Condemnation

8

“We should just leave,” growled Jeggred. His white fur was streaked with red wine, and hot grease from a roast of rothe meat stained his muzzle. The draegloth didn’t take well to long waits, and two days of confining himself to the Cold Foundry had been hard for him. “We could be out of the city before they knew we’d gone.”

“I fear it wouldn’t be as simple as you make it sound,” Ryld said. He knelt by his pack, stuffing sacks with the least perishable items from the buffet. He dropped the sacks into a yawning black circle beside him—a magical hole that could be picked up and carried as if it was nothing but a piece of dark cloth. It could hold hundreds of pounds of gear and supplies, but weighed nothing at all. “You may not have noticed, but I’m sure I’m not the only one who marked the spies watching this inn. We wouldn’t make a quarter mile before we were swarmed under duergar soldiers.”

“So?” the draegloth demanded. “I fear no dwarf!”

“Duergar aren’t goblins or gnolls, too stupid to use their numbers well, too clumsy and crude to stand a chance in a one-on-one duel. I’ve met duergar swordsmen nearly as good as I am. I have no doubt that a number of such formidable fellows would be banded together against us, and the duergar count skilled wizards and clerics among their ranks, too.”

“We should have known better than to march into a duergar city,” Halisstra said.

“What a miserable piece of timing.”

She hurried to don her armor, a suit of highly enchanted chain mail that carried the arms of House Melarn on its breast. She wondered if the best strategy would be to simply wait a few more days and allow the gray dwarves to relax their vigilant stance. On the other hand, if they delayed too long, there was always the chance that the merchant she’d charmed to part with Danifae’s new arms would recover his wits and report the incident to the authorities. Had they simply murdered the merchants . . . but no, if they’d been caught at that, they would already have paid with their lives.

She tugged at the long hem of the mail hauberk and wriggled to settle it better on her shoulders.

“Master Argith, how long will it take the duergar army to march?” Halisstra asked.

“Soon,” Ryld said. “They can’t keep that many pack lizards in harness for long. The question is how long after the army sallies before they allow travel to resume. If we wait them out, we might be delayed for days.”

“Delayed—or disposed of,” Danifae warned.

“We will set out at once,” Quenthel said, putting a halt to the debate.

The Mistress of the Academy dressed for battle, her face set in a black scowl, her whips writhing in agitation.

“That begs the question that was raised a moment ago—which way do we go?” asked Ryld.

The weapons master finished with his supplies and picked up the hole, rolling it tightly and slipping it into his pack.

“I can retrace our steps back to Mantol-Derith,” Pharaun offered, “but it will be difficult to move forward from here. I don’t know the way to the Labyrinth, so any stroll we took on the Plane of Shadow would doubtless lead us to a strange and cheerless end. There are too many of you for me to teleport us all together, so unless someone feels like answering to the gray dwarves for the rest of the company’s sudden departure, I suppose that’s out as well.”

“What about a spell to conceal our identities?” Ryld asked.

“Regrettably,” the wizard replied, “gray dwarves are notoriously resistant to illusions of any kind.”

Halisstra added, “If only one saw through a disguise and saw a party of dark elves. ...”

“Better to simply render us all invisible,” the Master of Sorcere said. “Yes, that would be the most expedient solution to this little conundrum. It quite reminds me of a time when—”

“Enough.” Quenthel shifted in her seat and asked Valas, “Do we need to set out for the Labyrinth from here, or could you find a way around Gracklstugh if we retraced our steps a bit?”

“It will take several more days to circle the city,” the scout answered, “but I could guide you past Gracklstugh’s borders.”

“Fine,” Quenthel said. “We will head back for the docks and make use of Coalhewer’s boat. It’s the most direct route out of the city from here, and unless I miss my guess, the lakeside will be less heavily guarded than the tunnels. Is everybody armed?” She looked around quickly. No one requested more time to prepare, so the Baenre priestess nodded with a small gesture of approval and turned to Pharaun. “What must we do for your spell to succeed?”

“Join hands and stay close to me,” Pharaun said, “or wander off if you like, in which case you will find yourself inconveniently visible. I will not be held responsible for any difficulties that ensue.”

Fully armed and armored, packs shouldered, all but Valas joined hands and waited. The Master of Sorcere, standing in their center, hissed out a sibilant string of arcane words and wove his hands in mystic passes. They all vanished from view. Halisstra could feel Danifae’s hand on her left shoulder, and she clasped Ryld’s cuirass with her own right hand, but as far as her eyes could tell, only the scout was in the room.

“Are you ready, Master Hune?” Pharaun asked, unseen.

Valas offered a small nod. He was dressed in what passed for his own finery, a simple vest of chain mail over a good shirt of spider silk and dark breeches, his piwafwi thrown over one shoulder in a rakish fashion. Odd badges and tokens pinned here and there to his clothing, the defenses and charms of half a dozen races, completed his ensemble.

“I’ll dawdle in the courtyard a moment. Make sure you’re all out swiftly; it will look less suspicious if I don’t stand around for long. I’ll join you at Coalhewer’s boat in ten minutes.”

“You’ll be tailed,” Ryld said.

Valas Hune seemed honestly offended.

“No one alive can follow me when I do not wish to be followed,” he said. Valas went out into the courtyard, throwing open the door to their room and taking a long moment to stretch. Halisstra felt Ryld shuffle forward, and she did likewise, crowding close behind him as Danifae pressed up behind her. The girl’s breath was warm at her neck.

While the Bregan D’aerthe scout casually strolled out of the inn’s gate and turned left toward the city’s central district, Halisstra and the others bent around in an awkward circle and headed right, back to the docks. The streets were not deserted, but neither were they busy. Most duergar were back in their drab residences after a long day in the city’s forges and foundries. Had the company been forced into flight at the beginning or the end of the workday, their deception might have been given away by the sheer accident of a busy gray dwarf bumping into their invisible chain as they skulked down the street. Halisstra risked one more glance over her shoulder at Valas, who strolled quickly down the street in the opposite direction, looking a little furtive himself—a better disguise than complete nonchalance, which would have been jarring in a place like Gracklstugh. She also noted a gray dwarf porter who hefted a small cask of brandy to his shoulder as the scout passed and turned to follow, seemingly nothing more than a common laborer hired to carry goods from one part of the city to another. Valas could not have missed him, she decided. The mercenary is too sharp to miss a straightforward tail like that.

Though Halisstra expected a hue and a cry at any moment from hidden watchers, their progress was unimpeded until they reached the docks. As they hurried across the stone quays toward the strange vessels moored there, Ryld suddenly halted, surprising her. Halisstra walked into his back before she realized he’d stopped. Danifae bumped into her as well, as the whole column came to a halt.

“Trouble,” whispered Pharaun. “A patrol of duergar soldiers in the crown prince’s colors just came around the corner of the next street over. They’re invisible, too, and there’s a wizard-looking fellow leading them in our direction.”

“They see us?” Jeggred rumbled. “What use are you, mage?”

“There are spells that allow one to see the invisible,” Pharaun replied. “I’m using one right now, in fact, which is why I can see the guards, and you cannot. I suppose that begs the question, what use are y—”

“You there! Dismiss your spell, and lay down your weapons!” the leader of the duergar patrol called. A clatter of arms echoed across the silent street, though Halisstra still could not make out any of the gray dwarves. “You are under arrest!”

“Jeggred, Ryld, Pharaun—deal with them,” Quenthel ordered. “Danifae, Halisstra, stay with me.”

She dashed off down the pier, ghosting into visibility as she left Pharaun’s magical influence behind. Jeggred and Ryld charged in the opposite direction, Splitter appearing in the weapons master’s hand as if he had worked an enchantment of his own. Pharaun snarled out a short phrase of words that seemed to shiver the very air of the quay, and a moment later a ripple of light washed over the opposite side of the street, revealing the armored duergar where they stood. The wizard followed instantly with another spell, becoming visible himself as he pointed a black ray at the wizard among the gray dwarf soldiers. The purple lance struck the duergar mage in the center of his chest, and the enemy wizard collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Next time, strike first and issue challenges later,” Pharaun remarked. He started to work another spell as the draegloth and the weapons master crashed into the ranks of the patrol, hewing and slashing with abandon.

Halisstra followed Quenthel as she ran down the pier and leaped onto Coalhewer’s boat. The massive undead skeletons stood motionless in their well in the center of the hull, nothing more than inert machinery awaiting command. Beneath the bridge, the duergar smuggler stirred and sat up from a thin bedroll, snatching up a hand axe close by his sleeping place.

“Who goes there?” he roared, scrambling to his feet. “Why, ye—”

He was cut off by the impact of Quenthel’s boot in the center of his chest, slamming him back down to the deck.

The Baenre raised her whip to finish the smuggler, but Halisstra called, “Wait! We may need him to run this thing.”

“You believed that story of his?” Quenthel said, not taking her eyes from the dwarf. “Of course he wanted us to think we needed him to run the boat.”

“True or not, now is not the time to gamble on our escape,” Halisstra said.

“We’d look damned foolish if we fought our way through a patrol of the prince’s soldiers and couldn’t leave the pier.”

“Fell out of the crown prince’s favor, did ye?” Coalhewer said. He stood slowly and offered a fierce grin. From the end of the pier a sudden bright glare of lightning and a booming thunderclap announced the arrival of duergar reinforcements. “If ye kill me, ye’ll never escape. Now, what’s a fair price fer taking you off this pier, I wonder?”

Quenthel bristled and doubtless would have struck him down then, but Halisstra stepped between them.

“If we get caught here,” the Melarn priestess said, “we’ll implicate you in whatever charges are brought against us, dwarf. Now get us underway.”

Coalhewer stared up at the three dark elves, his face contorted with fury.

“I dealt fairly with ye, and this be my thanks?” he snarled. “I should’ve known better than to traffic with yer kind!”

He whirled to cast off the lines securing the macabre vessel to the quay, barking orders at the hulking skeletons in the center of the boat.

Quenthel looked at Halisstra with narrowed eyes and asked, “Why spare the dwarf? You know he’s lying about commanding the boat.”

Halisstra shrugged and said, “You can always kill him later, if you’re so inclined.”

As the wheels at the side of the vessel began to churn in the water, Ryld and Jeggred sprinted up, clambering aboard. Blood dripped from both the half-demon’s talons and Splitter. Pharaun bounded up a moment later, after sealing the end of the pier with a wall of roaring flame to keep the soldiers at bay.

“That won’t hold them for long, I’m sure,” the wizard said. “There must be three or four mages back there, and they’ll extinguish that wall quickly enough. Best we get well away from here before they can fling their spells against our humble conveyance.”

Ryld studied the wall of fire at the pier’s end and scowled.

“You realize you’ve also blocked Valas’s escape with that spell,” he grated. “We need him, Pharaun. We can’t leave him here.”

“I’m flattered, Master Argith.”

From the shadows of the vessel’s stern, Valas stood up and adjusted his piwafwi.

“Where in Lolth’s dark hells did you come from?” the weapons master said, blinking and rubbing his eyes.

“I boarded just a few steps behind the three ladies,” the scout said. He glanced around, savoring the open surprise on the faces of his companions, then made a small bow and a gesture of self-deprecation. “As I said, I am not easily followed or marked when I do not wish to be. Besides, it seemed that the three of you had the crown prince’s soldiers in hand.”

The Master of Melee-Magthere snorted, and returned Splitter to its sheath across his back. He turned to the city’s waterfront, which was receding quickly into the darkness. Fire still glowed along the piers, illuminating the bizarre profiles of more duergar vessels whose crews swarmed the decks, shouting orders at each other and scurrying to obey the crown prince’s soldiers.

“I hope our vessel is faster than theirs,” Ryld said.

“Not to worry,” Coalhewer called from his perch. “This be the fastest vessel on the Darklake. None of those scows can catch us.”

He snapped out another order to the hulking skeletons driving the boat, and the undead monstrosities redoubled their efforts, driving their crankshafts faster and faster, until a froth of white foam boiled at the paddle-wheels. The duergar city faded into the darkness behind them, marked by nothing more than a red glare on the cavern ceiling.

“A dire development all this,” Quenthel mused. “Menzoberranzan hardly needs a war with the duergar now.”

“Do we alter our course?” Ryld asked. “Menzoberranzan must be warned of the duergar army.”

The Mistress of Arach-Tinilith stood in thought for a moment, then said, “No. What we’re doing is more important, and if I am not mistaken Pharaun possesses the means to pass a warning to the archmage. Is that not so, wizard?”

The Master of Sorcere simply smiled and spread his hands.

Nimor’s soft footfalls echoed in corridor after empty corridor as he made his way through the crown prince’s fortress. At odd intervals he passed pairs of scowling guards in heavy armor, halberds held upright, and he wondered if they ever tired of looking at the blank stone walls in the course of their duties. Most likely not, he decided. Duergar were simply insensitive to that sort of thing.

In his hand, Nimor idly flipped a small envelope from finger to finger. The Lady Aliisza of the Sceptered One’s Court (an inventive title if Nimor had ever heard one) had invited him to join her for dinner in her chambers, observing that the gray dwarves had so far failed to invite her to any kind of banquet or dinner. Nimor didn’t expect that companionship for dinner was the only thing on her agenda.

Arriving at the rooms assigned to the Sceptered One’s envoy, he tucked his invitation back into his breast pocket, and rapped twice at the door.

“Enter,” called a soft voice.

Nimor let himself in. Aliisza waited by a table spread with quite an impressive meal, complete with a bottle of wine from the World Above and a pair of glasses already poured. She wore a flowing skirt of red silk with a tight-fitting corselet trimmed with black lace. The colors suited her, he noted, and even went well with her soft black wings.

“Lady Aliisza,” he said, offering a bow. “I am flattered. I am certain the repast before me did not come from the crown prince’s kitchens.”

“There is a limit to how much smoked rothe cheese and black spore-flour bread one can stand,” she said. She took the wine glasses in hand and moved close to extend him one. “I admit, I had my entourage scour the city to find inns and taverns willing to provide meals suited to an elf’s palate.”

Nimor took the glass and swirled it, bringing it to his nose to inhale the aroma. Not only did it allow him to appreciate the wine’s bouquet, but he could sniff the vintage for any signs of the various subtle poisons with which he was familiar. He would have proved difficult to poison in any case, but he did not detect any strange scents.

“You have my thanks, dear lady. I have been traveling of late, and have been forced to live on very plain fare indeed.”

Aliisza sipped at her own wine, and nodded at the table.

“In that case, why don’t we eat while we talk?”

Nimor took the seat opposite the half-demon, and fell to his meal. One of the consequences of his true nature was a surprising ability to eat far more than one might expect for a dark elf of his slight build, and to go for quite a long time between meals. The rothe roast with mushroom gravy was cool and rare in the middle and quite excellent, the small blind fish were somewhat saltier than he would have cared for, and the wine was dry and strong, a good match for the roast.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this occasion?” he asked between mouthfuls.

“You intrigue me, Nimor Imphraezl. I want to know more about who you are, and what interests you represent.”

“Who I am? I have given you my true name,” Nimor replied.

“That is not exactly the sort of answer I had in mind.” Aliisza leaned forward, her eyes fixed on him. “What I meant was, whom do you serve? What are you doing here?”

Nimor felt a subtle flutter at the edges of his thoughts, as if he was trying to remember something he’d momentarily misplaced. He leaned back in his chair and grinned at the alu-fiend.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, dear lady, but I recently found myself in an interview in which the other party could read my thoughts, and so I have taken steps to defend myself against such things this evening. You won’t pick your answers from my mind.”

Aliisza frowned and said, “Now I wonder what thoughts you have to guard so well, Nimor. Are you afraid that I wouldn’t like what I found there?”

“We all have our secrets.” Nimor teased his wine and admired the bouquet again. He would not give her the complete truth, of course, but what he would offer was truthful enough under the circumstances. “I belong to a minor House of Menzoberranzan with some unusual practices of which the matron mothers would not approve,” he began. “Among other things, we do not subject ourselves to the tyranny of our Lolth-worshiping female relations, and we possess old and strong ties to minor Houses with similar practices in several other cities. We masquerade as low-ranking merchants, but we keep our true nature and capabilities quite secret.”

“Capabilities?”

“We are assassins, dear lady, and we are very good at what we do.”

Aliisza leaned forward, resting her delicate chin on her fingertips as she studied Nimor with her dark, mischievous gaze.

“So what is an assassin of Menzoberranzan doing in Gracklstugh, advising Horgar Steelshadow as he musters his army for war?” she asked. “Wouldn’t that constitute the worst sort of treason?”

Nimor shrugged and replied, “We wish to see the order of things upset. We cannot defeat the great Houses of our city without an army, and Gracklstugh’s is the strongest in this corner of the Underdark. As soon as it became evident that Lolth had abandoned her priestesses, we realized that we had a golden opportunity to strike a mortal blow against the great Houses. We have been doing all that we can to help Horgar see that our opportunity is his opportunity, too.”

“Aren’t you concerned that the duergar might prove unwilling to relinquish the drow city to your care once they’ve conquered it?”

“Of course,” Nimor said, “but in all honesty, we view the fall of the Spider Queen’s Houses as a goal desirable enough to outweigh the risks of duergar perfidy. Even if Gracklstugh turned on my House and occupied Menzoberranzan for a hundred years, we would still survive, and we would reclaim the city in time.”

Aliisza stood gracefully and paced over to a narrow, slitlike window overlooking the city.

“Do you really think the Spider Queen will allow her city to fall? What becomes of the gray dwarves’ assault if the priestesses of Lolth suddenly recover their powers?”

“We are a long-lived race, dear lady. My grandfather saw with his own eyes the events of a thousand years past. We do not forget the past the way other races do. In all our legends, our lore, we have never encountered a silence so complete and long-lasting. Even if it proves to be temporary, well, it represents a chance that comes along only once every couple of thousand years, doesn’t it? How could we not choose this moment to strike?”

“Perhaps you’re right. I’ve spoken to other drow who seem to feel these are extraordinary and unprecedented times.” Aliisza glanced over her shoulder at him and added, “In fact, in Ched Nasad I encountered a mission of high-ranking Menzoberranyr who had come to the city in the hopes of discovering the causes of Lolth’s silence. Quenthel Baenre, the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, led the company.”

“I’ve heard of Mistress Quenthel’s mission. So they made it to Ched Nasad?”

“After passing through Kaanyr Vhok’s territory, yes. They arrived just in time to witness the city’s destruction.”

“Did any of them survive?”

Aliisza shrugged and said, “I could not say for certain. They were a capable lot. If anyone could escape the city’s fall, they would have.”

Nimor tapped his finger on the table, thinking. Was Quenthel’s mission of investigation significant, then? He’d simply figured that the matron mothers had decided to shuffle the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith out of the city for a time in the event that she was entertaining dangerous aspirations. Still, it represented a wild card, an unknown factor that the Jaezred Chaulssin might be wise to take note of. A party of powerful dark elves roaming the Underdark might find the opportunity to cause all sorts of trouble.

“Did they find any answers to their questions?” he asked.

“None that I know of,” Aliisza said. She turned back from the window and glided over to the table again, then changed the subject. “You seemed very anxious to argue my case with the crown prince. Might I ask why?”

The assassin shifted in his seat and leaned back, allowing his gaze to rest on her.

“You touched on this already,” he said. “Either Gracklstugh is strong enough to defeat Menzoberranzan, or it isn’t. If it is not, then Kaanyr Vhok’s Scoured Legion is likely to tip the scales in our favor. If Gracklstugh is strong enough, then the Scoured Legion might serve as a useful check on Horgar’s aspirations. We wouldn’t want the crown prince to forget the details of our arrangement.”

“And why should the Scoured Legion serve as your army in the field?”

“Because Horgar won’t have you for an ally unless I persuade him that he’d be better served with Kaanyr Vhok’s tanarukks at his side than attacking his flank,” Nimor answered. “Besides, your master doesn’t want to sit at home while events unfold. He sent you here to urge the duergar to attack Menzoberranzan, did he not?”

Aliisza hid her smile with a sip of wine.

“Well, there is that,” she admitted. “So, will you ask the duergar to accept our help, or not?”

The assassin studied the alu-fiend while he considered the question. Agrach Dyrr was a useful ally, but he doubted that the Fifth House of Menzoberranzan had the strength to counterbalance Horgar’s army if push came to shove. Another force on the field would increase the chances of success for the Jaezred Chaulssin, and with three factions to work with, it should be possible to align two against the third in whatever combination was necessary to advance his goals. In extremis, the Jaezred Chaulssin could bring their own strength to bear, but they were not numerous, and it was always preferable to expend the resources of one’s allies before tapping your own reserves.

“I think,” he said at length, “that we won’t give Horgar the chance to refuse your help. Do you know of a place called the Pillars of Woe?”

Aliisza frowned and shook her head.

“It’s a gorge between Gracklstugh and Menzoberranzan,” Nimor said, “a place I have great plans for. I am certain that some of Kaanyr Vhok’s scouts will know the spot, and I’ll make sure you know where to find it. Go back to Kaanyr Vhok and have him bring the Scoured Legion to the Pillars of Woe with all possible speed. You will have your chance to assist in the destruction of Menzoberranzan. If the crown prince proves completely unreasonable, you will have other opportunities available to you, but I believe that Horgar will accept your stake in events once he encounters your force in the field.”

“That sounds risky.”

“Risk is the cost of opportunity, dear lady. It cannot be avoided.”

Aliisza measured him with her smoky gaze.

“All right,” she said, “but I’ll warn you that Kaanyr will be quite put out with me if he marches his army off into the wilds of the Underdark and misses all the fun.”

“I will not disappoint you,” Nimor promised. He allowed himself a deep draught of wine, and pushed his chair away from the table. “That would seem to conclude our business, Lady Aliisza. I thank you for the fine supper and the pleasant company.”

“Leaving so soon?” Aliisza said, with just a hint of a pout.

She drifted closer, a mischievous fire springing up in her eyes, and Nimor found his gaze roving over the voluptuous curves of her body. She leaned forward to put her hands on the arms of his chair, and enfolded her wings around him. With sinuous grace she lowered herself closer to nibble at his ear, pressing her soft, hot flesh against him.

“If we’ve finished our business already, Nimor Imphraezl, it must be time for pleasure,” she whispered into his ear.

Nimor inhaled the delicious odor of her perfume and found his hands roving to stroke her hips and bring her closer still.

“If you insist,” he murmured, kissing the hollow of her neck.

She shivered in his arms as he reached up to unlace her corselet.

The crude paddlewheels at the sides of Coalhewer’s boat clattered loudly in the darkness, churning the black water into furious, white, rushing foam. The hulking skeletons in their well-like space at the boat’s center stooped and rose, stooped and rose, their bony hands clamped to the crankshafts driving the wheels. Relentlessly, tirelessly, they continued their mindless work, held to their labors by the necromantic magic that had animated them years, or perhaps decades past. Halisstra was no judge of waterborne travel, but it seemed to her that Coalhewer’s boat was holding to a pace that would be difficult to match. She risked a glance back over her shoulder to see if her companions had marked any signs of pursuit. Ryld, Jeggred, and Pharaun all stood in the rear of the boat, watching its wake. Quenthel sat on a large trunk just under the boat’s scaffoldlike bridge, also gazing back toward Gracklstugh. Valas stood on the bridge alongside Coalhewer, making sure that the duergar captain kept the ungainly vehicle to the course he desired.

Halisstra and Danifae had taken up the posts of lookouts, peering ahead to make sure they didn’t run headlong into trouble. Halisstra hadn’t bothered to debate the arrangement. The males were best placed between the rest of the company and the most likely threats, and Pharaun was probably their best weapon against any pursuit out of Gracklstugh.

The city itself was no longer visible, except as a long, low red smudge. The firelight of the dwarves’ forges could be seen for several miles across the vast black space of the Dark Lake’s open waters, a sense of distance that reminded Halisstra of the unnatural vistas of the World Above. They’d churned their way east and south from Gracklstugh’s waterfront for several hours, with no sign of anyone following, but Halisstra couldn’t shake the impression that they were not clear of the duergar yet. Reluctantly she shifted her gaze back to the boundless dark in front of the boat, and checked her crossbow to make sure it was ready to fire.

Halisstra carefully scanned her half of the bow, starting with the water close to the boat and working her way farther out until even her drow sight could make out nothing more through the blackness, then she returned her gaze to the boat and started again. Great stalactites or columns—it was impossible to tell—descended from the ceiling and vanished into the inky water at odd intervals, creating titanic pillars of stone for the boat to navigate around. In other spots the jagged points of stalagmites jutted from the surface like spears. Coalhewer steered well clear of those, pointing out that there might be two submerged rocks for every one that broke the surface.

“I can’t believe I’m crouching on the deck of a duergar boat, fleeing for my life from a city I’d never seen before three days ago,” Halisstra murmured, breaking the long silence. “Two tendays ago I was the heir apparent of a great House in a noble city. One tenday ago I was a prisoner, betrayed by the petty malice of Faeryl Zauvirr, and now here I am, a rootless wanderer with nothing more to my name than the armor on my back and whatever odds and ends are stowed in my pack. I just cannot fathom why.”

“I am not unfamiliar with changes in one’s circumstances and fortunes,” Danifae said. “What is the point of asking why? It is the will of the Spider Queen.”

“Is it?” Halisstra asked. “House Melarn stood for twenty centuries or more, only to fall in the hour when Lolth withdrew her favor from our entire race. It was only in her absence that our enemies could overthrow us.”

Danifae did not reply, nor did Halisstra expect her to. That thought was perilously close to heresy, after all. To suggest that something had occurred against Lolth’s will was to doubt the power of the Spider Queen, and to question Lolth’s power was to invite death and condemnation as a faithless weakling. The fate that awaited the faithless in the afterlife was too terrible to contemplate. Unless Lolth chose to take the soul of a follower to her divine abode in the Demonweb Pits, a drow’s spirit would be condemned to anguish and oblivion in the barren wastelands where the dead of all kinds were judged. Only abject worship and perfect service could sway the Dark Queen to intercede on one’s behalf and grant life beyond life, eternal existence as one of Lolth’s divine host.

Of course, thought Halisstra, if Lolth is dead, then damnation and oblivion become unavoidable, don’t they?

She blanched at the thought and shivered in horror, standing quickly and pacing away from the bridge to hide her face from the others.

I must not think such things, she told herself. Better to empty my mind of all thoughts than to entertain blasphemy.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, doing her best to banish her insidious doubts.

“We’ve got trouble,” Ryld announced from the afterdeck. The weapons master knelt and peered through the darkness behind the boat. “Three boats, much like this one.”

“I see them,” Pharaun said. He glanced up at the bridge. “Master Coalhewer, I thought you said this was the fastest vessel on the Darklake. Am I to gather that you exaggerated a bit?”

The dwarf scowled back into the darkness and replied, “I’ve never been overtaken before today, so how was I t’know any different?”

He muttered a foul string of curses and paced from one end of the bridge to the other, never taking his eyes off the following boats.

“They’re not gaining on us by much,” Quenthel observed after a long moment.

“It’s going to take them a while to catch us.”

Halisstra turned and clambered past the bridge to gaze aft. She could see the pursuing boats, just barely. They trailed behind Coalhewer’s craft by a bowshot, black ghosts silhouetted faintly against the dying red smudge that marked the city behind them. A glimmer of white played at the bow of each boat where it parted the waters.

She looked up at the duergar and asked, “Can’t you make this thing go any faster?”

Coalhewer growled and waved a hand at the skeletons driving the craft.

“They’ve been told to go as fast as they can,” he said. “We might speed her up by throwing weight over the side, but there’s no telling if it’d be help enough.”

“How far are we from the southern wall of the cavern?” asked Quenthel.

“I don’t know these waters well. Three miles, I’d guess.”

“Then keep to your course,” the Baenre decided. “Once we’re ashore, we’ll be able to outdistance any pursuit, or pick our ground to fight on if we decide not to run.”

“But what of my boat?” Coalhewer demanded. “D’ye have any idea how much I paid for it?”

“I’m certain I hadn’t invited you along, dwarf,” Quenthel replied.

She turned her back on the duergar and settled down to wait, absently stroking her whip as she watched the pursuing boats draw closer.

The boat churned on, passing more stalagmites jutting up from the waters as the pursuing boats edged closer. Halisstra and Danifae watched carefully for obstacles ahead, but despite herself, Halisstra could not resist the impulse to glance over her shoulder every few minutes to check on their pursuers. Each time she did, the boats had closed a little more, until she could actually make out discrete individuals moving around on their decks. Fifteen minutes after they’d first come into view behind Coalhewer’s boat, the duergar vessels began to fire missiles after them—heavy crossbow bolts that fell hissing into their wake, and clumsy catapult-shot of great flaming spheres that soared past the boat to smash against the dank columns littering the surrounding waters.

“Zigzag a bit,” Quenthel told the dwarf. “We don’t want to be hit by one of those.”

“They’ll gain faster on us if I do,” Coalhewer protested, but he began to ease his wheel from one side to the other, trying to avoid keeping straight on any heading for too long.

“Ryld, Valas, return fire at the lead boat. Don’t use more than half your arrows or bolts. We may need them later on.” Quenthel glanced around, and nodded at Halisstra. “You too, Halisstra. Danifae, keep watch forward. Pharaun, answer those catapults.”

Valas turned around on the bridge and braced himself against intersecting rails, fitting an arrow to his string. He aimed for the lead boat, and loosed an arrow. Ryld and Halisstra followed a moment later with bolts of their own. After a long heartbeat of flight time, the tiny figure of a gray dwarf threw up its arms and reeled over the side of the boat, vanishing beneath its flailing paddles. Other dwarves scurried for cover, raising large mantlets to cover themselves.

Pharaun stepped forward and gestured boldly at the leading boat, barking out the words of a spell. From his fingertips a small orange bead of flame streaked out, darting across the dark water with the speed of an arrow. It seemed to vanish into the blackness, swallowed by the bulk of the leading boat—and a brilliant blast of flame erupted right at the pursuer’s prow, scouring the foredecks with a roar that echoed through the great cavern. Duergar wreathed in flames lurched and stumbled in the distance, with more of them falling or throwing themselves over the side.

“Well done!” Quenthel cried.

Even Jeggred roared in glee, but a moment later a buzzing globe of blue energy rose from the second ship and streaked back at them. Pharaun started a spell of deflection or warding, but he was unable to parry the blow, and glaring streaks of lightning enveloped Coalhewer’s boat. The very air roared with dozens of thunderclaps and explosions as crawling arcs of electricity detonated barrels, casks, and fittings, or sizzled into flesh. Halisstra cried out and buckled to the deck as a bolt stabbed through her left hip, while Ryld collapsed jerking to the deck, his breastplate glowing blue-white with the lightning ball’s energy. The skeletal rowers kept at their toil, driving the boat onward.

Pharaun jerked out his wand and hurled a bolt back at the boat that had launched the lightning ball at them. A skipping meteor of blinding fire flew at them from the leading boat, bounding across the water with an almost animate hunger. By a stroke of good luck, the missile struck a low-lying rocky outcropping and detonated behind them, spreading a slick of burning fluid across the water’s surface. The third boat fired its catapult again, sending a cometlike ball of flame whizzing clear over the bridge to explode a short distance ahead.

“Damnation,” Coalhewer snarled. “They’ve got the range on us!”

“It seems that I am somewhat outnumbered,” Pharaun called out between spells.

“Perhaps we should redouble our efforts to escape?”

Arrows hissed past them, clattering against the boat or sticking into the zurkhwood decks with heavy tchunks!

“Halisstra,” the wizard called, “would you take my wand—the one in my hand, I mean—and use it to discourage that fellow on the first boat?”

Halisstra ignored the hot ache in her hip and scrambled aft. She took the iron wand from the wizard’s hand, aiming at the lead boat as she barked out its command word. The air crackled with sparks and ozone as the bolt blasted back at the pursuing boat, only to flare impotently against some kind of spell shield that had been raised by the duergar wizards behind them.

Pharaun chanted out the words of another spell, and a thick white mist arose in their wake, its billows spreading across the water with startling speed. Almost instantly, it sprawled across their stern like a wall of white, completely blocking the pursuing boats from view.

“There,” said the wizard. “That should slow them a bit.”

“It’s fog. Won’t they just sail right through it?” Ryld asked.

“That is no ordinary fog, my friend. That fog is thick enough to arrest an arrow in mid-flight. Best of all, it is highly acidic, so that anyone blundering about in there will be slowly eaten away.” The wizard smiled and folded his arms. “Ah, damn it, I’m good.”

Quenthel opened her mouth, most likely to take issue with the wizard’s self-congratulations, when Danifae called from the bow, “Stop! Rocks ahead! Stop!”

“Bloody hell!” gasped Coalhewer. “All back full! All back full, ye great bony louts!”

The turning skeletons slowed their furious pumping, unable to arrest the heavy wheels all at once, and slowly began to spin the paddles back the other way. The dwarf did not wait on them, slamming his wheel hard over to veer away from the black line of fanglike rocks ahead. The lake seemed to come to an end, shoaling up quickly to meet the plunging ceiling. The shoreline extended left and right for as far as Halisstra could see. The boat slued to an awkward halt, its starboard bow rebounding from a thankfully rounded rock in their path. The impact staggered everyone on board, and nearly pitched Danifae headlong over the bow.

“Now what?” Ryld asked, picking himself up off the deck. “They’ve got us pinned against the cavern wall.”

“How long will your fog delay the gray dwarves?” Quenthel snapped at Pharaun.

“No more than a couple of minutes,” he answered. “They might choose to back out and go around, of course.”

Pharaun stared intently at his handiwork. In the distance, duergar screamed in pain, their cries of agony oddly muffled by the insidious white mist.

“The spell is unlikely to kill or disable very many of them,” the wizard added,

“and I don’t think it’ll sink their boats.”

“Then this is where we get off,” Quenthel said. She pointed at the cavern wall.

“We’ll take cover in the rocks there, and stay out of sight. We’ll send the boat that way—” she pointed toward the east—“and let the crown prince’s men chase it away from us.”

“I won’t be yer decoy!” Coalhewer snapped. “Ye got me into this mess, and ye’ll get me out of it!”

The dark elves ignored the dwarf as they hurriedly threw their packs to the wet rocks below the bow. Jeggred bounded down into the icy water and struggled up on shore, followed by Ryld and Pharaun. Valas swarmed down from the bridge and vaulted down as well.

“You’re wasting my time,” Quenthel said to the duergar captain. “Go on, now, and take your chances, or stay here and face the draegloth.”

She leaped lightly to the boulders below, joined by Halisstra and Danifae a moment later.

“But if ye ... ah, damn the lot of ye to Lolth’s spidery hells!” Coalhewer swore.

He dashed back up to his bridge and began to bark orders at the skeletal rowers again. The boat slowly backed away from the rocks.

“If they catch me,” he shouted back, “I’ll tell them exactly where to find ye!”

Quenthel narrowed her eyes. She started to gesture to Jeggred, but Halisstra shook her head and started a low, droning bae’qeshel song. She gathered the force of her will and hurled it full upon the livid dwarf.

“Escape, Coalhewer,” she hissed. “Flee as quickly as you may, and do not let yourself be caught. If you are caught, better to swim to safety than to let yourself be taken.”

The invisible webs of the spell settled about the dwarf like a snowfall of deadly venom. He stared open-mouthed at Halisstra, then whirled to redouble his efforts to take his boat clear before the fog lifted. Quenthel glanced at Halisstra and raised an eyebrow.

“It seemed best to make sure he would flee as we wanted him to,” Halisstra explained as she quickly gathered her things and hurried for the cover of the boulders and stalagmites above the waterline.

Quenthel followed a step behind her. They splashed ashore and settled behind a large rock just as the prow of the first duergar boat, still glowing red with embers left from the fireball Pharaun had hurled at it, nosed through the deadly mists. The dark elves drew their piwafwis close around them and held still, watching as the duergar stirred and broke from whatever shelters they’d managed to find from the acidic fog.

One of the gray dwarves pointed and shouted, and the others joined the clamor. Turning sharply in the water, they slewed around the ship’s bow and set off after Coalhewer’s vanishing boat.

Good, signed Pharaun. I was afraid they were using magic to follow us. It seems that Master Coalhewer will render us one last service after all.

What do you think will happen when they catch him? Ryld asked.

The duergar boats pulled out of earshot.

“I suppose it depends on whether or not he can swim,” Halisstra said.