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.
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 inn, 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.
chapter
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 some time. It would not be the first time some fool had allowed himself to be followed during a meeting with the duergar mercenar
y, 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 already 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.”
Khorrl turned his gaze for the merest of moments to the crack in the door, even as he opened his mouth to point out that he’d heard nothing. He started to turn back to Zammzt, but then did a double-take, for sure enough, the host from the other booth had appeared at the far end of the hall with a tray of drinks. Khorrl snapped his mouth shut again as he watched the servant first deliver a pair of beverages to the other booth, then proceed toward him and his companion. Apparently, in addition to his surprising ability to shadow someone, Zammzt also sported exceptional hearing. After delivering the drink and inquiring if the duergar had changed his mind and wanted something, the host departed. Zammzt reached over and pushed the partition shut the rest of the way.
“I think it’s safe to discuss our business,” the dark elf said, his red eyes glittering in satisfaction as he took a sip from his frosty mug. After a long pull, he sighed in delight and said, “Everything is in place. You should be receiving delivery of the first payment in the next day.”
Khorrl eyed the drow for a long moment before finally nodding.
“And the amount is satisfactory?” the duergar mercenary asked. “None of my people goes into the city until I know that we’ll be paid what I said.”
“Absolutely. My mistress has instructed me to inform you that your fee is more than satisfactory. For the services you will be providing, she considers it a small price to pay.”
“Hmph,” Khorrl grunted noncommittally. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? If she leaves me hanging in the middle of the fight, it won’t have been nearly enough, and you know it.”
Zammzt smiled that knowing smile again and nodded in acquiescence.
“I can only assure you that she and her allies intend to see this through to the very end. Once they set foot down this path, there is no turning back for them, either. You should be well aware of that.”
“Perhaps, but if things go sour for us,” Khorrl said, running his hand across his bald gray head, “I will come looking for her personally.”
“Please, please. There’s no need for idle threats here. The initial payment is coming. Just be sure you have the first group ready to go when it arrives.”
Khorrl nodded, more firmly this time. He had never reneged on a contract before, and he wasn’t about to now. His clan was getting paid an exorbitant sum to fight, and his employer considered it money well spent precisely because of that reputation. Clan Xornbane might be merely a mercenary band in the greater scheme of the duergar hierarchy, but he had always made sure they honored their commitments. That wasn’t going to change as long as he was the head of the clan.
“They will be there,” he said finally.
“Excellent,” Zammzt replied. “My mistress is counting on it. Despite your assistance, toppling the rival Houses will not be easy. That is why she and her allies are paying you such a generous retainer.”
Khorrl frowned again, thinking of what work lay ahead. The drow was right; overthrowing one drow noble House, even when their clergy was hamstrung, was no small feat. He and his males were expected to help bring down several. The clan would suffer losses in this, no question about it, but they had been eager to accept this particular contract, anyway. The rich reward of helping the dark elves destroy themselves paled only slightly in comparison to the payment itself. Those among Clan Xornbane who survived would receive larger shares for this work than for their last four contracts combined. It was well worth the loss of troops, especially among the lesser races of the front ranks.
By the Abyss, Khorrl thought. I might even consider retirement when we’re through here.
“We will do what we’re paid to do. You know our reputation,” the duergar said, affectionately running his hand along the handle of his doubleaxe. “Though I would feel a lot more confident if I knew for sure that your priestesses won’t suddenly find themselves kissed by the spider queen in the middle of the fight. It would be our downfall, and yours too, most likely.”
Zammzt spread his hands in a placating gesture.
“That is a risk, to be sure,” he said, almost—almost—sounding apologetic. “But the opportunity for my mistress and her coconspirators is worth it. Rest assured, you will not be forgotten in this. She looks forward to the moment when she can thank you from her new position as one of the highest-ranking matron mothers in the city.”
Khorrl nodded one last time and prepared to depart.
“Very well, then,” he said. “We will be waiting for the first payment. The schedule is set.”
He rose, pulling his doubleaxe up beside him. Before he slid the partition open, he turned to look back at the dark elf, who seemed content to stay a while and finish his drink. Khorrl caught the drow’s gaze and held it.
“We’re committed now,” the gray dwarf said. “There’s no turning back. Blood will flow in Ched Nasad. Mark my words.”
Spinning, Pharaun summoned his magical rapier from the ring into one hand, and clasped his piwafwi closed with the other, before he was completely turned around. As he pivoted into a defensive stance, releasing the rapier to dance in the air before him, he reached into the pockets of his piwafwi, selecting by memory and feel the components he needed to weave a certain incantation.
Perhaps a dozen steps from Pharaun, a shimmering blue doorway, similar to the extradimens
ional portal he was fond of using himself, was just closing, winking out of existence. The lovely creature he had spotted briefly during the rather one-sided battle with the tanarukks stood just in front of it, her smile accenting her arched eyebrows as she regarded him, arms folded casually beneath her prominent breasts. In particular, she seemed to find his floating, weaving rapier of interest.
“I’m sorry, did I startle you?” she purred, and Pharaun found her voice to be delightfully throaty.
“Oh, it’s quite all right,” the mage replied, eyeing the she-fiend from head to toe. She was dressed in tight, black, form-fitting leather, and while thigh-high boots and a corset seemed far from practical as travel-wear to the drow, he had to appreciate the effectiveness of the ensemble.
It compliments her wings so well, he decided.
“I wondered when you’d show up again,” Pharaun said, noting with his second sweeping gaze the numerous daggers protruding from her belt and the tops of her boots. An enchanted ring he wore enabled him to determine that one of those daggers was obviously magical, as well as the long sword strapped to her right thigh. A ring adorning her left finger also caught his attention, for it radiated a strong protective dweomer.
“So you’ve been expecting me. How delightful!” she said, sauntering languidly over to a section of the balcony and sitting, leaning back and resting on her hands as she brought one long leg up to prop it on the railing. She appeared to ignore the fact that the rapier danced along as she relocated, keeping itself between her and the mage. “It ruins my grand entrance a bit, I suppose, but then again, I doubt you’re terribly impressed with parlor tricks like mine.”
R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation Page 43
