by Лиза Смедман
The gray dwarf didn't have his head tilted up to speak to the illithid but kept his eyes level with the mind flayer's waist. The gray dwarf's gaze occasionally creeped down to the sphere, and he gestured repeatedly at Tier Breche.
Glancing up, Gromph could see the illichid's tentacles ripple as it shook its head. The gray dwarf, who obviously thought he was addressing another duergar, pointed at the sphere.
With a suddenness that surprised Gromph, the illithid bent over the dwarf. Its four tentacles lashed out, wrapping themselves around the duergar's face. The dwarf flailed with his axe, but the illithid had anticipated that move and countered it with magic. The dwarf's body went suddenly rigid, the axe poised above his head. Tentacles flexed, and the duergar's head split open like a ripe fungus ball. One of the tentacles relaxed, and, while the remaining three held the head in a vicelike grip, it began scooping pinkish gobs of brain into the illithid's mouth. Gromph, sickened by the sight, turned his face away from the glass.
The other duergar turned, shocked looks on their faces. One or two reached for their weapons, took a look at the illithid's blank white eyes, then all of them suddenly relaxed. Gromph could only imagine how easy it was for the illithid to cloud the simple minds of a gang of duergar soldiers. He wondered what the duergar saw when they looked at the illithid?one of their own, most likely?and they were compelled not to think about their dead officer, his broken skull, or his half-eaten brain. One by one, the magic-addled gray dwarves simply went back to what they had been doing.
Finished with its meal, the illithid plucked the axe from the dwarf's hand, then let the body drop.
Now, it said, you will tell me how to enter Sorcere.
Gromph eyed the greataxe. It was obvious that the illithid cared less about the war than it did about personal gain.
You want magic, Gromph sent to the illithid.
Yes, the mind flayer replied.
You want to get inside Sorcere before the duergar do.
The illithid's next thought was more tentative, as if it was admitting a guilty secret.
Yes, it said.
Gromph smiled and replied, You want to know if there's a back door into Sorcere, but if you try to get that information from me by force, it will take too long. By the time you find it, the duergar will be inside. You'll be left with whatever scraps they don't destroy or loot for themselves. But I can offer another alternative. Help me to get free of this sphere, and I'll reward you well. I'll willingly give you the magic you crave.
What magic?
In my centuries of experimentation, I have developed powerful spells that other mages and wizards have yet to even imagine.
Gromph felt the tendrils of the illithid's mind-probing magic root even deeper in his mind.
Those spells are no longer in my memory, he told it. They're in my private quarters, in Sorcere. In these.
Gromph let his mind dwell on his office, on the enormous desk that dominated the windowless room. Made of polished bone, it had a number of drawers that opened onto extra-dimensional spaces. The front of each drawer was inlaid with a different skull. Gromph pictured himself sitting in his chair behind the desk and reaching down to a certain skull, then placing his fingers in its eye sockets. The drawer slid open, revealing a rack that held two bottles. Each was of cast gold, its sides set with a sigil-shaped «window» of moss-green glass, through which came a glow that originated from inside the bottle. Each of the sigils, in the drow script, represented the same word: "remember."
What are they? the illithid asked.
I call them "thought bottles," Gromph said. Each contains a powerful spell?and all of the thoughts that led to its creation. Spells so powerful even I dared not use them, but so unique that, once created, I could not risk losing them, either. In order to avoid temptation, I created these bottles to hold them. Anyone who consumes their contents will gain not only the spell itself but every stage of the process that led to its creation.
Once I am inside Sorcere, I will take them, the illithid said.
Not unless you free me, first, Gromph said. The drawer will only open to my touch.
The archmage let his mind dwell on an experiment he'd conducted back when he'd first constructed and ensorcelled the desk. He'd deliberately left the door to his office lightly warded, then observed with clairvoyant magic as an apprentice forced his way into the office and tried to open the desk. No sooner had the drow placed his fingers inside the eye sockets than he stiffened and tried to scream. No more than a hoarse croak came from his throat, however, before a horrible wilting began. White hair broke off in clumps from his head like dried straw, and his eyes shriveled in upon themselves like heat-cured fungus and fell from their sockets. His skin chafed, then erupted in a series of cracks, from which brown dust?dried blood?trickled. Slowly he crumpled, shrinking in upon himself until all that was left was a pile of dusty clothes where a drow had once stood.
Impressive, the illithid said.
Thank you, Gromph answered.
Yet another fireball arced over the siege wall and landed a short distance away, scattering gobs of molten lava. The liquid rock slid off the illithid like water running down glass. The illithid had obviously cloaked itself in a protective spell.
Do we have a bargain, then? Gromph asked. Will you free me and receive the thought bottles as payment?
You must show me a way into Sorcere, the illithid said. It is protected by wards that prevent magical entry, is it not?
Gromph smiled and sent, A good guess. But there's a portion of the building that is not protected by these wards, because it exists in its own pseudoplane: a vertical shaft that gives access to my office. If you could gate us into it, I'll show you how to find the door.
Bring it to your mind, the illithid commanded.
Gromph fought down his irritation at being ordered about.
Of course, he answered. Ah. . what is your name, anyway?
Sluuguth.
Assuming the illithid had told the truth, Gromph had a weapon he could use against the creature. Certainly the mind flayer knew that too, which meant that Sluuguth had no intention of letting Gromph live. All that passed through Gromph's mind in a fleeting thought?hopefully too fleeting for Sluuguth to notice?then Gromph began to concentrate on the access shaft. He could feel Sluuguth mentally looking over his shoulder, studying the spot they were about to gate to with great care.
A circle of purple light shimmered into being next to them. Sluuguth fell into it and an instant later was levitating inside the shaft. It seemed to extend infinitely upward and downward and had walls of utter blackness that had a somehow palpable look to them. Had Gromph not been trapped in the sphere, he knew his nostrils would have been assaulted by the rank, foul odor of the pseudoplane, the stench of the malformed creatures that called it home.
Where is the door? asked Sluuguth.
Gromph indicated a patch of darkness that seemed more solid than the rest and sent, Dispel its magic, then push.
Sluuguth did as instructed. Previously invisible runes sparkled as light burst inside the diamond dust that had been used to inscribe them. When the light vanished, Sluuguth pushed open the door, revealing Gromph's office.
The chamber was a mess?the aftermath of Gromph's battle with the lichdrow Dyrr. The enormous desk at the center of the room was gouged in several places by the whirling blades the lichdrow had conjured, and the marble flagstone floor was cracked where Dyrr's staff had struck it. One of the bookshelves was a smashed ruin, and the scrolls that had tumbled from it had been trampled. As a sign of his disdain for the archmage's wizardry, the lichdrow had left them where they were after trapping Gromph in the sphere.
The perpetually burning red candles, set into wall sconces made from skeletal fists, still provided illumination, and a plushly upholstered chair behind the desk had survived relatively unscathed. A harder wooden chair on the other side, where a visitor would sit, lay on one side, its legs splintered. Beyond it was a door of black marble, incised with
glowing silver runes.
As for the spiderstone golem that had fought in an effort to defend Gromph, the only thing left of it was a severed stone arm, lying forlornly in a corner.
Still hovering in the shaft, Sluuguth pointed and thrust the tip of one finger into the room. Immediately, one of the office walls erupted in a triangle of flame as an invisible sigil released a fire elemental. Sluuguth's magic, however, was swifter. A bolt of energy leaped from his fingertip and struck the elemental, freezing it. The fire elemental hung, trapped from the waist down in the wall, its arms extended over its head. Only its eyes moved. White-hot flames blazed at Sluuguth as the illithid at last stepped into the room.
You didn't warn me about that, the illithid said, tentacles waving as it nodded at the frozen elemental.
No need, obviously, Gromph answered. Now let's get down to business. Free me. Place the sphere on the chair behind the desk.
Tentacles twitching as its face grimaced into what might have been a smile, Sluuguth laid the sphere on the chair cushion. Then, without further ado, it began to cast a spell. Its three-fingered hands began a series of gestures?Gromph thought he recognized a portion of the imprisonment-negating spell, but the somatic component seemed more complicated than it need have been?and sound crashed in on Gromph from all sides as the sphere broke apart.
For an instant he was twisting between dimensions, his body bursting free of the magic that had confined it, his ears ringing as if he were a clapper inside a bell?
?and he was sitting in his chair. Eyes gleaming in triumph, he started to lift a finger in the minute gesture required to activate a second invisible sigil on the wall. Interlocked ellipses would suck Sluuguth into a two-dimensional prison.
Stop.
Gromph's finger wouldn't move. Nor could he even imagine moving it any longer. Something had a vicelike grip on his mind and was crushing his will. Gromph could sense Sluuguth's foul-feeling, tentacled presence.
Heart suddenly beating faster, the archmage realized what must have happened. In casting the spell that gave Gromph his freedom, the illithid had woven in a second spell, one that had slowed Gromph's body. It had given Sluuguth just enough time to cast the mind-dominating spell that held Gromph in thrall.
Gromph sat motionless in his chair, awaiting the illithid's next command. Had he been able to, he would have groaned in frustration. He had been careful not to think about the sigils on the walls. The first one was meant to give Sluuguth a false sense of security after the illithid so summarily defeated the fire elemental?as Gromph knew it would. The second was meant to trap the mind flayer after Gromph was free. But the archmage's careful plan lay in ruins, as broken as the remains of the sphere that littered the floor at his feet.
Sluuguth moved to a position behind Gromph and loomed over his shoulder.
Open the drawer.
Gromph bent, inserted his fingers in the skull's eye sockets, and pulled. The drawer slid open, revealing the two thought bottles.
Take them out of the drawer, Sluuguth ordered.
Gromph did as he was told, placing both bottles on the desk in front of him. He braced himself. Surely the illithid would either end his life or at the very least imprison him, the desk's protective magic having been thwarted.
Instead Sluuguth gave him a further command: Choose one.
Gromph's fingers closed around the bottle closest to him. An instant later, at Sluuguth's command, they sprang open again, and he picked up the second bottle instead.
Consume it, Sluuguth ordered.
With those words, Gromph knew the second part of his plan?which he had obviously been unsuccessful in not thinking about?had also failed.
Decades past, Gromph had created the thought bottles as a contingency, in case he ever became the captive of a creature who could read his mind. He'd been telling the truth when he said he had no idea what was in the bottles, but he'd left one tiny sliver of information within his own mind: the memory that if such a situation arose, he should offer them to his captor. But the sava board had been turned. Whatever was in the bottle his traitorous hands were even then uncorking was about to be unleashed on Gromph himself.
A part of Gromph's mind screamed in protest, but the tiny, trapped voice went unheard. Slowly, inexorably, the Archmage of Menzoberranzan raised the bottle to his lips, and drank.
Chapter Fifteen
Valas sculled just outside the turbulent swirl of water at the base of the waterfall, wondering how he was going to contact the others. Fully transformed, he was no longer capable of breathing air. His hands and feet had turned into webbed paws, and his tailbone had elongated into a fluked tail. After the last of his hair had fallen out, a grayish-green membrane had grown over his skin, which secreted a slimy coating that kept out the water's chill. Valas was trapped underwater, unable to climb back up to the tunnel where his companions waited.
At least he still had all of his equipment. He touched the thick leather belt around his waist, with its steel buckle shaped in the form of a rothe's head. Perhaps, with the aid of the magical strength it lent him, together with the increased nimbleness afforded by his enchanted chain mail, he could climb inside the waterfall, against its pounding force. But when he swam to the surface to take a look, he remembered that the waterfall arced out of the cavern above. For most of the climb, the falling water was a good three or four paces distant from the cliff?too far for him to duck his head into it while still holding on to the rock face.
Disappointed, he allowed himself to sink back under the surface of the lake. There was no way out.
Then he remembered his enchanted backpack.
Shrugging it off his shoulders, he moved it to his chest, putting the shoulder straps on backward and cinching them tight. He opened its main flap. Water rushed into the nondimensional space inside the pack. When it was full?holding the equivalent of perhaps thirty waterskins?he closed the flap. Many of the items the backpack held would be damaged, but that was a sacrifice that mattered little against his survival.
Valas swam directly under the waterfall, fighting the current with powerful strokes of his tail. The water falling from above thundered in his ears and forced him down, but at last he saw a more solid patch of darkness ahead: the base of the cliff. The current slammed him up against the rock before he was ready, but an instant later he found a handhold. To his surprise, he felt claws emerge from the ends of his fingers and thumb that helped him hold on. Muscles straining, he resisted the current that was trying to tear him away from the rock face. Valas began to climb.
The closer he got to the surface, the stronger the pounding of the waterfall became. Twice he slipped and was nearly swept back to the bottom of the lake, but he managed to hang on with one hand. By thrashing his tail, he forced himself back against the cliff each time. At last his head broke the surface.
He heaved himself up, scrambling for handholds and toeholds on the slippery cliff. As he climbed, he held his breath?or rather, held water in his lungs. When at last he could hold it no more, he exhaled through his mouth?a process that felt like vomiting, at least when he was no longer underwater?then he opened the flap of his backpack and plunged his head inside. He inhaled deeply, then closed the flap and continued to climb.
Gradually he drew near to the tunnel mouth. When he was perhaps a pace or two below its lip, Pharaun peeked out from above. The mage had obviously been alerted by magic to Valas's presence?there was no way he could have heard someone climbing the cliff over the thunder of the falls. The mage was casting a spell.
Valas?to Pharaun's eyes a «monster» rising from the lake?waved a webbed paw in a desperate attempt to fend off whatever magical attack was about to be launched at him. Shaking his head, he pointed to the kukris sheathed at his hip.
Pharaun, oblivious, touched his forefingers to his eyes and flicked them downward, releasing his spell. Valas felt a wash of magical energy tingle through his skin, and he flinched. Flexing his claws still deeper into the crevices to which he clung, he waited fo
r death to take him.
Above him, Pharaun's eyes widened.
Lifting a hand, he signed rapidly, Valas! It is you. What happened?
Sighing water in a trickle over his chin, Valas realized he had been reprieved. Pharaun had recognized him by his kukris, after all?the spell had just been one that allowed him to see through the misshapen form Valas wore, to confirm the mercenary's identity. He signed one brief word?Wait?and inhaled once again from his bag.
Valas climbed up to where Pharaun crouched, and heaved himself over the edge into the tunnel. Slipping into the river, he grabbed a rock to hold himself against the current that threatened to carry him over the waterfall.
Quenthel, Danifae, and the hulking Jeggred were all still waiting by the river's edge. The vipers in Quenthel's whip lifted their heads and quivered in alarm as they saw Valas, and Jeggred sniffed the air and bared his teeth, but Pharaun told them that the drow-thing was, in fact, their companion. Danifae stared at Valas with an expression of open disgust, her perfect lips slightly curled, then she turned away.
"Well?" Quenthel demanded. "Did you find the ship of chaos?"
Valas shook his head. Using the silent speech, he told his story, ducking his head underwater each time he needed to breathe. Pharaun listened closely, looking grim as Valas told of his capture, then giving a congratulatory nod as the mercenary described his escape. Quenthel's expression, however, had not changed. Her lips remained tight, while her eyes blazed.
She turned on Pharaun, the vipers in her whip writhing, and said, "Your demon was lying. The ship isn't here."
Pharaun raised an eyebrow and asked, "My demon?"
