He saw some other images, as well, particularly one of a great curled red dragon, and he heard a word, a name echoing in his head: Hephaestus.
Rai-guy knew he had to act quickly. He settled back in his private chamber beneath House Basadoni and prayed with all his heart to his Lady Lolth, telling her of the Crystal Shard, and of the glorious chaos the artifact might allow him to bring to the world.
For hours, Rai-guy stayed alone, praying, sending away any who knocked at his door—Berg’inyon and Kimmuriel among them— with a gruff and definitive retort.
Then, when he believed he’d caught the attention of his dark Spider Queen, or at least the ear of one of her minions, the wizard fell into powerful spellcasting, opening an extra-planar gate.
As always with such a spell, Rai-guy had to take care that no unwanted or overly powerful planar denizens walked through that gate. His suspicions were correct, though, and indeed, the creature that came through the portal was one of the yochlol. These were the handmaidens of Lolth, beasts that more resembled half-melted candles with longer appendages than the Spider Queen herself.
Rai-guy held his breath, wondering suddenly and fearfully if he had erred in letting on about the artifact. Might Lolth desire the artifact herself and instruct Rai-guy to deliver it to her?
“You have called for help from the Lady,” the yochlol said, its voice watery and guttural all at once, a dual-toned and horrible sound.
“I wish to return to Menzoberranzan,” Rai-guy admitted, “and yet I cannot at this time. An instrument of chaos is about to be destroyed …”
“Lady Lolth knows of the artifact, Crenshinibon, Rai-guy of House Teyachumet,” the yochlol replied, and the title the creature bestowed upon him surprised the drow wizard-cleric.
He had indeed been a son of House Teyachumet—but that house of Ched Nasad had been obliterated more than a century before. A subtle reminder, the drow realized, that the memory of Lolth and her minions was long indeed.
And a warning, perhaps, that he should take great care about how he planned to put the mighty artifact to use in the city of Lolth’s greatest priestesses.
Rai-guy saw his dreams of domination over Menzoberranzan melt then and there.
“Where will you retrieve this item?” the handmaiden asked.
Rai-guy stammered a reply, his thoughts elsewhere for the moment. “Hephaestus’s lair … a red dragon,” he said. “I know not where …”
“Your answer will be given,” the handmaiden promised.
It turned around and walked through Rai-guy’s gate, and the portal closed immediately, though the drow wizard had done nothing to dispel it.
Had Lolth herself been watching the exchange? Rai-guy had to wonder and to fear. Again he understood the futility of his dreams of conquest over Menzoberranzan. The Crystal Shard was powerful indeed, perhaps powerful enough for Rai-guy to manipulate or otherwise unseat enough of the Matron Mothers for him to achieve a position of tremendous power, but something about the way the yochlol had spoken his full name told him he should be careful indeed. Lady Lolth would not permit such a change in the balance of Menzoberranzan’s power structure.
For just a brief moment, Rai-guy considered abandoning his quest to retrieve the Crystal Shard, considered taking his remaining allies and his gains and retreating to Menzoberranzan as the coleader, along with his friend, Kimmuriel, of Bregan D’aerthe.
A brief moment it was, for the call of the Crystal Shard came rushing back to him then, whispering its promises of power and glory, showing Rai-guy that the surface was not so forbidding a place as he believed. With Crenshinibon, the dark elf could carry on Jarlaxle’s designs, but in more appropriate regions—a mountainous area teeming with goblins, perhaps—and build a magnificent and undyingly loyal legion of minions, of slaves.
The drow wizard rubbed his slender black fingers together, waiting anxiously for the answer the yochlol had promised him.
“You cannot deny the beauty,” Jarlaxle remarked, he and Entreri again sitting outside of the cathedral, relaxing before their journey. Both were well aware that many wary gazes were focused upon them from many vantage points.
“Its very purpose denies that beauty,” Entreri replied, his tone showing that he had little desire to replay this conversation yet again.
Jarlaxle studied the man closely, as if hoping that physical scrutiny alone would unlock this apparently dark episode in Artemis Entreri’s past. The drow wasn’t surprised by Entreri’s dislike of” hypocritical” priests. In many ways, Jarlaxle agreed with him. The dark elf had been alive for a long, long time, and had often ventured out of Menzoberranzan—and had known the movements of practically every visitor to that dark city—and he had seen enough of the many varied religious sects of Toril to understand the hypocritical nature of many so-called priests. There was something far deeper than that looming here within Artemis Entreri, though, something visceral. It had to be an event in Entreri’s past, a deeply disturbing episode involving a priest. Perhaps he had been wrongly accused of some crime and tortured by a priest, who often served as jailers for the smaller communities of the surface. Perhaps he had known love once, and that woman had been stolen from him or had been murdered by a priest.
Whatever it was, Jarlaxle could clearly see the hatred in Entreri’s dark eyes as the man looked upon the magnificent—and it was magnificent, by any standards—Spirit Soaring. Even for Jarlaxle, a creature of the Underdark, the place lived up to its name, for when he gazed upon those soaring towers, his very soul was lifted, his spirit enlightened and elevated.
Not so for his companion, obviously, and yet another mystery of Artemis Entreri for Jarlaxle to unravel. He did indeed find this man interesting.
“Where will you go after the artifact is destroyed?” Entreri asked unexpectedly.
Jarlaxle had to pause, both fully to digest the question and to consider his answer—for in truth, he really had no answer. “If we destroy it, you mean,” he corrected. “Have you ever dealt with the likes of a red dragon, my friend?”
“Cadderly has, as I’m sure have you,” Entreri replied.
“Only once, and I truly have little desire ever to speak with such a beast again,” Jarlaxle said. “One cannot reason with a red dragon beyond a certain level, because they are not creatures with any definitive goals for personal gain. They see, they destroy, and take what is left over. A simple existence, really, and one that makes them all the more dangerous.”
“Then let it see the Crystal Shard and destroy it,” Entreri remarked, and he felt a twinge then as Crenshinibon cried out.
“Why?” Jarlaxle asked suddenly, and Entreri recognized that his ever-opportunistic friend had heard that silent call.
“Why?” the assassin echoed, turning to regard Jarlaxle fully.
“Perhaps we are being premature in our planning,” Jarlaxle explained. “We know how to destroy the Crystal Shard now—likely that will be enough for us to use against the artifact to bend it continually to our will.”
Entreri started to laugh.
“There is truth in what I say, and a gain to be had in following my reasoning,” Jarlaxle insisted. “Crenshinibon began to manipulate me, no doubt, but now that we have determined that you, and not the artifact, are truly the master of your relationship, why must we rush ahead to destroy it? Why not determine first if you might control the item enough for our own gain?”
“Because if you know, beyond doubt, that you can destroy it, and the Crystal Shard knows that, as well, there may well be no need to destroy it,” Entreri played along.
“Exactly!” said the now-excited dark elf.
“Because if you know you can destroy the crystalline tower, then there is no possible way that you will wind up with two crystalline towers,” Entreri replied sarcastically, and the eager grin disappeared from Jarlaxle’s black-skinned face in the blink of an astonished eye.
“It did it again,” the drow remarked dryly.
“Same bait on the hook, and the Jar
laxle fish chomps even harder,” Entreri replied.
“The cathedral is beautiful, I say,” Jarlaxle remarked, looking away and pointedly changing the subject. Entreri laughed again.
Delay him, then, Yharaskrik imparted to Kimmuriel when the drow told the illithid the plan to intercept Jarlaxle, Entreri, and the priest Cadderly and his friends at the lair of Hephaestus the red dragon.
Rai-guy will not be deterred in any way short of open battle, Kimmuriel explained. He will have the Crystal Shard at all costs.
Because the Crystal Shard so instructs him, Yharaskrik replied.
Yet it seems as if he has freed himself, partially at least, from its grasp, Kimmuriel argued. He dismissed many of the drow soldiers back to our warren in Menzoberranzan and has systematically relinquished our holdings here on the surface.
True enough, the illithid admitted, but you are fooling yourself if you believe that the Crystal Shard will allow Rai-guy to take it to the lightless depths of the Underdark. It is a relic that derives its power from the light of the sun.
Rai-guy believes that a few crystalline towers on the surface will allow the artifact to channel that sunlight power back to Menzoberranzan, Kimmuriel explained, for indeed, the drow wizard had told him of that very possibility—a possibility that Crenshinibon itself had imparted to Rai-guy.
Rai-guy has come to see many possibilities, Yharaskrik’s thoughts imparted, and there was a measure of doubt, translated into sarcasm, in the illithid’s response. The source of those varied and marvelous possibilities is always the same.
It was a point on which Kimmuriel Oblodra, who now found himself caught in the middle of five dangerous adversaries—Rai-guy, Yharaskrik, Jarlaxle, Artemis Entreri, and the Crystal Shard itself—did not wish to dwell. There was little he could do to alter the approaching events. He would not go against Rai-guy, out of respect for the wizard-cleric’s prowess and intelligence, and also because of his deep relationship with the drow. Of his potential enemies, Kimmuriel feared Yharaskrik least of all. With Rai-guy at his side, he knew the illithid could not win. Kimmuriel could neutralize Yharaskrik’s mental weaponry long enough for Rai-guy to obliterate the creature.
While he held respect for the manipulative powers of the Crystal Shard and knew that the mighty artifact would not be pleased with any psionicist, Kimmuriel was honestly beginning to believe that the artifact was indeed a fine match for Rai-guy, a joining that would be of mutual benefit. Jarlaxle hadn’t been able to control the artifact, but Jarlaxle had not been properly forewarned about its manipulative powers. Kimmuriel doubted that Rai-guy would make that same mistake.
Still, the psionicist believed that all would be simpler and cleaner if the Crystal Shard were indeed destroyed, but he wasn’t about to go against Rai-guy to ensure that event.
He looked at the illithid and realized that he already had gone against his friend, to some extent, merely by informing this bulbous-headed creature, who was certainly an enemy of Rai-guy, that Rai-guy meant to enter an alliance with the Crystal Shard.
Kimmuriel bowed to Yharaskrik out of respect, and floated away on psionic winds, back to House Basadoni and his private chambers. Not far down the hall, he knew, Rai-guy was awaiting his answer from the yochlol and plotting his strike against Jarlaxle and the fallen leader’s newfound companions.
Kimmuriel had no idea where he was going to fit into all of this.
CHAPTER
THE FACE OF DISASTER
23
Artemis Entreri eyed the priest of Deneir with obvious mistrust as Cadderly walked up before him and began a slow chant. Cadderly had already cast prepared defensive spells upon himself, Danica, Ivan, and Pikel, but it occurred to Entreri that the priest might use this opportunity to get rid of him. What better way to destroy Entreri than to have him face the breath of a dragon errantly thinking he had proper magical defenses against such a firestorm?
The assassin glanced over at Jarlaxle, who had refused Cadderly’s aid, claiming he had his own methods. The dark elf nodded to him and waggled his fingers, silently assuring Entreri that Cadderly had indeed placed the antifire enchantment upon him.
When he was done, Cadderly stepped back and inspected the group. “I still believe that I can do this better alone,” he remarked, drawing a scowl from both Danica and Entreri.
“If it was as simple as erecting a fire barrier and tossing out the artifact for the dragon to breathe upon, I would agree,” Jarlaxle replied. “You may need to goad the beast to breathe, I fear. Wyrms are not quick to use their most powerful weapon.”
“When it sees us all, it will more likely loose its breath,” Danica reasoned.
“Poof!” agreed Pikel.
“Contingencies, my dear Cadderly,” said Jarlaxle. “We must allow for every contingency, must prepare for every eventuality and turn in the game. With an ancient and intelligent wyrm, no variable is unlikely.”
Their conversation ended as they both noted Pikel hopping about his brother, sprinkling some powder over the protesting and slapping Ivan, while singing a whimsical song. He finished with a wide smile, and hopped up and whispered into Ivan’s ear.
“Says he got a spell of his own to add,” the yellow-bearded dwarf remarked. “Put one on meself and on himself, and’s wondering which o’ ye others’ll be wantin’ one.”
“What type of spell?”
“Another fire protection,” Ivan explained. “Says doo-dads can do that.”
That brought a laugh to Jarlaxle—not because he didn’t believe the dwarf’s every word, but because he found the entire spectacle of a dwarven druid quite charming. He bowed to Pikel and accepted the dwarf’s next spellcasting. The others followed suit.
“We will be as quick as possible,” Cadderly explained, moving them all to the large window at the back of the room on a high floor in one of the Spirit Soaring’s towering spires. “Our goal is to destroy the item and nothing more. We are not to battle the beast, not to raise its ire, and,” he looked at Entreri and Jarlaxle as he finished, “surely not to attempt to steal anything from mighty Hephaestus.”
“Remember,” the priest added, “the enchantments upon you may diminish one blast of Hephaestus’s fire, perhaps two, but not much more than that.”
“One will be enough,” Entreri replied.
“Too much,” muttered Jarlaxle.
“Does everyone know his or her role and position when we enter the dragon’s main chamber?” Danica asked, ignoring the grumbling drow.
No questions came back at her. Taking that as an affirmative answer, Cadderly began casting yet again, a wind-walking spell that soon carried them out of the cathedral and across the miles to the south and east to the caverns of mighty Hephaestus. The priest didn’t magically walk them in the front door, but rather soared along deeper chambers, the understructure of the cavern complex, coming into a large antechamber to the dragon’s main lair.
When he broke the spell, depositing their material forms in the cavern, they could hear the great sighing sound of the sleeping wyrm, the huge intake and smoky exhalation.
Jarlaxle put a finger to pursed lips and inched ahead, as silent as could be. He disappeared around an outcropping of stone, and came right back in, actually clutching the wall to steady himself. He looked at the others and nodded grimly, though there could be no doubt he had seen the beast simply from the expression on his normally confident face.
Cadderly and Entreri led the way, Danica and Jarlaxle followed, with the Bouldershoulder brothers behind. The tunnel behind the outcropping wound only for a short distance, and opened up widely into a huge cavern, its floor crisscrossed by many cracks and crevices.
The companions hardly noticed the physical features of that room, though, for there before them, looming like a mountain of doom, lay Hephaestus, its red-gold scales gleaming from its own inner heat. The beast was huge, even curled as it was, its size alone mocking them and making every one of them want to fall to his knees and pay homage.
That was one o
f the traps in dealing with dragons, that awe-inspiring aura of sheer power, that emanation of helplessness to all who would look upon their horrible splendor.
These were not novice warriors, though, trying to make a quick stab at great fame. These were seasoned veterans, every one. Each, with the exception of Artemis Entreri, had faced a beast such as Hephaestus before. Despite his inexperience in this particular arena, nothing in all the world—not a dragon, not an arch-devil, not a demon lord—could take the heart from Artemis Entreri.
The wyrm’s eye, seeming more like that of a cat than a lizard, with a green iris and a slitted pupil that quickly widened to adjust to the dim light, popped open as soon as the group entered. Hephaestus watched their every movement.
“Did you think to catch me sleeping?” the dragon said quietly, which still made its voice sound like an avalanche to the companions.
Cadderly called out a cueing word to his companions, and snapped his fingers, bringing forth a magical light that filled all the chamber.
Up snapped Hephaestus’s great horned head, the pupils of its eyes fast thinning. It turned as it rose, to face the impertinent priest directly.
To the side, Entreri eased the Crystal Shard out of his pouch, ready to throw it before the beast as soon as Hephaestus seemed about to loose its fiery breath. Jarlaxle, too, was ready, for his job in this was to use his innate dark elf powers to bring forth a globe of darkness over the artifact as the flames consumed it.
“Thieves!” the dragon roared. Its voice shook the chamber and sent shudders through the floor—a poignant reminder to Cadderly of the instability of this place. “You have come to steal the treasure of Hephaestus. You have prepared your proper spells and wear items of magic that you consider powerful, but are you truly prepared? Can any mere mortal truly be prepared to face the awful splendor that is Hephaestus?”
Cadderly tuned out the words and fell into the song of Deneir, seeking some powerful spell, some type of mighty magical chaos, perhaps, as he had once used against Fyrentennimar, that he could trick the beast and be done with this. His best spells against the previous dragon had been of reverse aging, lessening the beast with mighty spellcasting, but he could not use those this time, for so doing would diminish the dragon’s breath as well, and defeat their very purpose in being there. He had other magic at his disposal, though, and the Song of Deneir rang triumphantly in his head. Along with that song, though, the priest heard the calls of Crenshinibon, discordant notes in the melody and surely a distraction.
Servant of the Shard: The Sellswords Page 31
