Riltana snorted, but he pretended not to hear her. Demascus believed Raneger. No one profits under the thrall of dark elves, not even miscreants like the crime lord. “So exactly what did you do for them?”
“I provided a location for them to store their cargo, that’s all. A location secure against scrying and peacemaker inspections. Nothing else, and nothing I haven’t done for others. This was three tendays ago. In return, I was supposed to receive a tidy sum, not to mention a nugget or two of arambarium for my trouble.”
“And what happened?”
“Pashra missed his first payment three days ago. When I sent some muscle over to collect my due, they were rebuffed. I sent a larger squad over today—and Pashra was gone.”
Warmth suddenly fled the air, and Demascus could see his breath steaming in the cold.
“Since you know about arambarium,” Raneger continued, “I can only assume you’re an agent of the crown in this matter. They’re wondering what has happened to the mineral’s production out at the island, yes? You’re employed by one of the stewards, presumably?”
“Something like that,” Demascus allowed. Raneger probably thought he was working for Tradrem Kethtrod, Steward of Earth—the intelligence-gathering master for the realm. Good; no need to disabuse the genasi of his incorrect notion.
Some warmth trickled back into the receiving room. “And you’ve come here, hoping we can pool our resources on this matter, as the Crown and I have done before.”
What? thought Demascus. No, don’t react. Though he promised himself to bring that tidbit up with Arathane next time he saw her. Aloud, with as much conviction as he could muster, he said, “Exactly.”
Raneger stared at him. Demascus returned his look, holding eye contact. Suddenly Demascus wondered if Raneger’s claim to have previously worked for the Throne of Majesty had been a test.
Chant stepped forward and clapped. “So! All of us want to catch the thieves. See how reasonable we all are? How we are not so juvenile as to let our mutual aims evaporate in a stare-off?”
Demascus laughed. Raneger blinked and gave a slow nod. Jaul audibly loosed a held breath. Some dolt on the far side of the chamber clapped, sensing easing tensions in relaxing body language.
“Your name in Pashra’s warehouse led me here.”
“You’re amazingly stupid,” said Raneger “What if I’m working hand-in-glove with the drow and Pashra? You’d be dead.”
“I’d rather think, ‘amazingly sure of myself.’ ”
Riltana snorted again.
Not her best attribute, Demascus thought.
The criminal watersoul turned idly in his pool, this time avoiding soaking everyone standing on the tiles. “I’m only even considering giving you this information because I trust you will use it to find Pashra and deal with him.”
“That is our charge,” said Demascus.
Raneger made a face, as if cooperation itself pained him. “Then listen. Pashra, for all his power, is merely a pawn of the drow Chenraya of House Xorlarrin. He and the drow are only loosely allied; they each want the arambarium for their own purposes. Chenraya wants it to help empower some scheme of Lolth’s.”
“Lolth!” said Jaul and Riltana almost simultaneously.
So much for not speaking her name, Demascus thought. “I squashed a spider with a drow female’s head,” he suddenly offered. “You don’t suppose I’ve already dealt with Chenraya, and it’s all over but for rounding up Pashra and the missing cargo?”
Raneger said, “A drow priestess of Chenraya’s power is capable of exerting her strength through a variety of homunculi. If you didn’t destroy her actual body, all you did was deprive her of a tool.”
Demascus sighed. “I figured.”
“I thought drow nested in subterranean cities in northern Faerûn. How did one get here?” asked Jaul.
“By ship, across the Sea of Fallen Stars, I’d guess,” said Chant. “Might take a little while—”
“No, the boy is correct,” said Raneger. “Pashra and Chenraya know a shortcut across Faerûn to whatever subterranean dark elf city she operates from. I’ve bent all my resources to discover it. Finding a portal with such range might be even more valuable than arambarium.”
“Let me guess,” said Demascus. “You want our help finding it?”
“I do.”
The deva rubbed his chin. “You know, I came across an interesting name in Pashra’s effects. Ever heard of the Gatekeeper?”
“Jaul,” came Raneger’s watery voice, “Tell your friends to wait outside. I’d like a word.”
Jaul stopped. Now what? He had to use the privy. Besides, Raneger had already verbally slapped him down, in front of his father and everyone. Jaul couldn’t imagine how a private castigation could be any worse. Of course, just because he couldn’t imagine it didn’t mean Raneger didn’t have something nasty in mind to punish Jaul for bringing strangers unannounced to his court.
Jaul’s father, preceded by Demascus and Riltana, paused at the exit. The pawnbroker frowned at Jaul, obviously worried.
“Go on, Pa,” Jaul said, and waved him forward. “I’ll be right out. Master Raneger and I just got to take care of a few things. Den of Games stuff, you know.”
“We’ll be waiting outside,” Chant said darkly.
“Great. Way to make me feel like a five-year-old.”
Chant gave an exasperated shake of his head and left.
Why did his father have to be that way? Never admitting that anything Jaul did had any worth, as if all Jaul’s choices were bad. Oh, it burned him up!
He stomped over to the basin’s edge.
“Yes, Master Raneger? Sorry about letting those clods in on such short notice—”
“Jaul, I’ve already put that behind me. In fact, I wanted you to stay back because I wanted to let you know I overreacted. I apologize.”
“You … apologize?”
Raneger chuckled. His heaving chest sent ripples over the basin’s edge.
“What, boy, you think my ego is so large that I can’t admit when I’m wrong?”
Jaul had thought exactly that, but he decided maybe now wasn’t the time to say so. Instead he said, “Well, I’m sorry, too, for not following the protocol. It was only my father and his friends …” He stopped himself from lapsing into making excuses.
“I’m glad you brought them into my court. If you hadn’t, a fabulous opportunity might have slipped past. Thanks to you, that didn’t happen. You’re an asset to my organization, Jaul. And after today, I’ve begun to think you’re an invaluable one.”
Jaul couldn’t help but smile at the praise. How he’d longed to hear just that sort of encouragement his whole life. To be gratefully recognized by Raneger was something he’d always hoped might happen. And here it was!
“Your father, Chant, much as I appreciate his secrets network, failed to notify me that a deva named Demascus was operating in Akanûl. Not only operating, but working hand in glove with your father! Not that I have anything against Chant, of course, but perhaps his friendship with this Demascus blinded him to the deva’s potential importance.”
Jaul had heard Chant call Demascus a deva before, but had never troubled himself to ask what a deva was; he tended to discount anything his father said as a matter of personal policy. Probably not the best time to admit his ignorance to the crime lord on that subject, either. Instead he said, “And the importance of this stolen arambarium?”
“Indeed, I have not forgotten about the arambarium, the drow, and the portal! Which is the other reason I asked you to stay behind. Like I said, Jaul, you’re an asset to my organization. But you’re more than that. I’ve had my eye on you. You can think on your feet. You’re tough. And you know a thing or two about how things work in Airspur.”
Jaul tried not to let his grin swell too large.
“You’re going places. If you play your cards right, I can see you as one of my lieutenants. Someone I can trust. Someone who’ll look out for me, just like I’ll lo
ok out for you. How’s that sound?”
“It sounds … wonderful, Master Raneger.” Was he dreaming this? He glanced at the tattoos on his wrists that marked his acceptance into the organization. They’d meant a lot before, but now their significance was redoubled.
“All right, then. Accompany your father and his friends to find this portal, as we agreed before they left. Help them like you’d help me. Try not to anger your father just because you can, eh? But remember—I look forward to hearing everything you learn, no matter how insignificant the detail, or how secret. Clear?”
Jaul nodded vigorously. “Deal!” He bowed and made for the exit, his heart aglow with possibilities.
“One more thing, Jaul.”
“Yes?”
“Keep what we’ve discussed between just you and me.”
THE CITY OF AIRSPUR, AKANÛL
18 LEAFFALL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
CHENRAYA,” CAME A DEEP VOICE. “WHY MUST YOU LEAVE a litter of corpses wherever you go?”
Chenraya Xorlarrin frowned. She turned to face Lord Pashra, taking care to avoid the expanding pool of blood leaking from the still-twitching servitor.
“It’s no concern of yours,” she replied.
The blue-skinned oni glared, as if he had the authority to demand her answer.
He was one male she’d grown particularly tired of. At first, it hadn’t seemed so bad; he wasn’t a drow.
“Is it not?” he finally asked. But drow or not, she decided, the oni’s usefulness was fast drawing to a close. If it wasn’t for Pashra’s special knowledge concerning the arambarium, she would’ve already whispered the same dread word of arcane magic to him that she’d just used on the ettercap servitor. Even though it was created by men, it was a lovely spell … but it tasted filthy in her mouth. She’d learned it from a Bregan D’aerthe mercenary the Matron Mother had pressed upon her. Spells had their uses, even those fashioned by males. Matron Mother Zeerith, head of House Xolarrin, perhaps wasn’t entirely mad to accept opinions and input from the male drow of her house. Indeed, Lolth had commanded her daughters in every house to learn something of the magic that men wove in their stinking academies. Doing so would advance the Spider Queen’s new goal. A wondrous objective, though its potential implications left Chenraya unsettled.
“Are you drugged?” said Pashra, shaking her out of her reverie. “Why was it necessary to remove this ettercap’s heart and set it flopping on the floor?” The oni gave the dying organ a kick.
“Simple pleasures, Lord Pashra,” Chenraya replied. “They’re what get us through.” She bared her teeth—perhaps the oni would choose to interpret it as a smile—and mentally promised herself the treat of removing one of Pashra’s vital organs as well. Soon.
Openly she had gave praise to Lolth’s new direction and accepted her Matron Mother’s commands. Zeerith’s policy of tolerating males might even put the Fifth House of Menzoberranzan in the vanguard, and should Lolth’s plan succeed, all the daughters of House Xorlorrin would reap the benefits. But, sadly, so would all the sons.
“Besides, we have an army of ettercap servitor-slaves. A few here and there aren’t worth your concern.”
“Yes, priestess, but hardly any of them are with us. Most of them are out at the dig, an inconvenient distance from the nexus.” The oni gestured along the winding corridor of webbing that stretched into the dimness, the newest endpoint hub of the Demonweb.
The oni had a point. Damn it. And he had become less respectful and more critical. Connecting this leg of the Spider Queen’s network in Akanûl had been a triumph, given the Demonweb’s recent and troubling instability. She’d had to locate an endpoint that wouldn’t immediately collapse under the strain when the connection was made. Unfortunately, no such endpoints existed out on the island. That would have been too convenient. Apparently the Spider Queen didn’t believe in making life easy for her followers. Chenraya supposed she was lucky she’d found any endpoint at all.
Which meant that transporting the prize still required secrecy and finesse. At least time was on their side. Thanks to false information fed by a couple of well-placed spies to the Akanûl “intelligence” branch, the mining disruption was being blamed on a hostile foreign nation. This had allowed her to do with the mine as she pleased. Diverting the initial scraps of arambarium had been just the first step, of course. A test. The true mother lode had yet to be seized, thanks to one last group of hold-out genasi defenders in the mine’s heart. They needed to be dealt with soon. After they were quashed, it would all be hers. And to transport it, and indeed her entire force of servitor slaves, she’d devised a special surprise, praise Lolth.
“The Throne of Majesty knows about us,” said Pashra.
“No, Pashra. We’ve been over this—”
“They’ve found the warehouse. They know arambarium was shipped through it. How long before the Throne sends an army to the island? We can overcome the occasional spy or strike force, but not an entire troop of peacemakers.”
“Why are you wasting my time repeating these things?” asked Chenraya.
The oni said something curt and explosive in an unfamiliar language. But she recognized the tone. Then he said, “Humor me. What if, despite everything we’ve done, the Stewards are actually on to us?”
This was growing tiresome. Perhaps if I lay it out to him, as I would to a girl child who had not yet reached five years … “Listen, I’ll say this only once more. The Throne of Majesty is closer to learning the truth, yes. But they’re also in turmoil. The queen remains unengaged, hiding in her royal suite. The Stewards are convinced Tymanther is the author of their misfortune. Yes, the pale-skinned warrior and windsoul in the warehouse were remarkably capable compared to earlier spies. Eventually, yes, they’ll learn what we’ve really been up to. But by then it’ll be too late.”
“How can you be so certain? Did you see what they were capable of? What if they track us to the Demonweb endpoint, or visit the mine before we’ve unearthed the relic?”
Chenraya sighed. “The mine swarms with the balance of my slave-soldiers, my harem of arachnids, and a company of reanimated miners. Should any spy manage to defeat all those threats, the deadfall I’ve devised will smash even a small army of peacemakers to paste. Or anyone else that displeases me.”
The oni frowned. He understood her implicit threat.
“What about here? I see no defenses. If they get past the Guardian—”
“The Demonweb will rouse if nondrow should dare tread its paths. It’s a manifestation of Lolth’s mind, after all. The only reason you haven’t been ripped to shreds by swarming spiders is because I’ve granted you safe passage. Pray I never have cause to lift that protection. So, actually, I hope the spies do find us here. It’ll be their very last success.”
“Not that damned smell again,” said Riltana.
Demascus glanced into the intersecting passage ahead. Fluid slithered down the corridor like a snake made of feces. He wrinkled his nose. Chant came up even with Demascus and Riltana. His sunrod cast additional light on the putrid scene. Behind the pawnbroker trudged Jaul, who kept one hand clutched on his dagger hilt.
The kid shouldn’t be here, Demascus thought. But including Chant’s son was a condition Raneger insisted on before cooperating any further.
“Maybe we can give this tunnel a pass,” said Riltana.
Demascus studied the marked-up map Raneger had provided. “I think we need to check it out,” he said.
“Listen,” she replied. “What’re the odds this’ll be the one that goes to the Gatekeeper? The last six were a bust. Wait, I’ll answer my own question: Odds are low. Let’s avoid the shit-road and check out the next passage.”
“I agree with her,” said Jaul.
Riltana flashed Jaul a sugary smile. The kid returned an unabashed grin, his eyes sparkling.
Oh, great, thought Demascus. Jaul was setting himself up for a fall if he thought Riltana might have any interest in him whatsoever. The thief sti
ll carried a torch for Carmenere that wasn’t going out anytime soon. But Riltana wasn’t above flirting. Charisma was just another tool in her bag of tricks. Chant started to speak, maybe to disagree with his son. But he coughed instead. A fake cough.
Demascus suppressed a sigh. He saw how it was going to be. And it wasn’t like he wanted to wade in ankle-deep sewer water either, but …
“We could turn aside,” said Demascus. “But these leads are arranged, according to Raneger, by order of relative likelihood. He’s already got squads running down other clues. Finding this so-called ‘Gatekeeper’ is our best bet for tracking the oni and drow. So I’d rather not waste time on less-likely options. And anyway, Jaul …”
The kid looked away from Riltana and blinked. “What?”
“You’re Raneger’s proxy. Do you think he’d be all right with us choosing at our whim, or do you think he’d rather we go in the order he indicated?”
Demascus thrust the map into Jaul’s hands. Jaul dropped his gaze to the parchment, then to Riltana, then to Demascus. He rubbed at the tattoo of wave and dagger on his left wrist.
“Well … Um. I suppose we … should follow the order Master Raneger wanted …”
The thief frowned. “If I get crap on my favorite steel-toed boots, some leech-son is going to be sorry.”
Demascus swallowed a smart comeback. He sensed Riltana wasn’t merely being dramatic. The last time she’d been in the Catacombs, with his stolen scarf in hand, she’d almost died.
“I knew tunnels were under these cliffs,” Jaul said, “But I didn’t imagine so many.”
“They go on farther and deeper than anyone knows,” replied Chant. “Leftover from a series of previous excavations, before the genasi came. If we’d entered closer to the bay, we would’ve had to spend hours detouring around haunted cemetery tunnels and a detachment of peacemakers.”
“I wish we were far enough in not to have the deal with city runoff,” Riltana said. “What the Hells are people eating up there?”
Sword of the Gods: Spinner of Lies Page 9
