“Lady Aliisza,” he said, offering a bow. “I am flattered. I am certain the repast before me did not come from the crown prince’s kitchens.”
“There is a limit to how much smoked rothé cheese and black sporeflour bread one can stand,” she said. She took the wine glasses in hand and moved close to extend him one. “I admit, I had my entourage scour the city to find inns and taverns willing to provide meals suited to an elf ’s palate.”
Nimor took the glass and swirled it, bringing it to his nose to inhale the aroma. Not only did it allow him to appreciate the wine’s bouquet, but he could sniff the vintage for any signs of the various subtle poisons with which he was familiar. He would have proved difficult to poison in any case, but he did not detect any strange scents.
“You have my thanks, dear lady. I have been traveling of late, and have been forced to live on very plain fare indeed.”
Aliisza sipped at her own wine, and nodded at the table.
“In that case, why don’t we eat while we talk?”
Nimor took the seat opposite the half-demon, and fell to his meal. One of the consequences of his true nature was a surprising ability to eat far more than one might expect for a dark elf of his slight build, and to go for quite a long time between meals. The rothé roast with mushroom gravy was cool and rare in the middle and quite excellent, the small blind fish were somewhat saltier than he would have cared for, and the wine was dry and strong, a good match for the roast.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this occasion?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“You intrigue me, Nimor Imphraezl. I want to know more about who you are, and what interests you represent.”
“Who I am? I have given you my true name,” Nimor replied.
“That is not exactly the sort of answer I had in mind.” Aliisza leaned forward, her eyes fixed on him. “What I meant was, whom do you serve? What are you doing here?”
Nimor felt a subtle flutter at the edges of his thoughts, as if he was trying to remember something he’d momentarily misplaced. He leaned back in his chair and grinned at the alu-fiend.
“I hope you’ll forgive me, dear lady, but I recently found myself in an interview in which the other party could read my thoughts, and so I have taken steps to defend myself against such things this evening. You won’t pick your answers from my mind.”
Aliisza frowned and said, “Now I wonder what thoughts you have to guard so well, Nimor. Are you afraid that I wouldn’t like what I found there?”
“We all have our secrets.” Nimor teased his wine and admired the bouquet again. He would not give her the complete truth, of course, but what he would offer was truthful enough under the circumstances. “I belong to a minor House of Menzoberranzan with some unusual practices of which the matron mothers would not approve,” he began. “Among other things, we do not subject ourselves to the tyranny of our Lolth-worshiping female relations, and we possess old and strong ties to minor Houses with similar practices in several other cities. We masquerade as low-ranking merchants, but we keep our true nature and capabilities quite secret.”
“Capabilities?”
“We are assassins, dear lady, and we are very good at what we do.”
Aliisza leaned forward, resting her delicate chin on her fingertips as she studied Nimor with her dark, mischievous gaze.
“So what is an assassin of Menzoberranzan doing in Gracklstugh, advising Horgar Steelshadow as he musters his army for war?” she asked. “Wouldn’t that constitute the worst sort of treason?”
Nimor shrugged and replied, “We wish to see the order of things upset. We cannot defeat the great Houses of our city without an army, and Gracklstugh’s is the strongest in this corner of the Underdark. As soon as it became evident that Lolth had abandoned her priestesses, we realized that we had a golden opportunity to strike a mortal blow against the great Houses. We have been doing all that we can to help Horgar see that our opportunity is his opportunity, too.”
“Aren’t you concerned that the duergar might prove unwilling to relinquish the drow city to your care once they’ve conquered it?”
“Of course,” Nimor said, “but in all honesty, we view the fall of the Spider Queen’s Houses as a goal desirable enough to outweigh the risks of duergar perfidy. Even if Gracklstugh turned on my House and occupied Menzoberranzan for a hundred years, we would still survive, and we would reclaim the city in time.”
Aliisza stood gracefully and paced over to a narrow, slitlike window overlooking the city.
“Do you really think the Spider Queen will allow her city to fall? What becomes of the gray dwarves’ assault if the priestesses of Lolth suddenly recover their powers?”
“We are a long-lived race, dear lady. My grandfather saw with his own eyes the events of a thousand years past. We do not forget the past the way other races do. In all our legends, our lore, we have never encountered a silence so complete and long-lasting. Even if it proves to be temporary, well, it represents a chance that comes along only once every couple of thousand years, doesn’t it? How could we not choose this moment to strike?”
“Perhaps you’re right. I’ve spoken to other drow who seem to feel these are extraordinary and unprecedented times.” Aliisza glanced over her shoulder at him and added, “In fact, in Ched Nasad I encountered a mission of high-ranking Menzoberranyr who had come to the city in the hopes of discovering the causes of Lolth’s silence. Quenthel Baenre, the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, led the company.”
“I’ve heard of Mistress Quenthel’s mission. So they made it to Ched Nasad?”
“After passing through Kaanyr Vhok’s territory, yes. They arrived just in time to witness the city’s destruction.”
“Did any of them survive?”
Aliisza shrugged and said, “I could not say for certain. They were a capable lot. If anyone could escape the city’s fall, they would have.”
Nimor tapped his finger on the table, thinking. Was Quenthel’s mission of investigation significant, then? He’d simply figured that the matron mothers had decided to shuffle the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith out of the city for a time in the event that she was entertaining dangerous aspirations. Still, it represented a wild card, an unknown factor that the Jaezred Chaulssin might be wise to take note of. A party of powerful dark elves roaming the Underdark might find the opportunity to cause all sorts of trouble.
“Did they find any answers to their questions?” he asked.
“None that I know of,” Aliisza said. She turned back from the window and glided over to the table again, then changed the subject. “You seemed very anxious to argue my case with the crown prince. Might I ask why?”
The assassin shifted in his seat and leaned back, allowing his gaze to rest on her.
“You touched on this already,” he said. “Either Gracklstugh is strong enough to defeat Menzoberranzan, or it isn’t. If it is not, then Kaanyr Vhok’s Scoured Legion is likely to tip the scales in our favor. If Gracklstugh is strong enough, then the Scoured Legion might serve as a useful check on Horgar’s aspirations. We wouldn’t want the crown prince to forget the details of our arrangement.”
“And why should the Scoured Legion serve as your army in the field?”
“Because Horgar won’t have you for an ally unless I persuade him that he’d be better served with Kaanyr Vhok’s tanarukks at his side than attacking his flank,” Nimor answered. “Besides, your master doesn’t want to sit at home while events unfold. He sent you here to urge the duergar to attack Menzoberranzan, did he not?”
Aliisza hid her smile with a sip of wine.
“Well, there is that,” she admitted. “So, will you ask the duergar to accept our help, or not?”
The assassin studied the alu-fiend while he considered the question. Agrach Dyrr was a useful ally, but he doubted that the Fifth House of Menzoberranzan had the strength to counterbalance Horgar’s army if push came to shove. Another force on the field would increase the chances of success for the Jaezred Chaulssin, and wit
h three factions to work with, it should be possible to align two against the third in whatever combination was necessary to advance his goals. In extremis, the Jaezred Chaulssin could bring their own strength to bear, but they were not numerous, and it was always preferable to expend the resources of one’s allies before tapping your own reserves.
“I think,” he said at length, “that we won’t give Horgar the chance to refuse your help. Do you know of a place called the Pillars of Woe?”
Aliisza frowned and shook her head.
“It’s a gorge between Gracklstugh and Menzoberranzan,” Nimor said, “a place I have great plans for. I am certain that some of Kaanyr Vhok’s scouts will know the spot, and I’ll make sure you know where to find it. Go back to Kaanyr Vhok and have him bring the Scoured Legion to the Pillars of Woe with all possible speed. You will have your chance to assist in the destruction of Menzoberranzan. If the crown prince proves completely unreasonable, you will have other opportunities available to you, but I believe that Horgar will accept your stake in events once he encounters your force in the field.”
“That sounds risky.”
“Risk is the cost of opportunity, dear lady. It cannot be avoided.”
Aliisza measured him with her smoky gaze.
“All right,” she said, “but I’ll warn you that Kaanyr will be quite put out with me if he marches his army off into the wilds of the Underdark and misses all the fun.”
“I will not disappoint you,” Nimor promised. He allowed himself a deep draught of wine, and pushed his chair away from the table. “That would seem to conclude our business, Lady Aliisza. I thank you for the fine supper and the pleasant company.”
“Leaving so soon?” Aliisza said, with just a hint of a pout.
She drifted closer, a mischievous fire springing up in her eyes, and Nimor found his gaze roving over the voluptuous curves of her body. She leaned forward to put her hands on the arms of his chair, and enfolded her wings around him. With sinuous grace she lowered herself closer to nibble at his ear, pressing her soft, hot flesh against him.
“If we’ve finished our business already, Nimor Imphraezl, it must be time for pleasure,” she whispered into his ear.
Nimor inhaled the delicious odor of her perfume and found his hands roving to stroke her hips and bring her closer still.
“If you insist,” he murmured, kissing the hollow of her neck.
She shivered in his arms as he reached up to unlace her corselet.
The crude paddlewheels at the sides of Coalhewer’s boat clattered loudly in the darkness, churning the black water into furious, white, rushing foam. The hulking skeletons in their well-like space at the boat’s center stooped and rose, stooped and rose, their bony hands clamped to the crankshafts driving the wheels. Relentlessly, tirelessly, they continued their mindless work, held to their labors by the necromantic magic that had animated them years, or perhaps decades past. Halisstra was no judge of waterborne travel, but it seemed to her that Coalhewer’s boat was holding to a pace that would be difficult to match.
She risked a glance back over her shoulder to see if her companions had marked any signs of pursuit. Ryld, Jeggred, and Pharaun all stood in the rear of the boat, watching its wake. Quenthel sat on a large trunk just under the boat’s scaffoldlike bridge, also gazing back toward Gracklstugh. Valas stood on the bridge alongside Coalhewer, making sure that the duergar captain kept the ungainly vehicle to the course he desired.
Halisstra and Danifae had taken up the posts of lookouts, peering ahead to make sure they didn’t run headlong into trouble. Halisstra hadn’t bothered to debate the arrangement. The males were best placed between the rest of the company and the most likely threats, and Pharaun was probably their best weapon against any pursuit out of Gracklstugh.
The city itself was no longer visible, except as a long, low red smudge. The firelight of the dwarves’ forges could be seen for several miles across the vast black space of the Dark Lake’s open waters, a sense of distance that reminded Halisstra of the unnatural vistas of the World Above. They’d churned their way east and south from Gracklstugh’s waterfront for several hours, with no sign of anyone following, but Halisstra couldn’t shake the impression that they were not clear of the duergar yet. Reluctantly she shifted her gaze back to the boundless dark in front of the boat, and checked her crossbow to make sure it was ready to fire.
Halisstra carefully scanned her half of the bow, starting with the water close to the boat and working her way farther out until even her drow sight could make out nothing more through the blackness, then she returned her gaze to the boat and started again. Great stalactites or columns—it was impossible to tell—descended from the ceiling and vanished into the inky water at odd intervals, creating titanic pillars of stone for the boat to navigate around. In other spots the jagged points of stalagmites jutted from the surface like spears. Coalhewer steered well clear of those, pointing out that there might be two submerged rocks for every one that broke the surface.
“I can’t believe I’m crouching on the deck of a duergar boat, fleeing for my life from a city I’d never seen before three days ago,” Halisstra murmured, breaking the long silence. “Two tendays ago I was the heir apparent of a great House in a noble city. One tenday ago I was a prisoner, betrayed by the petty malice of Faeryl Zauvirr, and now here I am, a rootless wanderer with nothing more to my name than the armor on my back and whatever odds and ends are stowed in my pack. I just cannot fathom why.”
“I am not unfamiliar with changes in one’s circumstances and fortunes,” Danifae said. “What is the point of asking why? It is the will of the Spider Queen.”
“Is it?” Halisstra asked. “House Melarn stood for twenty centuries or more, only to fall in the hour when Lolth withdrew her favor from our entire race. It was only in her absence that our enemies could overthrow us.”
Danifae did not reply, nor did Halisstra expect her to. That thought was perilously close to heresy, after all. To suggest that something had occurred against Lolth’s will was to doubt the power of the Spider Queen, and to question Lolth’s power was to invite death and condemnation as a faithless weakling. The fate that awaited the faithless in the afterlife was too terrible to contemplate. Unless Lolth chose to take the soul of a follower to her divine abode in the Demonweb Pits, a drow’s spirit would be condemned to anguish and oblivion in the barren wastelands where the dead of all kinds were judged. Only abject worship and perfect service could sway the Dark Queen to intercede on one’s behalf and grant life beyond life, eternal existence as one of Lolth’s divine host.
Of course, thought Halisstra, if Lolth is dead, then damnation and oblivion become unavoidable, don’t they?
She blanched at the thought and shivered in horror, standing quickly and pacing away from the bridge to hide her face from the others.
I must not think such things, she told herself. Better to empty my mind of all thoughts than to entertain blasphemy.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, doing her best to banish her insidious doubts.
“We’ve got trouble,” Ryld announced from the afterdeck. The weapons master knelt and peered through the darkness behind the boat. “Three boats, much like this one.”
“I see them,” Pharaun said. He glanced up at the bridge. “Master Coalhewer, I thought you said this was the fastest vessel on the Darklake. Am I to gather that you exaggerated a bit?”
The dwarf scowled back into the darkness and replied, “I’ve never been overtaken before today, so how was I t’know any different?”
He muttered a foul string of curses and paced from one end of the bridge to the other, never taking his eyes off the following boats.
“They’re not gaining on us by much,” Quenthel observed after a long moment. “It’s going to take them a while to catch us.”
Halisstra turned and clambered past the bridge to gaze aft. She could see the pursuing boats, just barely. They trailed behind Coalhewer’s craft by a bowshot, black ghosts silhouet
ted faintly against the dying red smudge that marked the city behind them. A glimmer of white played at the bow of each boat where it parted the waters.
She looked up at the duergar and asked, “Can’t you make this thing go any faster?”
Coalhewer growled and waved a hand at the skeletons driving the craft.
“They’ve been told to go as fast as they can,” he said. “We might speed her up by throwing weight over the side, but there’s no telling if it’d be help enough.”
“How far are we from the southern wall of the cavern?” asked Quenthel.
“I don’t know these waters well. Three miles, I’d guess.”
“Then keep to your course,” the Baenre decided. “Once we’re ashore, we’ll be able to outdistance any pursuit, or pick our ground to fight on if we decide not to run.”
“But what of my boat?” Coalhewer demanded. “D’ye have any idea how much I paid for it?”
“I’m certain I hadn’t invited you along, dwarf,” Quenthel replied.
She turned her back on the duergar and settled down to wait, absently stroking her whip as she watched the pursuing boats draw closer.
The boat churned on, passing more stalagmites jutting up from the waters as the pursuing boats edged closer. Halisstra and Danifae watched carefully for obstacles ahead, but despite herself, Halisstra could not resist the impulse to glance over her shoulder from time to time to check on their pursuers. Each time she did, the boats had closed a little more, until she could actually make out discrete individuals moving around on their decks. A quarter-hour after they’d first come into view behind Coalhewer’s boat, the duergar vessels began to fire missiles after them—heavy crossbow bolts that fell hissing into their wake, and clumsy catapult-shot of great flaming spheres that soared past the boat to smash against the dank columns littering the surrounding waters.
R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation Page 89
