War Of The Spider Queen - Condemnation Part 6

The wizard waited while the dark elves stood and fell in behind him again. Ryld and Valas, the two who had borne the virulence of the nightwalker's dread gaze, seemed gray with weariness, hardly able to keep their feet.

"Come," said Pharaun. "Mantol-Derith is no Menzoberranzan, but it will be the most civilized place we've seen in days, and no one is likely to want to kill us.

"Not right away, at least."

CHAPTER FIVE.

Nothing more troubled them for the rest of the shadow walk, and they emerged from the Fringe not long after the nightwalker's attack, returning to the mundane world on the floor of a narrow, subterranean gorge. The walls were marked with various trail signs and messages from previous travelers who had stopped there. It was obviously a commonly used campsite near the trade cavern. The company rested there for hours, warming up from the insidious chill of the Shadow Fringe. After resting, they left the gorge and found their way out into a long, smooth-sided tunnel that bored for miles through the dark, broken by occasional open caverns along the way.

Valas led the company, as he was familiar with their arrival point and the route they found themselves traveling. After the burning skies of the daylit surface and the miserable gloom of the Plane of Shadow, the routine perils of the Underdark felt like old friends. This was their world, the place where they belonged, even those of their number who had rarely journeyed outside their home cities.

After a march of about two miles, Valas called a brief halt and knelt down to sketch a crude map in the dust of the pa.s.sage floor.

"Mantol-Derith lies not more than half a mile ahead. Remember, this is a place of trade and a.s.sociation with other races. We do not rule Mantol-Derithno one doesand so it would be prudent to avoid giving offense to anyone you encounter there, unless you're looking for a fight that may waste our time and resources.

"Also, I have been considering how best to find our way from the trade cavern to the holdings of House Jaelre in the Labyrinth. From here our path must traverse the dominion of Gracklstugh, city of the gray dwarves."

"Under no circ.u.mstances will we approach Gracklstugh," Quenthel said at once. "The gray dwarves destroyed Ched Nasad. I see no reason to present myself at their doorstep for slaughter."

"We have few other options, Mistress," Valas said. "We are northeast of the duergar realm, and the Labyrinth lies several days southwest of the city. We cannot skirt the city to the south because the Darklake is in the way, and the duergar patrol its waters. Skirting the city to the north would take us at least two tendays of difficult travel through tunnels I do not know well at all."

"Why did we bother to come this way, then?" Jeggred muttered. "We might as well have returned to Menzoberranzan."

"Well, for one thing, Gracklstugh still lies between us and House Jaelre, whether we're in Mantol-Derith or Menzoberranzan," Pharaun replied. He tapped three points on Valas's crudely sketched map. "The gray dwarves must be addressed in either scenario. The question is simply whether we dare to pa.s.s through Gracklstugh, or not."

"Could you shadow walk us past the city?" Danifae asked.

Pharaun grimaced and said, "I have never traveled past Mantol-Derith in this direction, and shadow walking is best employed to reach a familiar destination. At any rate, it wouldn't surprise me to find that the duergar have defended their realm against the pa.s.sage of travelers on nearby planes."

"Are we certain that the gray dwarves would object to our presence?" Ryld asked. "Merchants from Menzoberranzan journey to Gracklstugh often enough, and gray dwarf merchants bring their wares to Menzoberranzan's bazaar. It's possible that Gracklstugh had nothing to do with the duergar mercenaries who attacked Ched Nasad."

"I have heard nothing that suggests to me that we should risk entering Gracklstugh," Quenthel said. She made a curt gesture with her hand, silencing the debate. "I prefer not to gamble on the hospitality of the gray dwarves, not after the fall of Ched Nasad. We will go around the city to the north, and trust that Master Hune can find us a way through."

Halisstra glanced at Ryld and Valas. The scout chewed on his lip, worrying at the problem, while the weapons master simply lowered his eyes in resignation.

"We are only a mile or two from this cavern known as Mantol-Derith?" Halisstra asked, pointing at the sketch.

"Yes, my lady," Valas replied.

"And regardless of which course we choose, we must pa.s.s through the place?"

The Bregan D'aerthe scout simply nodded again.

"Then perhaps we should see what we can learn in the trade cavern before we make our decision," Halisstra offered. She could feel Quenthel's eyes on her, but she did not look at the Baenre. "There might be duergar merchants there who could shed some light on the question for us. If not, well, we'll have to provision ourselves there anyway before striking out into the wilds of the Underdark."

"A reasonable suggestion," Pharaun remarked. "There are a dozen mercenary companies based in the City of Blades. Is it not likely that the duergar we fought in Ched Nasad were hired by a drow House, and had no special allegiance to Gracklstugh?"

"They did Gracklstugh's work when they destroyed the city," Quenthel said darkly. She stood and set her hands on her hips, still staring at the sketch on the floor. She thought for a moment, then angrily swept it out with her foot. "We will see what we learn in Mantol-Derith, then. I suspect that time is of the essence, and if we can avoid a detour of twenty or thirty days to skirt the city, we should do so, but if we hear anything to indicate that Gracklstugh may be closed to our kind, we strike out into the barrens."

Valas Hune nodded and said, "Very well, Mistress. I suspect we will be able to arrange pa.s.sage unless the duergar are openly at war with Menzoberranzan. I've dealt with the gray dwarves before, and there is nothing they would not sell for the right price. I will seek out a duergar guide in Mantol-Derith and see what I can learn."

"Good enough," said Quenthel. "Take us to the duergar, and we will"

"No, Mistress, not 'we'," the scout said. He stood and brushed off his hands. "Most duergar have little liking for drow under any circ.u.mstances, less so for n.o.ble-born drow, and even less for priestesses of the Spider Queen. Your presence would only complicate things. It might be best if I handled any negotiations myself."

Quenthel frowned.

Jeggred, standing close behind her, rumbled, "I could go along to keep an eye on him, Mistress."

Pharaun barked sharp laughter at the thought and said, "If a priestess of Lolth makes a gray dwarf nervous, what do you think he'd make of you?"

The draegloth bridled, but Quenthel shook her head.

"No," she said, "he's right. We will find a place to wait, and perhaps see what news there is to be had, while Valas takes care of the details."

They resumed their march, and soon came to Mantol-Derith. The place was much smaller than Halisstra expected, a cavern not more than sixty or seventy feet in height and perhaps twice that in width, though it twisted and snaked for many hundreds of yards. She was used to the immensity of Ched Nasad's great canyon, and the stories she'd heard of other places of civilization underground usually involved tremendous caverns miles across. Mantol-Derith would have been nothing more than a side cavern in a drow city.

It was also much less crowded than she would have expected. The marketplaces in her home city had always been busy places, thronged by common drow or the slaves of n.o.bles engaged in their various errands. The market of a drow city usually hummed with industry, energy, and activity, even if those qualities were peculiarly distorted to match the aesthetic tastes of drow society. Mantol-Derith was comparatively silent and forbidding. Here and there throughout the caverns winding length, small groups of merchants sat or squatted, their wares secured in coffers and casks behind them instead of rolled out on display. No one shouted, or haggled, or laughed. What business transpired there seemed best conducted in whispers and shadows.

Creatures from many different races gathered at Mantol-Derith. More than a few drow merchants held various corners of the cavern, most from Menzoberranzan if Halisstra read the blazons on their goods correctly. Mind flayers glided smoothly from place to place, mauve skin glistening damply, tentacles writhing beneath their cephalopod faces. A handful of sullen svirfneblin huddled together in one spot, eyeing the drow with unalloyed resentment. Of course the duergar were present in numbers, too. Short and broad-shouldered, the gaunt gray dwarves gathered together in secretive cabals, conversing with each softly in their guttural tongue.

Halisstra trailed close behind Pharaun, studying each group as they pa.s.sed. She noticed that the wizard was trading discreet signs with Valas as they wound deeper into the marketplace.

Not many merchants here today, the wizard observed. Where are they all?

Valas glanced over his shoulder to make sure Quenthel wasn't looking, and answered, Chaos in Menzoberranzan means few buyers. Few buyers means few sellers. Anarchy seems to be bad for business.

The scout turned to eye a band of duergar nearby, and said over his shoulder to the rest of the company, "Go on ahead. You'll find an inn of sorts a little farther on. I will meet you there soon."

He quietly approached the gray dwarves, making a strange gesture of greeting with his hands folded before him, and engaged the duergar merchants in whispered conversation. The rest of the party moved on.

They found the "inn" to which the scout referred in a dank warren of caves near the southern end of Mantol-Derith. There, a surly duergar woman terrorized a handful of goblin slaves, driving them mercilessly from one task to another. Several small cookfires smoldered haphazardly in the area, warming iron pots of thick stew tended by the harried cooks. Other slaves scrambled to tap casks of mushroom ale or stolen surface lagers, serving silent customers who simply gathered around the fires, sitting on flat boulders arranged like chairs. St.u.r.dy doors of petrified mushroom fiber or rusted iron plate sealed off crevices in the walls nearby. Halisstra presumed that these led to the guest rooms of the gray dwarf's inn. The chambers were most likely secure behind the strong doors, but she couldn't imagine that they were at all comfortable.

"How . . . rustic," Halisstra said.

She wondered for one terrible moment if it would be her fate to live out the rest of her expatriate existence crouched in some similar hovel.

"It's even more charming than the last time I was here," Pharaun said with a forced smile. "The dwarf there is Dinnka. You'll find that this nameless wayside inn of hers const.i.tutes the finest lodgings available in Mantol-Derith. You'll get food, fire, and shelterthree things that are hard to come by in the wilds of the Underdarkand pay a small fortune for it."

"It will be better than resting in a monster-haunted surface ruin, I suppose," Quenthel said.

She led the way as the party approached one of the cookfires. A trio of bugbears occupied the seats there, apparently mercenaries of some skill, judging by the quality of the armor they wore. The hairy creatures brooded over big leather jacks of mushroom ale, and gnawed at haunches of rothe meat. One by one the hulking warriors looked up as the five drow and Jeggred approached. Quenthel folded her arms and looked at the creatures with contempt.

"Well?" she said.

The bugbears growled, setting down ale and meat as their great fists dropped down to rest on axe-hafts thrust through their belts. The motion caught Halisstra's eye. Bugbears with any lick of sense would have vacated their places immediately, almost anywhere in the Underdark. They might not have been drow slavesclearly they weren't, if they were in Mantol-Derithbut she'd ventured out into similar places near Ched Nasad enough times to understand that creatures like bugbears learned quickly to give way to the truly dangerous denizens of the Lands Below, such as n.o.ble dark elves.

"Well, what?" snarled the largest of the three. "It'll take more'n a drow sneer t'make us give up our seats."

"Think y'can just push us aroun'?" the second bugbear added. "You elfies ain't as scary as y'was, y'know. Maybe yous'll have t'start showin' off why we's oughtta do what y'says."

Quenthel waited for a moment, then said one word: "Jeggred."

The draegloth bounded forward and seized the first bugbear. With his two smaller arms he clamped down over the bugbear's hands, preventing him from drawing any of the weapons at his side. He locked one fighting talon around the creature's head, holding him tightly, and with his other fighting hand he plunged his powerful talons into the bugbear's face. The mercenary screamed something in his uncouth language and struggled against the draegloth. Jeggred grinned, knotted his claws deep in the shrieking monster's head, and yanked back hard, ripping off the front of the bugbear's skull. Blood and brain matter splattered the bugbears companions, who scrambled to their feet, drawing swords and axes.

Jeggred lowered the twitching body a bit and looked over it at the other two.

"Next?" he purred.

The two remaining bugbears stumbled back, and fled in abject terror. Jeggred shook his white-furred head and tossed the corpse aside, taking a seat at the fire. He helped himself to a hunk of roast dropped by a bugbear, and raised one of their jacks in another hand.

"Bugbears. . . ." he muttered.

"Hey, you!"

The surly duergar innkeeperDinnkascuttled forward, anger plain on her face.

"Those three hadn't settled their tab yet," she complained. "Now how in all the screaming h.e.l.ls am I going to get my gold from them?"

Ryld stooped and removed the bugbear's belt pouch. He tossed it to Dinnka.

"Settle up with this," the weapons master said, "and start our tab with what's left. We'll want good wine, and more food."

The duergar woman caught the purse, but she did not move.

"I don't appreciate your scaring off paying customers, drow. Nor killing them, neither. Next time do your murdering at home, where it belongs."

She marched off, already barking orders at the goblin slaves underfoot.

Halisstra watched her go, then she looked back to the others and flashed, That was odd. Did you hear what the bugbear said?

"What he said about the drow not being as scary as they used to be?" Ryld said, then he switched to sign. Has word of Ched Nasad's fall reached this place so quickly? It was only a couple of days ago, and Mantol-Derith is many days' travel from the City of Shimmering Webs.

It's possible that magical scrying or spells of communication might have spread the word already, Halisstra said. Or . . . perhaps he meant something else. Perhaps something of our unusual difficulties is known here.

That, thought Halisstra, was a very disturbing scenario. Gray dwarves and mind flayers were competent foes, creatures who knew many secrets of sorcery. If they had discerned the drow's weakness, it would not be unduly surprising, but if common bugbear mercenaries were aware of matters in Ched Nasad or Menzoberranzan, it must be widely known indeed.

Goblin slaves returned to their fire, laden with somewhat better fare than the bugbears had enjoyed, and flagons of cool wine from some surface vineyard. The small slaves gathered up the hulking body of the fallen bugbear and dragged it off into the darkness. The dark elves paid them scant attention. Goblin slaves were so far beneath their notice that they might as well have not existed. The party ate and drank in silence, occupied with their own thoughts.

After a time, Valas joined them, accompanied by another gray dwarf. This one was a male, with a short beard of iron grey and not a single hair on his head above his eyebrows. The duergar wore a shirt of chain mail and carried a wicked hand axe at his side. His visage was maimed by a set of three great furrowed scars that had taken off one ear and twisted the right side of his face into a nightmarish map of old pain. He might have been a merchant, a mercenary, or a minerhis dour attire offered few hints as to his trade.

"This is Ghevel Coalhewer," the scout said. "He owns a boat moored nearby, on the Darklake. He will take us to Gracklstugh tomorrow."

"I'll want me payment in advance," the gray dwarf warned. "And I'll have ye know I've a contract o' redress with me guild back home. If ye think to slit me throat and dump me over the side out on the lake, ye'll be hunted down for it."

"A trusting soul," Pharaun said with a smile. "We've no interest in robbing you, Master Coalhewer."

"I'll take me precautions, just the same." The duergar looked at Valas and asked, "Ye know where the boat is. Pay me now, and ye can meet me there tomorrow early."

"How do we know you won't rob us, dwarf?" rumbled Jeggred.

"It's usually bad business to rob drow, not unless ye be sure to get away with it," the dwarf replied. " 'Course, that may be changing, but no' so fast that I'll chance it today."

Valas jingled a pouch in front of the duergar and dropped it into his hand. The dwarf immediately poured out its contents into his big, weathered palm, appraising the gemstones there before scooping them back into the pouch.

"Ye must be in a rush, or yer man here might've struck a better bargain. Ah, well, ye drow don't appreciate a good gemstone, anyway."

He turned and stumped away into the darkness.

"That's the last you'll see of him," Jeggred said. "You should have waited to pay him."

"He insisted on it," Valas said. "He said something about wanting to make sure we didn't kill him to recover the fare." The scout looked after the duergar, and shrugged. "I don't think he would cheat us. If he was that kind of duergar, well, he wouldn't last long in Mantol-Derith. People here don't take kindly to being cheated."

"He can secure safe pa.s.sage through Gracklstugh?" Ryld asked.

Valas spread his hands and replied, "We'll have to carry some kind of doc.u.ments or letters, which Coalhewer can arrange for us. I think it's some kind of mercantile license."

"We're carrying no goods," Pharaun observed dryly. "Doesn't that explanation seem a little thin?"

"I told him that Lady Quenthel's family has business holdings in Eryndlyn she wishes to check on, and that if she finds things in order, she might be interested in negotiating for the services of duergar teamsters to transport her goods across Gracklstugh's territory. I also implied that Coalhewer might do well to make himself a part of the arrangement."

Pharaun didn't have time to reply before the cavern echoed softly with the stealthy padding of numerous feet. The dark elves glanced up from the fire to see a large band of bugbear warriors approaching, led by the two mercenaries who had fled a few minutes before. At least a dozen of their fellows followed close behind them, axes and spiked flails dangling from hairy paws, murder in their eyes. The other patrons of Dinnka's inn began to slip away from their places, seeking safer environs. The hulking humanoids muttered and growled to each other in their own tongue.

"Tell me," said Valas, "did someone happen to kill, maim, or humiliate a bugbear when I was talking with Coalhewer?" The scout glanced back at the others, and at Jeggred, who shrugged. He sighed. "Was I unclear when I advised against starting fights here?"

"There was a misunderstanding over the seating arrangements," Quenthel explained.

Ryld stood, threw his cloak over his shoulder to clear his arms for fighting, and said, "Should've guessed there might be more of them nearby."

"Time to remind these stupid creatures of the order of things," Halisstra remarked.

Quenthel stood and drew her five-headed whip, eyeing the approaching warriors with a wry smile.

"Jeggred?" she said.

Gromph Baenre stood on a balcony high above Menzoberranzan, studying the dim faerielights of the drow city. He had been waiting for nearly an hour, and his patience was almost exhausted. Under most circ.u.mstances an hour here or an hour there would have meant nothing to a dark elf with centuries of life behind him, but this was different. The archmage waited in fear, dreading the arrival of the one who had summoned him to this clandestine encounter. It was not a sensation Gromph was accustomed to, and he found that he did not care for it at all. He had, of course, taken extreme steps to protect his person, girding himself with an array of formidable defensive spells and a carefully considered selection of protective magical devices. The archmage was not entirely confident that those precautions would deter the one who came to meet him in that lonely, windswept spot.

"Gromph Baenre," a voice, cold and rasping, greeted him. Before the archmage even began to turn, he felt the presence of the other, an icy chill that somehow managed to sink past his defenses, the smell of great and terrible magic. "How good of you to accept my invitation. It has been a long time, has it not?"

The ancient sorcerer Dyrr approached from the shadows at the back of the balcony, leaning on his great staff, his feet seeming not to move at all as he glided forward in a rustle of robes no quicker than an old man's shuffle.