Boundless

by R. A. Salvatore

  Wulfgar shook his head. “No, but neither sailing against the interests of Ship Kurth. Let her go. It is in your interests. She will become a major power about the seas, and one whose ship will never be hostile to you.”

  Beniago looked to Kimmuriel “Do you think she understands?”

  Kimmuriel gave that curious almost-laugh again. “She understands more than she ever wanted to understand,” he replied, calm and superior. “It is quite disconcerting, perhaps even mind-breaking, to so quickly learn that your own body can be turned fully against you to cause great harm.”

  The psionicist waved his hand, and Bonnie Charlee suddenly slumped forward, released from the possession, her dagger hand dropping to her side. She gave a few gasps, and was fighting hard, Wulfgar could see, to not let them see her cry. He understood. Could anything be more invasive and traumatizing than having your body stolen from your control and turned back on you?

  He shook his head. He could only imagine her torment. One day, he would pay back Kimmuriel Oblodra, he thought.

  “Quite unlikely,” Kimmuriel answered aloud, staring straight at him.

  Beniago hopped up from the desk. “Go dry your clothes and rest,” he told the two humans. “We may be leaving soon, perhaps at any time. When we go, you can follow.”

  “Both of us,” Wulfgar stated, and Beniago nodded his agreement.

  “But when the time to leave is upon us, we will go, and if you are not prepared for that journey, you will be left behind.”

  Caecilia rode her black cloud back to the Hosttower to find Gromph waiting for her just outside her private chambers.

  “A horde approaches,” she informed him. “Your friends at Ship Kurth will be overrun.”

  “Of course,” the archmage agreed. “Three of the city’s high captains joined with the invaders even before they arrived. The flotilla that came against Luskan was larger after the sea encounter than the original force sailing to attack us.”

  Caecilia wore a confused look.

  “They are scoundrels,” Gromph explained. “The attackers offered them a better position, no doubt.”

  “Or perhaps they were not overly thrilled with being ruled by dark elves?”

  “There is that,” Gromph admitted. “I tell you without bias that the city was thriving under Jarlaxle’s quiet rule, but sometimes that is not enough. And not all of the captains were doing well, of course, since High Captain Kurth has greatly curtailed their piracy.”

  “Because they could earn more simply through the opened trade avenues, if I understand correctly.”

  “Sometimes that is not enough,” repeated Gromph.

  “Shall I make a new storm to bite at those advancing on Ship Kurth?”

  Gromph paused, then shook his head. “I do not know how far they will go. If we interfere too overtly, perhaps they will come against us once more.”

  “The field about our tower is littered with their dead.”

  “But they know that wizards tire. No, let the city sort out around us, however it may fall.”

  “And your friend in Ship Kurth?”

  “Any who should concern us are in no danger,” the archmage assured her.

  Caecilia gave a little snort, but tried to cover it when she saw the scowl on Gromph’s face and realized he knew she was mocking him. “Such a drow thing to say,” she admitted. “If all of Luskan other than those you deem valuable to you were to be slaughtered, would you even care, Archmage?”

  “Should I?”

  Caecilia blew a long sigh and let it go. Curiously, though, as she walked through the door leading to her extradimensional mansion, she realized that she actually didn’t believe Gromph.

  Had he been so battered by the distorted culture of Menzoberranzan that he thought it a sign of great weakness to admit compassion?

  How many others? the cloud giantess wondered. How many other dark elves had been similarly broken?

  “Been an interesting day,” Wulfgar said to Bonnie Charlee when they were left alone in a sitting room at Ship Kurth. They sat across from each other at a small table, still wrapped in their blankets as their clothes dried by the flaming hearth.

  “Aye, that’s a word,” the woman replied. “Might be others I’d use, but interesting works.”

  “Calico Grimm?” Wulfgar asked as he replayed the last few frantic hours. “How’d he go?”

  Bonnie Charlee shook her head. “The red elf with the sword got him. Cut him in half.”

  “You’d been with him long?”

  “Long enough to know enough about him to hold back me tears, aye.”

  Wulfgar took a while to digest that. “And what now for you?”

  “I’ll tell ye when I find that I have some say in that,” she replied, then added with obvious intrigue, “Did ye mean what ye said?”

  “What I said?”

  “The Heirloom?”

  “Ah, well . . .”

  “Might not even be destroyed,” Bonnie Charlee said. “When ye broke their ship, they took ours—they hadn’t any other. She’s in Luskan Harbor right now, not to doubt.”

  “Then we might take her back.”

  “And I’ll be captain and yerself’ll sign on for the fight?”

  Wulfgar shrugged. “I never know where my road will take me anymore, lady . . . err, Captain Charlee. Or would it be Captain Bonnie?”

  Bonnie Charlee grinned and shrugged.

  “I did mean it about the ship,” Wulfgar added. “When this is sorted, I expect you’d make a fine captain and a worthy ally, and yes, I would hope to sail with you, sometimes, at least.”

  That brought a smile to the beleaguered woman’s face.

  “We should get some rest,” Wulfgar offered, motioning to the pillows that had been spread on the floor before the hearth.

  “Aye,” the woman agreed, and she quickly added, “Rest.”

  Before either of them even got out of a chair, the door opened and a tall drow woman entered. “Time to go,” she told them.

  Heeding the warning of Beniago, Bonnie Charlee rushed to grab her clothes, Wulfgar stiffly following.

  The big man froze when he felt the drow woman’s hand on his back, and before he could ask her intent, he felt the warmth of magical healing flowing through him.

  “Be quick,” she said. “You’ll find more healing when we’re safely away from here.”

  They went out into the hall and joined a procession of fast-fleeing others, and back behind them, in the direction of the street, they heard the slamming of a ram on the front door and the crackling as flames again bit at Ship Kurth’s walls. Through a secret door in the wall they went, and down a long spiral staircase into a wet and dark—very dark—brine-smelling cave.

  “Close it for good!” Beniago yelled out from some corner of the cave, and behind and far above, they heard the thump of a huge stone, the ground jolting beneath their feet. The secret door was no longer a door.

  Few torches were burning, and those were far apart—another reminder to Wulfgar that Ship Kurth’s crew were drow who didn’t need much light.

  They moved down a descending corridor and into a tunnel that was quite tight for the hulking barbarian.

  “We’re under the bay,” Bonnie Charlee whispered from behind Wulfgar. Even as she spoke, the torches were extinguished and the parade moved in complete darkness, feeling their way in a long single-file line. She was right, and they were crossing to the mainland, he believed.

  No, not to the mainland but under the mainland, he soon corrected, when they came into a wider area lit by magical faerie fire, an area of worked rooms and corridors, fine masonry covered in old sculptures and decorations.

  Bonnie Charlee gasped and nearly leaped upon Wulfgar, for more than two-thirds of the people who had come with her had shed their human disguises.

  Beniago, still a red-haired human in appearance, moved over to the pair. “Illusk,” he explained. “The haunted city beneath Luskan—old Luskan, if you will.”

  “Haunted by
drow?” Wulfgar asked.

  “By more than us, though the spirits here seem content to leave us alone.”

  “The true power of Luskan, then. Bregan D’aerthe’s secret home.”

  “One of them, and now you know,” said Beniago. He looked directly at Bonnie Charlee, a very clear threat, as he added, “You both know.”

  “And so we’re sworn to secrecy,” she said.

  “Need I even warn you of the consequences again?”

  “Was the worst-kept secret in Luskan afore,” the woman replied, regaining some swagger, apparently—and that impressed Wulfgar more than a little, given that they were wholly helpless here if the drow decided to be rid of them. Who would even know?

  “But still a secret, and one we prefer to keep,” said Beniago.

  Kimmuriel walked over then and stared hard at Bonnie Charlee.

  “Will you tell?” Beniago asked the woman, and before she could answer, she gasped.

  Wulfgar looked from her to Kimmuriel, to see his concentration. He was in her thoughts again, the big man knew, listening to her unspoken response, her honest response, before she could properly filter it.

  “A pity,” Kimmuriel said, and walked away.

  “What does that mean?” asked Wulfgar, thinking his friend doomed.

  “It means he doesn’t get to kill her, I suppose,” said Beniago. He dipped an unexpected bow to the woman. “Welcome to Illusk, Bonnie Charlee. Perhaps you will indeed one day captain Joen’s Heirloom.”

  The woman seemed completely at a loss, of course, and she looked pleadingly to Wulfgar.

  “The drow never trust anyone who is not drow,” Wulfgar started to explain.

  “Or anyone who is,” Beniago quickly added, and he just shrugged as both looked at him. “Now, Kimmuriel is finished with you and priestess Dab’nay is waiting. That wound is abyssal, and will fester and perhaps even kill you without her aid.”

  Chapter 24

  The Eyes of the World

  The dark, beautiful woman held the bird-shaped figure up high in her cupped hands, its crystal body catching and shimmering under the afternoon sun. Yvonnel whispered to her latest creation and tossed it up into the air, where it took wing and flew off.

  “If them things’re living, will they start laying eggs?” Athrogate asked from his seat on a large rock at the side of the small meadow. Feeling much better now, the dwarf rolled Skullcrusher, the two-handed mace that used to belong to his beloved Ambergris, around in his strong hands.

  “They would make the world more beautiful, would they not?” Yvonnel answered.

  “Bah, but the sun shining through ’em hurts me eyes.”

  Yvonnel laughed at the idea that a dwarf, any dwarf, would be complaining to a dark elf about bright light.

  “How many ye got out there now?” Athrogate asked. “First ones dead, or whatever, or are all about?”

  “All. Dozens, though I’ve lost the exact count.”

  “And ye see through ’em? All of them? Sounds like ye’re to be getting dizzy.”

  “They tell me when I need to see through them,” the drow replied. “I do not intend to be surprised out here, dwarf, and there is much afoot that would destroy us. We will know every approach.”

  “And everyone hiding,” Athrogate agreed, and he turned to the side, leading Yvonnel’s gaze to a nearby hillock, one that he had just left. “We’ll pull ’em in, all of ’em, and kill them what need killin’!” He rambled on a bit, but paused, noting that the woman wasn’t listening. Yvonnel stood with her eyes closed, a clear clue to Athrogate. He jumped up from the rock and slapped Skullcrusher across his open palm.

  Yvonnel’s violet eyes popped open and she turned a smile on the dwarf. “Demon,” she said. “A demon in a dwarf’s body.”

  “A dead demon, then,” said the dwarf.

  “But a living dwarf,” Yvonnel warned.

  The two stared at each other hard. She was clearly referring to their last battle, one in which Athrogate hadn’t stopped his bashing quickly enough and so had destroyed a bauble-wearing, demon-possessed dwarf.

  “Do not make that mistake again,” Yvonnel told him.

  “Mistake?”

  “Dwarf, I can send you away. And I could have let you die. Grant me this one favor in return.”

  “Nah, ye need me,” Athrogate said, that toothy smile showing again between the thick black bushes that comprised his beard. “And ye love me, too, though ye’re tryin’ hard to hide it.”

  “It is difficult to suppress such powerful feelings, but if I must,” the woman answered with equal sarcasm, drawing a “Bwahaha!” from Athrogate, who smacked the powerful mace across his hand again.

  “Ye want to see if ye can save a dwarf, then fine,” he said more seriously and ominously. “I can wait a few heartbeats before smushing the fool’s head to bone dust.”

  “Athrogate . . .”

  “Ye do what ye need to do,” he answered, “and I’ll do what meself’s needin’ to do.” He brought the mace up higher and kissed it. “I ain’t forgettin’ nothing.”

  “Being intelligent is no insult to your lost love.”

  “I ain’t forgettin’ nothing,” Athrogate repeated, his face a frozen grimace. “Nothing.”

  Yvonnel sighed heavily. “Let us be away, dwarf, if you wish to accompany me.”

  Athrogate hopped up from the stone. “I’ll tell our guests.”

  “We’ll tell them,” Yvonnel corrected. “Our hunt will take us right past the cave.”

  Athrogate softened his visage when he entered the shallow cave. A dozen humans, including three children, were scattered about the floor inside, huddled in whispered conversations, mostly worried about the farms they had abandoned or about what they might do if the demons ever found them. Yvonnel and Athrogate had rescued them, brought them to this place, and guarded over them. With her magic, Yvonnel was feeding them.

  Athrogate couldn’t stay mad at her regarding the disposition of a demon-possessed dwarf when looking upon this group. The drow woman had nothing to gain from saving these people, and in fact had put herself in harm’s way in extracting most from farms that were soon after overrun. Even though most of Athrogate’s experiences with drow had been with Drizzt and Jarlaxle, these continuing unexpected revelations about the race as a whole, particularly coming from, purportedly, a priestess of Lolth, had him shaking his head.

  “Set guards about the entrance,” Yvonnel told them. “If danger approaches, you will be warned, as will I, and I will send word as to where you should flee.”

  Most nodded, but more than one, Athrogate noted, grimaced, or muttered something surely unflattering under her breath. The farmers didn’t really know what in the world was happening around them, and some here didn’t trust Yvonnel, obviously, even though, by all appearances, she had rescued them.

  That was the problem with the reputation of the drow, Athrogate mused. They were known to wrap webs over webs over more webs, and you never quite understood their real purpose until it was too late. Certainly, Athrogate occasionally flashed on doubts about Yvonnel, but he had a prior understanding of her from people he trusted and so those doubts could not take hold. These folks had likely never encountered any drow before, or if so, likely not one who would help them—unless, of course, it was Drizzt.

  The dwarf looked to his companion then as she started back out of the cave, heading off to destroy another demon. He reminded himself that he owed her his life, and though he would have been perfectly fine with his own death after the loss of his beloved Ambergris, it was no small thing that he was able to help save these farmers (and there were many more out there who needed him) or that he was getting the chance to pay back those who had so wronged him and his love.

  So, when he caught up to Yvonnel and she again asked him to do her this one favor, instead of immediately growling and snarling, Athrogate offered, “We’ll see.”

  The dawn’s light showed Drizzt that he had not escaped his pursuer; indeed, his attempt
to throw the giant spider off his trail had only allowed the thing to close the great distance he had put between it and himself, for it could not pace Andahar.

  But Andahar could not remain on this plane forever. The unicorn was a magical item, and an enchantment with a specific duration. Without the unicorn, Drizzt couldn’t hope to outrun the spider, and after shooting it and its fellow arachnid in the caverns outside Gauntlgrym, he was fairly certain that he couldn’t possibly defeat the spider, either—not unless he could find some weakness.

  To do that, he needed time. To buy time, he needed to get far, far away.

  But how?

  A large tree just beyond the nearest ridge shuddered suddenly and fell over with a crash, and Drizzt didn’t need to wait to figure out what had caused it. He swung his mount around and galloped away at full speed, trying to get every last stride out of Andahar before the magic expired, taking the unicorn from him for far too many hours.

  But where to go? Not Longsaddle, certainly, nor Luskan. Not Waterdeep, even, for how many would be killed by the monster chasing him even if the city found the power to destroy the thing?

  When he crested the next hill, the drow paused for just a moment to survey the area and figure out where he was.

  He had come a long way through the night, and could see the ocean far in the distance.

  Athrogate locked his gaze upon the pony he and Yvonnel had taken from Regis. He hated using the animal as bait here, but the effectiveness of the ploy couldn’t be denied.

  The pony nickered and stamped its foot.

  Athrogate clenched his hands more tightly on Skullcrusher.

  A shadow to the side caught the dwarf’s wary eye, a dark form moving through the trees, circling to the back of the pony.

  The demon, a misshapen black-and-green humanoid creature with one arm twice as long as the other, both hands ending in three long claws instead of fingers, burst from the brush, sprinting at the animal.

  Athrogate was already in the air, flying to intercept.

  The demon didn’t slow, veering to charge the dwarf instead, its unbalanced face seeming little more than a mouth that stretched halfway around its head and a pair of too-large eyes. Green spittle flew from that mouth, and green ooze dripped from every bit of the creature—every part of it reeked of disease.