Spinner of Lies frotg-1

by Bruce R Cordell

  “What, boy, you think my ego is so large that I can’t admit when I’m wrong?”

  Jaul had thought exactly that, but he decided maybe now wasn’t the time to say so. Instead he said, “Well, I’m sorry, too, for not following the protocol. It was only my father and his friends …” He stopped himself from lapsing into making excuses.

  “I’m glad you brought them into my court. If you hadn’t, a fabulous opportunity might have slipped past. Thanks to you, that didn’t happen. You’re an asset to my organization, Jaul. And after today, I’ve begun to think you’re an invaluable one.”

  Jaul couldn’t help but smile at the praise. How he’d longed to hear just that sort of encouragement his whole life. To be gratefully recognized by Raneger was something he’d always hoped might happen. And here it was!

  “Your father, Chant, much as I appreciate his secrets network, failed to notify me that a deva named Demascus was operating in Akanul. Not only operating, but working hand in glove with your father! Not that I have anything against Chant, of course, but perhaps his friendship with this Demascus blinded him to the deva’s potential importance.”

  Jaul had heard Chant call Demascus a deva before, but had never troubled himself to ask what a deva was; he tended to discount anything his father said as a matter of personal policy. Probably not the best time to admit his ignorance to the crime lord on that subject, either. Instead he said, “And the importance of this stolen arambarium?”

  “Indeed, I have not forgotten about the arambarium, the drow, and the portal! Which is the other reason I asked you to stay behind. Like I said, Jaul, you’re an asset to my organization. But you’re more than that. I’ve had my eye on you. You can think on your feet. You’re tough. And you know a thing or two about how things work in Airspur.”

  Jaul tried not to let his grin swell too large.

  “You’re going places. If you play your cards right, I can see you as one of my lieutenants. Someone I can trust. Someone who’ll look out for me, just like I’ll look out for you. How’s that sound?”

  “It sounds … wonderful, Master Raneger.” Was he dreaming this? He glanced at the tattoos on his wrists that marked his acceptance into the organization. They’d meant a lot before, but now their significance was redoubled.

  “All right, then. Accompany your father and his friends to find this portal, as we agreed before they left. Help them like you’d help me. Try not to anger your father just because you can, eh? But remember-I look forward to hearing everything you learn, no matter how insignificant the detail, or how secret. Clear?”

  Jaul nodded vigorously. “Deal!” He bowed and made for the exit, his heart aglow with possibilities.

  “One more thing, Jaul.”

  “Yes?”

  “Keep what we’ve discussed between just you and me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE CITY OF AIRSPUR, AKANUL

  18 LEAFFALL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

  "Chenraya,” came a deep voice. “Why must you leave a litter of corpses wherever you go?”

  Chenraya Xorlarrin frowned. She turned to face Lord Pashra, taking care to avoid the expanding pool of blood leaking from the still-twitching servitor.

  “It’s no concern of yours,” she replied.

  The blue-skinned oni glared, as if he had the authority to demand her answer.

  He was one male she’d grown particularly tired of. At first, it hadn’t seemed so bad; he wasn’t a drow.

  “Is it not?” he finally asked. But drow or not, she decided, the oni’s usefulness was fast drawing to a close. If it wasn’t for Pashra’s special knowledge concerning the arambarium, she would’ve already whispered the same dread word of arcane magic to him that she’d just used on the ettercap servitor. Even though it was created by men, it was a lovely spell … but it tasted filthy in her mouth. She’d learned it from a Bregan D’aerthe mercenary the Matron Mother had pressed upon her. Spells had their uses, even those fashioned by males. Matron Mother Zeerith, head of House Xolarrin, perhaps wasn’t entirely mad to accept opinions and input from the male drow of her house. Indeed, Lolth had commanded her daughters in every house to learn something of the magic that men wove in their stinking academies. Doing so would advance the Spider Queen’s new goal. A wondrous objective, though its potential implications left Chenraya unsettled.

  “Are you drugged?” said Pashra, shaking her out of her reverie. “Why was it necessary to remove this ettercap’s heart and set it flopping on the floor?” The oni gave the dying organ a kick.

  “Simple pleasures, Lord Pashra,” Chenraya replied. “They’re what get us through.” She bared her teeth-perhaps the oni would choose to interpret it as a smile-and mentally promised herself the treat of removing one of Pashra’s vital organs as well. Soon.

  Openly she had gave praise to Lolth’s new direction and accepted her Matron Mother’s commands. Zeerith’s policy of tolerating males might even put the Fifth House of Menzoberranzan in the vanguard, and should Lolth’s plan succeed, all the daughters of House Xorlorrin would reap the benefits. But, sadly, so would all the sons.

  “Besides, we have an army of ettercap servitor-slaves. A few here and there aren’t worth your concern.”

  “Yes, priestess, but hardly any of them are with us. Most of them are out at the dig, an inconvenient distance from the nexus.” The oni gestured along the winding corridor of webbing that stretched into the dimness, the newest endpoint hub of the Demonweb.

  The oni had a point. Damn it. And he had become less respectful and more critical. Connecting this leg of the Spider Queen’s network in Akanul had been a triumph, given the Demonweb’s recent and troubling instability. She’d had to locate an endpoint that wouldn’t immediately collapse under the strain when the connection was made. Unfortunately, no such endpoints existed out on the island. That would have been too convenient. Apparently the Spider Queen didn’t believe in making life easy for her followers. Chenraya supposed she was lucky she’d found any endpoint at all.

  Which meant that transporting the prize still required secrecy and finesse. At least time was on their side. Thanks to false information fed by a couple of well-placed spies to the Akanul “intelligence” branch, the mining disruption was being blamed on a hostile foreign nation. This had allowed her to do with the mine as she pleased. Diverting the initial scraps of arambarium had been just the first step, of course. A test. The true mother lode had yet to be seized, thanks to one last group of hold-out genasi defenders in the mine’s heart. They needed to be dealt with soon. After they were quashed, it would all be hers. And to transport it, and indeed her entire force of servitor slaves, she’d devised a special surprise, praise Lolth.

  “The Throne of Majesty knows about us,” said Pashra.

  “No, Pashra. We’ve been over this-”

  “They’ve found the warehouse. They know arambarium was shipped through it. How long before the Throne sends an army to the island? We can overcome the occasional spy or strike force, but not an entire troop of peacemakers.”

  “Why are you wasting my time repeating these things?” asked Chenraya.

  The oni said something curt and explosive in an unfamiliar language. But she recognized the tone. Then he said, “Humor me. What if, despite everything we’ve done, the Stewards are actually on to us?”

  This was growing tiresome. Perhaps if I lay it out to him, as I would to a girl child who had not yet reached five years … “Listen, I’ll say this only once more. The Throne of Majesty is closer to learning the truth, yes. But they’re also in turmoil. The queen remains unengaged, hiding in her royal suite. The Stewards are convinced Tymanther is the author of their misfortune. Yes, the pale-skinned warrior and windsoul in the warehouse were remarkably capable compared to earlier spies. Eventually, yes, they’ll learn what we’ve really been up to. But by then it’ll be too late.”

  “How can you be so certain? Did you see what they were capable of? What if they track us to the Demonweb endpoint, or
visit the mine before we’ve unearthed the relic?”

  Chenraya sighed. “The mine swarms with the balance of my slave-soldiers, my harem of arachnids, and a company of reanimated miners. Should any spy manage to defeat all those threats, the deadfall I’ve devised will smash even a small army of peacemakers to paste. Or anyone else that displeases me.”

  The oni frowned. He understood her implicit threat.

  “What about here? I see no defenses. If they get past the Guardian-”

  “The Demonweb will rouse if nondrow should dare tread its paths. It’s a manifestation of Lolth’s mind, after all. The only reason you haven’t been ripped to shreds by swarming spiders is because I’ve granted you safe passage. Pray I never have cause to lift that protection. So, actually, I hope the spies do find us here. It’ll be their very last success.”

  “Not that damned smell again,” said Riltana.

  Demascus glanced into the intersecting passage ahead. Fluid slithered down the corridor like a snake made of feces. He wrinkled his nose. Chant came up even with Demascus and Riltana. His sunrod cast additional light on the putrid scene. Behind the pawnbroker trudged Jaul, who kept one hand clutched on his dagger hilt.

  The kid shouldn’t be here, Demascus thought. But including Chant’s son was a condition Raneger insisted on before cooperating any further.

  “Maybe we can give this tunnel a pass,” said Riltana.

  Demascus studied the marked-up map Raneger had provided. “I think we need to check it out,” he said.

  “Listen,” she replied. “What’re the odds this’ll be the one that goes to the Gatekeeper? The last six were a bust. Wait, I’ll answer my own question: Odds are low. Let’s avoid the shit-road and check out the next passage.”

  “I agree with her,” said Jaul.

  Riltana flashed Jaul a sugary smile. The kid returned an unabashed grin, his eyes sparkling.

  Oh, great, thought Demascus. Jaul was setting himself up for a fall if he thought Riltana might have any interest in him whatsoever. The thief still carried a torch for Carmenere that wasn’t going out anytime soon. But Riltana wasn’t above flirting. Charisma was just another tool in her bag of tricks. Chant started to speak, maybe to disagree with his son. But he coughed instead. A fake cough.

  Demascus suppressed a sigh. He saw how it was going to be. And it wasn’t like he wanted to wade in ankle-deep sewer water either, but …

  “We could turn aside,” said Demascus. “But these leads are arranged, according to Raneger, by order of relative likelihood. He’s already got squads running down other clues. Finding this so-called ‘Gatekeeper’ is our best bet for tracking the oni and drow. So I’d rather not waste time on less-likely options. And anyway, Jaul …”

  The kid looked away from Riltana and blinked. “What?”

  “You’re Raneger’s proxy. Do you think he’d be all right with us choosing at our whim, or do you think he’d rather we go in the order he indicated?”

  Demascus thrust the map into Jaul’s hands. Jaul dropped his gaze to the parchment, then to Riltana, then to Demascus. He rubbed at the tattoo of wave and dagger on his left wrist.

  “Well … Um. I suppose we … should follow the order Master Raneger wanted …”

  The thief frowned. “If I get crap on my favorite steel-toed boots, some leech-son is going to be sorry.”

  Demascus swallowed a smart comeback. He sensed Riltana wasn’t merely being dramatic. The last time she’d been in the Catacombs, with his stolen scarf in hand, she’d almost died.

  “I knew tunnels were under these cliffs,” Jaul said, “But I didn’t imagine so many.”

  “They go on farther and deeper than anyone knows,” replied Chant. “Leftover from a series of previous excavations, before the genasi came. If we’d entered closer to the bay, we would’ve had to spend hours detouring around haunted cemetery tunnels and a detachment of peacemakers.”

  “I wish we were far enough in not to have the deal with city runoff,” Riltana said. “What the Hells are people eating up there?”

  “The sewage either ends up down here, or in the bay,” said Chant. “Most people prefer down here.”

  “You sure seem to know a lot about waste runoff,” said the windsoul. Jaul chuckled.

  Demascus said, “Stop fixating on the smell, Riltana. Besides, it’s working in our favor; the majority of tomb robbers turn around when they see something like this.”

  “Except for those too stupid to take a hint.”

  Demascus took a breath and held it before entering the corridor. He tried his best to skirt the liquid burbling down its center.

  Chant followed. Despite the man’s bulk, he managed to sound light on his feet.

  “You next,” he heard Riltana tell the kid. “I’ll take rear guard. I want to be farthest away from Demascus, in case he triggers some sort of crap slide.”

  They followed the stream.

  After a while the pawnbroker said, “They say these deep paths open on crystal caverns, sunless seas, and fungus forests hung with carnivorous vines. Or even-”

  “Everyone knows those stories, Pa,” said Jaul.

  “Ah, do they now?”

  “They do,” said Riltana. “Sorry.”

  Demascus laughed. “Even I’ve heard them. And my memory isn’t-”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get it,” said Chant. The pawnbroker gave a long-suffering sigh.

  The deva raised his hand for quiet. The sunrod showed the far end of the tunnel where the trickle of waste water fell away into a fissure. And beyond that, the rutted path gave way to cut gray stone. This was promising. At least something was here, unlike each of the previous leads on Raneger’s map.

  Demascus moved soundlessly forward. The light spread into an open, square space, like a courtyard. Overlapping vertical slabs of smooth stone on the far side of the area narrowed down to a single arch filled with orange haze. Demascus could just make out a stand-alone structure beyond the mist that partly protruded from the cavern’s far wall. The stone roof of the structure was unbroken gray stone, curved like a gargantuan turtle’s shell.

  “What kind of building is that?” said Jaul.

  Demascus put a finger to his lips, and advanced. An odor reminiscent of rusted iron wafted through the room, ruffling his hair in a light breeze. He stopped. So did the breeze. He was almost halfway across the courtyard when he noticed that the sand scattered across it possessed two distinct shades-gray-black and brown-black-in a spiral arcing pattern that moved outward from a single point just a couple of feet in front of him.

  He crouched down and traced a finger along a curve. The discontinuity between the lighter and darker colored streaks was sharp. The design must be recent-it would’ve been blurred if any appreciable amount of time had passed since its creation.

  “Is anyone here?” he said, standing.

  A sigh like wind through a desert was his answer.

  “If you’re the Gatekeeper, show me the gate! We’re looking for drow!”

  It turned out Raneger had heard of the Gatekeeper-someone or something left over from before the Spellplague crashed most of Faerun’s magical portals. It had been the guardian of a nexus used by Chondathan merchants, before Chondath’s scattering of city-states was destroyed by a chunk of genasi-infested Abeir.

  Demascus wanted to complete Arathane’s commission. But if they found the Gatekeeper and a working portal system, he wasn’t about to give Master Raneger access to it.

  The breeze returned, with the sound of air shuddering across empty dunes. This time, a whisper, too. It sounded like, “Drow?”

  His neck prickled. Something unseen was in the room with them. “Yes,” he replied to the presence. “Have you allowed dark elves through your gate? Or a large blue creature?”

  The wind stiffened. The spiral of dust lifted from the floor, becoming a haze of whirling arms composed of black sand. They were so long they spanned nearly the entire chamber. Demascus covered his eyes with one hand and staggered backward.
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br />   Then the gale roared like an awakened lion. He separated his fingers and looked through slitted eyes to see the dust devil draw its arms in, increasing its speed and density. It collapsed into a howling pillar of darkness, around which hunted hungry arcs of lightning. Silence smothered the room, except for the sound of Jaul’s too-rapid breaths.

  The sand was gone, as was the dust-devil. What remained was a shape almost twice as tall as a man, made of glass-sharp obsidian splinters. Its face was a shivering, flexing nest of black stone shards.

  “Son of a piss-pickled leech,” said Riltana.

  “You can say that again,” Demascus agreed.

  “It’s a golem, I think,” said Chant. “A magical construct.”

  “All right, Lord Obvious,” Riltana said, “How do we make friends with it?”

  The golem said something. Hundreds of stone splinters rubbed and clacked together. The effect made Demascus want to sick up on the cavern floor.

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  The golem spoke again. This time, Demascus heard, “I abide.”

  Jaul pointed at the construct. “It’s gotta be the Gatekeeper.”

  Demascus shot Jaul a look.

  “I see,” he said. “Are you indeed the Gatekeeper?”

  “I am. The gate is functional once more.”

  “Once more? That’s good, I suppose. Did you allow through any drow? Or an oni? We’re looking for them.”

  “The drow woman repaired the way. It is to her I now give fealty. Are you her servant, too?”

  Gods of shadow, that was a complication! But … He shrugged and said, “Why, yes. Yes, we’re her servants. Please open the link for us, so that we may follow our lady.”

  “Opening the gate is the function for which I was fashioned,” said the golem. Demascus couldn’t look it in the face when it spoke-the movement and sound together continued to make him queasy.

  “I shall open the proper conduit, once you-”

  “Conduit?” said Chant.

  “The ways beyond the link were originally fixed and few,” said the obsidian golem. “But with the repair by Chenraya Xorlarrin, the possible routes have become … chaotic. It would be easy to get lost in the web of passages that now open from this door.”