R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation

by Richard Lee Byers; Thomas M. Reid; Richard Baker

  Passing through the great doorway and into the throne room, Aliisza expected to find Vhok sitting on his throne, but he was not. He paced in front of it, which meant that he had serious things on his mind, serious in a bad way. The alu-fiend had a pretty good idea what those things were.

  “Any more information on what that duergar horde is doing?” she asked as she approached him.

  Vhok looked up from his contemplation, seemed to stare right through her for a moment, and at last said, “All I’ve been able to determine at the moment is that they don’t seem to be headed in this direction, which is good.”

  “Good? Why?” Aliisza asked. She moved to sit on the top step of the dais. “I thought you liked the idea of a little sport for the Legions. You told me the other night that things were getting a bit staid around—”

  “Because something big is definitely going on,” Kaanyr interrupted, “and because they were responsible for wiping out the patrol to the northeast.”

  Aliisza had been about to stretch out, hoping to distract Kaanyr from all of this serious discussion for a few moments of romance, but she sat straight.

  “That wasn’t just a roving band of duergar,” Vhok continued, “they were professional mercenaries. The Xornbane clan, if the evidence is correct. They don’t go anywhere without major coin changing hands and big battles in the works.”

  Aliisza pursed her lips in thought.

  “So if they aren’t moving against us,” she said, “then where?” “Though I already have an idea, I was hoping you could tell me,”

  Kaanyr said, looking down at the alu-fiend. “Where are my guests?” Aliisza avoided meeting Vhok’s gaze.

  “I wasn’t able to convince them to join us,” she said carefully,

  “and after they defeated my little patrol as easily as they did, I thought it wise not to pursue the matter so directly.”

  “Defeated? Wiped out is more like it.”

  Kaanyr’s tone was measured, and Aliisza could tell he was displeased.

  So he already knew, did he? Is he spying on me, now?

  She was glad she’d been up front with him on the subject. It had been tempting to fudge the truth a bit, to tell him that the tanarukks had not followed her instructions, but in the end, something had convinced her that she was going to have to start being a little more careful with Vhok.

  “They are formidable,” she answered at last. “The wizard with them is . . . interesting. He’s the one I spoke with, and it was definitely he who plowed through the Legions. Drow are formidable to begin with, and it was a tactical error on my part to engage them in such a large chamber. They were able to easily evade the Scourged simply by getting up off the floor and out of range. Pharaun laid waste to the troops without much of a thought.”

  “I’m sure you did the best you could,” Kaanyr said, waving her explanation away.

  Aliisza scowled at the insult but said nothing. “It’s probably just as well. It seems that the gray dwarves are bound and determined to reach Ched Nasad, which is where our little visitors are headed, as well, I think. We weren’t going to dissuade them from that without bringing the entire might of the Scourged Legions, as well as some of your sisters, to bear.”

  “I did find out a couple more things,” Aliisza said, ready to spring her idea on Vhok. “They are all high-ranking nobles from Menzoberranzan, not just the priestess. The wizard is powerful enough to be a member, if not a master, of Sorcere, and some of the things he admitted to convinced me that most of the others are of similar rank.”

  “Well, that’s all very interesting, but I probably would have inferred that from the fact that the Mistress of the Academy was out with such a small group to begin with. It still doesn’t tell me what they’re doing. It may help to answer the questions of why the grays are on the move.”

  “Well, I have an idea about that,” Aliisza said, reaching the moment of truth. She wondered if Kaanyr would agree with her plan or choose to use someone else. “Whatever it is they’re planning to do when they reach Ched Nasad, they all seem very concerned, very grim. Whatever it is, it’s serious, and I bet they aren’t the only drow in the city who are in the know about it. So why don’t I sneak into Ched Nasad and snoop around a little?”

  Kaanyr looked at Aliisza, pursing his lips. She wasn’t sure if he was thinking about her idea or just studying her to see if she was up to something. Of course she intended to do just what she said, so he had no reason not to trust her on it, but if she had a little fun on the side, well then, what would be the harm in that? She needed a vacation from Ammarindar, from Vhok. Maybe a little time apart would do him some good, too, she thought.

  “All right,” he said at last, and the alu-fiend grinned broadly before she caught herself. “Go and see what you can find out. In fact, I want you to drop in on Aunrae. If there’s something going on, the matron mothers will be in the know. I’d like to keep my relationship with her on good terms, at least for the moment, so be polite. And keep me updated. I don’t want to have to come find you to see what you’ve learned.”

  Aliisza was nodding energetically as she stood up and headed out the door.

  “I will,” she promised, already contemplating the sort of disguise she’d like to use.

  As Khorrl felt the wagon finally roll to a stop, he almost groaned aloud. His legs were cramping where he’d wedged himself into the hiding spot beneath the pile of supplies. He could barely stand to be there much longer, and he prayed to Laduguer that the trip was actually over. He couldn’t imagine having to crouch there for even a moment.

  The tarp over the top of the wagon was thrown back, and dim light shone down on the goods stacked beneath it. Of course, to anyone not properly prepared, that’s all they would have seen—a wagonload of supplies for the city. Khorrl waited as he listened, not daring to move, in case it was merely another checkpoint. He didn’t even want to breathe, for fear of being heard by whomever—or whatever—might be inspecting the wagon.

  “It’s all right,” he heard a drow voice say, and he recognized it as belonging to Zammzt. The dark elf was near enough that there was no mistaking who he was talking to. “You can show yourselves, now. We’re inside the storehouse.”

  With a thankful groan, Khorrl rose up, feeling his knees complaining. Around him, fourteen other duergar did the same, winking back into visibility one by one. They looked at each other, as if to confirm that everyone was all right, and began to peer around at their surroundings. Khorrl himself hopped awkwardly down from the wagon, grabbing his axe as he did so. Nearby, more wagons were being uncovered, and more of his fighters appeared, clambering out from between crates, barrels, and bales of foodstuffs. He knew that there were over twenty wagons, so he had about three hundred troops. More would arrive, in waves, over the course of the next several hours.

  As Zammzt had promised, they were set up inside a large, open room, obviously a storehouse of some sort, though there were no goods there other than what was on the wagons. Ostensibly, the contents of the wagons were for the benefit of the Houses, but in reality, it was his army’s supplies. They were going to be camping there for a few days, resting and preparing while the other duergar units arrived, all of them waiting until it was time to do their job. Khorrl hoped the storehouses would be left undisturbed, as promised.

  A handful of drow moved about, uncovering wagons in order to free their hidden occupants or unloading the supplies and stacking them out of the way. Khorrl could see Zammzt looking a couple of wagons over, giving some young drow male a few instructions. When the dark elf was finished, he turned back to the duergar clan leader.

  “I hope you find everything in order here, Captain Xornbane,” Zammzt said, smiling. “I know it’s not quite like roughing it in the wilds of the Underdark, but it should accommodate you well enough.”

  “It’s fine, as long as no one comes snooping around here before we’re ready to begin. The last thing we need is the city catching wind of us before your mistress is ready to fly he
r true colors.”

  Khorrl paced about as he spoke, trying to get the feeling back in his legs as much as surveying his temporary home.

  “I seriously doubt that’s going to be a problem,” Zammzt said, smiling. Khorrl wanted to tell him to stop it. The grin reminded the duergar of a pack lizard’s visage. “I’ve got loyal drow troops on guard duty around the storehouse, and you’re sequestered here in the far back chamber. No one will bother you.”

  “If you say so,” Khorrl answered doubtfully. He had seen more battles take a turn for the worse through the most simple, straightforward aspect of the plan going awry. “Just remember, all that beautiful treasure you gave me is already long gone, shipped off to safer parts. If you’re thinking of turning the tables, you won’t be seeing it again. It’ll be an expensive betrayal.”

  Zammzt looked genuinely hurt, but only for a moment.

  “I’m not sure you realize the risks my mistress takes, simply harboring an army here,” said the drow. “If you’re discovered, she too suffers the consequences. It really isn’t in her best interests to turn on you, you know.”

  “Hmm,” Khorrl answered. “We’ll see.”

  “So, I presume you brought everything you need,” the drow said, changing the subject, “but if there’s anything else you want while you wait here, now is the time to ask. Though, for what we’re paying you . . .”

  Khorrl barked a deep laugh despite himself. The idea that he would bring his troops into such an uncertain situation without arranging for every provision, every possible contingency, was funny.

  “No, we’re fine. Now, when are we going to find out just exactly who we’re supposed to be killing?”

  “Soon, my gray friend,” Zammzt said, that toothy smile blossoming again. “Very soon.”

  In the end, the battle with the tanarukks wasn’t much of a fight at all. Pharaun had devastated rank upon rank of the slavering humanoids from a distance, even going so far as to decimate the reserve forces lurking in the back. He honestly didn’t even find it sporting, especially when he was able to hover overhead, out of their reach, and attack them at his leisure.

  The Menzoberranyr were well beyond the halls of Ammarindar, and after a night’s rest they were closing in on Ched Nasad.

  “We should be running into patrols by now,” Faeryl grumbled as they hiked along. “We’re within a quarter mile of the city. Something’s wrong.”

  “I think we knew that before we left Menzoberranzan,” Quenthel snapped.

  The group found itself on the main thoroughfare that led into the city from the north, wondering when they would actually reach the surrounding outskirts of the city proper, the area protected by patrols. Pharaun couldn’t blame Faeryl for being apprehensive. Even after several tendays of concern for her home city, he imagined that she might have held out some hope that she would find everything in order upon finally arriving. Still, he doubted that some disaster had befallen the city. Though they hadn’t yet encountered any patrols, they were no longer alone on the road to the city.

  Traffic flowing to and from Ched Nasad was a trickle of its normal self, at least according to the ambassador. Pharaun didn’t doubt it. The avenue they followed was broad, wide enough for numerous caravans to pass in either direction, but there were no such convoys out and about that day. Most of those who shared the road with the Menzoberranyr were other drow, though the occasional gray dwarf, kobold, or goblin passed them as well. Those lesser beings gave the drow a wide berth. Any pedestrians who were headed toward the city were scattered just as far apart as those leaving, and Pharaun and his companions neither passed nor were passed by anyone.

  The mage made a tactful attempt to bring up the suggestion he had been contemplating. “Quenthel, if something has happened here, similar to what we’ve been experiencing back home, it might be prudent to consider a less obvious entrance into the city.”

  “What do you mean?” the high priestess queried, looking sharply at Pharaun.

  “Only that should we boldly approach and announce our stature and intentions, we might not receive the warm welcome we should under more ordinary circumstances.”

  “Why shouldn’t they be glad to see us? Even relieved?”

  It sounded as though Quenthel was growing indignant, and Pharaun struggled to find a way to explain his point in a way that wouldn’t sound insulting.

  Faeryl saved him the effort.

  “Because they might think we’re here to spy on them,” she said.

  Pharaun had to suppress a mild chuckle. It was, after all, the exact reason Triel had claimed when she imprisoned the envoy back in Menzoberranzan. It was a reasonable argument.

  “Not if we insist upon meeting with the matron mothers of the highest Houses—” Quenthel began.

  “With all due respect, Mistress,” Faeryl interjected, “do you think you would react well to a high-ranking noble arriving in Menzoberranzan and insisting upon seeing you? During this time of crisis?”

  Quenthel scowled and said nothing. Pharaun was relieved that the high priestess was at least willing to contemplate the idea.

  “Even if they didn’t think we were spies, they certainly would consider our visit to be highly unusual and would strive to keep an eye on us,” the mage said. “We might be given the most luxurious accommodations and want for nothing, but we would also be absolutely unable to find out anything. Once we determine the state of things here, if it’s really your intention to lay claim to the goods stored in the Black Claw Mercantile storehouses and take them back to Menzoberranzan, why draw undue attention to yourself? Were you planning to ask the matron mothers for them, first?”

  Quenthel scowled at Pharaun as if the very idea of asking permission to take what was rightfully hers was preposterous. It was exactly the reaction he wanted.

  “Faeryl,” the wizard persisted, “even though the goods are rightfully the property of House Baenre and House Melarn, do you foresee Matron Mother Melarn—indeed, any of the other Houses—letting them out of the city?”

  Faeryl smirked.

  “Absolutely not,” she answered. “I’m not certain how happy my own mother will be to hear about your plan.” She smiled wanly and added, “I agree with the mage. The less you tell, the better your chances are of succeeding.”

  “Your arguments may have merit,” Quenthel said. “So what else do you suggest? How do we enter unnoticed?”

  “As traders, Mistress,” Faeryl suggested, “members of the Black Claw Mercantile company. Triel said herself that we were here to check on House Baenre’s financial interests, as well as to discover how widespread the problem is, so it’s the truth, from a certain point of view.”

  “We don’t look very much like traders,” Valas said, trotting a little in front of the rest of them. “Perhaps Pharaun should use a spell of illusion to mask our looks.”

  “No,” Faeryl replied. “Ched Nasad’s guards are equipped to watch for that. They employ detection spells and devices to notice if you’re trying sneak past them invisibly or under the guise of illusion. It’s not necessary, anyway. You’d be surprised at what kind of bodyguards a wealthy trader would hire to protect her. I am a member of a trading house. If I tell the city guards that you’re escorting me, and they get a good look at my house insignia, we shouldn’t have any trouble, but you must remove your own insignia. They’re likely to be recognized.”

  “Would you hire the likes of him?” Quenthel asked, pointing to Jeggred.

  Faeryl frowned and said, “He could be a problem.”

  “Leave that to me,” Pharaun said. “I have a couple of tricks up my sleeve that should aid us nicely. I can use them to get the draegloth past the patrols and into the city without them noticing him. As long as he cooperates, anyway.”

  Quenthel looked at Jeggred and asked, “Can you stay quiet and not try to tear the throat out of anyone?”

  Jeggred regarded the high priestess askance but nodded.

  “I am capable of subtlety when it is necessary, Mistr
ess,” he rumbled.

  Sure you are, Pharaun thought.

  “Very well,” Quenthel said after a moment’s deliberation. “We will enter the city incognito. Remove your insignia and try to look . . . common.”

  Everyone except Faeryl doffed their House brooches and began to stow as many of their finer accoutrements as possible.

  “Pharaun,” Quenthel said, nodding at Jeggred, “do what you must.”

  “First, I’m going to reduce you slightly in size, so that you aren’t so, um . . . obvious,” the wizard said, looking up at the eight-foottall creature. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  Jeggred grunted and glowered at the mage, but at a subtle gesture from Quenthel, he nodded acquiescence.

  “Good,” Pharaun continued. “Then, I’ll cloak you with a spell designed to misdirect those divinations the patrols are likely to be using, and if you will don your piwafwi, pull the hood up, and stay in the back, we should get past them just fine.”

  “Yes, that should do nicely,” Faeryl agreed.

  “All right, then, here we go,” Pharaun said, pulling a pinch of powdered iron from one of his many pockets and gesturing.

  The draegloth began to shrink until he was no taller than any of the drow.

  “Good,” the wizard said, beginning the second spell.

  When he was finished, he stepped back and said, “Now, draw that piwafwi around you to hide as much of you as possible.”

  “Yes, and lean on Ryld as though you’re injured,” Quenthel commanded. “Keep your head down like you’re tired.”

  “Yes, good idea,” Pharaun agreed, genuinely impressed. “We’re all just road-weary merchants, ready for a hot bath and comfortable bed.”

  “Not a moment too soon,” Valas said, his voice low. “I see a patrol up ahead.”