by Mel Odom
Whirling, Krystarn avoided the whip. She advanced again, swinging the morning star. The hobgoblin chieftain blocked her blow, then launched a kick at her face. Expecting such a move, the drow caught her opponent’s foot and twisted.
Howling in rage and pain, Chomack threw himself up and back, flipping himself over in a show of skill and dexterity. He landed on his feet and prepared to attack yet again.
“Hold, Chieftain of the Sumalich Tribe!” Krystarn commanded. “I would not take your life if I could spare it!”
The hobgoblin chieftain halted, wariness in his eyes. “I have to keep my honor.”
“Then keep your honor, Chomack, Taker of Dragon’s Teeth.” Krystarn hung her morning star at her side from a leather loop. The hobgoblin chieftain’s attack had been fierce and exhausted her still further. She longed to be in bed in the suite of rooms she’d claimed for herself in the underground ruins Shallowsoul managed. “I am here neither to take your life nor your honor. You challenged me justly.” That behavior was a fatal character flaw the drow would never allow herself. “Instead, I would seek to make an alliance between us.”
“I need no alliance,” the tribal chieftain declared.
“You have a small tribe at present, and you are in uncertain lands,” Krystarn pointed out.
“We have met foul beasts and ill magic in this place,” Chomack said. “We have triumphed with our skill and bravery.”
“So far. Yet how many have you lost in your wanderings through these caverns?”
Chomack did not answer, but some of the hobgoblins shifted around him uneasily. The drow’s words had struck a chord of concern.
“You are here to seek your fortune,” Krystarn said. “You do not have to tell me this because I can see by the packs your women and children carry. You have been busy accumulating wealth.”
“I will raise an army,” Chomack said. “With the treasure from these dead-elf pits, I will find an outlaw trader and buy more weapons. New weapons that are made of polished steel to fire the heart of any hobgoblin who call himself a warrior. When others hear of what I have, they will flock to my tribe.”
“You are ambitious,” Krystarn said. “What will you do with this army when you gather it?”
“There is an accounting of vengeance that must be made against the Ulnathr Tribe. They attacked our tribe from behind while we battled a band of troglodytes that had moved into our homeland and started eating us. Caught between the troglodytes and the Ulnathr Tribe, most of us were left for dead. We traveled deeper into these ruins. The coward-chieftain of the Ulnathr will not come here because of the wild magic.”
“I can help you,” Krystarn said.
The hobgoblin chieftain glanced at her suspiciously. “How?”
The drow opened her bag of holding and reached inside. When she drew out her hand, she opened it to show the jewels inside. “Here.”
Hesitantly, Chomack held out his hand. Krystarn dumped the handful of diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and emeralds into the hobgoblin chieftain’s palm. “Let this be a token of my interest in your success.”
“This is much,” Chomack said.
“Only a small fortune,” the drow replied, “against the measure of my interests. I have been lucky in my life, Lloth be praised.”
The hobgoblin chieftain passed the gems back to a subchieftain, who made them quickly disappear. “Why would you care about my cause?”
“I am not interested in furthering your cause,” Krystarn answered honestly. “However, I am investing on a return against my good will.”
“Huh?” Chomack asked suspiciously.
“As a down payment for the use of your sword arms at a time when I would need it.” Krystarn felt a glow of satisfaction when the hobgoblin chieftain didn’t immediately turn her offer down. The tribe was indeed in dire straits if they were delving into the ruins of Myth Drannor. She also knew that agreeing to a bargain with a drow was not something Chomack would want to do under normal circumstances. Shallowsoul did not control everything that happened in the ruins.
“When?”
“When I should so declare it.” Having a small, well-equipped army within the caverns might prove beneficial, the drow knew. For the first time in the four years of her sacrifice to Lloth, she felt as if she might soon be freed.
“I will not throw away my life or my tribe,” the hobgoblin chieftain warned.
“Nor would I have you do so. I do not fight battles to let the gods decide. If I ask you to fight for me, it will be to win, not to lose.”
“And if we do?”
“There will be more gems and treasures for you to add to your coffers. I find vengeance a powerful motivation. I can see in your eyes that nothing less than blood-letting will sate yours. In that, we understand each other.”
Chomack took a step back and swung his hard gaze on his tribespeople. None of them had moved any closer to the drow, nor had any of their weapons been lowered. “When I speak my answer to this sorceress, I speak for all of us. I want this to be understood. Any who would oppose me later will oppose me now.”
Quiet murmurs and nods of assent spread around the half-circle of hobgoblins.
Chomack turned back to face the drow. “I agree to your terms, Krystarn Fellhammer. We shall give you our sword arms when you need them, and you will give us four gems for every gem you have already given us.”
Irritation stung the drow. It wasn’t that the amount was so much, she had managed to gather several times that much in gems and coins and other items in the years she had been with Shallowsoul, but the humanoid’s greed offended her. Having the hobgoblin push the bargain so hard only meant he believed he had her at a disadvantage. She did not want him thinking that. “You are greedy,” she said quietly.
“I thought your Lloth invented greed,” Chomack said.
“Careful that your tongue does not commit a sacrilege that I cannot abide,” Krystarn warned.
“I meant no offense, sorceress, but I’ve heard of the Spider Queen. Lloth, it is said, weaves webs of betrayals, treacheries, and deceits, and gives them all power by the driving force of greed.”
“You misinterpret,” Krystarn said.
“I don’t know what that means, but maybe I was lied to once,” the hobgoblin said. “I meant only to flatter, and for understanding. After all, I seek a way to achieve my vengeance, not half a way. That is why I must ask for what I ask for.”
Krystarn smiled, thinking that Chomack acquitted himself very well in the negotiations. Perhaps the hobgoblin chieftain was destined for better things. “Very well, Taker of Dragon’s Teeth. You shall have the amount you ask for, but only upon successful completion of the task you undertake for me.”
“I have only one more question to ask, sorceress.”
“What?”
“How do you know that you can trust me?”
Krystarn walked toward the hobgoblin chieftain. She felt powerful, the way a drow female was supposed to feel, the way Lloth had bred them to be. “I can trust you, Chomack, because as a hobgoblin you are not quite the antithesis of a human, as is such a wide-spread belief. Many of the same values they have, you and yours try to emulate, to bring you on equal footing with them.”
Chomack started to disagree.
“Hold your tongue and hear me out,” Krystarn ordered. “You are what you are, but you channel and direct yourself. It is not a bad thing. But you asked a question and I am answering it to the best of my ability. Your people live in a military fashion, and the basis of that lifestyle is order and honor.” Neither of which, the drow admitted to herself, did she want in her own life.
“I have been told, sorceress, that honor means nothing to the drow.”
“Indeed it does not,” Krystarn replied. “But we understand how binding it can be on other species that prize it. I know you will bind yourself because of it.”
“But how can you trust something you don’t believe in?”
“By asking you to trust in your own trust, Taker of D
ragon’s Teeth. Hold, this will only hurt for a moment.” Krystarn laid her forefinger against a bare spot on the hobgoblin’s neck. To Chomack’s credit, he flinched only a little when her fingernail laid open his flesh in a furrow almost two inches long. The drow plucked a single silver coin from her bag of holding. Working quickly, she warded it, allowing the designs she drew in the air to show as traces of pale green fire.
Chomack paled, but he did not move.
Finished with the spell to permanently mark the coin, the metal still warm to the touch, the drow shoved it into the cut in the hobgoblin’s flesh. Chomack staggered only slightly, then regained his footing. Blood seeped down his neck.
“If you think to disappear, this will ensure that you won’t,” Krystarn stated. “No matter where you go, this coin will mark you and I’ll find you. If you seek to cut it out of your flesh, the coin will sink further into your body and become poisonous.” What she said was a lie, but the drow knew the hobgoblin chieftain would be too afraid of her power to disbelieve. Reaching into the bag of holding, she took out a small vial of healing potion. Pouring carefully, she sprinkled the area she’d opened up on the hobgoblin’s neck and along the side of his face. The torn flesh in those areas quickly mended. She stepped back. “Unless you have reconsidered your bargain.”
“No, sorceress. My desire for revenge is strong.”
“Then may your gods be with you. I will call you when I need you.” Krystarn walked from their campsite, listening to the chatter of voices fill the void she left. Only a heartbeat before the light from the cookfire left her entirely, she used her magic to teleport her to another spot along the trail above.
When she arrived on the trail, she glanced back down at the hobgoblin tribe, finding them suitably impressed. The demonstration of her power made her feel good about herself. The last four years spent with Folgrim Shallowsoul had been unsettling to say the least. But her obedience in the matter had been demanded by Lloth. The Spider Queen demanded harsh sacrifices for the rewards that she offered.
Krystarn turned her steps back toward the underground keep Shallowsoul had erected from the ruins. According to Shallowsoul, much remained to be done to undo the damage Golsway had managed.
She only hoped there would be more killing. The business tonight had only whetted the drow’s appetite, and she’d been too long without death at her hands.
8
“Baylee Arnvold!”
The young ranger turned his head, trying to track the familiar voice across the noise and imagery that were constants at any ranger forgathering. Long wooden tables hewed by axes from trees felled only two days ago occupied space under leafy awnings around the clearing.
Most of the activity remained around these tables. Stories were told there during all hours of the day. Amid the lies and boasts lounged half-truths that could save a man’s life one day. Above all, though, it was entertainment that many of the ranger breed would never have except at a forgathering.
At other tables, bartering and competitions were held amid dozens of crafts. And there was song. Songs of humor, songs of bravery, songs of great sadness, and songs of legend. Some of those songs were quietly strummed, while others were given a boisterous voice.
Xuxa, Baylee prompted.
The azmyth bat darted through the night sky, chasing insects for her eveningfeast. After all the succulent fruits and cakes she had eaten since their arrival early that morning, Baylee did not see how Xuxa could swallow another morsel. He guessed that she used the exercise of chasing after her next meal to work up another appetite.
I am looking, the azmyth bat protested. I did not hear the call clearly myself.
Baylee passed through the thronging crowd that made up the forgathering.
“Baylee!” the voice called again.
It was a man’s voice, the young ranger knew this time. That knocked out nearly half of the assembly.
West, Xuxa called from above.
Baylee turned slightly, getting his directions from the constellations spread across the clear sable sky. The Dragonspine Mountains ranged across the northern horizon, creating craggy gaps against the night since the forgathering was located in the foothills of the broken land.
A tenday and two days had passed since he’d recovered the book from the sacrificial well. He’d traveled to Waymoot and had the spell lifted from the page in the herbalist’s book, finding the contract between two noble families of Waterdeep and a Zhentilar house of assassins for the murder of King Azoun. What he was going to do with it remained to be determined. From Waymoot, he’d traveled north again to Hillsfar on the Moonsea, then up to the forgathering area.
His heart had pulled at him in Hillsfar to forget the Glass Eye Concourse and travel on to Waterdeep to show Fannt Golsway his prize. Seeing Jaeleen again had wakened his feelings for seeing the old mage again. But Baylee had decided to wait. The Glass Eye Concourse happened only once a year. At his age, a year seemed like a long time. Looking back on it now, the concept of time passing had been one of the biggest points of contention between him self and Golsway.
“Baylee! Over here!”
The ranger recognized the voice only an instant before he spotted the man it belonged to. Aymric Tailpuller leaned against a tree near one of the wagons the mountain men had provided. Casks of wine and mead loaded the wagons down, and all of them flowed constantly.
“Deaf as you are,” Aymric protested, “how is it you’ve managed to stay alive so long?” Tall and thin, the falconer enjoyed the slim good looks of youth and the vigor of the Moon elven bloodline. He wore his long blue hair in a single braid that ran down to his narrow hips when he let it loose. Deep blue eyes emphasized the paleness of his face and the sharp planes of his features. His leather armor showed the advantages of great care and considerable attention. A well-used bastard sword with a runed handle stuck up over one shoulder.
He has me to watch over him, Xuxa answered from above.
Aymric crowed with laughter as a smile split his face. He turned toward the sky. Xuxa! How are you?
Finally being properly cared for after nearly starving to death, the azmyth bat responded. Thank you for asking.
A number of rangers, their senses ever alert despite the amount of wine and mead that had been consumed, ducked as Xuxa came winging down in great, leathery flaps that cracked the air. The azmyth bat made a show of her aerial prowess, coming to nearly a dead stop in front of the Moon elf ranger before reaching out with her claws to seize the leather band around Aymric’s wrist. She hung upside down, looking at the Moon elf and chuckling her happiness.
Despite his bond with the azmyth bat, Baylee always felt a pang of jealousy to see Aymric with Xuxa. She seemed clearly to favor the Moon elf with her attentions, and never had a cross word to say about him.
With quick hands, Aymric seized a morsel of an apple nut confection from a passerby involved in conversation before the owner knew he was there. The Moon elf held out the tidbit on a forefinger.
I couldn’t, Xuxa said.
Of course you can, Aymric replied. After all, it will be a whole year before another Glass Eye Concourse, and there is no better food at any of the other forgathering. This apple nut confection is a favorite, and you don’t get it like this in many places.
Xuxa accepted the treat in one winged paw and brought it daintily to her mouth.
“Watch out,” Baylee warned aloud, abandoning the silent conversation, knowing Xuxa would resent it, “this is the bite that will make her burst.”
A handful of people standing nearby who knew Xuxa and her prodigious appetite laughed.
You need to teach your friend manners, Aymric chided.
Xuxa ignored the exchange. She leaped from Aymric’s arm and took up roost from a nearby tree branch.
“My friend,” the Moon elf said warmly, reaching for Baylee and hugging him close, “how have things been with you?”
“Busy,” Baylee admitted.
“Having much luck?”
�
��Some.” Baylee had learned never to tell the first story around the elf, because the elf would surely top it with one of his own.
“How’s Golsway?”
“I haven’t seen him in some time.”
Aymric shook his head. “Are you still insisting on going it alone?”
Baylee kept his emotions cloaked. “I like it that way.”
“Of course you do.” Aymric took a clay cup from one of the stacks near the wine casks. He filled it with help from a woman who happened to tap the cask at the same time as he needed it. When the cup was filled, he passed it to Baylee.
The young ranger tried to turn it down. “No, really, I’ve had enough.”
“Enough wine?” Aymric looked incredulous. “That could never happen. The gods willing, you’ll have a discretionary bladder that keeps everything flowing.”
“I remember a forgathering a year or two ago in which I ended up cutting you down from your own hammock one morning because you couldn’t even stand up by yourself.”
“This is a party,” Aymric protested. “A man can be forgiven his occasional indulgences.”
Baylee is in no position to throw stones at anyone over indulgences, Xuxa spoke up. Little more than a tenday ago, he ran into Jaeleen again.…
Aymric shook his head. “I tell you, Baylee, that woman is worse than any bad habit you could pick up. You should stay away from her.”
“It was a chance meeting,” Baylee stated.
“Ill fortune, you mean.” The Moon elf shook his head.
“Jaeleen is not my problem,” Baylee replied.
Aymric clapped him on the shoulder. “And you would do well to make sure she never becomes your problem, my friend.” He gestured toward the central area of the forgathering. “Come, let us enjoy what festivities lay before us.”
Baylee followed his friend, moving from table to table and speaking with those rangers he knew. They watched arm wrestling competitions and dart slinging championships, and listened to a few of the lies the mountain men spun with such silver-tongued ease, and even joined in with a chorus or two here and there when favorite songs were being sung.
