“Not today,” Ryld said, taking a step forward and reaching for Splitter.
As one, a multitude of soldiers brandished hand crossbows, and at least half a dozen wizards and priestesses appeared to ready spells.
“Ryld, you fool, wait!” Pharaun growled, still trying to keep his voice low. “There are better ways . . .”
Valas reached a hand out and stopped the larger drow from finishing the act of unsheathing his greatsword.
“Not yet,” the scout pleaded. “We’ve got no chance like this.”
Ryld snarled, but he released the hilt of his weapon and stepped back again.
“Good,” the third matron mother said. “You are not as foolhardy as Faeryl suggested. Though the bravado is misplaced here, I’m sure it’s served you well in the past.”
“Mistress . . . ?” Pharaun began.
“Aunrae Nasadra, of First House Nasadra,” the drow finished for him.
Of course you are, the wizard thought.
“Mistress Nasadra,” he said, “while I am shocked and saddened by the news of Quenthel’s death, I implore you to hear me out. I have absolutely no knowledge of any conspiracy between her and anyone here in the city. There must have been a great misunderstanding.”
“I doubt it,” Aunrae replied, “but you may yet have a chance to prove it and spare your neck. Simply tell us the truth. Did you or did you not sneak into the city and meet in secret with Drisinil Melarn, matron mother of House Melarn, in order to steal goods out of Black Claw Mercantile’s storehouses?”
Pharaun looked around at the myriad faces staring expectantly at him—and at the scores of weapons leveled at him and his two companions—and he did the only thing he could; he lied.
“Absolutely, Mistress Nasadra,” he deadpanned, and everyone including Ryld and Valas gasped. Before the other two Menzoberranyr could refute his false admission, he continued, “Or rather, Quenthel must have. It all makes sense, now. You see, Mistress, she ordered my two companions and me to track down caravans that could help transport a large amount of goods, without telling us what they were for. Mistress Baenre told us males very little, you must realize.
“Right before we set out to follow her instructions, I overheard her speaking with Faeryl Zauvirr, the ambassador to Menzoberranzan who was accompanying us. I recall that she said something about meeting with her mother and one other, though of course at the time, I didn’t know to whom she was referring. She asked Faeryl something to the effect of, ‘and you’re certain the meeting place is secure? We can’t afford to be seen, you know.’ ”
“You pompous, smart-mouthed liar!” Faeryl screamed from across the room. “Kill them now and be done with it!”
Pharaun did all he could to avoid smiling. Around him, everyone began to talk at once, and though he heard more than a few snatches of conversation condemning him and his outlandish story, he knew that he had sown the seeds of doubt. Already, though, the troops who had surrounded them—troops wearing the insignia of House Zauvirr—began to advance uncertainly upon the three of them.
“All right, wizard,” Ryld hissed, “we’re out of time. What are we going to do?”
Pharaun opened his mouth to tell the warrior that he had absolutely no idea, when a sudden and violent shudder rocked the chamber, causing everyone to stumble and flail about, their center of balance disrupted. A heartbeat later, a monumental thundercrash penetrated the walls, deep and loud, and reverberated through the entire room.
“By the Dark Mother,” someone cried as everyone looked at everyone else in confusion and panic.
A servant ran into the chamber, a wild look of fear in his eyes.
“Mistresses! It’s duergar! Hundreds of them, surrounding us . . . they’re attacking!” Another sonic shock knocked the liveried boy to his knees, and he seemed to hug the floor in terror. “They burn the stones themselves, Mothers. The city is burning!”
chapter
eleven
Aliisza was more than a little surprised to see the horde of duergar seemingly appear out of thin air around the great manor Pharaun and his companions had entered. From the looks on their faces, though, she wasn’t nearly as surprised as the drow who were guarding the place. The gray dwarves, whom she estimated numbered between two and three thousand, had formed a line along one side of the manor house before making themselves visible by firing off a volley of crossbows. They also lobbed several dozen small clay pots, which burst into orange balls of flame upon impacting the stonework wall that surrounded the manor.
The few drow who’d been lounging around near the palatial front gates scrambled for cover as the hail of bolts and incendiary bombs struck. The blast from the initial attack shook the entire web street, and Aliisza had to improve her grip to avoid slipping and falling from her roost on the roof of the building on the opposite side of the open plaza. When she could look again, she saw that few of the dark elves had survived the first attack.
An alarm was quickly sounded inside the courtyard of the cystlike building, and more drow appeared from inside, a large contingent of them, in fact. Aliisza watched as they formed a line across the protective wall and returned fire with their hand crossbows. Several duergar dropped before the barrage, but the gray dwarves exhibited wise tactics, throwing up a shield wall with the front rank and firing a second volley from behind that protective barrier. In several places, the stone itself seemed to burn from the duergar fire bombs, and the fire was spreading.
In the plaza, citizens of Ched Nasad scrambled for cover, and in the distance, Aliisza could see a large column of troops marching, one web street over, in her direction. The duergar were about to have unwanted company . . . or so she thought.
That’s when the second mass of gray dwarves appeared inside the courtyard, flanking the drow who had formed up to defend the front gates.
Oh, how clever, the alu-fiend thought. They look like they’ve done this a time or two.
Pharaun never hesitated.
“Scatter,” he said sharply to the two drow with him. He willed a spell into being. Ordinarily he would have needed at least a few heartbeats to speak the phrase and perform the gestures to bring the effect about, but he had enhanced this particular magic, and this conjuration simply happened as he thought it, with no gestures, words, or delays. A thick, roiling mist appeared, obscuring everything around the wizard. He knew that Ryld would know how to take care of himself, and he hoped that Valas would understand, too. He promptly dismissed them from his mind as he levitated upward.
Another concussive blast shook the House, though the wizard, hovering in the air, only heard it this time. He floated all the way to the ceiling, casting a spell of invisibility on himself. He knew it wouldn’t completely obscure him from the more clever wizards and matron mothers, but it would at least prevent the common soldiery from spotting him. From below, he could hear the turmoil and confusion as a host of drow reacted to both the messenger’s words and the rumbles in the foundation.
When he reached the ceiling, Pharaun reached inside his piwafwi and extracted a small pinch of diamond dust. He incanted once more, watching as the dust vanished in a sparkle of light. It would further conceal him, he hoped, this time from detection magic.
By then, someone had had the presence of mind to magically dissipate Pharaun’s mist, and the floor below was clear once more. The Master of Sorcere surveyed the entire chamber, looking for signs of Ryld and Valas. The scout was nowhere to be found, which didn’t surprise the wizard in the least, and Ryld had maneuvered himself off to one side of the room. The weapons master crouched behind some statuary, Splitter in hand, watching as the enemy ran here and there.
He won’t stay hidden long, Pharaun reasoned, knowing the matron mothers still intended to mete out their own personal justice just as soon as they could restore some order.
Considering quickly, the wizard dug out a bit of fleece from one of his pockets. With it he manufactured another spell. This one he cast at Ryld, creating a little enhancement to th
e warrior’s hiding place. When he was done, a new, illusory statue stood where Ryld was, further concealing him.
Pharaun turned his attention back to the center of the room, where several wizards were standing, some of them casting. Another was carefully turning, peering in every direction, and Pharaun could see that magic emanated from the drow.
They’re looking for us, the Master of Sorcere realized. Fumbling around in his pockets, Pharaun found what he was looking for: a tiny hammer and bell, both made of silver. Striking the hammer against the bell, the wizard produced another magical effect. This time, the results were flashy.
A horrid vibration beat through the floor beneath the wizards’ feet, causing them to clap their hands over their ears and stumble about. Even the one who’d been scanning the room seemed startled, though he planted his feet and continued searching. As the vibration reached a crescendo, the stone of the floor itself could no longer stand the strain and began to fracture. A thousand spiderwebbing cracks shot through the floor, making footing unstable and knocking many of the wizards down. The floor continued to fracture until it was nothing but pulverized powder, half a foot deep. The downed wizards kicked up dust as they flailed about, trying to regain their footing. Several of them didn’t move at all.
Excellent, Pharaun thought, but his elation was short-lived. Ryld had been discovered and was engaged in a fierce battle with several House Melarn soldiers and at least two priestesses. Though blood streamed from a gash across one arm, the warrior was otherwise holding his own, but Pharaun knew that it wouldn’t last long if anyone was able to bring magic into play. Already, the mage could see a priestess unfurling a scroll. Before he could act, though, Valas stepped up behind her, seemingly from nowhere—How does he do that? Pharaun marveled—and plunged one of his two curved daggers into the small of her back. As the cleric dropped woodenly to the floor, the scout was turning away, and Pharaun lost sight of him again when the wizard turned his attention for a moment to the other side of the room.
There, several of the matron mothers had come together, protected by a significant portion of their entourage, and were huddled around something Pharaun couldn’t see. He considered whether to strike at them while they were in such close proximity but dismissed the idea.
Don’t want to draw any more attention to myself than necessary, he decided.
Pharaun felt the tingle of magic being cast at him, and he saw another wizard with his finger pointed in his direction. Somehow, they’d discovered his position. Pharaun realized he was glowing with a pale violet flame, despite his invisible state. Already, several other wizards were looking in his direction, and a handful of soldiers were arming crossbows.
Damnation! the mage thought.
He quickly pulled his piwafwi around himself and turned away as the first volley of bolts crashed into the ceiling around him. He felt a pair of the missiles strike his back, but the piwafwi did its job. There was no way he could eliminate the faerie fire around himself without also dismissing the invisibility, he knew, but if he simply let himself be a target, he would wind up a pincushion. Shaking his head in consternation, Pharaun quickly dropped from his position, pulling up just short of hitting the floor.
The contingent of wizards and soldiers had followed Pharaun’s descent and were moving to close with him. Two soldiers brandishing long swords came at him from opposite sides, and though he was able to duck the first attack cleanly, the other one caught him flush across the arm, penetrating his piwafwi. Blood spurted from the gash as the mage cried out in pain. A heartbeat later, he and his two adversaries were engulfed in a torrent, as though they had danced their dance into the center of a waterfall—only it wasn’t water. It burned like fire, and both of the sword wielders shrieked and thrashed as their skin blistered and reddened. Pharaun felt his own skin bubbling and boiling as he flung his piwafwi up to shield his face and threw himself clear, moving at an unnaturally rapid pace, thanks to the magic of his boots.
Rolling free of the downpour of acid, Pharaun summoned his rapier as he leaped to his feet, continuing his forward progress right at two more soldiers. He used the hovering, dancing rapier to hold the pair of drow at bay just enough so he could pass between them before they even knew he was coming. Once he was through, he headed in the direction of Ryld, while more crossbow bolts and a couple of streaking missiles of light and fire fizzled out as they reached his form.
Valas had hidden himself away again, but Ryld was hard at work, surrounded by no less than six opponents. With each swing of Splitter, the burly warrior parried several weapons at once. His chest was heaving, and he was covered in blood from a dozen small wounds. He didn’t appear capable of going on the offensive with so many foes surrounding him.
As Pharaun closed with his companion, he had the magical rapier slash at the back of one of Ryld’s adversaries. The blade jabbed into the drow soldier from behind, causing the poor fellow to arch his back in agony and crumple to the ground. Grimly, Pharaun ordered the rapier to return and protect him as he began to conjure another spell.
Backing himself into a defensive position near the same statues that Ryld had used to hide himself earlier, the Master of Sorcere extracted a second pinch of the powdered diamond. This time, though, the spell he wove created an invisible barrier between himself and the dozen or so soldiers and wizards who had been pursuing him. The location where Ryld had chosen to hide was more or less in a corner of the great audience chamber, and Pharaun took advantage of that by stretching his invisible wall at an angle, sealing himself and the Master of Melee-Magthere off from most of the rest of the chamber, with only the five drow who were still surrounding Ryld to contend with.
The Master of Sorcere turned his attention to aiding Ryld as the other soldiers painfully discovered his magical wall. He ignored the thumps they made as the first two or three slammed into the barrier, but he couldn’t help but smile. Ryld had fatally wounded a second foe, a priestess who was writhing on the floor in a growing pool of blood. Pharaun drew out his own crossbow and loaded the weapon even as he brought his dancing rapier to bear on a drow male who was trying to get in behind Ryld.
The rapier slashed, grazing the guard’s shoulder, and as the soldier turned to protect himself from this new threat, Pharaun fired his crossbow, striking true. The soldier grunted in surprise and pain as the bolt took him in the shoulder of his weapon arm. He dropped his long sword and staggered backward, eyeing the rapier as it flitted about in front of him. Pharaun reloaded the crossbow and was taking aim when Valas stepped from a shadow and finished the guard from behind. Eyes wide, the drow gasped and tried to say something, seemed confused that his words wouldn’t form, then died, sliding to the floor as the scout freed his kukri from its victim.
“I assume that’s you, wizard? What’s the point of being invisible if you’re going to glow all purple like that?”
“I’m glad to see you wound up on the right side of things,” Pharaun said, then staggered as another rumble shook the building. “By the Dark Mother, what is going on out there?” he said, steadying himself from the aftershocks.
“Whatever it is, I don’t know if it’s better to be out there or in here,” Valas replied, wiping his curved dagger clean on the dead drow’s piwafwi. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Pharaun nodded, forgetting that the scout couldn’t see him, then he said, “I agree” before turning to see how Ryld had fared.
The warrior was facing only a single opponent, stepping warily around the slick pools of blood as he feinted a few times. His ploys weren’t terribly effective, and he was gasping for breath. His closecropped white hair was matted red with blood.
Valas crept forward, ready to get in another attack from behind the moment an opportunity presented itself, so the mage turned his attention back to his magical wall, confident his two companions had the situation well in hand.
On the other side of the barrier, several of the drow wizards were levitating, testing to see if Pharaun had left any gaps al
ong the ceiling. Another wizard was obviously casting, trying to find something that would dispel the effect. Soldiers stood at the ready, fingering their weapons and eyeing Pharaun and his two companions balefully. Pharaun knew by sense that the magical partition still held, but it would only be a matter of time before their enemies would find the right combination of magic to bring it down.
At that moment, Pharaun noted the smoke on the far side of the room. It was where the matron mothers had been, but they were no longer there.
Of course not, the mage thought sardonically. They’re not going to come out until they know we’re in custody again.
The smoke, however, was thick and black and seemed to be pouring into the room through a hole in the wall. He could see flames licking the stone, and he realized what was going on.
“We’ve definitely got to get out of here,” the mage said to Valas.
“That’s what I said,” Valas replied, “but you seem to have sealed us in here.”
Ryld had dispatched his final adversary and sank down to one knee, trying to regain his breath.
“Hello, Pharaun. It’s good to ‘see’ you. You two aren’t going to walk through walls again, are you?” Ryld asked, heaving himself to his feet again.
On the other side of the barrier, some of the House Melarn delegation had lost interest in them, turning and pointing back at the smoke or running toward it. Whatever was happening in the obscured side of the audience chamber, they were very agitated.
“Alas,” Pharaun answered the warrior, “I have exhausted my quota of wall-walking for the day. I’ll have to rely on more conventional means of egress, I’m afraid. Still, we shouldn’t tarry. That smoke is from the same stuff we had to deal with during the insurrection back in Menzoberranzan.”
“The fire bombs that burned the very stone?” Valas asked.
R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation Page 57
