Insurrection

TWO

«I told you coming this way was a mistake,» Pharaun panted as he pulled up from his headlong run.

The passage before the drow wizard ended abruptly, blocked by a great gray mass of spongy material that completely filled the tunnel. Turning back to face the direction from which he'd come, the dark elf quickly sloughed off his finely crafted knapsack, lowered it to the rocky floor, and scooted it out of the way with his foot.

«Don't gloat, Mizzrym,» Quenthel said, her scowl heavy, stumbling up beside him.

The five snake heads that dangled, writhing, from the whip at the Baenre high priestess's hip rose up and hissed their own displeasure at the wizard, duplicating their mistress's mood, as usual. Quenthel yanked the scourge free of her belt and took up a position beside Pharaun, waiting.

The draegloth was right on the haughty drow's heels. Jeggred bore not one but two heavy bundles, and when the four-armed fiend reached the pair of dark elves, he tossed the supplies to the floor, apparently not the least bit winded from bearing them. He flashed a savage, twisted smile that exposed his yellowish fangs and turned around, advancing a few steps to position himself between Quen-chel and anything that might come from the other direction, a low growl rumbling deep in his demonic throat.

The Master of Sorcere was in no mood for putting up with the high priestess's foul temper, and he grimaced as he considered several spells. Settling on one, he fished around in hispiwafwi, fetching from a pocket inside the extravagant cloak the reagents he would need to weave the chosen magic. Eventually, he produced a bit of squid tentacle. He had warned them they would be trapped if they came this way, and so had Valas, but Quenthel had insisted. As usual, it was up to Pharaun to extricate them all.

Faeryl Zauvirr was the next to stumble into view, her breathing labored. The ambassador from Ched Nasad spotted the blockage in the passage and groaned, sliding her pack from her back and tossing it with a thud to the rocky floor next to the others'. She wearily produced a small crossbow from her own piwafwi and placed herself on the wizard's other side.

«They're right behind us,» Ryld Argith announced as he and the last member of the drow contingent, Valas Hune, sprinted from around the curve of the passage.

Past the burly warrior and the diminutive scout, Pharaun could see the red glow of multiple pairs of eyes advancing on the group's position. The creatures peered forward eagerly, and the wizard estimated nearly two dozen tanarukks.

Stooped forward as though afflicted with a hunched back, the creatures were reminiscent of ores, though their features were decidedly more demonic, with their scaled, sloping foreheads and their prominent tusks. They wore little armor, for their hides were scaly and tough, but the battle-axes many of them brandished were heavy and vicious-looking.

Pharaun shook his head in resignation and prepared to weave a spell.

The tanarukks howled in delight and lunged forward, eager, it seemed, to take the battle to their cornered prey. Several swarmed at Jeggred, and the fiend bellowed his own war cry, crouching and slashing wildly. He tossed one of the tanarukks aside effortlessly, slamming it against the far wall, near Rylds position.

Pharaun gaped for a moment at the unbridled might and ferocity the draegloth displayed, even as two more of the humanoid attackers went down before the precision slashing of Splitter, the enchanted greatsword wielded with greater skill by Ryld Argith. Faeryl fired her crossbow from beside Pharaun then stooped to reload it. Quenthel, in the meantime, seemed content to watch her subordinates at work. More of the tanarukks swarmed in, though, and the wizard almost didn't react in time to one that slipped through the line of defense that Jeggred and Ryld had formed.

The slavering, green-skinned tanarukk leaped toward the wizard, its axe cocked back for a savage blow. Pharaun was just able to backpedal enough to avoid the slashing blade as it swooshed through the air where his face had been a heartbeat before. He considered calling the magical rapier from the enchanted ring that held it, tiny and out of the way until needed, but he knew the effort would be futile. The thin blade would never withstand the force of the axe, and besides, he couldn't get enough room between himself and the beast to use the more nimble weapon effectively, He was quickly running out of space to maneuver.

When the tanarukk arched its back and howled in pain and fury, Pharaun saw that Quenthel was behind it, already drawing her arm back for another swipe with her dreaded whip. The tanarukk whirled around, still screaming in anger. It raised its axe high for a killing blow, but before either it or the high priestess could finish their attacks, a flash of shadow materialized at the edge of Pharaun's field of vision—and the shadow became Valas Hune.

The mercenary scout darted in low behind the green-skinned creature and pulled one of his kukris harshly across the tanarukks hamstring, crippling it with the oddly curved knife. Black blood spurted everywhere from the deep wound as the beast sank to one knee, flailing feebly with its hands, trying to find the source of its torment. As quickly as Valas had appeared, he was gone, vanished again in the shadows.

Quenthel took the opportunity to bring the whip down on the tanarukk again, and Pharaun saw the fangs of the snake heads sink deeply into the flesh of the creature's face and neck. Already, it was beginning to cough and choke, its face and tongue bloating, poisoned by the lashes from the whip. It dropped its axe and crumpled to the floor, spasming and crying out in anguish.

Pharaun realized he was holding his breath and exhaled sharply, regaining his wits. Disgusted with himself for being so undisciplined, he remembered the tiny piece of squid tentacle that he had in his hand. Righting himself, he made a rapid inspection of the battlefield in order to determine where best to place the spell he had in mind.

A host of dead tanarukks had piled up around Jeggred and Ryld, but still the remaining creatures fought their way to get nearer the pair, snarling and leaping about, looking for an opening where they could use their axes. The wizard decided he could easily position the magic behind those few savage humanoids that remained, but then he paused, startled.

A face had caught the drow mage's eye at the far back of the passage. He blinked and peered more carefully, not trusting his assumption. Lurking in the darkness, watching the battle, was a beautiful woman. Pharaun found her attractive, despite the fact that she was not a drow but appeared human. Black curly hair framed her face, and she was dressed in a tight, shiny leather corset that hugged her curves like a second skin. She seemed to be saying something to the last rank of humanoids, giving them orders and gesturing, but when she noticed Pharaun staring at her, she smiled, her highly arched eyebrows raising even farther in a bemused grin. That was when the wizard also noticed the black, leathery wings sprouting from her back. She wasn't human after all.

Pharaun shook his head in wonder. Such a gorgeous creature commanding a company of foul-smelling, enraged half-fiends somehow didn't seem right to the wizard. But, beautiful or not, she was on the other side of the fight. Sooner or later, he supposed, she would have to be dealt with.

Not here, though; not now.

Snapping back to the task at hand, Pharaun finished casting the dweomer he had chosen, and a collection of black tentacles sprang up, situated between the contingent of drow and the remaining tanarukks. Each of the slimy, writhing things was as thick as his thigh and squirming around, trying to locate anything to entangle. Too late, Pharaun noticed that Ryld had felled the remaining enemies that had challenged him directly and was stepping forward, ready to confront the handful that hung back.

Pharaun opened his mouth to shout a warning to the weapons master, but before the words were out he saw Jeggred reach over and grasp the Master of Melee-Magthere by the collar of his breastplate and yank him back, out of harm's way. An instant later, one of the tentacles wrapped itself around the lifeless body of a tanarukk that had been at Ryld's feet and quickly coiled more tightly, constricting the corpse. If the weapons master had still been there, it would have been his leg instead.

Numerous other tentacles squirmed and lashed out, grasping the surprised tanarukks and coiling around them. The creatures bellowed and screamed, thrashing and biting as the tentacles began to crush the life out of them. The she-demon on the far side merely arched one eyebrow at the appearance of the spell, taking a single step back so that she was clearly beyond the reach of the writhing black appendages. She seemed oddly content to watch as one by one, her troops began to grow silent, their breath lost, their ribs cracked.

Pharaun didn't waste time waiting for the spell to end and allow either the beautiful fiend or any of her remaining minions to reach his team. Not wanting to reveal the extent of his magic any more than necessary, the wizard stooped quickly and slapped at the ground before him. He took one last look at the beautiful fiend opposite him as darkness welled up between them. The moment that spell was finished, he began another, producing a pinch of gem dust from another pocket and weaving a spell that placed an invisible wall between the drow and the tanarukks.

The magical barrier was impervious to any normal attack, would withstand most magical assaults, and would buy the expedition time to find another way out. The wall of energy would not hold indefinitely, but it would last long enough for them to figure out how to escape unseen. Pharaun dusted his hands as he stepped back from the casting.

«Well, a fine solution that is,» Quenthel sniped, «sealing us in here. We'd be better off facing those filthy beasts on the other side than just sitting here.»

Ryld hunched down nearby, breathing heavily, cleaning his blade with a piece of cloth. Faeryl slumped, exhausted, against the far wall, trying to catch her breath. Only Jeggred and Valas seemed unwinded, both of them standing easy. The scout moved to study the blockage, while the draegloth hovered near Quenthel.

«As I tried to tell you,» Pharaun retorted, running his hand along the surface of the damp, gray substance that prevented their passing, «this is the Araumycos. It could go on for miles.»

The drow wizard knew his scolding tone was unmistakable, but he didn't care. Quenthel let out an exasperated sigh as she leaned against the wall of the passage. A massive fungus, the Araumycos resembled nothing so much as the exterior of a brain. It completely filled the passage.

«At least we can stop running for a while,» Quenthel said. «I'm sick of carrying this damned thing.»

She growled, kicking at the knapsack at her feet. She began rubbing her shoulders.

Pharaun shook his head, amazed at the high priestess's stubbornness. The mage had tried to be as deferential as possible, to let her see the folly of heading in this direction, but despite his warnings—and Valas's—the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith had, with her usual haughty demeanor, browbeat them into obeying her wishes anyway. Now they were pinned against the bloated growth, just as he had predicted, and she was simply going to ignore that fact.

Pharaun pursed his lips in vexation as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She labored to work the stiffness out of her shoulders. He could only imagine the discomfort she must be feeling, but he had no pity for her plight. Despite the fact that his own haversack was magically lightened, Pharaun's shoulders ached, too. They had gone far beyond sore and were, he was certain, chaffed raw.

«Ah, yes,» he said, continuing to examine the spongy growth, «you've made it quite clear how far beneath a Baenre—the Mistress of the Academy no less—it is to … how did you say it? … 'demean herself like a common slave lugging roth dung through the moss beds’. But, I would respectfully point out—again — that it was your masterful tactical decision to leave our thralls and pack lizards behind, tethered and bleeding, in order to facilitate our escape from those cloakers.»

The wizard knew full well that his cutting remarks would further sour her already unpleasant mood, but he truly didn't care. Getting under Quenthel's skin gave him no end of delight, even during trying circumstances such as these.

«You presume much, boy» the high priestess snapped as she stood straight again, glaring balefully at him. «Perhaps too much. .»

Still not looking at her, Pharaun rolled his eyes where she could not see.

«A thousand times a thousand pardons, Mistress,» he said, sensing the time was ripe to change the subject. «So I suppose you no longer intend to bother with the goods you think are stored in the Black Claw Mercantile storehouses in Ched Nasad. Even if they do rightfully belong to House Baenre, how are we going to get them back to Menzoberranzan? You certainly won't carry them, and once word gets around that you like to use your pack animals and drovers as bait, no one else will, either.»

Pharaun stole a sidelong glance at the high priestess, mostly for the simple pleasure of observing her disgrunded state. Quenthel's scowl was particularly severe, drawing out fully the vertical line that ran between her brows and giving her that pinched look that the mage was beginning to find unduly comical. The wizard stifled a chuckle.

That managed to get under her skin, he thought, grinning, but then he noticed Jeggred moving to stand between the two of them.

The beast loomed over the wizard, and Pharaun's grin vanished. He held his breath as the draegloth smiled balefully. The fiend's fetid panting cascaded over him, making his stomach turn.

The demon served Quenthel unswervingly, and at a word from her, he would gladly attempt to rip the wizard—or anyone else in the group, for that matter—limb from limb with malice-laden glee. Thus far, that word had not come, but Pharaun did not relish the possibility of having to defend himself from the fiend's assault, especially in such close quarters where he would have a hard time getting clear to exercise his own allotment of spells. He would prefer a large cavern to make his stand against Jeggred, but unfortunately, there was only this cramped passage, with no room to stay clear of the brute's claws.

Despite her current foul humor and the very ungainly way she had recently been bearing the load on her back, Quenthel somehow managed to look regal as she pushed herself away from the wall and stalked across the corridor toward Pharaun, herpiwafwi swishing about her. He understood that she wasn't merely ignoring his jibes. She had waited until her faithful servant had moved into position to back her up before confronting the mage.

«I know very well what I said and did, and I do not need you mimicking my words back to me like some idiot savant, displayed in a gilded cage for all to look upon and laugh at.» She focused her stare on him and held it there. «We are on a diplomatic mission, wizard, but those goods do belong to my House, and they will be returned there. I'll see to that. If I can't hire a caravan to carry them back, then you'll do it for me. Jeggred will make certain of it.»

She held his gaze imperiously for a moment as Jeggred smiled carnally beside her. Finally, she straightened, made a subtle motion to the draegloth, and the fiend moved off to lick the gore from his claws.

«Find us a way around this. . thing,» Quenthel said, jabbing her finger toward the massive growth before she turned and strode back to her own pack and sank down to the floor.

Pharaun sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing he had pushed the high priestess too far. He would suffer more later for his little jibes. He looked over at Faeryl to gauge her reaction to the confrontation. The ambassador from Ched Nasad merely shook her head at him, scorn plain on her mien.

«I would think you, of all people, would be more than a little disgruntled that she's planning to strip your mother's mercantile company bare,» he said quietly to her.

Faeryl shrugged and said, «It's no concern of mine. My House merely works for her—for House Baenre and for House Melarn. They own Black Claw together, so if she wants to steal from her partners, who am I to stop her? As long as I get home. .»

Pharaun was surprised to actually see a wistful look on the ambassador's face.

The Master of Sorcere grunted at Faeryl's response and turned once more to inspect the material that blocked their way. He was both fascinated at seeing it in person for the first time and desperate to seek a possible way around it. He knew that the Araumycos filled countless miles of caverns in this part of the Underdark, but travelers had sometimes been able to find ways around or through it.

Valas was already climbing up the surface of the growth, pressed tightly against it, working his way toward the upper reaches. Pharaun could see that the passage they had followed opened into what must be a larger cavern, for the ceiling, like the passage itself, rose abruptly. He could see that the scout was making his way toward a narrow gap between the growth and the side of the cavern, perhaps hoping that there was a way to squeeze through, though to where, Pharaun had no idea.

Pharaun considered the diminutive mercenary from Bregan D'aerthe to be a bit uncouth, but nonetheless, he was glad the wiry guide was along for the trip.

«How long do we have before that gives out?» Faeryl asked, staring back the way they all had come, back toward the inky blackness.

Pharaun was surprised that she spoke to him. She was emboldened, the wizard supposed, from their earlier conversation. Not bothering to look at the ambassador, Pharaun continued his inspection, producing a tiny flame at the tip of his finger with which he began scorching the fungus. Where the fire touched the growth, it blackened and withered, but it did not burn a hole through to anywhere.

«Not long,» he said.

He sensed rather than saw her discomfort at his offhand comment. The wizard smiled despite himself as he worked, bemused at the irony of Faeryl's situation. It had not been that long ago that she had been desperate to make this journey, to return to her home city.

Desperate enough to try sneaking out of Menzoberranzan and crossing Triel Baenre, the most powerful matron mother in the city, in the process. Faeryl had failed, of course. She had been captured at the gates, and she had wound up as Jeggred's imprisoned plaything to boot. Pharaun could only imagine what the draegloth might have been doing to her in the name of sport, but somehow the Zauvirr had earned a reprieve from Triel and had been assigned to participate in this little excursion to Ched Nasad.

In the end, Faeryl had achieved what she wanted, but the wizard wondered if she was still glad of it, despite her previous remarks. Even if she did get home, she was faced with the prospect of informing her mother, the matron mother of House Zauvirr, that Quenthel was coming to take everything. Absolutely everything. Regardless of the feasibility of such a move and the contingent's ability to actually pull it off unmolested by House Melarn, Faeryl and her mother would be the ones caught in the middle. He did not envy her position.

Plus, every time Jeggred so much as turned his gaze in her direction, she flinched and moved away. The fiend seemed to enjoy this, taking every opportunity to enhance the ambassador's discomfort through a suggestive smile, a lick of his lips, or a studied examination of his razor-sharp claws. It was clear to Pharaun that Faeryl was close to fully losing her composure. If that happened, he supposed they might have to actually let the draegloth have her and be done with it.

Then, of course, there was the matter of the supplies. Faeryl, like the rest of the members of the small excursion, had been forced to carry her own belongings for the better part of a tenday, something no high-born dark elf was accustomed to. Sedan chairs borne by slaves and porters was more her style, as it was Quenthel's. Leaving those thralls behind to stave off pursuit had been regrettable but necessary, and even with Jeggred's ability to carry a substantial portion of the load, the rest of them still had sizable burdens. He could hardly blame Faeryl if she was wondering whether this journey was nothing more than a huge mistake.

From Quenthels demeanor it seemed she already knew that, or perhaps didn't care if Lolth's silence extended as far as Ched Nasad at least and that their journey of exploration had become more akin to a raid. That was fine with Pharaun, but still he suspected there would be more to take from Ched Nasad than a store of magical trinkets.

Glancing at his pack once more and feeling the tension in his own shoulders, Pharaun wished for maybe the tenth time that day that he could summon a magical disk to bear their supplies. So many of the drow noble Houses made steady use of such a handy spell that the matron mothers generally insisted their House wizards learn it while attending Sorcere, the arcane branch of the Academy. Pharaun had never bothered to familiarize himself with it, though, since he had his haversack with its magically roomy interior. Even loaded up with all of his grimoires, scrolls, and more mundane supplies, it weighed a fraction of what a normal pack would. Besides, back at the Academy, if he had ever had cause to transport something with the magical disk, there was always a ready supply of students on hand who could have performed the task for him. Still. .

Pharaun dismissed the notion, reminding himself for the tenth time that his magic was an all-too-precious commodity. With the goddess Lolth still strangely silent, none of her priestesses could gain the favor of her divine magic, leaving both Quenthel and Faeryl severely hampered and limited in power. The wilds of the Underdark were no place to be while vulnerable. Besides, there was no small amount of satisfaction in watching Quenthel, the High Priestess of Arach-Tinilith, the clerical branch of the Academy, labor with her burden.

Quenthel sniffed, startling Pharaun out of his reverie. The high priestess gestured toward where the scout was still climbing. Only his legs were still visible. The rest of him disappeared into the crevice formed between the wall of the cavern and the fungus.

She turned to Ryld and said, «Your friend is looking for a way through. Stop daydreaming and help him.» Turning then to Pharaun, she added, «You, too.»

Deciding that he had tormented her enough for the moment, especially with Jeggred so near, Pharaun smiled and bowed low, flourishing his piwafwi, then continued to examine the Araumycos.

As Ryld joined him, the wizard muttered, «Its times like these when I find her most charming, eh?»

«You shouldn't taunt her,» Ryld murmured back, sliding along in front of the fungus and reaching for his short sword. «All you're going to do is cause us anguish later.»

He took an experimental swipe and sliced a section of the growth away from the main body. It fell to the floor at his feet, and he bent to pick it up, but it was already beginning to blacken and decay.

«Oh, I think you mean 'me, my stout friend,» the wizard replied, removing a small vial of acid from a hidden pocket in his piwafwi and pouring the contents on the surface of the fungus. «I'll be inundated with enough anguish for the lot of us before we ever reach Ched Nasad, I fear.»

Where the liquid coated the growth, the fungus began to sizzle and blacken.

Ryld paused and cast a glance over at his friend. The warrior looked taken aback. Despite their many years of friendship, Pharaun knew that even Ryld still occasionally found the wizard's behavior uncouth.

It's the price I pay for my winning personality and clever wit, Pharaun told himself wryly.

He watched as a reasonably sized hole was eaten through the fungus. There was only more fungus beyond it.

«We could try to hack or burn our way through this stuff forever,» Ryld grumbled, moving farther along the face of the blockage to a point directly beneath where Valas had ascended. «There's no telling how deep or how thick it is.»

«True, but it's fascinating, nonetheless. Thus far, I have discovered that it can be damaged by acid, fire, and physical cuts. Regardless, the pieces I remove simply dissolve into a dark, decayed mass. Remarkable! I wonder if—»

«I certainly hope you don't mean to tell me that you're exhausting all of your potent wizardly forces on this thing,» Ryld asked, glancing back at the still-darkened curtain of magic behind them. «We may need your tricks far more desperately in a moment.»

«Don't be dull-witted, my blade-wielding companion,» Pharaun answered, tucking a piece of rosy stone back into a pocket.

«With my talents, I have more than enough to go around for everyone, even our charming pursuers.»

Ryld grunted, and at that point a large hunk of fungus hit the floor of the cavern at Ryld's feet, already in the process of blackening. Ryld took a single step back, out of the line of fire, as several more pieces plopped down where he had been standing.

«It would appear that Valas is cutting his way through to somewhere,» Pharaun observed, peering up to where the scout had, until recently, been visible. «I wonder if he's just experimenting or if he has actually discovered a means of egress.»

The wizard craned his neck, trying to get a clearer view.

«There's a way through up here,» Valas said, reappearing in full. «Come on.»

«Well, that answers that question. Time to go,» Pharaun said, turning to the rest of the group. He directed Quenthel and Faeryl upward, pointing to where the scout was visible. «We only have a few more moments before my wall of force wears off.»

The other drow and the draegloth began floating upward, able to ascend through the magic of their House insignias. One by one, they disappeared through some unseen hole until only Pharaun was left. He began to magically rise up himself, realizing for the first time just how glad he was that they were not turning back to fight more of the tanarukks.

Aliisza smiled as she watched the last of her tanarukk charges tremble and lie still. The black tentacles that had destroyed them still curled and flailed, looking for anything new to latch onto. The alu-fiend was careful to stay out of reach of the grasping black appendages, though she knew that she could have removed them magically, if necessary. In fact, she could have intervened and dismissed the wizard's spell, rescuing her charges, but she had decided against it, and it wasn't because she feared to waste the spell. She was more curious than anything.

Aliisza knew that the dark elves and their demon would be more than capable, as drow tended to be. She moved back along the passage through which she and her squad of tanarukks had followed the drow, knowing that at least two of them had seen her. Yet they continued to turn away, as though they were running, Aliisza doubted the drow were there for any reason related to Kaanyr Vhok.

The alu wasted no time returning to the point at which she had set out with only the single squad, rejoining the larger force of which they had been a part, the force she commanded.

«They have moved into higher halls,» she announced to the milling tanarukks, directing them along a new route. «We will cut them off at Blacktooth Rock. Do not tarry. They move fast.»

With barely more than a grumble, the horde of humanoids set off, and it didn't take them more than a few minutes to reach the great intersection known to the Scourged Legion as Blacktooth Rock. It was a large, multi-leveled chamber where many different passages connected, and Aliisza wasn't even sure what the dwarves who'd cut the chamber once used it for. Much of it had been filled with the fungus colony the stoutfolk called Araumycos. There were still enough open passages there, however, that patrols of the Scourged Legion passed through frequently, and she knew that unless they utilized some magic to change their course, the passage the drow had taken to escape would ultimately lead them there as well.

The alu-fiend was still considering what she would do upon confronting the drow when her small battalion of tanarukks intercepted a second contingent of the humanoids, one she had sent to cut off escape along another route.

«What are you doing here?» she asked the sergeant, though she was actually glad for the reinforcements. «I assigned you to the Columned Chamber to watch for anything coming from the north.»

«Yes,» the sergeant answered. He was a hulking specimen who stood a good head taller than any of his fellows, his speech thick due to his prominent tusks. «But we got word that a large force of gray dwarves was spotted moving through the south part of Am-marindar, and a second patrol, one that had been stationed farther to the north and east, has completely disappeared.»

«By the Abyss,» Aliisza whispered. «What is going on?» She considered for a moment, then issued orders for a small squad of tanarukks to return to Vhok's palace to report the news, while she and the remainder of the force continued to pursue the drow.

They know something about all this, she told herself as they set out, and I'm going to find out what it is.

Pharaun no longer jumped whenever Ryld silently returned after skulking along the group's back trail, so he showed no reaction when the warrior suddenly materialized in the group's midst. Splitter was still sheathed across the master of Melee-Magthere's back, so Pharaun knew that they were in no immediate danger. Nonetheless, he paid careful attention as his old friend began to convey a report to Quenthel in the silent hand language of the drow.

Our pursuers are on our trail again, the burly warrior signaled. Several squads, all closing the gap.

The snake heads hissed, echoing their mistress's irritation at this news before Quenthel quieted them with a whispered word.

How long before we are overtaken? she responded.

In the darkness, Pharaun saw Ryld shrug. Perhaps ten minutes, no more.

Quenthel replied, We must rest, at least for a few moments longer. Besides, Valas has not yet returned. Figure out which way he went.

She gestured at the intersection. Ryld nodded and moved to examine the walls near the three-way tunnel. If Valas had left some sign of the direction he'd taken, Ryld would find it, and they could continue.

Pharaun sighed, regretting ever having suggested they come this way to reach Ched Nasad. Passing through the domain of Kaanyr Vhok had been a risky choice, but one that Quenthel had finally insisted on, preferring speed over safety. So, the group moved through the Ammarindar, the ancient holdings of an even more ancient dwar-ven nation, long since wiped out.

Pharaun knew that Kaanyr Vhok had laid claim to the area since the fall of Hellgate Keep, which stood somewhere overhead in the World Above. Vhok, a marquis cambion demon, was an intensely unpleasant host, as Pharaun recalled. Most caravans generally avoided his little patch of the Underdark, so the passages they traversed had been little traveled, which Pharaun had hoped would help maintain the group's secrecy.

Even moving as surreptitiously as possible, the team was unable to avoid attracting the attention of Vhok's minions, and several of the cambion's patrols were once again relentlessly pursuing them. Pharaun had hoped that sneaking through the Araumycos would have thrown the tanarukks off, but he realized that they—or rather, the she-fiend, he supposed—knew exactly where the expedition was headed, even if they themselves did not. He had no doubt that even more were moving to outflank them, cut them off before they could move out of the region and beyond Vhok's reach. The question was, could they stay ahead of the patrols this time?

The Menzoberranyr couldn't afford to have to deal with the demon lord. With the news they carried, avoiding drawing attention to themselves from any of the great races of the Underdark was paramount. And yet, Pharaun had the sinking feeling that was going to be no easy matter. No part of the journey to Ched Nasad was going to be easy, he was certain. There was risk in every move, just like on the sava board.

In its own way, Quenthel's decision to relieve the group of extra baggage—and baggage bearers—had been fortuitous. They could set a faster pace without all the extras the high priestesses had initially insisted they bring along. The mage glanced at Quenthel, knowing she struggled between the notion of setting a faster pace and being sick to death of carrying a load that made her shoulders slump when she thought no one was watching. Pharaun suspected they could have gotten by with even less, and Quenthel might yet lighten her load, discarding more unnecessary provisions, before they reached the City of Webs. If they found themselves in another running fight with Vhok's hordes, it might be sooner rather than later.

Almost as if he knew time was growing short, Valas appeared, followed by Ryld and Jeggred. The drow scout trotted into the intersection and hunkered down against one wall of the passage, absently fingering one of the many outlandish trinkets that adorned his vest.

As Pharaun and Quenthel moved closer, Valas began flashing hand signals.

Our route takes us into a large chamber ahead.

Valas gestured along the passage from which he had just returned.

What's there? Quenthel signaled impatiently.

The scout shrugged then signed, More of the fungus, but it doesn't block our path this time. We're almost beyond Vhok's reach.

Then let's go, Quenthel replied. I'm sick of this place.

Valas nodded, and the group set off again. The passages through which the scout led them were once again wide and smooth, cut from the rock of the Underdark by skilled dwarf hands. They seemed to be making headway in the direction they wanted to go, as Faeryl commented more than once that things were starting to look familiar to her. With any luck, they would be out of Kaanyr Vhok's domain and into the outskirts of Ched Nasad's patrolled regions in short order. Quenthel seemed content this time to let Valas and Ryld interpret the ancient Dethek runes inscribed on the thoroughfares of the long-abandoned dwarven city and go where they suggested, for which Pharaun was intensely grateful. The sooner they reached the comforts of Ched Nasad, the better he'd feel, at least physically.

The mage had been contemplating making a suggestion to Quenthel, proposing to her that they enter the city discreetly. He wouldn't put it past the high priestess to want to stroll in with banners unfurled and demand to see the most powerful representatives of the noble Houses, just so she could tell them all that she was taking what was hers, Ched Nasad be damned. He had to think of a way to convince her to swallow her pride and do the smart thing, instead. It would be so much better for all of them if they didn't attract a lot of attention to themselves, at least not in the city streets.

Besides, Pharaun thought, why do I want to be the guests of a bunch more matron mothers? An inn, especially a particularly splendid uin, would be much more satisfying.

The trick, he realized, was in how to go about convincing Quenthel. Trying to make it look like her idea seemed the best choice, but working out a good, subtle way to plant the seed was tricky where the high priestess was concerned. She'd already shown that she was difficult to maneuver.

Push a little too hard, and she'd slap you down just because you were a male. Don't push hard enough, and she'd be too busy being in a foul temper to see what you were dangling in front of her face. Pharaun could think of a number of arguments he could use just to convince her, rather than trying to trick her into doing it his way, but again, with Quenthel, he knew he could argue until he was out of breath, and she might still refuse.

Pharaun suddenly realized that the passageway had begun to ascend, and fairly steeply, too. He glanced up and saw the others laboring to reach the top of the rise. As they crested the ridge, they drew to a halt, and Faeryl said something softly as she pointed into the distance. The wizard wondered what they had spotted. He quickened his own step, and when he caught up with them he paused. The panorama of a large, softly lit chamber greeted him. At least he assumed it was a large chamber. Judging from the curvature of the walls, it was quite grand, but more than half of it was filled with the great fungus. He shook his head, more impressed with the Araumycos than ever. The entirety of the growth was a single living organism, as best as any wizard or sage could determine. That this was a different part of the same entity they'd encountered nearly an hour ago was astonishing, but knowing that what he had seen, at least to this point, was still only a tiny part of the whole thing made his head swim.

The chamber itself was natural, with a mammoth black stalactite that looked remarkably like a huge fang just beginning to bite into the fungus, being the most prominent feature. Evidence of dwarven stoneworking was also in abundance. The drow had entered at a point fairly high along the exposed wall of the cavern, the passage emptying onto a large, balconied ledge that overlooked the floor. A large ramp, wide enough to accommodate several wagons side by side, descended from this ledge on the left side, entering into a series of switchbacks that crisscrossed down the side of the cavern below the ledge until it reached the floor. There, a smooth, paved road led to intersections scattered along the floor where other roads shot off to more switchbacks, eventually rising to a number of tunnels. In many cases, the pathways simply disappeared beneath the massive, pasty-gray fungus.

To Pharaun's eye, the whole place could have been a tiny city, similar to a portion of Menzoberranzan, except for two notable differences. First, the architecture was obviously and repulsively dwarven, all thick and blocky and dull to the eye. Second was the dim but pervasive light, which seemed to glow from almost everywhere and gave the whole chamber, indeed the entire stone surface, a pale, sickly gray glow. In Menzoberranzan, the city's velvety was blackness was broken by rich, luxurious hues of violet, green, and amber scattered across the cavern floor and ceiling. Here, everything was visible, glowing from some soft magical light that illuminated everywhere, but nothing had any color.

The dark elf wizard missed his home, longed to sit atop the balconies of the Academy and look out over the city. He yearned for even the simple pleasure of observing Narbondel, its red glow tracking the hours of the day and night. In the wilds, Pharaun had discovered that without the familiarity of the great clock in the City of Spiders he was losing all track of time, even though he had other, magical, means of following its passage. For a brief moment, Pharaun wondered if he would ever see Menzoberranzan again, and he felt a touch of— of what? Sadness? Was that what sadness felt like? It was odd, and the mage determined to shake it off.

What you need is a nice, hot, oiled bath, Mizzrym, followed by a deepstroke performed by a master masseur, and you'll have a spring in your step in no time.

With that encouraging thought, the wizard straightened up and turned his attention to his companions.

Valas had moved down along the ramp and had reached the first switchback. From Pharaun's vantage point, the diminutive scout looked truly tiny, giving the master of Sorcere a better sense of the scale of the chamber. Quenthel, Faeryl, Jeggred, and Ryld, meanwhile, were descending through the air to the next section of the path and were about halfway down, dropping in a loose cluster. Pharaun chuckled, wondering how the Mistress of the Academy was faring, still laboring with her baggage.

Well, Pharaun thought, that oil bath is waiting for you.

He took two steps toward the edge of the balcony to follow the high priestess and the others, when he felt rather than heard a disturbance behind him.