Condemnation

7

When Halisstra and Danifae returned to the Cold Foundry, they found that Quenthel had rented one of the inn’s larger wings, a freestanding structure with its own small common room and eight private chambers on two floors. The whole wing seemed to be built and decorated to a duergar’s conception of drow comfort. Its furnishings were proportioned for drow-sized guests, not dwarves, it was richly appointed with tapestries and lavish rugs, and all the doors had locks. Dark elves didn’t require endless hours of sleep in the same manner as lesser races, but few drow felt safe or comfortable in a deep, dreaming Reverie unless they were taking their ease behind a locked door.

The rest of the company, with the exception of Pharaun, reclined on the rugs or sat at the common room’s table, partaking of a bountiful meal accompanied by silver ewers of wine. Armor and packs lay stacked against the walls, but weapons remained within easy reach.

Halisstra raised an eyebrow, eyeing the banquet spread out on the sideboard. A large roast of rothe, several wheels of finely molded cheeses, and steaming platters of braised mushrooms reminded her how long she’d been without a decent, hot meal.

“The food’s safe?” she asked.

Quenthel snorted. “Do you think we’re stupid? Of course we checked it. The innkeeper sent us a cask of drugged wine the first time around, but we complained to the management”—Jeggred looked up and smiled with a mouthful of fangs at that, and Halisstra guessed she knew what form that complaint had taken—“so the banquet is complimentary. Enjoy.”

Halisstra performed her own examination of the table anyway, relying on a magic ring she wore for just that purpose. Poisons were too commonplace among highborn drow to take any meal for granted. Satisfied, she helped herself and sat down by the table. Danifae took some food as well, and took a place, reclining on a low lounge near Quenthel.

“I see the wizard has not yet returned. Have you had any luck?” Halisstra asked Valas as she ate.

The scout sat cross-legged beside the door, his knife belt loosened but still around his narrow hips. He sipped at a mug of mulled wine, and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of bread.

“After a fashion,” he said. “The weapons master and I encountered no overt hostility, but we didn’t get as far as I would have liked, despite our efforts to impress upon the duergar the importance of time.” He jingled the pouch of coins at his belt. “I don’t know if this is a sign that something unusual is happening, but Coalhewer didn’t like it.”

“Where is the dwarf?” asked Danifae.

“He wanted to see if he could obtain a writ through other channels.”

“You trust him to do that?”

“Not entirely, but it’s something we could not easily do ourselves.” The scout grimaced and said, “It’s one thing to deal with the duergar clans in a reasonably forthright fashion. If I was caught looking into forging our passes, I would look very much like a spy, wouldn’t I? And so would all of you, by association.”

“Real spies would approach Gracklstugh in much the same manner we have,” Ryld said from one corner, where Splitter leaned against the wall, within easy reach.

“True, but remember that Coalhewer is something of a smuggler himself. He’s hardly anxious to bring us to the attention of the crown prince,” Valas replied.

“Still, the weapons master and I settled for replenishing our provisions, so we’re ready to leave whenever Coalhewer obtains our pass.”

“It seems we’ve done all we can for now,” Halisstra observed. “I, for one, am tired of blinding deserts, soul-bleaching shadowlands, and bare cavern floors. If we’re soon to return to the bleak and comfortless wilds, I’ll enjoy what civilization I can.”

Halisstra held up her cup for Danifae to fill. The battle captive rose sinuously and refilled her mistress’s goblet.

“Drink if you like, but don’t let your wits become too sodden,” Quenthel warned from her couch. “We’re hardly among friends in this filthy city.”

“When are any of us truly among friends?” Ryld asked with a snort.

Halisstra laughed softly and said, “Indeed, Ryld, but tonight we can rest in comfort, confident in the knowledge that we none of us trust each other and that not too far away lurk grim enemies who would destroy us if they could. Would we have it any other way?”

Danifae carried the ewer to Quenthel. Ignoring the subtle writhing of the priestess’s serpent whip, she lowered her eyes and leaned forward to refill the high priestess’s cup.

“We must seize what pleasures we can when the opportunity arises,” Danifae added. “Is that not the purpose of power?”

Halisstra sipped her wine and watched the scene. Danifae had neglected to don an arming-coat beneath her mail, as she had found the black mithral shirt without its leather padding. Of course, Halisstra had already offered Danifae a spare coat of her own, and she had no doubt that in the morning Danifae would accept it. In the meantime, the girl’s perfect dark skin gleamed through the metal mesh, and her full, round breasts swayed enticingly beneath the steel as she stooped to pour Quenthel’s wine. The males in the room could not take their eyes from her, try as they might. Even Jeggred, four-armed hulking beast that he was, seemed entranced by the girl’s grace and beauty. Valas frowned and busied himself with oiling his kukris, obviously sensing the peril of the moment and recoiling with his usual caution. Ryld, on the other hand. . . .

Ryld was looking at her. Halisstra carefully kept the surprise from her face as she met the weapons master’s gaze. Their eyes locked. His expression seemed avid, intense, and Halisstra knew that Danifae’s posturing could not have escaped his notice, but instead of gaping at the girl in her armor of metal mesh, the weapons master turned that gaze on her.

Ryld offered a slight smile and made a soft gesture with his hand: An interesting play.

I do not follow your meaning, Halisstra replied, though she could see easily enough that the weapons master knew perfectly well that she did.

She returned her attention to Danifae as the girl kneeled close beside Quenthel, sipping her own wine. The company grew quiet, and Ryld pulled out his traveling sava set to play a game against Valas while the others contented themselves with savoring a moment’s respite from danger.

Pharaun returned eventually, a handful of scrolls tucked under one arm. He retired to his chamber after a couple of halfhearted jibes at the weapons master to break his concentration. Ryld won anyway, though the Bregan D’aerthe scout gave a good account of himself.

“It has been a long day,” Quenthel said. “I shall retire to my chambers. Jeggred, Valas, split the watch tonight. Two others will watch tomorrow.”

She stood and stretched, and turned her eyes on Danifae before gliding out of the room.

“I think I’ll do the same,” Danifae said.

The battle captive glanced at Halisstra, offered a coy smile, and went quickly after Quenthel. Ryld put away his sava board and headed up to his room, while Valas and Jeggred tossed a coin for first watch. Halisstra stood, gathered her piwafwi around her, and went up to her own room. She paused briefly by Quenthel’s door and listened, just long enough to hear what might have been a soft gasp or a rustle of clothing, then she moved on. Quenthel’s serpents would likely report an eavesdropper at her door.

Clever girl, Halisstra thought. Quenthel was an astute and daring move indeed. In Ched Nasad Halisstra had sent Danifae to seduce a rival on more than one occasion. Even the most pragmatic priestess had her favorite pets, and sometimes an otherwise cold and calculating female might be manipulated through her secret pleasures. Halisstra doubted that Danifae could succeed in establishing any real influence over Quenthel, but at the worst, she was providing the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith with a reason not to abandon Halisstra and her handmaid on a whim. Of course, if Danifae’s services proved too valuable to Quenthel, the Baenre might be inclined to claim the captive as her own, but that was a risk Halisstra was willing to take.

Even if Danifae continued to encourage the Baenre to do just that, Halisstra thought of the silver locket around the girl’s neck, and allowed herself a smile. Unless Danifae managed to free herself of the binding spell, she couldn’t take the smallest step in that direction, as Halisstra’s death would precipitate her own. For the moment Halisstra felt she could rely on Danifae’s loyalty. Halisstra found her room and undressed for bed, setting her armor on a chest in the small room and leaving her mace where she could reach it quickly.

She drifted into Reverie thinking about Quenthel and Danifae together.

Aliisza rode in an iron palanquin through the streets of Gracklstugh, carried by four ogres and escorted by a dozen tanarukk warriors. The tanarukks wore armor of burnished iron and carried wickedly hooked greatswords. One fellow carried a yellow banner emblazoned with Kaanyr Vhok’s assumed symbol—a scepter clasped in a gauntleted hand. Twice their number of gray dwarf warriors escorted the embassy along, suspicious glares fixed rigidly on the black palanquin and its occupant. The alu-fiend preened just a little beneath the attention. She would have moved much quicker on her own, of course, but making a grand entrance into the city of the gray dwarves might encourage the duergar to take her seriously. Besides, it was fun.

The journey from the halls of old Ammarindar had not been particularly swift or easy. Aliisza and her warriors had pressed hard at their best possible speed for five days along ancient dwarven highways to reach the shores of the Darklake, and it had taken three days more to obtain a duergar boat to cross it. She was growing tired of dashing this way and that through the Underdark at Kaanyr Vhok’s command. On the other hand, it continued to demonstrate her usefulness to the demonspawned warlord, and perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing that circumstances gave her reasons to leave his side from time to time. It whetted his appetite for her return, and sometimes gave her the opportunity to indulge her taste for... variety.

Gracklstugh seemed to be one great smithy, a city of roaring forges and reeking smoke. It struck Aliisza as not unlike the foundry hall in the ruins of Ammarindar, except Kaanyr Vhok’s forge was only a fraction of the size of the gray dwarf realm.

What an ugly place, Aliisza thought. Still, the sheer scale of the work that went on around her was staggering. More than once, she spotted components of siege engines of enormous size being assembled in their workshops. Ched Nasad might have been far more graceful and insidious, but Gracklstugh was strong. Dwarven skill and single-mindedness seemed almost a match for drow magic and cruelty.

The gray dwarves turned her escort toward a great fortress delved into a mighty stalagmite. Ramparts of stone and turrets of iron guarded the sloping sides of the duergar castle. As the ogres carried her into the open gate of the king’s palace, Aliisza could not check her impulse to glance up at the mighty portcullis and deadly devices poised to crush any attack. She had several ways to escape if she needed to, but none of her warriors would get out of the palace alive if the gray dwarves decided not to let them leave.

The procession came to a halt in a large, cheerless hall whose floor was made of polished stone slabs.

“It seems that I am here,” Aliisza said to herself.

She tapped on the palanquin’s side, and the ogres lowered the carriage carefully to the floor. The alu-fiend waited for the seat to settle, then let herself out, straightening and stretching her wings.

A duergar officer wearing a plain black surcoat over his armor approached her.

“You said you wished to see the crown prince,” he stated.

“At his earliest convenience,” Aliisza replied. She’d had the same conversation several times that day with various gray dwarf lieutenants and captains.

“Who are you, again?”

“I am Aliisza, an envoy from Kaanyr Vhok, the Sceptered One, Lord of Ammarindar and Master of Hellgate Keep. I believe your crown prince will find my lord’s message worth listening to.”

The officer scowled doubtfully.

“They stay here,” he said, nodding at Aliisza’s entourage. “Follow me.”

Aliisza glanced at the leader of her escort, a battered old tanarukk champion with a missing tusk, and said, “You and your warriors wait here. I might be a while.”

She followed the duergar captain deeper into the fortress, flanked by another half-dozen gray dwarf soldiers. She decided to think of them as an honor guard. They climbed a wide, sweeping stairway that might have been impressive if the gray dwarves had taken a single step toward decorating the place, and finally came to a throne room with huge, stone columns supporting a vaulted ceiling high overhead.

At the far end of the chamber stood a knot of gray dwarves. By the way they moved, and the cold regard in their eyes, Aliisza guessed that they were the high advisors and nobles of the realm, but their garb displayed no such ostentation. In their midst stood the only gray dwarf she’d seen yet with any kind of ornamentation, a burly fellow who wore a hauberk of gleaming chain mail beneath an embroidered surcoat of black and gold. A circlet of gold rested atop his bare head, and rings of gold gathered the braids of his beard.

The captain escorting Aliisza motioned for her to halt and went closer to whisper in the ear of the crown prince. The gray dwarf ruler glared at Aliisza, then stepped forward, thick arms folded across his chest.

“Welcome to Gracklstugh,” he said, though his hard eyes offered no welcome at all. “I am Horgar Steelshadow. What does Kaanyr Vhok want of me?”

Not long on the social graces, Aliisza noted.

Well, she’d never met a gray dwarf who was. She decided to speak plainly and not waste time on flattery or subtlety, as it was clear any such efforts would be lost on the ruler of Gracklstugh. She offered a small bow, and straightened.

“Kaanyr dispatched me to ask a few questions about what happened in Ched Nasad, and to perhaps explore some other issues,” she said. She glanced at the other gray dwarves standing nearby. “Does everyone here enjoy your confidence?”

Horgar frowned, and muttered something in Dwarvish. Several of the advisors or nobles moved off, returning to whatever duties they had elsewhere. A pair of heavily armored guards in black surcoats remained behind, as well as another important-looking duergar, a scarred fellow in armor who wore a tabard marked with a red symbol.

“My Stone Guards stay,” Horgar said, then indicated the scarred dwarf. “This is the clan laird Borwald Firehand, marshal of Gracklstugh’s army.”

Borwald returned Aliisza’s nod of greeting with a sullen glare. She shrugged and got back to the point, deciding to match directness with directness.

“A duergar clan—Xornbane, wasn’t it?—attacked the drow city of Ched Nasad, and precipitated its destruction. Kaanyr Vhok wonders if you set them to it.”

“Clan Xornbane are mercenaries,” Borwald answered. The scar he carried creased the side of his bald head from cheekbone to three inches behind the ear, leaving a visible indentation. “Whatever job they took in Ched Nasad is an issue of commerce, not of Deepkingdom policy. You should take up the matter with them.”

“I would, but survivors are hard to find,” Aliisza said. “As near as we can tell, they trapped themselves in the city they burned.” She returned her gaze to Horgar Steelshadow and asked, “So, did they destroy Ched Nasad with your blessing?”

“With my blessing?” The duergar prince thought for a moment, then said, “I am not unhappy that the City of Shimmering Webs fell, but I did not dispatch Clan Xornbane to do that piece of work. Khorrl Xornbane was hired by one of Ched Nasad’s matron mothers to help her destroy those Houses ahead of hers. I did not choose to interfere with Xornbane’s business.”

“In that case, Xornbane’s choice of tactics seems spectacularly unsound. They delivered their employer a smoking ruin, and sustained horrible losses in doing so,” Aliisza observed.

“I am afraid that I was at least in part responsible for that,” said a melodious voice to one side.

From the shadow of a pillar in the great hall a slim form emerged, a rakish drow of short stature and catlike grace. He was a handsome fellow, impeccably dressed in garments of black and gray, and he wore a matched rapier and dagger at his hip.

“On behalf of my fellows,” the newcomer said, “I arranged for Khorrl’s troops to be provided with the stonefire bombs that proved so effective in the slave uprising in Menzoberranzan. I did not imagine they would destroy Ched Nasad in its entirety, of course.”

Aliisza raised an eyebrow and said, “I did not expect to find a dark elf in the confidence of the prince of the duergar.”

“I am something of a sellsword,” the fellow replied, “tasked with effecting certain changes in a handful of Houses in Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan.” He offered her a slight smile that didn’t reach his intense eyes. “Call me Nimor.”

“Nimor,” Aliisza replied. “Whatever your purpose, you certainly effected a change in Ched Nasad. What do you have in mind regarding Menzoberranzan?”

Horgar shifted uncomfortably and asked, “What interest is this to Kaanyr Vhok?”

“Well, had we known that someone meant to attack Ched Nasad, we might have offered our assistance,” Aliisza replied. “My lord scents opportunity in the dark elves’ difficulties. If someone were considering a similar effort to lay low Menzoberranzan, we might be willing to take on partners in our business.”

Borwald sneered, “I doubt the Deepkingdom would have any need of a few hundred rabble squatting in fungus-grown ruins.”

Aliisza suppressed her annoyance.

They’re duergar, she told herself, abrasive and crass. This is how they are.

“Your intelligence is somewhat out of date,” she said. “My lord commands over two thousand hardened tanarukk warriors, each of them as strong as an ogre and three times as smart. We have built forges and armories, perhaps not as grand as those of Gracklstugh, but sufficient to arm and armor our soldiers. We command auxiliary troops as well—bugbears, ogres, giants, and such—more numerous than our tanarukk legion.” She leveled her gaze on Borwald and added,

“We don’t have the strength of the Deepkingdom, Firehand, but we could take on twice our number of gray dwarves and give them a fierce fight. You denigrate Kaanyr Vhok’s Scoured Legion at your peril.”

“I am not unaware of Kaanyr Vhok’s growing strength,” Horgar muttered, tugging at his beard. “Speak plainly. What does your lord want?”

No subtlety at all, Aliisza lamented. Kaanyr might as well have sent a dim-witted ogre to deliver this message.

“Kaanyr Vhok wants to know if you intend to march on Menzoberranzan. If you do, he wishes to join you. As I have just said, I believe that the Scoured Legion could be a valuable ally.”

“We might not want you for an ally, if we were thinking of any such thing,”

Horgar said. “We might think we have sufficient strength to get what we want without splitting the prize.”

“You might think that,” Aliisza conceded. “If you were correct, the dark elves of Menzoberranzan would be well-advised to seek allies against you. I wonder to whom they could turn for help?”

“I would crush Kaanyr Vhok if he did anything so foolish,” Horgar growled. “Go back to your demonspawned master and tell him—”

“A moment, Prince Horgar,” Nimor said, stepping between the duergar and the alu-fiend. “Let us not be hasty. We should give Lady Aliisza’s message careful thought before we consider our reply.”

Horgar snarled, “You do not tell me how to conduct my kingdom’s affairs, drow!”

“Of course not, my lord prince, but I would very much like to confer with you at greater length on this question.” Nimor turned back to Aliisza and said, “I presume you would be willing to remain as a guest of the crown prince while we discuss your master’s offer?”

Aliisza merely smiled. She let her eyes linger on the slim figure of the dark elf. Given an opportunity, she felt sure that she could convince him to see the virtues of her proposal, though she also sensed that there was more to this Nimor than met the eye. Unfortunately, Horgar and his Marshal Firehand were less likely to succumb to her special talents. She could wait a day or two and see if Nimor succeeded in advancing her arguments for her.

The duergar prince measured her, mulling over Nimor’s words. Finally, he relented.

“You may stay a short time, while I think about your offer. I’ll have the captain set aside quarters in the palace for you. Your soldiers will have to stay in a barracks near my own guards. They will not be permitted in the castle.”

“I will require some attendants.”

“Fine, you can retain two, if you wish. The rest go.”

Horgar looked toward the end of the hall and gestured. His captain came trotting up.

“We will speak again when I have made up my mind,” he told her.

“In that event, I will be available at your convenience,” she said to Horgar, but she let her eyes linger on Nimor as she spoke.

“It can’t be done today,” Thummud of Clan Muzgardt told Ryld, Valas, and Coalhewer. The fat duergar stood with a mallet in his hand, carefully sealing a fresh keg of mushroom ale. “Try again in a day or two, I guess.”

Coalhewer swore under his breath, but the two drow exchanged wary looks. It hardly escaped Ryld’s notice that over a dozen duergar brewers happened to be hard at work very close by the spot where Thummud stood, and that many of them had the unmistakable glint of metal beneath their smocks. The brewer wasn’t in the habit of taking chances, it seemed.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Ryld said. “Time is pressing.”

“Not my problem,” Thummud replied. He finished tapping down the lid, and set the mallet on top of the cask. “Ye’ll have t’wait, like it or not.”

Valas sighed and reached for the purse at his belt. He jingled it judiciously and set it down nearby.

“You’ll find gemstones in there worth better than twice what we agreed on,” the scout said. “They’re yours if you get us that writ today.”

Thummud’s eyes narrowed. “Now I’m wondering what ye really be up to,” he said slowly. “No honest purpose, of that I’m sure.”

“Consider this a personal bonus,” Ryld said quietly. “Your laird expects two hundred pieces of gold per head, and you’ll see to it he gets that. What’s left over, he doesn’t need to know about, does he?”

“I can’t say as ye wouldn’t get what ye want some other time,” Thummud admitted with a shrug, “but the laird was certain of his words to me on this matter. I’d be crossin’ him to do this bit o’ business with ye, and old Muzgardt would have me head for it.” The brewer thought about things for a moment, and added,

“Better make it three or four days, I think. The crown prince’s lads are all over the city, and I don’t need ’em to see ye coming here every damned day.”

The stout dwarf heaved the keg up onto his shoulder and stomped off, leaving the two dark elves standing with Coalhewer in the middle of the sullen crowd of brewers.

“Now what?” Ryld asked Valas.

“Go back to the inn and wait, I’d say,” Coalhewer muttered. “Ye’ll have no luck standing here. Come back in a couple of days.”

“Quenthel won’t like that,” Ryld said, still addressing the drow scout.

All Valas could do was shrug.

The two drow and their guide left the Muzgardt brewery, wrapped in their own thoughts. They marched along for a short distance, putting the brewery well behind them.

“I’m beginning to wonder whether we shouldn’t just write our own letter of passage,” Valas said softly. “We wouldn’t need it for long, after all.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Coalhewer said. “Ye might forge a letter that looks about right, but ye need Muzgardt’s blessing. If ye get stopped, ye’ll be held while they check to be sure that ye’ve got the blessing of the laird. That ye won’t have until Muzgardt grants it to ye.”

“Damn,” Valas muttered.

Ryld examined the situation, trying to figure what to make of it. Either Coalhewer had purposely led them to a dead end, or the difficulty in obtaining the passes was unfeigned. For the first possibility, Ryld couldn’t see any reason why Coalhewer would delay the company in Gracklstugh. Perhaps the dwarf meant to set them up in some way, but if that was the case, wouldn’t he have had ample opportunity to spring whatever surprise he might have had in mind? On the other hand, if Coalhewer and Thummud weren’t collaborating in some elaborate deception, why would the crown prince happen to choose the occasion of the company’s visit to Gracklstugh to crack down on foreigners moving about the realm?

Because he’s got something he doesn’t want foreigners to see, of course, Ryld decided. What wouldn’t he want outsiders to see?

Ryld halted dead in the street. Valas and Coalhewer turned a few steps farther on, looking back at him.

“What is it?” Valas asked.

“You and I have something we need to do,” Ryld said to Valas, then he turned to their guide. “Come to the inn tomorrow morning.”

Coalhewer frowned.

“Fine,” he said. The duergar turned and headed down the street, muttering under his breath, “Don’t blame me if ye get arrested for doing whatever it is ye have in mind. I won’t speak up for ye. I’ll be on me boat if ye need me.”

What is it? Valas asked after the dwarf disappeared into the shadowed street. The crown prince is limiting freedom of movement for foreign merchants and travelers, Ryld answered. He doesn’t want news from the city to get out. 1 think the army of Gracklstugh is going to march.

Valas blinked and signed, You think so?

“It’s what I would do,” Ryld answered. “The question is, how to make sure of it.”

He glanced around the street. As always, any gray dwarf in sight was staring at the two dark elves with undisguised hostility.

Investigating your suspicion makes us exactly the sort of fellows the crown prince’s soldiers will be looking for, Valas signed. The wiry scout frowned, thinking. What would you need to see to confirm your fear?

A supply train, Ryld answered at once. Wagons, pack lizards, that sort of thing. You wouldn’t gather that together unless you meant to march, and it would take several days to do it. You’d need a lot of space.

Agreed, Valas answered.

Valas thought, frowning as he tugged absently at the odd charms and tokens he carried on his clothing.

Feel like taking a chance? the scout signed.

Ryld glanced around the street. Thummud had pretty much told them outright that things wouldn’t change for several more days at a minimum, and that was not going to please Quenthel. If Gracklstugh meant to attack Menzoberranzan, he wanted to know about it before the duergar army marched. They would want to find a way to send a warning back home. The duergar were no slave rabble to be crushed at the leisure of the great Houses. The army of the City of Blades would be large, strong, disciplined, and well armed for an assault on the drow, and Ryld didn’t like the thought of what an army of that sort might do to his home city.

Let’s go, he replied.

Valas nodded and set off at once. Instead of heading back to the lakeside district and the Cold Foundry, he turned deeper, toward the heart of the cavern. They weaved through the foul-smelling streets and dark alleyways for a fair distance, passing through business districts where duergar artisans and merchants kept their shops in cramped buildings of field-stone. The hour was growing late, and traffic along the dwarf city’s streets seemed to be diminishing. The two dark elves finally reached a street that ran along the edge of a deep cleft or chasm bisecting the city’s higher, more inaccessible districts from its ramshackle lakeside neighborhoods. Numerous bridges of stone spanned the gap, leading to narrow streets that continued on the far side. A squad of vigilant duergar soldiers stood watch at the foot of each, barring passage across the chasm.

The scout drew Ryld into the shadow of an alleyway and nodded toward the rift and its bridges.

Laduguer’s Furrow, he signed. Also known as the Cleft. Everything on the west side is strictly off limits to foreigners. There are a couple of large side caverns on the far side that might serve as good marshalling grounds, and they’d be secure from any casual observation.

Ryld studied the Bregan D’aerthe scout thoughtfully, wondering how he knew so much about a part of the city that was supposedly off limits.

I take it you’ve been there before? Ryld asked.

I’ve passed through Gracklstugh a couple of times.

I wonder if there’s anyplace Valas hasn’t been, Ryld thought. He shifted in the shadows to get a better look at the guarded bridges. He was a fair hand at staying out of sight when he needed to, but he didn’t like the possibilities offered by the narrow, railless spans. There was no cover at all once one set foot on any of the bridges.

How do we cross? he asked.

Valas finished his knots and stepped close, setting his right foot in one bottom loop and crooking his right arm through the topmost.

“Stay close to this stalagmite as you ascend,” he said. “We’ll want the cover.”

Ryld nodded and reached up absently to touch the insignia pinned to his breast. It identified him as a Master of Melee-Magthere, and like the clasps and brooches of many noble Houses, it was enchanted with the power of levitation. Valas didn’t doubt that Ryld had fought long and hard to win the right to wear it.

As he’d hoped, the enchantment proved strong enough to support both Ryld’s weight and the Bregan D’aerthe’s. Effortlessly they glided up into the smoke and gloom of Gracklstugh’s upper reaches, until the fumes obscured the streets below. From the top of the great cavern, the floor seemed shrouded in haze and smoke, glaring firelight making bright circles of glowing red mist in a hundred spots around them.

“This is better than I thought,” Valas said. “The smoke and fumes give us some concealment.”

“And they make my eyes water,” Ryld said. He reached the ceiling and found that the cavern roof was rough and pitted. “Which way?”

“To your right. Yes, that’s it.”

Valas indicated the northern wall of the city with a jerk of his chin, keeping his foot and arm secure in the rope stirrups he’d fashioned. Carefully, Ryld turned to face the ceiling more evenly, and he pulled himself along hand over hand as if he were climbing a vertical wall of rock. The scout shifted to secure his grip, and kept his own eyes down at the cavern floor below, directing the weapons master in his progress.

“One gray dwarf wizard with a spell of cancellation would certainly ruin our day,” Ryld remarked. “Aren’t you a little nervous in that arrangement?”

“I’ve always had a good head for heights, but let’s not talk about it anymore.”

Ryld chuckled.

For days, the journey had been simply uneventful and dreary. The tactical challenge of spying in the heart of the duergar city, though, fully engaged them both.

“Head more to your left,” Valas said, interrupting his own thoughts. “There’s a bit of a ledge on the cavern wall that should run the way we want to go.”

Ryld complied, and the two of them carefully leveled off and descended along the sloping roof of the cavern until they found the place where it dropped more or less straight down and became the wall. There, an old weathered seam circled the cavern like the eaves of an old tavern. The weapons master looked at it dubiously, but as they drew close Valas disentangled himself and leaped lightly down to crouch in the space like a skinny spider.

Ryld followed, somewhat more awkwardly. He could manage it, barely, but he was lucky to have the magic of his insignia to fall back on if his footing or grip failed him.

Valas moved confidently forward, following the seam as it descended sharply and disappeared around a sharp bend overlooking a side cavern.

Ryld scrambled down after him, cursing silently as his foot dislodged some loose rock and sent it clattering down the clifflike wall. The forges and hammers of Gracklstugh covered the sound fairly well, though, and they were still above Laduguer’s Furrow. The rock skittered into the abyss and vanished.

Valas glanced back from his perch at the bend.

Carefully, he signed. Come up here and see this.

Ryld worked his way up beside the scout, finally stretching out on his belly to stay on the ledge. The seam ran down to a side cave and turned in sharply. From their vantage a hundred feet or more above the floor, they could see a good-sized cavern, perhaps three or four hundred yards long and about half that wide. The walls were hewn into barracks rooms, enough to house quite a large number of soldiers, but the floor of the place was level and open, a good drilling ground for bodies of troops.

From end to end, it was crowded with wagons and pack lizards. Hundreds of duergar swarmed over the scene, securing great panniers to the ugly reptiles, loading wagons, and preparing siege engines for travel. The noxious reek of the city’s smelters didn’t suffice to mask the heavy smell of animal dung in the large chamber, and the lizards’ hisses and rasping croaks filled the air. Valas began counting wagons and pack beasts, trying to estimate the size of the force that might be on the march. After a few minutes, he finally tore his eyes away.

Somewhere between two and three thousand? Ryld said.

The scout frowned and replied, I think somewhat more, maybe four thousand all together, but there may be more trains gathering in other caverns nearby. Is there any reason to think they’re not bound for Menzoberranzan? Ryld asked. We’re not their only enemies. Still, I don’t like the timing.

“I don’t believe in coincidences, either,” Ryld whispered. He carefully began to worm his way back from the edge, taking great pains to dislodge no more rocks.

“I would suggest checking the other caves for more soldiers, but I think we’ve seen more than the duergar would want already, and I don’t feel like pressing my luck. We’d best get back and report this to the others.”