insight into the catching of doppelgangers?"
"Nothing as practical as that, I fear," Belgin said.
'Then I think it's time I called on Tyr to aid us in our quest," Miltiades said. Standing, the paladin raised his warhammer, his lips moving in silent prayer. The seething brown murk seemed to lift for just a moment, and his silver armor gleamed scarlet in the setting sun. Opening his eyes, he turned to face the old ruins, seeming to search the dusty arcades and plazas with a sense keener than mortal sight. "She's in that direction," he stated with confidence. "Tyr has granted me a seeking spell, and I can sense the lariat that binds the doppelganger."
"How far off?" Rings asked, scrambling to his feet.
"Not far," Miltiades answered. He glanced over his shoulder at the ruddy glow along the western horizon, the only hint of the sun they'd seen in hours. "If we move fast, we can confront the doppelganger before darkness falls."
The four glided through the ruins, intent on their goal. They trailed quietly down a narrow alleyway drifted knee-deep in soft sand, crossed the shell of an old barracks house, then padded across an open boulevard lined with shattered columns. The stump of a round tower rose ahead of them, above the low rooftops and dunes. Miltiades raised his hand and crouched low behind a ruined colonnade. The others followed his lead.
He nodded at the tower and whispered, "In there.
Remember, she's caught by Noph's magical rope. If you can lay hold of it, she'll be powerless to resist, and we can take her back to Waterdeep."
Rings glanced at Belgin. The sharper returned his gaze without expression, and the dwarf silently nodded in agreement, drawing his axe from his belt loop. She won't be standing trial if Rings or I have anything to say about it, he decided. They weren't being paid to pass judgment, only to execute the judgment their unknown employer had decided upon.
"We're ready," Belgin said.
Miltiades stood and vaulted over the stone block, dashing for the splintered doorway as if his armor of silver plate was a light cloak. Belgin and Rings ran after the paladin, while Jacob brought up the rear at a more cautious pace, keeping an eye on the dismal ruins and howling sand behind them. The great paladin stormed the dark tower like a righteous hurricane, the pirates only a step behind him.
They caught Eidola in her natural shape. Gray and gaunt, she was a skeletal creature draped in loose, leathery flesh. The lariat still circled her neck, although she'd carefully coiled the trailing end and secured it by her side. Hissing in rage, she crouched like a monstrous spider and whirled to face Miltiades as the paladin charged straight at her.
"Insolent human! What must I do to teach you to stay out of my path?" she howled.
"Surrender, monster! We have you trapped!" Miltiades shouted. He leaped forward, attacking in a deadly hail of hammer blows. Lithe and quick, the gray creature eluded the first rush, and then there were two Miltiades, identical to each other, flailing away with silver hammers.
Belgin checked his own rush, Rings hesitating as well. "Which one is real?" the dwarf roared in frustration.
“I am!" cried one Miltiades.
"Don't listen to him!" answered the other.
The sharper looked at the dwarf and said, "Don't tell me you didn't expect that."
Scowling, he circled the battling paladins, rapier at the ready. Rings grunted and followed his lead. Behind them, Jacob filled the doorway, watching the fight as he tried to gauge which one to strike at. Belgin glanced around the room, measuring the arena. The tower's floor was choked with rough rubble; its stone walls rose only twenty or thirty feet before ending in a jagged stump. The walls above them glowed orange with the last rays of the sunset. One Miltiades stumbled but parried the other's attack and drove his reflection back toward Rings. "Think, lad, think!" Belgin muttered to himself. "Which one's real?"
The dwarf raised his axe but held his blow, cursing. "I don't know which one to hit!"
"I know a way to find out," Belgin said, smiling grimly. "Miltiades, don't say anything. Eidola? Which one are you?"
"I am," said the Miltiades with his back to Rings.
Instantly the dwarf swung his axe in a low, vicious cut, but Miltiades-Eidola leaped over the blow and quickly grappled with the real Miltiades, spinning around. Belgin slashed at the imposter as the two reeled close to him and was rewarded with a hiss of pain. Dark blood stained his sword blade, and the battling paladins moved away again, locked in their deadly embrace.
From the doorway, Jacob surged forward. "I've got her!" he cried. He raised his mighty war blade for a monstrous stroke certain to cut the doppelganger in two.
"No, Jacob! That's the wrong one!" Belgin shouted in alarm.
Undeterred, the Tyrian warrior lashed out, the blade flashing like a gleam of doom in the dusk. At the last instant, the Miltiades he struck dropped to one knee and used his hammer to turn the blade aside, though not before the tip of Jacob's sword cut a long, shallow gash down his face. Bright red human blood splashed the sand.
"Jacob!" Miltiades cried. "You almost killed me!" Miltiades-Eidola stepped forward to strike at her foe's back, but Belgin and Rings moved in from the flank, driving her back. Suddenly they faced the gray doppelganger again as she abandoned her imitation of the paladin. She bared her fangs in a fierce snarl, then whirled and leaped high into the air, catching hold of the worn stone of the tower's wall. Like a great insect she scuttled upward, fashioning hooks and loops from her hands to speed her climb. In the blink of an eye she'd vanished over the wall's broken parapet, thirty feet above.