Spinner of Lies frotg-1

by Bruce R Cordell

  Chant stroked his chin. Mining? “No. Master Raneger has his fingers in a lot that goes on in the city, legal and less so. But I don’t think he’s got the infrastructure to support that sort of operation.”

  “A mining disruption-what’s that mean?”

  Chant glanced at his son. The boy was persistent. “Jaul’s got a point. What’s this really about?”

  “A mine operated by the Crown has gone silent. It’s a secret excavation, so I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it. But Raneger may have.”

  “What kind of mine?” said Chant.

  Demascus leaned even closer and said, “Arambarium.”

  Arambarium? Sounded like a mineral he should know about, but he was coming up blank.

  But Jaul was nodding. “Master Raneger was talking to some people about arambarium a few tendays ago.”

  Chant and Demascus speared Jaul with surprised looks.

  “Who was Raneger talking to?” said Riltana.

  “Not sure-I caught it in passing. But I remember they said ‘arambarium’ because it was a new one on me. It stuck with me.”

  “Anything else?” said Demascus.

  “Something about moving the goods through some warehouse. But our game was over, so I took off.”

  Chant looked at his son, an odd feeling in his stomach. “You play games … with Raneger? In his receiving room?” The idea of Jaul having such a casual relationship with the low-down snake made his blood run cold.

  Jaul shrugged. “He gets lots of visitors, some of them pretty odd. I’m usually the least impressive person in Raneger’s court. Except at cards.” He chuckled. “Raneger likes cards. And I’m pretty damn good, Pa.”

  “Jaul,” said Demascus, “Can you get us a meeting with Raneger?”

  “Probably.”

  Chant opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Then opened it again and said instead, “What if this arambarium is a secret we’d rather Raneger didn’t know that we knew? It could be dangerous to question him on the topic.”

  Riltana slapped Chant’s shoulder, “Then I guess we better be ready to fight, huh?” She grinned.

  Jaul clapped his hands and shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell Raneger you’re with me.”

  Raneger’s dim receiving room was vast, supported by a double row of marble columns, with a pool recessed in the middle of the floor, giving the air a moist, dank quality. Sometimes the crime lord invited the keepers of fighting drakes and sword moths to provide bloody sport. Other times he hosted musicians, or elaborately costumed dancers, or even the occasional jester.

  Chant particularly hated jesters. He was glad to see none were in attendance. However, the rest of Raneger’s “court” was present as Chant and his friends were ushered in. Chant recognized several faces among the varied bunch of bootlickers, bounty hunters, and other scoundrels seeking the crime lord’s favor. What kind of secret monger would he be if he didn’t?

  Ah, but who’s this? A man stood before Raneger, tall and kingly. A gemstone was bound on his brow like a crown. But if he was slumming in Raneger’s court, the man was probably a fell dignitary of a foreign power. The symbol of a dark skull on a gold disc on the man’s belt cinched it-the fellow must be some kind of Zhentarim mercenary or captain.

  “Until next time, Lord Numegista,” Raneger said to the man. “I look forward to your next visit.”

  Chant’s ears pricked. What an odd tone. Raneger actually sounded respectful!

  The stranger swept out without so much as a glance in their direction. His green eyes were fixed on some internal question. When he had some time to spare, Chant decided he would put out feelers. It might be interesting to know who Numegista actually was. A Zhent able to command the deference of Akanul’s most accomplished crime lord was someone Chant should know, too …

  Raneger motioned them forward. Jaul moved to the edge of pool-it seemed the crimelord never left his aquatic basin. Chant and the others followed, though not as close as his son.

  “Jaul, you didn’t mention we’d have guests,” said Raneger. “I suppose you have a good reason to disturb my court?” The waters of Raneger’s pool sloshed against the sides.

  “Disturb? But I thought …” said Jaul, and swallowed. The young man mopped at his brow, surprise evident on his face.

  “You thought what, whelp? That because I show you more favor than most, that you can abuse my trust and bring beggars to my pool?”

  Jaul opened and closed his mouth, apparently speechless.

  Chant didn’t give a shark’s fin who Raneger was-no one could treat his son that way! He opened his mouth to tell Raneger to go drown himself or something even more irrevocable, but Demascus beat him to it, saying, “Master Raneger, I apologize for using Jaul’s good graces to burst in on your business; I assure you, he’s blameless. I have a question for you, and hope you’re willing to answer it.”

  Not really what Chant had been about to say, but perhaps the diplomatic route was the better choice. He mollified himself by patting Jaul’s shoulder. Jaul shot him an angry look for his trouble. Oops.

  Raneger shifted position, sending ripples up and down the pool. A wave broke over the side and a sheet of water slid across the tiles of the receiving chamber toward where most of the court stood in small groups.

  Riltana looked horrified as liquid sloshed over her boots. She glanced longingly at the exit but held her ground.

  Chant felt liquid seep into his own boots and soak his feet. Wonderful. But if he got out of this meeting with only wet socks as the worst consequence, he would count himself lucky.

  “And who’re you?” Raneger jerked his immense bulk upright, sending an even larger wave cascading across the tile. His head was then fully visible-humanoid, but so bloated with fat one might easily mistake Raneger for some sort of grotesque creature.

  “I thought he was a kind of high elf,” Riltana whispered in Chant’s ear.

  “Most people do,” he whispered back.

  Demascus stepped closer. “The name’s Demascus. Thanks for the audience. I appreciate that you’re a busy man, so I’ll be brief; I found a clue linking you to a fairly thorny situation.”

  Raneger’s szuldar blazed suddenly, producing chasing spirals of green light that barely outlined something horribly swollen and large beneath the pool’s surface. Raneger might be a watersoul genasi, but only just. “Speak on, Demascus. But know this. As soon as you leave here, I’ll discover everything there is to know about you. Who you know. Where you live. And what’s important to you. So do not make me angry.”

  Demascus eyed the misshapen watersoul. His expression seemed to darken, as if he’d stepped back into a shadow. Uh, oh.

  Chant cleared his throat, trying to catch the deva’s attention. Now wasn’t the time for Demascus to call his “other” out to play.

  “I wish you luck in that, Raneger,” said Demascus. “Because I’ve been trying to do exactly the same. Maybe you can tell me what’s important to me, because I’d dearly like to find out.”

  Raneger narrowed his eyes, obviously not understanding.

  “But if you’re through with threats-what do you know about Akanul’s arambarium mine?”

  Raneger’s expression froze. “What authority do you have that makes you believe you won’t suffer immediate retribution from me? Why should I not kill you, rather than answer?”

  “Because I think you want to know what I know.”

  Chant sweated. What the Hells had Demascus led him and Jaul into?

  Finally Raneger gave a tiny nod. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as ice. “Arambarium is a mineral. The Throne of Majesty has been secretly harvesting it from an island off the coast.”

  “And what about recent happenings?”

  “You’ll have to explain,” said the watersoul.

  “All contact with the mine is lost. All attempts to find out what’s going on at the site have been stymied. And you’ve been fingered as having something to do with it by a creature named Pas
hra.”

  A miniature tsunami surged over the pool’s lip, but hung suspended rather than crashing across them.

  “How interesting. And where is this Pashra now?”

  Demascus spread his hands and shrugged. “I hoped you might know, actually.”

  Sharkbite, Demascus really was going to precipitate a fight! Chant sidled closer to Jaul. His son’s mouth was open at the spectacle of someone standing up to the criminal lord.

  “Let me guess. He double-crossed you, too? Cut you out of a deal just before payment was due? If I find Pashra, he and his friend will learn what it means to cross me.” The frozen wave of water collapsed on itself, becoming a swirling fist of dark fluid.

  Demascus spared the watery display a glance, then said, “What was your deal? And who is Pashra’s friend?”

  “Tell me what you know first.” The liquid fist unclenched, lost cohesion, and showered down into the pool.

  “I found a warehouse where Pashra was routing arambarium. I saw your name in the ledger after we chased Pashra away. Something about your being amenable to the deal. He was working with a woman, though I never saw her. Just heard her voice. And she seemed a fair spider tamer.”

  Raneger nodded. He rubbed his jaw as he considered the water-dappled dome overhead. Finally he said, “They came to me with a proposition. One was called Pashra, and the other was a woman named Chenraya. She hid under a hood. As if she could hide who she was from me. Chenraya, of House Xorlarrin, is a drow.”

  Drow! It was as if someone poured ice water over Demascus’s head. As much as he disliked vampires, he hated drow more. And why hadn’t he immediately realized it? The spiders, the woman’s head on an arachnid, the promise of vengeance from the queen of the Demonweb Pits … Drow …

  A memory bubbled up, swamping his senses with a vision of a vast underground space. An endless vault, purple-lit by phosphorescent fungi and drifting sparks. Massive towers carved from living stone, each the width of entire surface towns, forming a darkling city of fey-like grandeur and sick horror. Screams from sacrificial victims, synchronized to the tolling of passing hours, chasing each other through the massive hollow.

  Demascus strode in the vanguard of a great army of dwarves that poured from a freshly burrowed fissure into the vault. Summoned light streamed around him, bright as day, in spearlike shafts of brilliance that stabbed the drow-infested space. The sacrificial screams faltered. The invading army, determined to exterminate the evil fey pocket, surged down the avenues between the towers. Demascus lifted Exorcessum and charged ahead. Directly into an ambush. Thousands of slave warriors poured from the side streets, all screaming in one voice. Spider centaurs called driders-ebony-skinned elf from the waist up and massive spider below-fought at the head of each slave phalanx. Drow sorcerers in the hundreds launched crackling shafts of lighting from high balconies.

  And from the shadows directly overhead, a web gondola descended, supported from the spinnerets of a spider so colossal it defied reason. Three women rode the conveyance. Their elegant ebony limbs were wrapped in precious jewels and silks, and each bore the holy symbol of the patron of Lolth. The Queen of the Demonweb Pits.

  “Hey!” came Riltana’s concerned voice. “What’s wrong?”

  Demascus blinked. The vision of the drow vault shattered, and he was back in the too-warm and damp confines of Raneger’s receiving room. “I just remembered where I heard the term ‘Queen of the Demonweb Pits’ before.”

  Raneger said, “Don’t speak her name.” Jaul and Riltana looked confused. Chant’s eyes widened as if he understood the reference.

  Demascus fixed Raneger with his regard and said, his voice cold, “What did you agree to?”

  He knew Raneger was a criminal, but if the supernaturally fat watersoul was dealing with drow, that made him a blackguard of the worst sort. Someone who Demascus would have to-

  “To aid them in one very small way. I didn’t agree to any drow foolishness regarding their goddess-I wouldn’t do anything that would endanger Akanul’s interests, especially when dark elves are involved.”

  Riltana snorted, but he pretended not to hear her. Demascus believed Raneger. No one profits under the thrall of dark elves, not even miscreants like the crime lord. “So exactly what did you do for them?”

  “I provided a location for them to store their cargo, that’s all. A location secure against scrying and peacemaker inspections. Nothing else, and nothing I haven’t done for others. This was three tendays ago. In return, I was supposed to receive a tidy sum, not to mention a nugget or two of arambarium for my trouble.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Pashra missed his first payment three days ago. When I sent some muscle over to collect my due, they were rebuffed. I sent a larger squad over today-and Pashra was gone.”

  Warmth suddenly fled the air, and Demascus could see his breath steaming in the cold.

  “Since you know about arambarium,” Raneger continued, “I can only assume you’re an agent of the crown in this matter. They’re wondering what has happened to the mineral’s production out at the island, yes? You’re employed by one of the stewards, presumably?”

  “Something like that,” Demascus allowed. Raneger probably thought he was working for Tradrem Kethtrod, Steward of Earth-the intelligence-gathering master for the realm. Good; no need to disabuse the genasi of his incorrect notion.

  Some warmth trickled back into the receiving room. “And you’ve come here, hoping we can pool our resources on this matter, as the Crown and I have done before.”

  What? thought Demascus. No, don’t react. Though he promised himself to bring that tidbit up with Arathane next time he saw her. Aloud, with as much conviction as he could muster, he said, “Exactly.”

  Raneger stared at him. Demascus returned his look, holding eye contact. Suddenly Demascus wondered if Raneger’s claim to have previously worked for the Throne of Majesty had been a test.

  Chant stepped forward and clapped. “So! All of us want to catch the thieves. See how reasonable we all are? How we are not so juvenile as to let our mutual aims evaporate in a stare-off?”

  Demascus laughed. Raneger blinked and gave a slow nod. Jaul audibly loosed a held breath. Some dolt on the far side of the chamber clapped, sensing easing tensions in relaxing body language.

  “Your name in Pashra’s warehouse led me here.”

  “You’re amazingly stupid,” said Raneger “What if I’m working hand-in-glove with the drow and Pashra? You’d be dead.”

  “I’d rather think, ‘amazingly sure of myself.’ ”

  Riltana snorted again.

  Not her best attribute, Demascus thought.

  The criminal watersoul turned idly in his pool, this time avoiding soaking everyone standing on the tiles. “I’m only even considering giving you this information because I trust you will use it to find Pashra and deal with him.”

  “That is our charge,” said Demascus.

  Raneger made a face, as if cooperation itself pained him. “Then listen. Pashra, for all his power, is merely a pawn of the drow Chenraya of House Xorlarrin. He and the drow are only loosely allied; they each want the arambarium for their own purposes. Chenraya wants it to help empower some scheme of Lolth’s.”

  “Lolth!” said Jaul and Riltana almost simultaneously.

  So much for not speaking her name, Demascus thought. “I squashed a spider with a drow female’s head,” he suddenly offered. “You don’t suppose I’ve already dealt with Chenraya, and it’s all over but for rounding up Pashra and the missing cargo?”

  Raneger said, “A drow priestess of Chenraya’s power is capable of exerting her strength through a variety of homunculi. If you didn’t destroy her actual body, all you did was deprive her of a tool.”

  Demascus sighed. “I figured.”

  “I thought drow nested in subterranean cities in northern Faerun. How did one get here?” asked Jaul.

  “By ship, across the Sea of Fallen Stars, I’d guess,” said Chant. “Mig
ht take a little while-”

  “No, the boy is correct,” said Raneger. “Pashra and Chenraya know a shortcut across Faerun to whatever subterranean dark elf city she operates from. I’ve bent all my resources to discover it. Finding a portal with such range might be even more valuable than arambarium.”

  “Let me guess,” said Demascus. “You want our help finding it?”

  “I do.”

  The deva rubbed his chin. “You know, I came across an interesting name in Pashra’s effects. Ever heard of the Gatekeeper?”

  “Jaul,” came Raneger’s watery voice, “Tell your friends to wait outside. I’d like a word.”

  Jaul stopped. Now what? He had to use the privy. Besides, Raneger had already verbally slapped him down, in front of his father and everyone. Jaul couldn’t imagine how a private castigation could be any worse. Of course, just because he couldn’t imagine it didn’t mean Raneger didn’t have something nasty in mind to punish Jaul for bringing strangers unannounced to his court.

  Jaul’s father, preceded by Demascus and Riltana, paused at the exit. The pawnbroker frowned at Jaul, obviously worried.

  “Go on, Pa,” Jaul said, and waved him forward. “I’ll be right out. Master Raneger and I just got to take care of a few things. Den of Games stuff, you know.”

  “We’ll be waiting outside,” Chant said darkly.

  “Great. Way to make me feel like a five-year-old.”

  Chant gave an exasperated shake of his head and left.

  Why did his father have to be that way? Never admitting that anything Jaul did had any worth, as if all Jaul’s choices were bad. Oh, it burned him up!

  He stomped over to the basin’s edge.

  “Yes, Master Raneger? Sorry about letting those clods in on such short notice-”

  “Jaul, I’ve already put that behind me. In fact, I wanted you to stay back because I wanted to let you know I overreacted. I apologize.”

  “You … apologize?”

  Raneger chuckled. His heaving chest sent ripples over the basin’s edge.