“We are delighted to see you again so soon, Master Reethk,” the ancient drow said with a dry, crackling voice. “Have you perchance obtained the things we discussed?”
“I believe you will be satisfied, Lord Dyrr,” Nimor said.
He glanced at the guard captain, who looked to the old wizard to make sure that he was dismissed. Dyrr sent him along with a small wave of his hand, then the old wizard made another gesture and spoke an arcane word, encapsulating the chamber in a sphere of crawling blackness that hissed and moaned softly like a thing alive.
“I hope you’ll forgive me, young one, if I take steps to ensure that our conversation remains private,” the ancient drow wheezed. “Eavesdropping seems to be a way of life among our kind.”
He shuffled to an ornately carved chair and lowered himself into the seat, seemingly careless of the fact that he bared the nape of his wattled neck to Nimor in so doing.
“A sensible precaution,” Nimor said.
The old one reckons me no threat, the assassin noted. Either he is very trusting—unlikely—or very confident. If he has such confidence in isolating himself with me, then either he does not have the measure of my strength, or I do not have the measure of his.
“It is confidence, young one,” the old wizard said, “and you do not have the measure of me, for we are both of us more than we appear.” Dyrr laughed again, a wet and rasping sound. “Yes, your thoughts are known to me. I did not reach my advanced age through carelessness. Now, take a seat. We will dispense with this foolishness and discuss our business.”
Nimor spread his hands in a gesture of acquiescence and took the chair opposite the old wizard. With some care he organized his thoughts, locking away his darker secrets in a place he would not examine while Dyrr sat by reading his thoughts. Instead he concentrated solely on the matter at hand.
“You have no doubt heard of the unfortunate demise of the Matron Mother of House Faen Tlabbar?” the assassin said. “And her daughter Sil’zet, as well?”
“It did not escape my notice. Count on the Tlabbars to go crying murder to the ruling council. What possible action did they hope to exhort from the other matron mothers, I wonder?”
“Perhaps they were overcome with grief,” Nimor replied.
He reached slowly into a pouch at his side, allowing the wizard to note the deliberate nature of his motion. From the pouch he withdrew a platinum brooch, worked in the barred double-curve symbol of Faen Tlabbar and crowned by a dark ruby. Nimor placed it on the table.
“The matron mother’s own House brooch, which I managed to pocket as a keepsake for you. I hope your scrying shield is good, Lord Dyrr. No doubt the Tlabbar wizards will be seeking that emblem with all the magic at their disposal.”
“Half-witted children fumbling in the dark,” Dyrr muttered. “Five hundred years ago I’d forgotten more about the Art than that whole house full of wizards had collectively deciphered in all their years of training.”
He reached out one near-skeletal hand for the brooch and weighed it in his hand.
“I am sure you have a means to confirm the authenticity of the brooch,” said Nimor.
“Oh, I believe you, assassin. I do not think you have cheated me, but I will examine the issue later, just to be certain.”
The wizard left the brooch sitting on the table and leaned back into his chair. Nimor waited patiently while Dyrr settled back, tapping one long, thin finger on his staff, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Well,” the old wizard said finally, “in our previous meeting I required that you demonstrate to me the reach and skill of your brotherhood by removing an enemy of my House, and I suppose that you have done exactly that. You have won my ear. So what is it that the Jaezred Chaulssin want of House Agrach Dyrr?”
Nimor shifted and shot a sharp glance at the wizard. Dyrr was very well informed indeed, to know of that name. Very few outside of Chaulssin did. In fact, Nimor had studiously avoided bringing it up when he had first approached the ancient lord. He wondered what clues he had left for the wizard to decipher, and whether Dyrr could be permitted that knowledge.
“Do not be hasty, boy,” Dyrr cautioned him. “You gave away nothing that I did not already know. I have been aware of the House of Shadows for quite a long time.”
“I am impressed,” Nimor said.
“On the contrary, you believe that I am making empty boasts.” Dyrr pointed at his own temple and smiled coldly. “I am not given to bluffing or making wild guesses. Long ago I discerned a pattern of activity that spanned a number of the great cities of our race and inferred the existence of a secret league between seemingly weak minor Houses, each renowned for the skill of its assassins, each reputed to be governed by its males, each a secret ally of the others. These families that otherwise would have been devoured by their ambitious matriarchal rivals instead survived through the convenient and violent deaths of any emergent enemies.
Though I find it ironic that any particular House of the Jaezred Chaulssin must, by definition, be considered the blackest sort of traitors to the city unfortunate enough to host them. Placing loyalty to your House above loyalty to your city is not a particularly egregious sin, of course, but to acknowledge a tie of loyalty to a House in another city all together, that is something entirely different, is it not?”
Nimor kept his mind carefully empty and said, “You seem to know all our secrets.”
He studied the wizard carefully, trying not to let the calculations he performed in his mind show.
“Not entirely true,” Dyrr replied. “I would give much to know how your brotherhood orders its Houses, where your true strength is held, and who rules your society. You name yourselves after the city of Chaulssin, which fell into shadow many hundreds of years ago. I wonder about the significance of that appellation.”
He knows more than we can permit, Nimor thought.
He glanced up sharply at the old wizard, realizing that Dyrr would have noted that thought. The ancient mage simply studied him with his weak gaze and inclined his head. The assassin regained the mastery of his thoughts and decided to change the subject.
“For the sake of our friendship, I respectfully submit that it would be best for all involved if you did not do anything with your knowledge that would draw it to anyone else’s attention. We feel quite strongly that our secrets are best left that way.”
“I will do as I wish. However, I do not wish to incur your enmity. I think it would be inconvenient to have the Jaezred Chaulssin as my enemy.”
“It is not merely inconvenient, Lord Dyrr; it is invariably fatal.”
“Perhaps. In any event, I will keep your secrets.”
The old drow laughed softly, clutching his staff with his withered hands.
“Now, let’s get to our business, young one. You and your fellows demonstrated no small amount of ability in the murder of Matron Mother Tlabbar, the enemy of my House. Very well, I am suitably impressed. What is it you want of Agrach Dyrr?”
“I need an ally in Menzoberranzan, Lord Dyrr, and I have a strong suspicion that you might be that ally.” Nimor leaned forward, offering a sly grin. “Events now proceed in this city that will lead to the downfall of the Houses ahead of yours. If you choose to be a part of those events, you will find that House Agrach Dyrr is possessed of a great opportunity to order the city largely as you like. We believe you can help us to steer Menzoberranzan through the difficult times ahead.”
“And if we refuse, we die?”
Nimor shrugged.
“Given the uncertainty of matters as they stand,” said Dyrr, “I am hesitant to embrace a cause I know little about.”
“Understandable. I will, of course, elaborate, but I hope you will recognize the wisdom, in these uncertain times, of taking aggressive and resolute steps to create the certainty you wish to see. Impose your vision on events, instead of allowing events to limit your imagination.”
“Easy words to speak, young one, but more difficult to render into action,” Dyrr sai
d.
The ancient wizard fell silent for a long time, regarding the rakish assassin with a baleful, unblinking gaze. Nimor met his eyes without flinching, but he found himself wondering again what hidden strength the Agrach high mage must hold. Dyrr smiled again, doubtless reading Nimor’s thoughts, and shifted in his seat.
“Very well, then, Prince of Chaulssin. You have awakened my curiosity. Explain exactly what you mean, and what you plan, and I will say if House Agrach Dyrr can stand by your bold actions or not.”
“Gather closely, dear friends,” Pharaun said with a flourish, “and I will explain a few things it would be wise to remember while we walk within the shadows.”
The wizard stood confidently in the center of the chamber, arms folded, showing no hint of the exhaustion or despair of the day’s desperate flight. Stirring from his Reverie shortly before sunset, he had spent almost an hour preparing dozens of spells from his collection of traveling tomes.
While no one bothered to draw closer to the wizard, all focused their attention on him. Pharaun grinned in delight, pleased as ever by the attention. He knotted his fists behind his back as if lecturing to novices at Sorcere, and began.
“When we are ready, I will lead us along a path that skirts the Fringe—the borders of the Plane of Shadow. We will travel quite swiftly, and minor inconveniences such as icy mountains, hungry monsters, and thick-headed humans won’t trouble us in the least. I expect a walk of ten to twelve hours to reach Mantol-Derith, provided that I do not become lost and lead you all into some grisly demise in an uncivilized plane far from Faerûn.”
“You fail to reassure me, Pharaun,” Ryld sighed.
“Oh, I haven’t ever gotten myself lost in the Shadow Deep, nor do I know of a wizard who has. Of course, one would simply never hear from such an unfortunate fellow again, so perhaps a mishap in shadow walking might explain the disappearance of a young mage I knew—”
“Get to the point,” Quenthel snapped.
“Oh, fine. There are two important things to remember, then, for those of you challenged by the effort. First, while we need fear no difficulties in this world while we walk, we gain no special protection from the hazards of the Plane of Shadow. There are things in that place that will object to our passage if they happen upon us—I encountered one such creature the last time I traveled this way, and it was very nearly the last of my marvelous adventures.
“Second, and most importantly, do not lose sight of me. Stay close by and follow me diligently. If you lose contact with me while we traverse the Plane of Shadow, you will likely wander its gloomy barrens for all eternity—or until something terrible devours you, which will probably happen rather soon. My attention must remain on maintaining the spell and navigating the Fringe, so don’t make it easy for me to misplace you, unless of course I don’t like you, in which case please feel free to amble the Shadow Deep at will.”
“Will the lamias be able to follow us?” Ryld asked, his eye still on the passage leading back to the ruins above.
“No, not unless they have a wizard as learned and charming as I, and he knows a spell that permits one to track shadow walkers, which I do not.” Pharaun smiled. “You will be able to shake the dust of the surface from your boots, friend Ryld. Concern yourself no more with the perils of this place, and save your worry for what we might meet on the Fringe.” The wizard glanced around, and nodded to himself. “All right, then. Take each other’s hands—there’s a good fellow, Jeggred, you can get everybody at once, can’t you?—and be still while I cast the spell.”
Pharaun raised his hands and muttered a series of arcane syllables, working his spell.
Halisstra stood between Danifae and Valas, their hands linked. The great subterranean gallery grew somehow darker, if such a thing could be possible in an unlit room underground. Drow could see quite well even in the darkest places, but it seemed to Halisstra as if some kind of murk hung in the air. At first glance, it seemed that Pharaun had succeeded in little more than conjuring a gloom around the party, but as she studied her surroundings more closely, she realized that she was indeed no longer upon Faerûn. A preternatural chill gnawed at her exposed skin, radiating from the cold dust beneath her feet. The high, rune-carved columns that lined the space were twisted caricatures that loomed bizarrely out over the chamber’s open floor.
“Strange,” she murmured. “I expected something . . . different.”
“This is the way of the shadow, dear lady,” Pharaun said. His voice seemed flat and distant, despite the fact he stood no more than six feet from her. “This plane has no substance of its own. It is made up of echoes from our own world, and other, stranger places. We stand in the shadow of the ruins above, but they are not the same ruins we recently traversed. The lamias and their minions do not exist here. Now, remember, stay close, and do not lose sight of me.”
The wizard set off along the passage leading back to the surface. Halisstra blinked in surprise. He took only one small step as he turned away from the party, but he was suddenly across the room, and a second step carried him perilously far down the corridor outside. She hurried to keep him in sight, only to find that a single step caused the chamber to blur into darkness. She stood so close to Pharaun that she had to restrain an impulse to back up a step, lest she throw herself even farther away.
The wizard smirked at her discomfiture and said, “I am flattered by your attention, dear lady, but you need not stay quite so close.” He laughed softly. “Just step when I step, and you will pace me more easily.”
He took several slow, measured strides, holding back a bit as the rest of the party caught the trick of it, and in a moment they all marched together along the dusty streets of Hlaungadath beneath a cold and starless sky. Each step seemed to catapult Halisstra forty, perhaps fifty feet across the dim terrain. The black shapes of ruined buildings leered and leaned from all sides, huddling down close over the streets as if to hem in the travelers, only to fade into dark blurs with each careful stride.
Outside the ruined walls, Pharaun paused a moment to check on the party. He nodded toward the desert stretching to cold mountains in the west, and he began to march quickly, setting a rapid pace that belied his effete mannerisms and aversion to the toils of travel. Finally able to stretch out her legs, Halisstra began to gain a sense of just how quickly they were moving. They soon left the site of the Netherese city a league behind them, a dark blot on the dim breast of the sands. In half an hour the mountains, nothing more than a distant fence of snowcapped peaks from Hlaungadath’s streets, towered up over them like a rampart of night. The shadow walk also made light of the most difficult terrain in their path. Without hesitation Pharaun stepped out over a sheer ravine as if it simply did not exist. The magic of his spell and the strange plane they traversed brought his foot down securely on the far side of the obstacle. Climbing the long, rugged slopes leading up into the mountains was no more work than stepping from stone to stone across a stream.
“Tell me, Pharaun,” Quenthel said after a time, “why did we crawl through miles of dangerous Underdark passages to reach Ched Nasad, when you might have used this spell to shorten our journey?”
Halisstra could sense the ire hidden in the Baenre’s voice, even through the murk and gloom of the Shadow Fringe.
“Three reasons, fair Quenthel,” Pharaun replied, not taking his eyes from the unseen path he followed. “First, you did not ask me to do any such thing. Second, the wizards of Ched Nasad arranged certain defenses against intrusions of this sort. Finally, as I said before, the Fringe is a dangerous place. I only suggested this after we all agreed that marching for months across the sunblasted surface world presented an even less appealing prospect.”
Quenthel seemed to consider the wizard’s words, while mountains reeled and gnarled black trees began to appear around them.
“In the future,” the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said, “I shall expect you to volunteer useful information or suggestions in a timely manner. Your reticence in advancing idea
s may cost us all our lives. Is that worth the meager pleasure you derive from knowing something we may not?”
The Master of Sorcere’s teeth gleamed in his dark face, and he continued without making a reply. For some time he devoted his attention to navigating the Fringe. As Pharaun was under normal circumstances the most garrulous of the company, the effort of concentrating on his spell left the small party of dark elves unusually silent. They fell into a watchful march, winding quietly along in single file behind the wizard, as the immeasurable journey through the darkness stretched out into what might have been hours or even days. Halisstra found herself beginning to consider the very curious notion that this was the real world, the true substance of things, and the bland mundane rigidity of her own world was the illusion. She found that she did not care for that thought at all.
After a long time, Pharaun raised his hand and called a halt. They stood on a small gray stone bridge, arching over a deep gully through which trickled a dark, bubbling stream. Nearby the black ramparts of an abandoned city jutted into the lightless sky, a place that seemed more like a fortress than a town, its thick walls pierced by turret-guarded gates.
“We’re about halfway to our destination,” Pharaun said. “I suggest half an hour’s rest, and maybe a meal from what stores we have. We should be able to replenish our supplies when we reach Mantol-Derith.”
Ryld gestured at the empty castle nearby and said, “What is that place?”
“That?” Pharaun glanced over his shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe it’s the echo of a surface city in our world, or maybe it’s a reflection of some other reality all together. The Shadow is like that.”
The company huddled by the low stone wall of the bridge and made a dreary repast from their dwindling provisions. The ever present chill of the place leeched away the warmth of Halisstra’s body, as if the stones beneath her hungered for her very life. The gloom smothered their spirits, deadening any attempt at conversation, making it hard to even think with any degree of acuteness. When the time came to set off again, Halisstra was surprised by the sheer lethargy that had crept into her limbs. She had little desire to do anything except sink back down to the ground and lie still, wrapped in shadows. Only with a fierce and focused effort of will did she drive herself into motion again.
R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation Page 81
