by Томас Рейд
The wizard craned his neck, trying to get a clearer view.
«There's a way through up here,» Valas said, reappearing in full. «Come on.»
«Well, that answers that question. Time to go,» Pharaun said, turning to the rest of the group. He directed Quenthel and Faeryl upward, pointing to where the scout was visible. «We only have a few more moments before my wall of force wears off.»
The other drow and the draegloth began floating upward, able to ascend through the magic of their House insignias. One by one, they disappeared through some unseen hole until only Pharaun was left. He began to magically rise up himself, realizing for the first time just how glad he was that they were not turning back to fight more of the tanarukks.
* * *
Aliisza smiled as she watched the last of her tanarukk charges tremble and lie still. The black tentacles that had destroyed them still curled and flailed, looking for anything new to latch onto. The alu-fiend was careful to stay out of reach of the grasping black appendages, though she knew that she could have removed them magically, if necessary. In fact, she could have intervened and dismissed the wizard's spell, rescuing her charges, but she had decided against it, and it wasn't because she feared to waste the spell. She was more curious than anything.
Aliisza knew that the dark elves and their demon would be more than capable, as drow tended to be. She moved back along the passage through which she and her squad of tanarukks had followed the drow, knowing that at least two of them had seen her. Yet they continued to turn away, as though they were running, Aliisza doubted the drow were there for any reason related to Kaanyr Vhok.
The alu wasted no time returning to the point at which she had set out with only the single squad, rejoining the larger force of which they had been a part, the force she commanded.
«They have moved into higher halls,» she announced to the milling tanarukks, directing them along a new route. «We will cut them off at Blacktooth Rock. Do not tarry. They move fast.»
With barely more than a grumble, the horde of humanoids set off, and it didn't take them more than a few minutes to reach the great intersection known to the Scourged Legion as Blacktooth Rock. It was a large, multi-leveled chamber where many different passages connected, and Aliisza wasn't even sure what the dwarves who'd cut the chamber once used it for. Much of it had been filled with the fungus colony the stoutfolk called Araumycos. There were still enough open passages there, however, that patrols of the Scourged Legion passed through frequently, and she knew that unless they utilized some magic to change their course, the passage the drow had taken to escape would ultimately lead them there as well.
The alu-fiend was still considering what she would do upon confronting the drow when her small battalion of tanarukks intercepted a second contingent of the humanoids, one she had sent to cut off escape along another route.
«What are you doing here?» she asked the sergeant, though she was actually glad for the reinforcements. «I assigned you to the Columned Chamber to watch for anything coming from the north.»
«Yes,» the sergeant answered. He was a hulking specimen who stood a good head taller than any of his fellows, his speech thick due to his prominent tusks. «But we got word that a large force of gray dwarves was spotted moving through the south part of Am-marindar, and a second patrol, one that had been stationed farther to the north and east, has completely disappeared.»
«By the Abyss,» Aliisza whispered. «What is going on?» She considered for a moment, then issued orders for a small squad of tanarukks to return to Vhok's palace to report the news, while she and the remainder of the force continued to pursue the drow.
They know something about all this, she told herself as they set out, and I'm going to find out what it is.
* * *
Pharaun no longer jumped whenever Ryld silently returned after skulking along the group's back trail, so he showed no reaction when the warrior suddenly materialized in the group's midst. Splitter was still sheathed across the master of Melee-Magthere's back, so Pharaun knew that they were in no immediate danger. Nonetheless, he paid careful attention as his old friend began to convey a report to Quenthel in the silent hand language of the drow.
Our pursuers are on our trail again, the burly warrior signaled. Several squads, all closing the gap.
The snake heads hissed, echoing their mistress's irritation at this news before Quenthel quieted them with a whispered word.
How long before we are overtaken? she responded.
In the darkness, Pharaun saw Ryld shrug. Perhaps ten minutes, no more.
Quenthel replied, We must rest, at least for a few moments longer. Besides, Valas has not yet returned. Figure out which way he went.
She gestured at the intersection. Ryld nodded and moved to examine the walls near the three-way tunnel. If Valas had left some sign of the direction he'd taken, Ryld would find it, and they could continue.
Pharaun sighed, regretting ever having suggested they come this way to reach Ched Nasad. Passing through the domain of Kaanyr Vhok had been a risky choice, but one that Quenthel had finally insisted on, preferring speed over safety. So, the group moved through the Ammarindar, the ancient holdings of an even more ancient dwar-ven nation, long since wiped out.
Pharaun knew that Kaanyr Vhok had laid claim to the area since the fall of Hellgate Keep, which stood somewhere overhead in the World Above. Vhok, a marquis cambion demon, was an intensely unpleasant host, as Pharaun recalled. Most caravans generally avoided his little patch of the Underdark, so the passages they traversed had been little traveled, which Pharaun had hoped would help maintain the group's secrecy.
Even moving as surreptitiously as possible, the team was unable to avoid attracting the attention of Vhok's minions, and several of the cambion's patrols were once again relentlessly pursuing them. Pharaun had hoped that sneaking through the Araumycos would have thrown the tanarukks off, but he realized that they—or rather, the she-fiend, he supposed—knew exactly where the expedition was headed, even if they themselves did not. He had no doubt that even more were moving to outflank them, cut them off before they could move out of the region and beyond Vhok's reach. The question was, could they stay ahead of the patrols this time?
The Menzoberranyr couldn't afford to have to deal with the demon lord. With the news they carried, avoiding drawing attention to themselves from any of the great races of the Underdark was paramount. And yet, Pharaun had the sinking feeling that was going to be no easy matter. No part of the journey to Ched Nasad was going to be easy, he was certain. There was risk in every move, just like on the sava board.
In its own way, Quenthel's decision to relieve the group of extra baggage—and baggage bearers—had been fortuitous. They could set a faster pace without all the extras the high priestesses had initially insisted they bring along. The mage glanced at Quenthel, knowing she struggled between the notion of setting a faster pace and being sick to death of carrying a load that made her shoulders slump when she thought no one was watching. Pharaun suspected they could have gotten by with even less, and Quenthel might yet lighten her load, discarding more unnecessary provisions, before they reached the City of Webs. If they found themselves in another running fight with Vhok's hordes, it might be sooner rather than later.
Almost as if he knew time was growing short, Valas appeared, followed by Ryld and Jeggred. The drow scout trotted into the intersection and hunkered down against one wall of the passage, absently fingering one of the many outlandish trinkets that adorned his vest.
As Pharaun and Quenthel moved closer, Valas began flashing hand signals.
Our route takes us into a large chamber ahead.
Valas gestured along the passage from which he had just returned.
What's there? Quenthel signaled impatiently.
The scout shrugged then signed, More of the fungus, but it doesn't block our path this time. We're almost beyond Vhok's reach.
Then let's go, Quenthel replied. I'm sick of this place.
&n
bsp; Valas nodded, and the group set off again. The passages through which the scout led them were once again wide and smooth, cut from the rock of the Underdark by skilled dwarf hands. They seemed to be making headway in the direction they wanted to go, as Faeryl commented more than once that things were starting to look familiar to her. With any luck, they would be out of Kaanyr Vhok's domain and into the outskirts of Ched Nasad's patrolled regions in short order. Quenthel seemed content this time to let Valas and Ryld interpret the ancient Dethek runes inscribed on the thoroughfares of the long-abandoned dwarven city and go where they suggested, for which Pharaun was intensely grateful. The sooner they reached the comforts of Ched Nasad, the better he'd feel, at least physically.
The mage had been contemplating making a suggestion to Quenthel, proposing to her that they enter the city discreetly. He wouldn't put it past the high priestess to want to stroll in with banners unfurled and demand to see the most powerful representatives of the noble Houses, just so she could tell them all that she was taking what was hers, Ched Nasad be damned. He had to think of a way to convince her to swallow her pride and do the smart thing, instead. It would be so much better for all of them if they didn't attract a lot of attention to themselves, at least not in the city streets.
Besides, Pharaun thought, why do I want to be the guests of a bunch more matron mothers? An inn, especially a particularly splendid uin, would be much more satisfying.
The trick, he realized, was in how to go about convincing Quenthel. Trying to make it look like her idea seemed the best choice, but working out a good, subtle way to plant the seed was tricky where the high priestess was concerned. She'd already shown that she was difficult to maneuver.
Push a little too hard, and she'd slap you down just because you were a male. Don't push hard enough, and she'd be too busy being in a foul temper to see what you were dangling in front of her face. Pharaun could think of a number of arguments he could use just to convince her, rather than trying to trick her into doing it his way, but again, with Quenthel, he knew he could argue until he was out of breath, and she might still refuse.
Pharaun suddenly realized that the passageway had begun to ascend, and fairly steeply, too. He glanced up and saw the others laboring to reach the top of the rise. As they crested the ridge, they drew to a halt, and Faeryl said something softly as she pointed into the distance. The wizard wondered what they had spotted. He quickened his own step, and when he caught up with them he paused. The panorama of a large, softly lit chamber greeted him. At least he assumed it was a large chamber. Judging from the curvature of the walls, it was quite grand, but more than half of it was filled with the great fungus. He shook his head, more impressed with the Araumycos than ever. The entirety of the growth was a single living organism, as best as any wizard or sage could determine. That this was a different part of the same entity they'd encountered nearly an hour ago was astonishing, but knowing that what he had seen, at least to this point, was still only a tiny part of the whole thing made his head swim.
The chamber itself was natural, with a mammoth black stalactite that looked remarkably like a huge fang just beginning to bite into the fungus, being the most prominent feature. Evidence of dwarven stoneworking was also in abundance. The drow had entered at a point fairly high along the exposed wall of the cavern, the passage emptying onto a large, balconied ledge that overlooked the floor. A large ramp, wide enough to accommodate several wagons side by side, descended from this ledge on the left side, entering into a series of switchbacks that crisscrossed down the side of the cavern below the ledge until it reached the floor. There, a smooth, paved road led to intersections scattered along the floor where other roads shot off to more switchbacks, eventually rising to a number of tunnels. In many cases, the pathways simply disappeared beneath the massive, pasty-gray fungus.
To Pharaun's eye, the whole place could have been a tiny city, similar to a portion of Menzoberranzan, except for two notable differences. First, the architecture was obviously and repulsively dwarven, all thick and blocky and dull to the eye. Second was the dim but pervasive light, which seemed to glow from almost everywhere and gave the whole chamber, indeed the entire stone surface, a pale, sickly gray glow. In Menzoberranzan, the city's velvety was blackness was broken by rich, luxurious hues of violet, green, and amber scattered across the cavern floor and ceiling. Here, everything was visible, glowing from some soft magical light that illuminated everywhere, but nothing had any color.
The dark elf wizard missed his home, longed to sit atop the balconies of the Academy and look out over the city. He yearned for even the simple pleasure of observing Narbondel, its red glow tracking the hours of the day and night. In the wilds, Pharaun had discovered that without the familiarity of the great clock in the City of Spiders he was losing all track of time, even though he had other, magical, means of following its passage. For a brief moment, Pharaun wondered if he would ever see Menzoberranzan again, and he felt a touch of— of what? Sadness? Was that what sadness felt like? It was odd, and the mage determined to shake it off.
What you need is a nice, hot, oiled bath, Mizzrym, followed by a deepstroke performed by a master masseur, and you'll have a spring in your step in no time.
With that encouraging thought, the wizard straightened up and turned his attention to his companions.
Valas had moved down along the ramp and had reached the first switchback. From Pharaun's vantage point, the diminutive scout looked truly tiny, giving the master of Sorcere a better sense of the scale of the chamber. Quenthel, Faeryl, Jeggred, and Ryld, meanwhile, were descending through the air to the next section of the path and were about halfway down, dropping in a loose cluster. Pharaun chuckled, wondering how the Mistress of the Academy was faring, still laboring with her baggage.
Well, Pharaun thought, that oil bath is waiting for you.
He took two steps toward the edge of the balcony to follow the high priestess and the others, when he felt rather than heard a disturbance behind him.
THREE
Khorrl Xornbane could not help but tense slightly as the door to the private booth where he sat waiting slid partially open. His hand dropped instinctively to grip the doubleaxe at his side. Even when Zammzt slipped through the narrow opening on soft footsteps and settled onto the cushioned bench on the opposite side of the table, the duergar did' not yet relax. He peered warily through the still-open partition into the hallway beyond, looking to see who might be lurking in a shadow, watching them meet. There were only three other individuals there, and none of them seemed to be paying Zammzt any attention at all. Two drow dressed as merchants, led by a third dark elf who was obviously a host of the Glowing Goblet, made their way to another booth and disappeared inside. Khorrl frowned as the host delayed a moment longer. The servant cocked his head slightly to one side, apparently listening to something that was said from inside the meeting cubicle, spoken too softly for the duergar to overhear.
He's just taking a drink order, the duergar thought. No need to get antsy.
Despite his self-admonition, Khorrl knew he would not rest easy for at least another minute or two. It would not be the first time some fool had allowed himself to be followed during a meeting with the duergar mercenary, and he never again wanted to be in such a position, caught unaware and forced to fight his way out of a corner. Not only had he barely escaped, but it had sullied his reputation to boot. That part had angered him most of all.
Finally, when he was certain no one was studying either of them on the sly, Khorrl relaxed, though he had to consciously release his grip on the doubleaxe to do so. He looked across the table at Zammzt, noting the lack of a House insignia anywhere on the plain-looking drow's clothing. For his part, Zammzt was reclining casually on the cushioned bench, the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. Though Khorrl didn't consider himself a great judge of attractiveness, especially in other species, it was plain enough to him that Zammzt's face was far from noteworthy. The drow was simply too ordinary looking. If he didn't alrea
dy serve a noble House, he would have never amounted to much more than a common artisan, a step up from a slave but little more. Khorrl supposed the fact that he was such a shrewd negotiator was the dark elf's single biggest saving grace.
«I assure you, I was not followed,» Zammzt said, interrupting the duergar's musings. «I would have known it, if someone tried, and there's no reason at all for anyone to do so.»
«Why do you think I was concerned about that?» Khorrl asked, settling back himself. «I haven't accused you of anything yet.»
«The sour look on your face and the furtive glances you keep casting out the door make it plain enough,» the dark elf replied, «though I don't question your concern. You will no doubt be glad to know that I observed your arrival from a secure position, and I will tell you that no one followed you, either.»
Khorrl stiffened slightly again, trying to decide if he should be insulted or impressed. Few creatures had managed to study him unnoticed, certainly not in recent years. For him not to notice Zammzt's observations was surprising, if what the drow claimed was true. The duergar narrowed his eyes, wondering if the dark elf was merely lying to impress him. He doubted it, but still. .
«Then you must feel secure enough to speak freely, hmm?» Khorrl asked, baiting his boothmate to see what his reaction would be.
Zammzt's smile deepened the tiniest bit as he waved a hand in dismissal and turned his gaze on the table in front of him.
«Of course,» he said. «Though I would think you'd prefer to wait until the host has brought us drinks first.»
«I've already turned him down,» Khorrl replied, giving his own wave of dismissal. «I don't care to partake while I'm doing business.»
«As I'm well aware, Master Xornbane, from your reputation. I, however, have already requested that a refreshment be delivered to the booth. I believe I hear it coming now.»
