Datasets:

KATANABRAVE

/

stories

like 0

dnd100

I can only estimate at how much of the magical containment has eroded in the time since I was last here, and can only wildly guess at when that erosion will allow the beast to break free of its bonds.The erosion seems substantial.”“Then this journey is a fool’s errand,” said Kipper.“Let us not dive into grim Kipper’s well of eternal darkness,” Penelope scolded, and managed a smile at the often dour old mage as she did.“The magic is here to hold the beast, and has done so for millennia.We need only find a way renew that power.”“I have seen the pit,” Catti-brie reminded her.“Not all the wizards of the Ivy Mansion could control a small fraction of the water elementals dancing along the walls of the primordial’s cage if they did nothing else, not even sleep or eat.It would take all the wizards of the world, Elminster himself and Khelben beside him, and with a renewed Mystra with her hands upon their shoulders.”“So often do we make wide eyes at the ancient relics and powers we uncover,” Penelope interrupted.“We gasp in astonishment and awe at that which those long past have made and have done.When really, if we look closer, we oft find that their ways can be replicated, their artifacts reproduced, their marvelous engineering improved upon.Are we to surrender hope now, then?Is this escape a foregone conclusion?For if so, then go to your father, King Bruenor, and tell him that we must be gone from this place.”“That one wouldn’t listen,” Kipper muttered.“No,” Catti-brie answered.“It has not happened, so it is not a certainty.”“Then lead us, and let us investigate more, discuss more, and reason more, and let us see what we shall see,” said Penelope.“Did you come to this particular place at the primordial’s call?”Catti-brie looked around.They were in the same area as where she had helped Bruenor and Drizzt turn the tide on the kobolds, and the monsters had been sent running.Back the way she had come, toward the throne room, the dwarves were hard at work repairing doors and patching corridors, and the other way, deeper into the complex, many dwarves had gone, securing the next steps in the reclamation of Gauntlgrym.Drizzt was out there too, patrolling the corridors ahead of Bruenor’s battle force.“I came to learn what I might now that the region is secured from the kobolds,” she answered.“Not so secure that you should be out alone.”“But I am not alone, am I?”Penelope smiled.“Lead on, my friend.”Catti-brie turned back to the mound.With a slow breath, she placed her hands upon the glowing pile once more, and followed its tendrils.She visualized the main vein, reaching back to the primordial pit, and noted, too, the tributaries.Most were new, she understood, and tiny and inconsequential—for now—but one seemed quite old to her, a continuation of this same ancient vein that had produced the eruption point.She nodded to her left, toward the mines, the natural tunnels that ran alongside the area the ancient Delzoun dwarves had carved out as the upper chambers of their homeland.“They’ve got the mines blocked just outside of the throne room,” Penelope said.

I can only estimate at how much of the magical containment has eroded in the time since I was last here, and can only wildly guess at when that erosion will allow the beast to break free of its bonds.The erosion seems substantial.”“Then this journey is a fool’s errand,” said Kipper.“Let us not dive into grim Kipper’s well of eternal darkness,” Penelope scolded, and managed a smile at the often dour old mage as she did.“The magic is here to hold the beast, and has done so for millennia.We need only find a way renew that power.”“I have seen the pit,” Catti-brie reminded her.“Not all the wizards of the Ivy Mansion could control a small fraction of the water elementals dancing along the walls of the primordial’s cage if they did nothing else, not even sleep or eat.It would take all the wizards of the world, Elminster himself and Khelben beside him, and with a renewed Mystra with her hands upon their shoulders.”“So often do we make wide eyes at the ancient relics and powers we uncover,” Penelope interrupted.“We gasp in astonishment and awe at that which those long past have made and have done.When really, if we look closer, we oft find that their ways can be replicated, their artifacts reproduced, their marvelous engineering improved upon.Are we to surrender hope now, then?Is this escape a foregone conclusion?For if so, then go to your father, King Bruenor, and tell him that we must be gone from this place.”“That one wouldn’t listen,” Kipper muttered.“No,” Catti-brie answered.“It has not happened, so it is not a certainty.”“Then lead us, and let us investigate more, discuss more, and reason more, and let us see what we shall see,” said Penelope.“Did you come to this particular place at the primordial’s call?”Catti-brie looked around.They were in the same area as where she had helped Bruenor and Drizzt turn the tide on the kobolds, and the monsters had been sent running.Back the way she had come, toward the throne room, the dwarves were hard at work repairing doors and patching corridors, and the other way, deeper into the complex, many dwarves had gone, securing the next steps in the reclamation of Gauntlgrym.Drizzt was out there too, patrolling the corridors ahead of Bruenor’s battle force.“I came to learn what I might now that the region is secured from the kobolds,” she answered.“Not so secure that you should be out alone.”“But I am not alone, am I?”Penelope smiled.“Lead on, my friend.”Catti-brie turned back to the mound.With a slow breath, she placed her hands upon the glowing pile once more, and followed its tendrils.She visualized the main vein, reaching back to the primordial pit, and noted, too, the tributaries.Most were new, she understood, and tiny and inconsequential—for now—but one seemed quite old to her, a continuation of this same ancient vein that had produced the eruption point.She nodded to her left, toward the mines, the natural tunnels that ran alongside the area the ancient Delzoun dwarves had carved out as the upper chambers of their homeland.“They’ve got the mines blocked just outside of the throne room,” Penelope said.

dnd101

“They’ll not let us pass through.”As she spoke, though, old Kipper moved to the chamber’s left-hand wall.He muttered a few words in the arcane tongue of wizards and brought his hands up, feeling the stone.“Kipper?” Penelope asked.“Not so thick here,” the old mage replied with a wink.“And a nest of drow on the other side?”“Now, now,” Kipper teased.“Let us not dive into grim Penelope’s well of eternal darkness.”That brought a laugh from both of the women.“You’ve a passwall enchantment prepared, no doubt,” Catti-brie said dryly.“Several,” Kipper confirmed.“And a few dimensional doorways ready as well.Very handy spells when navigating a maze, especially when one is fleeing hordes of enemies, you know.”Catti-brie shrugged.“I do now.”“Shall we see what we can see?” Kipper asked, rubbing his hands together, and before either had begun to answer, the old mage began his spellcasting.Soon after, a section of the room’s wall disappeared, creating a ten-foot deep tunnel that ended in more solid stone.“Not to worry, the next will get us through!’ Kipper assured them, walking forward and beginning a second spell.As he did so, Penelope conjured a stronger magical light, placing it on the end of her long staff.Shortly after, the three entered the naturally sloped tunnels of the complex’s northern mines.They lingered about the magical opening for a bit, protecting the unexpectedly opened flank of the dwarf workers, and when the passwall effect ended, the solid stone returning, the three made their way, side by side, down into the maze of ancient mines.THE KOBOLD DIED without a sound, and fell to the ground with not a whisper of noise, guided expertly by a strong dark hand.Drizzt stepped over the body, slowing only a moment to wipe his bloodied scimitar on the creature’s ragged fur.On he went, picking his way from door to door, through rooms that looked as they had millennia before, and others that had been twisted and blasted, ravaged by time, by the eruption of the volcano, and by other mighty denizens of the Underdark.At one point, Drizzt found a tunnel that had most likely been cut by an umber hulk entering a side wall to a narrow room and exiting through the opposite wall.The floor between the tunnel holes showed the deep scratches reminiscent of an umber hulk’s powerfully clawed feet, leaving an impression as clearly on the solid stone as a bear might leave on a forest’s dirt path.A closer inspection of the tunnel edges showed Drizzt that this was not a new cut, but neither was it centuries old.The drow nodded, reminded of the many obstacles the dwarves would find in trying to fully reclaim and reopen this place.Complexes like Gauntlgrym, so vast and far-reaching, tied to mines that wound deeper into other Underdark tunnels, would not remain empty in a land where creatures benign and malignant alike were always seeking security … or food.Drizzt moved along, as invisible as a shadow in a lightless room, so quiet that the skittering of a rat would sound more akin to the scrabbling of a tunneling umber hulk beside him.He kept his bearings at all times, and occasionally heard the ring of a dwarven hammer, another comforting reminder that he was not too far outside the perimeter of the lands Bruenor’s kin had tamed.But then he came upon the remains of a most curious encampment.Someone had set a cooking fire—Drizzt had never known kobolds to cook their food, or at least had never known them to go to such trouble as to cook their food in an environment with little kindling to burn.He noted a footprint in some soot residue.“Drow?” he whispered under his breath, for the boot was too thin, its edges too refined, to be something he would expect from a kobold, and the step appeared far too light to be that of an orc or even a human.He searched the small room and happened upon a curious parchment, a wrapper, he knew, much like those surface elves used to preserve their foodstuffs when they journeyed the open road.Some scratches in the wall not far from that caught his eye.No, not scratches, he realized upon closer inspection—someone had purposely and efficiently cut deep lines—letters!—into the hard stone.Drizzt recognized the lettering as Elvish, surface Elvish and not Drow, though he did not know the word they spelled out.“ ‘Tierf,’ ” he read aloud, his expression quizzical.He looked back at the cuts, marveling at the sharp edges and clean lines.Some fabulous tool had been employed.Drizzt stood back up as if he had been slapped.“Tierflin?” he asked more than said, his thoughts going to Sinnafein’s dead son, and by extension, to Tos’un Armgo, whom he knew to be in possession of Khazid’hea, a sword that could so gracefully and easily mar any but the hardest of stones.Was Tos’un Armgo in this place?No, it could not be.Tos’un had died on the mountainside of Fourthpeak, crashing down with the smaller white dragon sent spiraling to the mountainside by Tazmikella and Ilnezhara and finished off by Brother Afafrenfere.Drizzt had seen that firsthand.Doum’wielle, perhaps, the daughter of Tos’un and Sinnafein, who had reportedly run off with the sword?Why would she be in here?How could she be in here?Drizzt shook his head.More likely the dark elves had taken the blade from her—it was a drow sword, after all—but then, how would they know, or care, to so inscribe those letters into the stone?Drizzt shook his head yet again, not quite certain how it could be.

“They’ll not let us pass through.”As she spoke, though, old Kipper moved to the chamber’s left-hand wall.He muttered a few words in the arcane tongue of wizards and brought his hands up, feeling the stone.“Kipper?” Penelope asked.“Not so thick here,” the old mage replied with a wink.“And a nest of drow on the other side?”“Now, now,” Kipper teased.“Let us not dive into grim Penelope’s well of eternal darkness.”That brought a laugh from both of the women.“You’ve a passwall enchantment prepared, no doubt,” Catti-brie said dryly.“Several,” Kipper confirmed.“And a few dimensional doorways ready as well.Very handy spells when navigating a maze, especially when one is fleeing hordes of enemies, you know.”Catti-brie shrugged.“I do now.”“Shall we see what we can see?” Kipper asked, rubbing his hands together, and before either had begun to answer, the old mage began his spellcasting.Soon after, a section of the room’s wall disappeared, creating a ten-foot deep tunnel that ended in more solid stone.“Not to worry, the next will get us through!’ Kipper assured them, walking forward and beginning a second spell.As he did so, Penelope conjured a stronger magical light, placing it on the end of her long staff.Shortly after, the three entered the naturally sloped tunnels of the complex’s northern mines.They lingered about the magical opening for a bit, protecting the unexpectedly opened flank of the dwarf workers, and when the passwall effect ended, the solid stone returning, the three made their way, side by side, down into the maze of ancient mines.THE KOBOLD DIED without a sound, and fell to the ground with not a whisper of noise, guided expertly by a strong dark hand.Drizzt stepped over the body, slowing only a moment to wipe his bloodied scimitar on the creature’s ragged fur.On he went, picking his way from door to door, through rooms that looked as they had millennia before, and others that had been twisted and blasted, ravaged by time, by the eruption of the volcano, and by other mighty denizens of the Underdark.At one point, Drizzt found a tunnel that had most likely been cut by an umber hulk entering a side wall to a narrow room and exiting through the opposite wall.The floor between the tunnel holes showed the deep scratches reminiscent of an umber hulk’s powerfully clawed feet, leaving an impression as clearly on the solid stone as a bear might leave on a forest’s dirt path.A closer inspection of the tunnel edges showed Drizzt that this was not a new cut, but neither was it centuries old.The drow nodded, reminded of the many obstacles the dwarves would find in trying to fully reclaim and reopen this place.Complexes like Gauntlgrym, so vast and far-reaching, tied to mines that wound deeper into other Underdark tunnels, would not remain empty in a land where creatures benign and malignant alike were always seeking security … or food.Drizzt moved along, as invisible as a shadow in a lightless room, so quiet that the skittering of a rat would sound more akin to the scrabbling of a tunneling umber hulk beside him.He kept his bearings at all times, and occasionally heard the ring of a dwarven hammer, another comforting reminder that he was not too far outside the perimeter of the lands Bruenor’s kin had tamed.But then he came upon the remains of a most curious encampment.Someone had set a cooking fire—Drizzt had never known kobolds to cook their food, or at least had never known them to go to such trouble as to cook their food in an environment with little kindling to burn.He noted a footprint in some soot residue.“Drow?” he whispered under his breath, for the boot was too thin, its edges too refined, to be something he would expect from a kobold, and the step appeared far too light to be that of an orc or even a human.He searched the small room and happened upon a curious parchment, a wrapper, he knew, much like those surface elves used to preserve their foodstuffs when they journeyed the open road.Some scratches in the wall not far from that caught his eye.No, not scratches, he realized upon closer inspection—someone had purposely and efficiently cut deep lines—letters!—into the hard stone.Drizzt recognized the lettering as Elvish, surface Elvish and not Drow, though he did not know the word they spelled out.“ ‘Tierf,’ ” he read aloud, his expression quizzical.He looked back at the cuts, marveling at the sharp edges and clean lines.Some fabulous tool had been employed.Drizzt stood back up as if he had been slapped.“Tierflin?” he asked more than said, his thoughts going to Sinnafein’s dead son, and by extension, to Tos’un Armgo, whom he knew to be in possession of Khazid’hea, a sword that could so gracefully and easily mar any but the hardest of stones.Was Tos’un Armgo in this place?No, it could not be.Tos’un had died on the mountainside of Fourthpeak, crashing down with the smaller white dragon sent spiraling to the mountainside by Tazmikella and Ilnezhara and finished off by Brother Afafrenfere.Drizzt had seen that firsthand.Doum’wielle, perhaps, the daughter of Tos’un and Sinnafein, who had reportedly run off with the sword?Why would she be in here?How could she be in here?Drizzt shook his head.More likely the dark elves had taken the blade from her—it was a drow sword, after all—but then, how would they know, or care, to so inscribe those letters into the stone?Drizzt shook his head yet again, not quite certain how it could be.

dnd102

Those were Elvish letters, and they had been cut with a fine tool, such as Khazid’hea, but …He shook his head a third time, thoroughly flummoxed and trying hard to convince himself that he had jumped to errant conclusions.Likely the lettering had been cut into that wall in ages past, and for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom.No matter, though, for the camp was not that old, and it was not the camp of kobolds, but of some form of elves—almost certainly drow.So they, some at least, were near.Drizzt drew his blades.The unseen and unheard shadow crept from the room.The Hunter went to hunt.“PERHAPS IT TURNS, up ahead,” Kipper offered.“Or the primal beast’s tendril winds about and rejoins later on.”But Catti-brie remained resolute.“No,” she said, her hands moving across the side wall of the natural tunnel.The primordial power, the vein of the creature, passed right under them, crossing the corridor beneath their feet.“A parallel tunnel then, doubling back beside this one,” Penelope offered.Again Catti-brie shook her head.She felt the stone all around, and noted that one section seemed different, seemed somehow flatter than the more curving walls of the tunnel.“A chamber, hidden,” she said, as much to herself as to the others.“Here.”“Hidden?” Kipper asked, moving over.Behind him, Penelope began to cast a spell.“Sealed, you must mean,” Kipper said when Catti-brie directed his hands to the flatter area.“A summoned wall of stone,” Penelope announced a moment later, and both turned to regard her.She nodded her chin to indicate the exact area they had been inspecting.“The magic still resonates, quietly, though it is very, very ancient, I sense.”“The tendril goes in there?” Kipper asked again.But this time, Catti-brie shook her head.“The tendril ends in there,” she clarified, and she was as surprised by the notion as the others.“Another passwall, Kipper?” Penelope asked.“I’ve only a pair remaining, for a quick escape, if needed, or to get us back out the way we came in,” the old wizard said.“Use one,” Penelope bade him.“When we are finished, I will summon an extradimensional room where we can rest safely through the night, and you can regain your escape spells for use tomorrow.”Kipper nodded and cleared his throat.“It won’t work,” Catti-brie said with certainty before Kipper could begin his spellcasting.“Too wide a block of stone?” Penelope asked.“Too heavily warded,” Catti-brie replied, and again she was feeling about the stone.“Protected from any magic that might remove it.”“How can you know this?”Catti-brie thought about that for a moment, then surprised the others—and herself a bit—by replying, “The primordial told me.”“Our girl’s gone crazy, Penelope,” Kipper said with a snort.“Sure to make herself a proper Harpell, I suppose.”“How can the primordial know …?” Penelope started to say, but she stopped when she noted that Catti-brie was chanting, her voice thick with her brogue and her words unrecognizable, though they sounded Dwarvish.“Ainm an dee,” Catti-brie recited.“Aghaidh na Dumathoin …”The young auburn-haired mage closed her eyes and let the words flow through her.The beast was giving them to her!The ghosts of Gauntlgrym, the very memories resonating within the walls of this most ancient dwarven homeland, were offering them to her.Or perhaps they were fooling her, she worried for just an instant, playing her for a fool so that she would enact a spell that would doom them all.Catti-brie was in the thrall of the enchantment now.She felt like nothing more than a conduit—and that, too, made her worry that the primordial was using her to facilitate its breakout.She fell back as the last “dachaigh fior-charade brathair” passed her lips, the last syllable resonating about the stones and corridor, hanging in the air magically like the mournful call of a lost age.The ground began to shake.Catti-brie fell back in fear, and Penelope and Kipper caught her by the arms and ushered her back the way they had come, Kipper crying, “Run away!” with every step.A great scraping sound echoed around them and the ground trembled more forcefully, but forcefully, too, did Catti-brie break free of the others, skidding to a stop and whirling around.

Those were Elvish letters, and they had been cut with a fine tool, such as Khazid’hea, but …He shook his head a third time, thoroughly flummoxed and trying hard to convince himself that he had jumped to errant conclusions.Likely the lettering had been cut into that wall in ages past, and for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom.No matter, though, for the camp was not that old, and it was not the camp of kobolds, but of some form of elves—almost certainly drow.So they, some at least, were near.Drizzt drew his blades.The unseen and unheard shadow crept from the room.The Hunter went to hunt.“PERHAPS IT TURNS, up ahead,” Kipper offered.“Or the primal beast’s tendril winds about and rejoins later on.”But Catti-brie remained resolute.“No,” she said, her hands moving across the side wall of the natural tunnel.The primordial power, the vein of the creature, passed right under them, crossing the corridor beneath their feet.“A parallel tunnel then, doubling back beside this one,” Penelope offered.Again Catti-brie shook her head.She felt the stone all around, and noted that one section seemed different, seemed somehow flatter than the more curving walls of the tunnel.“A chamber, hidden,” she said, as much to herself as to the others.“Here.”“Hidden?” Kipper asked, moving over.Behind him, Penelope began to cast a spell.“Sealed, you must mean,” Kipper said when Catti-brie directed his hands to the flatter area.“A summoned wall of stone,” Penelope announced a moment later, and both turned to regard her.She nodded her chin to indicate the exact area they had been inspecting.“The magic still resonates, quietly, though it is very, very ancient, I sense.”“The tendril goes in there?” Kipper asked again.But this time, Catti-brie shook her head.“The tendril ends in there,” she clarified, and she was as surprised by the notion as the others.“Another passwall, Kipper?” Penelope asked.“I’ve only a pair remaining, for a quick escape, if needed, or to get us back out the way we came in,” the old wizard said.“Use one,” Penelope bade him.“When we are finished, I will summon an extradimensional room where we can rest safely through the night, and you can regain your escape spells for use tomorrow.”Kipper nodded and cleared his throat.“It won’t work,” Catti-brie said with certainty before Kipper could begin his spellcasting.“Too wide a block of stone?” Penelope asked.“Too heavily warded,” Catti-brie replied, and again she was feeling about the stone.“Protected from any magic that might remove it.”“How can you know this?”Catti-brie thought about that for a moment, then surprised the others—and herself a bit—by replying, “The primordial told me.”“Our girl’s gone crazy, Penelope,” Kipper said with a snort.“Sure to make herself a proper Harpell, I suppose.”“How can the primordial know …?” Penelope started to say, but she stopped when she noted that Catti-brie was chanting, her voice thick with her brogue and her words unrecognizable, though they sounded Dwarvish.“Ainm an dee,” Catti-brie recited.“Aghaidh na Dumathoin …”The young auburn-haired mage closed her eyes and let the words flow through her.The beast was giving them to her!The ghosts of Gauntlgrym, the very memories resonating within the walls of this most ancient dwarven homeland, were offering them to her.Or perhaps they were fooling her, she worried for just an instant, playing her for a fool so that she would enact a spell that would doom them all.Catti-brie was in the thrall of the enchantment now.She felt like nothing more than a conduit—and that, too, made her worry that the primordial was using her to facilitate its breakout.She fell back as the last “dachaigh fior-charade brathair” passed her lips, the last syllable resonating about the stones and corridor, hanging in the air magically like the mournful call of a lost age.The ground began to shake.Catti-brie fell back in fear, and Penelope and Kipper caught her by the arms and ushered her back the way they had come, Kipper crying, “Run away!” with every step.A great scraping sound echoed around them and the ground trembled more forcefully, but forcefully, too, did Catti-brie break free of the others, skidding to a stop and whirling around.

dnd103

Kipper and Penelope rushed back to grab her again, but then they, too, stopped.The wall began to rise, dust and debris, and the rock that had formed above the summoned wall of stone over the ages, the natural cladding, broke away and crashed down upon the floor.The summoned stone almost disappeared into the ceiling.Catti-brie walked to the black opening, unafraid, though truly it seemed the gaping maw of an ancient and massive beast, like the chamber of Gauntlgrym itself was waiting to devour her.“Well, what did you say?” Kipper demanded.“I’m not for knowing,” Catti-brie admitted, not even looking back.She raised one hand and cast a quick spell, bringing a globe of light up in front of her, beyond the opened portal.Even with the magical light, the small chamber beyond was not brightly lit, as if its very age was somehow battling the spell.Catti-brie went in anyway, finding herself in a perfectly rectangular, nondescript room, ten strides left and right, west and east, in front of her, but only half that wide to the other wall, the north wall, directly across from her.No, not nondescript, she realized when she stepped in and surveyed the whole of the place, for down to her right, deeper into the tunnel, along the short western wall, where three large beams of square stone, two upright and one across the top of them, and slightly askew, like a door jamb that had tilted to the left.They were against the flat wall, either leaning on it or set into it—Catti-brie couldn’t be sure.Hardly thinking of the action, Catti-brie slowly walked toward the strange formation.“Wait, girl!” she heard Kipper cry, and with such sudden alarm that she heeded his call and even looked back at him and Penelope, who had come into the small room.“What is it?” Penelope asked.Kipper blew a deep sigh and reached into his pouch for the skull-sized gemstone.“It’s the ancient gate,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper—he could not find the strength to lift his voice above a whisper.“How can you know?” Penelope asked, and Catti-brie asked at the same time, “How can ye be knowin’?”But then, before Kipper could answer, Catti-brie spoke for him.“The primordial’s powering it,” she said.Both women looked at Kipper.“The beast granted them some magic?” Kipper asked.“Perhaps, yes, it would make sense.The dwarves used it to give them the power for their waygate, and the beast gained a measure of freedom for its troubles—a mutually beneficial arrangement.”“You can’t know that,” said Penelope.“We can’t know anything for sure,” Kipper shot back.“We are speaking of construction and magic that is older than the oldest elves.Millennia, we are talking, not centuries!”“But your guess is correct,” Catti-brie said.“At least partially so.”“The primordial told you that, as well?” Penelope asked, and Catti-brie shrugged and nodded.“One way to know for sure,” Kipper announced, and he moved forward, past Catti-brie, gemstone in hand.He studied the two standing stone beams for a moment, then gave a laugh and set the skull-sized gem into the one on the left.The space within the jamb burst into flame, and Kipper fell back, yelping in terror.Catti-brie and Penelope caught him, the three watching in amazement as the fires burned and roiled within the confines of the jamb, but then gradually diminished before flying away entirely, as if sucked into the opposing beam.“The second gem,” Kipper realized.“We need the second gem to keep the magic contained within the portal.”“We do not have a second gem,” Catti-brie reminded him.“Well of course not!” said Kipper.“But that is what we need to activate and hold open the portal.”“The fire, you mean,” Penelope corrected.“Who would walk into such a thing as that?”But Catti-brie was thinking along different lines, remembering the clairvoyance spells she had enacted when staring into the flames.Others saw fires as individual events, contained in the stones of an oven, perhaps, or in a campfire, or on a torch.But Catti-brie, with her ring and with the primordial of Gauntlgrym whispering to her, understood differently.All the flames were alive—indeed, all part of a singular living entity, the Elemental Plane of Fire.They could phase into her plane of existence, coaxed by flint and steel or the strike of lightning, or any other manner, but even though those summoned flames seemed like individual events, they retained their ties to that other plane of existence, where they were all one.So Catti-brie could look into a hearth in Mithral Hall and see through it, through the Elemental Plane of Fire, and to the hearth of King Emerus in Citadel Felbarr.So here, a dwarf could enter the portal and travel through the flames to a corresponding gate in another location, could literally step into the Elemental Plane of Fire and step out again back to the Prime Material Plane on the other end.So the primordial was telling her.So her instincts and her memories of her clairvoyance spell were telling her.But still she shook her head, not convinced that this wasn’t some trick.

Kipper and Penelope rushed back to grab her again, but then they, too, stopped.The wall began to rise, dust and debris, and the rock that had formed above the summoned wall of stone over the ages, the natural cladding, broke away and crashed down upon the floor.The summoned stone almost disappeared into the ceiling.Catti-brie walked to the black opening, unafraid, though truly it seemed the gaping maw of an ancient and massive beast, like the chamber of Gauntlgrym itself was waiting to devour her.“Well, what did you say?” Kipper demanded.“I’m not for knowing,” Catti-brie admitted, not even looking back.She raised one hand and cast a quick spell, bringing a globe of light up in front of her, beyond the opened portal.Even with the magical light, the small chamber beyond was not brightly lit, as if its very age was somehow battling the spell.Catti-brie went in anyway, finding herself in a perfectly rectangular, nondescript room, ten strides left and right, west and east, in front of her, but only half that wide to the other wall, the north wall, directly across from her.No, not nondescript, she realized when she stepped in and surveyed the whole of the place, for down to her right, deeper into the tunnel, along the short western wall, where three large beams of square stone, two upright and one across the top of them, and slightly askew, like a door jamb that had tilted to the left.They were against the flat wall, either leaning on it or set into it—Catti-brie couldn’t be sure.Hardly thinking of the action, Catti-brie slowly walked toward the strange formation.“Wait, girl!” she heard Kipper cry, and with such sudden alarm that she heeded his call and even looked back at him and Penelope, who had come into the small room.“What is it?” Penelope asked.Kipper blew a deep sigh and reached into his pouch for the skull-sized gemstone.“It’s the ancient gate,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper—he could not find the strength to lift his voice above a whisper.“How can you know?” Penelope asked, and Catti-brie asked at the same time, “How can ye be knowin’?”But then, before Kipper could answer, Catti-brie spoke for him.“The primordial’s powering it,” she said.Both women looked at Kipper.“The beast granted them some magic?” Kipper asked.“Perhaps, yes, it would make sense.The dwarves used it to give them the power for their waygate, and the beast gained a measure of freedom for its troubles—a mutually beneficial arrangement.”“You can’t know that,” said Penelope.“We can’t know anything for sure,” Kipper shot back.“We are speaking of construction and magic that is older than the oldest elves.Millennia, we are talking, not centuries!”“But your guess is correct,” Catti-brie said.“At least partially so.”“The primordial told you that, as well?” Penelope asked, and Catti-brie shrugged and nodded.“One way to know for sure,” Kipper announced, and he moved forward, past Catti-brie, gemstone in hand.He studied the two standing stone beams for a moment, then gave a laugh and set the skull-sized gem into the one on the left.The space within the jamb burst into flame, and Kipper fell back, yelping in terror.Catti-brie and Penelope caught him, the three watching in amazement as the fires burned and roiled within the confines of the jamb, but then gradually diminished before flying away entirely, as if sucked into the opposing beam.“The second gem,” Kipper realized.“We need the second gem to keep the magic contained within the portal.”“We do not have a second gem,” Catti-brie reminded him.“Well of course not!” said Kipper.“But that is what we need to activate and hold open the portal.”“The fire, you mean,” Penelope corrected.“Who would walk into such a thing as that?”But Catti-brie was thinking along different lines, remembering the clairvoyance spells she had enacted when staring into the flames.Others saw fires as individual events, contained in the stones of an oven, perhaps, or in a campfire, or on a torch.But Catti-brie, with her ring and with the primordial of Gauntlgrym whispering to her, understood differently.All the flames were alive—indeed, all part of a singular living entity, the Elemental Plane of Fire.They could phase into her plane of existence, coaxed by flint and steel or the strike of lightning, or any other manner, but even though those summoned flames seemed like individual events, they retained their ties to that other plane of existence, where they were all one.So Catti-brie could look into a hearth in Mithral Hall and see through it, through the Elemental Plane of Fire, and to the hearth of King Emerus in Citadel Felbarr.So here, a dwarf could enter the portal and travel through the flames to a corresponding gate in another location, could literally step into the Elemental Plane of Fire and step out again back to the Prime Material Plane on the other end.So the primordial was telling her.So her instincts and her memories of her clairvoyance spell were telling her.But still she shook her head, not convinced that this wasn’t some trick.

dnd104

Would she find a way to empower the gate, only to have Bruenor or another step in and get incinerated?“Retrieve your gem,” she told Kipper, “and let us be gone from here, back to Bruenor and the others to relay our discovery.”“Shouldn’t we inspect it a bit more?” Kipper asked, his eager tone showing that he clearly believed they should.“Me Da will get answers on the Throne of the Dwarf Gods,” Catti-brie said.“We have other riddles to solve.”“Like?”“Like finding the other gem,” the young woman said.Kipper retrieved the gemstone and the three went back into the hallway, Catti-brie turning back to the doorway and casting another spell, her accent returning heavily, a brogue so thick and words so foreign that it seemed to the others, even to her, as if she wasn’t actually speaking the words but rather that they were being spoken through her.The wall grumbled and groaned and slowly lowered back into place, sealing without a seam to be found.“But the cladding is gone from it,” Penelope said when Catti-brie motioned for them to leave.“Anyone coming this way will see the revealed magical stone.”“And none will get through it,” Catti-brie assured her.“None save those who have become intimate with the primordial guardian of Gauntlgrym, it would seem,” old Kipper whispered sarcastically, but loud enough for both his companions to hear.“MORE FIGHTIN’ IN the east,” Bruenor said.“Aye, the boys’re battlin’ for every room,” Emerus agreed.“Kobolds, goblins, orcs, and them damned ugly birdman creatures.Stubborn things.But not a drow yet to be seen.”“They’re holding tight about the Forge and the lower mines, not to doubt,” said Bruenor.“Them orcs we caught’re sayin’ as much,” Ragged Dain interjected.“So fightin’ now and tougher fightin’ ahead,” Bruenor acknowledged.“We never thinked it’d be any different, eh?”“Eh,” Emerus agreed.“Good news coming from th’ other way, though,” said Ragged Dain.“Connerad’s got the tunnel cleared and almost secured all the way to the dale.Once he’s done with his fortifyin’, we’ll get another five hunnerd warriors back to clean the rooms!”The door to the war room opened then and Catti-brie entered, flanked by Penelope and Kipper.“What do ye know, girl?” Bruenor asked.“We got many wounded needing yer spells!”“Aye, I saw Ambergris on me way here,” Catti-brie answered, and both Penelope and Kipper turned to regard her curiously as she slipped once more into her Dwarvish accent.“So where ye been?” Bruenor asked.“Chasin’ the durned elf?”“Chasing the spreading veins of the primordial, more accurately,” Penelope replied, drawing concerned looks from all the dwarves in the room.“A tendril that’s been in place since the founding o’ Gauntlgrym, I’d guess,” Catti-brie quickly added.“And one that’s showin’ me and me friends here clues about the powers yer ancestors gained from their fiery pet.”“What do ye know?” Emerus asked.Catti-brie shrugged and shook her head.“Nothing to tell right now.But soon, I’m hoping.”“But we’re not to fear this … vein o’ fire?” Emerus pressed.“The being’s not breaking free,” Catti-brie assured him.In her mind, she completed the thought with “not yet, at least,” but she held that part silent.“Just finding a bit of exercise,” Penelope added.“The primordial seems to see your girl here as a bit of an ally.”“My guess would be that the primordial isn’t happy about having the dark elves holding its home in their thrall,” said Kipper.“From what Catti-brie has told us of their altar right in the primordial’s chamber, I suspect the ancient being might consider their religious antics akin to a bit of sacrilege.”“Are ye sayin’ the beast might be helpin’ us, then?” Bruenor and Emerus asked together, and both with equally hopeful tones.Catti-brie quickly dispelled that notion.“The primordial’s not viewing the world as we mortals might.Through some fortunate magic, I been able to gain some insights from the great being—I find meself less inclined to call it a beast!”“She’s talking to it,” Kipper explained.“In fits and starts and nothing much more,” Catti-brie added before Kipper had even finished.She wanted no misperceptions, and no false hope.

Would she find a way to empower the gate, only to have Bruenor or another step in and get incinerated?“Retrieve your gem,” she told Kipper, “and let us be gone from here, back to Bruenor and the others to relay our discovery.”“Shouldn’t we inspect it a bit more?” Kipper asked, his eager tone showing that he clearly believed they should.“Me Da will get answers on the Throne of the Dwarf Gods,” Catti-brie said.“We have other riddles to solve.”“Like?”“Like finding the other gem,” the young woman said.Kipper retrieved the gemstone and the three went back into the hallway, Catti-brie turning back to the doorway and casting another spell, her accent returning heavily, a brogue so thick and words so foreign that it seemed to the others, even to her, as if she wasn’t actually speaking the words but rather that they were being spoken through her.The wall grumbled and groaned and slowly lowered back into place, sealing without a seam to be found.“But the cladding is gone from it,” Penelope said when Catti-brie motioned for them to leave.“Anyone coming this way will see the revealed magical stone.”“And none will get through it,” Catti-brie assured her.“None save those who have become intimate with the primordial guardian of Gauntlgrym, it would seem,” old Kipper whispered sarcastically, but loud enough for both his companions to hear.“MORE FIGHTIN’ IN the east,” Bruenor said.“Aye, the boys’re battlin’ for every room,” Emerus agreed.“Kobolds, goblins, orcs, and them damned ugly birdman creatures.Stubborn things.But not a drow yet to be seen.”“They’re holding tight about the Forge and the lower mines, not to doubt,” said Bruenor.“Them orcs we caught’re sayin’ as much,” Ragged Dain interjected.“So fightin’ now and tougher fightin’ ahead,” Bruenor acknowledged.“We never thinked it’d be any different, eh?”“Eh,” Emerus agreed.“Good news coming from th’ other way, though,” said Ragged Dain.“Connerad’s got the tunnel cleared and almost secured all the way to the dale.Once he’s done with his fortifyin’, we’ll get another five hunnerd warriors back to clean the rooms!”The door to the war room opened then and Catti-brie entered, flanked by Penelope and Kipper.“What do ye know, girl?” Bruenor asked.“We got many wounded needing yer spells!”“Aye, I saw Ambergris on me way here,” Catti-brie answered, and both Penelope and Kipper turned to regard her curiously as she slipped once more into her Dwarvish accent.“So where ye been?” Bruenor asked.“Chasin’ the durned elf?”“Chasing the spreading veins of the primordial, more accurately,” Penelope replied, drawing concerned looks from all the dwarves in the room.“A tendril that’s been in place since the founding o’ Gauntlgrym, I’d guess,” Catti-brie quickly added.“And one that’s showin’ me and me friends here clues about the powers yer ancestors gained from their fiery pet.”“What do ye know?” Emerus asked.Catti-brie shrugged and shook her head.“Nothing to tell right now.But soon, I’m hoping.”“But we’re not to fear this … vein o’ fire?” Emerus pressed.“The being’s not breaking free,” Catti-brie assured him.In her mind, she completed the thought with “not yet, at least,” but she held that part silent.“Just finding a bit of exercise,” Penelope added.“The primordial seems to see your girl here as a bit of an ally.”“My guess would be that the primordial isn’t happy about having the dark elves holding its home in their thrall,” said Kipper.“From what Catti-brie has told us of their altar right in the primordial’s chamber, I suspect the ancient being might consider their religious antics akin to a bit of sacrilege.”“Are ye sayin’ the beast might be helpin’ us, then?” Bruenor and Emerus asked together, and both with equally hopeful tones.Catti-brie quickly dispelled that notion.“The primordial’s not viewing the world as we mortals might.Through some fortunate magic, I been able to gain some insights from the great being—I find meself less inclined to call it a beast!”“She’s talking to it,” Kipper explained.“In fits and starts and nothing much more,” Catti-brie added before Kipper had even finished.She wanted no misperceptions, and no false hope.

dnd105

There might be ways in which she could turn her connection to the primordial and to the Elemental Plane of Fire into a benefit in these battles, as she had done with the kobolds, but it was nothing she wished the dwarves to factor into their planning, for indeed it was nothing Catti-brie would even dare depend upon.She did hold out some hopes, though.The magma elemental the primordial had spat up to her on the ledge in the drow altar room had aided her in turning the battle against Dahlia and the great construct spiders the drow had set out as guards.“Most help I can be would be looking to the flame, looking into the flame, and looking through the flame to get us a glimpse of what’s what in the lower levels,” she said.“If other chances come up, like blowing up some kobold bombs, I’ll be using them, don’t ye doubt.”That seemed to satisfy Bruenor and the gathered dwarves, who nodded their appreciation one after the other.Catti-brie was glad of that, and glad to leave it at that.She didn’t want to get their hopes up.There was a tentative nature to all of this, and a level of power she knew she could never control if it found a way to break free.Most of all, her communion with the primordial had taught her respect for the primal being—it seemed to her as strong as a god!More than helping her, it wanted to escape, to erupt again in all its magnificent and destructive glory.And Catti-brie knew something else, without the slightest bit of doubt: the magic of the Hosttower of the Arcane was truly failing, and if that erosion could not be stopped, even reversed, the reign of the dwarves in Gauntlgrym, should they retake the complex, would be short indeed, and would end explosively.CHAPTER 13The Sigh of Two MatronsKOBOLDS,” TSABRAK TOLD MATRON MOTHER ZEERITH WHEN HE returned to her in her private chambers, just off Q’Zorlarrin’s forge room.“Chased from the upper chambers.”“Yet the kobolds knew we were here,” Zeerith said ominously.“And still they came,” Tsabrak agreed.“Some prostrated themselves on the floor and begged us to make of them slaves.”“The dwarves are formidable.”“It is an army,” the archmage of Q’Xorlarrin stated.“An army.Not an expeditionary force.An army that could press Menzoberranzan, for a bit at least.”“An army that will overrun us?” Matron Mother Zeerith asked.“We are formidable with wizards, but it appears that the dwarves have brought more than a few of their own,” Tsabrak replied.“Matron Mother Baenre knows.”“These are the dwarves of the citadels of the Silver Marches, where Baenre waged war.Of course she knows.”“She is waiting for me to call for help.”The Archmage of Q’Xorlarrin nodded.“To grovel,” Matron Mother Zeerith said.She lowered her face and closed her eyes, considering her play.Things had not gone well for her in the last couple years.She had lost Brack’thal, her Elderboy, as well as her powerful daughter Berellip, to a party come to rescue the captives brought to her fledgling city by the impetuous and impossible Tiago Baenre.She had lost Saribel and Ravel, her other two children, to House Do’Urden where they now served as nobles.Perhaps Saribel would rise to the level of matron mother there in time, as she was married to Tiago, but as of now, neither of the powerful Xorlarrin nobles were available to Zeerith.And she needed them.“Has Kiriy returned from her communion?” she asked without opening her eyes.“Not yet.I expect she has much to inquire about with the Spider Queen.”Now Zeerith did open her eyes, and she lifted an unappreciative glare at Tsabrak, hardly in the mood for his quips.His shrug reminded her, though, that his position had become more tentative than her own.

There might be ways in which she could turn her connection to the primordial and to the Elemental Plane of Fire into a benefit in these battles, as she had done with the kobolds, but it was nothing she wished the dwarves to factor into their planning, for indeed it was nothing Catti-brie would even dare depend upon.She did hold out some hopes, though.The magma elemental the primordial had spat up to her on the ledge in the drow altar room had aided her in turning the battle against Dahlia and the great construct spiders the drow had set out as guards.“Most help I can be would be looking to the flame, looking into the flame, and looking through the flame to get us a glimpse of what’s what in the lower levels,” she said.“If other chances come up, like blowing up some kobold bombs, I’ll be using them, don’t ye doubt.”That seemed to satisfy Bruenor and the gathered dwarves, who nodded their appreciation one after the other.Catti-brie was glad of that, and glad to leave it at that.She didn’t want to get their hopes up.There was a tentative nature to all of this, and a level of power she knew she could never control if it found a way to break free.Most of all, her communion with the primordial had taught her respect for the primal being—it seemed to her as strong as a god!More than helping her, it wanted to escape, to erupt again in all its magnificent and destructive glory.And Catti-brie knew something else, without the slightest bit of doubt: the magic of the Hosttower of the Arcane was truly failing, and if that erosion could not be stopped, even reversed, the reign of the dwarves in Gauntlgrym, should they retake the complex, would be short indeed, and would end explosively.CHAPTER 13The Sigh of Two MatronsKOBOLDS,” TSABRAK TOLD MATRON MOTHER ZEERITH WHEN HE returned to her in her private chambers, just off Q’Zorlarrin’s forge room.“Chased from the upper chambers.”“Yet the kobolds knew we were here,” Zeerith said ominously.“And still they came,” Tsabrak agreed.“Some prostrated themselves on the floor and begged us to make of them slaves.”“The dwarves are formidable.”“It is an army,” the archmage of Q’Xorlarrin stated.“An army.Not an expeditionary force.An army that could press Menzoberranzan, for a bit at least.”“An army that will overrun us?” Matron Mother Zeerith asked.“We are formidable with wizards, but it appears that the dwarves have brought more than a few of their own,” Tsabrak replied.“Matron Mother Baenre knows.”“These are the dwarves of the citadels of the Silver Marches, where Baenre waged war.Of course she knows.”“She is waiting for me to call for help.”The Archmage of Q’Xorlarrin nodded.“To grovel,” Matron Mother Zeerith said.She lowered her face and closed her eyes, considering her play.Things had not gone well for her in the last couple years.She had lost Brack’thal, her Elderboy, as well as her powerful daughter Berellip, to a party come to rescue the captives brought to her fledgling city by the impetuous and impossible Tiago Baenre.She had lost Saribel and Ravel, her other two children, to House Do’Urden where they now served as nobles.Perhaps Saribel would rise to the level of matron mother there in time, as she was married to Tiago, but as of now, neither of the powerful Xorlarrin nobles were available to Zeerith.And she needed them.“Has Kiriy returned from her communion?” she asked without opening her eyes.“Not yet.I expect she has much to inquire about with the Spider Queen.”Now Zeerith did open her eyes, and she lifted an unappreciative glare at Tsabrak, hardly in the mood for his quips.His shrug reminded her, though, that his position had become more tentative than her own.

dnd106

Tsabrak had channeled the word of Lolth, enacting the Darkening over the Silver Marches.But that Darkening was no more, and Tsabrak and Zeerith could only take that as a sign that the Spider Queen’s defeat in her quest to attain the Weave had left her reeling and retreating from arcane magic.And that very thing, arcane magic, had been Q’Xorlarrin’s play!This House, more than any other in Menzoberranzan or any other drow city, stood to gain the most in the event that Lolth continued to turn her attention to the Weave and the domain of Mystra.The Xorlarrin family had long embraced wizardry, and had elevated the male wizards to stations equal to the roles of the female priestesses—privately, of course.But were they now falling out of favor with Lolth, Matron Mother Zeerith had to wonder?Was it an accident that the dwarf army now appeared in the upper chambers of their fledgling city?“What word from Faelas and Jaemas?” she asked, referring to the two Xorlarrin nobles who had continued to serve as Masters of Sorcere back in Menzoberranzan and had not yet been called to Q’Xorlarrin.“The same word.Demons roam the city.All of the Houses are bringing them forth, and in great numbers.Archmage Gromph has recalled Marilith, though she was reportedly recently slain by the weapons master of House Barrison Del’Armgo and should have remained banished.” Tsabrak shook his head, having no answers.“It is all chaos.”“The matron mother tightens her grip,” Zeerith surmised.“And with Lolth’s favor, so it would seem, if her brother wizard can so warp the ancient rules as to recall defeated demons.”“You have to call to her,” Tsabrak dared to say.“To Lolth, or to Quenthel Baenre?”“Yes,” Tsabrak answered.Matron Mother Zeerith sighed and nodded, offering the wizard a sympathetic shrug.He had recently held onto hopes for a great ascension, for himself and for his family, in the new domain of the Spider Queen.“Should we summon demons of our own?” Tsabrak asked.“Is this the way of the dark elves now?”Zeerith shook her head.She would do no such thing until Kiriy brought her answers.If Lolth was done with the Weave and House Xorlarrin’s aspirations had been crushed, and so Lolth would not now favor the Xorlarrin family or their fledgling city, filling their corridors with demons might facilitate their own doom.“Has there been any word from Hoshtar?”“Nothing to help us,” Tsabrak answered.“The last he determined was that Jarlaxle had managed to slip away from House Do’Urden, along with most of his trusted minions, replacing them with new recruits to Bregan D’aerthe.He is likely on the surface, though the possibilities range from coast to coast with that one.Kimmuriel, though …”“Not Kimmuriel!” Matron Mother Zeerith replied.“I’ll not deal with that one—I would rather crawl on the floor in front of Matron Mother Baenre herself and beg her to take our city as her own.”“I understand your reluctance.”“He fornicates with illithids,” Zeerith spat.“With his mind, if not his body.To trust Kimmuriel is to trust a creature we cannot begin to decipher.Why Jarlaxle elevated him to lead Bregan D’aerthe, I will never understand.”“Perhaps Jarlaxle believes that he understands Kimmuriel.”“Then Jarlaxle fools himself.”Tsabrak accepted that outwardly with a nod, though Zeerith knew that he—and that she, for that matter—did not honestly believe that the too-clever Jarlaxle ever fooled himself.“Find Jarlaxle, my friend,” Matron Mother Zeerith said.

Tsabrak had channeled the word of Lolth, enacting the Darkening over the Silver Marches.But that Darkening was no more, and Tsabrak and Zeerith could only take that as a sign that the Spider Queen’s defeat in her quest to attain the Weave had left her reeling and retreating from arcane magic.And that very thing, arcane magic, had been Q’Xorlarrin’s play!This House, more than any other in Menzoberranzan or any other drow city, stood to gain the most in the event that Lolth continued to turn her attention to the Weave and the domain of Mystra.The Xorlarrin family had long embraced wizardry, and had elevated the male wizards to stations equal to the roles of the female priestesses—privately, of course.But were they now falling out of favor with Lolth, Matron Mother Zeerith had to wonder?Was it an accident that the dwarf army now appeared in the upper chambers of their fledgling city?“What word from Faelas and Jaemas?” she asked, referring to the two Xorlarrin nobles who had continued to serve as Masters of Sorcere back in Menzoberranzan and had not yet been called to Q’Xorlarrin.“The same word.Demons roam the city.All of the Houses are bringing them forth, and in great numbers.Archmage Gromph has recalled Marilith, though she was reportedly recently slain by the weapons master of House Barrison Del’Armgo and should have remained banished.” Tsabrak shook his head, having no answers.“It is all chaos.”“The matron mother tightens her grip,” Zeerith surmised.“And with Lolth’s favor, so it would seem, if her brother wizard can so warp the ancient rules as to recall defeated demons.”“You have to call to her,” Tsabrak dared to say.“To Lolth, or to Quenthel Baenre?”“Yes,” Tsabrak answered.Matron Mother Zeerith sighed and nodded, offering the wizard a sympathetic shrug.He had recently held onto hopes for a great ascension, for himself and for his family, in the new domain of the Spider Queen.“Should we summon demons of our own?” Tsabrak asked.“Is this the way of the dark elves now?”Zeerith shook her head.She would do no such thing until Kiriy brought her answers.If Lolth was done with the Weave and House Xorlarrin’s aspirations had been crushed, and so Lolth would not now favor the Xorlarrin family or their fledgling city, filling their corridors with demons might facilitate their own doom.“Has there been any word from Hoshtar?”“Nothing to help us,” Tsabrak answered.“The last he determined was that Jarlaxle had managed to slip away from House Do’Urden, along with most of his trusted minions, replacing them with new recruits to Bregan D’aerthe.He is likely on the surface, though the possibilities range from coast to coast with that one.Kimmuriel, though …”“Not Kimmuriel!” Matron Mother Zeerith replied.“I’ll not deal with that one—I would rather crawl on the floor in front of Matron Mother Baenre herself and beg her to take our city as her own.”“I understand your reluctance.”“He fornicates with illithids,” Zeerith spat.“With his mind, if not his body.To trust Kimmuriel is to trust a creature we cannot begin to decipher.Why Jarlaxle elevated him to lead Bregan D’aerthe, I will never understand.”“Perhaps Jarlaxle believes that he understands Kimmuriel.”“Then Jarlaxle fools himself.”Tsabrak accepted that outwardly with a nod, though Zeerith knew that he—and that she, for that matter—did not honestly believe that the too-clever Jarlaxle ever fooled himself.“Find Jarlaxle, my friend,” Matron Mother Zeerith said.

dnd107

“In the end, he may prove our only salvation.Only he possesses intimate knowledge of our enemies in the upper halls … and of those back in Menzoberranzan.He is the broker.”“He is always the broker.”“And never the honest broker,” Zeerith admitted, as much to herself as to Tsabrak.She hated her position.She had worked with Bregan D’aerthe often in the past—her nephew Hoshtar’s greatest achievement was the relationship he had quietly woven between Q’Xorlarrin and Bregan D’aerthe—a potential alliance and trading route the new city would need if they were to compete with House Hunzrin.Other than that, however, Zeerith had little use for Hoshtar.He was a mediocre wizard at best, who spent more time worrying about the set of his ridiculous red veil than he did his skill in the Art.It was likely, Zeerith knew, that Hoshtar’s incompetence was exactly why he had found some measure of success in dealing with Jarlaxle, for surely Hoshtar could be easily controlled by that one.“We will find our way, my blessed matron mother,” Tsabrak said with a bow.Matron Mother Zeerith offered a calm smile and waved him away.She looked anxiously to the room’s other door, the one leading to the private chapel she had fashioned.Kiriy wasn’t in there, having gone to the main chapel in the primordial chamber for her most important commune.Perhaps it would do Matron Mother Zeerith good to go and pray as well“HOUSE DO’URDEN,” GROMPH said to the matron mother.They stood on the balcony of House Baenre, staring across the city to the newest outbreak of demonic violence, along the western wall of the great cavern, at the gates of House Do’Urden.“It is not a coincidence, I expect,” Gromph added sardonically.Quenthel stared and contemplated.This was a move against her, by proxy, and some of those major Houses aligned with her, and supporting her on the council, were surely involved.They were testing her, and more than that, testing the level of support House Baenre would offer to the puppet House Do’Urden.And doing it all with demons, beasts that couldn’t be traced to any one House or another.“Go there, and take your pet demon,” Quenthel instructed.“I have sent the Xorlarrin cousins from Sorcere to Ravel’s side,” Gromph replied.“Both are masters, their ranks honestly earned.That is a formidable trio of wizards.”“With their leader, Ravel Xorlarrin, standing to gain if the Matron Darthiir is destroyed,” Quenthel said.“Ravel would like nothing more than to see his sister Saribel ascend to the throne of his new House.Go …” She paused.“No,” she said, shaking her head as she changed her mind.“Go back to Sorcere.Use your powers to find your safe room in Q’Xorlarrin.Check in on Matron Mother Zeerith.”“Collect her plea for help, you mean.”Matron Mother Baenre grinned.She walked from the balcony and pointedly shut the door behind her, letting Gromph know that he should be gone immediately, through magical means.“GLAD I AM to see you, cousins,” Ravel said to Faelas and Jaemas when the two appeared, quite unexpectedly, in the audience chamber of House Do’Urden.“You have demons at your gate, cousin,” Faelas said.“The archmage supposed that you might welcome our help,” Jaemas added.“More than at our gate,” Saribel said, entering the room.

“In the end, he may prove our only salvation.Only he possesses intimate knowledge of our enemies in the upper halls … and of those back in Menzoberranzan.He is the broker.”“He is always the broker.”“And never the honest broker,” Zeerith admitted, as much to herself as to Tsabrak.She hated her position.She had worked with Bregan D’aerthe often in the past—her nephew Hoshtar’s greatest achievement was the relationship he had quietly woven between Q’Xorlarrin and Bregan D’aerthe—a potential alliance and trading route the new city would need if they were to compete with House Hunzrin.Other than that, however, Zeerith had little use for Hoshtar.He was a mediocre wizard at best, who spent more time worrying about the set of his ridiculous red veil than he did his skill in the Art.It was likely, Zeerith knew, that Hoshtar’s incompetence was exactly why he had found some measure of success in dealing with Jarlaxle, for surely Hoshtar could be easily controlled by that one.“We will find our way, my blessed matron mother,” Tsabrak said with a bow.Matron Mother Zeerith offered a calm smile and waved him away.She looked anxiously to the room’s other door, the one leading to the private chapel she had fashioned.Kiriy wasn’t in there, having gone to the main chapel in the primordial chamber for her most important commune.Perhaps it would do Matron Mother Zeerith good to go and pray as well“HOUSE DO’URDEN,” GROMPH said to the matron mother.They stood on the balcony of House Baenre, staring across the city to the newest outbreak of demonic violence, along the western wall of the great cavern, at the gates of House Do’Urden.“It is not a coincidence, I expect,” Gromph added sardonically.Quenthel stared and contemplated.This was a move against her, by proxy, and some of those major Houses aligned with her, and supporting her on the council, were surely involved.They were testing her, and more than that, testing the level of support House Baenre would offer to the puppet House Do’Urden.And doing it all with demons, beasts that couldn’t be traced to any one House or another.“Go there, and take your pet demon,” Quenthel instructed.“I have sent the Xorlarrin cousins from Sorcere to Ravel’s side,” Gromph replied.“Both are masters, their ranks honestly earned.That is a formidable trio of wizards.”“With their leader, Ravel Xorlarrin, standing to gain if the Matron Darthiir is destroyed,” Quenthel said.“Ravel would like nothing more than to see his sister Saribel ascend to the throne of his new House.Go …” She paused.“No,” she said, shaking her head as she changed her mind.“Go back to Sorcere.Use your powers to find your safe room in Q’Xorlarrin.Check in on Matron Mother Zeerith.”“Collect her plea for help, you mean.”Matron Mother Baenre grinned.She walked from the balcony and pointedly shut the door behind her, letting Gromph know that he should be gone immediately, through magical means.“GLAD I AM to see you, cousins,” Ravel said to Faelas and Jaemas when the two appeared, quite unexpectedly, in the audience chamber of House Do’Urden.“You have demons at your gate, cousin,” Faelas said.“The archmage supposed that you might welcome our help,” Jaemas added.“More than at our gate,” Saribel said, entering the room.

dnd108

“The bottom floor is thick with manes, and chasme have gained the balcony.”“Where is the Matron Darthiir?” Jaemas asked.“Hopefully being chopped into mounds of sludge by the axe-wielding balgura that commands the manes,” Saribel said, hardly hiding her sneer.“Dear cousin, High Priestess, she is the matron mother of your House,” Jaemas dared to say, his impertinence drawing wide eyes from the astounded Saribel.The woman stuttered a few times, as if futilely trying to fashion a response.“Rid this place of demons,” she ordered, and stormed back out of the room.Ravel considered his older cousins carefully.These two were no minor wizards.Both were Masters of Sorcere, and had been for decades—Jaemas since before the onset of the Spellplague.Most accountings had Jaemas third on the list of successors to the position of Archmage of Menzoberranzan, with Faelas closely behind.Only Tsabrak and Brack’thal had been thought of more highly among the House Xorlarrin cadre of powerful wizards, and then only Tsabrak, when the Spellplague had taken most of poor Brack’thal’s mind.Still, for a male of any standing, short of the archmage himself, to speak to a high priestess in such a manner, openly, was quite shocking to Ravel.“Where is the Matron Darthiir?” Jaemas asked Ravel.“In her chambers, as always, other than her jaunts to sit at the council table when High Priestess Sos’Umptu Baenre comes to fetch her.”“Show us,” said Faelas.Ravel turned a puzzled expression on the younger of the masters.“We have demons inside the compound …”“Inside the house,” Faelas corrected.“So take us to the Matron Darthiir.”The trio moved along the corridors, walking calmly while drow warriors rushed to and fro.Ravel took careful note of the House guard here, suspecting correctly that those warriors associated with the city’s Second House might well be seeking to avoid the fight.He had no doubt that Barrison Del’Armgo had quietly arranged for this battle.The corridor leading to the matron mother’s room was strangely empty, but not quiet, as sounds of battle could be heard behind the central, ornate door.Ravel stopped with surprise, but Jaemas grunted and cursed and rushed ahead, Faelas close behind.As they neared the door, there came a thunderous retort.The doors flew open, and a host of manes came flying out, crashing onto the floor, where they lay twitching and smoking, melting away.A flying chasme demon, a gigantic ugly housefly, sputtered out the open doors, trailing smoke as it crashed hard into the opposite wall.It, too, fell to the floor and there died.The wizards turned the corner, eyes wide with surprise—and none were more surprised than Ravel, when he, too, glanced in upon Matron Darthiir Do’Urden, battling ferociously, her metallic quarterstaff spinning gracefully in her hands, darting left and right and swatting aside the demon manes.IN DESPERATE BATTLE had Dahlia found clarity.The worms writhing inside her head could not distract her now, not with demons clawing at her from every angle.Kozah’s Needle was her salvation, building another charge as Dahlia sent it prodding hard into the chest of a manes, then swung it about and tapped it hard on the floor, then broke it into a tri-staff and launched it into an overhead twirl, smacking aside another chasme.All of her focus stayed on that remarkable weapon, breaking it through its myriad motions and combinations.It was a staff, a tri-staff, bo sticks, flails, at her command and with the subtle workings of her skilled fingers.And she used all of her weapons and repertoire, for in that demanded focus, Dahlia found mental clarity and kept the writhing worms of confusion at bay.A lightning bolt shocked her, sizzling out to her left and dropping a line of manes.She noted the drow at the door, noted the second wizard in his spellcasting, and noted his angle.His lightning bolt shot in as well, to the other side, destroying some manes, but before it could plow through as had the first, Dahlia’s magnificent weapon prodded near it and gobbled up the bolt.Now she felt the power of the lightning within Kozah’s Needle, and she sent it forth with renewed enthusiasm.She worked it out to the left, then left again, inviting those manes pressing her from the right to push in, clawed fingers reaching for her.Across came Kozah’s Needle, slamming the two, and Dahlia let free some of the lightning energy, the blast lifting the manes from the floor, throwing them up and back, right over the next in line.Jaemas and Faelas gawked.Ravel’s lightning bolt followed, dropping another line of the least demons, and once again swallowed up by Dahlia’s hungry weapon.Without hesitating, Dahlia rushed forward, leaped into the middle of the pack, and stamped her weapon on the floor, releasing the energy in a mighty circular electrical blast that hurled the manes aside, far from her, where they became easy targets for the three drow wizards with their magic missiles and gouts of flames, and were quickly, summarily destroyed.Dahlia stood there, then, breathing hard, trying to hold on to the clarity as the worms writhed once more.“The weapon,” she heard the one called Ravel explain to the others.“These demons were allowed in here,” said one of the others.“To destroy your matron mother,” said the other.And they kept talking, but Dahlia was falling away once more.She felt the drow grab her by the arms and usher her away, still talking amongst themselves, but now seeming far, far distant.MATRON MOTHER MEZ’BARRIS Armgo was not happy as the reports began to filter out of the Do’Urden compound.Not at all.The fight had ended, all the attacking demons destroyed, banished, or driven from the scene.Marilith was about the place now, stalking the grounds with her contingent of lesser guards.

“The bottom floor is thick with manes, and chasme have gained the balcony.”“Where is the Matron Darthiir?” Jaemas asked.“Hopefully being chopped into mounds of sludge by the axe-wielding balgura that commands the manes,” Saribel said, hardly hiding her sneer.“Dear cousin, High Priestess, she is the matron mother of your House,” Jaemas dared to say, his impertinence drawing wide eyes from the astounded Saribel.The woman stuttered a few times, as if futilely trying to fashion a response.“Rid this place of demons,” she ordered, and stormed back out of the room.Ravel considered his older cousins carefully.These two were no minor wizards.Both were Masters of Sorcere, and had been for decades—Jaemas since before the onset of the Spellplague.Most accountings had Jaemas third on the list of successors to the position of Archmage of Menzoberranzan, with Faelas closely behind.Only Tsabrak and Brack’thal had been thought of more highly among the House Xorlarrin cadre of powerful wizards, and then only Tsabrak, when the Spellplague had taken most of poor Brack’thal’s mind.Still, for a male of any standing, short of the archmage himself, to speak to a high priestess in such a manner, openly, was quite shocking to Ravel.“Where is the Matron Darthiir?” Jaemas asked Ravel.“In her chambers, as always, other than her jaunts to sit at the council table when High Priestess Sos’Umptu Baenre comes to fetch her.”“Show us,” said Faelas.Ravel turned a puzzled expression on the younger of the masters.“We have demons inside the compound …”“Inside the house,” Faelas corrected.“So take us to the Matron Darthiir.”The trio moved along the corridors, walking calmly while drow warriors rushed to and fro.Ravel took careful note of the House guard here, suspecting correctly that those warriors associated with the city’s Second House might well be seeking to avoid the fight.He had no doubt that Barrison Del’Armgo had quietly arranged for this battle.The corridor leading to the matron mother’s room was strangely empty, but not quiet, as sounds of battle could be heard behind the central, ornate door.Ravel stopped with surprise, but Jaemas grunted and cursed and rushed ahead, Faelas close behind.As they neared the door, there came a thunderous retort.The doors flew open, and a host of manes came flying out, crashing onto the floor, where they lay twitching and smoking, melting away.A flying chasme demon, a gigantic ugly housefly, sputtered out the open doors, trailing smoke as it crashed hard into the opposite wall.It, too, fell to the floor and there died.The wizards turned the corner, eyes wide with surprise—and none were more surprised than Ravel, when he, too, glanced in upon Matron Darthiir Do’Urden, battling ferociously, her metallic quarterstaff spinning gracefully in her hands, darting left and right and swatting aside the demon manes.IN DESPERATE BATTLE had Dahlia found clarity.The worms writhing inside her head could not distract her now, not with demons clawing at her from every angle.Kozah’s Needle was her salvation, building another charge as Dahlia sent it prodding hard into the chest of a manes, then swung it about and tapped it hard on the floor, then broke it into a tri-staff and launched it into an overhead twirl, smacking aside another chasme.All of her focus stayed on that remarkable weapon, breaking it through its myriad motions and combinations.It was a staff, a tri-staff, bo sticks, flails, at her command and with the subtle workings of her skilled fingers.And she used all of her weapons and repertoire, for in that demanded focus, Dahlia found mental clarity and kept the writhing worms of confusion at bay.A lightning bolt shocked her, sizzling out to her left and dropping a line of manes.She noted the drow at the door, noted the second wizard in his spellcasting, and noted his angle.His lightning bolt shot in as well, to the other side, destroying some manes, but before it could plow through as had the first, Dahlia’s magnificent weapon prodded near it and gobbled up the bolt.Now she felt the power of the lightning within Kozah’s Needle, and she sent it forth with renewed enthusiasm.She worked it out to the left, then left again, inviting those manes pressing her from the right to push in, clawed fingers reaching for her.Across came Kozah’s Needle, slamming the two, and Dahlia let free some of the lightning energy, the blast lifting the manes from the floor, throwing them up and back, right over the next in line.Jaemas and Faelas gawked.Ravel’s lightning bolt followed, dropping another line of the least demons, and once again swallowed up by Dahlia’s hungry weapon.Without hesitating, Dahlia rushed forward, leaped into the middle of the pack, and stamped her weapon on the floor, releasing the energy in a mighty circular electrical blast that hurled the manes aside, far from her, where they became easy targets for the three drow wizards with their magic missiles and gouts of flames, and were quickly, summarily destroyed.Dahlia stood there, then, breathing hard, trying to hold on to the clarity as the worms writhed once more.“The weapon,” she heard the one called Ravel explain to the others.“These demons were allowed in here,” said one of the others.“To destroy your matron mother,” said the other.And they kept talking, but Dahlia was falling away once more.She felt the drow grab her by the arms and usher her away, still talking amongst themselves, but now seeming far, far distant.MATRON MOTHER MEZ’BARRIS Armgo was not happy as the reports began to filter out of the Do’Urden compound.Not at all.The fight had ended, all the attacking demons destroyed, banished, or driven from the scene.Marilith was about the place now, stalking the grounds with her contingent of lesser guards.

dnd109

And so, Mez’Barris understood, Archmage Gromph was not far behind.And the most recent report indicated that Matron Mother Baenre was there too, along with that wretched Sos’Umptu and all the priestesses of the Fane of the Goddess—indeed, those very priestesses had banished many of the demons sent against house Do’Urden.Worst of all, Matron Darthiir had escaped unharmed.The iblith abomination lived, and would sit again at the table of the Ruling Council.“Let me go and slay Marilith once more!” Malagdorl grumbled at Mez’Barris’s side.“Shut up,” she replied without even bothering to turn and regard him, and in a tone that had even the impetuous and prideful weapons master swallowing hard.Mez’Barris knew that she had to regroup and quickly.Her alliance—the other noble matron mothers who had agreed to go after House Do’Urden—would not be reconstituted.For all their efforts and plotting, only a handful of Do’Urden House guards had been slain—and half of those had been low-ranking warriors Mez’Barris’s own House had provided.But Matron Darthiir, this Dahlia creature, had survived.Terondarg Del’Armgo, one of Mez’Barris’s most capable scouts, rushed back into the room, and on her nod, ran up to her and began conversing with her secretly, shielding his hands with his wide cloak and flashing the matron mother the information in sign language.Mez’Barris dismissed him with a wave and closed her eyes.“What news?” High Priestess Taayrul, Mez’Barris’s daughter, asked tentatively.“Go to Melarn and tell Matron Zhindia that she and I need to parlay,” Mez’Barris replied curtly, and she waved her daughter away.Her wince was telling, though, and all in the room understood that the spy Terondarg had not delivered welcome news.All in the room wisely followed Priestess Taayrul out of Mez’Barris’s chamber.The matron mother of the Second House moved over and flopped into her chair, trying to sort out her next move—any move—that would somehow repair the damage of this day.She had known that the demons would inflict little pain to House Do’Urden with the Baenres and Bregan D’aerthe so near, but the critical point to the assault was to facilitate the death of the abomination, the surface elf posing as a matron mother of Menzoberranzan.But Dahlia had escaped, and worse, Mez’Barris now had learned that her spies within the Do’Urden compound, the guards to Matron Darthiir Do’Urden who had allowed the demon encroachment to her chamber, had been discovered.Those Barrison Del’Armgo warriors had admitted their crimes.“The mind flayer,” Mez’Barris muttered under her breath, solving the riddle, for surely the matron mother’s pet illithid had aided in extracting the information.What couldn’t Quenthel Baenre find out?Mez’Barris wondered—and feared.“She will make a spectacle of it,” Mez’Barris said.Terondarg had told her that the trial would be public, as would the transformation.The transformation.Her warriors would be turned into driders in full view of the city, in full view of those who had dared conspire with Matron Mother Mez’Barris to bring about the fall of Matron Darthiir.Those driders, no doubt, would become the core guard for the abomination, a poignant reminder to Mez’Barris and to all who would quietly stand with her of the consequences of going against Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre.It had not been a good day.CHAPTER 14To the Call of a Wicked SwordSHE STAYED CLOSE TO THE BACK WALL, ALERT AND READY, BUT WITH no weapon in hand, staring across the low-burning fire to the open door across from her.There was movement out in the hall.Doum’wielle could sense it, and Khazid’hea did as well.Soon, my Little Doe, the sword promised.You will regain your leverage.The priestesses will interrogate me, Doum’wielle reiterated, the strong fear that had kept creeping into her mind as this pivotal day moved nearer to reality.I will protect you from their inquisitions.The day is ours!A black feline face appeared in the doorway, peeking in from the right, and before Doum’wielle could react, the huge panther leaped around the corner and into the room, ears flat, fangs bared.“Guenhwyvar!” Doum’wielle said, as happily as she could manage.The panther paused, ears coming up.“Oh, Guen, dear Guen!” the half-elf, half-drow said, clapping her hands together.“You must save me, please!”She knew this cat fairly well, and recognized that Guenhwyvar, so intelligent, understood most of what she was saying.The panther padded a step forward, silently, sniffing the air.Then Guenhwyvar whirled when Doum’wielle yelled, “Behind you!”But it was too late, and the stone door slammed shut.The panther hit it hard, clawing and pressing to no avail.And Doum’wielle slipped out the secret door behind her, and closed that, too, securing the locking bar, trapping the panther in the room.She moved down a side hallway and around a corner to find Tiago, smiling widely, coming to meet her.“He is mine,” the drow declared, and led the way back toward where they knew Drizzt was scouting.IN A TOWER in Menzoberranzan, Gromph watched the trap spring.The archmage shook his head, not thrilled with the timing here—too much was at play in Menzoberranzan and the last thing he needed now was more complications.He tried to imagine how the return of Tiago might help with the situation, but he couldn’t see much to gain, particularly with that wretched half-elf Armgo creature along beside him.At least House Do’Urden was secure for the time being, and Quenthel would not soon call on him.Gromph waved his arms and barked out a sharp chant.A few moments later, he disappeared, arriving securely into his prepared chamber in Q’Xorlarrin.He stepped out of the small room to consider the main chapel of the city, across the way and over the primordial pit.

And so, Mez’Barris understood, Archmage Gromph was not far behind.And the most recent report indicated that Matron Mother Baenre was there too, along with that wretched Sos’Umptu and all the priestesses of the Fane of the Goddess—indeed, those very priestesses had banished many of the demons sent against house Do’Urden.Worst of all, Matron Darthiir had escaped unharmed.The iblith abomination lived, and would sit again at the table of the Ruling Council.“Let me go and slay Marilith once more!” Malagdorl grumbled at Mez’Barris’s side.“Shut up,” she replied without even bothering to turn and regard him, and in a tone that had even the impetuous and prideful weapons master swallowing hard.Mez’Barris knew that she had to regroup and quickly.Her alliance—the other noble matron mothers who had agreed to go after House Do’Urden—would not be reconstituted.For all their efforts and plotting, only a handful of Do’Urden House guards had been slain—and half of those had been low-ranking warriors Mez’Barris’s own House had provided.But Matron Darthiir, this Dahlia creature, had survived.Terondarg Del’Armgo, one of Mez’Barris’s most capable scouts, rushed back into the room, and on her nod, ran up to her and began conversing with her secretly, shielding his hands with his wide cloak and flashing the matron mother the information in sign language.Mez’Barris dismissed him with a wave and closed her eyes.“What news?” High Priestess Taayrul, Mez’Barris’s daughter, asked tentatively.“Go to Melarn and tell Matron Zhindia that she and I need to parlay,” Mez’Barris replied curtly, and she waved her daughter away.Her wince was telling, though, and all in the room understood that the spy Terondarg had not delivered welcome news.All in the room wisely followed Priestess Taayrul out of Mez’Barris’s chamber.The matron mother of the Second House moved over and flopped into her chair, trying to sort out her next move—any move—that would somehow repair the damage of this day.She had known that the demons would inflict little pain to House Do’Urden with the Baenres and Bregan D’aerthe so near, but the critical point to the assault was to facilitate the death of the abomination, the surface elf posing as a matron mother of Menzoberranzan.But Dahlia had escaped, and worse, Mez’Barris now had learned that her spies within the Do’Urden compound, the guards to Matron Darthiir Do’Urden who had allowed the demon encroachment to her chamber, had been discovered.Those Barrison Del’Armgo warriors had admitted their crimes.“The mind flayer,” Mez’Barris muttered under her breath, solving the riddle, for surely the matron mother’s pet illithid had aided in extracting the information.What couldn’t Quenthel Baenre find out?Mez’Barris wondered—and feared.“She will make a spectacle of it,” Mez’Barris said.Terondarg had told her that the trial would be public, as would the transformation.The transformation.Her warriors would be turned into driders in full view of the city, in full view of those who had dared conspire with Matron Mother Mez’Barris to bring about the fall of Matron Darthiir.Those driders, no doubt, would become the core guard for the abomination, a poignant reminder to Mez’Barris and to all who would quietly stand with her of the consequences of going against Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre.It had not been a good day.CHAPTER 14To the Call of a Wicked SwordSHE STAYED CLOSE TO THE BACK WALL, ALERT AND READY, BUT WITH no weapon in hand, staring across the low-burning fire to the open door across from her.There was movement out in the hall.Doum’wielle could sense it, and Khazid’hea did as well.Soon, my Little Doe, the sword promised.You will regain your leverage.The priestesses will interrogate me, Doum’wielle reiterated, the strong fear that had kept creeping into her mind as this pivotal day moved nearer to reality.I will protect you from their inquisitions.The day is ours!A black feline face appeared in the doorway, peeking in from the right, and before Doum’wielle could react, the huge panther leaped around the corner and into the room, ears flat, fangs bared.“Guenhwyvar!” Doum’wielle said, as happily as she could manage.The panther paused, ears coming up.“Oh, Guen, dear Guen!” the half-elf, half-drow said, clapping her hands together.“You must save me, please!”She knew this cat fairly well, and recognized that Guenhwyvar, so intelligent, understood most of what she was saying.The panther padded a step forward, silently, sniffing the air.Then Guenhwyvar whirled when Doum’wielle yelled, “Behind you!”But it was too late, and the stone door slammed shut.The panther hit it hard, clawing and pressing to no avail.And Doum’wielle slipped out the secret door behind her, and closed that, too, securing the locking bar, trapping the panther in the room.She moved down a side hallway and around a corner to find Tiago, smiling widely, coming to meet her.“He is mine,” the drow declared, and led the way back toward where they knew Drizzt was scouting.IN A TOWER in Menzoberranzan, Gromph watched the trap spring.The archmage shook his head, not thrilled with the timing here—too much was at play in Menzoberranzan and the last thing he needed now was more complications.He tried to imagine how the return of Tiago might help with the situation, but he couldn’t see much to gain, particularly with that wretched half-elf Armgo creature along beside him.At least House Do’Urden was secure for the time being, and Quenthel would not soon call on him.Gromph waved his arms and barked out a sharp chant.A few moments later, he disappeared, arriving securely into his prepared chamber in Q’Xorlarrin.He stepped out of the small room to consider the main chapel of the city, across the way and over the primordial pit.

dnd110

Gromph’s second spell created a disembodied orb through which he could see while a third rendered that orb invisible, and off it flew at tremendous speed.A fourth spell turned Gromph into a floating wisp, ghostly and barely tangible, and a fifth made him invisible.Off he went, passing locked doors as if they were open portals, gliding through the forge room where several drow craftsmean and wizards looked up curiously, sensing something.But while the hair on their necks might have stood up in warning, even the greatest of the dark elves in that room could not begin to decipher the wards against detection the archmage had enacted, and he was beyond them before any even realized that something had passed.“THE ARCHMAGE is in Q’Xorlarrin,” Kimmuriel informed Jarlaxle only moments later.“Good,” the mercenary leader replied.“I have long grown bored of this game.Let us finish it.”“Our play must be subtle,” Kimmuriel warned.“Have we a play to make?”“Jarlaxle always has a play to make.”The mercenary leader reset his eye patch to his right eye and shrugged and grinned, clearly accepting that as a compliment.In this one particular case, however, both truly hoped that Kimmuriel was wrong.Better for them all if it played out perfectly without any intervention.“I do not expect to find the archmage in a good mood,” Kimmuriel said.“My brother is never in a good mood.That is his weakness, and why he is so predictable.”Kimmuriel didn’t often sigh, but he did so now.Jarlaxle might be taking Gromph lightly, but the psionicist could not afford to do so.If Gromph found them in Q’Xorlarrin at this critical time and in that critical place, would he consider it a coincidence?Or might he figure out that Kimmuriel’s scrying gemstones included a bonus to Kimmuriel that allowed him to also spy on Gromph?In that instance, the consequences would likely prove rather unpleasant.DRIZZT CREPT ALONG from shadow to shadow, scimitars in hand in these close quarters.He had seen little sign of anyone about, or anything amiss, but his warrior sense told him differently.And where was Guenhwyvar?He moved to the doorway of a wider room, the ancient furniture inside broken and cast about.He noted the absence of cobwebs, which were prevalent in many of the other rooms.He wrapped his fingers anxiously around his scimitar hilts.He heard a call then, a low and long roar, more sad than excited, he thought.He clutched the blades tighter.Then came a tapping noise, rhythmic and determined, from across the way, in the corridor beyond.Drizzt held his position at the side of the door, his eyes widening when a dark elf—Tiago Baenre!—stepped into the room through the opposite door.“Well, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Tiago said, obviously perfectly aware of Drizzt’s position.“Shall we end this at last?”The brash young warrior stepped into the room.Drizzt could have pulled Taulmaril and let fly, but he did not.Instead, he marveled at Tiago’s shield and sword, which seemed to him as if made of star-stuff, with glittering diamonds encased in the nearly translucent blade and all about the buckler, which resembled, too, a spider’s web.He thought of the dragon fight, when he had seen Tiago up in the darkened sky, when he had first looked upon that sword, and the shield that had unwound to defeat his lightning arrows.He reminded himself that this was a Baenre, and so the armor Tiago wore and the quiet magical items set on his person were likely superior to anything Drizzt had faced in many a decade.The ranger stepped into the room to face his nemesis.“How many years have you pursued me now, Tiago of House Baenre?” Drizzt asked.“Decades,” Tiago corrected.“Did you ever believe that I would stop?Did you secretly hope that this day would never come, cowardly rogue?”“Yours is a foolish endeavor and a worthless quest.”“I’ll not think it worthless when I hand your head to the matron mother.”Drizzt sighed and shook his head.

Gromph’s second spell created a disembodied orb through which he could see while a third rendered that orb invisible, and off it flew at tremendous speed.A fourth spell turned Gromph into a floating wisp, ghostly and barely tangible, and a fifth made him invisible.Off he went, passing locked doors as if they were open portals, gliding through the forge room where several drow craftsmean and wizards looked up curiously, sensing something.But while the hair on their necks might have stood up in warning, even the greatest of the dark elves in that room could not begin to decipher the wards against detection the archmage had enacted, and he was beyond them before any even realized that something had passed.“THE ARCHMAGE is in Q’Xorlarrin,” Kimmuriel informed Jarlaxle only moments later.“Good,” the mercenary leader replied.“I have long grown bored of this game.Let us finish it.”“Our play must be subtle,” Kimmuriel warned.“Have we a play to make?”“Jarlaxle always has a play to make.”The mercenary leader reset his eye patch to his right eye and shrugged and grinned, clearly accepting that as a compliment.In this one particular case, however, both truly hoped that Kimmuriel was wrong.Better for them all if it played out perfectly without any intervention.“I do not expect to find the archmage in a good mood,” Kimmuriel said.“My brother is never in a good mood.That is his weakness, and why he is so predictable.”Kimmuriel didn’t often sigh, but he did so now.Jarlaxle might be taking Gromph lightly, but the psionicist could not afford to do so.If Gromph found them in Q’Xorlarrin at this critical time and in that critical place, would he consider it a coincidence?Or might he figure out that Kimmuriel’s scrying gemstones included a bonus to Kimmuriel that allowed him to also spy on Gromph?In that instance, the consequences would likely prove rather unpleasant.DRIZZT CREPT ALONG from shadow to shadow, scimitars in hand in these close quarters.He had seen little sign of anyone about, or anything amiss, but his warrior sense told him differently.And where was Guenhwyvar?He moved to the doorway of a wider room, the ancient furniture inside broken and cast about.He noted the absence of cobwebs, which were prevalent in many of the other rooms.He wrapped his fingers anxiously around his scimitar hilts.He heard a call then, a low and long roar, more sad than excited, he thought.He clutched the blades tighter.Then came a tapping noise, rhythmic and determined, from across the way, in the corridor beyond.Drizzt held his position at the side of the door, his eyes widening when a dark elf—Tiago Baenre!—stepped into the room through the opposite door.“Well, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Tiago said, obviously perfectly aware of Drizzt’s position.“Shall we end this at last?”The brash young warrior stepped into the room.Drizzt could have pulled Taulmaril and let fly, but he did not.Instead, he marveled at Tiago’s shield and sword, which seemed to him as if made of star-stuff, with glittering diamonds encased in the nearly translucent blade and all about the buckler, which resembled, too, a spider’s web.He thought of the dragon fight, when he had seen Tiago up in the darkened sky, when he had first looked upon that sword, and the shield that had unwound to defeat his lightning arrows.He reminded himself that this was a Baenre, and so the armor Tiago wore and the quiet magical items set on his person were likely superior to anything Drizzt had faced in many a decade.The ranger stepped into the room to face his nemesis.“How many years have you pursued me now, Tiago of House Baenre?” Drizzt asked.“Decades,” Tiago corrected.“Did you ever believe that I would stop?Did you secretly hope that this day would never come, cowardly rogue?”“Yours is a foolish endeavor and a worthless quest.”“I’ll not think it worthless when I hand your head to the matron mother.”Drizzt sighed and shook his head.

dnd111

They were doomed, his people.Doomed forever to their stupid traditions and dishonorable manners.The drow would war upon the drow until time’s end.They would waste their talent and potential, their ability to truly do good for the world, in their endless pursuits of gaining the upper hand, of personal aggrandizement, of petty revenge.“If only …” Drizzt mumbled, and not for the first time.“I had no desire to fight you,” he said instead.“Then surrender and save yourself the pain,” Tiago replied.“I will be as merciful as you deserve.” With that, he started walking toward Drizzt, but veered off to the ranger’s left, circling, and Drizzt, too, began to move, keeping himself square with Tiago.“Had no desire,” Drizzt emphasized.“For truly your quest seems a silly thing.But then, you see, I only thought of the pain you brought to the people of Icewind Dale, to the people of Port Llast, and …”“And to the dwarves of Icewind Dale?” Tiago finished.“Ah yes, what fine slaves they make!Until they are worked to their miserable deaths, of course.”Drizzt narrowed his lavender eyes.He focused on his enemy’s weapon and noted the delicate curve of that starlit blade.It wasn’t quite as curved as Drizzt’s own blades, but it was as much scimitar as straight long sword, leading Drizzt to believe that Tiago fought in circles, much like Drizzt, rather than the straight ahead and straight back routines more common among the drow who used long swords.They continued to circle and Drizzt kept making mental notes of this mostly unknown opponent, who had likely studied many of the tales of Drizzt’s fighting style and exploits.Tiago had the edge, Drizzt knew, because Tiago had not ventured into a fight with the unknown.“Leap upon me, O great Drizzt Do’Urden,” the noble son of House Baenre taunted.“Let your hatred flow to your blades.Let me prove who is the stronger.”When Drizzt didn’t accept that invitation, Tiago took it upon himself, leaping wildly into the air, flying for Drizzt, falling over Drizzt, his shield spinning and widening and sweeping clear of his flank as he burrowed in behind it, Vidrinath slashing hard.Drizzt was too quick for such a straightforward attack, of course, and he quickly dodged, first to his right, as Tiago surely anticipated, but then fast back to his left, in front of the sweep of the shield.He took Tiago’s sword down harmlessly to the side with his right-hand blade, Icingdeath, leaving him in a half-turn that aligned Twinkle perfectly with the younger drow’s exposed side.But Tiago landed in a spin, with amazing speed and balance, and he came all the way around to bring his shield to bear in time to block the counter.Out came Vidrinath with three quick stabs, low, high, and low again.Up went Twinkle to lift the first harmlessly away.Drizzt hopped back from the second, and down came Twinkle to crash against the third strike, driving Tiago’s sword down to the side, across Tiago’s body.Drizzt went out to the left behind the parry, and Tiago spun again and wisely went down low in a crouch so that Drizzt’s stab came in high.Tiago slashed across with his shield.Drizzt hopped it and came down with both blades, but Tiago’s shield was too large now, and the skilled young warrior brought it up deftly from the slash to cover above.Twinkle and Icingdeath struck solidly on the shield, and seemed to hold there for just a heartbeat, allowing Tiago to come up fast and hard, stabbing out his sword from under the lifting, horizontal shield.Drizzt wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, or why he hadn’t disengaged his blades fast enough to properly respond.That question followed him through his desperate backstepping.Desperate, but not quite fast enough.Tiago’s brilliant sword caught up to him and stuck him, just a bit, until Drizzt could bring his scimitars to bear in driving the biting blade away.

They were doomed, his people.Doomed forever to their stupid traditions and dishonorable manners.The drow would war upon the drow until time’s end.They would waste their talent and potential, their ability to truly do good for the world, in their endless pursuits of gaining the upper hand, of personal aggrandizement, of petty revenge.“If only …” Drizzt mumbled, and not for the first time.“I had no desire to fight you,” he said instead.“Then surrender and save yourself the pain,” Tiago replied.“I will be as merciful as you deserve.” With that, he started walking toward Drizzt, but veered off to the ranger’s left, circling, and Drizzt, too, began to move, keeping himself square with Tiago.“Had no desire,” Drizzt emphasized.“For truly your quest seems a silly thing.But then, you see, I only thought of the pain you brought to the people of Icewind Dale, to the people of Port Llast, and …”“And to the dwarves of Icewind Dale?” Tiago finished.“Ah yes, what fine slaves they make!Until they are worked to their miserable deaths, of course.”Drizzt narrowed his lavender eyes.He focused on his enemy’s weapon and noted the delicate curve of that starlit blade.It wasn’t quite as curved as Drizzt’s own blades, but it was as much scimitar as straight long sword, leading Drizzt to believe that Tiago fought in circles, much like Drizzt, rather than the straight ahead and straight back routines more common among the drow who used long swords.They continued to circle and Drizzt kept making mental notes of this mostly unknown opponent, who had likely studied many of the tales of Drizzt’s fighting style and exploits.Tiago had the edge, Drizzt knew, because Tiago had not ventured into a fight with the unknown.“Leap upon me, O great Drizzt Do’Urden,” the noble son of House Baenre taunted.“Let your hatred flow to your blades.Let me prove who is the stronger.”When Drizzt didn’t accept that invitation, Tiago took it upon himself, leaping wildly into the air, flying for Drizzt, falling over Drizzt, his shield spinning and widening and sweeping clear of his flank as he burrowed in behind it, Vidrinath slashing hard.Drizzt was too quick for such a straightforward attack, of course, and he quickly dodged, first to his right, as Tiago surely anticipated, but then fast back to his left, in front of the sweep of the shield.He took Tiago’s sword down harmlessly to the side with his right-hand blade, Icingdeath, leaving him in a half-turn that aligned Twinkle perfectly with the younger drow’s exposed side.But Tiago landed in a spin, with amazing speed and balance, and he came all the way around to bring his shield to bear in time to block the counter.Out came Vidrinath with three quick stabs, low, high, and low again.Up went Twinkle to lift the first harmlessly away.Drizzt hopped back from the second, and down came Twinkle to crash against the third strike, driving Tiago’s sword down to the side, across Tiago’s body.Drizzt went out to the left behind the parry, and Tiago spun again and wisely went down low in a crouch so that Drizzt’s stab came in high.Tiago slashed across with his shield.Drizzt hopped it and came down with both blades, but Tiago’s shield was too large now, and the skilled young warrior brought it up deftly from the slash to cover above.Twinkle and Icingdeath struck solidly on the shield, and seemed to hold there for just a heartbeat, allowing Tiago to come up fast and hard, stabbing out his sword from under the lifting, horizontal shield.Drizzt wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, or why he hadn’t disengaged his blades fast enough to properly respond.That question followed him through his desperate backstepping.Desperate, but not quite fast enough.Tiago’s brilliant sword caught up to him and stuck him, just a bit, until Drizzt could bring his scimitars to bear in driving the biting blade away.

dnd112

He was hurt, in the belly, and he felt the sting.But that was hardly the worst of his problems, Drizzt realized.He felt something else within that sting: the familiar burn of drow sleeping poison.The sword was Vidrinath, after all, the drow word for lullaby.Drizzt grimaced and fought against the poison, one whose sting he had suffered many times before.A lesser drow, a lesser warrior, would have been slowing already from the dose that sword had inflicted, but when Tiago came confidently on, he found a flurry of scimitars blurring in his path and inevitably driving him back.Drizzt took the offensive, fearing that time might work against him as the poison seeped deeper into his body.His scimitars rolled over each other, stabbing and slashing from many different angles.He felt the same frustration as he had that day on the dragon.Tiago was simply too good with that shield to allow for any clean hits—and now Drizzt had learned the hard way to be wary of that shield, suspecting that it had grabbed his blades, allowing Tiago the strike.He had to formulate some new attack routine, had to piece together a strategy in the middle of the frenzy to somehow separate the Baenre warrior enough from his shield so that he could slip one of his blades past the guard.Drizzt reached into his innate magic, the reverberations of the Faerzress still within him despite his many decades on the surface.Tiago’s frame lit up in purplish flames of faerie fire, harmless except that they outlined him more clearly for his opponent.Tiago skidded to a stop, glancing at himself with incredulity, then did likewise to Drizzt, limning him with angry red flames—dark elf warriors in Menzoberranzan hardly bothered with the faerie fire when engaged in melee with each other.For Drizzt, though, the pause gave him a moment of clarity, which was the whole point, and in that moment, he searched for answers.He came on furiously once more, red and purple flames licking each other as the two combatants passed and turned.Vidrinath came out in a solid thrust, and across came Icingdeath to drive it wide to Drizzt’s left.But Tiago rolled with the blow, his shield sliding back into alignment to slow any pursuit Drizzt might have intended.And then Tiago swung back the other way, suddenly and powerfully.Up came Twinkle to block, a ringing blow—one heavier than Drizzt had anticipated, telling him that Tiago was likely in possession of some item, a belt or a ring, that granted him magical strength beyond his musculature and training.Drizzt only fought the heavy blow for the blink of an eye, thrusting Twinkle vertically to intercept before collapsing to the right, falling into a roll.Sparks flew as Tiago’s sword crashed against Twinkle, and unknown to the combatants, so, too, flew a piece of Drizzt’s left-hand scimitar, compromising the integrity of the blade.The greatest power of Vidrinath wasn’t its poisoning bite, but the simple craftsmanship of the weapon.It had been created in this very complex, at the Forge of Gauntlgrym, with primordial fire and by the greatest drow weaponsmith of the age, using an ancient recipe reserved for this one special blade.Few weapons in all the Realms could match the strength of glassteel Vidrinath, and so it was with Twinkle.But Drizzt was too engaged in his plotting, in moving the fight to where he needed it to be, to notice.He rolled to his feet and went right back in, slapping Icingdeath hard into Tiago’s shield—and retracting too quickly for that equally impressive blocker, Orbbcress by name, to get a firm hold on it.But Drizzt did feel that pull, just for a moment as he retracted, and he understood.And now his plan took clearer shape.OUTSIDE THE ROOM, Doum’wielle dared to peek in.Her breath was stolen away.She saw Drizzt and Tiago, each outlined in flames, rushing to and fro, each leaping in flying somersaults, vaulting the debris of old furniture, or the other’s attempted strikes.Scimitars scraped and rang out with each passage, or a dull drumbeat sounded as Drizzt rolled his blades and Tiago got his shield up to block.At one point, Drizzt broke free and dived aside, rolling up to one knee with his bow in hand instead of his scimitars, each laid neatly on the floor in front of him.Tiago yelped, and Doum’wielle almost cried out—and would have, had not Khazid’hea shot a warning through her mind before she uttered the gasp.For surely she thought Tiago doomed as the lightning arrow shot toward him.But somehow the young warrior had brought his shield to block the lightning.Doum’wielle felt her courage waning in the face of this display.The three blades moved faster than she could follow—either of these magnificent warriors could cut her apart with little effort.Hardly even thinking, Little Doe began to rise, perhaps to run away.Take heart!Khazid’hea screamed in her thoughts.The moment of your salvation is at hand!I cannot defeat them!You do not have to, the sinister sword reminded her.

He was hurt, in the belly, and he felt the sting.But that was hardly the worst of his problems, Drizzt realized.He felt something else within that sting: the familiar burn of drow sleeping poison.The sword was Vidrinath, after all, the drow word for lullaby.Drizzt grimaced and fought against the poison, one whose sting he had suffered many times before.A lesser drow, a lesser warrior, would have been slowing already from the dose that sword had inflicted, but when Tiago came confidently on, he found a flurry of scimitars blurring in his path and inevitably driving him back.Drizzt took the offensive, fearing that time might work against him as the poison seeped deeper into his body.His scimitars rolled over each other, stabbing and slashing from many different angles.He felt the same frustration as he had that day on the dragon.Tiago was simply too good with that shield to allow for any clean hits—and now Drizzt had learned the hard way to be wary of that shield, suspecting that it had grabbed his blades, allowing Tiago the strike.He had to formulate some new attack routine, had to piece together a strategy in the middle of the frenzy to somehow separate the Baenre warrior enough from his shield so that he could slip one of his blades past the guard.Drizzt reached into his innate magic, the reverberations of the Faerzress still within him despite his many decades on the surface.Tiago’s frame lit up in purplish flames of faerie fire, harmless except that they outlined him more clearly for his opponent.Tiago skidded to a stop, glancing at himself with incredulity, then did likewise to Drizzt, limning him with angry red flames—dark elf warriors in Menzoberranzan hardly bothered with the faerie fire when engaged in melee with each other.For Drizzt, though, the pause gave him a moment of clarity, which was the whole point, and in that moment, he searched for answers.He came on furiously once more, red and purple flames licking each other as the two combatants passed and turned.Vidrinath came out in a solid thrust, and across came Icingdeath to drive it wide to Drizzt’s left.But Tiago rolled with the blow, his shield sliding back into alignment to slow any pursuit Drizzt might have intended.And then Tiago swung back the other way, suddenly and powerfully.Up came Twinkle to block, a ringing blow—one heavier than Drizzt had anticipated, telling him that Tiago was likely in possession of some item, a belt or a ring, that granted him magical strength beyond his musculature and training.Drizzt only fought the heavy blow for the blink of an eye, thrusting Twinkle vertically to intercept before collapsing to the right, falling into a roll.Sparks flew as Tiago’s sword crashed against Twinkle, and unknown to the combatants, so, too, flew a piece of Drizzt’s left-hand scimitar, compromising the integrity of the blade.The greatest power of Vidrinath wasn’t its poisoning bite, but the simple craftsmanship of the weapon.It had been created in this very complex, at the Forge of Gauntlgrym, with primordial fire and by the greatest drow weaponsmith of the age, using an ancient recipe reserved for this one special blade.Few weapons in all the Realms could match the strength of glassteel Vidrinath, and so it was with Twinkle.But Drizzt was too engaged in his plotting, in moving the fight to where he needed it to be, to notice.He rolled to his feet and went right back in, slapping Icingdeath hard into Tiago’s shield—and retracting too quickly for that equally impressive blocker, Orbbcress by name, to get a firm hold on it.But Drizzt did feel that pull, just for a moment as he retracted, and he understood.And now his plan took clearer shape.OUTSIDE THE ROOM, Doum’wielle dared to peek in.Her breath was stolen away.She saw Drizzt and Tiago, each outlined in flames, rushing to and fro, each leaping in flying somersaults, vaulting the debris of old furniture, or the other’s attempted strikes.Scimitars scraped and rang out with each passage, or a dull drumbeat sounded as Drizzt rolled his blades and Tiago got his shield up to block.At one point, Drizzt broke free and dived aside, rolling up to one knee with his bow in hand instead of his scimitars, each laid neatly on the floor in front of him.Tiago yelped, and Doum’wielle almost cried out—and would have, had not Khazid’hea shot a warning through her mind before she uttered the gasp.For surely she thought Tiago doomed as the lightning arrow shot toward him.But somehow the young warrior had brought his shield to block the lightning.Doum’wielle felt her courage waning in the face of this display.The three blades moved faster than she could follow—either of these magnificent warriors could cut her apart with little effort.Hardly even thinking, Little Doe began to rise, perhaps to run away.Take heart!Khazid’hea screamed in her thoughts.The moment of your salvation is at hand!I cannot defeat them!You do not have to, the sinister sword reminded her.

dnd113

In their obsession, they will defeat each other.Doum’wielle’s eyes spun as she tried to keep up with the frenetic, beautiful movements.Tiago went down in a slide, his blade coming out wide to cut at Drizzt’s thighs.But over that blade went Drizzt in a graceful dive and spin, and he broke out of it wide-armed and wide-legged, landing lightly on his feet.Go!Khazid’hea implored Doum’wielle, for that sword, knowing the tactics of Drizzt so well, knew what was coming.DRIZZT WENT IN with Twinkle leading with a low thrust.But that was the feint, and Icingdeath went up above and over the sister scimitar, which Drizzt suddenly retracted, and swooped down from on high, left to right, smashing solidly against Tiago’s shield.The shield grabbed Icingdeath, as Drizzt had hoped, and he darted out to the left, tugging and turning, and flipping Twinkle in his hand.His left went up high, and as he stepped and turned his back to the twisting Tiago, he drove his hand down and back, a reverse thrust the Baenre noble could not hope to block with his shield.Drizzt had him!But Twinkle was hit as someone darted in the other way, and parried up high—and Drizzt nearly lost the blade.“Hah!” Tiago cried with clear glee, surely thinking victory at hand.But the ranger was quick, and Drizzt pulled Icingdeath free and completed his spin.Flipping Twinkle, he fell back a step defensively.He wore a curious expression when he came around, to see Doum’wielle, her parry complete, thrust ahead with the blade.But she stabbed at Tiago’s exposed flank and not at Drizzt!The Baenre noble howled and groaned and fell away, clutching his side, as Doum’wielle, her blade bloodied, spun back on Drizzt.“Little Doe,” Drizzt said, in both relief and surprise—and ending with his surprise multiplied as the daughter of Sinnafein, her face a mask of rage, swept her deadly blade across at Drizzt.For this was the plan of Khazid’hea, the redemption of Doum’wielle, who would claim the head of Drizzt Do’Urden as her trophy when she returned to Menzoberranzan!Twinkle came up in a vertical block once more, perfectly timed to intercept the slashing sword.But Twinkle had been compromised from the earlier hit, and Khazid’hea had coaxed every ounce of strength Doum’wielle could manage into that brutal strike.The fine edge of the sword that could cut stone snapped the blade from Twinkle and continued across, shearing Drizzt’s leather armor and mithral shirt with ease, opening a line across the ranger’s chest from his left shoulder to the midpoint of his ribs.Blood erupted from the garish wound, pouring freely onto Drizzt’s torn shirt.He stood there, mouth agape, staring into the wicked smile of Doum’wielle, of Little Doe, of the daughter of his dear friend Sinnafein.He couldn’t retaliate.He couldn’t even lift an arm to block as Doum’wielle lifted the awful Khazid’hea yet again.Drizzt knew his wound to be mortal.He knew he was dead.He got slammed hard and darkness fell over him.He felt as if he were flying sidelong, or perhaps tumbling over to the ground, and he crashed against the stone and got hit again, with brutal force, and knew only darkness and weight, as if the stones of the floor had swallowed him up, or the ceiling had fallen upon him.There was no breath to draw.PART 3The First King’s DeathIN THE MOMENT OF MY DEATH, WILL I BE SURPRISED?IN THAT INSTANT?When the sword cuts my flesh, or the giant’s hammer descends, or the dragon’s flames curl my skin?When I know it is happening, when I know beyond doubt that Death has come for me, will I be surprised or calm, accepting or panicked?I tell myself that I am prepared.I have surrounded the question logically, rationally, removing emotion, accepting the inevitability.But knowing it will happen and knowing there is nothing I can do to stop it from happening is a different level of acceptance, perhaps, than any actual preparation for that onetime, ultimate event.Can anything be more unsettling to conscious thought than the likely end of conscious thought?This notion is not something I dwell upon.I do not go to my bed each night with the worry of the moment of death climbing under my blanket beside me.In merely asking this question—in the moment of my death, will I be surprised?—I suspect that I am entertaining the notion more than many, more than most, likely.In many—in each—of us there is this deep-seated avoidance of, even denial of, the undeniable.For others, there is the salve of religion.For some it is a false claim—more a hope than a belief.I know this because I have seen these faithful in their moment of death, and it is a terrifying moment for them.

In their obsession, they will defeat each other.Doum’wielle’s eyes spun as she tried to keep up with the frenetic, beautiful movements.Tiago went down in a slide, his blade coming out wide to cut at Drizzt’s thighs.But over that blade went Drizzt in a graceful dive and spin, and he broke out of it wide-armed and wide-legged, landing lightly on his feet.Go!Khazid’hea implored Doum’wielle, for that sword, knowing the tactics of Drizzt so well, knew what was coming.DRIZZT WENT IN with Twinkle leading with a low thrust.But that was the feint, and Icingdeath went up above and over the sister scimitar, which Drizzt suddenly retracted, and swooped down from on high, left to right, smashing solidly against Tiago’s shield.The shield grabbed Icingdeath, as Drizzt had hoped, and he darted out to the left, tugging and turning, and flipping Twinkle in his hand.His left went up high, and as he stepped and turned his back to the twisting Tiago, he drove his hand down and back, a reverse thrust the Baenre noble could not hope to block with his shield.Drizzt had him!But Twinkle was hit as someone darted in the other way, and parried up high—and Drizzt nearly lost the blade.“Hah!” Tiago cried with clear glee, surely thinking victory at hand.But the ranger was quick, and Drizzt pulled Icingdeath free and completed his spin.Flipping Twinkle, he fell back a step defensively.He wore a curious expression when he came around, to see Doum’wielle, her parry complete, thrust ahead with the blade.But she stabbed at Tiago’s exposed flank and not at Drizzt!The Baenre noble howled and groaned and fell away, clutching his side, as Doum’wielle, her blade bloodied, spun back on Drizzt.“Little Doe,” Drizzt said, in both relief and surprise—and ending with his surprise multiplied as the daughter of Sinnafein, her face a mask of rage, swept her deadly blade across at Drizzt.For this was the plan of Khazid’hea, the redemption of Doum’wielle, who would claim the head of Drizzt Do’Urden as her trophy when she returned to Menzoberranzan!Twinkle came up in a vertical block once more, perfectly timed to intercept the slashing sword.But Twinkle had been compromised from the earlier hit, and Khazid’hea had coaxed every ounce of strength Doum’wielle could manage into that brutal strike.The fine edge of the sword that could cut stone snapped the blade from Twinkle and continued across, shearing Drizzt’s leather armor and mithral shirt with ease, opening a line across the ranger’s chest from his left shoulder to the midpoint of his ribs.Blood erupted from the garish wound, pouring freely onto Drizzt’s torn shirt.He stood there, mouth agape, staring into the wicked smile of Doum’wielle, of Little Doe, of the daughter of his dear friend Sinnafein.He couldn’t retaliate.He couldn’t even lift an arm to block as Doum’wielle lifted the awful Khazid’hea yet again.Drizzt knew his wound to be mortal.He knew he was dead.He got slammed hard and darkness fell over him.He felt as if he were flying sidelong, or perhaps tumbling over to the ground, and he crashed against the stone and got hit again, with brutal force, and knew only darkness and weight, as if the stones of the floor had swallowed him up, or the ceiling had fallen upon him.There was no breath to draw.PART 3The First King’s DeathIN THE MOMENT OF MY DEATH, WILL I BE SURPRISED?IN THAT INSTANT?When the sword cuts my flesh, or the giant’s hammer descends, or the dragon’s flames curl my skin?When I know it is happening, when I know beyond doubt that Death has come for me, will I be surprised or calm, accepting or panicked?I tell myself that I am prepared.I have surrounded the question logically, rationally, removing emotion, accepting the inevitability.But knowing it will happen and knowing there is nothing I can do to stop it from happening is a different level of acceptance, perhaps, than any actual preparation for that onetime, ultimate event.Can anything be more unsettling to conscious thought than the likely end of conscious thought?This notion is not something I dwell upon.I do not go to my bed each night with the worry of the moment of death climbing under my blanket beside me.In merely asking this question—in the moment of my death, will I be surprised?—I suspect that I am entertaining the notion more than many, more than most, likely.In many—in each—of us there is this deep-seated avoidance of, even denial of, the undeniable.For others, there is the salve of religion.For some it is a false claim—more a hope than a belief.I know this because I have seen these faithful in their moment of death, and it is a terrifying moment for them.

dnd114

For others, it is a genuine, sanguine acceptance and belief in something better beyond.This religious salve has never been my way.I know not why, but I am not so arrogant as to demean those who choose a different path through this muddled life and its inevitable end, or to pretend that they are somehow lesser of intellect, of moral integrity, or of courage, than I.For among that last group, those of deep faith, I would include my beloved wife, Catti-brie, so secure in her knowledge of what awaits when the scythe falls and her time on Toril is at its end.Would I see it differently had I been in that altered passage of time and space beside my four dear friends?I honestly do not know.Wulfgar was there, and he returns anew, unconvinced of that which would have awaited him on the other side of that pond in the forest of Iruladoon.Indeed, Wulfgar confided to me that his certainty of the Halls of Tempus is less now than before his journey through death to return to this world.We live in a world of amazing magic.We assign to it names, and pretend to understand, and reduce it to fit our purposes.More importantly, we reduce the beauty of the universe around us to fit our hopes and to chase away our fears.I know the day will come.The enemy’s sword, the giant’s hammer, the dragon’s breath.There is no escape, no alternate course, no luck of the draw.The day will come.Will I be surprised?Will I be prepared?Can anyone be, truly?Perhaps not, but again, this will not be that which chases me to my bed each night.Nay, I’ll worry more for that which I can influence—my concern cannot be my inevitable demise, but rather, my actions in my waking life.For before me, before us all, lie choices right and wrong, and clear to see.To follow my heart is to know contentment.To dodge the edicts of my heart, to convince myself through twisted words and feeble justifications to go against what I know to be true and right for the sake of glory or wealth or self-aggrandizement or any of the other mortal frailties, is, to my thinking, anathema to the concept of peace and justice, divine or otherwise.And so to best prepare myself for that ultimate mortal moment is to live my life honestly, to myself, to the greater deeds and greater goods.I do this not for divine reward.I do this not in fear of any god or divine retribution, or to ensure that there is no place for me in the Abyss or the Nine Hells.I do this because of that which is in my heart.Once I gave it the name Mielikki.Now, given the edicts made in that name regarding goblinkin as relayed through Catti-brie, I am not so certain that Mielikki and my heart are truly aligned.But no matter.Am I prepared for the moment of my death?No, I expect not.But I am content and I am at peace.I know my guide, and that guide is my heart.More than that, I cannot do.—Drizzt Do’UrdenCHAPTER 15A One-Handed CatastropheTHE MARCH WAS METHODICAL AND COMPLETE, CLEARING ROOM after room, corridor after corridor.Occasionally, a few of the dwarves and their allies would break free of the lead ranks, bursting through doors, pursuing fleeing kobolds or the avian humanoids called dire corbies, or whatever other monstrous inhabitants they had sent running.Hoshtar Xorlarrin, magically invisible and magically tiny, watched from afar as a trio of dwarves crashed through one door, careening down a corridor.A pair of dwarf women led the way, swords waving, grabbing each other hand to arm and launching each other along.Oftentimes they fell, but it hardly seemed to matter, for they just bounced or rolled or twisted about, and always came back to their feet, in full speed and ready to chop down the nearest fleeing kobold.Behind them came a red-bearded dwarf carrying a shining shield with the foaming mug standard of the clan, and banging it with an old battle-axe that had surely seen its share of battles.He laughed wildly, though he kept shouting his discontent, for the two women were tearing the place apart—and tearing apart the monsters, long before he could get near to them.The powerful Xorlarrin wizard contemplated destroying the three fools as they passed along the corridor below his secret perch.

For others, it is a genuine, sanguine acceptance and belief in something better beyond.This religious salve has never been my way.I know not why, but I am not so arrogant as to demean those who choose a different path through this muddled life and its inevitable end, or to pretend that they are somehow lesser of intellect, of moral integrity, or of courage, than I.For among that last group, those of deep faith, I would include my beloved wife, Catti-brie, so secure in her knowledge of what awaits when the scythe falls and her time on Toril is at its end.Would I see it differently had I been in that altered passage of time and space beside my four dear friends?I honestly do not know.Wulfgar was there, and he returns anew, unconvinced of that which would have awaited him on the other side of that pond in the forest of Iruladoon.Indeed, Wulfgar confided to me that his certainty of the Halls of Tempus is less now than before his journey through death to return to this world.We live in a world of amazing magic.We assign to it names, and pretend to understand, and reduce it to fit our purposes.More importantly, we reduce the beauty of the universe around us to fit our hopes and to chase away our fears.I know the day will come.The enemy’s sword, the giant’s hammer, the dragon’s breath.There is no escape, no alternate course, no luck of the draw.The day will come.Will I be surprised?Will I be prepared?Can anyone be, truly?Perhaps not, but again, this will not be that which chases me to my bed each night.Nay, I’ll worry more for that which I can influence—my concern cannot be my inevitable demise, but rather, my actions in my waking life.For before me, before us all, lie choices right and wrong, and clear to see.To follow my heart is to know contentment.To dodge the edicts of my heart, to convince myself through twisted words and feeble justifications to go against what I know to be true and right for the sake of glory or wealth or self-aggrandizement or any of the other mortal frailties, is, to my thinking, anathema to the concept of peace and justice, divine or otherwise.And so to best prepare myself for that ultimate mortal moment is to live my life honestly, to myself, to the greater deeds and greater goods.I do this not for divine reward.I do this not in fear of any god or divine retribution, or to ensure that there is no place for me in the Abyss or the Nine Hells.I do this because of that which is in my heart.Once I gave it the name Mielikki.Now, given the edicts made in that name regarding goblinkin as relayed through Catti-brie, I am not so certain that Mielikki and my heart are truly aligned.But no matter.Am I prepared for the moment of my death?No, I expect not.But I am content and I am at peace.I know my guide, and that guide is my heart.More than that, I cannot do.—Drizzt Do’UrdenCHAPTER 15A One-Handed CatastropheTHE MARCH WAS METHODICAL AND COMPLETE, CLEARING ROOM after room, corridor after corridor.Occasionally, a few of the dwarves and their allies would break free of the lead ranks, bursting through doors, pursuing fleeing kobolds or the avian humanoids called dire corbies, or whatever other monstrous inhabitants they had sent running.Hoshtar Xorlarrin, magically invisible and magically tiny, watched from afar as a trio of dwarves crashed through one door, careening down a corridor.A pair of dwarf women led the way, swords waving, grabbing each other hand to arm and launching each other along.Oftentimes they fell, but it hardly seemed to matter, for they just bounced or rolled or twisted about, and always came back to their feet, in full speed and ready to chop down the nearest fleeing kobold.Behind them came a red-bearded dwarf carrying a shining shield with the foaming mug standard of the clan, and banging it with an old battle-axe that had surely seen its share of battles.He laughed wildly, though he kept shouting his discontent, for the two women were tearing the place apart—and tearing apart the monsters, long before he could get near to them.The powerful Xorlarrin wizard contemplated destroying the three fools as they passed along the corridor below his secret perch.

dnd115

He could summon an earthquake, perhaps, and tumble the walls upon them.Or invoke black tentacles from the floor to grab at them and occupy them, then blast them dead with fireballs and lightning bolts.Yes, it all seemed perfectly delightful.More sound from the back put an end to that fantasy, though.These three had broken free, but they had not gone too far in front, clearly, and now another pair of dwarves appeared at the doorway far back up the hallway.Another female came first, carrying a mace that seemed more fitting in the hands of an ogre.She was followed by a sturdy-looking fellow, black-bearded and muscular, with wild eyes and a ready laugh, and spinning a pair of heavy morningstars with practiced ease.Hoshtar’s eyes widened at the sight of Athrogate, Jarlaxle’s ugly little friend.Hoshtar, who had long served as Matron Mother Zeerith’s liaison to both Bregan D’aerthe and House Melarn, knew who the dwarf was with certainty.But what was the annoying fellow doing here?What was Bregan D’aerthe doing here, in any capacity, unless that capacity served the matron mother?Hadn’t Matron Mother Baenre just effectively enslaved Jarlaxle as a House guard in her ridiculous reincarnation of House Do’Urden?Hoshtar’s mind leaped in a dozen different directions as he tried to sort it all out.Perhaps when the main forces of Bregan D’aerthe had been recalled to Menzoberranzan, Jarlaxle had set the dwarf free.Jarlaxle would not want Athrogate in the City of Spiders, after all.The rhyming, smelly creature wouldn’t survive a tenday in the city before some aggravated drow laid him low!Or was Athrogate now spying, perhaps on behalf of Jarlaxle—and if that was true, perhaps it might ultimately serve Matron Mother Zeerith.But no, Hoshtar knew, his first impression seemed the most reasonable, and now he played it to a logical conclusion.These dwarves, this army, had come to Q’Xorlarrin at the behest of the matron mother.She was pressuring House Xorlarrin to plead for her assistance so that she could garner Matron Mother Zeerith’s unwavering fealty.“Yes, that must be it,” Hoshtar said under his breath, and he found himself disgusted and intrigued all at once.And worried, for what might Matron Mother Zeerith’s reaction be when he passed along this terrifying information?That moment was fast approaching, Hoshtar realized, when more sounds followed Athrogate and the woman into the corridor.This entire section of the complex would fall to their small hands in short order, and his escape routes would be few and far between.The Xorlarrin wizard adjusted his red veil over his face and quietly mouthed a spell.Fortunately for him, Athrogate, who was not so far away, launched loudly into a bawdy song, covering his spellcasting.Hoshtar became an insubstantial cloud of fog and wafted away.“NO YE DON’T, girlie!” Tannabritches Fellhammer yelled as she went skidding on her knees down the hallway past her sister, launching herself at the kobold line.She almost got the next swing in, but her sister Mallabritches leaped over her, head down, and crashed into the monsters, driving them back.“Ah, ye cheatin’ daughter of an ugly orc!” Tannabritches howled, putting her feet under her and charging ahead.She shouldered Mallabritches aside and stabbed out with her sword once and then again, dropping a pair of kobolds.“And ye’re me twin!” Mallabritches reminded her.“So who’s the orc?”“Hah!” Tannabritches cried in victory, and started ahead, her sister growling and matching her charge.But then Tannabritches was flying backward, tugged by a strong hand.She started to question it, but heard a familiar laugh and saw a familiar one-horned helmet atop a mop of wild red hair.“Bah!” she cried, and Mallabritches grunted and offered a resounding “oof!” as Bruenor bulled past her.Bruenor’s shield rush drove into the kobold ranks, the dwarf leaning hard, shoulder to buckler, his powerful legs pumping and driving.

He could summon an earthquake, perhaps, and tumble the walls upon them.Or invoke black tentacles from the floor to grab at them and occupy them, then blast them dead with fireballs and lightning bolts.Yes, it all seemed perfectly delightful.More sound from the back put an end to that fantasy, though.These three had broken free, but they had not gone too far in front, clearly, and now another pair of dwarves appeared at the doorway far back up the hallway.Another female came first, carrying a mace that seemed more fitting in the hands of an ogre.She was followed by a sturdy-looking fellow, black-bearded and muscular, with wild eyes and a ready laugh, and spinning a pair of heavy morningstars with practiced ease.Hoshtar’s eyes widened at the sight of Athrogate, Jarlaxle’s ugly little friend.Hoshtar, who had long served as Matron Mother Zeerith’s liaison to both Bregan D’aerthe and House Melarn, knew who the dwarf was with certainty.But what was the annoying fellow doing here?What was Bregan D’aerthe doing here, in any capacity, unless that capacity served the matron mother?Hadn’t Matron Mother Baenre just effectively enslaved Jarlaxle as a House guard in her ridiculous reincarnation of House Do’Urden?Hoshtar’s mind leaped in a dozen different directions as he tried to sort it all out.Perhaps when the main forces of Bregan D’aerthe had been recalled to Menzoberranzan, Jarlaxle had set the dwarf free.Jarlaxle would not want Athrogate in the City of Spiders, after all.The rhyming, smelly creature wouldn’t survive a tenday in the city before some aggravated drow laid him low!Or was Athrogate now spying, perhaps on behalf of Jarlaxle—and if that was true, perhaps it might ultimately serve Matron Mother Zeerith.But no, Hoshtar knew, his first impression seemed the most reasonable, and now he played it to a logical conclusion.These dwarves, this army, had come to Q’Xorlarrin at the behest of the matron mother.She was pressuring House Xorlarrin to plead for her assistance so that she could garner Matron Mother Zeerith’s unwavering fealty.“Yes, that must be it,” Hoshtar said under his breath, and he found himself disgusted and intrigued all at once.And worried, for what might Matron Mother Zeerith’s reaction be when he passed along this terrifying information?That moment was fast approaching, Hoshtar realized, when more sounds followed Athrogate and the woman into the corridor.This entire section of the complex would fall to their small hands in short order, and his escape routes would be few and far between.The Xorlarrin wizard adjusted his red veil over his face and quietly mouthed a spell.Fortunately for him, Athrogate, who was not so far away, launched loudly into a bawdy song, covering his spellcasting.Hoshtar became an insubstantial cloud of fog and wafted away.“NO YE DON’T, girlie!” Tannabritches Fellhammer yelled as she went skidding on her knees down the hallway past her sister, launching herself at the kobold line.She almost got the next swing in, but her sister Mallabritches leaped over her, head down, and crashed into the monsters, driving them back.“Ah, ye cheatin’ daughter of an ugly orc!” Tannabritches howled, putting her feet under her and charging ahead.She shouldered Mallabritches aside and stabbed out with her sword once and then again, dropping a pair of kobolds.“And ye’re me twin!” Mallabritches reminded her.“So who’s the orc?”“Hah!” Tannabritches cried in victory, and started ahead, her sister growling and matching her charge.But then Tannabritches was flying backward, tugged by a strong hand.She started to question it, but heard a familiar laugh and saw a familiar one-horned helmet atop a mop of wild red hair.“Bah!” she cried, and Mallabritches grunted and offered a resounding “oof!” as Bruenor bulled past her.Bruenor’s shield rush drove into the kobold ranks, the dwarf leaning hard, shoulder to buckler, his powerful legs pumping and driving.

dnd116

Every now and then, Bruenor reached his axe up and over his shield, smacking at the beasts, and whenever one managed to get a foothold to slow his press, the dwarf turned and cut low, taking out its legs.“Duck!” the Fellhammer sisters yelled in unison, and Bruenor reflexively scrunched lower.He felt a boot on his left shoulder, another boot on his right shoulder, and over went the sisters, using him as a springboard to lift them high above the front kobold ranks and drop into the middle of the swarm.“No!” Bruenor cried.“What’re ye thinkin’?”His last word came out as a grunt, though, as another boot stomped atop his shoulder, and another on the other side.“Bwahaha!” he heard, and he knew that Athrogate and Ambergris had come.The kobolds knew it, too.Painfully so.RECONSTITUTED IN HIS corporeal form once more, Hoshtar Xorlarrin glanced back over his shoulder, hearing the approaching battle.He was in the last tunnel now, moving for the large chamber that joined the lower levels with these upper portions of the complex.The kobolds were running out of room.The dwarves would be here soon, in this tunnel, and the upper complex would be theirs.There remained some monsters between them and Hoshtar’s clan, and surely the drow could bring in some more to hinder the progress of these bearded ruffians.Hinder, but not stop, for it was only a matter of time now, and not much time at that.Hoshtar reached the end of the corridor, moving through a door to a landing that opened high above the vast chamber and the deep darkness below.With a last glance back up the corridor, the mage touched his House emblem, enacting an enchantment of levitation, and stepped from the ledge, drifting down.Matron Mother Zeerith would not be pleased, for he had nothing good to tell her.The dwarves had made tremendous progress, securing room after room after tunnel, and fortifying everything in their wake.When Hoshtar had secretly crossed through the front warrior ranks of the enemy, he had found the industrious dwarves behind hard at work, building traps and secure doors of stone and iron, even reshaping corridors in meticulous detail, setting up kill zones with their clever war engines.Even if House Xorlarrin fought off the initial assaults and defeated the front lines of dwarves, claiming these upper tunnels of Q’Xorlarrin would be costly.And without these upper tunnels secured, Matron Mother Zeerith’s designs on trade with surface-dwelling partners could not be easily realized.Hoshtar thought of Athrogate, Jarlaxle’s ugly little friend.“Oh, clever Jarlaxle,” he said, drifting down into the darkness.Might Jarlaxle, and not the matron mother, prove to be the impetus behind the dwarves’ reclamation of the upper halls?Jarlaxle knew these dwarves, obviously, and had spies among them—Athrogate at least.With these devious developments, with an army of dwarves holding fast to the upper complex, only Jarlaxle could facilitate the necessary trade between the city of Q’Xorlarrin and the World Above.Was this Jarlaxle’s way of ensuring himself a larger profit?“Or is it truly the work of the matron mother?” he asked himself as he lightly touched down beside the huge spiral staircase that could be, and now was, retracted halfway to the ceiling.Aware then that many eyes and bows were trained upon him, Hoshtar held up his hands unthreateningly and offered his name.“Beware falling kobolds,” he warned the drow sentries, moving past into the deeper tunnels, moving toward the unenviable task of informing Matron Mother Zeerith on the successes their enemies had already realized.“Dwarves,” the delicate and fashionable dark elf muttered repeatedly during that long, long walk to the royal chambers.“Ugly, hairy, filthy dwarves.Oh, why must it be dwarves?”“HAHA, BUT YE’VE picked yerself a band o’ bluster an’ bustin’!” Athrogate said to Bruenor a bit later, when the five had turned into a series of side passages and found—to their disappointment—a few moments of much-needed respite.“Don’t know that I’ve e’er seen a one-hander so quick to clobber!” he added, using an old dwarven nickname, “one-hander,” to describe a five-dwarf patrol group.Bruenor had a hard time disagreeing with the sentiment.Fist and Fury were truly a rolling disaster from any enemy’s viewpoint, and Bruenor, with his supreme skill, centuries of experience, and mighty gear, knew how to complement them perfectly.And no less devastating were Athrogate and Ambergris, particularly Athrogate.Never in his life had Bruenor witnessed a more capable dwarven catastrophe—indeed, this one was on a par with Thibbledorf Pwent!“If I didn’t have ye with me, I’d not be out in front o’ the group,” he replied, and dropped a friendly hand on Athrogate’s shoulder.“Aye, and an added pleasure it is that th’ other three are lasses,” Athrogate said, lowering his voice so that the trio, who were not so far away, couldn’t hear.“I know ye’re me king here, and know that ye’ve got me allegiance, but I’m beggin’ ye to keep yer charms from me girl Ambergris.I’ve ne’er known a sturdier lassie, and oh, but she’s taken me heart in her hands!”Bruenor just stared at him curiously.“What?” Athrogate asked when he finally caught on to that expression.“Were ye thinkin’ o’ takin’ her from me, then?”“I’m yer king?” Bruenor asked, seeming genuinely surprised.And Athrogate seemed genuinely wounded.

Every now and then, Bruenor reached his axe up and over his shield, smacking at the beasts, and whenever one managed to get a foothold to slow his press, the dwarf turned and cut low, taking out its legs.“Duck!” the Fellhammer sisters yelled in unison, and Bruenor reflexively scrunched lower.He felt a boot on his left shoulder, another boot on his right shoulder, and over went the sisters, using him as a springboard to lift them high above the front kobold ranks and drop into the middle of the swarm.“No!” Bruenor cried.“What’re ye thinkin’?”His last word came out as a grunt, though, as another boot stomped atop his shoulder, and another on the other side.“Bwahaha!” he heard, and he knew that Athrogate and Ambergris had come.The kobolds knew it, too.Painfully so.RECONSTITUTED IN HIS corporeal form once more, Hoshtar Xorlarrin glanced back over his shoulder, hearing the approaching battle.He was in the last tunnel now, moving for the large chamber that joined the lower levels with these upper portions of the complex.The kobolds were running out of room.The dwarves would be here soon, in this tunnel, and the upper complex would be theirs.There remained some monsters between them and Hoshtar’s clan, and surely the drow could bring in some more to hinder the progress of these bearded ruffians.Hinder, but not stop, for it was only a matter of time now, and not much time at that.Hoshtar reached the end of the corridor, moving through a door to a landing that opened high above the vast chamber and the deep darkness below.With a last glance back up the corridor, the mage touched his House emblem, enacting an enchantment of levitation, and stepped from the ledge, drifting down.Matron Mother Zeerith would not be pleased, for he had nothing good to tell her.The dwarves had made tremendous progress, securing room after room after tunnel, and fortifying everything in their wake.When Hoshtar had secretly crossed through the front warrior ranks of the enemy, he had found the industrious dwarves behind hard at work, building traps and secure doors of stone and iron, even reshaping corridors in meticulous detail, setting up kill zones with their clever war engines.Even if House Xorlarrin fought off the initial assaults and defeated the front lines of dwarves, claiming these upper tunnels of Q’Xorlarrin would be costly.And without these upper tunnels secured, Matron Mother Zeerith’s designs on trade with surface-dwelling partners could not be easily realized.Hoshtar thought of Athrogate, Jarlaxle’s ugly little friend.“Oh, clever Jarlaxle,” he said, drifting down into the darkness.Might Jarlaxle, and not the matron mother, prove to be the impetus behind the dwarves’ reclamation of the upper halls?Jarlaxle knew these dwarves, obviously, and had spies among them—Athrogate at least.With these devious developments, with an army of dwarves holding fast to the upper complex, only Jarlaxle could facilitate the necessary trade between the city of Q’Xorlarrin and the World Above.Was this Jarlaxle’s way of ensuring himself a larger profit?“Or is it truly the work of the matron mother?” he asked himself as he lightly touched down beside the huge spiral staircase that could be, and now was, retracted halfway to the ceiling.Aware then that many eyes and bows were trained upon him, Hoshtar held up his hands unthreateningly and offered his name.“Beware falling kobolds,” he warned the drow sentries, moving past into the deeper tunnels, moving toward the unenviable task of informing Matron Mother Zeerith on the successes their enemies had already realized.“Dwarves,” the delicate and fashionable dark elf muttered repeatedly during that long, long walk to the royal chambers.“Ugly, hairy, filthy dwarves.Oh, why must it be dwarves?”“HAHA, BUT YE’VE picked yerself a band o’ bluster an’ bustin’!” Athrogate said to Bruenor a bit later, when the five had turned into a series of side passages and found—to their disappointment—a few moments of much-needed respite.“Don’t know that I’ve e’er seen a one-hander so quick to clobber!” he added, using an old dwarven nickname, “one-hander,” to describe a five-dwarf patrol group.Bruenor had a hard time disagreeing with the sentiment.Fist and Fury were truly a rolling disaster from any enemy’s viewpoint, and Bruenor, with his supreme skill, centuries of experience, and mighty gear, knew how to complement them perfectly.And no less devastating were Athrogate and Ambergris, particularly Athrogate.Never in his life had Bruenor witnessed a more capable dwarven catastrophe—indeed, this one was on a par with Thibbledorf Pwent!“If I didn’t have ye with me, I’d not be out in front o’ the group,” he replied, and dropped a friendly hand on Athrogate’s shoulder.“Aye, and an added pleasure it is that th’ other three are lasses,” Athrogate said, lowering his voice so that the trio, who were not so far away, couldn’t hear.“I know ye’re me king here, and know that ye’ve got me allegiance, but I’m beggin’ ye to keep yer charms from me girl Ambergris.I’ve ne’er known a sturdier lassie, and oh, but she’s taken me heart in her hands!”Bruenor just stared at him curiously.“What?” Athrogate asked when he finally caught on to that expression.“Were ye thinkin’ o’ takin’ her from me, then?”“I’m yer king?” Bruenor asked, seeming genuinely surprised.And Athrogate seemed genuinely wounded.

dnd117

He stuttered about for a response for several heartbeats, then whispered, as he had in the Rite of Kith’n Kin, “Ar tariseachd, na daoine de a bheil mise, ar righ.”“Ye’re here because Jarlaxle sent ye here, and no pretendin’ other,” said Bruenor.“Ye’re not serving me, Athrogate, and I’m not to hold any fancies on it.Ye serve Jarlaxle and his band o’ drow, and ye serve yerself, and so ye have since when first I met ye.”That statement seemed perfectly logical, given the history, but it clearly caught Athrogate by surprise and rocked him back on his heels, and put on Athrogate’s face an expression caught somewhere between surprise and sadness.“I’m not judgin’ ye,” Bruenor was quick to add.“I’ve had Jarlaxle aside meself, as well.”Athrogate winced.“What, then?” Bruenor asked.“I came to Nesmé as Jarlaxle’s spy,” Athrogate answered.“I’m not for denyin’ that.Never did.” He paused and looked at Ambergris.“But me spyin’ showed me more than I was thinkin’.”“Jarlaxle’s band’ll accept yer girl, if that’s yer worry,” Bruenor assured him.“Nay,” Athrogate said.“Not me worry.”“Then what?”“Not a life for a dwarf,” Athrogate said, and he seemed genuinely choked up by then.“What’re ye sayin’?” Bruenor prompted.“Speak it straight out.”“I’m hopin’ to call ye me king.So’s Amber Gristle O’Maul o’ the Adbar O’Mauls.”Now it was Bruenor’s turn to rock back on his heels.Despite the Rite of Kith’n Kin, despite even that the Throne of the Dwarf Gods had accepted Athrogate, Bruenor’s surprise at the level of Athrogate’s intensity and pleading here was genuine, his eyes wide, his jaw hanging slack until he could fumble around in his thoughts enough to find words for his shock.“Ye think Jarlaxle’s to just let ye go?” he said, because he had nothing else to say.“Why’s it got to be one or th’ other?” Athrogate replied.“I … we, me and me girl, will be Jarlaxle’s eyes, ears, and mouth in Gauntlgrym.”“Serving both?” Bruenor asked, his tone showing that he was none too pleased by that prospect.Was Athrogate asking him to willingly accept a spy in Gauntlgrym’s midst?“Serving the king o’ me clan,” Athrogate replied without hesitation, and with sincere conviction.“Tellin’ Jarlaxle only that what ye’re tellin’ me I can be tellin’ him!And I’ll be lettin’ him know that right up front, what, and if that’s not good enough for him, then good riddance to him!”Bruenor stared at him hard, and found that he truly believed every word.The other three came over then, Fist and Fury obviously eager to be on their way.“More …” Tannabritches began.“… to hit,” Mallabritches finished, and the two punched each other in the shoulder.“Lot o’ trust, ye’re askin’,” Bruenor remarked.Athrogate shrugged.Bruenor nodded.For some reason he couldn’t quite sort out at that moment, it all seemed to fit.He had thought that Bungalow Thump would become his new Thibbledorf Pwent.Both had headed the Gutbuster Brigade, after all, and both could fight in the manner of a tornado.But this seemed more appropriate to him.The fit was right.

He stuttered about for a response for several heartbeats, then whispered, as he had in the Rite of Kith’n Kin, “Ar tariseachd, na daoine de a bheil mise, ar righ.”“Ye’re here because Jarlaxle sent ye here, and no pretendin’ other,” said Bruenor.“Ye’re not serving me, Athrogate, and I’m not to hold any fancies on it.Ye serve Jarlaxle and his band o’ drow, and ye serve yerself, and so ye have since when first I met ye.”That statement seemed perfectly logical, given the history, but it clearly caught Athrogate by surprise and rocked him back on his heels, and put on Athrogate’s face an expression caught somewhere between surprise and sadness.“I’m not judgin’ ye,” Bruenor was quick to add.“I’ve had Jarlaxle aside meself, as well.”Athrogate winced.“What, then?” Bruenor asked.“I came to Nesmé as Jarlaxle’s spy,” Athrogate answered.“I’m not for denyin’ that.Never did.” He paused and looked at Ambergris.“But me spyin’ showed me more than I was thinkin’.”“Jarlaxle’s band’ll accept yer girl, if that’s yer worry,” Bruenor assured him.“Nay,” Athrogate said.“Not me worry.”“Then what?”“Not a life for a dwarf,” Athrogate said, and he seemed genuinely choked up by then.“What’re ye sayin’?” Bruenor prompted.“Speak it straight out.”“I’m hopin’ to call ye me king.So’s Amber Gristle O’Maul o’ the Adbar O’Mauls.”Now it was Bruenor’s turn to rock back on his heels.Despite the Rite of Kith’n Kin, despite even that the Throne of the Dwarf Gods had accepted Athrogate, Bruenor’s surprise at the level of Athrogate’s intensity and pleading here was genuine, his eyes wide, his jaw hanging slack until he could fumble around in his thoughts enough to find words for his shock.“Ye think Jarlaxle’s to just let ye go?” he said, because he had nothing else to say.“Why’s it got to be one or th’ other?” Athrogate replied.“I … we, me and me girl, will be Jarlaxle’s eyes, ears, and mouth in Gauntlgrym.”“Serving both?” Bruenor asked, his tone showing that he was none too pleased by that prospect.Was Athrogate asking him to willingly accept a spy in Gauntlgrym’s midst?“Serving the king o’ me clan,” Athrogate replied without hesitation, and with sincere conviction.“Tellin’ Jarlaxle only that what ye’re tellin’ me I can be tellin’ him!And I’ll be lettin’ him know that right up front, what, and if that’s not good enough for him, then good riddance to him!”Bruenor stared at him hard, and found that he truly believed every word.The other three came over then, Fist and Fury obviously eager to be on their way.“More …” Tannabritches began.“… to hit,” Mallabritches finished, and the two punched each other in the shoulder.“Lot o’ trust, ye’re askin’,” Bruenor remarked.Athrogate shrugged.Bruenor nodded.For some reason he couldn’t quite sort out at that moment, it all seemed to fit.He had thought that Bungalow Thump would become his new Thibbledorf Pwent.Both had headed the Gutbuster Brigade, after all, and both could fight in the manner of a tornado.But this seemed more appropriate to him.The fit was right.

dnd118

Other than Drizzt, and perhaps Pwent, Bruenor could not think of anyone above Athrogate he would rather have beside him when battle was at hand.He had no reason to trust Athrogate now.The dwarf had been a fine fighting partner throughout the campaign, and particularly of late in Gauntlgrym, but asking Athrogate to fight well was like asking a fish to swim.If Athrogate’s loyalties remained with Jarlaxle, wouldn’t he have spoken the exact words Bruenor had just heard?And yet, Bruenor knew better.Perhaps it had been the surprised expression, which appeared so genuine.Perhaps the hours of close-combat battle, joining these two as comrades.Or perhaps because it just seemed to fit, and just seemed to make sense.Bruenor silently cautioned himself against overthinking his feelings.He had led his people for centuries by relying on his gut, and his gut’s reaction to Athrogate now was clear.“Welcome home, me friend,” he said quietly.Athrogate grinned widely, so widely!But that was just to cover up the moisture that had come to his dark eyes, Bruenor realized.He could see that Athrogate wanted to respond verbally, but that he wouldn’t dare, afraid he would break out in an open sob.“What’re we missin’?” Ambergris asked.“Me axe ain’t missing nothing,” Bruenor replied.“So let’s find it something to hit!”“Aye!” the Fellhammer sisters said together, with such enthusiasm that Bruenor almost expected them to launch into aerial somersaults.Off went the one-hand catastrophe.SOMETIME LATER, A scratching sound, like a spear tip against stone, alerted them that they were not alone, and a quick survey placed the sound behind a barred door in a perpendicular corridor.Tannabritches slid past the door on her knees, skidding to a stop just to the far side of the jamb.Mallabritches came right behind, skidding up to the nearer edge.“Might be a wizard,” Bruenor whispered to Ambergris, the two and Athrogate back at the corridor corner, just a few strides from the kneeling sisters.The priestess nodded and quietly began preparing a spell.Bruenor motioned to Athrogate and the two moved up to stand in front of the portal and between the sisters.Tannabritches and Mallabritches slowly grasped the locking bar.Bruenor glanced back to see if Ambergris was ready before he took up his shield and axe and motioned to the pair.Off went the bar, thrown aside.Athrogate leaped up and kicked in the door.Then he screamed in shock and fell away, a tumble of thick limbs and bouncing morningstars.Before they could begin to react, before they could properly fill the void left by the diving dwarf, the Fellhammer sisters, too, were knocked aside by a huge living missile.And they, too, screamed, or seemed as if they were crying out, but Bruenor couldn’t hear a sound.Ambergris’s magical spell of silence filled the area.So Bruenor’s scream, too, was no more than a facial expression.In front of him, the Fellhammers tumbled, but he hardly noticed, falling instead behind his shield to try to brace—futilely, though, as he was hit hard and sent flying into the wall across from the door, which smashed in and crushed down.He felt the huge claws scraping against him as his attacker set its powerful legs and sprang away.Bruenor twisted and tried to unwind himself from the awkward position.He saw the blackness flying away, saw, but couldn’t hear, Ambergris crying out in surprise.The priestess fell to the floor as the missile—as Guenhwyvar—twisted and hit the wall beside her and hit it running, going around the corner right above her and speeding off down the hall.The four dwarves fell all over each other trying to get back down the hall.“… th’ elf’s cat?” Bruenor heard Athrogate finish as he, too, came out of the area of silence.Bruenor turned the corner first, in a full run, extending his hand to Ambergris and yanking her upright as he stumbled past.“Guenhwyvar!” he cried, but the cat was already out of sight, around a right turn up ahead.The dwarves ran in swift pursuit, turning corners so fast that they rebounded off the far walls of the new passageways.Guenhwyvar always seemed just ahead of them, enough for them to catch a glimpse of a black tail retreating around another bend.Bruenor called out to her repeatedly, but she wasn’t slowing to his call.

Other than Drizzt, and perhaps Pwent, Bruenor could not think of anyone above Athrogate he would rather have beside him when battle was at hand.He had no reason to trust Athrogate now.The dwarf had been a fine fighting partner throughout the campaign, and particularly of late in Gauntlgrym, but asking Athrogate to fight well was like asking a fish to swim.If Athrogate’s loyalties remained with Jarlaxle, wouldn’t he have spoken the exact words Bruenor had just heard?And yet, Bruenor knew better.Perhaps it had been the surprised expression, which appeared so genuine.Perhaps the hours of close-combat battle, joining these two as comrades.Or perhaps because it just seemed to fit, and just seemed to make sense.Bruenor silently cautioned himself against overthinking his feelings.He had led his people for centuries by relying on his gut, and his gut’s reaction to Athrogate now was clear.“Welcome home, me friend,” he said quietly.Athrogate grinned widely, so widely!But that was just to cover up the moisture that had come to his dark eyes, Bruenor realized.He could see that Athrogate wanted to respond verbally, but that he wouldn’t dare, afraid he would break out in an open sob.“What’re we missin’?” Ambergris asked.“Me axe ain’t missing nothing,” Bruenor replied.“So let’s find it something to hit!”“Aye!” the Fellhammer sisters said together, with such enthusiasm that Bruenor almost expected them to launch into aerial somersaults.Off went the one-hand catastrophe.SOMETIME LATER, A scratching sound, like a spear tip against stone, alerted them that they were not alone, and a quick survey placed the sound behind a barred door in a perpendicular corridor.Tannabritches slid past the door on her knees, skidding to a stop just to the far side of the jamb.Mallabritches came right behind, skidding up to the nearer edge.“Might be a wizard,” Bruenor whispered to Ambergris, the two and Athrogate back at the corridor corner, just a few strides from the kneeling sisters.The priestess nodded and quietly began preparing a spell.Bruenor motioned to Athrogate and the two moved up to stand in front of the portal and between the sisters.Tannabritches and Mallabritches slowly grasped the locking bar.Bruenor glanced back to see if Ambergris was ready before he took up his shield and axe and motioned to the pair.Off went the bar, thrown aside.Athrogate leaped up and kicked in the door.Then he screamed in shock and fell away, a tumble of thick limbs and bouncing morningstars.Before they could begin to react, before they could properly fill the void left by the diving dwarf, the Fellhammer sisters, too, were knocked aside by a huge living missile.And they, too, screamed, or seemed as if they were crying out, but Bruenor couldn’t hear a sound.Ambergris’s magical spell of silence filled the area.So Bruenor’s scream, too, was no more than a facial expression.In front of him, the Fellhammers tumbled, but he hardly noticed, falling instead behind his shield to try to brace—futilely, though, as he was hit hard and sent flying into the wall across from the door, which smashed in and crushed down.He felt the huge claws scraping against him as his attacker set its powerful legs and sprang away.Bruenor twisted and tried to unwind himself from the awkward position.He saw the blackness flying away, saw, but couldn’t hear, Ambergris crying out in surprise.The priestess fell to the floor as the missile—as Guenhwyvar—twisted and hit the wall beside her and hit it running, going around the corner right above her and speeding off down the hall.The four dwarves fell all over each other trying to get back down the hall.“… th’ elf’s cat?” Bruenor heard Athrogate finish as he, too, came out of the area of silence.Bruenor turned the corner first, in a full run, extending his hand to Ambergris and yanking her upright as he stumbled past.“Guenhwyvar!” he cried, but the cat was already out of sight, around a right turn up ahead.The dwarves ran in swift pursuit, turning corners so fast that they rebounded off the far walls of the new passageways.Guenhwyvar always seemed just ahead of them, enough for them to catch a glimpse of a black tail retreating around another bend.Bruenor called out to her repeatedly, but she wasn’t slowing to his call.

dnd119

And when they finally caught up to her, a gasping, horrified Bruenor understood why.CHAPTER 16VortexDOUM’WIELLE STOOD THERE, STARING BLANKLY, SHOCKED AND NOT understanding.Now!Khazid’hea screamed in her thoughts, but the poor young elf was too surprised, stupefied even, to begin to move.Her golden hair swept out behind her as a sudden wind appeared from out of nowhere.She heard a groan behind her and managed to turn just a bit, just enough to see Tiago, struggling to rise and holding his bleeding side.Her eyes widened in horror as she looked past him to the wall, where a swirling vortex had appeared, like a black tornado spinning on its side, black smoke roiling and twisting ominously.“Doum’wielle!” Tiago cried desperately, reaching out for her.She grabbed at his hand, but a blast of wind rose up and slammed Tiago away, sending him tumbling, lifting him right off the stone floor, bouncing and rolling.The vortex ate him, swallowing him into darkness.Doum’wielle didn’t know how to react.She couldn’t understand the directional nature of the wind, and the … purposefulness of it!Was this roiling vortex some living creature?Had it inhaled Tiago?Panicked, she spun, leaning against the wind that continued to buffet her, determined to run away.And then she saw him, terrible and powerful, standing opposite the sidelong tornado, with her between him and it.She knew this one to be the source of that incredible power, knew then that the tornado was no living thing, but was, rather, a tool for the Archmage of Menzoberranzan.Now!a desperate Khazid’hea implored her.The sentient sword found its plans unraveling, saw the target of its wrath slipping away.Hardly thinking of the movement, Doum’wielle lifted the blade, and Gromph lifted his hand.A sharp burst of wind tore the sword from her grasp and sent it bouncing back, to disappear into the vortex.“I killed …” Doum’wielle started to say, but her words became a shriek as a blast of wind as tangible as a giant’s punching fist hurled her backward.Instinctively she braced, or tried to, certain she was about to collide with the stone wall.But she did not.She fell, instead, speeding along a tunnel of dark clouds, rolling and tumbling over and over.JARLAXLE SIGHED.“He must be the center of all creation,” he said with great lament, he and Kimmuriel watching Gromph’s victorious walk across the room, to his own enhanced dimensional tunnel.The archmage paused only briefly to consider the splatter on the far wall, the boots hanging, waggling a bit in the continuing wind from his spell.He, too, sighed, and no doubt at his brother, Jarlaxle knew.Gromph stretched out his arms, his great robes flapping in his own magical wind, catching him like a kite and sending him into the tunnel.Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel followed, the mercenary pausing only to scrape some goo onto his hand.Kimmuriel went in first, Jarlaxle close behind.Jarlaxle was still wiping that sticky goo from his fingers when he passed through the dimensional tunnel to exit into the audience chamber of House Do’Urden right beside Kimmuriel, where Archmage Gromph held court.Ravel Xorlarrin and his sister Saribel were there as well, along with Dahlia, who sat on the throne looking very much like a mannequin—or a corpse, perhaps.The image pained Jarlaxle greatly, but alas, what was a rogue to do?“Archmage,” Ravel breathed.He had been trying to help the injured and confused Tiago up from the floor, but now let his friend fall and backed away deferentially—terror often resembled deference.Gromph didn’t bother to look at him.His eyes stayed locked on Doum’wielle, who was splayed on the floor, her fine sword not far from her.She looked back at the archmage, and she felt, and seemed to all around, so tiny and small.For some reason Jarlaxle couldn’t understand—surely she didn’t intend to try to stand against Gromph!—her hand crept out for that lost blade.Gromph lifted his hand and began to circle it in the air in front of him.“That is a Baenre blade!” he warned her, his voice booming with grand magical enhancement—so grand that even the near-comatose Dahlia started in surprise and looked at him.Gromph thrust his hand forward at Doum’wielle, launching his spell past her, and another vortex appeared, a sidelong tornado on the room’s far wall.And this one seemed lighter in the eye, bright and sunlit, perhaps, but there was a coldness associated with that light.“A Baenre blade!” Gromph roared just as Doum’wielle foolishly reached for Khazid’hea.The sword flew from the floor to Gromph’s waiting hand.Doum’wielle stared at him, terrified and lost … so lost!But there was no mercy to be found in the amber flame of Gromph Baenre’s eyes.“You do not belong here, iblith,” Archmage Gromph declared.A great howl of wind sounded, shaking the room, focusing on Doum’wielle.Her eyes went wide with terror, she clawed at the floor so desperately that she tore her fingers, and left more than one fingernail behind when the wind finally caught her and lifted her, and flipped her, somersaulting, into the vortex.Jarlaxle winced and whispered, “Poor girl.”The vortex spun faster and faster, its diameter shrinking, the storm’s eye becoming a dot.

And when they finally caught up to her, a gasping, horrified Bruenor understood why.CHAPTER 16VortexDOUM’WIELLE STOOD THERE, STARING BLANKLY, SHOCKED AND NOT understanding.Now!Khazid’hea screamed in her thoughts, but the poor young elf was too surprised, stupefied even, to begin to move.Her golden hair swept out behind her as a sudden wind appeared from out of nowhere.She heard a groan behind her and managed to turn just a bit, just enough to see Tiago, struggling to rise and holding his bleeding side.Her eyes widened in horror as she looked past him to the wall, where a swirling vortex had appeared, like a black tornado spinning on its side, black smoke roiling and twisting ominously.“Doum’wielle!” Tiago cried desperately, reaching out for her.She grabbed at his hand, but a blast of wind rose up and slammed Tiago away, sending him tumbling, lifting him right off the stone floor, bouncing and rolling.The vortex ate him, swallowing him into darkness.Doum’wielle didn’t know how to react.She couldn’t understand the directional nature of the wind, and the … purposefulness of it!Was this roiling vortex some living creature?Had it inhaled Tiago?Panicked, she spun, leaning against the wind that continued to buffet her, determined to run away.And then she saw him, terrible and powerful, standing opposite the sidelong tornado, with her between him and it.She knew this one to be the source of that incredible power, knew then that the tornado was no living thing, but was, rather, a tool for the Archmage of Menzoberranzan.Now!a desperate Khazid’hea implored her.The sentient sword found its plans unraveling, saw the target of its wrath slipping away.Hardly thinking of the movement, Doum’wielle lifted the blade, and Gromph lifted his hand.A sharp burst of wind tore the sword from her grasp and sent it bouncing back, to disappear into the vortex.“I killed …” Doum’wielle started to say, but her words became a shriek as a blast of wind as tangible as a giant’s punching fist hurled her backward.Instinctively she braced, or tried to, certain she was about to collide with the stone wall.But she did not.She fell, instead, speeding along a tunnel of dark clouds, rolling and tumbling over and over.JARLAXLE SIGHED.“He must be the center of all creation,” he said with great lament, he and Kimmuriel watching Gromph’s victorious walk across the room, to his own enhanced dimensional tunnel.The archmage paused only briefly to consider the splatter on the far wall, the boots hanging, waggling a bit in the continuing wind from his spell.He, too, sighed, and no doubt at his brother, Jarlaxle knew.Gromph stretched out his arms, his great robes flapping in his own magical wind, catching him like a kite and sending him into the tunnel.Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel followed, the mercenary pausing only to scrape some goo onto his hand.Kimmuriel went in first, Jarlaxle close behind.Jarlaxle was still wiping that sticky goo from his fingers when he passed through the dimensional tunnel to exit into the audience chamber of House Do’Urden right beside Kimmuriel, where Archmage Gromph held court.Ravel Xorlarrin and his sister Saribel were there as well, along with Dahlia, who sat on the throne looking very much like a mannequin—or a corpse, perhaps.The image pained Jarlaxle greatly, but alas, what was a rogue to do?“Archmage,” Ravel breathed.He had been trying to help the injured and confused Tiago up from the floor, but now let his friend fall and backed away deferentially—terror often resembled deference.Gromph didn’t bother to look at him.His eyes stayed locked on Doum’wielle, who was splayed on the floor, her fine sword not far from her.She looked back at the archmage, and she felt, and seemed to all around, so tiny and small.For some reason Jarlaxle couldn’t understand—surely she didn’t intend to try to stand against Gromph!—her hand crept out for that lost blade.Gromph lifted his hand and began to circle it in the air in front of him.“That is a Baenre blade!” he warned her, his voice booming with grand magical enhancement—so grand that even the near-comatose Dahlia started in surprise and looked at him.Gromph thrust his hand forward at Doum’wielle, launching his spell past her, and another vortex appeared, a sidelong tornado on the room’s far wall.And this one seemed lighter in the eye, bright and sunlit, perhaps, but there was a coldness associated with that light.“A Baenre blade!” Gromph roared just as Doum’wielle foolishly reached for Khazid’hea.The sword flew from the floor to Gromph’s waiting hand.Doum’wielle stared at him, terrified and lost … so lost!But there was no mercy to be found in the amber flame of Gromph Baenre’s eyes.“You do not belong here, iblith,” Archmage Gromph declared.A great howl of wind sounded, shaking the room, focusing on Doum’wielle.Her eyes went wide with terror, she clawed at the floor so desperately that she tore her fingers, and left more than one fingernail behind when the wind finally caught her and lifted her, and flipped her, somersaulting, into the vortex.Jarlaxle winced and whispered, “Poor girl.”The vortex spun faster and faster, its diameter shrinking, the storm’s eye becoming a dot.

dnd120

Then it was gone, as if collapsing in upon itself, leaving only the blank wall there in House Do’Urden’s audience chamber.“Tend to your husband, foolish priestess,” Gromph told Saribel.“And know that if he dies, you will quickly follow him to the grave.”“THE UPPER LEVELS are lost,” Hoshtar said with finality.“Even were you to throw every drow, every spell, every slave up above, it would be to no avail.They are mighty, led by capable warriors and with clever generals in support.And they are securing every footstep of ground they gain.My Matron Mother, they’ll not be easily dislodged.”“Nor easily stopped,” Matron Mother Zeerith said, staring at the spy.Hoshtar merely shrugged, not about to deny the obvious truth.“How long can we fend them off?” Matron Mother Zeerith asked.“Their journey to the lower city will be difficult,” the spy answered.“The drop to the main entry cavern of the lower levels is considerable and the stairway cannot be raised, of course.The stair is down, folded and secured, and will remain so.I expect that the dwarves will employ magic to get them down to the lower level, but doing so will give us ample opportunity to sting at them with arrows and magic.”“Considerable magic,” Tsabrak promised from the side, and Matron Mother Zeerith nodded in appreciation.“There are other ways to access the lower levels,” Matron Mother Zeerith reminded him.Hoshtar nodded.“All narrow and easily defended.”“See to that defense.”“My Matron Mother,” said Hoshtar, bowing, and he rushed from the room.“They will find their way down here,” Tsabrak said when he and the matron mother were alone.“Do not underestimate the resilience and cleverness of dwarves.Matron Mother Yvonnel did so a century ago and the price she paid was her very life.”“I understand the danger,” Matron Mother Zeerith assured him, her voice dead, defeated.“You have no choice,” said Tsabrak.“You ask me to beg Matron Mother Baenre.”Tsabrak didn’t bother to answer.“Facilitate the conversation,” Matron Mother Zeerith instructed, and Tsabrak nodded and moved to a scrying pool.Soon after, the image of Matron Mother Baenre appeared in the still waters, and Matron Mother Zeerith moved into her view.JARLAXLE AND KIMMURIEL followed Gromph across the city to his tower abode in Sorcere.All along the way, Gromph continued to point out the damage the demons had caused, including one scene where several drow bodies lay strewn along a side street, torn apart, limbs asunder, as if clipped by the pincers of a glabrezu.“Bregan D’aerthe might soon expect a command from the matron mother to clean up the streets,” Gromph told them when they entered his private chambers.“Of bodies, or rampaging demons?” Jarlaxle asked, seeming unamused.“Both, I would expect,” said the archmage.“Bregan D’aerthe is not a—” Kimmuriel started to protest.“Bregan D’aerthe is whatever the matron mother tells you it is,” Gromph interrupted.“Have we not already seen as much?” he added, looking to Jarlaxle.“House guards, perhaps?”Jarlaxle remained unamused.Gromph got a curious expression on his face then, seeming somewhat surprised.He reached down to his belt, putting a hand on the hilt of the Baenre sword he had just taken from Doum’wielle Armgo.“It calls to me,” he explained, drawing the fine-edged blade and holding it up in front of his eyes.“Are you its new wielder, then?” asked Jarlaxle, who of course was no stranger to Khazid’hea.“Hmm,” Gromph mused.“Perhaps I am.” His expression turned skeptical, and quite amused then.“Or perhaps not, if the sword has any say in the matter.”“Khazid’hea is not pleased to be held by a wizard,” Jarlaxle surmised.“The blade wants to taste blood.”“What Khazid’hea wants is irrelevant,” Gromph replied.The archmage started then, as if hit by some unseen force, wincing like someone who had been flicked by a finger under the nose, or some other stinging but harmless disrespect.“It would seem that the sword does not agree,” put in Kimmuriel.Jarlaxle looked at Kimmuriel and noted that he had his eyes closed.He was intercepting the telepathic protests the sword was launching at Gromph, Jarlaxle realized.“Truly?” Gromph said with a snort, and he was clearly talking to the sword then, as he lifted it higher in front of his sparkling eyes.

Then it was gone, as if collapsing in upon itself, leaving only the blank wall there in House Do’Urden’s audience chamber.“Tend to your husband, foolish priestess,” Gromph told Saribel.“And know that if he dies, you will quickly follow him to the grave.”“THE UPPER LEVELS are lost,” Hoshtar said with finality.“Even were you to throw every drow, every spell, every slave up above, it would be to no avail.They are mighty, led by capable warriors and with clever generals in support.And they are securing every footstep of ground they gain.My Matron Mother, they’ll not be easily dislodged.”“Nor easily stopped,” Matron Mother Zeerith said, staring at the spy.Hoshtar merely shrugged, not about to deny the obvious truth.“How long can we fend them off?” Matron Mother Zeerith asked.“Their journey to the lower city will be difficult,” the spy answered.“The drop to the main entry cavern of the lower levels is considerable and the stairway cannot be raised, of course.The stair is down, folded and secured, and will remain so.I expect that the dwarves will employ magic to get them down to the lower level, but doing so will give us ample opportunity to sting at them with arrows and magic.”“Considerable magic,” Tsabrak promised from the side, and Matron Mother Zeerith nodded in appreciation.“There are other ways to access the lower levels,” Matron Mother Zeerith reminded him.Hoshtar nodded.“All narrow and easily defended.”“See to that defense.”“My Matron Mother,” said Hoshtar, bowing, and he rushed from the room.“They will find their way down here,” Tsabrak said when he and the matron mother were alone.“Do not underestimate the resilience and cleverness of dwarves.Matron Mother Yvonnel did so a century ago and the price she paid was her very life.”“I understand the danger,” Matron Mother Zeerith assured him, her voice dead, defeated.“You have no choice,” said Tsabrak.“You ask me to beg Matron Mother Baenre.”Tsabrak didn’t bother to answer.“Facilitate the conversation,” Matron Mother Zeerith instructed, and Tsabrak nodded and moved to a scrying pool.Soon after, the image of Matron Mother Baenre appeared in the still waters, and Matron Mother Zeerith moved into her view.JARLAXLE AND KIMMURIEL followed Gromph across the city to his tower abode in Sorcere.All along the way, Gromph continued to point out the damage the demons had caused, including one scene where several drow bodies lay strewn along a side street, torn apart, limbs asunder, as if clipped by the pincers of a glabrezu.“Bregan D’aerthe might soon expect a command from the matron mother to clean up the streets,” Gromph told them when they entered his private chambers.“Of bodies, or rampaging demons?” Jarlaxle asked, seeming unamused.“Both, I would expect,” said the archmage.“Bregan D’aerthe is not a—” Kimmuriel started to protest.“Bregan D’aerthe is whatever the matron mother tells you it is,” Gromph interrupted.“Have we not already seen as much?” he added, looking to Jarlaxle.“House guards, perhaps?”Jarlaxle remained unamused.Gromph got a curious expression on his face then, seeming somewhat surprised.He reached down to his belt, putting a hand on the hilt of the Baenre sword he had just taken from Doum’wielle Armgo.“It calls to me,” he explained, drawing the fine-edged blade and holding it up in front of his eyes.“Are you its new wielder, then?” asked Jarlaxle, who of course was no stranger to Khazid’hea.“Hmm,” Gromph mused.“Perhaps I am.” His expression turned skeptical, and quite amused then.“Or perhaps not, if the sword has any say in the matter.”“Khazid’hea is not pleased to be held by a wizard,” Jarlaxle surmised.“The blade wants to taste blood.”“What Khazid’hea wants is irrelevant,” Gromph replied.The archmage started then, as if hit by some unseen force, wincing like someone who had been flicked by a finger under the nose, or some other stinging but harmless disrespect.“It would seem that the sword does not agree,” put in Kimmuriel.Jarlaxle looked at Kimmuriel and noted that he had his eyes closed.He was intercepting the telepathic protests the sword was launching at Gromph, Jarlaxle realized.“Truly?” Gromph said with a snort, and he was clearly talking to the sword then, as he lifted it higher in front of his sparkling eyes.

dnd121

He studied the pommel, shaped so beautifully into the likeness of a curled and sleeping pegasus.“No,” he said, shaking his head.“That will not do.”Gromph pressed the pommel against his forehead, closed his eyes and scrunched up his face.Jarlaxle looked to Kimmuriel, who glanced back and nodded, clearly impressed—impressed by the psionic assault that Gromph was leveling at Khazid’hea.And Jarlaxle, too, was impressed, as he watched the pommel of Khazid’hea shift and change, going black, then adding red speckles.Jarlaxle barely contained a laugh as he considered it more closely.Gromph had turned the pommel of mighty Khazid’hea into the likeness of a mushroom!The archmage moved the sword back to arm’s length, gave a nod at his handiwork, and said, “Better.”“Not very appropriate for a Baenre blade,” Kimmuriel remarked.“But a proper insult to such a crude instrument as a sword.”“And so I doubt that Khazid’hea will try to impose its will upon you again,” Jarlaxle remarked.“It is a minor item,” said Gromph.With a look from the sword to the mercenary leader, he casually tossed the sword to Jarlaxle, who caught it easily.“It is a Baenre blade,” Gromph explained.“And you are a Baenre.And a Baenre warrior, at that.Fitting that you carry the sword, if you are strong enough of will to control it.”Jarlaxle returned an amused, if somewhat bored stare at the open challenge.He could hear the frustration of Khazid’hea in his thoughts, but only if he concentrated on the very distant murmur, and blocking it out entirely was no more a challenge for him than it had been for Gromph.Even without his magical eye patch, which prevented psionic intrusions and commands, Jarlaxle held no fear whatsoever regarding the sword’s willpower and ego against his own.He nodded to his brother, offering a look of appreciation—and one that was only half-feigned.Jarlaxle loved his magical toys and knew that he had a powerful one in hand with Khazid’hea.“Where is the half-drow girl?” Jarlaxle asked, sliding the sword into his belt loop.“The daughter of Tos’un Armgo?”“Why do you care?”Jarlaxle shrugged.“Perhaps I do not, not excessively at least.It is my curiosity, nothing more.”“I honestly do not know,” said Gromph.“Freezing to death on a cold mountainside … somewhere.The Spine of the World, I expect, and likely somewhere near to the lair of Arauthator.Why do you wish to know?Do you intend to fetch her?”Again Jarlaxle shrugged.

He studied the pommel, shaped so beautifully into the likeness of a curled and sleeping pegasus.“No,” he said, shaking his head.“That will not do.”Gromph pressed the pommel against his forehead, closed his eyes and scrunched up his face.Jarlaxle looked to Kimmuriel, who glanced back and nodded, clearly impressed—impressed by the psionic assault that Gromph was leveling at Khazid’hea.And Jarlaxle, too, was impressed, as he watched the pommel of Khazid’hea shift and change, going black, then adding red speckles.Jarlaxle barely contained a laugh as he considered it more closely.Gromph had turned the pommel of mighty Khazid’hea into the likeness of a mushroom!The archmage moved the sword back to arm’s length, gave a nod at his handiwork, and said, “Better.”“Not very appropriate for a Baenre blade,” Kimmuriel remarked.“But a proper insult to such a crude instrument as a sword.”“And so I doubt that Khazid’hea will try to impose its will upon you again,” Jarlaxle remarked.“It is a minor item,” said Gromph.With a look from the sword to the mercenary leader, he casually tossed the sword to Jarlaxle, who caught it easily.“It is a Baenre blade,” Gromph explained.“And you are a Baenre.And a Baenre warrior, at that.Fitting that you carry the sword, if you are strong enough of will to control it.”Jarlaxle returned an amused, if somewhat bored stare at the open challenge.He could hear the frustration of Khazid’hea in his thoughts, but only if he concentrated on the very distant murmur, and blocking it out entirely was no more a challenge for him than it had been for Gromph.Even without his magical eye patch, which prevented psionic intrusions and commands, Jarlaxle held no fear whatsoever regarding the sword’s willpower and ego against his own.He nodded to his brother, offering a look of appreciation—and one that was only half-feigned.Jarlaxle loved his magical toys and knew that he had a powerful one in hand with Khazid’hea.“Where is the half-drow girl?” Jarlaxle asked, sliding the sword into his belt loop.“The daughter of Tos’un Armgo?”“Why do you care?”Jarlaxle shrugged.“Perhaps I do not, not excessively at least.It is my curiosity, nothing more.”“I honestly do not know,” said Gromph.“Freezing to death on a cold mountainside … somewhere.The Spine of the World, I expect, and likely somewhere near to the lair of Arauthator.Why do you wish to know?Do you intend to fetch her?”Again Jarlaxle shrugged.

dnd122

“She might prove useful at some point.”“If I ever lay eyes on that half-iblith, half-Armgo creature again, I will transform her into a jelly and serve her at the next feast I attend,” Gromph said, and there wasn’t the slightest hint in his tone to suggest that he was exaggerating.“Fortunately, I am in the possession of many things you will never see, then,” Jarlaxle replied with a tip of his great-brimmed hat.He turned to Kimmuriel.“To Luskan,” he instructed.“I have no desire to be discovered by the matron mother here in the city.”“But the streets need cleaning, brother,” Gromph said.“That is why the gods gave us magic, brother,” Jarlaxle replied in the same smug tone.“To perform the mundane tasks of life.”Wisely, Kimmuriel didn’t hesitate, and a moment later, he and Jarlaxle stepped into the Bregan D’aerthe audience hall in Illusk, the undercity of Luskan.SHE LIFTED HER wet face, trying to regain her wits and strength after the spinning, flying ride through the archmage’s rough portal.She didn’t note the cold at first, not until she managed to pull open her eyes to realize that she was facedown in deep snow.Doum’wielle knew the season, knew that the snows had not yet started to fall anywhere but in the high mountains.She propped herself up on straight arms and slowly swiveled her head about, taking in the grandeur of the scene in front of her.Mountains, huge and tall, with dark rocky spurs prodding forth from the thick blanket of snow, loomed before her—she realized from her posture that her head was higher up the mountain than her feet.To the left and right, the mountains went on beyond her sight.The Spine of the World, she realized.Though she didn’t recognize any specific peaks from this different perspective, she knew of no other mountain ranges in Faerûn of this magnitude and majesty.She lay in the snow, the cold beginning to creep in.The weight of her troubles only then began to creep in with it.Doum’wielle looked around.She slapped at the snow desperately, shoving it aside, throwing it far from her.She jabbed her hands down through it, grabbing, grasping, looking for something to catch onto, and only after she began to tire did she take a heartbeat and remember that for which she was searching.Her movements slowed then, and she was relieved to know that she still had all of her fingers, for if she had plunged her hand through the snow to strike against the impossibly sharp blade of Khazid’hea, then surely she would have left some fingers behind.She pulled herself up to a kneeling position and took a different tack, calling out telepathically for her missing sword, pleading with Khazid’hea to guide her search.She heard nothing.Panic swept over her.She cried out audibly now, screaming “Cutter!” repeatedly.She forced herself to her feet and staggered about.“Cutter!”Her cries echoed back to her from the mountainsides, and those echoes brought her desperate, pathetic tone to her ears and mocked her.The vastness of the Spine of the World laughed at Little Doe.The sun shined brilliantly upon her, bright in the snow, but the air was cold up here in the vast white sheets.Doum’wielle had not often been in the mountains.Where could she go?How could she protect herself from the cold and the wet?And the prowling monsters?Yes, she knew enough of the environment to realize that the cold might be the least of her problems.Khazid’hea!Doum’wielle’s thoughts cried out once more, one last time.The sword was lost.She was lost.“WHEN YOU ARE of the mind to taunt the archmage, I would prefer you do so after a proper warning to me, that I can be far away,” Kimmuriel scolded his dangerous companion.Jarlaxle drew out Khazid’hea and turned it over to examine the pommel.“An impressive feat,” he asked as much as stated.“More so than you understand,” Kimmuriel replied.“The sword tried to dominate him.

“She might prove useful at some point.”“If I ever lay eyes on that half-iblith, half-Armgo creature again, I will transform her into a jelly and serve her at the next feast I attend,” Gromph said, and there wasn’t the slightest hint in his tone to suggest that he was exaggerating.“Fortunately, I am in the possession of many things you will never see, then,” Jarlaxle replied with a tip of his great-brimmed hat.He turned to Kimmuriel.“To Luskan,” he instructed.“I have no desire to be discovered by the matron mother here in the city.”“But the streets need cleaning, brother,” Gromph said.“That is why the gods gave us magic, brother,” Jarlaxle replied in the same smug tone.“To perform the mundane tasks of life.”Wisely, Kimmuriel didn’t hesitate, and a moment later, he and Jarlaxle stepped into the Bregan D’aerthe audience hall in Illusk, the undercity of Luskan.SHE LIFTED HER wet face, trying to regain her wits and strength after the spinning, flying ride through the archmage’s rough portal.She didn’t note the cold at first, not until she managed to pull open her eyes to realize that she was facedown in deep snow.Doum’wielle knew the season, knew that the snows had not yet started to fall anywhere but in the high mountains.She propped herself up on straight arms and slowly swiveled her head about, taking in the grandeur of the scene in front of her.Mountains, huge and tall, with dark rocky spurs prodding forth from the thick blanket of snow, loomed before her—she realized from her posture that her head was higher up the mountain than her feet.To the left and right, the mountains went on beyond her sight.The Spine of the World, she realized.Though she didn’t recognize any specific peaks from this different perspective, she knew of no other mountain ranges in Faerûn of this magnitude and majesty.She lay in the snow, the cold beginning to creep in.The weight of her troubles only then began to creep in with it.Doum’wielle looked around.She slapped at the snow desperately, shoving it aside, throwing it far from her.She jabbed her hands down through it, grabbing, grasping, looking for something to catch onto, and only after she began to tire did she take a heartbeat and remember that for which she was searching.Her movements slowed then, and she was relieved to know that she still had all of her fingers, for if she had plunged her hand through the snow to strike against the impossibly sharp blade of Khazid’hea, then surely she would have left some fingers behind.She pulled herself up to a kneeling position and took a different tack, calling out telepathically for her missing sword, pleading with Khazid’hea to guide her search.She heard nothing.Panic swept over her.She cried out audibly now, screaming “Cutter!” repeatedly.She forced herself to her feet and staggered about.“Cutter!”Her cries echoed back to her from the mountainsides, and those echoes brought her desperate, pathetic tone to her ears and mocked her.The vastness of the Spine of the World laughed at Little Doe.The sun shined brilliantly upon her, bright in the snow, but the air was cold up here in the vast white sheets.Doum’wielle had not often been in the mountains.Where could she go?How could she protect herself from the cold and the wet?And the prowling monsters?Yes, she knew enough of the environment to realize that the cold might be the least of her problems.Khazid’hea!Doum’wielle’s thoughts cried out once more, one last time.The sword was lost.She was lost.“WHEN YOU ARE of the mind to taunt the archmage, I would prefer you do so after a proper warning to me, that I can be far away,” Kimmuriel scolded his dangerous companion.Jarlaxle drew out Khazid’hea and turned it over to examine the pommel.“An impressive feat,” he asked as much as stated.“More so than you understand,” Kimmuriel replied.“The sword tried to dominate him.

dnd123

A sewer rat would have a better chance at ordering about the matron mother.”Jarlaxle nodded and stared at the mushroom-shaped and speckled pommel, muttering, “Impressive,” and he was talking more about Gromph in general than about this particular feat of willpower.Khazid’hea was no minor magic item, after all.It was possessed of its own sentience and a great ego.The sword had dominated powerful warriors in the past, even Catti-brie, and even, albeit only for a very short time and only until he had properly understood the threat, Artemis Entreri.The mercenary considered Gromph’s words when he had given Jarlaxle the prize.He was reminding Jarlaxle of his heritage, and openly, in front of Kimmuriel.Jarlaxle began to nod, sorting it out.Despite the insulting look of the pommel, this sword wasn’t a gift for Jarlaxle as much as an offer.Gromph knew that he was walking on dangerous ground back in Menzoberranzan.It didn’t take one of Jarlaxle’s perception to recognize the archmage’s outrage over Lolth’s loss of the Weave, and worse, over her continuing disrespect to the male wizards, even to Gromph, when all believed that she would come to include the Web of Magic in her domain and should respect its users.Gromph had given Jarlaxle the sword to buy an out for himself, should that necessity come to pass.The—former—Archmage of Menzoberranzan as a member of Bregan D’aerthe?Jarlaxle’s eyes widened at the possibilities.Possibilities that Jarlaxle subsequently dismissed, for in that circumstance, did he really believe that Gromph Baenre would serve him and Kimmuriel?More likely, he knew, Gromph would demand servitude of them.Gromph Baenre did not make offers that one could refuse.Kimmuriel walked off to see to some other matters, and Jarlaxle wasted no time.He removed his eye patch to better communicate with the sword, then nodded as the pommel went fully black and became feline in form—a panther.For a moment, Jarlaxle almost abandoned his course and thought to make it look like Guenhwyvar—perhaps he could use it as a gift back to Drizzt.But no, he decided, and said, “It is a Baenre blade.”A pair of tentacles sprouted from the panther’s shoulders, transforming the figure from that of a great cat of the World Above to an Underdark displacer beast, a formidable foe indeed, and a symbol worthy of a blade hanging in the belt loop of Jarlaxle.Those tentacles seemed to come to life for just a moment, magically wrapping around Jarlaxle’s hand, securing his grip.In his mind, Jarlaxle could feel Khazid’hea’s appreciation.Yes, they would get along splendidly.CHAPTER 17The Lonely CadenceBRUENOR FLUNG HIMSELF THROUGH THE OPENED DOORWAY AND nearly pitched headlong to the floor in surprise, realizing that he had caught up to Guenhwyvar.The great panther stood there in the room in front of him, staring at the wall—and what a curious sight that was.“By the gods, but them drow’ve come,” Bruenor muttered under his breath, staring at the swirling, cloud-like vortex spinning against the wall, or within the wall, as if the very stones were malleable and part of the sidelong tornado.The other dwarves bobbed in behind Bruenor, bumping into him in their rush, but held their ground.All of the four started to ask what was what, and all of them bit back the words even as they started to utter them, caught by the same incredible sight that held Bruenor and Guenhwyvar.The vortex spun tighter and tighter, the wall seeming to solidify around its retreating edges.And then it was gone, and the room went perfectly silent.A low growl from Guenhwyvar broke that stillness.Bruenor moved past the panther, on edge, glancing all about.“What d’ye know?” Tannabritches asked.“Been a fight in here,” Athrogate said.The black-bearded dwarf motioned for the Fellhammer sisters to fan out to the right, then nodded to Ambergris to go with him to the left flank.“I’m smellin’ the blood, or I’m a pretty goblin,” Athrogate added.Bruenor smelled it too, more so because he was closer to the center of the battle, where blood stained the floor.And as he was drawn to that, he found something else besides.“Elf?” he asked weakly, lifting a very familiar blade—not the whole scimitar, but just the broken blade of Twinkle—from the floor.“That cyclone!” Ambergris cried, rushing over.“They taked Drizzt!”Bruenor started for the wall, thinking to shoulder right through it if need be, but Mallabritches’s cry of “No, here!” spun him back the other way.He looked curiously at the sisters, who stood in front of some discoloration on the wall, some malformation that Bruenor couldn’t quite make out.

A sewer rat would have a better chance at ordering about the matron mother.”Jarlaxle nodded and stared at the mushroom-shaped and speckled pommel, muttering, “Impressive,” and he was talking more about Gromph in general than about this particular feat of willpower.Khazid’hea was no minor magic item, after all.It was possessed of its own sentience and a great ego.The sword had dominated powerful warriors in the past, even Catti-brie, and even, albeit only for a very short time and only until he had properly understood the threat, Artemis Entreri.The mercenary considered Gromph’s words when he had given Jarlaxle the prize.He was reminding Jarlaxle of his heritage, and openly, in front of Kimmuriel.Jarlaxle began to nod, sorting it out.Despite the insulting look of the pommel, this sword wasn’t a gift for Jarlaxle as much as an offer.Gromph knew that he was walking on dangerous ground back in Menzoberranzan.It didn’t take one of Jarlaxle’s perception to recognize the archmage’s outrage over Lolth’s loss of the Weave, and worse, over her continuing disrespect to the male wizards, even to Gromph, when all believed that she would come to include the Web of Magic in her domain and should respect its users.Gromph had given Jarlaxle the sword to buy an out for himself, should that necessity come to pass.The—former—Archmage of Menzoberranzan as a member of Bregan D’aerthe?Jarlaxle’s eyes widened at the possibilities.Possibilities that Jarlaxle subsequently dismissed, for in that circumstance, did he really believe that Gromph Baenre would serve him and Kimmuriel?More likely, he knew, Gromph would demand servitude of them.Gromph Baenre did not make offers that one could refuse.Kimmuriel walked off to see to some other matters, and Jarlaxle wasted no time.He removed his eye patch to better communicate with the sword, then nodded as the pommel went fully black and became feline in form—a panther.For a moment, Jarlaxle almost abandoned his course and thought to make it look like Guenhwyvar—perhaps he could use it as a gift back to Drizzt.But no, he decided, and said, “It is a Baenre blade.”A pair of tentacles sprouted from the panther’s shoulders, transforming the figure from that of a great cat of the World Above to an Underdark displacer beast, a formidable foe indeed, and a symbol worthy of a blade hanging in the belt loop of Jarlaxle.Those tentacles seemed to come to life for just a moment, magically wrapping around Jarlaxle’s hand, securing his grip.In his mind, Jarlaxle could feel Khazid’hea’s appreciation.Yes, they would get along splendidly.CHAPTER 17The Lonely CadenceBRUENOR FLUNG HIMSELF THROUGH THE OPENED DOORWAY AND nearly pitched headlong to the floor in surprise, realizing that he had caught up to Guenhwyvar.The great panther stood there in the room in front of him, staring at the wall—and what a curious sight that was.“By the gods, but them drow’ve come,” Bruenor muttered under his breath, staring at the swirling, cloud-like vortex spinning against the wall, or within the wall, as if the very stones were malleable and part of the sidelong tornado.The other dwarves bobbed in behind Bruenor, bumping into him in their rush, but held their ground.All of the four started to ask what was what, and all of them bit back the words even as they started to utter them, caught by the same incredible sight that held Bruenor and Guenhwyvar.The vortex spun tighter and tighter, the wall seeming to solidify around its retreating edges.And then it was gone, and the room went perfectly silent.A low growl from Guenhwyvar broke that stillness.Bruenor moved past the panther, on edge, glancing all about.“What d’ye know?” Tannabritches asked.“Been a fight in here,” Athrogate said.The black-bearded dwarf motioned for the Fellhammer sisters to fan out to the right, then nodded to Ambergris to go with him to the left flank.“I’m smellin’ the blood, or I’m a pretty goblin,” Athrogate added.Bruenor smelled it too, more so because he was closer to the center of the battle, where blood stained the floor.And as he was drawn to that, he found something else besides.“Elf?” he asked weakly, lifting a very familiar blade—not the whole scimitar, but just the broken blade of Twinkle—from the floor.“That cyclone!” Ambergris cried, rushing over.“They taked Drizzt!”Bruenor started for the wall, thinking to shoulder right through it if need be, but Mallabritches’s cry of “No, here!” spun him back the other way.He looked curiously at the sisters, who stood in front of some discoloration on the wall, some malformation that Bruenor couldn’t quite make out.

dnd124

He moved closer, scanning.The dwarf’s eyes went wide when he glanced at the bottom of that malformation, to see familiar boots hanging below it.“Drizzt!” he cried.“Oh, me elf!” And he leaped forward at the viscous goo, reaching with his axe as if to cut at it, retracting, dropping the weapon, grabbing at the substance—he didn’t know what to do!“His nose!His nose!” Tannabritches said, hopping up and down and pointing to a place just above, where it looked as if someone had pulled the slime away from Drizzt’s face, clearing his nose, at least, that he could draw breath.Bruenor threw down his shield beside his axe and leaped for the spot.“Peel him out!” he shouted, and he began clawing at the glob which had pinned Drizzt against the stone.It came free, but grabbed at Bruenor’s hands so hard that he could barely shake it from his fingers, one stubborn piece at a time, and even then only after rolling it in on itself repeatedly.With Fist and Fury’s help, though, he soon had Drizzt’s head cleared, and the drow’s face lolled forward, Drizzt clearly not hearing the dwarf’s frantic calls, and not reacting at all when a desperate Bruenor slapped him across the face.“Come on, elf!” Bruenor yelled, cradling the drow’s face, looking at him closely, pleading with him to open his eyes.Tannabritches and Mallabritches bore on, tearing free the goo, and Athrogate joined in, but Ambergris came up more cautiously.She carried the broken blade of Twinkle, alternately examining the cut along the base of the severed scimitar blade and staring at Drizzt, shaking her head.It went on for a long while, when finally Tannabritches said, “Oooo,” and stepped back.She had peeled the goo down over Drizzt’s collarbone, down to his chest, and blood poured out.“What?” Mallabritches demanded.Tannabritches held up her bloodied hands.“Stop!Stop!” Ambergris cried, leaping forward to grab at Athrogate and pull him back.“Stop!”“What, girl?” Athrogate demanded, and all eyes turned to the priestess.“The glob,” she said, “it’s holding Drizzt together.Keepin’ his blood in!Ye pull it down and he’ll spill all over ye—all over the floor!”“Like a bandage?” Mallabritches asked.Bruenor, verging on panic, for it seemed very much to him that Drizzt was already dead, looked from Drizzt to the cleric and back again.Ambergris walked past him to press her hand against the exposed portion of the dark elf’s garish wound.She felt around, put on a pained expression, then said to Bruenor, “It’s a deep one.”“Well heal him, ye dolt!” Bruenor finally shouted.Ambergris nodded, but then shook her head and replied, “Ah, but this one’s beyond me.”“Well try!” the frantic Bruenor screamed.“Ye go and get his wife,” Ambergris told the Fellhammer sisters.“Go now, and quick.”“We can’t wait!” Bruenor frantically shouted, but Ambergris was already beginning her first spell, and when he realized that, the dwarf calmed somewhat.Ambergris pressed her hand in tighter against the drow’s torn chest and brought forth her healing magic.The blood flow slowed its trickle from that small, uncovered part of the wound, but the cleric looked to Bruenor and shook her head.“Me spells won’t be enough for this one,” she lamented.“Be sure that he’s been killed to death in battle, and only the goo’s keeping him a bit alive.”“Aye, and smotherin’ him at the same time!” Athrogate said.Bruenor was shaking his head.Someone had cleared Drizzt’s nose, and Bruenor realized that it was probably the same person who had hit him with the syrupy glob in the first place.“Jarlaxle,” he muttered, nodding.He had seen this trick before from that one.But why would Jarlaxle just leave Drizzt here like this?

He moved closer, scanning.The dwarf’s eyes went wide when he glanced at the bottom of that malformation, to see familiar boots hanging below it.“Drizzt!” he cried.“Oh, me elf!” And he leaped forward at the viscous goo, reaching with his axe as if to cut at it, retracting, dropping the weapon, grabbing at the substance—he didn’t know what to do!“His nose!His nose!” Tannabritches said, hopping up and down and pointing to a place just above, where it looked as if someone had pulled the slime away from Drizzt’s face, clearing his nose, at least, that he could draw breath.Bruenor threw down his shield beside his axe and leaped for the spot.“Peel him out!” he shouted, and he began clawing at the glob which had pinned Drizzt against the stone.It came free, but grabbed at Bruenor’s hands so hard that he could barely shake it from his fingers, one stubborn piece at a time, and even then only after rolling it in on itself repeatedly.With Fist and Fury’s help, though, he soon had Drizzt’s head cleared, and the drow’s face lolled forward, Drizzt clearly not hearing the dwarf’s frantic calls, and not reacting at all when a desperate Bruenor slapped him across the face.“Come on, elf!” Bruenor yelled, cradling the drow’s face, looking at him closely, pleading with him to open his eyes.Tannabritches and Mallabritches bore on, tearing free the goo, and Athrogate joined in, but Ambergris came up more cautiously.She carried the broken blade of Twinkle, alternately examining the cut along the base of the severed scimitar blade and staring at Drizzt, shaking her head.It went on for a long while, when finally Tannabritches said, “Oooo,” and stepped back.She had peeled the goo down over Drizzt’s collarbone, down to his chest, and blood poured out.“What?” Mallabritches demanded.Tannabritches held up her bloodied hands.“Stop!Stop!” Ambergris cried, leaping forward to grab at Athrogate and pull him back.“Stop!”“What, girl?” Athrogate demanded, and all eyes turned to the priestess.“The glob,” she said, “it’s holding Drizzt together.Keepin’ his blood in!Ye pull it down and he’ll spill all over ye—all over the floor!”“Like a bandage?” Mallabritches asked.Bruenor, verging on panic, for it seemed very much to him that Drizzt was already dead, looked from Drizzt to the cleric and back again.Ambergris walked past him to press her hand against the exposed portion of the dark elf’s garish wound.She felt around, put on a pained expression, then said to Bruenor, “It’s a deep one.”“Well heal him, ye dolt!” Bruenor finally shouted.Ambergris nodded, but then shook her head and replied, “Ah, but this one’s beyond me.”“Well try!” the frantic Bruenor screamed.“Ye go and get his wife,” Ambergris told the Fellhammer sisters.“Go now, and quick.”“We can’t wait!” Bruenor frantically shouted, but Ambergris was already beginning her first spell, and when he realized that, the dwarf calmed somewhat.Ambergris pressed her hand in tighter against the drow’s torn chest and brought forth her healing magic.The blood flow slowed its trickle from that small, uncovered part of the wound, but the cleric looked to Bruenor and shook her head.“Me spells won’t be enough for this one,” she lamented.“Be sure that he’s been killed to death in battle, and only the goo’s keeping him a bit alive.”“Aye, and smotherin’ him at the same time!” Athrogate said.Bruenor was shaking his head.Someone had cleared Drizzt’s nose, and Bruenor realized that it was probably the same person who had hit him with the syrupy glob in the first place.“Jarlaxle,” he muttered, nodding.He had seen this trick before from that one.But why would Jarlaxle just leave Drizzt here like this?

dnd125

The dwarf looked to the wall, where the vortex had been.Another Jarlaxle trick, he wondered?But had Drizzt and Jarlaxle battled?It didn’t seem possible to him.He could not begin to imagine those two going at each other with blades.None of this made sense to him, but Bruenor figured that the only way he was going to get the answers was to get Drizzt healed.He looked to Ambergris, who was deep into casting another spell, and this one elicited a groan from Drizzt as the healing waves entered his torn and battered body.“Come on, girl,” Bruenor muttered, looking to the door.“Come on, get his other leg, then,” Athrogate called to him, and Bruenor turned to see the black-bearded dwarf clearing the goo from Drizzt’s shin.“Just a bit at a time, so we’re not for opening any more cuts!Elf’s bled enough!”“Too much,” Bruenor replied, going at the other leg.He winced as he did, wondering suddenly if this determined expedition was worth it to him.If he recovered Gauntlgrym, but at the price of Drizzt and Catti-brie’s lives, say, would he consider that a victory?“Aye,” he said with determination, but without much conviction.And he added, “Come on, girl.”MATRON MOTHER BAENRE sat quietly for a long while after Sos’Umptu’s prayer, which called the meeting of the Ruling Council to order.She let her gaze settle on each of the rival matron mothers, her withering look telling them that she understood well the true power behind the attack on the Do’Urden compound, and the coordination it had required.Even those matron mothers who had not participated directly shifted uncomfortably in their seats under the weight of that stare, for certainly all had known of the whispers, the shadowy nods and look-aways that had led to the coordinated assault.And behind them, seated at the back leg of the table, Matron Darthiir Do’Urden sat impassively.“Are we to believe this was anything less than an attempted assassination?” the matron mother asked.Several shifted uncomfortably, Matron Mother Mez’Barris let out a little growl, and other matron mothers nodded at the sentiment.Such accusations, if that indeed was where Matron Mother Baenre was going, were not acceptable in the city of backstabbing dark elves.“Or the will of the goddess?” the matron mother continued, giving them an out for their protests, and turning away from the course that would have inexorably led to direct and violent confrontation.“A signal, perhaps, that Matron Darthiir should not be seated here at the Ruling Council,” Matron Mother Zhindia Melarn offered.“Or perhaps that she should not be a matron mother at all,” Mez’Barris added.“Or that she should not be suffered to live,” said Zhindia.“Yet here she is,” said Matron Mother Baenre.“Alive and well.”“Foolishly rescued …” Zhindia started to interrupt, but Quenthel slammed her fist down on the table.“Matron Darthiir fought brilliantly, so say the Xorlarrin nobles who happened upon her,” Matron Mother Baenre declared.“Shall I bring them in to confirm?Matron Darthiir was assaulted by a horde of demons, but she battled them away and left them melting on the floor.”She turned to Mez’Barris, locking stares with her rival.“What say you?” Quenthel demanded.“Are we to believe that Lady Lolth ordered forth the demons to destroy a matron mother of the Ruling Council, and believe even more so that those demons failed in the Spider Queen’s task?”With no answer forthcoming, Quenthel stood up and towered over the others.“And if so,” she went on, “then why would Lady Lolth allow Matron Darthiir back here to sit beside us on the Ruling Council of this, her city?Go and seek guidance, Zhindia Melarn, I beg, before you blaspheme the Spider Queen with your ignorance and prejudice.

The dwarf looked to the wall, where the vortex had been.Another Jarlaxle trick, he wondered?But had Drizzt and Jarlaxle battled?It didn’t seem possible to him.He could not begin to imagine those two going at each other with blades.None of this made sense to him, but Bruenor figured that the only way he was going to get the answers was to get Drizzt healed.He looked to Ambergris, who was deep into casting another spell, and this one elicited a groan from Drizzt as the healing waves entered his torn and battered body.“Come on, girl,” Bruenor muttered, looking to the door.“Come on, get his other leg, then,” Athrogate called to him, and Bruenor turned to see the black-bearded dwarf clearing the goo from Drizzt’s shin.“Just a bit at a time, so we’re not for opening any more cuts!Elf’s bled enough!”“Too much,” Bruenor replied, going at the other leg.He winced as he did, wondering suddenly if this determined expedition was worth it to him.If he recovered Gauntlgrym, but at the price of Drizzt and Catti-brie’s lives, say, would he consider that a victory?“Aye,” he said with determination, but without much conviction.And he added, “Come on, girl.”MATRON MOTHER BAENRE sat quietly for a long while after Sos’Umptu’s prayer, which called the meeting of the Ruling Council to order.She let her gaze settle on each of the rival matron mothers, her withering look telling them that she understood well the true power behind the attack on the Do’Urden compound, and the coordination it had required.Even those matron mothers who had not participated directly shifted uncomfortably in their seats under the weight of that stare, for certainly all had known of the whispers, the shadowy nods and look-aways that had led to the coordinated assault.And behind them, seated at the back leg of the table, Matron Darthiir Do’Urden sat impassively.“Are we to believe this was anything less than an attempted assassination?” the matron mother asked.Several shifted uncomfortably, Matron Mother Mez’Barris let out a little growl, and other matron mothers nodded at the sentiment.Such accusations, if that indeed was where Matron Mother Baenre was going, were not acceptable in the city of backstabbing dark elves.“Or the will of the goddess?” the matron mother continued, giving them an out for their protests, and turning away from the course that would have inexorably led to direct and violent confrontation.“A signal, perhaps, that Matron Darthiir should not be seated here at the Ruling Council,” Matron Mother Zhindia Melarn offered.“Or perhaps that she should not be a matron mother at all,” Mez’Barris added.“Or that she should not be suffered to live,” said Zhindia.“Yet here she is,” said Matron Mother Baenre.“Alive and well.”“Foolishly rescued …” Zhindia started to interrupt, but Quenthel slammed her fist down on the table.“Matron Darthiir fought brilliantly, so say the Xorlarrin nobles who happened upon her,” Matron Mother Baenre declared.“Shall I bring them in to confirm?Matron Darthiir was assaulted by a horde of demons, but she battled them away and left them melting on the floor.”She turned to Mez’Barris, locking stares with her rival.“What say you?” Quenthel demanded.“Are we to believe that Lady Lolth ordered forth the demons to destroy a matron mother of the Ruling Council, and believe even more so that those demons failed in the Spider Queen’s task?”With no answer forthcoming, Quenthel stood up and towered over the others.“And if so,” she went on, “then why would Lady Lolth allow Matron Darthiir back here to sit beside us on the Ruling Council of this, her city?Go and seek guidance, Zhindia Melarn, I beg, before you blaspheme the Spider Queen with your ignorance and prejudice.

dnd126

And rest assured, if the Spider Queen had wanted Matron Darthiir dead, then Matron Darthiir would be dead by my own hand!”“Are we to celebrate her great victory?” Matron Mother Mez’Barris asked sarcastically.“Perhaps you would elevate House Do’Urden to a place of greater rank to properly acknowledge that a matron mother successfully killed a handful of manes.”The matron mother turned a perfectly wicked smile over Mez’Barris as others snickered.“Perhaps House Do’Urden will find its own ascent under the guidance of its heroic matron mother,” Matron Mother Baenre calmly replied, and she glanced sidelong at the sneering Zhindia Melarn, whose House was ranked one above Do’Urden, and so seemed the most likely target of any such attempt.“Perhaps the bastard House, so favored by Lady Lolth, will find its way to your seat,” Quenthel added to Mez’Barris, an absurd proposition, of course, but surely a threat the matron mother did not try to veil.“This is all for another day,” said Sos’Umptu at the back of the chamber.“This meeting was not convened to applaud or decry the battle at the compound of House Do’Urden, nor the valiance of Matron Darthiir Do’Urden.”“Indeed,” agreed Quenthel, who had demanded the meeting.“Matron Mother Zeerith of Q’Xorlarrin is in dire need.It would seem that an army of dwarves have come to reclaim the citadel they know as Gauntlgrym.”“That was ever a possibility,” Matron Mother Byrtyn Fey replied.“I will spare no warriors to go do battle for the sake of Q’Xorlarrin,” Matron Mother Mez’Barris said bluntly, and more than a couple of gasps were heard following that declaration.“We cannot,” Matron Mother Miz’ri Mizzrym added.“Not with a city full of demons scratching at our doors.”“And now you understand the beauty of my call to the Abyss,” Quenthel calmly replied.She let that hang in the air for a short while, all the others staring at her curiously.Quenthel took great pleasure in seeing the epiphany flash on each drow face, one by one, as they came to understand.“I have already spoken with the archmage,” Quenthel went on.“Marilith, whom he fully controls, will lead their march to Q’Xorlarrin, Nalfeshnee at her side, to the defense of Matron Mother Zeerith.”“You will send an army of demons to Matron Mother Zeerith’s door?” Zhindia Melarn asked, incredulous.“She would fare better battling the dwarves!”“I am sure that you hope your words prove true,” Quenthel replied, and Zhindia narrowed her hate-filled eyes, clearly recognizing the not-too-subtle implication that Quenthel had sorted out the secret alliance between the Melarni and the traders of House Hunzrin, who hated the very idea of the satellite city of Q’Xorlarrin.“I have assured Matron Mother Zeerith of our allegiance, and so our demons will serve her, by the will of Lolth.”Zhindia Melarn sat there simmering, with Mez’Barris Armgo looking no less miserable, and Quenthel basked in their frustration.Every time they thought they had gained the upper hand, Quenthel had snatched it back from them.They thought they had House Do’Urden destroyed, or Matron Darthiir murdered, at least.And yet here she was, seated beside them at the table of the Ruling Council.They had conspired and fumed over Quenthel’s decision to summon demons to the City of Spiders, and yet now those demons seemed the salvation of the satellite enclave of Q’Xorlarrin.Armed with the memories and reasoning of Yvonnel the Eternal, Matron Mother Quenthel was always one step ahead of them.Later that same day, all across the huge cavern that housed Menzoberranzan, nobles looked out from their balconies, nodding, sighing with relief as they watched the ghastly procession, hundreds of demons and thousands of manes and lesser Abyssal beings, filtering out of the city, marching to the command of the Ruling Council.And what a council it had been, so said the whispers filtering throughout the city, rumors that seemed confirmed by the noticeable increase in guards around the Barrison Del’Armgo compound.THE HAMMER RANG out, slow and steady, like the heartbeat of a dying man, or the tears dripping from a broken woman’s eyes.“Ye stay with him, then,” Connerad Brawnanvil said to Emerus Warcrown after one ring of hammer on metal.“Aye, but we’re near to taking the whole o’ the top,” Emerus replied.The hammer rang again.“The entry cavern’s work is all in order,” Connerad explained.“They’re not needin’ me shouts now.I’ll get Bungalow Thump aside me and the Gutbusters’ll finish the task Bruenor started.”“An uamh,” Emerus said, nodding, the ancient Dwarvish words for the “under way.”“Tha,” Connerad agreed, and he clasped wrists with Emerus.“Hold faith that I’ll call for ye afore we take the Forge.”Emerus nodded and Connerad started away.The young dwarf king flinched, but didn’t turn, though Emerus surely did, when another ring of hammer on metal echoed along the halls.“Ah, me friend Bruenor,” both dwarves independently and quietly whispered, and both, though they weren’t looking at each other and hadn’t heard each other, shook their heads in dismay.FLANKED BY A pack of glabrezu, the six-armed Marilith led the demonic procession.Tireless, brutal, unstoppable, the chaotic beast traversed the tunnels of the Lowerdark, many weaving down side passages, seeking prey.And any before them—goblin or myconid or umber hulk, it did not matter—was torn asunder and consumed, pulled down in a sea of manes, borne down under a flight of chasme, torn apart by a flock of vrock.It did not matter.

And rest assured, if the Spider Queen had wanted Matron Darthiir dead, then Matron Darthiir would be dead by my own hand!”“Are we to celebrate her great victory?” Matron Mother Mez’Barris asked sarcastically.“Perhaps you would elevate House Do’Urden to a place of greater rank to properly acknowledge that a matron mother successfully killed a handful of manes.”The matron mother turned a perfectly wicked smile over Mez’Barris as others snickered.“Perhaps House Do’Urden will find its own ascent under the guidance of its heroic matron mother,” Matron Mother Baenre calmly replied, and she glanced sidelong at the sneering Zhindia Melarn, whose House was ranked one above Do’Urden, and so seemed the most likely target of any such attempt.“Perhaps the bastard House, so favored by Lady Lolth, will find its way to your seat,” Quenthel added to Mez’Barris, an absurd proposition, of course, but surely a threat the matron mother did not try to veil.“This is all for another day,” said Sos’Umptu at the back of the chamber.“This meeting was not convened to applaud or decry the battle at the compound of House Do’Urden, nor the valiance of Matron Darthiir Do’Urden.”“Indeed,” agreed Quenthel, who had demanded the meeting.“Matron Mother Zeerith of Q’Xorlarrin is in dire need.It would seem that an army of dwarves have come to reclaim the citadel they know as Gauntlgrym.”“That was ever a possibility,” Matron Mother Byrtyn Fey replied.“I will spare no warriors to go do battle for the sake of Q’Xorlarrin,” Matron Mother Mez’Barris said bluntly, and more than a couple of gasps were heard following that declaration.“We cannot,” Matron Mother Miz’ri Mizzrym added.“Not with a city full of demons scratching at our doors.”“And now you understand the beauty of my call to the Abyss,” Quenthel calmly replied.She let that hang in the air for a short while, all the others staring at her curiously.Quenthel took great pleasure in seeing the epiphany flash on each drow face, one by one, as they came to understand.“I have already spoken with the archmage,” Quenthel went on.“Marilith, whom he fully controls, will lead their march to Q’Xorlarrin, Nalfeshnee at her side, to the defense of Matron Mother Zeerith.”“You will send an army of demons to Matron Mother Zeerith’s door?” Zhindia Melarn asked, incredulous.“She would fare better battling the dwarves!”“I am sure that you hope your words prove true,” Quenthel replied, and Zhindia narrowed her hate-filled eyes, clearly recognizing the not-too-subtle implication that Quenthel had sorted out the secret alliance between the Melarni and the traders of House Hunzrin, who hated the very idea of the satellite city of Q’Xorlarrin.“I have assured Matron Mother Zeerith of our allegiance, and so our demons will serve her, by the will of Lolth.”Zhindia Melarn sat there simmering, with Mez’Barris Armgo looking no less miserable, and Quenthel basked in their frustration.Every time they thought they had gained the upper hand, Quenthel had snatched it back from them.They thought they had House Do’Urden destroyed, or Matron Darthiir murdered, at least.And yet here she was, seated beside them at the table of the Ruling Council.They had conspired and fumed over Quenthel’s decision to summon demons to the City of Spiders, and yet now those demons seemed the salvation of the satellite enclave of Q’Xorlarrin.Armed with the memories and reasoning of Yvonnel the Eternal, Matron Mother Quenthel was always one step ahead of them.Later that same day, all across the huge cavern that housed Menzoberranzan, nobles looked out from their balconies, nodding, sighing with relief as they watched the ghastly procession, hundreds of demons and thousands of manes and lesser Abyssal beings, filtering out of the city, marching to the command of the Ruling Council.And what a council it had been, so said the whispers filtering throughout the city, rumors that seemed confirmed by the noticeable increase in guards around the Barrison Del’Armgo compound.THE HAMMER RANG out, slow and steady, like the heartbeat of a dying man, or the tears dripping from a broken woman’s eyes.“Ye stay with him, then,” Connerad Brawnanvil said to Emerus Warcrown after one ring of hammer on metal.“Aye, but we’re near to taking the whole o’ the top,” Emerus replied.The hammer rang again.“The entry cavern’s work is all in order,” Connerad explained.“They’re not needin’ me shouts now.I’ll get Bungalow Thump aside me and the Gutbusters’ll finish the task Bruenor started.”“An uamh,” Emerus said, nodding, the ancient Dwarvish words for the “under way.”“Tha,” Connerad agreed, and he clasped wrists with Emerus.“Hold faith that I’ll call for ye afore we take the Forge.”Emerus nodded and Connerad started away.The young dwarf king flinched, but didn’t turn, though Emerus surely did, when another ring of hammer on metal echoed along the halls.“Ah, me friend Bruenor,” both dwarves independently and quietly whispered, and both, though they weren’t looking at each other and hadn’t heard each other, shook their heads in dismay.FLANKED BY A pack of glabrezu, the six-armed Marilith led the demonic procession.Tireless, brutal, unstoppable, the chaotic beast traversed the tunnels of the Lowerdark, many weaving down side passages, seeking prey.And any before them—goblin or myconid or umber hulk, it did not matter—was torn asunder and consumed, pulled down in a sea of manes, borne down under a flight of chasme, torn apart by a flock of vrock.It did not matter.

dnd127

The very stones of the Underdark reverberated under the stamp of demonic feet and hooves.Unseen by Marilith, but surely felt, the magical emanations of the Faerzress fed her and promised her freedom.She could feel the truth of Lolth’s promises now, away from the city.It was obvious to her that the barrier had thinned.She felt no pull to return to the Abyss, felt as welcome and secure here as in the swirling gray stench of her home plane.She would serve as instructed by Gromph now, and serve him well, and that, in this situation, meant adhering to the demands of the matron mother.Marilith was amenable to that, for those demands included the spilling of buckets of blood, a liquid she relished as decoration.“PUT HER IN place, boys!” Oretheo Spikes yelled to the hauling team as the great stone slab began to twist out of alignment.“Don’t ye be lettin’ her crash the buttress, what!”The Wilddwarves on the bridge crew grunted and pressed with all their considerable strength, tugging and digging in their heels to twist the great center span back in alignment.“Ah, but there ye go!” Oretheo cheered.“Can’t none be sayin’ that them Adbar boys can’t build a bridge,” he heard behind him, and he turned to see the approach of Connerad.The two shared a hug and a heavy clap on the back.“All done but the pretty bas-reliefs!”“Aye, we’ll have a full bridge by the end o’ the day,” Oretheo replied.“Might that yerself and meself’ll name her, eh?Got a fine handle o’ Baldur’s Gate Single I’m thinkin’ to drain, right there on the middle o’ the span!”“Well lift one in toast to me, then,” Connerad replied.Oretheo looked at him curiously.“Ye heared o’ Bruenor?”“Heared o’ Drizzt the elf,” said Oretheo.“Guessed as much about Bruenor afore I e’er heard.Sad day.”“We’re nearin’ the under way,” said Connerad.“Bruenor’d almost got there.”“Aye.”Connerad paused and shrugged.“Aye,” Oretheo said again, nodding as he figured it out.“So ye’re to be leading the way down, then.”Connerad nodded.“Well, let me get me boys,” said Oretheo.“We’ll follow ye to the Nine Hells, King Connerad o’ Mithral Hall, don’t ye doubt!”“Ah, but I’m not for doubtin’ ye,” Connerad assured him, his tone comforting—too much so, and that brought a puzzled expression to the face of Oretheo Spikes.“What’re ye sayin’?” the Wilddwarf leader demanded.“Ye’re off for the front and fightin’, but me and me boys’re stayin’ here?Guardin’ the backside?”Connerad shrugged apologetically.“Bah!But did we not go through deas-ghnaith inntrigidh with all our hearts, then?” Oretheo cried.“We gived ye three kings ar tariseachd, our dying fealty!Are me and me boys lesser, then?Is that our place fore’ermore in the tunnels o’ Gauntlgrym?

The very stones of the Underdark reverberated under the stamp of demonic feet and hooves.Unseen by Marilith, but surely felt, the magical emanations of the Faerzress fed her and promised her freedom.She could feel the truth of Lolth’s promises now, away from the city.It was obvious to her that the barrier had thinned.She felt no pull to return to the Abyss, felt as welcome and secure here as in the swirling gray stench of her home plane.She would serve as instructed by Gromph now, and serve him well, and that, in this situation, meant adhering to the demands of the matron mother.Marilith was amenable to that, for those demands included the spilling of buckets of blood, a liquid she relished as decoration.“PUT HER IN place, boys!” Oretheo Spikes yelled to the hauling team as the great stone slab began to twist out of alignment.“Don’t ye be lettin’ her crash the buttress, what!”The Wilddwarves on the bridge crew grunted and pressed with all their considerable strength, tugging and digging in their heels to twist the great center span back in alignment.“Ah, but there ye go!” Oretheo cheered.“Can’t none be sayin’ that them Adbar boys can’t build a bridge,” he heard behind him, and he turned to see the approach of Connerad.The two shared a hug and a heavy clap on the back.“All done but the pretty bas-reliefs!”“Aye, we’ll have a full bridge by the end o’ the day,” Oretheo replied.“Might that yerself and meself’ll name her, eh?Got a fine handle o’ Baldur’s Gate Single I’m thinkin’ to drain, right there on the middle o’ the span!”“Well lift one in toast to me, then,” Connerad replied.Oretheo looked at him curiously.“Ye heared o’ Bruenor?”“Heared o’ Drizzt the elf,” said Oretheo.“Guessed as much about Bruenor afore I e’er heard.Sad day.”“We’re nearin’ the under way,” said Connerad.“Bruenor’d almost got there.”“Aye.”Connerad paused and shrugged.“Aye,” Oretheo said again, nodding as he figured it out.“So ye’re to be leading the way down, then.”Connerad nodded.“Well, let me get me boys,” said Oretheo.“We’ll follow ye to the Nine Hells, King Connerad o’ Mithral Hall, don’t ye doubt!”“Ah, but I’m not for doubtin’ ye,” Connerad assured him, his tone comforting—too much so, and that brought a puzzled expression to the face of Oretheo Spikes.“What’re ye sayin’?” the Wilddwarf leader demanded.“Ye’re off for the front and fightin’, but me and me boys’re stayin’ here?Guardin’ the backside?”Connerad shrugged apologetically.“Bah!But did we not go through deas-ghnaith inntrigidh with all our hearts, then?” Oretheo cried.“We gived ye three kings ar tariseachd, our dying fealty!Are me and me boys lesser, then?Is that our place fore’ermore in the tunnels o’ Gauntlgrym?

dnd128

And the Mirabarran dwarfs, too?” he added, sweeping his arm back across the cavern to the far end and the tunnels beyond, where the dwarves of Mirabar worked the defenses.“Nay, and ye’re fealty’s a treasured thing, by meself and me fellows, Bruenor and Emerus.” Connerad put his hand on Oretheo’s sturdy shoulder.“Yerself and yer boys’re as much Delzoun as any here, don’t ye doubt.But ye’re knowing the defenses here in the entryway—ye built ’em!—and aye but they got to stay strong now.”“Because ye’re pressin’ down to the drow.”“Aye, and might that them trickster drow come slitherin’ up behind us, eh?”Oretheo Spikes didn’t seem very convinced, but he did nod his agreement.“Wilddwarfs ain’t for guardin’.Not when there’s a road leadin’ straight to a real fight.”“Not me call, me friend,” Connerad explained.“Bungalow’s got the lead group with his Gutbusters.Yerself was given the cavern, the boys o’ Mirabar the back end and the tunnels beyond, and aye, but ye’ve all been a blessin’ to us all with yer work.”Oretheo Spikes heaved a great sigh.Connerad nodded, not disagreeing, and certainly understanding.“Then Moradin walk with ye, boy,” Oretheo Spikes said, and he clapped Connerad on the shoulder.The young dwarf king replied with a similar movement before he turned and headed for the throne room to collect his entourage, and from there to the front lines, to the breach to the under way.No sooner had the former King of Mithral Hall walked away when another of the Wilddwarf commanders came up to stand beside Oretheo.“Ye heared?” Oretheo asked.“I heared,” the other replied, his voice thick with anger.“Don’t ye be aimin’ that ire at Connerad or the others,” Oretheo told him.“Can’t be blamin’ them for taking them they know to the fight.Were it King Harnoth leading that march, then we’d be flankin’ him.”“Aye,” the other agreed.“And so I’m thinking me king choosed wrong, what.”“King Harnoth should be here,” Oretheo Spikes agreed.“Good choice, that one, to lead the march,” the other Wilddwarf remarked, nodding to Connerad as the former King of Mithral Hall entered Gauntlgrym.“Good as any.I’m hearin’ whispers that he’ll make a play for the throne when all’s done, and I’m not for saying that King Connerad o’ Gauntlgrym’d be a bad choice.”Above Emerus and Bruenor?Oretheo Spikes thought, but did not say, for even as the notion formulated, it didn’t seem all that outrageous to him.Certainly King Bruenor Battlehammer and King Emerus Warcrown remained as legends among the dwarves of Faerûn, and surely so in the Silver Marches.But who could deny the fine work of King Connerad Brawnanvil?And now Emerus was looking old to all, and Bruenor?Well, who might know of King Bruenor with his elf friend lying near to dead?Surely he seemed a broken dwarf at that time.“HOW’S HE RESTIN’?” Emerus asked Catti-brie when he entered the small room they had set up as an infirmary.The woman sat on a chair beside Drizzt, who lay very still, his eyes closed.“I done all I can,” she replied, and she almost laughed at herself as she heard the words spill forth, for it seemed that whenever she was speaking with dwarves now, she instinctively reverted to the brogue.“His cuts’re tied, but sure that he’s bled more than any should, and the shock of the hit …” She paused and lowered her gaze.Emerus rushed over to her and dropped a hand on her shoulder.“He’ll come back to ye, girl,” he said.Catti-brie nodded.She did believe that, though she wasn’t sure of what might be left of Drizzt when he did.

And the Mirabarran dwarfs, too?” he added, sweeping his arm back across the cavern to the far end and the tunnels beyond, where the dwarves of Mirabar worked the defenses.“Nay, and ye’re fealty’s a treasured thing, by meself and me fellows, Bruenor and Emerus.” Connerad put his hand on Oretheo’s sturdy shoulder.“Yerself and yer boys’re as much Delzoun as any here, don’t ye doubt.But ye’re knowing the defenses here in the entryway—ye built ’em!—and aye but they got to stay strong now.”“Because ye’re pressin’ down to the drow.”“Aye, and might that them trickster drow come slitherin’ up behind us, eh?”Oretheo Spikes didn’t seem very convinced, but he did nod his agreement.“Wilddwarfs ain’t for guardin’.Not when there’s a road leadin’ straight to a real fight.”“Not me call, me friend,” Connerad explained.“Bungalow’s got the lead group with his Gutbusters.Yerself was given the cavern, the boys o’ Mirabar the back end and the tunnels beyond, and aye, but ye’ve all been a blessin’ to us all with yer work.”Oretheo Spikes heaved a great sigh.Connerad nodded, not disagreeing, and certainly understanding.“Then Moradin walk with ye, boy,” Oretheo Spikes said, and he clapped Connerad on the shoulder.The young dwarf king replied with a similar movement before he turned and headed for the throne room to collect his entourage, and from there to the front lines, to the breach to the under way.No sooner had the former King of Mithral Hall walked away when another of the Wilddwarf commanders came up to stand beside Oretheo.“Ye heared?” Oretheo asked.“I heared,” the other replied, his voice thick with anger.“Don’t ye be aimin’ that ire at Connerad or the others,” Oretheo told him.“Can’t be blamin’ them for taking them they know to the fight.Were it King Harnoth leading that march, then we’d be flankin’ him.”“Aye,” the other agreed.“And so I’m thinking me king choosed wrong, what.”“King Harnoth should be here,” Oretheo Spikes agreed.“Good choice, that one, to lead the march,” the other Wilddwarf remarked, nodding to Connerad as the former King of Mithral Hall entered Gauntlgrym.“Good as any.I’m hearin’ whispers that he’ll make a play for the throne when all’s done, and I’m not for saying that King Connerad o’ Gauntlgrym’d be a bad choice.”Above Emerus and Bruenor?Oretheo Spikes thought, but did not say, for even as the notion formulated, it didn’t seem all that outrageous to him.Certainly King Bruenor Battlehammer and King Emerus Warcrown remained as legends among the dwarves of Faerûn, and surely so in the Silver Marches.But who could deny the fine work of King Connerad Brawnanvil?And now Emerus was looking old to all, and Bruenor?Well, who might know of King Bruenor with his elf friend lying near to dead?Surely he seemed a broken dwarf at that time.“HOW’S HE RESTIN’?” Emerus asked Catti-brie when he entered the small room they had set up as an infirmary.The woman sat on a chair beside Drizzt, who lay very still, his eyes closed.“I done all I can,” she replied, and she almost laughed at herself as she heard the words spill forth, for it seemed that whenever she was speaking with dwarves now, she instinctively reverted to the brogue.“His cuts’re tied, but sure that he’s bled more than any should, and the shock of the hit …” She paused and lowered her gaze.Emerus rushed over to her and dropped a hand on her shoulder.“He’ll come back to ye, girl,” he said.Catti-brie nodded.She did believe that, though she wasn’t sure of what might be left of Drizzt when he did.

dnd129

She recalled her own injuries from a giant’s rock in defending Mithral Hall.Never had she been the same, despite the tireless efforts of many dwarf clerics.“Been talkin’ with the Harpell lass, Penelope,” Emerus said.“She’s tellin’ me yerself and her got something to show me and Bruenor.”“Aye,” Catti-brie replied.“And the sooner the better.”“Connerad’s taking the lead in the forward press.No better time than now.”Catti-brie nodded and rose, then bent over and kissed Drizzt on the forehead.“Don’t ye leave me,” she whispered.Emerus was at the room’s door, holding it open, and so the next ring of that solitary hammer carried to Catti-brie’s ears, reminding her that Drizzt wasn’t the only one in need of help.She went with the old dwarf king through the maze of corridors, following the lonely cadence of the solitary hammer.They found Bruenor bent over a small forge, tapping away on the broken scimitar of his dearest friend.“We got work to do, me friend,” Emerus said as they entered the small chamber.Bruenor held up the rebuilt scimitar for the others to see.“Been workin’,” he replied.“Ye fixed it!” Catti-brie said happily, but Bruenor merely shrugged.“I put the blade back on, but can’no put the magic back in her,” he explained.“When we get to the Forge o’ Gauntlgrym, then,” Catti-brie offered, and Bruenor shrugged again.“Yer elf friend’s restin’ peacefully,” Emerus said.“Still asleep,” Catti-brie was quick to add when she saw the sparkle of false hope ignite in Bruenor’s eyes.Bruenor snorted helplessly.“We found an ancient portal,” Catti-brie explained.“Meself and the Harpells.Ye’re needing to see it, me Da.It’s a great tool, but might be a great danger.For the sake of all who’ve come to Gauntlgrym, I ask ye to come with me and Emerus now to view the thing and judge what we’re to do with it.”Bruenor looked at Twinkle, sighed, and nodded.Clearly, he’d done all he could with the scimitar.Catti-brie, who had spent so long trying to repair broken Drizzt, and possibly with the same partial effect, understood his pain.Was the magic of Twinkle lost forever?Was the magic of Drizzt lost forever?Bruenor tossed his hammer on the table and sent his gloves onto it behind.He carried Twinkle to Catti-brie and bade her return it to Drizzt after they got back from wherever it was she intended to take them.“Better for yerself to take it to him,” she replied and tried to hand back the scimitar.Bruenor balked and shook his head and would not take the blade back.He had made it quite clear, with voice at first, but with his actions since, that he didn’t want to see Drizzt lying helpless and near death on a cot.Catti-brie, however, wasn’t about to let this go.Not now.She pushed the blade out to Bruenor, and scowled at him when he began to shake his head once more.Reluctantly, Bruenor took the repaired scimitar and slid it into a loop on his backpack.“Lead on, then, and let’s be done with it,” he grumbled.Catti-brie paused for a few heartbeats, staring at her adoptive father, at the pommel of Twinkle sticking up from behind his left shoulder.For some reason, that image resonated with her.Seeing that Bruenor had taken the blade, and so would return it to Drizzt, reassured her that her father, at least, would soon enough be all right.Any victory seemed a major victory at that dark time.CHAPTER 18Comragh Na UamhEVERY PATROL LED BACK TO THIS CENTRAL CORRIDOR, ONE THAT ran to a great gap in the floor of the upper complex, and more important, ended in a thick door that opened to a landing set just below the ceiling of a vast cavern of the deeper levels.In darkness and silence Bungalow Thump was down at the end of that corridor, lying flat on the landing floor and peering over the rim into the deep gloom below.

She recalled her own injuries from a giant’s rock in defending Mithral Hall.Never had she been the same, despite the tireless efforts of many dwarf clerics.“Been talkin’ with the Harpell lass, Penelope,” Emerus said.“She’s tellin’ me yerself and her got something to show me and Bruenor.”“Aye,” Catti-brie replied.“And the sooner the better.”“Connerad’s taking the lead in the forward press.No better time than now.”Catti-brie nodded and rose, then bent over and kissed Drizzt on the forehead.“Don’t ye leave me,” she whispered.Emerus was at the room’s door, holding it open, and so the next ring of that solitary hammer carried to Catti-brie’s ears, reminding her that Drizzt wasn’t the only one in need of help.She went with the old dwarf king through the maze of corridors, following the lonely cadence of the solitary hammer.They found Bruenor bent over a small forge, tapping away on the broken scimitar of his dearest friend.“We got work to do, me friend,” Emerus said as they entered the small chamber.Bruenor held up the rebuilt scimitar for the others to see.“Been workin’,” he replied.“Ye fixed it!” Catti-brie said happily, but Bruenor merely shrugged.“I put the blade back on, but can’no put the magic back in her,” he explained.“When we get to the Forge o’ Gauntlgrym, then,” Catti-brie offered, and Bruenor shrugged again.“Yer elf friend’s restin’ peacefully,” Emerus said.“Still asleep,” Catti-brie was quick to add when she saw the sparkle of false hope ignite in Bruenor’s eyes.Bruenor snorted helplessly.“We found an ancient portal,” Catti-brie explained.“Meself and the Harpells.Ye’re needing to see it, me Da.It’s a great tool, but might be a great danger.For the sake of all who’ve come to Gauntlgrym, I ask ye to come with me and Emerus now to view the thing and judge what we’re to do with it.”Bruenor looked at Twinkle, sighed, and nodded.Clearly, he’d done all he could with the scimitar.Catti-brie, who had spent so long trying to repair broken Drizzt, and possibly with the same partial effect, understood his pain.Was the magic of Twinkle lost forever?Was the magic of Drizzt lost forever?Bruenor tossed his hammer on the table and sent his gloves onto it behind.He carried Twinkle to Catti-brie and bade her return it to Drizzt after they got back from wherever it was she intended to take them.“Better for yerself to take it to him,” she replied and tried to hand back the scimitar.Bruenor balked and shook his head and would not take the blade back.He had made it quite clear, with voice at first, but with his actions since, that he didn’t want to see Drizzt lying helpless and near death on a cot.Catti-brie, however, wasn’t about to let this go.Not now.She pushed the blade out to Bruenor, and scowled at him when he began to shake his head once more.Reluctantly, Bruenor took the repaired scimitar and slid it into a loop on his backpack.“Lead on, then, and let’s be done with it,” he grumbled.Catti-brie paused for a few heartbeats, staring at her adoptive father, at the pommel of Twinkle sticking up from behind his left shoulder.For some reason, that image resonated with her.Seeing that Bruenor had taken the blade, and so would return it to Drizzt, reassured her that her father, at least, would soon enough be all right.Any victory seemed a major victory at that dark time.CHAPTER 18Comragh Na UamhEVERY PATROL LED BACK TO THIS CENTRAL CORRIDOR, ONE THAT ran to a great gap in the floor of the upper complex, and more important, ended in a thick door that opened to a landing set just below the ceiling of a vast cavern of the deeper levels.In darkness and silence Bungalow Thump was down at the end of that corridor, lying flat on the landing floor and peering over the rim into the deep gloom below.

dnd130

Quietly, young King Connerad crept up beside him and similarly gazed into the vast darkness.The two dwarves exchanged looks and a shrug, then Connerad motioned Bungalow back.They went a long way along the tunnel and down a side passage before they broke their silence.“Get yer Harpell friends and put some light down there?” Bungalow Thump asked.“She’s a vast one,” Connerad said.“Got to be a hunnerd ogre feet from here to the floor, if there’s even a floor to be found.” He considered Bungalow’s request for a bit, but couldn’t agree.“We drop a magic light down there and sure that every drow in the lower levels’ll be ready for us.Shinin’ bright in deep tunnels brings them all in for a what-to-do, and not sure I’m liking that with just this one way down.Ropes and slides and all we can put in are still to be leavin’ us hanging high and open if they’re waiting for us.”“Aye, figured as much, but I had to ask,” said Bungalow Thump.“Suren that yer duty’s to put it all out afore me, and for that, ye got me gratitude,” Connerad replied.“Are we knowing where the stair’s at?”“Right below and folded over in half,” Connerad replied.“That’s what Athrogate telled me o’ the place, at least.The durned drow’ve done a great job in building themselves a stair that can be taken down fast, but not so fast to put back up, so I’m hearin’.So no, me friend, we won’t be slippin’ a few fellows down to the stair and getting it set up for us, if that’s what ye were thinking.”“All of us fast down on a slide rope then,” said Bungalow.“I’m not feelin’ good about puttin’ me boys on ropes to rappel a hunnerd feet and more to the dark floor.Not with a horde o’ damned drow below shootin’ at us all the way.”“Silence and darkness and two set o’ three ropes abreast,” Connerad replied.“And know that I’ll be right beside ye.”Bungalow Thump patted Connerad on the shoulder, never doubting for a heartbeat that his king wouldn’t send him and his boys into a danger that Connerad wouldn’t face right beside them.Connerad’s family name was Brawnanvil, but for all that he was Battlehammer, through and through.“We got them young Harpell wizards, too,” Connerad reminded.“Wishin’ we had the old one,” said Bungalow.“And the woman who’s leadin’ ’em.Both can throw a bit o’ lightning and fire, so I’m hearin’.”“The one girl with this group—said her name’s Kenneally,” Connerad replied, “she’s a flyer and a floater, and with more than a few tricks for such.Might be that she can give us wings, me and yerself, and so we’ll chase our boys down the hole, eh?”“Kenneally Harpell,” Bungalow reminded him, emphasizing that legendary family name.“So she’ll likely turn us into bats, what!”“Ha!” said Connerad.“Aye, her and the skinny fellow … Tuck-the-Duck?”“Tuckernuck,” came the correction from the doorway and the two dwarves turned to see the two in question, Kenneally and Tuckernuck Harpell.“Rest assured, King Connerad, that we two and the others will be of great assistance in getting your force swiftly to the bottom, if that is your wish,” Kenneally Harpell said.“I’ve a new spell to try for just this purpose,” Tuckernuck added, and the dwarves looked to each other doubtfully, having heard, and seen, much of the leftover effects of “new spells” tried at the Ivy Mansion in Longsaddle, including more than half the statues in the place.More than a few brilliant Harpell wizards had mastered a spell to turn himself or herself into such a statue, and of course, did so knowing the words to reverse the spell but without realizing that as a statue, he or she wouldn’t be able to mouth those words.“Do tell, boy,” Connerad gingerly prompted.“Field of Feather Falling,” Tuckernuck replied.“You fall into it, you float out of it,” Kenneally replied.The dwarves exchanged skeptical looks once more.“We put it down near the floor, perhaps,” said Tuckernuck.“A long and fast fall into the field and a short float to the fight!”“Or quick surprise turned into a quick splat, eh?” Bungalow Thump said dryly.MATRON MOTHER ZEERITH sat on the altar stone in the chapel of Q’Xorlarrin, fidgeting nervously.

Quietly, young King Connerad crept up beside him and similarly gazed into the vast darkness.The two dwarves exchanged looks and a shrug, then Connerad motioned Bungalow back.They went a long way along the tunnel and down a side passage before they broke their silence.“Get yer Harpell friends and put some light down there?” Bungalow Thump asked.“She’s a vast one,” Connerad said.“Got to be a hunnerd ogre feet from here to the floor, if there’s even a floor to be found.” He considered Bungalow’s request for a bit, but couldn’t agree.“We drop a magic light down there and sure that every drow in the lower levels’ll be ready for us.Shinin’ bright in deep tunnels brings them all in for a what-to-do, and not sure I’m liking that with just this one way down.Ropes and slides and all we can put in are still to be leavin’ us hanging high and open if they’re waiting for us.”“Aye, figured as much, but I had to ask,” said Bungalow Thump.“Suren that yer duty’s to put it all out afore me, and for that, ye got me gratitude,” Connerad replied.“Are we knowing where the stair’s at?”“Right below and folded over in half,” Connerad replied.“That’s what Athrogate telled me o’ the place, at least.The durned drow’ve done a great job in building themselves a stair that can be taken down fast, but not so fast to put back up, so I’m hearin’.So no, me friend, we won’t be slippin’ a few fellows down to the stair and getting it set up for us, if that’s what ye were thinking.”“All of us fast down on a slide rope then,” said Bungalow.“I’m not feelin’ good about puttin’ me boys on ropes to rappel a hunnerd feet and more to the dark floor.Not with a horde o’ damned drow below shootin’ at us all the way.”“Silence and darkness and two set o’ three ropes abreast,” Connerad replied.“And know that I’ll be right beside ye.”Bungalow Thump patted Connerad on the shoulder, never doubting for a heartbeat that his king wouldn’t send him and his boys into a danger that Connerad wouldn’t face right beside them.Connerad’s family name was Brawnanvil, but for all that he was Battlehammer, through and through.“We got them young Harpell wizards, too,” Connerad reminded.“Wishin’ we had the old one,” said Bungalow.“And the woman who’s leadin’ ’em.Both can throw a bit o’ lightning and fire, so I’m hearin’.”“The one girl with this group—said her name’s Kenneally,” Connerad replied, “she’s a flyer and a floater, and with more than a few tricks for such.Might be that she can give us wings, me and yerself, and so we’ll chase our boys down the hole, eh?”“Kenneally Harpell,” Bungalow reminded him, emphasizing that legendary family name.“So she’ll likely turn us into bats, what!”“Ha!” said Connerad.“Aye, her and the skinny fellow … Tuck-the-Duck?”“Tuckernuck,” came the correction from the doorway and the two dwarves turned to see the two in question, Kenneally and Tuckernuck Harpell.“Rest assured, King Connerad, that we two and the others will be of great assistance in getting your force swiftly to the bottom, if that is your wish,” Kenneally Harpell said.“I’ve a new spell to try for just this purpose,” Tuckernuck added, and the dwarves looked to each other doubtfully, having heard, and seen, much of the leftover effects of “new spells” tried at the Ivy Mansion in Longsaddle, including more than half the statues in the place.More than a few brilliant Harpell wizards had mastered a spell to turn himself or herself into such a statue, and of course, did so knowing the words to reverse the spell but without realizing that as a statue, he or she wouldn’t be able to mouth those words.“Do tell, boy,” Connerad gingerly prompted.“Field of Feather Falling,” Tuckernuck replied.“You fall into it, you float out of it,” Kenneally replied.The dwarves exchanged skeptical looks once more.“We put it down near the floor, perhaps,” said Tuckernuck.“A long and fast fall into the field and a short float to the fight!”“Or quick surprise turned into a quick splat, eh?” Bungalow Thump said dryly.MATRON MOTHER ZEERITH sat on the altar stone in the chapel of Q’Xorlarrin, fidgeting nervously.

dnd131

More than once, she imagined taking just a few steps and leaping from the ledge to the fiery maw of the fire primordial.It was just a passing thought, and nothing she seriously considered.Not yet, at least, but she could well envision a day not too far off when such a suicidal leap into utter oblivion might prove to be her best course.She spun around on the altar stone then and leaned forward to peer into the pit, its sides swirling with water elementals rushing about in their cyclonic frenzy.“Matron Mother?” she heard from behind her, and she turned to see High Priestess Kiriy and the wizard Hoshtar entering the chamber.“I do not wish to disturb your communion, Matron Mother,” Kiriy said respectfully, and she bowed low.“What do you want?” Matron Mother Zeerith snapped in reply.She turned a threatening glare over Hoshtar, who similarly bowed, and had the wisdom to remain low.“They near the lower positions,” Kiriy explained.“I thought it important that you greet them personally.”Matron Mother Zeerith winced.“Already?” she whispered under her breath, though she knew she shouldn’t be surprised, for demons were tireless creatures.“They are to be allowed nowhere near this room,” she said to her daughter.“Or the forge room.”“It will take one of your supreme station to deter them, Matron Mother,” Kiriy explained.“Mighty Marilith herself leads the throng.”“A marilith …” Matron Mother Zeerith said with a sigh.She was hoping that a nalfeshnee, with its strange sense of law and order, would be at the head of the demonic column, or perhaps even some weaker type of major demon, one that she could easily dominate.The six-armed mariliths, though, were exceedingly cunning, and could warp any command to their advantage.“Not a marilith,” Kiriy said, interrupting Zeerith’s train of thought.“Marilith herself.”“Under the suffrage and domination of Archmage Gromph Baenre,” Hoshtar added, and Matron Mother Zeerith felt as if he were twisting a knife in her back.By all reason, Gromph Baenre should be a friend to the Xorlarrins, a family so strong in male wizards.But whether it was his jealousy, or his fear that one of the Xorlarrins would usurp his high station, such an alliance had never come to pass.Zeerith sighed again.“Let us go,” she said.“I wish to greet our … reinforcements as far from this room as possible.”Deep in the mines, past the slave miners from Icewind Dale and those few remaining that had been taken from Port Llast, the drow contingent met up with the lesser demons in front of the march from Menzoberranzan.Matron Mother Zeerith barred their way, and ordered several back to gather Marilith.Demons continued to press, looking for a way past Matron Mother Zeerith.It wasn’t until she cast a spell of banishment, sending a large vrock back to its Abyssal home, that the others fell into order—at least, as much order as chaotic demons could manage.Still, they all knew that they might soon wash their bodies in mortal blood, and the threat of banishment proved incentive enough to keep them at bay until at last the giant Marilith slithered up to face the Matron of Q’Xorlarrin.“I am here by the word of Archmage Gromph Baenre,” Marilith stated flatly.“Sent to kill dwarves.”“There are thousands to kill, I am told,” Matron Mother Zeerith replied.“Show me,” Marilith said, and her voice sounded very much like a purr, while the fingers of her six hands eagerly tickled the hilts of her belted weapons.“There are many tunnels,” Zeerith replied, and she turned and motioned up the sloping corridor.“The first right-hand passages lead to Q’Xorlarrin.The place is secure, do not doubt, and any demons you send down that way will be destroyed or banished, at the least, by my defenses.”Marilith let out a little growl, clearly wanting to go down those tunnels simply because of the overt threat.“And where do the others lead, Matron Mother Zeerith?”“This way and that,” the matron mother of Q’Xorlarrin replied.“This most ancient dwarven complex is indeed a vast compound, much of it still unexplored by my family.

More than once, she imagined taking just a few steps and leaping from the ledge to the fiery maw of the fire primordial.It was just a passing thought, and nothing she seriously considered.Not yet, at least, but she could well envision a day not too far off when such a suicidal leap into utter oblivion might prove to be her best course.She spun around on the altar stone then and leaned forward to peer into the pit, its sides swirling with water elementals rushing about in their cyclonic frenzy.“Matron Mother?” she heard from behind her, and she turned to see High Priestess Kiriy and the wizard Hoshtar entering the chamber.“I do not wish to disturb your communion, Matron Mother,” Kiriy said respectfully, and she bowed low.“What do you want?” Matron Mother Zeerith snapped in reply.She turned a threatening glare over Hoshtar, who similarly bowed, and had the wisdom to remain low.“They near the lower positions,” Kiriy explained.“I thought it important that you greet them personally.”Matron Mother Zeerith winced.“Already?” she whispered under her breath, though she knew she shouldn’t be surprised, for demons were tireless creatures.“They are to be allowed nowhere near this room,” she said to her daughter.“Or the forge room.”“It will take one of your supreme station to deter them, Matron Mother,” Kiriy explained.“Mighty Marilith herself leads the throng.”“A marilith …” Matron Mother Zeerith said with a sigh.She was hoping that a nalfeshnee, with its strange sense of law and order, would be at the head of the demonic column, or perhaps even some weaker type of major demon, one that she could easily dominate.The six-armed mariliths, though, were exceedingly cunning, and could warp any command to their advantage.“Not a marilith,” Kiriy said, interrupting Zeerith’s train of thought.“Marilith herself.”“Under the suffrage and domination of Archmage Gromph Baenre,” Hoshtar added, and Matron Mother Zeerith felt as if he were twisting a knife in her back.By all reason, Gromph Baenre should be a friend to the Xorlarrins, a family so strong in male wizards.But whether it was his jealousy, or his fear that one of the Xorlarrins would usurp his high station, such an alliance had never come to pass.Zeerith sighed again.“Let us go,” she said.“I wish to greet our … reinforcements as far from this room as possible.”Deep in the mines, past the slave miners from Icewind Dale and those few remaining that had been taken from Port Llast, the drow contingent met up with the lesser demons in front of the march from Menzoberranzan.Matron Mother Zeerith barred their way, and ordered several back to gather Marilith.Demons continued to press, looking for a way past Matron Mother Zeerith.It wasn’t until she cast a spell of banishment, sending a large vrock back to its Abyssal home, that the others fell into order—at least, as much order as chaotic demons could manage.Still, they all knew that they might soon wash their bodies in mortal blood, and the threat of banishment proved incentive enough to keep them at bay until at last the giant Marilith slithered up to face the Matron of Q’Xorlarrin.“I am here by the word of Archmage Gromph Baenre,” Marilith stated flatly.“Sent to kill dwarves.”“There are thousands to kill, I am told,” Matron Mother Zeerith replied.“Show me,” Marilith said, and her voice sounded very much like a purr, while the fingers of her six hands eagerly tickled the hilts of her belted weapons.“There are many tunnels,” Zeerith replied, and she turned and motioned up the sloping corridor.“The first right-hand passages lead to Q’Xorlarrin.The place is secure, do not doubt, and any demons you send down that way will be destroyed or banished, at the least, by my defenses.”Marilith let out a little growl, clearly wanting to go down those tunnels simply because of the overt threat.“And where do the others lead, Matron Mother Zeerith?”“This way and that,” the matron mother of Q’Xorlarrin replied.“This most ancient dwarven complex is indeed a vast compound, much of it still unexplored by my family.

dnd132

Any time you are climbing nearer the surface, know that you are moving closer to the dwarves who have come to this place, for they have not gained the lower corridors.”“Then they shan’t,” Marilith decreed, her red eyes flaring, and now her six weapons slid free.Matron Mother Zeerith wisely used that moment to begin her return to Q’Xorlarrin, her entourage hustling beside her, and with other dark elves ordered to collect the slaves—who would surely have been devoured by the demonic procession—and retreat within the main compound area.By the time Matron Mother Zeerith had returned to her altar room, Q’Xorlarrin had more sentries guarding the lower entrances than those in the areas where the dwarves might come down.The first good news of the day greeted Matron Mother Zeerith in that altar room, for she found her nephews, the powerful Masters of Sorcere Jaemas and Faelas, waiting for her.“Well met again, Matron Mother of Q’Xorlarrin,” they said in unison, both bowing deeply and respectfully.“It has been too long since your beauty has graced our eyes, Matron Mother Zeerith,” Faelas Xorlarrin added.“Menzoberranzan is a lesser place without you,” Jaemas added.“Enough of your insipid flattery,” Matron Mother Zeerith replied, though it was clear from her tone that she was indeed a bit flattered.Behind her, High Priestess Kiriy caught that little fact, too, it seemed, for she chortled, drawing an evil glance from her mother.“Have you spoken with any since your arrival?” Zeerith asked.“Out in the forge room,” Jaemas said, pointing past her.“Then you know that I have been off to greet a column of demonic reinforcements.One led by Marilith, who serves …”“The archmage, yes,” said Faelas.“He brought her to Menzoberranzan after her defeat at the blades of Malagdorl Armgo, and so shamed House Barrison Del’Armgo, or cast doubts upon the tale woven by their weapons master, at least.”“Matron Mother Baenre chose Marilith to lead the column above even the goristro that now serves her …” Faelas started to explain, but Zeerith cut him short.“To further irk Matron Mother Mez’Barris,” she said with a shake of her head—one that wasn’t full of the glee expected from one of her high station when learning of such diabolical intrigue, but rather, one of disgust.The two wizards didn’t miss it, and they glanced at each other, puzzled.“Help to organize the attack groups,” Zeerith bade her nephews.“Take Hoshtar with you.When the demons engage the dwarves and wound them as I expect, we must be ready to finish the task, and so not allow Gromph and the matron mother all of the glory.”The wizards nodded.“That would be wise,” Jaemas agreed, “but first …”He let that hang ominously for a moment, until Faelas added, “We have been to the great stair in the main lower hall, Matron Mother, and have witnessed the tunnels directly above it.You have more immediate problems.”“YOU ARE SURE it will work?” Kenneally asked Tuckernuck.The other Harpell nodded.“It won’t be large, perhaps a score of strides to a side, but all who fall through it will float gently to the ground.You know how long I have been preparing this.”Kenneally couldn’t miss the flash of anger in his tone, or defensiveness at least.“It is well over a hundred feet to the floor of the lower cavern,” she reminded him, and indeed, Tuckernuck had flown beside her, invisibly, to scout the room, and so this was not new information to him.“Even a dwarf …” She shook her head and let that unsettling thought hang in the air for a moment.“They’ll be down from the landing to your feather fall field in under a three-count, and will be falling fast.”Tuckernuck nodded.“I know.”“How high will you put your magic field?”“Twice my height, no more,” he answered confidently.“They will be falling fast.”“And floating the moment they touch the enchantment,” Tuckernuck assured her.“If we put it up too high, the dwarves will be helplessly floating about in the air for too long.”Kenneally brushed her long brown hair back from her face.She seemed as if she were about to say something, but cut it short before she made a sound.Tuckernuck smiled at her reassuringly, even reached out and patted her on the shoulder.“It will work,” he said quietly.“We’ll get five hundred battle dwarves in that cavern in short order, including the whole of the Gutbuster Brigade.”“I should anchor—”“No!” Tuckernuck said to his powerful cousin, for indeed, Kenneally Harpell was considered among the greatest of their wizards, with mastery of some of the most powerful spells known at the Ivy Mansion.“No.They will need you in other ways, of course.We’ll find battle soon after the first dwarven boots are on the cavern floor, do not doubt.”The two heard the rumble of marching dwarves then, and so Kenneally nodded and motioned for Tuckernuck to go and prepare the battlefield.The younger cousin pumped a clenched fist and ran off to find his trio of cohorts.

Any time you are climbing nearer the surface, know that you are moving closer to the dwarves who have come to this place, for they have not gained the lower corridors.”“Then they shan’t,” Marilith decreed, her red eyes flaring, and now her six weapons slid free.Matron Mother Zeerith wisely used that moment to begin her return to Q’Xorlarrin, her entourage hustling beside her, and with other dark elves ordered to collect the slaves—who would surely have been devoured by the demonic procession—and retreat within the main compound area.By the time Matron Mother Zeerith had returned to her altar room, Q’Xorlarrin had more sentries guarding the lower entrances than those in the areas where the dwarves might come down.The first good news of the day greeted Matron Mother Zeerith in that altar room, for she found her nephews, the powerful Masters of Sorcere Jaemas and Faelas, waiting for her.“Well met again, Matron Mother of Q’Xorlarrin,” they said in unison, both bowing deeply and respectfully.“It has been too long since your beauty has graced our eyes, Matron Mother Zeerith,” Faelas Xorlarrin added.“Menzoberranzan is a lesser place without you,” Jaemas added.“Enough of your insipid flattery,” Matron Mother Zeerith replied, though it was clear from her tone that she was indeed a bit flattered.Behind her, High Priestess Kiriy caught that little fact, too, it seemed, for she chortled, drawing an evil glance from her mother.“Have you spoken with any since your arrival?” Zeerith asked.“Out in the forge room,” Jaemas said, pointing past her.“Then you know that I have been off to greet a column of demonic reinforcements.One led by Marilith, who serves …”“The archmage, yes,” said Faelas.“He brought her to Menzoberranzan after her defeat at the blades of Malagdorl Armgo, and so shamed House Barrison Del’Armgo, or cast doubts upon the tale woven by their weapons master, at least.”“Matron Mother Baenre chose Marilith to lead the column above even the goristro that now serves her …” Faelas started to explain, but Zeerith cut him short.“To further irk Matron Mother Mez’Barris,” she said with a shake of her head—one that wasn’t full of the glee expected from one of her high station when learning of such diabolical intrigue, but rather, one of disgust.The two wizards didn’t miss it, and they glanced at each other, puzzled.“Help to organize the attack groups,” Zeerith bade her nephews.“Take Hoshtar with you.When the demons engage the dwarves and wound them as I expect, we must be ready to finish the task, and so not allow Gromph and the matron mother all of the glory.”The wizards nodded.“That would be wise,” Jaemas agreed, “but first …”He let that hang ominously for a moment, until Faelas added, “We have been to the great stair in the main lower hall, Matron Mother, and have witnessed the tunnels directly above it.You have more immediate problems.”“YOU ARE SURE it will work?” Kenneally asked Tuckernuck.The other Harpell nodded.“It won’t be large, perhaps a score of strides to a side, but all who fall through it will float gently to the ground.You know how long I have been preparing this.”Kenneally couldn’t miss the flash of anger in his tone, or defensiveness at least.“It is well over a hundred feet to the floor of the lower cavern,” she reminded him, and indeed, Tuckernuck had flown beside her, invisibly, to scout the room, and so this was not new information to him.“Even a dwarf …” She shook her head and let that unsettling thought hang in the air for a moment.“They’ll be down from the landing to your feather fall field in under a three-count, and will be falling fast.”Tuckernuck nodded.“I know.”“How high will you put your magic field?”“Twice my height, no more,” he answered confidently.“They will be falling fast.”“And floating the moment they touch the enchantment,” Tuckernuck assured her.“If we put it up too high, the dwarves will be helplessly floating about in the air for too long.”Kenneally brushed her long brown hair back from her face.She seemed as if she were about to say something, but cut it short before she made a sound.Tuckernuck smiled at her reassuringly, even reached out and patted her on the shoulder.“It will work,” he said quietly.“We’ll get five hundred battle dwarves in that cavern in short order, including the whole of the Gutbuster Brigade.”“I should anchor—”“No!” Tuckernuck said to his powerful cousin, for indeed, Kenneally Harpell was considered among the greatest of their wizards, with mastery of some of the most powerful spells known at the Ivy Mansion.“No.They will need you in other ways, of course.We’ll find battle soon after the first dwarven boots are on the cavern floor, do not doubt.”The two heard the rumble of marching dwarves then, and so Kenneally nodded and motioned for Tuckernuck to go and prepare the battlefield.The younger cousin pumped a clenched fist and ran off to find his trio of cohorts.

dnd133

After a short confirmation of the positions and plan, they began checking their components and rehearsing the words of the magical ritual.The youngest of the group cast a spell of flying on herself, became invisible, and flew off for a quick scouting of the cavern to mark the spot.The others crouched on the platform, staring, looking for the signal.Tuckernuck flexed his fingers repeatedly to allay his nerves.Back from the group, through the door and in the hallway, Kenneally stood with Connerad and Bungalow Thump at the head of the dwarven force.“You are sure?” she asked the young king, and not for the first time.“Will the damned spell work?”Kenneally glanced back at the four Harpells on the landing and nodded.“I do believe in Tuckernuck, yes.But there might be many enemies waiting for you.”“Then we’re sure,” Bungalow Thump answered for Connerad.“Ye just get us down there, girl, and get out o’ our way so ye’re not slippin’ in drow blood!”Out on the landing, Tuckernuck and his assistants cast spells of flying and fell from their perch, disappearing from sight.“You tell your warriors not to run and leap,” Kenneally warned him.“Just walk off and fall straight down.We marked the spot carefully.Don’t miss it!”“Aye, we telled ’em,” said Connerad.“Gutbusters!” Bungalow Thump added.“Crazy as ye might be thinking ’em, none’re fightin’ smarter!”Behind the two leaders, the next dwarves in line turned and passed down the reminder.Kenneally led the way onto the platform, lay down, and peered over, awaiting the signal.“Groups o’ ten at a time, boys,” she heard Bungalow Thump whisper, and the first leap team moved into position.“Three count and the next’re off!”Connerad and Bungalow Thump were among that first group, and it occurred to Kenneally that if Tuckernuck’s spell didn’t work, his failure would splatter a dwarf king and the leader of the famed Gutbusters all over the stone.She saw the signal then, a brief pulse of red light, and heard herself saying, “Go!” before she could even think about the grim possibilities.And so they did, fearlessly, ten dwarves simply stepping off the landing and plummeting blindly into the darkness of a cavern whose floor was more than a hundred feet below.Kenneally held her breath as they disappeared from sight, hoping, praying, that she didn’t hear a crash.Already the second group hustled into position around her, and before she could be sure the first group had even reached the bottom, those ten dwarves fell fearlessly away.FROM THE MOMENT he stepped off the ledge, Connerad Brawnanvil feared that he was being foolish, his confidence inflated by the Throne of the Gods and his fine work in the entry cavern up above.And inflated by the whispers, the young dwarf had to admit.Many were talking about him as the First King of Gauntlgrym, and the fact that he was being considered by some to be worthy of even being mentioned as a possibility for that title along with Emerus Warcrown and Bruenor Battlehammer, overwhelmed Connerad.Had his pride overplayed his hand?Those nagging doubts followed the dwarf down into the darkness, plummeting from on high.The cavern was not well lit, with only marginal illuminating fungi nearby, but he saw then the floor, hard stone, rushing toward him.He noted the Harpells, too, though, the four standing as the corners of a square some twenty paces across, and even as he and several others started to yell out, he noted a shimmer in the marked-off field between them.Then, before that could even fully register in his thoughts, Connerad was floating, touching down gently a moment later with nine Gutbusters beside him.“Move out!” Bungalow Thump ordered and the group leaped away, two to each side of the square, with four, including Bungalow and Connerad, at the side nearest the circular stairwell.Barely had they made their positions and caught their collective breath, when ten more warrior dwarves came down behind them, breaking immediately, as practiced, to properly reinforce the perimeter.Out moved the dwarves with ten more down, then another group and another, and with fifty battle-hardened Gutbusters now beside him, Connerad couldn’t suppress his grin.Another ten landed.Huzzah for the Harpells and the clever Tuckernuck!BRILLIANTLY PLAYED, JAEMAS signaled to Faelas in the silent hand code of the drow.Or would be, had we not discovered their intent, Faelas’s fingers flashed back at him.Enough?Jaemas asked, and Faelas nodded.Jaemas lifted his hands and clapped loudly.In response to the signal, stones scraped and doors slid open and a host of enemies leaped out from concealment to charge at the dwarves.Slaves, mostly, goblins, orcs, and kobolds by the score.More than a hundred dwarves were down by that point, with several times that number of monstrous foes flooding in to do battle.But these were battleragers, with fine arms and armor, and neither of the Xorlarrin wizards held any notion that the slave force could overwhelm the dwarves.Then came the first bolts of lightning, crackling above the heads of dwarf and orc alike.The drow were not aiming at the dwarves, but at the four wizards they knew to be in the air above them, the four human mages that Hoshtar’s spell had revealed.Faelas looked at his cousin and smiled and nodded, and the two began their spellcasting in unison.A few heartbeats later, a pair of small flaming orbs sailed across the darkness, arcing over the monstrous horde, and settling in the area where the leaping dwarves were touching down, right in the midst of the dwarven perimeter.Two fireballs stole the darkness.“OH, NO, NO!” Kenneally Harpell cried out when she saw the lightning, when she realized that the lightning was not aimed at those dwarves already on the ground.“Stop!Stop!” she cried at the dwarves on the landing, but these were battleragers, and they weren’t about to listen with a fight so near and their kin being hard-pressed by monsters and magic.Ten more came rushing through the door.

After a short confirmation of the positions and plan, they began checking their components and rehearsing the words of the magical ritual.The youngest of the group cast a spell of flying on herself, became invisible, and flew off for a quick scouting of the cavern to mark the spot.The others crouched on the platform, staring, looking for the signal.Tuckernuck flexed his fingers repeatedly to allay his nerves.Back from the group, through the door and in the hallway, Kenneally stood with Connerad and Bungalow Thump at the head of the dwarven force.“You are sure?” she asked the young king, and not for the first time.“Will the damned spell work?”Kenneally glanced back at the four Harpells on the landing and nodded.“I do believe in Tuckernuck, yes.But there might be many enemies waiting for you.”“Then we’re sure,” Bungalow Thump answered for Connerad.“Ye just get us down there, girl, and get out o’ our way so ye’re not slippin’ in drow blood!”Out on the landing, Tuckernuck and his assistants cast spells of flying and fell from their perch, disappearing from sight.“You tell your warriors not to run and leap,” Kenneally warned him.“Just walk off and fall straight down.We marked the spot carefully.Don’t miss it!”“Aye, we telled ’em,” said Connerad.“Gutbusters!” Bungalow Thump added.“Crazy as ye might be thinking ’em, none’re fightin’ smarter!”Behind the two leaders, the next dwarves in line turned and passed down the reminder.Kenneally led the way onto the platform, lay down, and peered over, awaiting the signal.“Groups o’ ten at a time, boys,” she heard Bungalow Thump whisper, and the first leap team moved into position.“Three count and the next’re off!”Connerad and Bungalow Thump were among that first group, and it occurred to Kenneally that if Tuckernuck’s spell didn’t work, his failure would splatter a dwarf king and the leader of the famed Gutbusters all over the stone.She saw the signal then, a brief pulse of red light, and heard herself saying, “Go!” before she could even think about the grim possibilities.And so they did, fearlessly, ten dwarves simply stepping off the landing and plummeting blindly into the darkness of a cavern whose floor was more than a hundred feet below.Kenneally held her breath as they disappeared from sight, hoping, praying, that she didn’t hear a crash.Already the second group hustled into position around her, and before she could be sure the first group had even reached the bottom, those ten dwarves fell fearlessly away.FROM THE MOMENT he stepped off the ledge, Connerad Brawnanvil feared that he was being foolish, his confidence inflated by the Throne of the Gods and his fine work in the entry cavern up above.And inflated by the whispers, the young dwarf had to admit.Many were talking about him as the First King of Gauntlgrym, and the fact that he was being considered by some to be worthy of even being mentioned as a possibility for that title along with Emerus Warcrown and Bruenor Battlehammer, overwhelmed Connerad.Had his pride overplayed his hand?Those nagging doubts followed the dwarf down into the darkness, plummeting from on high.The cavern was not well lit, with only marginal illuminating fungi nearby, but he saw then the floor, hard stone, rushing toward him.He noted the Harpells, too, though, the four standing as the corners of a square some twenty paces across, and even as he and several others started to yell out, he noted a shimmer in the marked-off field between them.Then, before that could even fully register in his thoughts, Connerad was floating, touching down gently a moment later with nine Gutbusters beside him.“Move out!” Bungalow Thump ordered and the group leaped away, two to each side of the square, with four, including Bungalow and Connerad, at the side nearest the circular stairwell.Barely had they made their positions and caught their collective breath, when ten more warrior dwarves came down behind them, breaking immediately, as practiced, to properly reinforce the perimeter.Out moved the dwarves with ten more down, then another group and another, and with fifty battle-hardened Gutbusters now beside him, Connerad couldn’t suppress his grin.Another ten landed.Huzzah for the Harpells and the clever Tuckernuck!BRILLIANTLY PLAYED, JAEMAS signaled to Faelas in the silent hand code of the drow.Or would be, had we not discovered their intent, Faelas’s fingers flashed back at him.Enough?Jaemas asked, and Faelas nodded.Jaemas lifted his hands and clapped loudly.In response to the signal, stones scraped and doors slid open and a host of enemies leaped out from concealment to charge at the dwarves.Slaves, mostly, goblins, orcs, and kobolds by the score.More than a hundred dwarves were down by that point, with several times that number of monstrous foes flooding in to do battle.But these were battleragers, with fine arms and armor, and neither of the Xorlarrin wizards held any notion that the slave force could overwhelm the dwarves.Then came the first bolts of lightning, crackling above the heads of dwarf and orc alike.The drow were not aiming at the dwarves, but at the four wizards they knew to be in the air above them, the four human mages that Hoshtar’s spell had revealed.Faelas looked at his cousin and smiled and nodded, and the two began their spellcasting in unison.A few heartbeats later, a pair of small flaming orbs sailed across the darkness, arcing over the monstrous horde, and settling in the area where the leaping dwarves were touching down, right in the midst of the dwarven perimeter.Two fireballs stole the darkness.“OH, NO, NO!” Kenneally Harpell cried out when she saw the lightning, when she realized that the lightning was not aimed at those dwarves already on the ground.“Stop!Stop!” she cried at the dwarves on the landing, but these were battleragers, and they weren’t about to listen with a fight so near and their kin being hard-pressed by monsters and magic.Ten more came rushing through the door.

dnd134

Kenneally leaped up to block them, screaming for them to halt.And at that moment, they heard the crashes as the first group of unfortunate dwarves passed through the level of the flying Harpells—just three now, with the fourth having been driven off by a lightning stroke—and the now failed Field of Feather Falling.The second group, the ones Kenneally had futilely tried to stop, hit next, crashing and groaning, and still several of the newcomers to the platform leaped away.“Oh, no, no,” Kenneally Harpell lamented.She knew that she had to do something here, but had no idea at that moment what it might be.“Get yer ropes!” the dwarves around her cried down the line through the door, and more than one cast a disparaging glance Kenneally’s way.“Oh no, no,” she whispered yet again, staring into the darkness.And with a resolute shake of her head, she leaped away.THE SWORD OF King Connerad felled the first orc to approach the perimeter, a swift and deadly strike right between the creature’s ugly eyes.Not Connerad, nor any of the Gutbusters around him, cried out with worry when the monstrous hordes appeared and charged in at them.Nay, they welcomed the fight, and when they noted the monsters as goblinkin, relished it all the more.The trio of goblins following that orc met the gauntleted fist of Bungalow Thump, a wild head butt—one that would have made Thibbledorf Pwent himself proud!—by the same, and a twist, kick, trip, and stab movement by Connerad.All around them Gutbusters fought wildly, and goblins died horribly.And more dwarves descended, touching down and leaping wildly into the fray.Within heartbeats, though they were outnumbered, the dwarven perimeter widened.Then came the lightning bolts, and Bungalow Thump laughed at them and chided the enemy wizards for missing the mark.But a wounded cry from up above warned Connerad that such was not the case, that he and his boys weren’t the targets.With the immediate threat in front of him writhing and dying on the ground, Connerad managed to step back and spin, determined to take command.Another group of dwarves touched down, several with armor smoking from the lightning bolts—but such a tingle as that would hardly slow a Gutbuster!Still, Connerad hoped that it had been one of the dwarves on the ground who had cried out.A heartbeat later, when ten good dwarves crashed down in free-fall to the floor, the young king knew better.The field of magic had been eliminated.“No!” Connerad yelled out to a pair of dwarves who turned and rushed to their fallen comrades.The young king grimaced and looked away as the next ten came crashing down, burying those two under them in a tangle of broken bones and spraying blood.Another dwarf hit the floor, and several more behind him.“Form and fight!” Connerad shouted to his boys, for what else could he do?More than a hundred were down on the cavern floor, with no way to retreat, and with no further reinforcements coming … at least, he hoped not.“STOP THEM!” TUCKERNUCK screamed, soaring back up, even as Kenneally came flying down from the landing.“We have to get them out of there!” the woman shouted, moving in close.Two of the other Harpells came soaring up beside them.“They hit Toliver!” one exclaimed.“They broke the ritual!” said the other.Kenneally looked to Tuckernuck, who could only shake his head, his expression horrified.“Is Toliver dead?” she started to ask, but the answer came not from one of the three flying about her, but from below, where a lightning bolt split the darkness—one originating in the air above the battle and not the recesses of the cavern.“Toliver!” Tuckernuck said.“Fetch him,” said Kenneally.“We have to get the dwarves out of there.Fetch him and fly back up near the landing and prepare to set your feather fall once more.”“Too high,” Tuckernuck argued.“The dwarves will float for a long while, easy targets …”“Do it!” Kenneally yelled at him.“And allow no more dwarves to come down.Not on their ropes and not with your magic.Be quick!”She flew off then, diving down to the cavern floor.As she moved lower, she only confirmed her idea—Connerad and his Gutbusters were being sorely pressed by monstrous hordes of goblinkin.And soon to be joined by demons or devils or some other extraplanar menace, Kenneally saw, noting a band of lumbering four-armed, dogfaced beasts moving through the slave horde, tossing aside the goblinkin with abandon.The woman stopped and hovered, surveying the area, noting mostly the movements of the two Harpells flying down to retrieve Toliver.“Hurry,” she whispered under her breath, and then, having no choice in the matter, Kenneally began to cast a powerful spell.ANOTHER PEA OF flame arced in.Connerad and Bungalow Thump dropped to the floor and covered just in time before the fireball erupted, immolating several goblins they were battling and igniting a dwarf behind them.“Put ’im out!” Bungalow Thump shouted to the others, but all nearby were too engaged in desperate battle to break off to the aid of their burning friend.“Go!” Connerad told his friend, and he shoved Bungalow Thump along.The dwarf sprang over the burning fellow, bearing him to the ground and rolling him about, smothering the flames.Behind them, Connerad met the incoming enemy, bracing himself to the charge of a pair of orcs.But those creatures never made it, caught suddenly by monstrous pincers, to be so easily hoisted and flipped aside.In waded the gigantic glabrezu.Connerad got his shield up in front of a snapping pincer.

Kenneally leaped up to block them, screaming for them to halt.And at that moment, they heard the crashes as the first group of unfortunate dwarves passed through the level of the flying Harpells—just three now, with the fourth having been driven off by a lightning stroke—and the now failed Field of Feather Falling.The second group, the ones Kenneally had futilely tried to stop, hit next, crashing and groaning, and still several of the newcomers to the platform leaped away.“Oh, no, no,” Kenneally Harpell lamented.She knew that she had to do something here, but had no idea at that moment what it might be.“Get yer ropes!” the dwarves around her cried down the line through the door, and more than one cast a disparaging glance Kenneally’s way.“Oh no, no,” she whispered yet again, staring into the darkness.And with a resolute shake of her head, she leaped away.THE SWORD OF King Connerad felled the first orc to approach the perimeter, a swift and deadly strike right between the creature’s ugly eyes.Not Connerad, nor any of the Gutbusters around him, cried out with worry when the monstrous hordes appeared and charged in at them.Nay, they welcomed the fight, and when they noted the monsters as goblinkin, relished it all the more.The trio of goblins following that orc met the gauntleted fist of Bungalow Thump, a wild head butt—one that would have made Thibbledorf Pwent himself proud!—by the same, and a twist, kick, trip, and stab movement by Connerad.All around them Gutbusters fought wildly, and goblins died horribly.And more dwarves descended, touching down and leaping wildly into the fray.Within heartbeats, though they were outnumbered, the dwarven perimeter widened.Then came the lightning bolts, and Bungalow Thump laughed at them and chided the enemy wizards for missing the mark.But a wounded cry from up above warned Connerad that such was not the case, that he and his boys weren’t the targets.With the immediate threat in front of him writhing and dying on the ground, Connerad managed to step back and spin, determined to take command.Another group of dwarves touched down, several with armor smoking from the lightning bolts—but such a tingle as that would hardly slow a Gutbuster!Still, Connerad hoped that it had been one of the dwarves on the ground who had cried out.A heartbeat later, when ten good dwarves crashed down in free-fall to the floor, the young king knew better.The field of magic had been eliminated.“No!” Connerad yelled out to a pair of dwarves who turned and rushed to their fallen comrades.The young king grimaced and looked away as the next ten came crashing down, burying those two under them in a tangle of broken bones and spraying blood.Another dwarf hit the floor, and several more behind him.“Form and fight!” Connerad shouted to his boys, for what else could he do?More than a hundred were down on the cavern floor, with no way to retreat, and with no further reinforcements coming … at least, he hoped not.“STOP THEM!” TUCKERNUCK screamed, soaring back up, even as Kenneally came flying down from the landing.“We have to get them out of there!” the woman shouted, moving in close.Two of the other Harpells came soaring up beside them.“They hit Toliver!” one exclaimed.“They broke the ritual!” said the other.Kenneally looked to Tuckernuck, who could only shake his head, his expression horrified.“Is Toliver dead?” she started to ask, but the answer came not from one of the three flying about her, but from below, where a lightning bolt split the darkness—one originating in the air above the battle and not the recesses of the cavern.“Toliver!” Tuckernuck said.“Fetch him,” said Kenneally.“We have to get the dwarves out of there.Fetch him and fly back up near the landing and prepare to set your feather fall once more.”“Too high,” Tuckernuck argued.“The dwarves will float for a long while, easy targets …”“Do it!” Kenneally yelled at him.“And allow no more dwarves to come down.Not on their ropes and not with your magic.Be quick!”She flew off then, diving down to the cavern floor.As she moved lower, she only confirmed her idea—Connerad and his Gutbusters were being sorely pressed by monstrous hordes of goblinkin.And soon to be joined by demons or devils or some other extraplanar menace, Kenneally saw, noting a band of lumbering four-armed, dogfaced beasts moving through the slave horde, tossing aside the goblinkin with abandon.The woman stopped and hovered, surveying the area, noting mostly the movements of the two Harpells flying down to retrieve Toliver.“Hurry,” she whispered under her breath, and then, having no choice in the matter, Kenneally began to cast a powerful spell.ANOTHER PEA OF flame arced in.Connerad and Bungalow Thump dropped to the floor and covered just in time before the fireball erupted, immolating several goblins they were battling and igniting a dwarf behind them.“Put ’im out!” Bungalow Thump shouted to the others, but all nearby were too engaged in desperate battle to break off to the aid of their burning friend.“Go!” Connerad told his friend, and he shoved Bungalow Thump along.The dwarf sprang over the burning fellow, bearing him to the ground and rolling him about, smothering the flames.Behind them, Connerad met the incoming enemy, bracing himself to the charge of a pair of orcs.But those creatures never made it, caught suddenly by monstrous pincers, to be so easily hoisted and flipped aside.In waded the gigantic glabrezu.Connerad got his shield up in front of a snapping pincer.

dnd135

He slashed across with his sword, but the glabrezu’s reach was too great and the blade cut across short of its mark.In came the second pincer and Connerad had to throw himself backward and to the side, executing a perfect shoulder roll to come back to his feet just in time to spin and duck behind the shield as the pincer came in once more.A familiar voice sounded then, a magical call from above.“Get to the landing area!Now!”The dwarves didn’t know what to make of it, and weren’t sure the call was even aimed at them, or from where it had come.Connerad couldn’t begin to react to the command anyway.The demon pressed him hard, pincers snapping all around him.He got his shield up to block one, but the powerful demon pressed in with the claw anyway, and Connerad winced as the shield cracked ominously under the great weight of the press.The demon held on and twisted and the young dwarf king found himself easily yanked off balance, and thought his life at its end as the second pincer came across for his midsection.A living missile intercepted it as Bungalow Thump flew into the glabrezu, knocking aside the arm and driving the beast backward.It let go of Connerad’s shield, and the overbalanced dwarf king tumbled back and to the ground.Bungalow’s cry of pain had Connerad back up immediately, though, and seeing Bungalow Thump hugged in close, the demon’s maw chewing at the dwarf’s neck, he fearlessly charged in.Connerad Brawnanvil leaped high, both hands gripping his sword for a mighty two-hand chop aimed at the glabrezu’s neck.At the last moment, the demon stood taller, though, and so the cut came in low, driving just below the shoulder.Not a mortal blow, perhaps, but a vicious one, so much so that the glabrezu’s top left arm fell free, cleanly severed.The demon’s howl echoed across the cavern, and many combatants—dwarf, goblin, demon, and even drow—paused to consider the sheer horror of that shriek.The glabrezu threw Bungalow Thump at Connerad, the dwarves colliding and tumbling in a heap.But Connerad went up and hauled the bleeding Bungalow Thump up beside him.Before the Gutbuster could argue or resist, Connerad shoved him hard and sent him stumbling back to the landing area.“Ye heared Kenneally Harpell!” Connerad called to all the dwarves.“To the landing area, I say!”Easier said than done for Connerad, though.The wounded, outraged glabrezu leaped in at him.“Go!Go!” he roared at Bungalow Thump even as the demon began knocking him back.He knew the Gutbuster wouldn’t leave him.“I am right behind!Form the defenses!”But Connerad Brawnanvil wasn’t right behind.The glabrezu’s pincer caught him by the shield again, and this time the compromised buckler folded under the tremendous pressure.Connerad grimaced and growled as the pincer came in hard across his forearm, pressing in through his fine mail.He tried to bring his sword to bear, but the demon caught his arm and held him at bay.In came the biting maw, and Connerad timed his headbutt perfectly to intercept the toothy jaws with the crown of his helmet.The glabrezu staggered, and Connerad wriggled free his sword arm and stabbed straight ahead.He felt his fine blade sink into demon flesh, and felt the hot Abyssal blood spurting out over his arm.NOT FAR FROM the floor, Kenneally Harpell watched the dwarves scrambling, trying to get back to the landing area—which was easy to locate with nearly thirty broken dwarves lying in a tangled heap.The woman forced the gruesome image out of her thoughts and looked up, trying to see if Tuckernuck and the others were in position, and with their spell enacted once more.But to no avail, for they were in darkness too complete.But Kenneally knew she couldn’t wait.She began casting her spell, a powerful dweomer known to only a few at the Ivy Mansion, aiming it right at the dwarves clustered about their fallen kin.“NO, YOU HOLD!” Tuckernuck shouted at the dwarves on the landing.He had figured out Kenneally’s desperate plan and knew what would soon be coming his way.

He slashed across with his sword, but the glabrezu’s reach was too great and the blade cut across short of its mark.In came the second pincer and Connerad had to throw himself backward and to the side, executing a perfect shoulder roll to come back to his feet just in time to spin and duck behind the shield as the pincer came in once more.A familiar voice sounded then, a magical call from above.“Get to the landing area!Now!”The dwarves didn’t know what to make of it, and weren’t sure the call was even aimed at them, or from where it had come.Connerad couldn’t begin to react to the command anyway.The demon pressed him hard, pincers snapping all around him.He got his shield up to block one, but the powerful demon pressed in with the claw anyway, and Connerad winced as the shield cracked ominously under the great weight of the press.The demon held on and twisted and the young dwarf king found himself easily yanked off balance, and thought his life at its end as the second pincer came across for his midsection.A living missile intercepted it as Bungalow Thump flew into the glabrezu, knocking aside the arm and driving the beast backward.It let go of Connerad’s shield, and the overbalanced dwarf king tumbled back and to the ground.Bungalow’s cry of pain had Connerad back up immediately, though, and seeing Bungalow Thump hugged in close, the demon’s maw chewing at the dwarf’s neck, he fearlessly charged in.Connerad Brawnanvil leaped high, both hands gripping his sword for a mighty two-hand chop aimed at the glabrezu’s neck.At the last moment, the demon stood taller, though, and so the cut came in low, driving just below the shoulder.Not a mortal blow, perhaps, but a vicious one, so much so that the glabrezu’s top left arm fell free, cleanly severed.The demon’s howl echoed across the cavern, and many combatants—dwarf, goblin, demon, and even drow—paused to consider the sheer horror of that shriek.The glabrezu threw Bungalow Thump at Connerad, the dwarves colliding and tumbling in a heap.But Connerad went up and hauled the bleeding Bungalow Thump up beside him.Before the Gutbuster could argue or resist, Connerad shoved him hard and sent him stumbling back to the landing area.“Ye heared Kenneally Harpell!” Connerad called to all the dwarves.“To the landing area, I say!”Easier said than done for Connerad, though.The wounded, outraged glabrezu leaped in at him.“Go!Go!” he roared at Bungalow Thump even as the demon began knocking him back.He knew the Gutbuster wouldn’t leave him.“I am right behind!Form the defenses!”But Connerad Brawnanvil wasn’t right behind.The glabrezu’s pincer caught him by the shield again, and this time the compromised buckler folded under the tremendous pressure.Connerad grimaced and growled as the pincer came in hard across his forearm, pressing in through his fine mail.He tried to bring his sword to bear, but the demon caught his arm and held him at bay.In came the biting maw, and Connerad timed his headbutt perfectly to intercept the toothy jaws with the crown of his helmet.The glabrezu staggered, and Connerad wriggled free his sword arm and stabbed straight ahead.He felt his fine blade sink into demon flesh, and felt the hot Abyssal blood spurting out over his arm.NOT FAR FROM the floor, Kenneally Harpell watched the dwarves scrambling, trying to get back to the landing area—which was easy to locate with nearly thirty broken dwarves lying in a tangled heap.The woman forced the gruesome image out of her thoughts and looked up, trying to see if Tuckernuck and the others were in position, and with their spell enacted once more.But to no avail, for they were in darkness too complete.But Kenneally knew she couldn’t wait.She began casting her spell, a powerful dweomer known to only a few at the Ivy Mansion, aiming it right at the dwarves clustered about their fallen kin.“NO, YOU HOLD!” Tuckernuck shouted at the dwarves on the landing.He had figured out Kenneally’s desperate plan and knew what would soon be coming his way.

dnd136

“They’re coming back, all of them, and you need to be ready to catch them and pull them to safety!Grapnels, I say!Ropes and grapnels!”Many dwarves shouted questions back at the flying wizard, and many more shouted curses.Tuckernuck ignored them.He had to lead the ritual—nothing else mattered.He understood the carnage that would ensue should he fail Kenneally, should he fail the dwarves now.The other three Harpells returned to him, and he motioned them into place.Clearly injured, Toliver barely managed to get near to his spot diagonally across from the leading wizard, and Tuckernuck wasn’t sure that one could bring forth his part of the ritual.The dweomer needed four participants.With no options available, Tuckernuck continued his casting, then reached his arms out left and right, forming his corner of the square.From his fingertips shot tiny filaments of light streaming out to be caught by the casters at those corners, the two of them then redirecting the energy to Toliver.But Toliver only had one arm up to receive the light.He remained lurched over to his left.There was nothing Tuckernuck could do—he couldn’t even shout out for Toliver or he would ruin his own casting.But how he wanted to, and even more so when he heard the sudden commotion below him, and glanced down to see the tumbling, spinning charge of a score of dwarves flying up at him.No, falling up at him, he realized, for they were caught in Kenneally’s spell of inversion, where up was down and down was up.“Flip!” he did yell at the other wizards when the dweomer reached them, and they did, except for Toliver, righting themselves upside down, which was now upright!The falling dwarves drew near, but the Field of Feather Fall wasn’t complete, and the ceiling, now the floor, loomed just above.“Toliver!” Tuckernuck and the other two shouted, for now their spells were complete.And from the landing, which was not in the area of effect, the dwarves began to scream and curse.DEAD DWARVES TUMBLED upward beside living dwarves.Pursuing goblins were caught in the spell and went falling upward in the line.More dwarves came in, leaping, then flailing as they were caught in a free fall as surely as if they had leaped off a cliff.But many other dwarves weren’t going to make it, Kenneally realized.Nearly a hundred and fifty of the sturdy folk had leaped down, the last three groups falling to their deaths almost to a dwarf.But the Harpell wizard realized that of the six-score who were already on the floor, less than half were going to find their way back.Yet another group of several Gutbusters were pulled down by the goblin horde, overwhelmed by sheer numbers.Kenneally spotted King Connerad of Mithral Hall staggering away from a skewered demon, the beast spouting blood from its gut but still stubbornly pursuing.And more monsters—like great bipedal vultures—swept in from the sides, cutting off the young dwarf’s retreat.Connerad fought valiantly, but Kenneally shook her head in despair.She began casting a spell, a fireball, thinking to put it high enough to catch the heads of the tall monsters.She took hope when one of those vulture-like demons screeched and staggered back, its beak shattered by a mighty stroke of Connerad’s sword.But the four-armed behemoth leaped in, pincers leading, and Kenneally lost the spell in her throat as the beast extracted Connerad from the commotion and lifted him up into the air, both pincers grasping tightly around the poor dwarf’s midsection.“Bah, ye dog!” she heard Connerad cry, and he lashed out with his blade and managed to clip the huge beast’s canine muzzle.With a yelp of protest and rage, the demon thrust its arms out wide, and Connerad Brawnanvil, the Twelfth King of Mithral Hall, was ripped in half at the waist.Kenneally’s fireball spell was lost in her throat then, and all she could do was fly up for the ceiling, her eyes wet with tears, and gasping for breath she could not seem to find.She took some heart as she rose, though, to see her four kin maintaining their dweomer.Toliver had straightened and completed the square just in time.Upward fell the dwarves, then upward they floated, to land lightly on the ceiling.And dwarves on the landing threw them ropes, which fell up to them, that they could be hauled to safety.And upward fell the pursuing monsters, too, then upward they floated, and not one got to the ceiling before a dwarven crossbow launched a bolt into its torso, and the dwarves already up above were ready for them anyway, cutting the disoriented and confused goblinkin apart in short order.“Hurry, pull them in!” she heard Tuckernuck commanding.“Kenneally’s spell will not last much longer!We will lose any not on the ledge!”Kenneally nodded agreement and focused on the task at hand.

“They’re coming back, all of them, and you need to be ready to catch them and pull them to safety!Grapnels, I say!Ropes and grapnels!”Many dwarves shouted questions back at the flying wizard, and many more shouted curses.Tuckernuck ignored them.He had to lead the ritual—nothing else mattered.He understood the carnage that would ensue should he fail Kenneally, should he fail the dwarves now.The other three Harpells returned to him, and he motioned them into place.Clearly injured, Toliver barely managed to get near to his spot diagonally across from the leading wizard, and Tuckernuck wasn’t sure that one could bring forth his part of the ritual.The dweomer needed four participants.With no options available, Tuckernuck continued his casting, then reached his arms out left and right, forming his corner of the square.From his fingertips shot tiny filaments of light streaming out to be caught by the casters at those corners, the two of them then redirecting the energy to Toliver.But Toliver only had one arm up to receive the light.He remained lurched over to his left.There was nothing Tuckernuck could do—he couldn’t even shout out for Toliver or he would ruin his own casting.But how he wanted to, and even more so when he heard the sudden commotion below him, and glanced down to see the tumbling, spinning charge of a score of dwarves flying up at him.No, falling up at him, he realized, for they were caught in Kenneally’s spell of inversion, where up was down and down was up.“Flip!” he did yell at the other wizards when the dweomer reached them, and they did, except for Toliver, righting themselves upside down, which was now upright!The falling dwarves drew near, but the Field of Feather Fall wasn’t complete, and the ceiling, now the floor, loomed just above.“Toliver!” Tuckernuck and the other two shouted, for now their spells were complete.And from the landing, which was not in the area of effect, the dwarves began to scream and curse.DEAD DWARVES TUMBLED upward beside living dwarves.Pursuing goblins were caught in the spell and went falling upward in the line.More dwarves came in, leaping, then flailing as they were caught in a free fall as surely as if they had leaped off a cliff.But many other dwarves weren’t going to make it, Kenneally realized.Nearly a hundred and fifty of the sturdy folk had leaped down, the last three groups falling to their deaths almost to a dwarf.But the Harpell wizard realized that of the six-score who were already on the floor, less than half were going to find their way back.Yet another group of several Gutbusters were pulled down by the goblin horde, overwhelmed by sheer numbers.Kenneally spotted King Connerad of Mithral Hall staggering away from a skewered demon, the beast spouting blood from its gut but still stubbornly pursuing.And more monsters—like great bipedal vultures—swept in from the sides, cutting off the young dwarf’s retreat.Connerad fought valiantly, but Kenneally shook her head in despair.She began casting a spell, a fireball, thinking to put it high enough to catch the heads of the tall monsters.She took hope when one of those vulture-like demons screeched and staggered back, its beak shattered by a mighty stroke of Connerad’s sword.But the four-armed behemoth leaped in, pincers leading, and Kenneally lost the spell in her throat as the beast extracted Connerad from the commotion and lifted him up into the air, both pincers grasping tightly around the poor dwarf’s midsection.“Bah, ye dog!” she heard Connerad cry, and he lashed out with his blade and managed to clip the huge beast’s canine muzzle.With a yelp of protest and rage, the demon thrust its arms out wide, and Connerad Brawnanvil, the Twelfth King of Mithral Hall, was ripped in half at the waist.Kenneally’s fireball spell was lost in her throat then, and all she could do was fly up for the ceiling, her eyes wet with tears, and gasping for breath she could not seem to find.She took some heart as she rose, though, to see her four kin maintaining their dweomer.Toliver had straightened and completed the square just in time.Upward fell the dwarves, then upward they floated, to land lightly on the ceiling.And dwarves on the landing threw them ropes, which fell up to them, that they could be hauled to safety.And upward fell the pursuing monsters, too, then upward they floated, and not one got to the ceiling before a dwarven crossbow launched a bolt into its torso, and the dwarves already up above were ready for them anyway, cutting the disoriented and confused goblinkin apart in short order.“Hurry, pull them in!” she heard Tuckernuck commanding.“Kenneally’s spell will not last much longer!We will lose any not on the ledge!”Kenneally nodded agreement and focused on the task at hand.

dnd137

She was more than halfway to the ceiling, the jumble of falling dwarves and monsters just in front of her.Now she concentrated on that tumbling mess, picking out monsters.A line of magic missiles shot out from her fingertips, striking a goblin, killing it, and taking out the one beside it as well.Kenneally chanted the spell for a lightning bolt, and when she executed it, she perfectly angled it to blast several enemies, with not a dwarf singed.The power of the bolt jolted one large demon too, sending it spinning out of the area of her reverse gravity, and as soon as the beast went out of the dweomer, it fell back the other way, more than fifty feet to the floor.And so Kenneally realized a new and deadly tactic, and one executed by a simple spell she could cast quickly and repeatedly.She picked out her targets with gusts of wind, blowing them out of the reverse gravity field, sending them falling back for the cavern floor, living bombs to drop upon the sprawling horde below.She would avenge Connerad, she determined, and she narrowed her eyes and sent a dozen goblins flying free of her enchanted area.TUCKERNUCK HARPELL LOOKED up, or rather down, nodding approvingly of Kenneally’s exploits.But noting, too, that fewer and fewer dwarves were among the dozens falling upward, and that little fighting continued on the floor.He glanced the other way to see most of the living dwarves already out of the enchanted area, scrambling on ropes with their crowded brethren grabbing at them and hauling them over the lip of the landing.He looked back the other way, back to the floor.He saw no dwarves, none living at least, but now more and more monsters were taking the leap.Tuckernuck could only hope that he wasn’t killing more dwarves then, but he flew backward and dropped his arms, ending the ritual enchantment of the Field of Feather Falling.He flipped back upright, and waved his three fellow Harpells back as monster after monster tumbled past to crash against the ceiling, or, soon, to crash against the bodies of those that had already crashed against the ceiling.He looked down again to Kenneally, and he gasped and cried out.A pair of ghastly creatures, like giant houseflies with human faces, flew upon her at either side, biting and tearing at her.“Kenneally!”He began to dive, but a fireball below stopped him before he ever truly moved.Kenneally’s fireball dropped right upon herself.The flames cleared and the chasme demons, their wings burned away, tumbled for the floor, bearing poor Kenneally with them.Again Tuckernuck began to dive, and again he stopped short, for Kenneally’s powerful dweomer ended then, and a host of monsters and dead dwarves fell from the ceiling, and those falling upward in the field paused, then went tumbling back the other way.So enthralled by the strange sight was Tuckernuck that he didn’t notice a swarm of chasme demons soaring up at him until it was too late.COVERED IN BLOOD, much of it his own, Bungalow Thump was the last dwarf holding the landing, and the one who hauled Toliver, the only Harpell to reach the landing, over the edge.The powerful dwarf sent the wounded man skidding back through the door, then his eyes widened in horror to note the other two nearby wizards caught suddenly by the horrid, insectoid demons.Bungalow fell back in shock, barely avoiding yet another of the darting chasme.He would have been caught and surely killed, but a dwarf within the doorway grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him back and to the ground—and the pursuing chasme caught a swarm of crossbow bolts right in its hideous face.The door slammed shut and Comragh na Uamh, the Battle of the Under Way, came to an abrupt and disastrous end.CHAPTER 19Comragh Na Fo AsterORETHEO SPIKES HARRUMPHED REPEATEDLY AS HE PACED ACROSS the bridge over the small pond in Gauntlgrym’s entry cavern.The veteran Wilddwarf had grown quite fond of Connerad and missed the young king, but even worse, in Connerad’s absence Oretheo had been given control of the finishing touches for the defenses of the vital cavern.Oretheo Spikes was a fighter, as fine a warrior as Adbar had ever produced, and not a yard boss!And there was a battle soon to begin, he knew, if it hadn’t already, for the whispers said that Connerad and his boys—almost all from Mithral Hall and Felbarr—had pushed into the final reaches of the upper level of the complex and expected to breach the lower caverns in short order.By all expectations, there would be dark elves waiting for them.And Oretheo wouldn’t be there.He looked around as he moved across the bridge yet again, this time heading back for Gauntlgrym’s castle-like wall.He noted the many engineers, masons, and blacksmiths hard at work, finalizing the triggers and springs that could drop the bridge from a single command point.He turned his gaze wider about the huge cavern, where a thousand dwarves worked or watched from the stalagmite towers that had been hollowed and set up as guard posts.Even out in the hallway, the dwarves labored with defensible positions—anyone coming in here would fight for every inch of ground.That thought bolstered him, but he couldn’t shake off the notion that almost all of the dwarves in this rear guard area were from Citadel Adbar.As were almost all of the dwarves working in the throne room and adjacent chambers.Because of King Harnoth.Despite his earlier protestations to the contrary, Oretheo Spikes truly wanted to blame king Emerus and King Bruenor, and even King Connerad.He wanted to pretend that this was Mithral Hall’s fault, or Citadel Felbarr’s.But he could not, because he understood the truth and the way of dwarves.He and all his boys had participated in the call of Kith’n Kin with all their hearts, had given their fealty wholly to their Delzoun heritage and the rebuilding of Gauntlgrym, and he knew that their pledge had been accepted honestly and with open hearts, open arms, and a mug of magical ale courtesy of Bruenor’s marvelous shield.But this snubbing of the Adbar dwarves was not an emotional decision by the kings of the other clans, as was proven by the fact that the thousand dwarves who had joined in from Mirabar were also here in this cavern, or scattered about at other tasks in securing the ground they had gained.The decision to take the dwarves of Felbarr and Mithral Hall was purely a practical one.In any expedition to the as-yet unconquered reaches of Gauntlgrym, the mission would be led by a dwarf king.And no king would spearhead his battle group with the boys of another clan when his own trusted warriors—in Connerad’s case, the famed Gutbuster Brigade—were readily available.If King Harnoth had come to Gauntlgrym, Oretheo Spikes would be at the front of the column pushing into the lower chambers.

She was more than halfway to the ceiling, the jumble of falling dwarves and monsters just in front of her.Now she concentrated on that tumbling mess, picking out monsters.A line of magic missiles shot out from her fingertips, striking a goblin, killing it, and taking out the one beside it as well.Kenneally chanted the spell for a lightning bolt, and when she executed it, she perfectly angled it to blast several enemies, with not a dwarf singed.The power of the bolt jolted one large demon too, sending it spinning out of the area of her reverse gravity, and as soon as the beast went out of the dweomer, it fell back the other way, more than fifty feet to the floor.And so Kenneally realized a new and deadly tactic, and one executed by a simple spell she could cast quickly and repeatedly.She picked out her targets with gusts of wind, blowing them out of the reverse gravity field, sending them falling back for the cavern floor, living bombs to drop upon the sprawling horde below.She would avenge Connerad, she determined, and she narrowed her eyes and sent a dozen goblins flying free of her enchanted area.TUCKERNUCK HARPELL LOOKED up, or rather down, nodding approvingly of Kenneally’s exploits.But noting, too, that fewer and fewer dwarves were among the dozens falling upward, and that little fighting continued on the floor.He glanced the other way to see most of the living dwarves already out of the enchanted area, scrambling on ropes with their crowded brethren grabbing at them and hauling them over the lip of the landing.He looked back the other way, back to the floor.He saw no dwarves, none living at least, but now more and more monsters were taking the leap.Tuckernuck could only hope that he wasn’t killing more dwarves then, but he flew backward and dropped his arms, ending the ritual enchantment of the Field of Feather Falling.He flipped back upright, and waved his three fellow Harpells back as monster after monster tumbled past to crash against the ceiling, or, soon, to crash against the bodies of those that had already crashed against the ceiling.He looked down again to Kenneally, and he gasped and cried out.A pair of ghastly creatures, like giant houseflies with human faces, flew upon her at either side, biting and tearing at her.“Kenneally!”He began to dive, but a fireball below stopped him before he ever truly moved.Kenneally’s fireball dropped right upon herself.The flames cleared and the chasme demons, their wings burned away, tumbled for the floor, bearing poor Kenneally with them.Again Tuckernuck began to dive, and again he stopped short, for Kenneally’s powerful dweomer ended then, and a host of monsters and dead dwarves fell from the ceiling, and those falling upward in the field paused, then went tumbling back the other way.So enthralled by the strange sight was Tuckernuck that he didn’t notice a swarm of chasme demons soaring up at him until it was too late.COVERED IN BLOOD, much of it his own, Bungalow Thump was the last dwarf holding the landing, and the one who hauled Toliver, the only Harpell to reach the landing, over the edge.The powerful dwarf sent the wounded man skidding back through the door, then his eyes widened in horror to note the other two nearby wizards caught suddenly by the horrid, insectoid demons.Bungalow fell back in shock, barely avoiding yet another of the darting chasme.He would have been caught and surely killed, but a dwarf within the doorway grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him back and to the ground—and the pursuing chasme caught a swarm of crossbow bolts right in its hideous face.The door slammed shut and Comragh na Uamh, the Battle of the Under Way, came to an abrupt and disastrous end.CHAPTER 19Comragh Na Fo AsterORETHEO SPIKES HARRUMPHED REPEATEDLY AS HE PACED ACROSS the bridge over the small pond in Gauntlgrym’s entry cavern.The veteran Wilddwarf had grown quite fond of Connerad and missed the young king, but even worse, in Connerad’s absence Oretheo had been given control of the finishing touches for the defenses of the vital cavern.Oretheo Spikes was a fighter, as fine a warrior as Adbar had ever produced, and not a yard boss!And there was a battle soon to begin, he knew, if it hadn’t already, for the whispers said that Connerad and his boys—almost all from Mithral Hall and Felbarr—had pushed into the final reaches of the upper level of the complex and expected to breach the lower caverns in short order.By all expectations, there would be dark elves waiting for them.And Oretheo wouldn’t be there.He looked around as he moved across the bridge yet again, this time heading back for Gauntlgrym’s castle-like wall.He noted the many engineers, masons, and blacksmiths hard at work, finalizing the triggers and springs that could drop the bridge from a single command point.He turned his gaze wider about the huge cavern, where a thousand dwarves worked or watched from the stalagmite towers that had been hollowed and set up as guard posts.Even out in the hallway, the dwarves labored with defensible positions—anyone coming in here would fight for every inch of ground.That thought bolstered him, but he couldn’t shake off the notion that almost all of the dwarves in this rear guard area were from Citadel Adbar.As were almost all of the dwarves working in the throne room and adjacent chambers.Because of King Harnoth.Despite his earlier protestations to the contrary, Oretheo Spikes truly wanted to blame king Emerus and King Bruenor, and even King Connerad.He wanted to pretend that this was Mithral Hall’s fault, or Citadel Felbarr’s.But he could not, because he understood the truth and the way of dwarves.He and all his boys had participated in the call of Kith’n Kin with all their hearts, had given their fealty wholly to their Delzoun heritage and the rebuilding of Gauntlgrym, and he knew that their pledge had been accepted honestly and with open hearts, open arms, and a mug of magical ale courtesy of Bruenor’s marvelous shield.But this snubbing of the Adbar dwarves was not an emotional decision by the kings of the other clans, as was proven by the fact that the thousand dwarves who had joined in from Mirabar were also here in this cavern, or scattered about at other tasks in securing the ground they had gained.The decision to take the dwarves of Felbarr and Mithral Hall was purely a practical one.In any expedition to the as-yet unconquered reaches of Gauntlgrym, the mission would be led by a dwarf king.And no king would spearhead his battle group with the boys of another clan when his own trusted warriors—in Connerad’s case, the famed Gutbuster Brigade—were readily available.If King Harnoth had come to Gauntlgrym, Oretheo Spikes would be at the front of the column pushing into the lower chambers.

dnd138

Two thousand of the five thousand dwarves who had come into Gauntlgrym were Adbarrim, easily the largest of the four contingents.King Harnoth would have stood at the end of that reception line in the Rite of Kith’n Kin, instead of Bruenor.Despite his youth, he, Harnoth, would have determined the place for the Adbar dwarves.He might have even made a play to wear the first crown of Gauntlgrym, and wouldn’t that have warmed the bones of King Harbromm in his cold grave?“And wouldn’t that’ve avenged the death o’ his brother, King Bromm?” Oretheo Spikes remarked as he stepped off the bridge onto the beach in front of the castle wall.He turned a sharp left, moving along the bank to check on some fellows arguing about the placement height of their side-slinger catapult.“Aligned to the top o’ the bridge!” roared one yellow-bearded dwarf, who looked very much like Oretheo, though with a much more modest beard.“Bah!But if we’re needin’ to shoot the durned thing, the bridge’ll be turned and the enemy’ll be in the water, ye dolt!” his orange-bearded opponent countered.Oretheo Spikes shook his head, certain that this disagreement, like all of the foul moods he had witnessed in the cavern this day, stemmed from the same frustration that twisted his own belly.Heading over to arbitrate, he was about to shout out to the two to shut their traps, when suddenly they went quiet of their own accord, both turning to the dark waters of the pond.The young yellow-bearded dwarf scratched his head and the other looked at him and shrugged, clearly at a loss.Oretheo Spikes, too, turned to that water, and now he noted the first small ripples running toward the bank, and the strange undercurrent of the waves.He continued on his way, and glanced back just as a sizable freshwater fish leaped out of the water and sailed at the yellow-bearded dwarf.That fellow reacted quickly enough to bat the biting thing aside, but another came out, and another.Oretheo Spikes started to run to the fellows, but skidded to a stop and threw himself back a stride, narrowly avoiding his own leaping fish missile.“How’re they seein’ us?” the red-bearded dwarf yelled, but before any could even consider the question, they realized that it was moot, and simply coincidence, for the only fish they had noticed were the ones coming at them, but now that they had taken note, all three of the dwarves saw the truth and fell back in shock.Dozens of fish were leaping out of the pond, flying onto the beach and flapping wildly.Nay, scores of fish, on both sides of the pond, from one end to the other.Just off the shore, some dozen feet, the water stirred and broke, and Oretheo Spikes and the rest of the dwarves watching the spectacle quickly came to understand why the fish were fleeing.They knew at first glance the horrible nature of the demons walking toward the shore, walking toward them.An army of misshapen humanoids, pallid and decrepit and bloated, like ugly little fat men with flaming red eyes … an army of manes.“Shields and pointy things!” Oretheo Spikes shouted, and he fell all over himself scrambling from the bank.He nearly tumbled to the dirt when out in the middle of the pond a swarm of chasme broke the surface, the buzz of their wings filling the cavern with strange echoes.Whistles sounded at every end of the cavern, along with cries of “Battle groups!”“Here, Oretheo!” one dwarf by the wall cried, and Oretheo Spikes glanced that way to see a gathering of shield dwarves already forming their line at the base of the castle wall.Above them, side-slinger catapults cranked back and let fly, clusters of sharp stones spinning over Oretheo’s head, splashing into the water and crashing into the approaching demons.So, too, did the ballistae fire, huge spears whipping away, skewering manes two at a time.But perhaps most damning of all to the demons came the spells of magical light from the many clerics at the wall, illuminating all the beach areas on both sides of the pond.Oretheo staggered for the shield line, and glanced back, nodding at the holes already punched into the approaching horde.He sucked in his breath, though, for bigger things than manes appeared in the pond.Crawling out the other way, into the main cavern, went a pack of four-armed—and two of those with fearsome snapping pincers—greater demons.And vulture-like creatures—huge and terrible, and with beaks that seemed as if they could surely punch through a breastplate with ease.The cranking catapults brought him hope, and before he had ever reached the shield line, which parted to let him in, a second volley of heavy stones flew for the pond and the monsters.“Ah, good boys!” Oretheo Spikes congratulated.“We’ll hold ’em here and let the wall-sitters thin ’em to nothing, eh!”The dwarves, their shields hooked together as one solid wall, reached over in unison and banged their hammers, maces, and swords on the strong metal blockers.And those about Oretheo Spikes in the second rank readied their longer weapons, the spears and pikes they would prod above that solid wall of shields.Oretheo Spikes continued to call out commands, but he knew that he needn’t have bothered.This group knew their jobs and did them well.THIRTY FEET UP from the floor in the middle of the large entry cavern, in a wide, round room cleverly carved to give optimal views—and thus, optimal lines for shooting—Nigel Thunderstorm leaned on his heavy ballista, thinking of what delicacy he might prepare for his Ma, Nigella, when she arrived in Gauntlgrym.And aye, she would soon enough be here, the dwarf master chef was certain, for Nigella still resided in Citadel Felbarr, whereas Nigel had gone to live in Adbar.King Emerus understood the grandeur of this place, and he’d allow as many from Citadel Felbarr as desired to come here to settle.“What ho?” cried another of the dwarves in that stalagmite guard station, a strapping young lass named Carrinda Castleduck, who braided her long yellow hair under her chin in a “beard” that would make a grumpy old metal-pounder proud.

Two thousand of the five thousand dwarves who had come into Gauntlgrym were Adbarrim, easily the largest of the four contingents.King Harnoth would have stood at the end of that reception line in the Rite of Kith’n Kin, instead of Bruenor.Despite his youth, he, Harnoth, would have determined the place for the Adbar dwarves.He might have even made a play to wear the first crown of Gauntlgrym, and wouldn’t that have warmed the bones of King Harbromm in his cold grave?“And wouldn’t that’ve avenged the death o’ his brother, King Bromm?” Oretheo Spikes remarked as he stepped off the bridge onto the beach in front of the castle wall.He turned a sharp left, moving along the bank to check on some fellows arguing about the placement height of their side-slinger catapult.“Aligned to the top o’ the bridge!” roared one yellow-bearded dwarf, who looked very much like Oretheo, though with a much more modest beard.“Bah!But if we’re needin’ to shoot the durned thing, the bridge’ll be turned and the enemy’ll be in the water, ye dolt!” his orange-bearded opponent countered.Oretheo Spikes shook his head, certain that this disagreement, like all of the foul moods he had witnessed in the cavern this day, stemmed from the same frustration that twisted his own belly.Heading over to arbitrate, he was about to shout out to the two to shut their traps, when suddenly they went quiet of their own accord, both turning to the dark waters of the pond.The young yellow-bearded dwarf scratched his head and the other looked at him and shrugged, clearly at a loss.Oretheo Spikes, too, turned to that water, and now he noted the first small ripples running toward the bank, and the strange undercurrent of the waves.He continued on his way, and glanced back just as a sizable freshwater fish leaped out of the water and sailed at the yellow-bearded dwarf.That fellow reacted quickly enough to bat the biting thing aside, but another came out, and another.Oretheo Spikes started to run to the fellows, but skidded to a stop and threw himself back a stride, narrowly avoiding his own leaping fish missile.“How’re they seein’ us?” the red-bearded dwarf yelled, but before any could even consider the question, they realized that it was moot, and simply coincidence, for the only fish they had noticed were the ones coming at them, but now that they had taken note, all three of the dwarves saw the truth and fell back in shock.Dozens of fish were leaping out of the pond, flying onto the beach and flapping wildly.Nay, scores of fish, on both sides of the pond, from one end to the other.Just off the shore, some dozen feet, the water stirred and broke, and Oretheo Spikes and the rest of the dwarves watching the spectacle quickly came to understand why the fish were fleeing.They knew at first glance the horrible nature of the demons walking toward the shore, walking toward them.An army of misshapen humanoids, pallid and decrepit and bloated, like ugly little fat men with flaming red eyes … an army of manes.“Shields and pointy things!” Oretheo Spikes shouted, and he fell all over himself scrambling from the bank.He nearly tumbled to the dirt when out in the middle of the pond a swarm of chasme broke the surface, the buzz of their wings filling the cavern with strange echoes.Whistles sounded at every end of the cavern, along with cries of “Battle groups!”“Here, Oretheo!” one dwarf by the wall cried, and Oretheo Spikes glanced that way to see a gathering of shield dwarves already forming their line at the base of the castle wall.Above them, side-slinger catapults cranked back and let fly, clusters of sharp stones spinning over Oretheo’s head, splashing into the water and crashing into the approaching demons.So, too, did the ballistae fire, huge spears whipping away, skewering manes two at a time.But perhaps most damning of all to the demons came the spells of magical light from the many clerics at the wall, illuminating all the beach areas on both sides of the pond.Oretheo staggered for the shield line, and glanced back, nodding at the holes already punched into the approaching horde.He sucked in his breath, though, for bigger things than manes appeared in the pond.Crawling out the other way, into the main cavern, went a pack of four-armed—and two of those with fearsome snapping pincers—greater demons.And vulture-like creatures—huge and terrible, and with beaks that seemed as if they could surely punch through a breastplate with ease.The cranking catapults brought him hope, and before he had ever reached the shield line, which parted to let him in, a second volley of heavy stones flew for the pond and the monsters.“Ah, good boys!” Oretheo Spikes congratulated.“We’ll hold ’em here and let the wall-sitters thin ’em to nothing, eh!”The dwarves, their shields hooked together as one solid wall, reached over in unison and banged their hammers, maces, and swords on the strong metal blockers.And those about Oretheo Spikes in the second rank readied their longer weapons, the spears and pikes they would prod above that solid wall of shields.Oretheo Spikes continued to call out commands, but he knew that he needn’t have bothered.This group knew their jobs and did them well.THIRTY FEET UP from the floor in the middle of the large entry cavern, in a wide, round room cleverly carved to give optimal views—and thus, optimal lines for shooting—Nigel Thunderstorm leaned on his heavy ballista, thinking of what delicacy he might prepare for his Ma, Nigella, when she arrived in Gauntlgrym.And aye, she would soon enough be here, the dwarf master chef was certain, for Nigella still resided in Citadel Felbarr, whereas Nigel had gone to live in Adbar.King Emerus understood the grandeur of this place, and he’d allow as many from Citadel Felbarr as desired to come here to settle.“What ho?” cried another of the dwarves in that stalagmite guard station, a strapping young lass named Carrinda Castleduck, who braided her long yellow hair under her chin in a “beard” that would make a grumpy old metal-pounder proud.

dnd139

“Oh, by the hairy-arsed gods!”“What do ye know?” asked Ogden Nugget, the third in the room, and he and Nigel scrambled over beside Carrinda to gaze out over the battlement.“Demon beasties!And what a horde!” came a cry from the lower level of the tower even as the three artillery dwarves began to register the monsters crawling out of the pond, so clear to see under the magical illumination of the enchantments thrown about the pond by the dwarf clerics.“Line her level!” Nigel cried, running to the missile rack set against the opposite end of the chamber.He first lifted a thick-ended bolt, the shaft filled with oil that could be set aflame, but put it back and pulled forth a black metal tri-spear instead.Carrinda and Ogden had already turned the ballista, which was set on a circular base that could swing it in a full circle, before Nigel had the tri-spear in place.“Put ’er down a fat fist,” Nigel instructed, one eye closed, the other looking through the crosshair sight set atop the weapon.He held up a hand when the tip lowered just enough, accounting for the expected drop to the pond—one they had measured many times—and nodded.“Ah, but just a pinky-finger to me left,” he begged, for he had a particular target in mind.This was their first shot, after all, and Nigel wanted it to count.Staring through the sight, the dwarf gave a rather eager chuckle and nod, noting the top crown of an avian behemoth.Nigel yanked the lever and the ballista let fly, the spear arcing out beautifully and breaking into three separate missiles.The spear on the right disappeared into the water with a splash, and perhaps hit something just below the surface, given the strange way it didn’t immediately sink.The missile on the left drove into the hip of a vrock, drawing a great screech from the beast.And the third, the center spear, impaled the target, another vrock, right through its massive chest.Unlike its counterpart, that one didn’t cry out, but simply flew over backward into the water.“Huzzah!” Carrinda cried, turning back to Nigel—and finding him already back at the caisson, drawing forth another tri-spear.“Find another group!” she told her partner, and she grabbed the crank at the side of the ballista and began drawing the heavy wire once more.The stalagmite shook then, as the side-slinger catapult mounted in the lower level let fly, and then again as the conventional catapult out on the balcony joined in.“Find the biggest!” Carrinda ordered.“Aye, but we’re the prime bombers, so let’s make ’em count!”THE BARRAGE POUNDED the lake and the demons coming forth, spears and stones and burning pitch flying in from many guard towers, while those artillery batteries set in the castle wall focused their devastation on the back of the horde pressing the shield dwarves.How wonderful the light was, Oretheo Spikes realized, seeing that it clearly marked out the targets.But with that thought, the Wilddwarf leader saw a bigger problem.Across the way there was no such clarity, and there, into the wider cavern, went the biggest of the monsters coming forth—the biggest and the smartest, no doubt.And from those shadows, he saw a group strike, huge four-armed glabrezu demons appearing as if out of nowhere to assault one of the stalagmite guard positions.That tower was lost in short order.The demons had been clever in their assault, using the mound to shield themselves from any other batteries that might have struck out at them.The focusing mirrors were not yet in place in the stalactite and stalagmite towers, and without them, the shadows would greatly limit the artillery.The dwarf shook his head.Though this side of the pond already seemed as if it would hold, and so this monstrous horde would find no easy entrance into Gauntlgrym, he had no desire to surrender the rest of this cavern, particularly not with nearly eight hundred of his fellows out there across the pond.“All right, boys,” he told the spear-wielding dwarves at his side, dwarves furiously stabbing as monsters tried to reach over the shield line, “our brothers’ll be pouring out o’ the throne room in a heartbeat, not to doubt.Ye gather ’em and make yerself a wedge and push to the bridge.Ye take the pond bank, one wall to th’ other, and nothing gets out on this side!”“Ye goin’ somewhere?” one of the dwarves asked, and Oretheo Spikes smiled with resignation.“Aye,” he replied.“And don’t ye let none forget me!”He hopped up and tapped the two shield dwarves directly in front of him on the shoulder.“On me word,” he instructed, and they grunted, shoulder-blocked back the press of manes, and nodded.Oretheo turned to the wall and called up to the nearby batteries.“Ye open me a line to the bridge!”“The bridge?” one dwarf yelled back.“Bah, but th’ other side’s crawlin’ with the damned things.”“Aye,” Oretheo Spikes agreed, and he hunched up his shoulders, shook his head wildly, banged his axe against his shield, and laughed boisterously.“Open it!” he roared.That command echoed up and down the line on the wall and many of the batteries concentrated their fire then on the monsters between Oretheo’s position and the entrance to the bridge.“Clear the closest,” he told the spear-wielders, and as soon as they began to drive the most immediate monsters off, he yelled, “Shields!”The shield wall parted and out leaped Oretheo Spikes, chopping and twirling, and sprinting for the bridge.Others wanted to follow, of course, but the shield dwarves knew their place and immediately sealed the line once more, leaving Oretheo Spikes out there alone.“Cover him!

“Oh, by the hairy-arsed gods!”“What do ye know?” asked Ogden Nugget, the third in the room, and he and Nigel scrambled over beside Carrinda to gaze out over the battlement.“Demon beasties!And what a horde!” came a cry from the lower level of the tower even as the three artillery dwarves began to register the monsters crawling out of the pond, so clear to see under the magical illumination of the enchantments thrown about the pond by the dwarf clerics.“Line her level!” Nigel cried, running to the missile rack set against the opposite end of the chamber.He first lifted a thick-ended bolt, the shaft filled with oil that could be set aflame, but put it back and pulled forth a black metal tri-spear instead.Carrinda and Ogden had already turned the ballista, which was set on a circular base that could swing it in a full circle, before Nigel had the tri-spear in place.“Put ’er down a fat fist,” Nigel instructed, one eye closed, the other looking through the crosshair sight set atop the weapon.He held up a hand when the tip lowered just enough, accounting for the expected drop to the pond—one they had measured many times—and nodded.“Ah, but just a pinky-finger to me left,” he begged, for he had a particular target in mind.This was their first shot, after all, and Nigel wanted it to count.Staring through the sight, the dwarf gave a rather eager chuckle and nod, noting the top crown of an avian behemoth.Nigel yanked the lever and the ballista let fly, the spear arcing out beautifully and breaking into three separate missiles.The spear on the right disappeared into the water with a splash, and perhaps hit something just below the surface, given the strange way it didn’t immediately sink.The missile on the left drove into the hip of a vrock, drawing a great screech from the beast.And the third, the center spear, impaled the target, another vrock, right through its massive chest.Unlike its counterpart, that one didn’t cry out, but simply flew over backward into the water.“Huzzah!” Carrinda cried, turning back to Nigel—and finding him already back at the caisson, drawing forth another tri-spear.“Find another group!” she told her partner, and she grabbed the crank at the side of the ballista and began drawing the heavy wire once more.The stalagmite shook then, as the side-slinger catapult mounted in the lower level let fly, and then again as the conventional catapult out on the balcony joined in.“Find the biggest!” Carrinda ordered.“Aye, but we’re the prime bombers, so let’s make ’em count!”THE BARRAGE POUNDED the lake and the demons coming forth, spears and stones and burning pitch flying in from many guard towers, while those artillery batteries set in the castle wall focused their devastation on the back of the horde pressing the shield dwarves.How wonderful the light was, Oretheo Spikes realized, seeing that it clearly marked out the targets.But with that thought, the Wilddwarf leader saw a bigger problem.Across the way there was no such clarity, and there, into the wider cavern, went the biggest of the monsters coming forth—the biggest and the smartest, no doubt.And from those shadows, he saw a group strike, huge four-armed glabrezu demons appearing as if out of nowhere to assault one of the stalagmite guard positions.That tower was lost in short order.The demons had been clever in their assault, using the mound to shield themselves from any other batteries that might have struck out at them.The focusing mirrors were not yet in place in the stalactite and stalagmite towers, and without them, the shadows would greatly limit the artillery.The dwarf shook his head.Though this side of the pond already seemed as if it would hold, and so this monstrous horde would find no easy entrance into Gauntlgrym, he had no desire to surrender the rest of this cavern, particularly not with nearly eight hundred of his fellows out there across the pond.“All right, boys,” he told the spear-wielding dwarves at his side, dwarves furiously stabbing as monsters tried to reach over the shield line, “our brothers’ll be pouring out o’ the throne room in a heartbeat, not to doubt.Ye gather ’em and make yerself a wedge and push to the bridge.Ye take the pond bank, one wall to th’ other, and nothing gets out on this side!”“Ye goin’ somewhere?” one of the dwarves asked, and Oretheo Spikes smiled with resignation.“Aye,” he replied.“And don’t ye let none forget me!”He hopped up and tapped the two shield dwarves directly in front of him on the shoulder.“On me word,” he instructed, and they grunted, shoulder-blocked back the press of manes, and nodded.Oretheo turned to the wall and called up to the nearby batteries.“Ye open me a line to the bridge!”“The bridge?” one dwarf yelled back.“Bah, but th’ other side’s crawlin’ with the damned things.”“Aye,” Oretheo Spikes agreed, and he hunched up his shoulders, shook his head wildly, banged his axe against his shield, and laughed boisterously.“Open it!” he roared.That command echoed up and down the line on the wall and many of the batteries concentrated their fire then on the monsters between Oretheo’s position and the entrance to the bridge.“Clear the closest,” he told the spear-wielders, and as soon as they began to drive the most immediate monsters off, he yelled, “Shields!”The shield wall parted and out leaped Oretheo Spikes, chopping and twirling, and sprinting for the bridge.Others wanted to follow, of course, but the shield dwarves knew their place and immediately sealed the line once more, leaving Oretheo Spikes out there alone.“Cover him!

dnd140

Oretheo!” dwarves yelled and from above came a volley of crossbow bolts, ballista spears, and a pair of beautifully placed catapult throws that blew free the ground in front of the running Wilddwarf leader.Oretheo Spikes made the base of the bridge, but monsters rushed around the large buttresses in close pursuit.And so many more hulking monsters loomed in the shadows across the way.“Clangeddin’s strength to ye,” more than one of the dwarves at the wall muttered, and there was little more to say.“NOTHING CLEAR TO hit!” Ogden Nugget cried, leaning out the long window and looking down from their position.Carrinda and Nigel shared his frustration, for they could hear the raucous battle not far from their tower, where a large square of dwarves, a brigade or more, had begun a sweep toward the pond.But demons had come from the shadows in a coordinated manner, and the square found itself surrounded on all four sides, with nearly two hundred battle dwarves fighting for their lives.But the line was too tight and too mingled for ballistae and catapults to help.Ogden pounded his fist on the stone sill and turned back.“Let it go, friend,” Nigel offered.“Take what we can …” He stopped short as Ogden’s eyes popped open wide in shock.Nigel figured it out and spun to see the ugly, bloated human face of a chasme only a hand’s breadth away as the monster landed on the sill.Nigel cried out and threw his hands up and threw himself back, thinking he was surely doomed.But even as he retreated, a spear flew past him and drove right into that ugly demon’s face.“Bah!But who’s needin’ a ballista, what?” Carrinda Castleduck proclaimed, shaking a fist at the chasme as it fell away.“Well flung!” a relieved Nigel congratulated her.“Now, ye find me something big to skewer!”“I’m seein’ naught but the little ones,” Ogden replied, collecting his wits and spinning about.“Big ones’re all skippin’ about the shadows.”“Bah!” Nigel roared.“Then shoot for the pond!”He set another spear and Carrinda began to turn the swiveling ballista once more.THAT FRUSTRATION WAS exactly what Oretheo Spikes understood and expected.They weren’t going to win this fight by battling the coordinated efforts of the small demons.There were simply too many of the ugly things.And the big ones, the smart ones who were coordinating it all, weren’t about to make targets of themselves until most of the stalagmite and stalactite batteries had been shut down.Those artillery batteries needed a spotter.The Wilddwarf sprinted across the bridge and threw himself into a horde of manes that had clustered there at the far end, his wild sweeps with his vicious axe driving them back or gutting them where they stood.The dwarf leaped and spun sidelong, a downward swing splattering a manes’s misshapen head.He tore his axe free and used the momentum of the pull to sweep it across again, gutting another, then brought the weapon up and into a tight spin and let its weight carry him around to take the face from the nearest manes that had pursued him across the bridge.Pure fury drove him—shield bashing, shield rushing, axe sweeping—and that same fury nearly got him killed, for only at the last moment did he note another horrible demon, a pile of goo slithering across the floor.With a desperate yelp, Oretheo threw himself over the monster, landing with a thud.He rolled frantically, not daring to stop, and as he came around and looked back, he blanched with horror.A few of the manes had chased him but had not leaped, and now they tried to wade through the jelly-like demonic creature, and smoke wafted up from their dissolving legs.“Oh, but lovely,” Oretheo said with a sigh, and he hopped up and ran off to the base of the nearest guard tower.All of them had been stocked for exactly this purpose, with torches and with a pile of burning embers glowing under a stone hood.He drove the torch into the orange-glowing pile and pulled it back, the end igniting and flaring to life.He took it in his shield hand, hoisted his axe once more, and ran off, waving the flaming torch to gather attention.“WE GOT OURSELVES a marker!” Ogden Nugget called, pointing to the running dwarf with the waving torch.“Aye, and it’s Oretheo Spikes hisself!” Carrinda said.She punched her fist into the air again.“Just stay at the window and guide me turns!” she instructed Ogden even as she leaped back to the ballista and grabbed the handles.“Just stay with him,” she added, as Nigel pointed left and up, then down and back to the right, accurately following the movements of Oretheo Spikes.Powerful Carrinda and Nigel turned the ballista in line.“Fourth north pocket!” Ogden called out, and that same shout was echoed in a score of similar towers all across the cavern, and on the lower floor of this one as well.The call was more than a description of a place, it was one of the common marks to which all of the weapons on this side of the cavern had been sighted, and it told every artillery dwarf exactly where to align his weapon.“Bugs!” Carrinda shouted then, and all three turned and gasped to see a swarm of chasme flying in at them.But just below them on the balcony, their brethren saw it, too, and they were well prepared.

Oretheo!” dwarves yelled and from above came a volley of crossbow bolts, ballista spears, and a pair of beautifully placed catapult throws that blew free the ground in front of the running Wilddwarf leader.Oretheo Spikes made the base of the bridge, but monsters rushed around the large buttresses in close pursuit.And so many more hulking monsters loomed in the shadows across the way.“Clangeddin’s strength to ye,” more than one of the dwarves at the wall muttered, and there was little more to say.“NOTHING CLEAR TO hit!” Ogden Nugget cried, leaning out the long window and looking down from their position.Carrinda and Nigel shared his frustration, for they could hear the raucous battle not far from their tower, where a large square of dwarves, a brigade or more, had begun a sweep toward the pond.But demons had come from the shadows in a coordinated manner, and the square found itself surrounded on all four sides, with nearly two hundred battle dwarves fighting for their lives.But the line was too tight and too mingled for ballistae and catapults to help.Ogden pounded his fist on the stone sill and turned back.“Let it go, friend,” Nigel offered.“Take what we can …” He stopped short as Ogden’s eyes popped open wide in shock.Nigel figured it out and spun to see the ugly, bloated human face of a chasme only a hand’s breadth away as the monster landed on the sill.Nigel cried out and threw his hands up and threw himself back, thinking he was surely doomed.But even as he retreated, a spear flew past him and drove right into that ugly demon’s face.“Bah!But who’s needin’ a ballista, what?” Carrinda Castleduck proclaimed, shaking a fist at the chasme as it fell away.“Well flung!” a relieved Nigel congratulated her.“Now, ye find me something big to skewer!”“I’m seein’ naught but the little ones,” Ogden replied, collecting his wits and spinning about.“Big ones’re all skippin’ about the shadows.”“Bah!” Nigel roared.“Then shoot for the pond!”He set another spear and Carrinda began to turn the swiveling ballista once more.THAT FRUSTRATION WAS exactly what Oretheo Spikes understood and expected.They weren’t going to win this fight by battling the coordinated efforts of the small demons.There were simply too many of the ugly things.And the big ones, the smart ones who were coordinating it all, weren’t about to make targets of themselves until most of the stalagmite and stalactite batteries had been shut down.Those artillery batteries needed a spotter.The Wilddwarf sprinted across the bridge and threw himself into a horde of manes that had clustered there at the far end, his wild sweeps with his vicious axe driving them back or gutting them where they stood.The dwarf leaped and spun sidelong, a downward swing splattering a manes’s misshapen head.He tore his axe free and used the momentum of the pull to sweep it across again, gutting another, then brought the weapon up and into a tight spin and let its weight carry him around to take the face from the nearest manes that had pursued him across the bridge.Pure fury drove him—shield bashing, shield rushing, axe sweeping—and that same fury nearly got him killed, for only at the last moment did he note another horrible demon, a pile of goo slithering across the floor.With a desperate yelp, Oretheo threw himself over the monster, landing with a thud.He rolled frantically, not daring to stop, and as he came around and looked back, he blanched with horror.A few of the manes had chased him but had not leaped, and now they tried to wade through the jelly-like demonic creature, and smoke wafted up from their dissolving legs.“Oh, but lovely,” Oretheo said with a sigh, and he hopped up and ran off to the base of the nearest guard tower.All of them had been stocked for exactly this purpose, with torches and with a pile of burning embers glowing under a stone hood.He drove the torch into the orange-glowing pile and pulled it back, the end igniting and flaring to life.He took it in his shield hand, hoisted his axe once more, and ran off, waving the flaming torch to gather attention.“WE GOT OURSELVES a marker!” Ogden Nugget called, pointing to the running dwarf with the waving torch.“Aye, and it’s Oretheo Spikes hisself!” Carrinda said.She punched her fist into the air again.“Just stay at the window and guide me turns!” she instructed Ogden even as she leaped back to the ballista and grabbed the handles.“Just stay with him,” she added, as Nigel pointed left and up, then down and back to the right, accurately following the movements of Oretheo Spikes.Powerful Carrinda and Nigel turned the ballista in line.“Fourth north pocket!” Ogden called out, and that same shout was echoed in a score of similar towers all across the cavern, and on the lower floor of this one as well.The call was more than a description of a place, it was one of the common marks to which all of the weapons on this side of the cavern had been sighted, and it told every artillery dwarf exactly where to align his weapon.“Bugs!” Carrinda shouted then, and all three turned and gasped to see a swarm of chasme flying in at them.But just below them on the balcony, their brethren saw it, too, and they were well prepared.

dnd141

Even as the three in the ballista room braced for the incoming fight, the catapult below let fly, a basket full of small caltrops that tumbled and spread wide as they flew off.“Bird shot,” the dwarves called it, for such a load could take a flock of geese from the sky.Or a swarm of chasme, the ugly things sent spinning and tumbling all in a rush.Carrinda, Nigel, and Ogden went right back to work.“Fourth north pocket again!” cried Ogden, seeming somewhat surprised that Oretheo Spikes had apparently backtracked.“Ah, but he found somethin’!” Carrinda said, eyes gleaming in anticipation.“Something big!”OH, ORETHEO SPIKES had indeed!The dwarf ran faster than he ever had before in his entire life.Only twice in his years had Oretheo Spikes truly known fear: first near a frozen lake when the source of that unseasonable ice, a great white dragon, had exploded through the pack to join in the battle, and now, when in his run, he had nearly tumbled into a pack—a pack!—of gigantic glabrezu.He just lowered his head and ran for all his life, a dozen of the beasts close behind, and with a flock of giant vrocks right behind them.“Third pocket!” came the cry from every tower, and as Oretheo Spikes passed that mark, he skidded to a stop and spun, pointing back with his torch.A signal the disciplined Adbar dwarves knew well.Oretheo saw the demons rushing for him, towering over him.And he heard the creak and whoosh of the great weapons of war.“Bah, but yer mother’s a bunny!” the Wilddwarf roared, certain that he was doomed, seeing great pincers already coming his way.A score of ballista spears crashed just in front of him.A score of catapult loads and twice that number of side-slingers—bird shot, larger rocks, burning pitch, and one with a pile of stones soaked in oil of impact—let fly for that sighted area just in front of Oretheo Spikes, the place the dwarves had named “third pocket north.”The cavern shook under the weight of the barrage, and trembled with the explosion of the magical oil.Oretheo Spikes was barely aware that he was in the air, but he felt the hard stone when he crashed down.He felt it because he was, somehow, alive!Looking back, he saw the jumble of demons and spears and rocks large and small, and the smoking husks of fallen fiends and the cracked wall of the cavern.Another catapult load smashed in, throwing a vulture beast into the wall.And more followed, relentless and punishing.“Bah, but yer mother’s a bunny!” Oretheo Spikes roared once more, pulling himself from the floor.And off he ran, torch waving.And now, he noted, he wasn’t the only marker, as other dwarves on this end of the large cavern had taken up torches.Far across the cavern, he heard “Second pocket south!” and a few heartbeats later, a similar devastating barrage went out from the southern guard towers.“Well done, King Connerad,” Oretheo Spikes mumbled under his breath, truly glad that the young dwarf had so brilliantly organized this defense, and blissfully unaware that at that very moment, King Connerad Brawnanvil was being torn in half by the powerful pincers of a glabrezu very much like the beasts Oretheo’s gallant efforts had just destroyed.He began his run anew, but blowing horns gave him pause.He looked back to the pond and took heart, for the rest of Adbar’s force had come forth from the throne room, and now more than a thousand battle dwarves had pushed to the far bank of the pond, and no more beasts would get free of that water.And the Adbarrim were coming across the bridge as well, a great wedge of dwarven fury and dwarven muscle and dwarven metal.And on the near side, the boys of Mirabar had poured into the chamber from the outer caverns.Dwarven squares had used the support artillery to join up in stronger formations and had begun an irresistible march back toward the pond.Nearly three hundred Mirabarran and Adbarrim would die this day in the entry cavern of Gauntlgrym, but so be it.When the pond’s water stilled once more, Oretheo Spikes, Nigel Thunderstorm, and all the remaining dwarves looked about at the carnage and knew that Comragh na fo Aster, the Battle of the Cavern, had come to a glorious and victorious end.CHAPTER 20Comragh Na TochlahdBRUENOR AND EMERUS STOOD BESIDE THE OUTLINE OF THE STONE door the wizards had identified as the ancient portal connecting dwarf lands.Over and over, the dwarf kings ran their hands along the ancient stonework, nodding as if they could feel the power thrumming within the stone—and likely they could feel it, Catti-brie and the others realized.Ever since they had sat on the throne, these two and Connerad seemed more attuned to this place than any non-dwarf could ever hope to understand.“Where’d it go?” Emerus asked, his gravelly old voice filled with wonder and awe.“Another dwarf kingdom, they’re saying.And aye, but I’m thinkin’ that’s the truth of it,” Bruenor replied.Then he added slyly, “If they were thinking o’ what might be the greatest place to go of all, they’d’ve had it set in line with Mithral Hall, eh?”“Aye,” Emerus said without missing a beat, “that hole’d be a great musterin’ field for them dwarfs heading over to Citadel Felbarr.”The two kings smirked at each other, both glad for the levity, and Bruenor truly needing it with his dearest friend lying so broken back in the main complex.Behind them, Ambergris and Athrogate began to laugh, then to howl, drawing curious looks from Ragged Dain and Fist and Fury, and a curious glance back from the two kings.Shaking her head, Catti-brie walked past the onlooking dwarves, Penelope and Kipper beside her.“So if we’re to get it working, then how’re we to know where we’re going?” Emerus asked them.“Could be anywhere.I’m not knowing o’ any other dwarf homes as old as Gauntlgrym, and I’m guessing this was put in early on.”“Right after they got the Great Forge fired, I’d wager,” Catti-brie agreed.“Might be that it opened into Waterdeep—or whatever city was thereabouts back in the day o’ Gauntlgrym’s making.Easy journey for trade.”“No,” Kipper Harpell insisted.“It opened to another dwarven complex, likely in a mine not far from the other complex, but not readily accessible to the place.Certainly not in any city not of dwarves.”“Aye,” Bruenor said, and Emerus nodded, coming to agree that his off-the-cuff theory really didn’t hold up.Even to this day, in the Realms dwarves were clannish—Bruenor’s choices in assembling the Companions of the Hall had raised more than a few bushy dwarf eyebrows over the years, and when Bruenor had appointed Regis as Steward of Mithral Hall, even King Emerus had gasped with surprise.But still, despite that obvious xenophobia, by all accounts and historical text, the dwarves were much more tolerant of the other races now than they had been in the days of Gauntlgrym’s glory.“If you were given a choice of where to place a complementary gate, good King Emerus, would you choose Waterdeep?” Kipper asked.“I’d be sticking it up Moradin’s hairy bum afore I’d be doin’ that!” the dwarf said, and the point was made.Emerus looked to Bruenor, but the red-bearded dwarf was immersed in the contours of the ancient portal once more.Perhaps he was sulking, perhaps deep in thought, but in any case, he had clearly stepped out of the conversation.“Wait, are ye sayin’ that we might be choosing the location o’ th’ other gate, the exit?” Emerus asked, his thoughts sharpening with the possibilities.How grand might it be to connect Gauntlgrym to the tunnels under the Silver Marches, a place easily accessible to all three of the dwarf kingdoms of the North?

Even as the three in the ballista room braced for the incoming fight, the catapult below let fly, a basket full of small caltrops that tumbled and spread wide as they flew off.“Bird shot,” the dwarves called it, for such a load could take a flock of geese from the sky.Or a swarm of chasme, the ugly things sent spinning and tumbling all in a rush.Carrinda, Nigel, and Ogden went right back to work.“Fourth north pocket again!” cried Ogden, seeming somewhat surprised that Oretheo Spikes had apparently backtracked.“Ah, but he found somethin’!” Carrinda said, eyes gleaming in anticipation.“Something big!”OH, ORETHEO SPIKES had indeed!The dwarf ran faster than he ever had before in his entire life.Only twice in his years had Oretheo Spikes truly known fear: first near a frozen lake when the source of that unseasonable ice, a great white dragon, had exploded through the pack to join in the battle, and now, when in his run, he had nearly tumbled into a pack—a pack!—of gigantic glabrezu.He just lowered his head and ran for all his life, a dozen of the beasts close behind, and with a flock of giant vrocks right behind them.“Third pocket!” came the cry from every tower, and as Oretheo Spikes passed that mark, he skidded to a stop and spun, pointing back with his torch.A signal the disciplined Adbar dwarves knew well.Oretheo saw the demons rushing for him, towering over him.And he heard the creak and whoosh of the great weapons of war.“Bah, but yer mother’s a bunny!” the Wilddwarf roared, certain that he was doomed, seeing great pincers already coming his way.A score of ballista spears crashed just in front of him.A score of catapult loads and twice that number of side-slingers—bird shot, larger rocks, burning pitch, and one with a pile of stones soaked in oil of impact—let fly for that sighted area just in front of Oretheo Spikes, the place the dwarves had named “third pocket north.”The cavern shook under the weight of the barrage, and trembled with the explosion of the magical oil.Oretheo Spikes was barely aware that he was in the air, but he felt the hard stone when he crashed down.He felt it because he was, somehow, alive!Looking back, he saw the jumble of demons and spears and rocks large and small, and the smoking husks of fallen fiends and the cracked wall of the cavern.Another catapult load smashed in, throwing a vulture beast into the wall.And more followed, relentless and punishing.“Bah, but yer mother’s a bunny!” Oretheo Spikes roared once more, pulling himself from the floor.And off he ran, torch waving.And now, he noted, he wasn’t the only marker, as other dwarves on this end of the large cavern had taken up torches.Far across the cavern, he heard “Second pocket south!” and a few heartbeats later, a similar devastating barrage went out from the southern guard towers.“Well done, King Connerad,” Oretheo Spikes mumbled under his breath, truly glad that the young dwarf had so brilliantly organized this defense, and blissfully unaware that at that very moment, King Connerad Brawnanvil was being torn in half by the powerful pincers of a glabrezu very much like the beasts Oretheo’s gallant efforts had just destroyed.He began his run anew, but blowing horns gave him pause.He looked back to the pond and took heart, for the rest of Adbar’s force had come forth from the throne room, and now more than a thousand battle dwarves had pushed to the far bank of the pond, and no more beasts would get free of that water.And the Adbarrim were coming across the bridge as well, a great wedge of dwarven fury and dwarven muscle and dwarven metal.And on the near side, the boys of Mirabar had poured into the chamber from the outer caverns.Dwarven squares had used the support artillery to join up in stronger formations and had begun an irresistible march back toward the pond.Nearly three hundred Mirabarran and Adbarrim would die this day in the entry cavern of Gauntlgrym, but so be it.When the pond’s water stilled once more, Oretheo Spikes, Nigel Thunderstorm, and all the remaining dwarves looked about at the carnage and knew that Comragh na fo Aster, the Battle of the Cavern, had come to a glorious and victorious end.CHAPTER 20Comragh Na TochlahdBRUENOR AND EMERUS STOOD BESIDE THE OUTLINE OF THE STONE door the wizards had identified as the ancient portal connecting dwarf lands.Over and over, the dwarf kings ran their hands along the ancient stonework, nodding as if they could feel the power thrumming within the stone—and likely they could feel it, Catti-brie and the others realized.Ever since they had sat on the throne, these two and Connerad seemed more attuned to this place than any non-dwarf could ever hope to understand.“Where’d it go?” Emerus asked, his gravelly old voice filled with wonder and awe.“Another dwarf kingdom, they’re saying.And aye, but I’m thinkin’ that’s the truth of it,” Bruenor replied.Then he added slyly, “If they were thinking o’ what might be the greatest place to go of all, they’d’ve had it set in line with Mithral Hall, eh?”“Aye,” Emerus said without missing a beat, “that hole’d be a great musterin’ field for them dwarfs heading over to Citadel Felbarr.”The two kings smirked at each other, both glad for the levity, and Bruenor truly needing it with his dearest friend lying so broken back in the main complex.Behind them, Ambergris and Athrogate began to laugh, then to howl, drawing curious looks from Ragged Dain and Fist and Fury, and a curious glance back from the two kings.Shaking her head, Catti-brie walked past the onlooking dwarves, Penelope and Kipper beside her.“So if we’re to get it working, then how’re we to know where we’re going?” Emerus asked them.“Could be anywhere.I’m not knowing o’ any other dwarf homes as old as Gauntlgrym, and I’m guessing this was put in early on.”“Right after they got the Great Forge fired, I’d wager,” Catti-brie agreed.“Might be that it opened into Waterdeep—or whatever city was thereabouts back in the day o’ Gauntlgrym’s making.Easy journey for trade.”“No,” Kipper Harpell insisted.“It opened to another dwarven complex, likely in a mine not far from the other complex, but not readily accessible to the place.Certainly not in any city not of dwarves.”“Aye,” Bruenor said, and Emerus nodded, coming to agree that his off-the-cuff theory really didn’t hold up.Even to this day, in the Realms dwarves were clannish—Bruenor’s choices in assembling the Companions of the Hall had raised more than a few bushy dwarf eyebrows over the years, and when Bruenor had appointed Regis as Steward of Mithral Hall, even King Emerus had gasped with surprise.But still, despite that obvious xenophobia, by all accounts and historical text, the dwarves were much more tolerant of the other races now than they had been in the days of Gauntlgrym’s glory.“If you were given a choice of where to place a complementary gate, good King Emerus, would you choose Waterdeep?” Kipper asked.“I’d be sticking it up Moradin’s hairy bum afore I’d be doin’ that!” the dwarf said, and the point was made.Emerus looked to Bruenor, but the red-bearded dwarf was immersed in the contours of the ancient portal once more.Perhaps he was sulking, perhaps deep in thought, but in any case, he had clearly stepped out of the conversation.“Wait, are ye sayin’ that we might be choosing the location o’ th’ other gate, the exit?” Emerus asked, his thoughts sharpening with the possibilities.How grand might it be to connect Gauntlgrym to the tunnels under the Silver Marches, a place easily accessible to all three of the dwarf kingdoms of the North?

dnd142

If the dwarves could have easy transport back and forth, all four fortresses would be more secure by far, with combined armies ready to muster at a moment’s notice.“We do no’ even know if we can power the durned thing,” Catti-brie reminded them all.“She’s an old magic, like the one firing the Forge, like the magic keeping the primordial in its pit.”“But it is possible!” Kipper jumped in quickly and enthusiastically.“I have been studying this for decades, my friend, and this gate!Oh, but how long have I searched for such an opportunity as—”The tunnel shook then under the force of something weighty, some resounding thud that rolled through the stone and right up the legs of the ten standing in front of the ancient gate.“That ain’t sounding good,” Ragged Dain remarked as he moved closer to Emerus and set himself defensively to protect his friend and king.“I’ll go and have a look,” Athrogate offered and he sprinted back through the secret doorway to the portal room, with Ambergris close behind.They paused in the outer mine tunnel for a moment, glancing left and right, and when another heavy thud resounded, the pair took off to the right.“We should be getting this place closed, and quickly,” Ragged Dain offered.“Aye,” Emerus agreed over Kipper’s protestations.“Keepin’ this room secret’s more important than the lives of all.”The eight started for the doorway, but before they even neared the open portal, Ambergris came rushing back in, Athrogate right behind her.“Can ye close the door from in here?” Ambergris asked Catti-brie.“Lock us in, then?”“Aye, and be quick about it!” Athrogate added.Both looked terribly unraveled, and both were gasping for breath, as if they had come back in a sprint.“I canno’,” Catti-brie replied.“Out, then, out!” Athrogate ordered.“Don’t ye get caught in this corner!”“Caught by …?” Penelope asked, and she was answered by a bellowing roar.It is not an easy thing to describe a sound as “evil,” but to the ten in the small room this rumbling, raspy, screeching combination of noise, all blended in one discordant note, surely seemed to be just that.“Out!Out!” they all began shouting together, and they tumbled all over each other to get to the door.Before they had all even come through and out into the tunnel beyond, Catti-brie began her chant to the ancient magic of the fire primordial to close the secret doorway.“Demons!” she heard Penelope gasp before the door even started coming down, but the woman wouldn’t stop now, determined that their enemies would not get into the special chamber beyond.She heard the dwarves calling for formations, and was glad to hear Bruenor’s voice lifting above the others.If anything could get Bruenor Battlehammer out of his worrying malaise, it would be a good fight!Finally, the door began its downward slide, and the woman spun around—and nearly lost all hope.Demons indeed, she saw and heard, the ravenous beasts coming at the group from both directions in the long tunnel.She noted manes—so many of those disgusting lesser Abyssal creatures—leading the charge left and right, but mostly she noted the leaders of the beasts, a hulking glabrezu to her right, back the way they had come, and an even greater beast, massive and thick, with short wings beating crazily, but with no hope of lifting the tremendously fat demon from the floor.And others, too, scrambled for the fight: vulture-like creatures she knew to be vrocks, and thick and short beasts that looked like a rough carving of human, only with dwarf-like proportions and a huge head set upon broad shoulders that seemed to be conspicuously missing a neck.“You stay with us,” she heard Penelope tell Emerus and Ragged Dain.Out to the left in front of the Felbarrans stood Athrogate and Ambergris, setting their feet and ready to brawl.Out to the right, Bruenor and the Fellhammers similarly waited.The demons came in an organized fashion, the disposable fodder, the manes, filtering to the front.Catti-brie wasn’t waiting.She stamped her staff upon the ground, shouting “Syafa!” and the silvery wood turned black again, streaked with red, while the blue sapphire became a red sapphire.“What in the world?” asked the surprised and clearly impressed Kipper, standing by Penelope and readying his own magic.But Catti-brie wasn’t about to answer.She was deep into her spell then, and the red lines along the black staff began to glow more angrily, as if it was filled with fire that begged for release.Indeed.The demons came on in a rush, but Catti-brie struck first.She lifted her staff out to the right, launching a ball of flame out past Bruenor and the twins.Before that fireball had even landed, she swung the staff out the other way and sent a second ball flying off down the tunnel.The first fireball exploded, and a blast of hot air swept down the tunnel to wash over the companions.The second exploded almost immediately following, and now the hot wind came from the other direction.When the smoke cleared, far fewer manes were moving, most lying on the ground as smoking husks.

If the dwarves could have easy transport back and forth, all four fortresses would be more secure by far, with combined armies ready to muster at a moment’s notice.“We do no’ even know if we can power the durned thing,” Catti-brie reminded them all.“She’s an old magic, like the one firing the Forge, like the magic keeping the primordial in its pit.”“But it is possible!” Kipper jumped in quickly and enthusiastically.“I have been studying this for decades, my friend, and this gate!Oh, but how long have I searched for such an opportunity as—”The tunnel shook then under the force of something weighty, some resounding thud that rolled through the stone and right up the legs of the ten standing in front of the ancient gate.“That ain’t sounding good,” Ragged Dain remarked as he moved closer to Emerus and set himself defensively to protect his friend and king.“I’ll go and have a look,” Athrogate offered and he sprinted back through the secret doorway to the portal room, with Ambergris close behind.They paused in the outer mine tunnel for a moment, glancing left and right, and when another heavy thud resounded, the pair took off to the right.“We should be getting this place closed, and quickly,” Ragged Dain offered.“Aye,” Emerus agreed over Kipper’s protestations.“Keepin’ this room secret’s more important than the lives of all.”The eight started for the doorway, but before they even neared the open portal, Ambergris came rushing back in, Athrogate right behind her.“Can ye close the door from in here?” Ambergris asked Catti-brie.“Lock us in, then?”“Aye, and be quick about it!” Athrogate added.Both looked terribly unraveled, and both were gasping for breath, as if they had come back in a sprint.“I canno’,” Catti-brie replied.“Out, then, out!” Athrogate ordered.“Don’t ye get caught in this corner!”“Caught by …?” Penelope asked, and she was answered by a bellowing roar.It is not an easy thing to describe a sound as “evil,” but to the ten in the small room this rumbling, raspy, screeching combination of noise, all blended in one discordant note, surely seemed to be just that.“Out!Out!” they all began shouting together, and they tumbled all over each other to get to the door.Before they had all even come through and out into the tunnel beyond, Catti-brie began her chant to the ancient magic of the fire primordial to close the secret doorway.“Demons!” she heard Penelope gasp before the door even started coming down, but the woman wouldn’t stop now, determined that their enemies would not get into the special chamber beyond.She heard the dwarves calling for formations, and was glad to hear Bruenor’s voice lifting above the others.If anything could get Bruenor Battlehammer out of his worrying malaise, it would be a good fight!Finally, the door began its downward slide, and the woman spun around—and nearly lost all hope.Demons indeed, she saw and heard, the ravenous beasts coming at the group from both directions in the long tunnel.She noted manes—so many of those disgusting lesser Abyssal creatures—leading the charge left and right, but mostly she noted the leaders of the beasts, a hulking glabrezu to her right, back the way they had come, and an even greater beast, massive and thick, with short wings beating crazily, but with no hope of lifting the tremendously fat demon from the floor.And others, too, scrambled for the fight: vulture-like creatures she knew to be vrocks, and thick and short beasts that looked like a rough carving of human, only with dwarf-like proportions and a huge head set upon broad shoulders that seemed to be conspicuously missing a neck.“You stay with us,” she heard Penelope tell Emerus and Ragged Dain.Out to the left in front of the Felbarrans stood Athrogate and Ambergris, setting their feet and ready to brawl.Out to the right, Bruenor and the Fellhammers similarly waited.The demons came in an organized fashion, the disposable fodder, the manes, filtering to the front.Catti-brie wasn’t waiting.She stamped her staff upon the ground, shouting “Syafa!” and the silvery wood turned black again, streaked with red, while the blue sapphire became a red sapphire.“What in the world?” asked the surprised and clearly impressed Kipper, standing by Penelope and readying his own magic.But Catti-brie wasn’t about to answer.She was deep into her spell then, and the red lines along the black staff began to glow more angrily, as if it was filled with fire that begged for release.Indeed.The demons came on in a rush, but Catti-brie struck first.She lifted her staff out to the right, launching a ball of flame out past Bruenor and the twins.Before that fireball had even landed, she swung the staff out the other way and sent a second ball flying off down the tunnel.The first fireball exploded, and a blast of hot air swept down the tunnel to wash over the companions.The second exploded almost immediately following, and now the hot wind came from the other direction.When the smoke cleared, far fewer manes were moving, most lying on the ground as smoking husks.

dnd143

The vrocks screeched in protest, the huge nalfeshnee beat its little smoking wings furiously, and the glabrezu drove in harder.“I see the end of the line!” Penelope said to Kipper, who began tracing an outline in the air.“Keep in the midst of the five dwarves we’re leaving here, Catti-brie,” she instructed.“And where are you going?” Catti-brie asked.“Go!” Kipper shouted at Emerus and Ragged Dain, and he pushed them at the magical portal he had just constructed.“I ain’t leavin’ me friends!” Emerus protested.“Neither are we!” Penelope shouted.And she had to shout now.The battle had been joined on both ends of the line, Athrogate and Ambergris smashing the leading lesser demons, Bruenor and the Fellhammer sisters battling a pair of vrocks.Kipper went into the portal and seemed to step into the same tunnel, but far afield, behind the demons to Catti-brie’s left.“Well, go!” Penelope said emphatically, and Ragged Dain leaped into the gate, Emerus close behind.“Hold the line and we’ll thin that group in short order,” Penelope said with a wink to Catti-brie.She leaned over and kissed Catti-brie on the cheek then, smiling widely, evidently enjoying it all—and indeed, hadn’t she professed to Wulfgar her adventurous side?With a battle cry that would make a Battlehammer proud, Penelope leaped into the portal and disappeared.Catti-brie started to call to the five dwarves still around her to tighten up their ranks, but she thought the better of it, realizing that this crew, deep into their fighting now, probably wouldn’t even hear her.She did yell out anyway, a simple warning of “Light!” and called out “Alfara!” and stamped her staff, which reverted to its silver-gray hue with the blue sapphire.She launched into a quick spell and held the staff aloft, using it as a focus for her magical energies.Once more blue mist wafted out of her sleeves, this time from the right arm, from the spellscar of the unicorn of Mielikki.And from that magic, Catti-brie brought forth a light, brilliant and warm and full of comfort to her allies, and full of stinging, unwanted pain for the beasts of the lower planes.Catti-brie stayed halfway between the dwarf lines, looking left and right, ready to cast a spell of healing through the conduit of her magical staff.The mist from her left sleeve, the symbol of Mystra, began to curl, too, the woman eager to set loose some more destructive arcane magic.“TRUST HIM,” PENELOPE told Emerus and Ragged Dain.“Kipper knows this spell better than any alive, I expect!”The dwarves shook their hairy heads doubtfully.Kipper had asked them to stand five feet back from a wall, a bend in the corridor, and face it, though the demons were back the other way.“They’ve taken notice!” Kipper said.“And here they come!”Emerus glanced back over his shoulder to see one of the human-height demons, thick as any dwarf, rambling down at them, vulture-like beasts close behind and others pressing in from behind.Emerus’s expression twisted when the hallway seemed to shimmer, and the huge dwarf-like creature disappeared.And reappeared immediately, stepping through Kipper’s newest gate and exiting right in front of Emerus and Ragged Dain, but not facing them.It was clearly disoriented, stumbling away from them.“Ho!” Ragged Dain yelped in surprise when the thick-limbed beast appeared right in front of him.He managed to strike out at it and clip it just a bit—and he almost pursued, as did Emerus, but Penelope had told them not to travel farther down the corridor for any reason.They both came to understand why, as the vulture beast charged through the gate to crash into the turning beast, stopping it short, and now both dwarves got in clean hits.More demons piled through, disoriented, looking the wrong way, crashing into those who had come through before.The dwarves just kept swinging, their weapons smacking against demon skin and cracking demon bones.A streak of lightning cut between the dwarves, slicing into the tumbled mob.Behind Penelope, the dwarves heard Kipper laughing.They just kept swinging.Hot flames blew back their beards as Penelope’s fireball landed in the midst of the confused and tangled mass of demons, and that only spurred the two Felbarran dwarves on more, their weapons, wet with blood and gore, whacking away with abandon.BACK BY THE main fight, Athrogate and Ambergris didn’t notice the trailing ranks of the demon mob turning back.Many of the little ones were already dead from Catti-brie’s fireball, but of the ones that remained, many were huge beasts, including one behemoth nalfeshnee that seemed more angry than injured.“Ah, but I’m saving a fun trick for that one,” Athrogate remarked, and across came a morningstar to intercept, turn aside, and crack open the sharp beak of a vrock.The battered creature tried to fall over him, its leathery wings crowned out wide, but Athrogate’s second weapon was already spinning in and those open wings presented him with a most wonderful target.The vrock’s screech came out as a breathless gasp as Cracker’s heavy ball crushed its ribs, and as the beast lurched, Ambergris stabbed her huge mace, Skullcracker, straight out, driving back the manes ambling toward her, and whipped it across to smack the vrock in the side of its head just at the same moment that Athrogate’s Whacker came back in on the other side.The vrock’s thick skull could not resist the press of those two weapons coming together with such force and coordination.The sound of bone snapping echoed off the tunnel walls.The vrock fell straight down over Athrogate, or would have if the dwarf was not possessed of giant strength.He dropped his weapons and caught the falling creature and sent it flying back into the next demons in line.The dwarf squatted fast and scooped up his devastating morningstars.

The vrocks screeched in protest, the huge nalfeshnee beat its little smoking wings furiously, and the glabrezu drove in harder.“I see the end of the line!” Penelope said to Kipper, who began tracing an outline in the air.“Keep in the midst of the five dwarves we’re leaving here, Catti-brie,” she instructed.“And where are you going?” Catti-brie asked.“Go!” Kipper shouted at Emerus and Ragged Dain, and he pushed them at the magical portal he had just constructed.“I ain’t leavin’ me friends!” Emerus protested.“Neither are we!” Penelope shouted.And she had to shout now.The battle had been joined on both ends of the line, Athrogate and Ambergris smashing the leading lesser demons, Bruenor and the Fellhammer sisters battling a pair of vrocks.Kipper went into the portal and seemed to step into the same tunnel, but far afield, behind the demons to Catti-brie’s left.“Well, go!” Penelope said emphatically, and Ragged Dain leaped into the gate, Emerus close behind.“Hold the line and we’ll thin that group in short order,” Penelope said with a wink to Catti-brie.She leaned over and kissed Catti-brie on the cheek then, smiling widely, evidently enjoying it all—and indeed, hadn’t she professed to Wulfgar her adventurous side?With a battle cry that would make a Battlehammer proud, Penelope leaped into the portal and disappeared.Catti-brie started to call to the five dwarves still around her to tighten up their ranks, but she thought the better of it, realizing that this crew, deep into their fighting now, probably wouldn’t even hear her.She did yell out anyway, a simple warning of “Light!” and called out “Alfara!” and stamped her staff, which reverted to its silver-gray hue with the blue sapphire.She launched into a quick spell and held the staff aloft, using it as a focus for her magical energies.Once more blue mist wafted out of her sleeves, this time from the right arm, from the spellscar of the unicorn of Mielikki.And from that magic, Catti-brie brought forth a light, brilliant and warm and full of comfort to her allies, and full of stinging, unwanted pain for the beasts of the lower planes.Catti-brie stayed halfway between the dwarf lines, looking left and right, ready to cast a spell of healing through the conduit of her magical staff.The mist from her left sleeve, the symbol of Mystra, began to curl, too, the woman eager to set loose some more destructive arcane magic.“TRUST HIM,” PENELOPE told Emerus and Ragged Dain.“Kipper knows this spell better than any alive, I expect!”The dwarves shook their hairy heads doubtfully.Kipper had asked them to stand five feet back from a wall, a bend in the corridor, and face it, though the demons were back the other way.“They’ve taken notice!” Kipper said.“And here they come!”Emerus glanced back over his shoulder to see one of the human-height demons, thick as any dwarf, rambling down at them, vulture-like beasts close behind and others pressing in from behind.Emerus’s expression twisted when the hallway seemed to shimmer, and the huge dwarf-like creature disappeared.And reappeared immediately, stepping through Kipper’s newest gate and exiting right in front of Emerus and Ragged Dain, but not facing them.It was clearly disoriented, stumbling away from them.“Ho!” Ragged Dain yelped in surprise when the thick-limbed beast appeared right in front of him.He managed to strike out at it and clip it just a bit—and he almost pursued, as did Emerus, but Penelope had told them not to travel farther down the corridor for any reason.They both came to understand why, as the vulture beast charged through the gate to crash into the turning beast, stopping it short, and now both dwarves got in clean hits.More demons piled through, disoriented, looking the wrong way, crashing into those who had come through before.The dwarves just kept swinging, their weapons smacking against demon skin and cracking demon bones.A streak of lightning cut between the dwarves, slicing into the tumbled mob.Behind Penelope, the dwarves heard Kipper laughing.They just kept swinging.Hot flames blew back their beards as Penelope’s fireball landed in the midst of the confused and tangled mass of demons, and that only spurred the two Felbarran dwarves on more, their weapons, wet with blood and gore, whacking away with abandon.BACK BY THE main fight, Athrogate and Ambergris didn’t notice the trailing ranks of the demon mob turning back.Many of the little ones were already dead from Catti-brie’s fireball, but of the ones that remained, many were huge beasts, including one behemoth nalfeshnee that seemed more angry than injured.“Ah, but I’m saving a fun trick for that one,” Athrogate remarked, and across came a morningstar to intercept, turn aside, and crack open the sharp beak of a vrock.The battered creature tried to fall over him, its leathery wings crowned out wide, but Athrogate’s second weapon was already spinning in and those open wings presented him with a most wonderful target.The vrock’s screech came out as a breathless gasp as Cracker’s heavy ball crushed its ribs, and as the beast lurched, Ambergris stabbed her huge mace, Skullcracker, straight out, driving back the manes ambling toward her, and whipped it across to smack the vrock in the side of its head just at the same moment that Athrogate’s Whacker came back in on the other side.The vrock’s thick skull could not resist the press of those two weapons coming together with such force and coordination.The sound of bone snapping echoed off the tunnel walls.The vrock fell straight down over Athrogate, or would have if the dwarf was not possessed of giant strength.He dropped his weapons and caught the falling creature and sent it flying back into the next demons in line.The dwarf squatted fast and scooped up his devastating morningstars.

dnd144

He meant to grab them and burst ahead to pummel the demons, but Ambergris tackled him before he ever really started.And a good thing she did.A wall of fire appeared right in front of Athrogate, lining the left-hand wall of the tunnel and running down almost to where Penelope and the others had gone.Flames leaped out from the conflagration, filling the corridor, and terrible shrieks came from within the roiling flames as demon flesh curled.Athrogate and Ambergris had to fall back a couple of steps, almost to Catti-brie, who stood with her staff upraised, the gem glowing an angry red, reflecting in her eyes.She seemed a part of the weapon and it a part of her, one being bathed in communal magic, controlling the flames, bringing forth the flames, reveling in the cleansing fires.“Girl,” Athrogate breathed, hardly believing the strength of the wall.Catti-brie didn’t blink, her focus pure.She was drawing straight from the primordial then, her own arcane magical powers enhanced greatly by her kinship with the preternatural godlike creature, and by the powerful weapon it had helped her to fashion.“Guessin’ our work is done,” Ambergris said, shaking her head with similar disbelief.Even as she spoke, though, the giant nalfeshnee strode out of the flames and roared.“Guessin’ not,” Athrogate said, and with a wink at his girl, he launched himself at the behemoth.He swatted the giant demon with a swinging morningstar, and it grunted as it swatted him with its own club, a black, metallic, evil-looking thing.The weight of the blow threw Athrogate against the right-hand wall.Right behind the departing Athrogate came Ambergris, though, Skullcracker smashing against the nalfeshnee’s forearm before it could pull back.Another grunt escaped the beast and it charged forward, kicking out, and Ambergris had to throw herself backward so that she wasn’t launched halfway up the tunnel.The demon paid Athrogate no more heed as it continued for the woman, apparently figuring Athrogate to be crumbling against the stone.It wasn’t the first monstrous enemy to underestimate this particular dwarf.Athrogate came out from the wall swinging, and now with one of his weapon heads coated in liquid.He struck with his other flail once and again, forcing the behemoth to turn toward him, and as soon as it did, around came the coated ball, squarely into the demon’s knee.The oil of impact exploded on contact.The nalfeshnee’s knee exploded on contact.How the demon howled!And now the dwarves struck wildly, in perfect harmony, Ambergris cracking the beast on the other hip, Athrogate’s morningstars spinning in a blur and whacking the demon wherever the furious dwarf found an opening.At one point, the demon bent over and swept its heavy club around in a wide and low sidelong sweep, cleverly trying to drive Athrogate farther down the corridor and into the still-burning wall of fire.But Athrogate, recognizing the deadly aim, caught the club with a great “Oof!” and held it at bay, stubbornly, mightily, holding his ground.The behemoth pressed on, and the dwarf, for all his strength, found his feet sliding on the blood- and brain-slickened floor.“Girl!” he cried.He needn’t have bothered.The demon was so focused on Athrogate that it remained in its crouch, bent low and over, hands engaged.Whether or not Athrogate had called out, Ambergris wasn’t about to let that beautifully presented target go to waste.She ran back up the hall several steps, turned, and charged, leaping high, Skullcracker up and over her head.The huge mace came over as she descended.The demon looked back just in time to see the weapon’s descent.That blow would have shattered the skull of a hill giant.It did drive the demon to one knee, staggering it, but only temporarily.Long enough for Athrogate to press back against the shoving weapon, though, even to wrench it from the demon’s grasp.The nalfeshnee started to rise, but Skullcracker hit it on the head again.Stubbornly, the beast growled through the blow and tried again, but now came Athrogate’s morningstars, one after another.And the nalfeshnee was dazed again, and now the dwarves were climbing all over it, striking and leaping, climbing and striking again and again, battering the beast with an incessant rain of heavy blows, any of which would have felled an ogre.Soon enough, the demon spent less time trying to stand up to its full height than in trying to grasp at the troublesome dwarves.But it couldn’t catch up to them, in their coordinated fury, and anytime the beast got near to grabbing Athrogate, Ambergris changed its mind with a crushing blow from Skullcracker.And anytime it got near to grabbing Ambergris, Athrogate introduced its ugly face to Cracker and Whacker yet again.Demon blood and ichor splattered the floor all about the hunched creature, and that only spurred on the ferocious dwarves.By the time they had finished—and that only when Catti-brie cried out in horror—the creature hardly resembled a nalfeshnee demon, seeming more like a mound of boneless jelly.“BREAK!” BRUENOR YELLED and the Fellhammer sisters caught each other by the wrists and whipped about left and right, each flinging the other aside.And through that gap leaped Bruenor, and through the vrock’s outstretched arms, as well, as the confused creature grabbed at the two fleeing dwarves it had been fighting.Inside its defenses, Bruenor had one clear attack, and he struck true and struck hard, his powerful axe burying deeply into the vulture demon’s chest.Its screech came out as a blood-filled gasp, and the destroyed vrock fell away.Another took its place, coming at Bruenor but catching a faceful of Mallabritches instead, the furious dwarf leaping high and battering it with her fine sword.Across the way, Tannabritches dispatched a manes with a stab and a twist, then flung herself across in front of Bruenor just as Mallabritches landed on her feet and leaped at the vrock again.The creature was more ready for her this time—or would have been, except that Tannabritches barreled into the back of its legs just as Mallabritches hit.Over went the demon and over went Mallabritches atop it, living up to her nickname of Fury as she continued her assault, using an offense of pure fury to keep the demon from beginning to counter.Bruenor turned to follow the tumbling duo, but stopped short and set himself in a defensive crouch.The glabrezu rushed in, pincers leading.Bruenor called to Tannabritches, but too late—she was well on her way to leaping upon the downed vrock.Into the air she flew, and from the air she was plucked by the powerful glabrezu.“No!” Bruenor roared, leaping forward, axe swinging for the pincer arm that had caught his dear friend Fist.He scored a clean and deep hit, but on the demon’s chest and not its arm.He brought his shield up as the demon’s left hook pounded home, the balled fist hitting Bruenor’s buckler with the force he would expect from a mountain giant.The blow sent him skidding, his feet churning to send him back the other way.His progress halted when the demon’s free pincer caught him by the shield and began to tug him all around, his feet flying off the floor.He was in trouble, off-balance and seemingly overmatched.Then Tannabritches cried out in pain as the pincer closed around her waist.“No!”Bruenor’s roar came from somewhere inside of him, came from a place of utter denial and utter outrage.

He meant to grab them and burst ahead to pummel the demons, but Ambergris tackled him before he ever really started.And a good thing she did.A wall of fire appeared right in front of Athrogate, lining the left-hand wall of the tunnel and running down almost to where Penelope and the others had gone.Flames leaped out from the conflagration, filling the corridor, and terrible shrieks came from within the roiling flames as demon flesh curled.Athrogate and Ambergris had to fall back a couple of steps, almost to Catti-brie, who stood with her staff upraised, the gem glowing an angry red, reflecting in her eyes.She seemed a part of the weapon and it a part of her, one being bathed in communal magic, controlling the flames, bringing forth the flames, reveling in the cleansing fires.“Girl,” Athrogate breathed, hardly believing the strength of the wall.Catti-brie didn’t blink, her focus pure.She was drawing straight from the primordial then, her own arcane magical powers enhanced greatly by her kinship with the preternatural godlike creature, and by the powerful weapon it had helped her to fashion.“Guessin’ our work is done,” Ambergris said, shaking her head with similar disbelief.Even as she spoke, though, the giant nalfeshnee strode out of the flames and roared.“Guessin’ not,” Athrogate said, and with a wink at his girl, he launched himself at the behemoth.He swatted the giant demon with a swinging morningstar, and it grunted as it swatted him with its own club, a black, metallic, evil-looking thing.The weight of the blow threw Athrogate against the right-hand wall.Right behind the departing Athrogate came Ambergris, though, Skullcracker smashing against the nalfeshnee’s forearm before it could pull back.Another grunt escaped the beast and it charged forward, kicking out, and Ambergris had to throw herself backward so that she wasn’t launched halfway up the tunnel.The demon paid Athrogate no more heed as it continued for the woman, apparently figuring Athrogate to be crumbling against the stone.It wasn’t the first monstrous enemy to underestimate this particular dwarf.Athrogate came out from the wall swinging, and now with one of his weapon heads coated in liquid.He struck with his other flail once and again, forcing the behemoth to turn toward him, and as soon as it did, around came the coated ball, squarely into the demon’s knee.The oil of impact exploded on contact.The nalfeshnee’s knee exploded on contact.How the demon howled!And now the dwarves struck wildly, in perfect harmony, Ambergris cracking the beast on the other hip, Athrogate’s morningstars spinning in a blur and whacking the demon wherever the furious dwarf found an opening.At one point, the demon bent over and swept its heavy club around in a wide and low sidelong sweep, cleverly trying to drive Athrogate farther down the corridor and into the still-burning wall of fire.But Athrogate, recognizing the deadly aim, caught the club with a great “Oof!” and held it at bay, stubbornly, mightily, holding his ground.The behemoth pressed on, and the dwarf, for all his strength, found his feet sliding on the blood- and brain-slickened floor.“Girl!” he cried.He needn’t have bothered.The demon was so focused on Athrogate that it remained in its crouch, bent low and over, hands engaged.Whether or not Athrogate had called out, Ambergris wasn’t about to let that beautifully presented target go to waste.She ran back up the hall several steps, turned, and charged, leaping high, Skullcracker up and over her head.The huge mace came over as she descended.The demon looked back just in time to see the weapon’s descent.That blow would have shattered the skull of a hill giant.It did drive the demon to one knee, staggering it, but only temporarily.Long enough for Athrogate to press back against the shoving weapon, though, even to wrench it from the demon’s grasp.The nalfeshnee started to rise, but Skullcracker hit it on the head again.Stubbornly, the beast growled through the blow and tried again, but now came Athrogate’s morningstars, one after another.And the nalfeshnee was dazed again, and now the dwarves were climbing all over it, striking and leaping, climbing and striking again and again, battering the beast with an incessant rain of heavy blows, any of which would have felled an ogre.Soon enough, the demon spent less time trying to stand up to its full height than in trying to grasp at the troublesome dwarves.But it couldn’t catch up to them, in their coordinated fury, and anytime the beast got near to grabbing Athrogate, Ambergris changed its mind with a crushing blow from Skullcracker.And anytime it got near to grabbing Ambergris, Athrogate introduced its ugly face to Cracker and Whacker yet again.Demon blood and ichor splattered the floor all about the hunched creature, and that only spurred on the ferocious dwarves.By the time they had finished—and that only when Catti-brie cried out in horror—the creature hardly resembled a nalfeshnee demon, seeming more like a mound of boneless jelly.“BREAK!” BRUENOR YELLED and the Fellhammer sisters caught each other by the wrists and whipped about left and right, each flinging the other aside.And through that gap leaped Bruenor, and through the vrock’s outstretched arms, as well, as the confused creature grabbed at the two fleeing dwarves it had been fighting.Inside its defenses, Bruenor had one clear attack, and he struck true and struck hard, his powerful axe burying deeply into the vulture demon’s chest.Its screech came out as a blood-filled gasp, and the destroyed vrock fell away.Another took its place, coming at Bruenor but catching a faceful of Mallabritches instead, the furious dwarf leaping high and battering it with her fine sword.Across the way, Tannabritches dispatched a manes with a stab and a twist, then flung herself across in front of Bruenor just as Mallabritches landed on her feet and leaped at the vrock again.The creature was more ready for her this time—or would have been, except that Tannabritches barreled into the back of its legs just as Mallabritches hit.Over went the demon and over went Mallabritches atop it, living up to her nickname of Fury as she continued her assault, using an offense of pure fury to keep the demon from beginning to counter.Bruenor turned to follow the tumbling duo, but stopped short and set himself in a defensive crouch.The glabrezu rushed in, pincers leading.Bruenor called to Tannabritches, but too late—she was well on her way to leaping upon the downed vrock.Into the air she flew, and from the air she was plucked by the powerful glabrezu.“No!” Bruenor roared, leaping forward, axe swinging for the pincer arm that had caught his dear friend Fist.He scored a clean and deep hit, but on the demon’s chest and not its arm.He brought his shield up as the demon’s left hook pounded home, the balled fist hitting Bruenor’s buckler with the force he would expect from a mountain giant.The blow sent him skidding, his feet churning to send him back the other way.His progress halted when the demon’s free pincer caught him by the shield and began to tug him all around, his feet flying off the floor.He was in trouble, off-balance and seemingly overmatched.Then Tannabritches cried out in pain as the pincer closed around her waist.“No!”Bruenor’s roar came from somewhere inside of him, came from a place of utter denial and utter outrage.

dnd145

He felt the dwarf gods then, as he had on the ledge on that long-ago day when he had battled a pit fiend in the primordial chamber.The pincer yanked Bruenor’s shield arm out to the left, opening his defenses, and a heavy punch came in right behind it, hitting him squarely in the face.His head snapped back from the devastating blow.But he accepted it and countered cleanly, turning, his axe chopping across his body to hit the forearm of the pincer limb grasping his shield.The shield was freed, the pincer fell free to the floor.Tannabritches screamed in pain, the remaining pincer arm digging at her waist.A lightning bolt from Catti-brie flashed above Bruenor, striking the glabrezu and sending it staggering back—not fast enough to evade the howling Bruenor, though, the dwarf charging in.Again the glabrezu punched at him, this time striking the shield once more.But this time, the weight of the blow did not halt the dwarf or move him backward.The strength of Clangeddin flowed through him now as he swelled with rage and terror for poor Tannabritches.The demon threw Tannabritches at him and he instinctively ducked, then winced as he realized the truth of the missile.With a roar of denial, he crashed into the glabrezu and sent his axe spinning forward and up, then right back over his shoulder.The pincer snapped down at him, catching only shield, and the axe came around and up, right between the demon’s legs and into its crotch, driving the beast up high on its clawed toes.Bruenor bore in, cursing it, bashing it.He stopped and sent his axe across, chopping the inside of the glabrezu’s right knee.He reversed his swing, spinning the axe in his hand as he went and bringing the weapon back across to strike at the left knee, but now with the weapon’s head farther back, behind the leg.The glabrezu was still backing, but Bruenor went the other way, tugging powerfully, the axe-head catching behind the demon’s knee and twisting it off balance.Bruenor came back in again, behind a second lightning bolt cast by Catti-brie, crashing into the demon and sending it tumbling backward to the floor.Bruenor also fell, face first, and fell hard.His nose bleeding and broken, Bruenor just kept on charging, using his axe as an ice-climber might use a pick, repeatedly chopping it into the demon and tugging himself forward.By the time the axe descended into the demon’s chest, the glabrezu was no longer defending, and by the time the next swing came down on the creature’s canine face, the husk was already beginning to smoke and disintegrate, the destroyed thing melting back to the Abyss.Hot winds buffeted Bruenor as he tore his axe free, scrambled up to his knees, and lifted the axe in both hands up above his head to hit the thing again.For a moment, the dwarf thought another demon had come.But no, it was instead another devastating fireball from Catti-brie, filling the corridor farther along, melting the next group of demons and opening the way to where the tunnel wall neared the inner complex, the place where Kipper’s passwall had brought them through: the way home.But Bruenor couldn’t think of that then.He drove his axe down on the already destroyed demon, and used the leverage of the embedded weapon to help him hop back up to his feet.He ripped the axe free with a sickening sound as he leaped around, calling out to Catti-brie to call the goddess to Tannabritches’s side.His words stuck in his throat as the scene in front of him took shape.Mallabritches cradled her fallen sister in her arms tenderly.The blue mist already swirled around Catti-brie’s right arm as she reached for healing spells for the fallen dwarf.Farther along the corridor, Athrogate and Ambergris had turned sidelong, waving at Emerus, Ragged Dain, and the Harpells to hurry along.Other than the footfalls and Mallabritches’s sobs, the tunnel was silent once more, and Bruenor knew that Comragh na Tochlahd, the Battle of the Mines, had ended.Looking at Tannabritches, though, at sweet Fury, a teary-eyed Bruenor couldn’t rightly declare victory.CHAPTER 21DelzounWHEN THEY RETURNED TO THE MAIN RECAPTURED COMPLEX IN the upper halls, the group from the mines found Drizzt resting a bit more easily, though he remained far, far away, his eyes closed, his fingers not responding when Bruenor or Catti-brie took his hand.Still, after a quick check on him, measuring his breathing and sensing the peace within the darkness, Catti-brie took hope that her husband would survive, though whether he would ever again be a great warrior, none could know.Catti-brie had learned from bitter personal experience in her previous life how debilitating some injuries could be, no matter how much magical healing the priests might apply.She had never been the same warrior after the defense of Mithral Hall, when that giant-hurled stone had caught her.She had survived, but could not bear children, and could not hope to fight as well with the sword as before.But she had survived, and she had thrived for years afterward, turning her thoughts to arcane magic.Perhaps it could be so with Drizzt, she pondered, and a smile found its way onto her pained face as she fantasized about having Drizzt as her student, reading the texts beside him at the Ivy Mansion in Longsaddle, laughing at him good-naturedly when his first spells fizzled—much as he had taunted her in the early days of her martial training.“It will be all right,” she said to Bruenor, squeezing his shoulder and bending low to peck him on the hairy cheek.“The sun will rise.”Bruenor’s stubby fingers patted her hand and he nodded.He was too choked up to respond, though, and so Catti-brie kissed him again and left him alone with Drizzt in the room.“Ah, elf, it’s harder than I thinked,” Bruenor said to his friend when she was gone.“I’m needin’ ye, elf.

He felt the dwarf gods then, as he had on the ledge on that long-ago day when he had battled a pit fiend in the primordial chamber.The pincer yanked Bruenor’s shield arm out to the left, opening his defenses, and a heavy punch came in right behind it, hitting him squarely in the face.His head snapped back from the devastating blow.But he accepted it and countered cleanly, turning, his axe chopping across his body to hit the forearm of the pincer limb grasping his shield.The shield was freed, the pincer fell free to the floor.Tannabritches screamed in pain, the remaining pincer arm digging at her waist.A lightning bolt from Catti-brie flashed above Bruenor, striking the glabrezu and sending it staggering back—not fast enough to evade the howling Bruenor, though, the dwarf charging in.Again the glabrezu punched at him, this time striking the shield once more.But this time, the weight of the blow did not halt the dwarf or move him backward.The strength of Clangeddin flowed through him now as he swelled with rage and terror for poor Tannabritches.The demon threw Tannabritches at him and he instinctively ducked, then winced as he realized the truth of the missile.With a roar of denial, he crashed into the glabrezu and sent his axe spinning forward and up, then right back over his shoulder.The pincer snapped down at him, catching only shield, and the axe came around and up, right between the demon’s legs and into its crotch, driving the beast up high on its clawed toes.Bruenor bore in, cursing it, bashing it.He stopped and sent his axe across, chopping the inside of the glabrezu’s right knee.He reversed his swing, spinning the axe in his hand as he went and bringing the weapon back across to strike at the left knee, but now with the weapon’s head farther back, behind the leg.The glabrezu was still backing, but Bruenor went the other way, tugging powerfully, the axe-head catching behind the demon’s knee and twisting it off balance.Bruenor came back in again, behind a second lightning bolt cast by Catti-brie, crashing into the demon and sending it tumbling backward to the floor.Bruenor also fell, face first, and fell hard.His nose bleeding and broken, Bruenor just kept on charging, using his axe as an ice-climber might use a pick, repeatedly chopping it into the demon and tugging himself forward.By the time the axe descended into the demon’s chest, the glabrezu was no longer defending, and by the time the next swing came down on the creature’s canine face, the husk was already beginning to smoke and disintegrate, the destroyed thing melting back to the Abyss.Hot winds buffeted Bruenor as he tore his axe free, scrambled up to his knees, and lifted the axe in both hands up above his head to hit the thing again.For a moment, the dwarf thought another demon had come.But no, it was instead another devastating fireball from Catti-brie, filling the corridor farther along, melting the next group of demons and opening the way to where the tunnel wall neared the inner complex, the place where Kipper’s passwall had brought them through: the way home.But Bruenor couldn’t think of that then.He drove his axe down on the already destroyed demon, and used the leverage of the embedded weapon to help him hop back up to his feet.He ripped the axe free with a sickening sound as he leaped around, calling out to Catti-brie to call the goddess to Tannabritches’s side.His words stuck in his throat as the scene in front of him took shape.Mallabritches cradled her fallen sister in her arms tenderly.The blue mist already swirled around Catti-brie’s right arm as she reached for healing spells for the fallen dwarf.Farther along the corridor, Athrogate and Ambergris had turned sidelong, waving at Emerus, Ragged Dain, and the Harpells to hurry along.Other than the footfalls and Mallabritches’s sobs, the tunnel was silent once more, and Bruenor knew that Comragh na Tochlahd, the Battle of the Mines, had ended.Looking at Tannabritches, though, at sweet Fury, a teary-eyed Bruenor couldn’t rightly declare victory.CHAPTER 21DelzounWHEN THEY RETURNED TO THE MAIN RECAPTURED COMPLEX IN the upper halls, the group from the mines found Drizzt resting a bit more easily, though he remained far, far away, his eyes closed, his fingers not responding when Bruenor or Catti-brie took his hand.Still, after a quick check on him, measuring his breathing and sensing the peace within the darkness, Catti-brie took hope that her husband would survive, though whether he would ever again be a great warrior, none could know.Catti-brie had learned from bitter personal experience in her previous life how debilitating some injuries could be, no matter how much magical healing the priests might apply.She had never been the same warrior after the defense of Mithral Hall, when that giant-hurled stone had caught her.She had survived, but could not bear children, and could not hope to fight as well with the sword as before.But she had survived, and she had thrived for years afterward, turning her thoughts to arcane magic.Perhaps it could be so with Drizzt, she pondered, and a smile found its way onto her pained face as she fantasized about having Drizzt as her student, reading the texts beside him at the Ivy Mansion in Longsaddle, laughing at him good-naturedly when his first spells fizzled—much as he had taunted her in the early days of her martial training.“It will be all right,” she said to Bruenor, squeezing his shoulder and bending low to peck him on the hairy cheek.“The sun will rise.”Bruenor’s stubby fingers patted her hand and he nodded.He was too choked up to respond, though, and so Catti-brie kissed him again and left him alone with Drizzt in the room.“Ah, elf, it’s harder than I thinked,” Bruenor said to his friend when she was gone.“I’m needin’ ye, elf.

dnd146

But ye get yer sleep, aye, and when ye come back, a dwarf’ll be on the throne o’ Gauntlgrym, don’t ye doubt!”He glanced around, noting Drizzt’s weapon belt hanging over the back of a chair, along with the rest of the drow’s equipment.Bruenor went over and slid the repaired Twinkle back into its sheath.He paused before the scimitar went all the way in, inspecting his handiwork.He had to nod, for it had been a solid repair.But of course, the formerly magical weapon would never be as powerful.Bruenor glanced back at Drizzt and wondered the same for his friend.The dwarf’s hand slid down the weapon belt to a pouch, and from it he lifted a familiar onyx figurine.A twinkle came to Bruenor’s eye as he brought Guenhwyvar up for closer inspection.Might he take her with him?Would she come to his call and serve him as she had so well served Drizzt?Or perhaps he could give the cat to Catti-brie.But it didn’t seem right to him.He shook his head and moved to the bed, placing Guenhwyvar down gently on Drizzt’s chest, then lifting the drow’s arms up to hug the panther.This was where she belonged.Only.“Ye come back to us, elf,” Bruenor whispered.“Ain’t ready to say farewell to ye just yet!”He gave a last pat to Drizzt and left the room, considering the dark road in front of him and wondering if he’d get his wish, because it seemed very possible to Bruenor that he’d never speak to his dear elf friend again.In the next room over, he heard the quiet voice of Mallabritches Fellhammer, whispering encouragement to her fallen sister.Tannabritches was in far worse shape than Drizzt, and Catti-brie, for all her efforts, could not give Bruenor any assurances that the young dwarf lass would survive her brutal wounds.The glabrezu’s pincer had crushed and gashed her midsection.If Catti-brie hadn’t been right there with powerful healing magic, Tannabritches would never have gotten out of those mines alive.Even now, her hold on life seemed tenuous indeed, her breathing shallow and raspy, her only sounds profound groans that came without conscious thought.Bruenor pulled a chair in from the hallway outside the room, placing it right beside the chair holding Mallabritches, the two of them close enough to Tannabritches as she lay on the small bed to hear her labored breathing and the quiet, pained sounds.“Not wantin’ to lose her,” Mallabritches said quietly past the obvious lump in her throat.“All me life, been me and her, Fist’n’Fury.Not wantin’ one without th’ other.”“Aye, girl, but she can’t be leaving,” Bruenor said, and he snorted as he did, his emotions pouring forth.He couldn’t stand seeing Tannabritches like this.His head and heart careened back to Citadel Felbarr, to the early days of his second life when he had trained beside the wild Fellhammer duo, when he had served beside them, when he had fought beside them—beside Tannabritches in particular, in one wild battle in the Rauvin Mountains.Tannabritches had been badly wounded in that fight, too, struck in the chest by an orc spear.All she had thought about as she fell was the safety of the others, of Bruenor, whom she knew as her friend Little Arr Arr.She had told him to get the others and run away, to leave her to her grim fate.“Bah, but I didn’t save ye then to watch ye die now, girl,” Bruenor growled in a harsh whisper.“Ye don’t be leavin’ me, ye hear?”Mallabritches took his hand and squeezed it tightly.He looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and tears streamed from his eyes.Mallabritches shook her head, overwhelmed.“I can’t be lettin’ her go,” Bruenor gasped, and surely he was overwhelmed then, with Tannabritches lying here and Drizzt in the room next door.

But ye get yer sleep, aye, and when ye come back, a dwarf’ll be on the throne o’ Gauntlgrym, don’t ye doubt!”He glanced around, noting Drizzt’s weapon belt hanging over the back of a chair, along with the rest of the drow’s equipment.Bruenor went over and slid the repaired Twinkle back into its sheath.He paused before the scimitar went all the way in, inspecting his handiwork.He had to nod, for it had been a solid repair.But of course, the formerly magical weapon would never be as powerful.Bruenor glanced back at Drizzt and wondered the same for his friend.The dwarf’s hand slid down the weapon belt to a pouch, and from it he lifted a familiar onyx figurine.A twinkle came to Bruenor’s eye as he brought Guenhwyvar up for closer inspection.Might he take her with him?Would she come to his call and serve him as she had so well served Drizzt?Or perhaps he could give the cat to Catti-brie.But it didn’t seem right to him.He shook his head and moved to the bed, placing Guenhwyvar down gently on Drizzt’s chest, then lifting the drow’s arms up to hug the panther.This was where she belonged.Only.“Ye come back to us, elf,” Bruenor whispered.“Ain’t ready to say farewell to ye just yet!”He gave a last pat to Drizzt and left the room, considering the dark road in front of him and wondering if he’d get his wish, because it seemed very possible to Bruenor that he’d never speak to his dear elf friend again.In the next room over, he heard the quiet voice of Mallabritches Fellhammer, whispering encouragement to her fallen sister.Tannabritches was in far worse shape than Drizzt, and Catti-brie, for all her efforts, could not give Bruenor any assurances that the young dwarf lass would survive her brutal wounds.The glabrezu’s pincer had crushed and gashed her midsection.If Catti-brie hadn’t been right there with powerful healing magic, Tannabritches would never have gotten out of those mines alive.Even now, her hold on life seemed tenuous indeed, her breathing shallow and raspy, her only sounds profound groans that came without conscious thought.Bruenor pulled a chair in from the hallway outside the room, placing it right beside the chair holding Mallabritches, the two of them close enough to Tannabritches as she lay on the small bed to hear her labored breathing and the quiet, pained sounds.“Not wantin’ to lose her,” Mallabritches said quietly past the obvious lump in her throat.“All me life, been me and her, Fist’n’Fury.Not wantin’ one without th’ other.”“Aye, girl, but she can’t be leaving,” Bruenor said, and he snorted as he did, his emotions pouring forth.He couldn’t stand seeing Tannabritches like this.His head and heart careened back to Citadel Felbarr, to the early days of his second life when he had trained beside the wild Fellhammer duo, when he had served beside them, when he had fought beside them—beside Tannabritches in particular, in one wild battle in the Rauvin Mountains.Tannabritches had been badly wounded in that fight, too, struck in the chest by an orc spear.All she had thought about as she fell was the safety of the others, of Bruenor, whom she knew as her friend Little Arr Arr.She had told him to get the others and run away, to leave her to her grim fate.“Bah, but I didn’t save ye then to watch ye die now, girl,” Bruenor growled in a harsh whisper.“Ye don’t be leavin’ me, ye hear?”Mallabritches took his hand and squeezed it tightly.He looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and tears streamed from his eyes.Mallabritches shook her head, overwhelmed.“I can’t be lettin’ her go,” Bruenor gasped, and surely he was overwhelmed then, with Tannabritches lying here and Drizzt in the room next door.

dnd147

He was as surprised by his reaction as was Mallabritches, for the depth of his pain cut straight to his heart.He really could not stand the thought of losing Tannabritches now!When Emerus had given over the Fellhammer sisters to serve as part of Bruenor’s elite guard, the red-bearded dwarf’s heart had leaped—more than he had truly understood.But now, seeing Tannabritches lying there, so pale and near to death, he did understand, and surely his heart broke as he came to believe that she was slipping away from him forever.“Ye got yer Gutbusters,” Mallabritches said, but in a leading way that told Bruenor she was fishing deeper.“King Bruenor’s to be surrounded by fighters, eh?”“Not about that!” Bruenor snapped.He sucked in his breath to steady himself, shook his head ferociously, and leaned forward, staring at the wounded lass, silently imploring her to live.“Not about fightin’,” he said.“About needin’ her aside me when the fightin’s done.”“When ye take the throne, ye mean?”The shock of Mallabritches’ words jolted Bruenor upright, and he turned to regard her curiously.“It’ll be yerself,” she said.“Aye, but ye’re the proper choice, I’m sayin’.The great Emerus is so old, and even if ye gived him the throne, he’d not hold it for long.We’ll be rid o’ the damned drow, don’t ye doubt, and Bruenor’ll be King o’ Gauntlgrym one day not far along.”Bruenor didn’t respond, but neither did he blink.“Ye’re thinkin’ her yer queen, ain’t ye?” the Fellhammer girl asked.Again, her words shocked Bruenor, for he hadn’t carried his thoughts and his pain that far along.His initial reaction was to shake his head in denial.The whole proposition sounded ridiculous to him.He was a long way from claiming Gauntlgrym’s throne, after all.But as he considered Mallabritches’s question, which sounded more like an accusation, Bruenor’s biggest surprise was that he came to recognize that she wasn’t wrong.He stammered something undecipherable under his breath and his head swiveled back to consider the poor lass lying on the bed.“Do ye love her, Arr Arr?” Mallabritches asked.“Aye,” Bruenor said, surprised by his honest answer.“And yer heart’s breaking in seein’ her in the bed like that, eh?”“Aye,” he weakly answered.Mallabritches grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him around, forcing him to look her in the eye once more.“And ye tell me true, me friend, what if it was meself in that bed, and me sister sittin’ here with ye?Where might Arr Arr … where might Bruenor Battlehammer be then, I’m askin’?”Bruenor’s face started to twist up in confusion, but his answer came from a place of clarity when he said, “Same place.”His gray eyes opened wide as the weight of his words sank in, as he came to realize that he had just professed his love to Mallabritches—and to her sister.Mallabritches yanked him closer then, and put her arm around his shoulders, lifting her hand to press Bruenor’s head onto her own strong shoulder for support.“Don’t ye be worried, me friend,” she whispered in his ear.“Fist ain’t leavin’ us.She just ain’t.”“I DONE ALL I could,” Bungalow Thump pleaded to the two dwarf kings and the others gathered in the throne room.Word of the disaster in the lower chambers had preceded him, but few details had come forth, other than the deaths of a hundred Battlehammer warriors … and the Twelfth King of Mithral Hall.Bungalow Thump, himself wounded and battered, had come to the throne room to offer a full recounting to the leaders.Toliver Harpell stood behind him, head bowed respectfully, with Penelope and Kipper beside him.Bungalow Thump didn’t leave out any details.He glanced back at Toliver Harpell and offered an apologetic shrug before he told of the failure of the Field of Feather Fall, as he described poor dwarves bouncing onto the stone floor, or onto the bodies of their fallen comrades.The dwarf’s voice soared as he recounted the heroics of those trapped on the ground, and again, he didn’t exclude the Harpells, taking great pains to accurately describe Kenneally’s brilliant improvisation.“Aye, but she saved the lot of us,” Bungalow Thump said.

He was as surprised by his reaction as was Mallabritches, for the depth of his pain cut straight to his heart.He really could not stand the thought of losing Tannabritches now!When Emerus had given over the Fellhammer sisters to serve as part of Bruenor’s elite guard, the red-bearded dwarf’s heart had leaped—more than he had truly understood.But now, seeing Tannabritches lying there, so pale and near to death, he did understand, and surely his heart broke as he came to believe that she was slipping away from him forever.“Ye got yer Gutbusters,” Mallabritches said, but in a leading way that told Bruenor she was fishing deeper.“King Bruenor’s to be surrounded by fighters, eh?”“Not about that!” Bruenor snapped.He sucked in his breath to steady himself, shook his head ferociously, and leaned forward, staring at the wounded lass, silently imploring her to live.“Not about fightin’,” he said.“About needin’ her aside me when the fightin’s done.”“When ye take the throne, ye mean?”The shock of Mallabritches’ words jolted Bruenor upright, and he turned to regard her curiously.“It’ll be yerself,” she said.“Aye, but ye’re the proper choice, I’m sayin’.The great Emerus is so old, and even if ye gived him the throne, he’d not hold it for long.We’ll be rid o’ the damned drow, don’t ye doubt, and Bruenor’ll be King o’ Gauntlgrym one day not far along.”Bruenor didn’t respond, but neither did he blink.“Ye’re thinkin’ her yer queen, ain’t ye?” the Fellhammer girl asked.Again, her words shocked Bruenor, for he hadn’t carried his thoughts and his pain that far along.His initial reaction was to shake his head in denial.The whole proposition sounded ridiculous to him.He was a long way from claiming Gauntlgrym’s throne, after all.But as he considered Mallabritches’s question, which sounded more like an accusation, Bruenor’s biggest surprise was that he came to recognize that she wasn’t wrong.He stammered something undecipherable under his breath and his head swiveled back to consider the poor lass lying on the bed.“Do ye love her, Arr Arr?” Mallabritches asked.“Aye,” Bruenor said, surprised by his honest answer.“And yer heart’s breaking in seein’ her in the bed like that, eh?”“Aye,” he weakly answered.Mallabritches grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him around, forcing him to look her in the eye once more.“And ye tell me true, me friend, what if it was meself in that bed, and me sister sittin’ here with ye?Where might Arr Arr … where might Bruenor Battlehammer be then, I’m askin’?”Bruenor’s face started to twist up in confusion, but his answer came from a place of clarity when he said, “Same place.”His gray eyes opened wide as the weight of his words sank in, as he came to realize that he had just professed his love to Mallabritches—and to her sister.Mallabritches yanked him closer then, and put her arm around his shoulders, lifting her hand to press Bruenor’s head onto her own strong shoulder for support.“Don’t ye be worried, me friend,” she whispered in his ear.“Fist ain’t leavin’ us.She just ain’t.”“I DONE ALL I could,” Bungalow Thump pleaded to the two dwarf kings and the others gathered in the throne room.Word of the disaster in the lower chambers had preceded him, but few details had come forth, other than the deaths of a hundred Battlehammer warriors … and the Twelfth King of Mithral Hall.Bungalow Thump, himself wounded and battered, had come to the throne room to offer a full recounting to the leaders.Toliver Harpell stood behind him, head bowed respectfully, with Penelope and Kipper beside him.Bungalow Thump didn’t leave out any details.He glanced back at Toliver Harpell and offered an apologetic shrug before he told of the failure of the Field of Feather Fall, as he described poor dwarves bouncing onto the stone floor, or onto the bodies of their fallen comrades.The dwarf’s voice soared as he recounted the heroics of those trapped on the ground, and again, he didn’t exclude the Harpells, taking great pains to accurately describe Kenneally’s brilliant improvisation.“Aye, but she saved the lot of us,” Bungalow Thump said.

dnd148

“And gived her own life in doin’ it!”“Huzzah for Kenneally Harpell, then!” Ragged Dain offered, drawing a stern look from Bruenor—but one that didn’t hold, and indeed, Bruenor joined in the cheer for Kenneally.“It seems as if it was more demon than drow opposin’ ye,” Emerus Warcrown offered at that break.“More demons and hordes o’ goblins and orcs,” Bungalow Thump confirmed.“Saw a drow or two from the shadows and throwing spells, but none other.”“Goblins and orcs,” Bruenor muttered, for surely he had seen his fill of the wretched orcs in recent months.“Slaves o’ the damned drow!” As he said that aloud, he realized that much of it was likely true for the War of the Silver Marches, as well.His thoughts careened to Lorgru, of the line of Obould, and those orcs who once more rallied around that name and their professed desire to live in peace.Might the treaty of Garumn’s Gorge have held if not for the damned drow?Bruenor shook the thought away.“And them demons?” Oretheo Spikes offered.“Demons in the entry hall, demons in the mines!Durned Gauntlgrym’s more full o’ demons than dwarfs and drow together!”“I ain’t seeing much difference between demons and drow, meself,” Emerus growled.“Aye, to the Abyss with ’em all!” Ragged Dain added, and a great cheer went up all around the throne room, one rolling from bravado to a muted confusion, it seemed.The starkly mixed results of the three battles fought this same day had them all off balance.They had won in the entry hall, slaughtering demons by the score.Every defense had held strong and every plan had been executed to near perfection, and the hero of that battle, Oretheo Spikes, deserved every cheer and honor offered to him.And Connerad Brawnanvil, too, would garner much of the credit for that battle in the entry cavern, for the defenses of that hall were his doing, offered with insight he had gained on the Throne of the Dwarf Gods.But they had been defeated badly in the lower chamber, and it simply could not continue that each side could hold its own ground.For the drow had the Great Forge.That could not stand!As the cheering died away, Bruenor rose and approached the throne, nodding, but with his expression grave.“Ropes, I say!” Emerus called.“Yerselves should’ve used the rappel to the cavern floor and not some wild magic!”“You cannot lay the blame with …” Penelope Harpell started to protest, but Bungalow Thump held up his hand to silence her, and did it for her.“Nay, King Emerus, and sure to know that I’m yer loyal servant here, pledged in fealty and acceptin’ o’ yer judgments,” he said.“But I can’no agree—nay, for the plan was a good one, and oh, but we were hitting the floor in full charge.”“Until the magic fell away,” Emerus reminded.“Aye, but we could no’ know the power o’ the enemies below us,” Bungalow Thump replied.“Ah, but they were thick with wizards and thick with demons.Big demons by the score.By rope or by Harpell magic, we’d’ve lost many of our boys today, and we’d’ve ne’er gained the lower hall.”“Well said, Master Thump, and I’d not expect less o’ ye than that,” Bruenor replied before Emerus could—and with almost exactly the same words Emerus would have used.All eyes went to Bruenor and many bushy eyebrows, Emerus’s included, lifted in surprise to see him sitting on the throne once more, hands solidly on the burnished arms of the great chair, eyes closed, and his whole body slowly swaying back and forth.And nodding, as if he was in a conversation with some unknown beings—given the throne upon which he sat, he likely was.“But now we’re knowin’,” Bruenor said at length, his gray eyes popping open.“Aye and they be thick in the lower tunnels, eh, and with hordes of demons and a swarm o’ goblinkin.”He swept his gaze across the room, a sly smile creasing his fiery red beard.That stare settled on Emerus, who nodded his approval then swerved to lock stares with Bungalow Thump.“And we got an army o’ dwarves with blood kin to avenge,” Bruenor explained.“So tell me, me boys, which corner’s getting yer bettin’ pouch?”That brought the biggest cheer of all, of course, and Penelope Harpell put her hand on Bungalow Thump’s shoulder, squeezing tight.For Bruenor had just absolved the Harpells and the force Connerad had led below of any blame for the defeat, accepting Bungalow’s explanation without question.And now Bruenor had sworn vengeance, and woe to those below.“Huzzah and heigh-ho!” the cheering went on, all in the room joining in exuberantly—save two.Bruenor just sat there on the throne, listening to the whispers of Moradin carried in on the song of dwarven cheering, and Catti-brie stood off to the side, staring at her adoptive father, recognizing that Bruenor had turned the corner on his grief and worry.The woman had worried that Drizzt would not return to her, but so, too, had she worried that Bruenor would not—not in time, at least.But now that latter fear washed away.There was her Da, King Bruenor Battlehammer, his eyes full of fight.There was no time for moping about, not with an army of drow and demons and goblinkin lying in wait below.No, now was the time for preparation, and for vengeance.Catti-brie saw it clearly on Bruenor’s face.

“And gived her own life in doin’ it!”“Huzzah for Kenneally Harpell, then!” Ragged Dain offered, drawing a stern look from Bruenor—but one that didn’t hold, and indeed, Bruenor joined in the cheer for Kenneally.“It seems as if it was more demon than drow opposin’ ye,” Emerus Warcrown offered at that break.“More demons and hordes o’ goblins and orcs,” Bungalow Thump confirmed.“Saw a drow or two from the shadows and throwing spells, but none other.”“Goblins and orcs,” Bruenor muttered, for surely he had seen his fill of the wretched orcs in recent months.“Slaves o’ the damned drow!” As he said that aloud, he realized that much of it was likely true for the War of the Silver Marches, as well.His thoughts careened to Lorgru, of the line of Obould, and those orcs who once more rallied around that name and their professed desire to live in peace.Might the treaty of Garumn’s Gorge have held if not for the damned drow?Bruenor shook the thought away.“And them demons?” Oretheo Spikes offered.“Demons in the entry hall, demons in the mines!Durned Gauntlgrym’s more full o’ demons than dwarfs and drow together!”“I ain’t seeing much difference between demons and drow, meself,” Emerus growled.“Aye, to the Abyss with ’em all!” Ragged Dain added, and a great cheer went up all around the throne room, one rolling from bravado to a muted confusion, it seemed.The starkly mixed results of the three battles fought this same day had them all off balance.They had won in the entry hall, slaughtering demons by the score.Every defense had held strong and every plan had been executed to near perfection, and the hero of that battle, Oretheo Spikes, deserved every cheer and honor offered to him.And Connerad Brawnanvil, too, would garner much of the credit for that battle in the entry cavern, for the defenses of that hall were his doing, offered with insight he had gained on the Throne of the Dwarf Gods.But they had been defeated badly in the lower chamber, and it simply could not continue that each side could hold its own ground.For the drow had the Great Forge.That could not stand!As the cheering died away, Bruenor rose and approached the throne, nodding, but with his expression grave.“Ropes, I say!” Emerus called.“Yerselves should’ve used the rappel to the cavern floor and not some wild magic!”“You cannot lay the blame with …” Penelope Harpell started to protest, but Bungalow Thump held up his hand to silence her, and did it for her.“Nay, King Emerus, and sure to know that I’m yer loyal servant here, pledged in fealty and acceptin’ o’ yer judgments,” he said.“But I can’no agree—nay, for the plan was a good one, and oh, but we were hitting the floor in full charge.”“Until the magic fell away,” Emerus reminded.“Aye, but we could no’ know the power o’ the enemies below us,” Bungalow Thump replied.“Ah, but they were thick with wizards and thick with demons.Big demons by the score.By rope or by Harpell magic, we’d’ve lost many of our boys today, and we’d’ve ne’er gained the lower hall.”“Well said, Master Thump, and I’d not expect less o’ ye than that,” Bruenor replied before Emerus could—and with almost exactly the same words Emerus would have used.All eyes went to Bruenor and many bushy eyebrows, Emerus’s included, lifted in surprise to see him sitting on the throne once more, hands solidly on the burnished arms of the great chair, eyes closed, and his whole body slowly swaying back and forth.And nodding, as if he was in a conversation with some unknown beings—given the throne upon which he sat, he likely was.“But now we’re knowin’,” Bruenor said at length, his gray eyes popping open.“Aye and they be thick in the lower tunnels, eh, and with hordes of demons and a swarm o’ goblinkin.”He swept his gaze across the room, a sly smile creasing his fiery red beard.That stare settled on Emerus, who nodded his approval then swerved to lock stares with Bungalow Thump.“And we got an army o’ dwarves with blood kin to avenge,” Bruenor explained.“So tell me, me boys, which corner’s getting yer bettin’ pouch?”That brought the biggest cheer of all, of course, and Penelope Harpell put her hand on Bungalow Thump’s shoulder, squeezing tight.For Bruenor had just absolved the Harpells and the force Connerad had led below of any blame for the defeat, accepting Bungalow’s explanation without question.And now Bruenor had sworn vengeance, and woe to those below.“Huzzah and heigh-ho!” the cheering went on, all in the room joining in exuberantly—save two.Bruenor just sat there on the throne, listening to the whispers of Moradin carried in on the song of dwarven cheering, and Catti-brie stood off to the side, staring at her adoptive father, recognizing that Bruenor had turned the corner on his grief and worry.The woman had worried that Drizzt would not return to her, but so, too, had she worried that Bruenor would not—not in time, at least.But now that latter fear washed away.There was her Da, King Bruenor Battlehammer, his eyes full of fight.There was no time for moping about, not with an army of drow and demons and goblinkin lying in wait below.No, now was the time for preparation, and for vengeance.Catti-brie saw it clearly on Bruenor’s face.

dnd149

He meant to avenge Connerad and the Gutbusters.He meant to make them pay for the injury to Tannabritches Fellhammer.And he meant to make them all pay dearly for the wounds they had inflicted upon his dearest friend.“Woe to the drow,” Catti-brie whispered under her breath, and she ended with a knowing smile and a nod.For King Bruenor Battlehammer was coming for them.“SEEN HIM LIKE this before,” Emerus whispered to Ragged Dain as they made their way along the upper tunnels of Gauntlgrym, part of a grand procession, four thousand of the dwarves geared for battle.“Ain’t good for his enemies,” the old king said with a snort and a nod.Ragged Dain couldn’t disagree.Bruenor led the procession, Mallabritches Fellhammer at his side, Athrogate and Ambergris close behind.The solid stride of the red-bearded dwarf bespoke his determination.He was angry—outraged, even—with his dear friends lying gravely wounded.But Bruenor hadn’t let that outrage take him to a place of recklessness by any means—his method for vengeance was clear-sighted and truly inspired.He had devised the plan of attacking the lower levels in careful consultation with King Emerus, Bungalow Thump, Oretheo Spikes, Catti-brie, and the three Harpells.He had devised the plan while sitting on the Throne of the Dwarf Gods.King Bruenor was purely focused and determined to get his revenge and to claim his prize, but every dwarf marching behind him went with full confidence that Bruenor would lead the army onto the battlefield of his proper choosing, giving them the best chance of a great victory.The army divided into battle groups as they neared the last corridor, the same corridor that led to the landing where the first battle of the lower levels had gone disastrously wrong.Among all the ranks, clerics ran, casting spells of protection from fire and from cold, spells to mitigate wounds, and spells to bless the ranks.Bruenor and his battle group, made up mostly of the Mithral Hall dwarves, including the remaining Gutbusters, veered into a side corridor along with the three remaining Harpells and Catti-brie.All along the journey, the spellcasters remained busy creating small stones with enchantments of light.Now they went along the lines of Battlehammer dwarves, handing those light pellets out to every commander and with all the leftovers going to predetermined foot soldiers.If all went as planned, this battle group would not begin the attack in the lower cavern, but would be the first to reach the floor of that battlefield chamber in any significant numbers.Oretheo Spikes led the second group, the largest and most prominent force, fronted by the Wilddwarves of Citadel Adbar.They carried long lines of rope as they made for the main corridor and the landing, ready to rappel, six at a time, to the darkness below.Two thousand warriors and clerics formed this force, with more than a thousand ready to hit the floor below and the rest supporting the battle from the landing and the corridors above.If the drow or their demonic allies found a way to get up behind the dwarves in the lower chamber, they’d find nearly a thousand Adbarrim and Mirabarran warriors ready to show them the error of their ways.King Emerus, Ragged Dain, and the third group held back.They would be the last to the fight, but perhaps the most important, and the most daring.“There are a lot of them,” Kipper Harpell remarked to Bruenor and the others, looking at the mob of dwarves filling the side corridor and the antechambers that lined it.“How many will get through before the exit is dispelled, I wonder?Is this plan not simply going to trap you in the cavern as just happened with poor King Connerad?”“Only way down,” Bruenor replied.“Our enemies are below and so we’re going below.We’re counting on yerself and th’ others to make sure it won’t happen.”“But once you are on the floor—” Kipper started.“No running from this fight,” Bruenor interrupted, and there was no debate to be found in his tone.Kipper, with a glance at a shrugging Penelope, conceded the point.Kipper Harpell was the master of magical gates, dimensional doors, and the like, but Bruenor had several hundred dwarves with him, all trying to negotiate quickly through the tight quarters of this side corridor.

He meant to avenge Connerad and the Gutbusters.He meant to make them pay for the injury to Tannabritches Fellhammer.And he meant to make them all pay dearly for the wounds they had inflicted upon his dearest friend.“Woe to the drow,” Catti-brie whispered under her breath, and she ended with a knowing smile and a nod.For King Bruenor Battlehammer was coming for them.“SEEN HIM LIKE this before,” Emerus whispered to Ragged Dain as they made their way along the upper tunnels of Gauntlgrym, part of a grand procession, four thousand of the dwarves geared for battle.“Ain’t good for his enemies,” the old king said with a snort and a nod.Ragged Dain couldn’t disagree.Bruenor led the procession, Mallabritches Fellhammer at his side, Athrogate and Ambergris close behind.The solid stride of the red-bearded dwarf bespoke his determination.He was angry—outraged, even—with his dear friends lying gravely wounded.But Bruenor hadn’t let that outrage take him to a place of recklessness by any means—his method for vengeance was clear-sighted and truly inspired.He had devised the plan of attacking the lower levels in careful consultation with King Emerus, Bungalow Thump, Oretheo Spikes, Catti-brie, and the three Harpells.He had devised the plan while sitting on the Throne of the Dwarf Gods.King Bruenor was purely focused and determined to get his revenge and to claim his prize, but every dwarf marching behind him went with full confidence that Bruenor would lead the army onto the battlefield of his proper choosing, giving them the best chance of a great victory.The army divided into battle groups as they neared the last corridor, the same corridor that led to the landing where the first battle of the lower levels had gone disastrously wrong.Among all the ranks, clerics ran, casting spells of protection from fire and from cold, spells to mitigate wounds, and spells to bless the ranks.Bruenor and his battle group, made up mostly of the Mithral Hall dwarves, including the remaining Gutbusters, veered into a side corridor along with the three remaining Harpells and Catti-brie.All along the journey, the spellcasters remained busy creating small stones with enchantments of light.Now they went along the lines of Battlehammer dwarves, handing those light pellets out to every commander and with all the leftovers going to predetermined foot soldiers.If all went as planned, this battle group would not begin the attack in the lower cavern, but would be the first to reach the floor of that battlefield chamber in any significant numbers.Oretheo Spikes led the second group, the largest and most prominent force, fronted by the Wilddwarves of Citadel Adbar.They carried long lines of rope as they made for the main corridor and the landing, ready to rappel, six at a time, to the darkness below.Two thousand warriors and clerics formed this force, with more than a thousand ready to hit the floor below and the rest supporting the battle from the landing and the corridors above.If the drow or their demonic allies found a way to get up behind the dwarves in the lower chamber, they’d find nearly a thousand Adbarrim and Mirabarran warriors ready to show them the error of their ways.King Emerus, Ragged Dain, and the third group held back.They would be the last to the fight, but perhaps the most important, and the most daring.“There are a lot of them,” Kipper Harpell remarked to Bruenor and the others, looking at the mob of dwarves filling the side corridor and the antechambers that lined it.“How many will get through before the exit is dispelled, I wonder?Is this plan not simply going to trap you in the cavern as just happened with poor King Connerad?”“Only way down,” Bruenor replied.“Our enemies are below and so we’re going below.We’re counting on yerself and th’ others to make sure it won’t happen.”“But once you are on the floor—” Kipper started.“No running from this fight,” Bruenor interrupted, and there was no debate to be found in his tone.Kipper, with a glance at a shrugging Penelope, conceded the point.Kipper Harpell was the master of magical gates, dimensional doors, and the like, but Bruenor had several hundred dwarves with him, all trying to negotiate quickly through the tight quarters of this side corridor.

dnd150

Perhaps they should have done this part of the attack from the throne room after all, as had been suggested.But no, despite his reservations and his very real fears that this fight would end up eerily similar to the one Kenneally and Tuckernuck’s magic had led, Kipper had to admit this tactic offered the best hope.He was close enough to the targeted area to use lesser spells to create his portal, and so he could quickly enact replacements if the initial one failed.“Once you’re down there, I won’t easily be able to get you out,” he reminded Bruenor.“Once I’m down there, only ones who’ll be wantin’ me out’re the damned drow,” Bruenor replied without the slightest hesitation.Kipper took his place at the end of the side corridor and rubbed his hands together, awaiting the signal.Similarly, Catti-brie and Penelope, both readying the same dimensional gate spell as the old Harpell, found appropriate locations nearby, where they could channel supporting lines of dwarves into the cavern.Toliver Harpell, meanwhile, cast his own spell, and a disembodied wizard eye floated back out of the corridor and into the main passageway, flitting past the lines of Wilddwarves preparing their ropes and harnesses and out to the landing, where Oretheo Spikes and his best fighters stood ready.The Adbarrim warrior nodded and grinned at the approach of Toliver’s enchanted orb.That wizard eye served as the “go” signal.“For King Connerad, for Citadel Adbar, for the Silver Marches, for Gauntlgrym, for Delzoun!” Oretheo Spikes whispered, and so it began, with Oretheo and five others taking up their ropes and rolling off the landing, sliding down for the floor.And six more dwarves went right behind them.From the landing, the wizard eye went down alongside the dwarves, with Toliver noting the landmarks and locations.Kipper launched into his casting.The first drow lightning bolt reached out to blast at the dwarves.The first demon howls echoed below as the lower level came awake to the threat.Oretheo Spikes was the first dwarf to the floor, five others beside him, six more coming fast, and six more right behind them.But on came the goblinkin and the demon hordes, ready for the expected battle, and surely expecting to overwhelm this puny force in short order.Toliver called out to the others, “No surprise!Our enemies were waiting for us.”“Aye, and that’s the way we knew it’d be!” Bruenor roared.“Who’s to stop a dwarf charge, I ask ye?”And the cheering erupted all along that side corridor, and dwarves began banging their weapons against their shields, and all crowded in on Kipper, who was in the thrall of spellcasting.Old Kipper prayed that he had the location correct, that Toliver was relaying the information properly, as he at last completed his spell, connecting this corridor to the floor just to the right of Oretheo Spikes.“FOOLS,” JAEMAS SAID, shaking his head in disbelief.“We repelled them last time, and now they come down even more slowly?And more vulnerably?”He looked to his cousin Faelas, who was just completing his next lightning bolt.The spell shot off, and Faelas nodded in satisfaction.The flash of his first bolt had shown him the target, and now this second streak of lightning had hit the mark, the magic slashing through one of the rappelling ropes far up from the floor.The lowest dwarf on that rope was just jumping the last few feet to the ground.The next tumbled fifteen feet or so, bounced and rolled back to his feet.The third on the rope fell from twice that height.He hit, buckled, and groaned, grabbing at his legs.The fourth, the fifth, and the sixth crashed hard onto the floor.One of them was moaning, the other two lying silently and very still.Faelas looked to Jaemas and shrugged, as much at a loss as to why the foolish dwarves would try something so obviously desperate as this after the first catastrophe, and indeed, among the piled remains of their dead kin.Drow would never be so stubborn or stupid as that, after all.But then the cousins heard a sudden onslaught of cheering and the cavern brightened, a brightly glowing square of light just to the side of the main fighting.“What is it?” Faelas asked.“A gate!” Jaemas yelled, and indeed it was.Through that portal came the Battlehammers, led by Bruenor himself, pouring out into the cavern just to the side of Oretheo Spikes’s position.Many of those dwarves came out bearing a small light stone, and they flung those illuminating orbs as prescribed, scattering them sequentially throughout the reaches of the huge cavern.The drow shied in pain and surprise.The cavern became as bright as daylight, brutal to Underdark eyes.Demons and goblinkin hunched away and shielded their eyes, and the wall of Battlehammers crashed into them like a stampede of crazed rothé, stomping over them, smashing and slashing at them, burying them.Bruenor ran right up the side of one vrock, his axe whacking away with wild abandon, driving into the demon, pounding it down bit by bit.Standing atop the broken, destroyed thing, Bruenor glanced back at Oretheo Spikes, the two sharing a knowing nod.“Vengeance,” Bruenor Battlehammer muttered quietly, but loud enough for Fury Fellhammer, Athrogate, and Ambergris to hear and echo the sentiment.“BE QUICK!” KIPPER Harpell implored the dwarves still pouring through his portal, and to the other wizards who were only then enacting their spells.“They are trying to dispel the gate!”Across the way, Catti-brie and Penelope focused on the sight through Kipper’s gate, using that to aid in the placement of their own dimensional doorways.

Perhaps they should have done this part of the attack from the throne room after all, as had been suggested.But no, despite his reservations and his very real fears that this fight would end up eerily similar to the one Kenneally and Tuckernuck’s magic had led, Kipper had to admit this tactic offered the best hope.He was close enough to the targeted area to use lesser spells to create his portal, and so he could quickly enact replacements if the initial one failed.“Once you’re down there, I won’t easily be able to get you out,” he reminded Bruenor.“Once I’m down there, only ones who’ll be wantin’ me out’re the damned drow,” Bruenor replied without the slightest hesitation.Kipper took his place at the end of the side corridor and rubbed his hands together, awaiting the signal.Similarly, Catti-brie and Penelope, both readying the same dimensional gate spell as the old Harpell, found appropriate locations nearby, where they could channel supporting lines of dwarves into the cavern.Toliver Harpell, meanwhile, cast his own spell, and a disembodied wizard eye floated back out of the corridor and into the main passageway, flitting past the lines of Wilddwarves preparing their ropes and harnesses and out to the landing, where Oretheo Spikes and his best fighters stood ready.The Adbarrim warrior nodded and grinned at the approach of Toliver’s enchanted orb.That wizard eye served as the “go” signal.“For King Connerad, for Citadel Adbar, for the Silver Marches, for Gauntlgrym, for Delzoun!” Oretheo Spikes whispered, and so it began, with Oretheo and five others taking up their ropes and rolling off the landing, sliding down for the floor.And six more dwarves went right behind them.From the landing, the wizard eye went down alongside the dwarves, with Toliver noting the landmarks and locations.Kipper launched into his casting.The first drow lightning bolt reached out to blast at the dwarves.The first demon howls echoed below as the lower level came awake to the threat.Oretheo Spikes was the first dwarf to the floor, five others beside him, six more coming fast, and six more right behind them.But on came the goblinkin and the demon hordes, ready for the expected battle, and surely expecting to overwhelm this puny force in short order.Toliver called out to the others, “No surprise!Our enemies were waiting for us.”“Aye, and that’s the way we knew it’d be!” Bruenor roared.“Who’s to stop a dwarf charge, I ask ye?”And the cheering erupted all along that side corridor, and dwarves began banging their weapons against their shields, and all crowded in on Kipper, who was in the thrall of spellcasting.Old Kipper prayed that he had the location correct, that Toliver was relaying the information properly, as he at last completed his spell, connecting this corridor to the floor just to the right of Oretheo Spikes.“FOOLS,” JAEMAS SAID, shaking his head in disbelief.“We repelled them last time, and now they come down even more slowly?And more vulnerably?”He looked to his cousin Faelas, who was just completing his next lightning bolt.The spell shot off, and Faelas nodded in satisfaction.The flash of his first bolt had shown him the target, and now this second streak of lightning had hit the mark, the magic slashing through one of the rappelling ropes far up from the floor.The lowest dwarf on that rope was just jumping the last few feet to the ground.The next tumbled fifteen feet or so, bounced and rolled back to his feet.The third on the rope fell from twice that height.He hit, buckled, and groaned, grabbing at his legs.The fourth, the fifth, and the sixth crashed hard onto the floor.One of them was moaning, the other two lying silently and very still.Faelas looked to Jaemas and shrugged, as much at a loss as to why the foolish dwarves would try something so obviously desperate as this after the first catastrophe, and indeed, among the piled remains of their dead kin.Drow would never be so stubborn or stupid as that, after all.But then the cousins heard a sudden onslaught of cheering and the cavern brightened, a brightly glowing square of light just to the side of the main fighting.“What is it?” Faelas asked.“A gate!” Jaemas yelled, and indeed it was.Through that portal came the Battlehammers, led by Bruenor himself, pouring out into the cavern just to the side of Oretheo Spikes’s position.Many of those dwarves came out bearing a small light stone, and they flung those illuminating orbs as prescribed, scattering them sequentially throughout the reaches of the huge cavern.The drow shied in pain and surprise.The cavern became as bright as daylight, brutal to Underdark eyes.Demons and goblinkin hunched away and shielded their eyes, and the wall of Battlehammers crashed into them like a stampede of crazed rothé, stomping over them, smashing and slashing at them, burying them.Bruenor ran right up the side of one vrock, his axe whacking away with wild abandon, driving into the demon, pounding it down bit by bit.Standing atop the broken, destroyed thing, Bruenor glanced back at Oretheo Spikes, the two sharing a knowing nod.“Vengeance,” Bruenor Battlehammer muttered quietly, but loud enough for Fury Fellhammer, Athrogate, and Ambergris to hear and echo the sentiment.“BE QUICK!” KIPPER Harpell implored the dwarves still pouring through his portal, and to the other wizards who were only then enacting their spells.“They are trying to dispel the gate!”Across the way, Catti-brie and Penelope focused on the sight through Kipper’s gate, using that to aid in the placement of their own dimensional doorways.

dnd151

Neither was prolific enough with these types of spells to safely do as Kipper had done, locating and opening a gate merely on the words of Toliver, but now with the target area clearly in their view, both had their spells successfully away.At that very moment, Kipper’s gate went away, but it didn’t matter.Two portals were in place now, and soon enough three, as the old mage opened yet another to replace the first.Several hundred Battlehammers would be in that cavern before the drow or their demon allies could hope to close the gates.“Go!Go!” Catti-brie yelled to the other wizards, and all three rushed around the charging dwarves and back out into the main corridor, pausing to cast as they went.“You remember the ritual?” Penelope asked, and both Cattie-brie and Kipper nodded.The Adbar dwarves, still rappelling along the ropes—five now, but with a new sixth line soon to be in place—moved aside for the magic-users, and for the royal procession, King Emerus and Ragged Dain and a host of elite Felbarran warriors close behind them.As soon as they passed through the last door, Catti-brie and the three Harpells flew away, Toliver leading them down to the correct position near to the floor.Up on the landing, King Emerus, Ragged Dain, and the others chanted out a battle song, using the cadence to count as instructed.And when the second verse ended, fully confident in the wizards and their timing, the Felbarrans leaped out into the open cavern, plummeting to within ten feet of the floor before passing through the newly enacted Field of Feather Falling, then floating down to begin solidifying Oretheo Spikes’s left flank.The shield walls were formed in the blink of a trained dwarf’s eye, the dwarf ranks thickening precisely in the well-lit cavern.Drow darkness spells took some of that light away, but there weren’t many Xorlarrins in this cavern and it was a feeble attempt indeed against the overwhelming number of lighted stones the dwarves had brought to bear.And now they were the tide, breaking waves made of rolling dwarves, following the leads of Bruenor Battlehammer, Oretheo Spikes, and Emerus Warcrown.Goblins, orcs, and demons died by the score, and the shield line would not be broken.Drow lightning and fire came at them, but so quick had the Felbarran assault filled the cavern that Catti-brie and the Harpells, too, began to focus on more offensive spells.Thick ran the blood.Goblins and orcs piled deep in death, scores of manes lay smoking and melting on the floor, and many dwarves went to Moradin’s Hall in those early moments of wild battle.But the line held, frustratingly so for those hungry demons who could not get to their bearded enemies, and so began attacking the other living creatures, the allied goblinkin, to satisfy their undeniable hunger.THEY WERE WINNING.Bruenor understood that as again the dwarven line rolled forward and engulfed their enemies, curling up and down the length of the cavern like a breaking wave on a long beach, as inexorable and undeniable as the tide itself.They were winning, and it seemed to Bruenor that the fight was quickly turning into a rout.Once they had this hold on the lower levels, with easy resupply from above, they could not be denied.The Forge and the adjoining primordial chamber, the heart of Gauntlgrym, would be theirs for the taking.Gauntlgrym would be Delzoun once more, as Moradin had demanded.But something was off-kilter, Bruenor felt, some emptiness within him that muted his joy at the moment of supreme victory.Drizzt was not beside him now to share in his greatest triumph.For all their decades together, in this, the culmination of Bruenor’s achievements, Drizzt Do’Urden was not there, and perhaps would never again be.His dearest friend, the greatest warrior he had ever known.He remembered his own dying words in his previous life, when he had looked into the eyes of his dear friend and whispered, “I found it, elf.” Aye, he had found Gauntlgrym, the most ancient dwarven homeland, the greatest dwarven treasure of all, yet not because of dwarven help but because a dark elf had stood beside his journey for decades, had suffered his wrong turns, had helped him through near-disastrous battles, and in the end, had led the way to put the primordial back in its captivity.Drizzt had done all of that.For Bruenor.For friendship.Selflessly.Drizzt, who now had paid, at long last, for Bruenor’s dwarven needs.The red-bearded dwarf winced, feeling again as if this victory might prove hollow after all.In defiance, Bruenor blew his cracked silver horn.Let the wild spirit of Thibbledorf Pwent come forward, he decided, wanting to ultimately punish those who stood against him.FAR FROM THE roar of battle, the explosions of fire and lightning, the whipping ice storms of Penelope Harpell and the latest shield rush led by Bruenor Battlehammer, the drow ranger lay quietly in the darkness.His first sensations of semiconsciousness came from his fingers, playing over a familiar shape as they shifted across the onyx figurine of the panther.Somewhere distantly, Drizzt felt the warmth and heard the name of Guenhwyvar echoing in his thoughts.Memories would not come back to him—nothing specific at least.Just a feeling of companionship and joy.Images of his friends flashed in the recesses of his mind, of Catti-brie and Bruenor, mostly.And of Guenhwyvar, the panther, the figurine that served as her beacon so tangible in Drizzt’s weak hands.He could not hear the cries of dying dwarves, and could not know the battle raging far below, a battle then looking like victory to his friends.Somehow, though, Drizzt knew better.A pair of great demon leaders, Marilith and Nalfeshnee, were waiting in the shadows and would soon come onto the battlefield and rally the demonic forces and the drow to turn back the tide of dwarves.Where the hopes and expectations of victory in his dearest friends would suddenly turn to dread.Another image flashed in his mind, but did not flutter aside.Instead it held him and called to him, demanded of Drizzt that he shake off the irresistible darkness, that he wake up.He saw Jarlaxle in his thoughts, and when he at last did open his weary eyes, Drizzt saw Jarlaxle once more, standing with Kimmuriel beside his bed.“Welcome back.”CHAPTER 22The Gray Fog of DeathORETHEO SPIKES’S A GOOD ONE,” BUNGALOW THUMP ASSURED Bruenor.“He’s got ’em in line, aye!” Bruenor replied, glancing down to his left where the large Adbar contingent centered the dwarven line, with Bruenor and Mithral Hall holding strong on the right flank, King Emerus and the Felbarran leapers holding the left.It would have been easy for Oretheo Spikes and his Wilddwarves to press too far ahead, and surely that would prove oh-so-tempting to the ferocious band.They were nearest the huge structure that housed the circular stair to the upper levels, the centerpiece of this cavern, the symbol of control of the chamber.And they were Wilddwarves, so akin in attitude, indeed patterned after, the Mithral Hall Gutbusters, who never met an enemy they didn’t eagerly punch, leap upon, shake apart, or bite.The enemy was weaker there too, in the middle, with the stair dispersing the demons and what few remained alive of their goblinkin fodder out to the left and right.But Oretheo was keeping his boys in line, and the long front ranks of the dwarven charge kept rolling in practiced unison.

Neither was prolific enough with these types of spells to safely do as Kipper had done, locating and opening a gate merely on the words of Toliver, but now with the target area clearly in their view, both had their spells successfully away.At that very moment, Kipper’s gate went away, but it didn’t matter.Two portals were in place now, and soon enough three, as the old mage opened yet another to replace the first.Several hundred Battlehammers would be in that cavern before the drow or their demon allies could hope to close the gates.“Go!Go!” Catti-brie yelled to the other wizards, and all three rushed around the charging dwarves and back out into the main corridor, pausing to cast as they went.“You remember the ritual?” Penelope asked, and both Cattie-brie and Kipper nodded.The Adbar dwarves, still rappelling along the ropes—five now, but with a new sixth line soon to be in place—moved aside for the magic-users, and for the royal procession, King Emerus and Ragged Dain and a host of elite Felbarran warriors close behind them.As soon as they passed through the last door, Catti-brie and the three Harpells flew away, Toliver leading them down to the correct position near to the floor.Up on the landing, King Emerus, Ragged Dain, and the others chanted out a battle song, using the cadence to count as instructed.And when the second verse ended, fully confident in the wizards and their timing, the Felbarrans leaped out into the open cavern, plummeting to within ten feet of the floor before passing through the newly enacted Field of Feather Falling, then floating down to begin solidifying Oretheo Spikes’s left flank.The shield walls were formed in the blink of a trained dwarf’s eye, the dwarf ranks thickening precisely in the well-lit cavern.Drow darkness spells took some of that light away, but there weren’t many Xorlarrins in this cavern and it was a feeble attempt indeed against the overwhelming number of lighted stones the dwarves had brought to bear.And now they were the tide, breaking waves made of rolling dwarves, following the leads of Bruenor Battlehammer, Oretheo Spikes, and Emerus Warcrown.Goblins, orcs, and demons died by the score, and the shield line would not be broken.Drow lightning and fire came at them, but so quick had the Felbarran assault filled the cavern that Catti-brie and the Harpells, too, began to focus on more offensive spells.Thick ran the blood.Goblins and orcs piled deep in death, scores of manes lay smoking and melting on the floor, and many dwarves went to Moradin’s Hall in those early moments of wild battle.But the line held, frustratingly so for those hungry demons who could not get to their bearded enemies, and so began attacking the other living creatures, the allied goblinkin, to satisfy their undeniable hunger.THEY WERE WINNING.Bruenor understood that as again the dwarven line rolled forward and engulfed their enemies, curling up and down the length of the cavern like a breaking wave on a long beach, as inexorable and undeniable as the tide itself.They were winning, and it seemed to Bruenor that the fight was quickly turning into a rout.Once they had this hold on the lower levels, with easy resupply from above, they could not be denied.The Forge and the adjoining primordial chamber, the heart of Gauntlgrym, would be theirs for the taking.Gauntlgrym would be Delzoun once more, as Moradin had demanded.But something was off-kilter, Bruenor felt, some emptiness within him that muted his joy at the moment of supreme victory.Drizzt was not beside him now to share in his greatest triumph.For all their decades together, in this, the culmination of Bruenor’s achievements, Drizzt Do’Urden was not there, and perhaps would never again be.His dearest friend, the greatest warrior he had ever known.He remembered his own dying words in his previous life, when he had looked into the eyes of his dear friend and whispered, “I found it, elf.” Aye, he had found Gauntlgrym, the most ancient dwarven homeland, the greatest dwarven treasure of all, yet not because of dwarven help but because a dark elf had stood beside his journey for decades, had suffered his wrong turns, had helped him through near-disastrous battles, and in the end, had led the way to put the primordial back in its captivity.Drizzt had done all of that.For Bruenor.For friendship.Selflessly.Drizzt, who now had paid, at long last, for Bruenor’s dwarven needs.The red-bearded dwarf winced, feeling again as if this victory might prove hollow after all.In defiance, Bruenor blew his cracked silver horn.Let the wild spirit of Thibbledorf Pwent come forward, he decided, wanting to ultimately punish those who stood against him.FAR FROM THE roar of battle, the explosions of fire and lightning, the whipping ice storms of Penelope Harpell and the latest shield rush led by Bruenor Battlehammer, the drow ranger lay quietly in the darkness.His first sensations of semiconsciousness came from his fingers, playing over a familiar shape as they shifted across the onyx figurine of the panther.Somewhere distantly, Drizzt felt the warmth and heard the name of Guenhwyvar echoing in his thoughts.Memories would not come back to him—nothing specific at least.Just a feeling of companionship and joy.Images of his friends flashed in the recesses of his mind, of Catti-brie and Bruenor, mostly.And of Guenhwyvar, the panther, the figurine that served as her beacon so tangible in Drizzt’s weak hands.He could not hear the cries of dying dwarves, and could not know the battle raging far below, a battle then looking like victory to his friends.Somehow, though, Drizzt knew better.A pair of great demon leaders, Marilith and Nalfeshnee, were waiting in the shadows and would soon come onto the battlefield and rally the demonic forces and the drow to turn back the tide of dwarves.Where the hopes and expectations of victory in his dearest friends would suddenly turn to dread.Another image flashed in his mind, but did not flutter aside.Instead it held him and called to him, demanded of Drizzt that he shake off the irresistible darkness, that he wake up.He saw Jarlaxle in his thoughts, and when he at last did open his weary eyes, Drizzt saw Jarlaxle once more, standing with Kimmuriel beside his bed.“Welcome back.”CHAPTER 22The Gray Fog of DeathORETHEO SPIKES’S A GOOD ONE,” BUNGALOW THUMP ASSURED Bruenor.“He’s got ’em in line, aye!” Bruenor replied, glancing down to his left where the large Adbar contingent centered the dwarven line, with Bruenor and Mithral Hall holding strong on the right flank, King Emerus and the Felbarran leapers holding the left.It would have been easy for Oretheo Spikes and his Wilddwarves to press too far ahead, and surely that would prove oh-so-tempting to the ferocious band.They were nearest the huge structure that housed the circular stair to the upper levels, the centerpiece of this cavern, the symbol of control of the chamber.And they were Wilddwarves, so akin in attitude, indeed patterned after, the Mithral Hall Gutbusters, who never met an enemy they didn’t eagerly punch, leap upon, shake apart, or bite.The enemy was weaker there too, in the middle, with the stair dispersing the demons and what few remained alive of their goblinkin fodder out to the left and right.But Oretheo was keeping his boys in line, and the long front ranks of the dwarven charge kept rolling in practiced unison.

dnd152

Inexorable, unstoppable, a rolling, swallowing wave.And as they had planned up above, Bruenor’s end of the line initiated the roll of each wave.King Bruenor alone paced the assault, keeping his own formations tight, keeping his cadence solid and straight.Magical explosions shook the chamber from all around, coming in from dark elf wizards or demons skulking in the shadows, and going out from Catti-brie and the Harpells.The demons, other than the manes and other lesser creatures, didn’t seem overly bothered by the magical barrage, but neither were the tough dwarves, secure behind their armor and shields, as solid as the stone they mined.Behind the initial line of fighting, Bruenor noticed something else—and he laughed out loud at the sight.Back there, the demons, who couldn’t get into the fight fast enough to satiate their hateful hunger, had turned on the slave fodder, pulling down goblins and orcs and tearing them to shreds.“Keep it slow and keep it steady, me boys!” Bruenor yelled.“Let ’em eat their own a bit afore they’re tastin’ me axe for dessert!”And the cheers rolled down the line, and the dwarven wave rolled on across the cavern floor.But far down to the left, there came a new commotion, and when Bruenor and the others turned that way, it seemed to them as if the dwarven advance, that metaphorical wave, was suddenly breaking against huge rocks.Or huge demons, to be more precise.A six-armed female beauty towered three times the height of the unfortunate dwarves facing her, and an even larger beast, much like the one Athrogate and Ambergris had killed in the mines, only bigger, and, given the dwarves flying and dying in front of him, surely meaner.Bruenor shouted over to Bungalow Thump, who had scurried back to his line of Gutbusters.“Send Adbar reinforcing to the left!”Even as he called out, though, a wall of fire appeared down that way, far to the left, down by the Felbarrans.One of the demon leaders had done that, Bruenor guessed easily enough, and behind the roiling flames, King Emerus and his charges had no choice but to fall back.And worse, all around those two demon leaders, the rest of the horde was suddenly rallying and falling into order.From the beginning of the fight, much like in the halls above, the Abyssal creatures had fought as individuals, each taking any opening to leap forward and attack—and so, out there alone, without support, those too-eager demons had been easy prey for the teamwork of the disciplined dwarves.But now all of that was fast changing, right in front of Bruenor’s surprised and worried gaze.He heard a low buzzing sound, and knew that this, too, was coming from the demon leaders, from the six-armed female behemoth it seemed.Under that drone, the demons all the way down to this farthest end of the line reformed their ranks, suddenly ready to battle in unison.The leaders had brought discipline, and powerful magic, and now Bruenor wasn’t feeling that the victory might be hollow.He was wondering if he had led three thousand dwarves into a death trap.“Fight on, boys!” he called to rally those around him.“Hold close to yer fellows!None o’ us’re to move out to get catched and pulled off!”He turned to Catti-brie and the Harpells.“Them big ones’re controlling it all.”“Marilith and Nalfeshnee,” Penelope Harpell replied, shaking her head, her face a mask of dread.She knew of demonkind and understood the great power that had unexpectedly come upon them.“They are demonic nobility in all but title.Mighty leaders have joined our enemies!”“Ye get me down there,” Bruenor told them.“We’ll be cuttin’ the head from the snake or I’m a bearded gnome!”“Huzzah!” roared all those dwarves who heard the claim.But the middle of that cheer seemed to carry on for a long while, a great buzzing drone, and now a swarm of chasme, scores of the flying beasts, swept into the cavern in tight formation.And those chasme carried barrels of oil heated in the nearby forge, so their bombs began to fall, and great blasts of biting flames erupted all around the dwarven lines.“THEM TWO’RE CONTROLLING it!” King Emerus yelled to Ragged Dain, both of them coming to the same conclusion as Bruenor.“We got to get to them!”But the two in question seemed far beyond the reach of the Felbarran leaders.

Inexorable, unstoppable, a rolling, swallowing wave.And as they had planned up above, Bruenor’s end of the line initiated the roll of each wave.King Bruenor alone paced the assault, keeping his own formations tight, keeping his cadence solid and straight.Magical explosions shook the chamber from all around, coming in from dark elf wizards or demons skulking in the shadows, and going out from Catti-brie and the Harpells.The demons, other than the manes and other lesser creatures, didn’t seem overly bothered by the magical barrage, but neither were the tough dwarves, secure behind their armor and shields, as solid as the stone they mined.Behind the initial line of fighting, Bruenor noticed something else—and he laughed out loud at the sight.Back there, the demons, who couldn’t get into the fight fast enough to satiate their hateful hunger, had turned on the slave fodder, pulling down goblins and orcs and tearing them to shreds.“Keep it slow and keep it steady, me boys!” Bruenor yelled.“Let ’em eat their own a bit afore they’re tastin’ me axe for dessert!”And the cheers rolled down the line, and the dwarven wave rolled on across the cavern floor.But far down to the left, there came a new commotion, and when Bruenor and the others turned that way, it seemed to them as if the dwarven advance, that metaphorical wave, was suddenly breaking against huge rocks.Or huge demons, to be more precise.A six-armed female beauty towered three times the height of the unfortunate dwarves facing her, and an even larger beast, much like the one Athrogate and Ambergris had killed in the mines, only bigger, and, given the dwarves flying and dying in front of him, surely meaner.Bruenor shouted over to Bungalow Thump, who had scurried back to his line of Gutbusters.“Send Adbar reinforcing to the left!”Even as he called out, though, a wall of fire appeared down that way, far to the left, down by the Felbarrans.One of the demon leaders had done that, Bruenor guessed easily enough, and behind the roiling flames, King Emerus and his charges had no choice but to fall back.And worse, all around those two demon leaders, the rest of the horde was suddenly rallying and falling into order.From the beginning of the fight, much like in the halls above, the Abyssal creatures had fought as individuals, each taking any opening to leap forward and attack—and so, out there alone, without support, those too-eager demons had been easy prey for the teamwork of the disciplined dwarves.But now all of that was fast changing, right in front of Bruenor’s surprised and worried gaze.He heard a low buzzing sound, and knew that this, too, was coming from the demon leaders, from the six-armed female behemoth it seemed.Under that drone, the demons all the way down to this farthest end of the line reformed their ranks, suddenly ready to battle in unison.The leaders had brought discipline, and powerful magic, and now Bruenor wasn’t feeling that the victory might be hollow.He was wondering if he had led three thousand dwarves into a death trap.“Fight on, boys!” he called to rally those around him.“Hold close to yer fellows!None o’ us’re to move out to get catched and pulled off!”He turned to Catti-brie and the Harpells.“Them big ones’re controlling it all.”“Marilith and Nalfeshnee,” Penelope Harpell replied, shaking her head, her face a mask of dread.She knew of demonkind and understood the great power that had unexpectedly come upon them.“They are demonic nobility in all but title.Mighty leaders have joined our enemies!”“Ye get me down there,” Bruenor told them.“We’ll be cuttin’ the head from the snake or I’m a bearded gnome!”“Huzzah!” roared all those dwarves who heard the claim.But the middle of that cheer seemed to carry on for a long while, a great buzzing drone, and now a swarm of chasme, scores of the flying beasts, swept into the cavern in tight formation.And those chasme carried barrels of oil heated in the nearby forge, so their bombs began to fall, and great blasts of biting flames erupted all around the dwarven lines.“THEM TWO’RE CONTROLLING it!” King Emerus yelled to Ragged Dain, both of them coming to the same conclusion as Bruenor.“We got to get to them!”But the two in question seemed far beyond the reach of the Felbarran leaders.

dnd153

They loomed as ghostly silhouettes behind the great magical wall of flames that licked and bit at the dwarven line and drove them back.King Emerus spun and called for the priestess Mandarina Dobberbright.“Ye get me through that wall!” he ordered her.“Ye canno’ go alone!” she cried back at him, staring through the roiling flames at the beastly demons beyond.“Do it!” Emerus ordered.“And send others to help me as ye can!”Still shaking her head, Mandarina launched into her spellcasting, putting an enchantment upon Emerus that would protect him more fully from the biting flames than the minor protections that had been offered before the onset of battle.“Now meself,” Ragged Dain demanded as soon as she had finished.But King Emerus didn’t wait for his shield dwarf.As soon as he felt the enchantment washing over him, he spun and ran off, plunging into and through the wall of fire, and coming out the other side with a roar and a leap.“Be quick!” Ragged Dain cried, and Mandarina pressed on, as other dwarves tried to breach the wall in pursuit of their daring king, only to be turned back by the unbearable heat.“Priests!” many yelled, seeking similar enchantments to get them through, or something, anything, that might bring down that wall.And indeed, many dwarf clerics were already approaching the task, attacking the magical fire with dispelling enchantments, a few even creating water to fall upon the flames and dim them.Ragged Dain began his run even before Mandarina finished her spell, and he only felt the enchantment washing over him as he entered the fires.He didn’t care, though, for at the same time, he heard the ring of metal and knew that King Emerus had joined in battle.When he burst through the other side of the fire wall, Ragged Dain could only wince, for that battle Emerus had found was with the six-armed demon herself, and her blades worked in a blur all around him.No novice to battle, indeed as great a warrior as Citadel Felbarr had ever known, old King Emerus fought back valiantly, trying to block, trying to dodge, trying to parry, even trying to counterstrike.And he seemed to be holding his own.Ragged Dain knew his guess had been correct when the wall behind him dimmed and flashed out.Emerus had taken Marilith’s concentration off her enchantment, and so she could not counter the spells of the many dwarf priests.“Me king!” Ragged Dain proudly yelled, sprinting to join Emerus.But then Emerus came staggering backward, and a swarm of hulking demons, many vrocks and glabrezu among them, rolled around Marilith and Nalfeshnee to shield their leaders.Ragged Dain caught his king in his arms and fast retreated.Other dwarves similarly rolled around Dain and Emerus to meet the demon charge.“Me king, oh, me king,” Ragged Dain breathed, and he kept stumbling backward.He soon had to ease Emerus Warcrown down to the floor and as he did, he saw that for all his brilliant efforts, Emerus hadn’t blocked all of those swings.Blood covered his chest and belly, with more spilling fast.“Priests!” Ragged Dain shrieked desperately.But he knew in his heart that it was too late.“YE HOLD THE line,” Bruenor told Bungalow Thump.“Whate’er ye do, ye keep the flank solid!”“Aye!” the Gutbuster replied, nodding.He, like all the others around, saw the gleam in Bruenor’s eye and understood what the dwarf meant to do.When Obould’s minions had descended upon Mithral Hall a century before, King Bruenor had left his bed and charged out into Keeper’s Dale.Atop a stone that long-ago day, Bruenor had been the guidepost, the rallying point, the immovable object that would not allow the orcs passage.So it would be again.With these greater demons on the scene, the dwarves would be overwhelmed, would die here by the thousands.The reclamation of Gauntlgrym would die here, too.Perhaps forevermore.“Pwent!” he called to the specter he had sent out from the ranks, thinking to bring the spectral warrior along for the fun.But Bruenor then realized his error in calling in Thibbledorf Pwent too soon in the battle.The dwarf was nowhere to be found, and very likely the spirit had been defeated, and so sent back into the enchanted horn.

They loomed as ghostly silhouettes behind the great magical wall of flames that licked and bit at the dwarven line and drove them back.King Emerus spun and called for the priestess Mandarina Dobberbright.“Ye get me through that wall!” he ordered her.“Ye canno’ go alone!” she cried back at him, staring through the roiling flames at the beastly demons beyond.“Do it!” Emerus ordered.“And send others to help me as ye can!”Still shaking her head, Mandarina launched into her spellcasting, putting an enchantment upon Emerus that would protect him more fully from the biting flames than the minor protections that had been offered before the onset of battle.“Now meself,” Ragged Dain demanded as soon as she had finished.But King Emerus didn’t wait for his shield dwarf.As soon as he felt the enchantment washing over him, he spun and ran off, plunging into and through the wall of fire, and coming out the other side with a roar and a leap.“Be quick!” Ragged Dain cried, and Mandarina pressed on, as other dwarves tried to breach the wall in pursuit of their daring king, only to be turned back by the unbearable heat.“Priests!” many yelled, seeking similar enchantments to get them through, or something, anything, that might bring down that wall.And indeed, many dwarf clerics were already approaching the task, attacking the magical fire with dispelling enchantments, a few even creating water to fall upon the flames and dim them.Ragged Dain began his run even before Mandarina finished her spell, and he only felt the enchantment washing over him as he entered the fires.He didn’t care, though, for at the same time, he heard the ring of metal and knew that King Emerus had joined in battle.When he burst through the other side of the fire wall, Ragged Dain could only wince, for that battle Emerus had found was with the six-armed demon herself, and her blades worked in a blur all around him.No novice to battle, indeed as great a warrior as Citadel Felbarr had ever known, old King Emerus fought back valiantly, trying to block, trying to dodge, trying to parry, even trying to counterstrike.And he seemed to be holding his own.Ragged Dain knew his guess had been correct when the wall behind him dimmed and flashed out.Emerus had taken Marilith’s concentration off her enchantment, and so she could not counter the spells of the many dwarf priests.“Me king!” Ragged Dain proudly yelled, sprinting to join Emerus.But then Emerus came staggering backward, and a swarm of hulking demons, many vrocks and glabrezu among them, rolled around Marilith and Nalfeshnee to shield their leaders.Ragged Dain caught his king in his arms and fast retreated.Other dwarves similarly rolled around Dain and Emerus to meet the demon charge.“Me king, oh, me king,” Ragged Dain breathed, and he kept stumbling backward.He soon had to ease Emerus Warcrown down to the floor and as he did, he saw that for all his brilliant efforts, Emerus hadn’t blocked all of those swings.Blood covered his chest and belly, with more spilling fast.“Priests!” Ragged Dain shrieked desperately.But he knew in his heart that it was too late.“YE HOLD THE line,” Bruenor told Bungalow Thump.“Whate’er ye do, ye keep the flank solid!”“Aye!” the Gutbuster replied, nodding.He, like all the others around, saw the gleam in Bruenor’s eye and understood what the dwarf meant to do.When Obould’s minions had descended upon Mithral Hall a century before, King Bruenor had left his bed and charged out into Keeper’s Dale.Atop a stone that long-ago day, Bruenor had been the guidepost, the rallying point, the immovable object that would not allow the orcs passage.So it would be again.With these greater demons on the scene, the dwarves would be overwhelmed, would die here by the thousands.The reclamation of Gauntlgrym would die here, too.Perhaps forevermore.“Pwent!” he called to the specter he had sent out from the ranks, thinking to bring the spectral warrior along for the fun.But Bruenor then realized his error in calling in Thibbledorf Pwent too soon in the battle.The dwarf was nowhere to be found, and very likely the spirit had been defeated, and so sent back into the enchanted horn.

dnd154

Bruenor growled and shook his head.“Come on, then,” Bruenor told Mallabritches, Athrogate, and Ambergris, and off they ran, Catti-brie close behind.“Crossbows up!” Bruenor ordered as he made his way down the ranks, pointing at the chasme and leaving no doubt about the first order of business for every crossbowdwarf.Along with those missiles went lightning bolts, the Harpells trying to blow the ugly creatures out of the air.By the time Bruenor’s entourage made it past the Adbar contingent, they found King Emerus lying in the arms of a sobbing Ragged Dain.The wall of fire was down, and the Felbarr dwarves were into the battle with the demons once more—but not with the demon leaders, Bruenor noted, for those two giants remained in the back, directing the fight from behind a shield wall of vrocks and glabrezu and other hulking and ugly beasts.Bruenor was fast to the spot of the fallen king, sliding down beside Ragged Dain.He was surprised to find Emerus still alive.“Girl!” he called to Catti-brie.“Put yer healin’ on him!”Emerus reached up and grabbed Bruenor’s forearm.“I tried,” he whispered.“We’re all knowin’,” Bruenor assured him.“Ye kill her,” Emerus said with a bloody gasp.“Ye kill ’em both dead.Head o’ the snake.”Bruenor bent low and kissed his old friend on the forehead, then leaped to his feet, shouted for Catti-brie once more, and charged for the front of the dwarven line, his three battle companions close beside him.“Get me to ’em!” Bruenor yelled.He leaped upon a giant vulture demon, his axe working furiously, pounding the creature down.He felt the strength of Clangeddin, the wisdom of Moradin, the whispers of Dumathoin.When desperation reared up around him, so, too, did the spirits of the dwarf gods, and his final swat sent the vrock tumbling aside.The dwarves around him rallied greatly, none more powerfully than Athrogate, with devastating swings of his enchanted morningstars.But the shell around Marilith and Nalfeshnee was solid, with ranks of mighty creatures, and fight as they may, with the king lying near death, the Felbarrans and Bruenor’s group could not make much headway.Drow lightning and fire reached out at the mass of dwarves.Chasme rained death from above.All along the line, the demons moved in coordination to Marilith’s buzzing call.And for all his power and all his strength, for all the spirits of the dwarf gods within him, this time, Bruenor came to realize, it would not be enough.Soon he and those around him were being driven back, and he saw the six-armed demon note him and grin wickedly.She knew.And she knew that he knew.It would not be enough.CATTI-BRIE WORKED FURIOUSLY over King Emerus, the blue magical mist pouring from her sleeve, the divine healing bathing the fallen king.The whole time, though, Catti-brie was shaking her head, fearing that the wounds were too deep and too wicked.Shouts around her, not from the fighting up front, but from behind, demanded her attention, and even Ragged Dain looked up.The dwarves in the back were diving aside every which way, some screaming “Poison!” others warning of some Abyssal beast about to materialize in their midst.Ragged Dain saw it first, a concentrated gray fog sliding through the ranks, coming straight for him, and with a gasp he fell away, throwing his hands up defensively.Catti-brie, too, let out a gasp, but as it passed them by, the fog didn’t leave her and Ragged Dain on the floor writhing, nor did it pause as it continued its apparently focused sweep beyond them.The woman leaped to her feet and followed it as it closed on Bruenor and the others.Behind her, Ragged Dain shouted out a warning to the last standing king.Bruenor turned, Ambergris began a spell, and Athrogate took a wild and futile swing at the fog as it went past.Still it did not stop.And it crossed through the glabrezu and the vrocks, who seemed not to notice.Then it stopped, hovering for just a moment before it became a swirling vortex of gray mist right in front of the demonic commanders.And from that swirl came Guenhwyvar, leaping far and high upon Nalfeshnee even as she materialized.And from that swirling mist came Drizzt Do’Urden, scimitars in hand.I STILL HOPE they kill Marilith, at least, the fingers of Jaemas Xorlarrin signaled to his cousin Faelas in the silent hand code of the drow, as if he was too fearful to speak those words aloud—and indeed, he was.The more demons who fall now, the better, Faelas agreed.The drow wizards were thrilled at the turn of the battle, of course, for now it seemed clear that the dwarves would be driven back, perhaps slaughtered to a one.But if that victory came with the added benefit of thinning the demonic ranks enough to ensure that Matron Mother Zeerith could properly control the remaining horde, then all the better.“Cousin!” Faelas then added vocally, though breathlessly, as he noted the newcomer to the battle, a scimitar-wielding dark elf who set upon Marilith with wild and brilliant abandon.

Bruenor growled and shook his head.“Come on, then,” Bruenor told Mallabritches, Athrogate, and Ambergris, and off they ran, Catti-brie close behind.“Crossbows up!” Bruenor ordered as he made his way down the ranks, pointing at the chasme and leaving no doubt about the first order of business for every crossbowdwarf.Along with those missiles went lightning bolts, the Harpells trying to blow the ugly creatures out of the air.By the time Bruenor’s entourage made it past the Adbar contingent, they found King Emerus lying in the arms of a sobbing Ragged Dain.The wall of fire was down, and the Felbarr dwarves were into the battle with the demons once more—but not with the demon leaders, Bruenor noted, for those two giants remained in the back, directing the fight from behind a shield wall of vrocks and glabrezu and other hulking and ugly beasts.Bruenor was fast to the spot of the fallen king, sliding down beside Ragged Dain.He was surprised to find Emerus still alive.“Girl!” he called to Catti-brie.“Put yer healin’ on him!”Emerus reached up and grabbed Bruenor’s forearm.“I tried,” he whispered.“We’re all knowin’,” Bruenor assured him.“Ye kill her,” Emerus said with a bloody gasp.“Ye kill ’em both dead.Head o’ the snake.”Bruenor bent low and kissed his old friend on the forehead, then leaped to his feet, shouted for Catti-brie once more, and charged for the front of the dwarven line, his three battle companions close beside him.“Get me to ’em!” Bruenor yelled.He leaped upon a giant vulture demon, his axe working furiously, pounding the creature down.He felt the strength of Clangeddin, the wisdom of Moradin, the whispers of Dumathoin.When desperation reared up around him, so, too, did the spirits of the dwarf gods, and his final swat sent the vrock tumbling aside.The dwarves around him rallied greatly, none more powerfully than Athrogate, with devastating swings of his enchanted morningstars.But the shell around Marilith and Nalfeshnee was solid, with ranks of mighty creatures, and fight as they may, with the king lying near death, the Felbarrans and Bruenor’s group could not make much headway.Drow lightning and fire reached out at the mass of dwarves.Chasme rained death from above.All along the line, the demons moved in coordination to Marilith’s buzzing call.And for all his power and all his strength, for all the spirits of the dwarf gods within him, this time, Bruenor came to realize, it would not be enough.Soon he and those around him were being driven back, and he saw the six-armed demon note him and grin wickedly.She knew.And she knew that he knew.It would not be enough.CATTI-BRIE WORKED FURIOUSLY over King Emerus, the blue magical mist pouring from her sleeve, the divine healing bathing the fallen king.The whole time, though, Catti-brie was shaking her head, fearing that the wounds were too deep and too wicked.Shouts around her, not from the fighting up front, but from behind, demanded her attention, and even Ragged Dain looked up.The dwarves in the back were diving aside every which way, some screaming “Poison!” others warning of some Abyssal beast about to materialize in their midst.Ragged Dain saw it first, a concentrated gray fog sliding through the ranks, coming straight for him, and with a gasp he fell away, throwing his hands up defensively.Catti-brie, too, let out a gasp, but as it passed them by, the fog didn’t leave her and Ragged Dain on the floor writhing, nor did it pause as it continued its apparently focused sweep beyond them.The woman leaped to her feet and followed it as it closed on Bruenor and the others.Behind her, Ragged Dain shouted out a warning to the last standing king.Bruenor turned, Ambergris began a spell, and Athrogate took a wild and futile swing at the fog as it went past.Still it did not stop.And it crossed through the glabrezu and the vrocks, who seemed not to notice.Then it stopped, hovering for just a moment before it became a swirling vortex of gray mist right in front of the demonic commanders.And from that swirl came Guenhwyvar, leaping far and high upon Nalfeshnee even as she materialized.And from that swirling mist came Drizzt Do’Urden, scimitars in hand.I STILL HOPE they kill Marilith, at least, the fingers of Jaemas Xorlarrin signaled to his cousin Faelas in the silent hand code of the drow, as if he was too fearful to speak those words aloud—and indeed, he was.The more demons who fall now, the better, Faelas agreed.The drow wizards were thrilled at the turn of the battle, of course, for now it seemed clear that the dwarves would be driven back, perhaps slaughtered to a one.But if that victory came with the added benefit of thinning the demonic ranks enough to ensure that Matron Mother Zeerith could properly control the remaining horde, then all the better.“Cousin!” Faelas then added vocally, though breathlessly, as he noted the newcomer to the battle, a scimitar-wielding dark elf who set upon Marilith with wild and brilliant abandon.

dnd155

Her six weapons spun and stabbed and swept all around her, but always a scimitar was there to block, or the agile drow warrior was quick enough to dodge, and quick enough in behind the attack—impossibly quick!—to riposte.“By Lolth’s eight legs …” Jaemas agreed.“That’s the Do’Urden rogue!” Faelas realized even as he began readying a spell, turning his sights on the grand trophy that had come unto them.He noted, though, that Jaemas wasn’t similarly focusing, and indeed, was shaking his head.“Cousin?”Don’t strike out at him, Jaemas replied—or more accurately, Jaemas relayed, for a voice in his head warned him against any such actions.“Let Marilith have the kill?” Faelas asked, clearly confused.“We must be gone from this place,” Jaemas said.“The dwarves will not win,” Faelas replied.“It matters not,” said Jaemas.“We must be gone.All of House Xorlarrin, and now!”“Why?”Jaemas could only shake his head.He wasn’t sure who was in his thoughts, but the telepathically imparted suggestions were undeniably powerful and beyond debate.If they stayed, they would die, and horribly, the inner voice promised.“I do not understand!” Faelas scolded.And neither did Jaemas, who could only shake his head.“Why must we be gone?” Faelas demanded.“Because this is quite beyond you now,” came a voice behind him, and he and his cousin turned to see Jarlaxle, sitting comfortably on a ledge above the nearby tunnel exit.“Where did you …?” Faelas asked.“How?” Jaemas asked at the same time.But Jarlaxle merely turned and motioned for them to follow, and indeed, they saw that others of their family were coming to them then, looking as confused as they.Faelas glanced back at Marilith and the warrior he knew to be Drizzt, and gasped aloud to see that rogue drow in full fight now, running to the side of Marilith, easily leaping the sweeping tail of the naga-like creature, ducking the sweep of one long sword, sidestepping the downward stab of a spear, throwing himself back from the sweep of a second sword.But in behind that sword he came, with a sudden burst of speed that stole Faelas’s breath, too quick for the turning Marilith to bring her other three arms and weapons to bear.He ran his blade right up her torso and slashed her hard, then vaulted over her shoulder, landing with amazing grace, and leaped again above the sweep of that deadly tail.Faelas swallowed hard, Jarlaxle’s advice suddenly sounding so much wiser.THE MAGIC LASHING out at them from the shadows slowed greatly.The dwarves didn’t know why, but the battered, bearded folk were surely glad of it.When they came to trust that the diminishment of drow magic was real, the three Harpells turned their focus more directly to the grotesque chasme above, lighting bolts and fireballs brightening the air above the battle.And the frontlines of the dwarves were holding their own again.It seemed as if the demons pressing them were no longer covering for each other or working in unison.It didn’t take long for the dwarves of Felbarr to understand why, and their cries of “Drizzt!” were taken up by the Adbarrim, and echoed all the way to the other end of the line, to Bruenor’s clan.Every dwarf tried to get a glance at the brilliant battle, at Drizzt and the six-armed she-demon, eight weapons ringing in a continual song.Or to the side of that titanic battle, to get a glance at the legendary black panther, raking and biting, taking brutal hits from the huge demon and tearing its gray skin into loose flaps in reply.“Huzzah and heigh-ho!” became the call once more as the dwarves rallied, and none greater than Bruenor Battlehammer and his entourage of three, leaping about each other and swatting at a glabrezu, determined to clear the way and get to the side of the dark elf ranger.DRIZZT SAW NONE of that, heard none of the cheers, and didn’t even register the battle right beside him, where Guenhwyvar and Nalfeshnee traded such brutal strikes.His focus was narrow and fully on the six-armed demon.He was not unfamiliar with this particular type of beast, for he had battled a marilith before, in another time and place.But not Marilith herself, not this creature, so huge and powerful.He had come in with the element of surprise, had been upon the demon before she even knew he was there, had struck hard and true with both his blades, the repaired Twinkle, and Icingdeath, the frostbrand, which feasted on the flesh of creatures of fire and the lower planes.That advantage had proven short-lived, however, and now Drizzt found himself in the fight of his life against a foe mighty and indomitable and unshakable.His focus was perfect because it had to be perfect, because anything less than that would get him cut down in short order.His body moved somewhere beyond simple consciousness, in some almost ethereal state where conscious thought simply could not keep up.He was the Hunter, because to be anything less was to be dead.His blades moved as they had to move to intercept and deflect deadly strikes.His legs propelled him to and fro, just ahead of strikes.It was all a blur to him, and to those watching, surely, as he just let himself flow with the battle, let the sounds and movements, the smells and the rush of air even, guide him along.Conscious thought was his enemy—even considering the motions and consciously trying to anticipate the next, would get him killed.He just let the battle flow, trusting his instincts and reactions without thinking of them at all.Somehow he had not been hit, though a hundred strikes had come his way.Somehow, he did not tire.Because he could not tire.Somehow.THE BULKY WINGED demon could not begin to keep up with the sheer speed of Guenhwyvar’s movements, and even the beast’s thick hide could only partly deter those incessantly raking claws.Again and again, Nalfeshnee slapped a huge hand to try to catch the cat, and almost always wound up just hitting himself.And on those few occasions when the demon managed to get some grasp on the elusive panther, quick as lightning, Guenhwyvar spun about and bit a demon finger hard.But these two demon leaders were not mere warriors, brilliant as they were in combat, and for all the tribulations of the early battle, Nalfeshnee was more frustrated than worried.And so the Abyssal behemoth drew a symbol in the air, chanting guttural sounds to enact the magic.The glowing symbol hung in front of the beast, and even those dwarves battling the demon line, and those in the ranks behind, had to shy and squint, the unholy power of the magical symbol stinging them and burning them.For Drizzt and Guenhwyvar, the effect was more pronounced, and the panther issued an agonized growl, and the drow ranger fell back from Marilith and lurched over in pain.

Her six weapons spun and stabbed and swept all around her, but always a scimitar was there to block, or the agile drow warrior was quick enough to dodge, and quick enough in behind the attack—impossibly quick!—to riposte.“By Lolth’s eight legs …” Jaemas agreed.“That’s the Do’Urden rogue!” Faelas realized even as he began readying a spell, turning his sights on the grand trophy that had come unto them.He noted, though, that Jaemas wasn’t similarly focusing, and indeed, was shaking his head.“Cousin?”Don’t strike out at him, Jaemas replied—or more accurately, Jaemas relayed, for a voice in his head warned him against any such actions.“Let Marilith have the kill?” Faelas asked, clearly confused.“We must be gone from this place,” Jaemas said.“The dwarves will not win,” Faelas replied.“It matters not,” said Jaemas.“We must be gone.All of House Xorlarrin, and now!”“Why?”Jaemas could only shake his head.He wasn’t sure who was in his thoughts, but the telepathically imparted suggestions were undeniably powerful and beyond debate.If they stayed, they would die, and horribly, the inner voice promised.“I do not understand!” Faelas scolded.And neither did Jaemas, who could only shake his head.“Why must we be gone?” Faelas demanded.“Because this is quite beyond you now,” came a voice behind him, and he and his cousin turned to see Jarlaxle, sitting comfortably on a ledge above the nearby tunnel exit.“Where did you …?” Faelas asked.“How?” Jaemas asked at the same time.But Jarlaxle merely turned and motioned for them to follow, and indeed, they saw that others of their family were coming to them then, looking as confused as they.Faelas glanced back at Marilith and the warrior he knew to be Drizzt, and gasped aloud to see that rogue drow in full fight now, running to the side of Marilith, easily leaping the sweeping tail of the naga-like creature, ducking the sweep of one long sword, sidestepping the downward stab of a spear, throwing himself back from the sweep of a second sword.But in behind that sword he came, with a sudden burst of speed that stole Faelas’s breath, too quick for the turning Marilith to bring her other three arms and weapons to bear.He ran his blade right up her torso and slashed her hard, then vaulted over her shoulder, landing with amazing grace, and leaped again above the sweep of that deadly tail.Faelas swallowed hard, Jarlaxle’s advice suddenly sounding so much wiser.THE MAGIC LASHING out at them from the shadows slowed greatly.The dwarves didn’t know why, but the battered, bearded folk were surely glad of it.When they came to trust that the diminishment of drow magic was real, the three Harpells turned their focus more directly to the grotesque chasme above, lighting bolts and fireballs brightening the air above the battle.And the frontlines of the dwarves were holding their own again.It seemed as if the demons pressing them were no longer covering for each other or working in unison.It didn’t take long for the dwarves of Felbarr to understand why, and their cries of “Drizzt!” were taken up by the Adbarrim, and echoed all the way to the other end of the line, to Bruenor’s clan.Every dwarf tried to get a glance at the brilliant battle, at Drizzt and the six-armed she-demon, eight weapons ringing in a continual song.Or to the side of that titanic battle, to get a glance at the legendary black panther, raking and biting, taking brutal hits from the huge demon and tearing its gray skin into loose flaps in reply.“Huzzah and heigh-ho!” became the call once more as the dwarves rallied, and none greater than Bruenor Battlehammer and his entourage of three, leaping about each other and swatting at a glabrezu, determined to clear the way and get to the side of the dark elf ranger.DRIZZT SAW NONE of that, heard none of the cheers, and didn’t even register the battle right beside him, where Guenhwyvar and Nalfeshnee traded such brutal strikes.His focus was narrow and fully on the six-armed demon.He was not unfamiliar with this particular type of beast, for he had battled a marilith before, in another time and place.But not Marilith herself, not this creature, so huge and powerful.He had come in with the element of surprise, had been upon the demon before she even knew he was there, had struck hard and true with both his blades, the repaired Twinkle, and Icingdeath, the frostbrand, which feasted on the flesh of creatures of fire and the lower planes.That advantage had proven short-lived, however, and now Drizzt found himself in the fight of his life against a foe mighty and indomitable and unshakable.His focus was perfect because it had to be perfect, because anything less than that would get him cut down in short order.His body moved somewhere beyond simple consciousness, in some almost ethereal state where conscious thought simply could not keep up.He was the Hunter, because to be anything less was to be dead.His blades moved as they had to move to intercept and deflect deadly strikes.His legs propelled him to and fro, just ahead of strikes.It was all a blur to him, and to those watching, surely, as he just let himself flow with the battle, let the sounds and movements, the smells and the rush of air even, guide him along.Conscious thought was his enemy—even considering the motions and consciously trying to anticipate the next, would get him killed.He just let the battle flow, trusting his instincts and reactions without thinking of them at all.Somehow he had not been hit, though a hundred strikes had come his way.Somehow, he did not tire.Because he could not tire.Somehow.THE BULKY WINGED demon could not begin to keep up with the sheer speed of Guenhwyvar’s movements, and even the beast’s thick hide could only partly deter those incessantly raking claws.Again and again, Nalfeshnee slapped a huge hand to try to catch the cat, and almost always wound up just hitting himself.And on those few occasions when the demon managed to get some grasp on the elusive panther, quick as lightning, Guenhwyvar spun about and bit a demon finger hard.But these two demon leaders were not mere warriors, brilliant as they were in combat, and for all the tribulations of the early battle, Nalfeshnee was more frustrated than worried.And so the Abyssal behemoth drew a symbol in the air, chanting guttural sounds to enact the magic.The glowing symbol hung in front of the beast, and even those dwarves battling the demon line, and those in the ranks behind, had to shy and squint, the unholy power of the magical symbol stinging them and burning them.For Drizzt and Guenhwyvar, the effect was more pronounced, and the panther issued an agonized growl, and the drow ranger fell back from Marilith and lurched over in pain.

dnd156

So it was that both personal battles would have ended right there, with the major demons crushing their puny enemies.But in just a few heartbeats, a shimmering wave rolled back and forth around the combatants and the demonic symbol sparked and disappeared.One woman stood tall against the unholy power.Behind the initial dwarven shield wall, behind her adoptive father and his battling entourage, Catti-brie would not be bowed by demonic magic.She stood with her silvery staff upraised, the blue sapphire glowing fiercely, throwing forth disenchanting waves, inhibiting the Abyssal magic.And so when Nalfeshnee paused to consider her, a relieved Guenhwyvar leaped upon the beast’s massive shoulder and bit down hard, igniting a fountain of demon blood.And when Marilith moved forward fast to bury the lurching Drizzt, he came up straight in front of her, and fast turned the tables, driving her back yet again with flashing ripostes.“Ah, good girl!” Bruenor congratulated her, and he and Athrogate worked in powerful unison to topple yet another vrock, the black-bearded dwarf hardly pausing to consider the win before sweeping out his morningstars to swat away another trio of manes.“Bwahaha!” he roared happily.“We’re coming Drizzle-Elf!Ye just hold yer ground!”Bruenor looked to Catti-brie, thinking to ask her for some evocations of her own to help blast clear the way to the drow and his cat, but he found the woman fully engaged, looking at Drizzt, her stare purely focused as if she were expecting some signal.Catti-brie knew her husband better than any, and understood the flow of the battle he now waged, and so indeed, she was looking for a specific cue.DRIZZT HAD BATTLED a marilith before, and knew one great trick this demon could play: a quick teleport spell to land her behind her opponent.He knew, too, the disenchantment that had come over the area, and understood the source of it.So when Marilith came at him only to find him relieved of his pain and ready to counter, then found herself in a desperate backslide, Drizzt guessed what to expect.The huge demon hissed and brought all of her blades in for complete parries, then threw them out wide, rearing away from Drizzt—and thinking to teleport behind him.But she could not, and so he got her with a sudden leap and thrust, Icingdeath puncturing her belly.And chewing hungrily at her life-force.The demon went into a berserk rage, driving Drizzt back, three arms sweeping across one way, then back again, followed by the other three with the cruel weapons they held.Around came her snakelike tail, trying to sweep the feet from the drow, and he only barely stayed ahead of the sudden, brutal assault.And in one dodge, he glanced back and caught an opening in the demon-on-dwarf battle to catch a glimpse of Catti-brie.He found her staring back.He only had time to offer a slight nod, but that was all she needed.Drizzt sped out to the side and reached into his innate drow magic.Purple flames of faerie fire covered the demon.Marilith’s own magic suppressed that almost immediately, but Drizzt hadn’t evoked the dweomer for any reason other than to verify that he could, that Catti-brie had correctly dismissed her disenchanting wave.Marilith came on, and Drizzt stopped running away, turning back to her and charging abruptly.He led with a globe of impenetrable darkness, covering the huge demon, and into it he sped.Even as his vision failed him, he heard the cries, the collective gasp, from his friends and allies behind.It was a daring move, to be sure, and never in his life before had Drizzt put this much trust in his anticipation of his opponent’s actions—and in truth, he didn’t really know where that anticipation had come from.How could he know?But yet again, this was not conscious thought guiding him, only instinct and confidence and trust.He just knew that Marilith was already moving to counter.Perhaps it was the press of the air, the tiny currents from her arms and blades.She was leading with her left arms, and so her left hip was forward, and in that pose, her blades would come across up high.And so Drizzt fell flat to the floor, and felt the rush of air above him.He was up almost instantly and knew the backhand follow was coming fast, and from all the little things he had just subconsciously noted in the last back-and-forth of battle he knew, too, that Marilith would be shifting her left hip to an even posture, and as he understood her general positioning, so, too, must she know his.So he leaped and turned horizontally in the air, and Marilith’s low blade went beneath him, scraping the floor.And her middle blade, too, was too low, but perilously close.The third blade slashed across so near to his face that if Drizzt hadn’t wisely turned his head, it would have taken his nose.He rolled as he descended, even as the blades passed, twisting, driving his legs down, catching the floor in a crouch.Three more blades were right behind, but Drizzt went forward still, springing forth inside the demon’s reach.Springing forth with one scimitar out in front of him, one blade hungry for demon flesh.He felt Icingdeath enter the demon’s skin in the hollow between her breasts, and he kept going forward, and the material body of the Abyssal creature could not resist or repel the bite of the frostbrand.THE HOWL FILLED the vast cavern.From behind the dwarves, Catti-brie cried out in fear.On a ledge above Faelas and Jaemas, very near to the lower exit, Jarlaxle, too, cried out, seeing Drizzt leap into that darkened globe where Marilith surely waited.“Elf!” Bruenor cried, and he and all around him held their collective breath in the agonizing heartbeat it took for the combatants to clear the darkness globe.Marilith charged in a frenzy, Drizzt up against her.

So it was that both personal battles would have ended right there, with the major demons crushing their puny enemies.But in just a few heartbeats, a shimmering wave rolled back and forth around the combatants and the demonic symbol sparked and disappeared.One woman stood tall against the unholy power.Behind the initial dwarven shield wall, behind her adoptive father and his battling entourage, Catti-brie would not be bowed by demonic magic.She stood with her silvery staff upraised, the blue sapphire glowing fiercely, throwing forth disenchanting waves, inhibiting the Abyssal magic.And so when Nalfeshnee paused to consider her, a relieved Guenhwyvar leaped upon the beast’s massive shoulder and bit down hard, igniting a fountain of demon blood.And when Marilith moved forward fast to bury the lurching Drizzt, he came up straight in front of her, and fast turned the tables, driving her back yet again with flashing ripostes.“Ah, good girl!” Bruenor congratulated her, and he and Athrogate worked in powerful unison to topple yet another vrock, the black-bearded dwarf hardly pausing to consider the win before sweeping out his morningstars to swat away another trio of manes.“Bwahaha!” he roared happily.“We’re coming Drizzle-Elf!Ye just hold yer ground!”Bruenor looked to Catti-brie, thinking to ask her for some evocations of her own to help blast clear the way to the drow and his cat, but he found the woman fully engaged, looking at Drizzt, her stare purely focused as if she were expecting some signal.Catti-brie knew her husband better than any, and understood the flow of the battle he now waged, and so indeed, she was looking for a specific cue.DRIZZT HAD BATTLED a marilith before, and knew one great trick this demon could play: a quick teleport spell to land her behind her opponent.He knew, too, the disenchantment that had come over the area, and understood the source of it.So when Marilith came at him only to find him relieved of his pain and ready to counter, then found herself in a desperate backslide, Drizzt guessed what to expect.The huge demon hissed and brought all of her blades in for complete parries, then threw them out wide, rearing away from Drizzt—and thinking to teleport behind him.But she could not, and so he got her with a sudden leap and thrust, Icingdeath puncturing her belly.And chewing hungrily at her life-force.The demon went into a berserk rage, driving Drizzt back, three arms sweeping across one way, then back again, followed by the other three with the cruel weapons they held.Around came her snakelike tail, trying to sweep the feet from the drow, and he only barely stayed ahead of the sudden, brutal assault.And in one dodge, he glanced back and caught an opening in the demon-on-dwarf battle to catch a glimpse of Catti-brie.He found her staring back.He only had time to offer a slight nod, but that was all she needed.Drizzt sped out to the side and reached into his innate drow magic.Purple flames of faerie fire covered the demon.Marilith’s own magic suppressed that almost immediately, but Drizzt hadn’t evoked the dweomer for any reason other than to verify that he could, that Catti-brie had correctly dismissed her disenchanting wave.Marilith came on, and Drizzt stopped running away, turning back to her and charging abruptly.He led with a globe of impenetrable darkness, covering the huge demon, and into it he sped.Even as his vision failed him, he heard the cries, the collective gasp, from his friends and allies behind.It was a daring move, to be sure, and never in his life before had Drizzt put this much trust in his anticipation of his opponent’s actions—and in truth, he didn’t really know where that anticipation had come from.How could he know?But yet again, this was not conscious thought guiding him, only instinct and confidence and trust.He just knew that Marilith was already moving to counter.Perhaps it was the press of the air, the tiny currents from her arms and blades.She was leading with her left arms, and so her left hip was forward, and in that pose, her blades would come across up high.And so Drizzt fell flat to the floor, and felt the rush of air above him.He was up almost instantly and knew the backhand follow was coming fast, and from all the little things he had just subconsciously noted in the last back-and-forth of battle he knew, too, that Marilith would be shifting her left hip to an even posture, and as he understood her general positioning, so, too, must she know his.So he leaped and turned horizontally in the air, and Marilith’s low blade went beneath him, scraping the floor.And her middle blade, too, was too low, but perilously close.The third blade slashed across so near to his face that if Drizzt hadn’t wisely turned his head, it would have taken his nose.He rolled as he descended, even as the blades passed, twisting, driving his legs down, catching the floor in a crouch.Three more blades were right behind, but Drizzt went forward still, springing forth inside the demon’s reach.Springing forth with one scimitar out in front of him, one blade hungry for demon flesh.He felt Icingdeath enter the demon’s skin in the hollow between her breasts, and he kept going forward, and the material body of the Abyssal creature could not resist or repel the bite of the frostbrand.THE HOWL FILLED the vast cavern.From behind the dwarves, Catti-brie cried out in fear.On a ledge above Faelas and Jaemas, very near to the lower exit, Jarlaxle, too, cried out, seeing Drizzt leap into that darkened globe where Marilith surely waited.“Elf!” Bruenor cried, and he and all around him held their collective breath in the agonizing heartbeat it took for the combatants to clear the darkness globe.Marilith charged in a frenzy, Drizzt up against her.

dnd157

She bit at him and slapped at him, tried to turn her weapons and stab at him, and it seemed impossible that he had not been badly hit yet, and it was impossible that he would not soon be—particularly when Marilith threw aside a pair of her weapons and hugged him tight.“Elf!” Bruenor cried again, and he started to add, “Girl!”But Catti-brie didn’t need the prompt.With no other choice, she had already raised her staff to the demon and let fly a great forked lightning bolt, one that hit both Marilith and Drizzt, a stunning, jolting blast that rocked the demon back over her serpentine tail and sent Drizzt tumbling and flying from her grasp.The agile drow hit the ground in a roll and came up spinning back in a defensive crouch to face the demon, neither of his blades in hand.Icingdeath ate at the demon, but not quickly enough, and on she came.But an axe, an old, many-notched axe, newly reforged in this very place and burning with the enchantment of flames, appeared spinning out of nowhere to embed itself deeply into the face of the great six-armed demon.Marilith stared at Drizzt hatefully from either side of that battle-axe.She held there, leaning back over her snake tail, her other weapons falling from her grasp, her hands reaching for the hilt of the scimitar that was buried deep in her chest.She wanted to grab it and tear it free, but she simply could not.Icingdeath ate.“BY THE GODDESS,” said Faelas Xorlarrin, shaking his head in disbelief.He and his cousin looked up at Jarlaxle to find him smiling widely and nodding knowingly.He sensed their looks and held out his hand, inviting them to note that Drizzt was already on to other things, though Marilith remained in place.In his roll and rise, he had replaced his scimitars with his bow, the deadly Heartseeker, and now took a bead on the other demon behemoth.The panther leaped up from Nalfeshnee, straight into the air.The demon reached high and roared.An arrow entered Nalfeshnee’s mouth.A second, following before the first ever struck, entered the demon’s left eye, and a third took Nalfeshnee in the right eye.Drizzt had to be perfect, and so he was perfect, and Guenhwyvar dropped upon the demon’s head and shoulders and tore mercilessly at the flesh.Marilith shrieked again in protest, but she was still leaning back over her tail, and even farther now, and she simply collapsed, acrid smoke, her life’s essence, flowing from the wound around the hilt of Icingdeath, her body withering, her essence retreating to the Abyss in true banishment.“What do we do?” Jaemas Xorlarrin asked Jarlaxle, who glanced down from his perch, seeming quite amused.“You go to Matron Mother Zeerith and tell her that the cavern is lost,” an unexpected voice answered, as Kimmuriel Oblodra walked out of that exit tunnel to stand beside the two wizards.Jarlaxle looked back to the battle, where the coordination of the demon line was already beginning to fail, the dwarves rallying, and Drizzt cutting down everything near to him with a volley of silver-streaking arrows.He looked at the smoking husk that had been Marilith, Drizzt’s scimitar protruding from her withered chest, King Bruenor’s axe creasing her once-beautiful face.Jarlaxle could not disagree with Kimmuriel’s assessment.Indeed, the rout was on once more.As it progressed, as more and more of the drow abandoned the cavern, as demons turned on demons in a mob of senseless murder and frenzy, Jarlaxle looked to Kimmuriel.“Methinks it is time that we, too, are gone from this place,” he said.He smiled widely.This was the outcome he preferred.“Long past time,” Kimmuriel agreed.The psionicist was not nearly as interested in this battle as Jarlaxle was, of course, and mostly because he had another matter to attend, one where he would at long last impart the last pieces of the powerful summoning to the archmage who would unintentionally free his mother.So he errantly believed.CHAPTER 23Goading CatastropheYOU MEAN TO GO TO HIM NOW?” JARLAXLE ASKED INCREDULOUSLY.He and Kimmuriel stood alone in a side chamber just off the Forge of Q’Xorlarrin, which they both expected would soon enough be known as the Great Forge of Gauntlgrym once more.The dwarves had secured the main lower chamber, had even put the staircase back up, and were already fortifying their foothold and constructing war engines to sweep clear the lower level.Neither Jarlaxle nor Kimmuriel were convinced there would soon be anything left to sweep, however, for the demons were once again acting very much like … demons.Orc slave, goblin slave, rothé, or even dark elf, it did not matter.With the fall of Marilith and Nalfeshnee, the Abyssal beasts had turned.Any creature of the Prime Material Plane was now prey, and even the lesser demons shied from their larger, insatiable Abyssal kin.And so the Xorlarrins had retreated to this very small area around the Great Forge and the primordial chamber, their wizards nervously readying spells of banishment or evocation—anything to be rid of rampaging demons.“It is the appointed time,” Kimmuriel calmly answered.“The archmage is not forgiving of my tardiness.”“The enclave of Q’Xorlarrin will likely be wiped out before you return,” Jarlaxle pointed out.Kimmuriel shrugged as if he hardly cared.“This city will find its fate whether I am here or not.”“When the dwarves come, perhaps I will need you.”Kimmuriel scoffed.“Jarlaxle, you have more friends among their ranks than in Q’Xorlarrin,” he said, and he closed his eyes, opened his distancewarping mental gate, and stepped far, far away, to the antechamber of Archmage Gromph in the distant city of Menzoberranzan.He found Gromph in the other room, sitting at his desk and tapping his fingers together pensively.“Ill news will soon arrive from Q’Xorlarrin,” Kimmuriel warned.The archmage nodded, seeming unsurprised.He had felt the fall of Marilith, his demon.Are you prepared?

She bit at him and slapped at him, tried to turn her weapons and stab at him, and it seemed impossible that he had not been badly hit yet, and it was impossible that he would not soon be—particularly when Marilith threw aside a pair of her weapons and hugged him tight.“Elf!” Bruenor cried again, and he started to add, “Girl!”But Catti-brie didn’t need the prompt.With no other choice, she had already raised her staff to the demon and let fly a great forked lightning bolt, one that hit both Marilith and Drizzt, a stunning, jolting blast that rocked the demon back over her serpentine tail and sent Drizzt tumbling and flying from her grasp.The agile drow hit the ground in a roll and came up spinning back in a defensive crouch to face the demon, neither of his blades in hand.Icingdeath ate at the demon, but not quickly enough, and on she came.But an axe, an old, many-notched axe, newly reforged in this very place and burning with the enchantment of flames, appeared spinning out of nowhere to embed itself deeply into the face of the great six-armed demon.Marilith stared at Drizzt hatefully from either side of that battle-axe.She held there, leaning back over her snake tail, her other weapons falling from her grasp, her hands reaching for the hilt of the scimitar that was buried deep in her chest.She wanted to grab it and tear it free, but she simply could not.Icingdeath ate.“BY THE GODDESS,” said Faelas Xorlarrin, shaking his head in disbelief.He and his cousin looked up at Jarlaxle to find him smiling widely and nodding knowingly.He sensed their looks and held out his hand, inviting them to note that Drizzt was already on to other things, though Marilith remained in place.In his roll and rise, he had replaced his scimitars with his bow, the deadly Heartseeker, and now took a bead on the other demon behemoth.The panther leaped up from Nalfeshnee, straight into the air.The demon reached high and roared.An arrow entered Nalfeshnee’s mouth.A second, following before the first ever struck, entered the demon’s left eye, and a third took Nalfeshnee in the right eye.Drizzt had to be perfect, and so he was perfect, and Guenhwyvar dropped upon the demon’s head and shoulders and tore mercilessly at the flesh.Marilith shrieked again in protest, but she was still leaning back over her tail, and even farther now, and she simply collapsed, acrid smoke, her life’s essence, flowing from the wound around the hilt of Icingdeath, her body withering, her essence retreating to the Abyss in true banishment.“What do we do?” Jaemas Xorlarrin asked Jarlaxle, who glanced down from his perch, seeming quite amused.“You go to Matron Mother Zeerith and tell her that the cavern is lost,” an unexpected voice answered, as Kimmuriel Oblodra walked out of that exit tunnel to stand beside the two wizards.Jarlaxle looked back to the battle, where the coordination of the demon line was already beginning to fail, the dwarves rallying, and Drizzt cutting down everything near to him with a volley of silver-streaking arrows.He looked at the smoking husk that had been Marilith, Drizzt’s scimitar protruding from her withered chest, King Bruenor’s axe creasing her once-beautiful face.Jarlaxle could not disagree with Kimmuriel’s assessment.Indeed, the rout was on once more.As it progressed, as more and more of the drow abandoned the cavern, as demons turned on demons in a mob of senseless murder and frenzy, Jarlaxle looked to Kimmuriel.“Methinks it is time that we, too, are gone from this place,” he said.He smiled widely.This was the outcome he preferred.“Long past time,” Kimmuriel agreed.The psionicist was not nearly as interested in this battle as Jarlaxle was, of course, and mostly because he had another matter to attend, one where he would at long last impart the last pieces of the powerful summoning to the archmage who would unintentionally free his mother.So he errantly believed.CHAPTER 23Goading CatastropheYOU MEAN TO GO TO HIM NOW?” JARLAXLE ASKED INCREDULOUSLY.He and Kimmuriel stood alone in a side chamber just off the Forge of Q’Xorlarrin, which they both expected would soon enough be known as the Great Forge of Gauntlgrym once more.The dwarves had secured the main lower chamber, had even put the staircase back up, and were already fortifying their foothold and constructing war engines to sweep clear the lower level.Neither Jarlaxle nor Kimmuriel were convinced there would soon be anything left to sweep, however, for the demons were once again acting very much like … demons.Orc slave, goblin slave, rothé, or even dark elf, it did not matter.With the fall of Marilith and Nalfeshnee, the Abyssal beasts had turned.Any creature of the Prime Material Plane was now prey, and even the lesser demons shied from their larger, insatiable Abyssal kin.And so the Xorlarrins had retreated to this very small area around the Great Forge and the primordial chamber, their wizards nervously readying spells of banishment or evocation—anything to be rid of rampaging demons.“It is the appointed time,” Kimmuriel calmly answered.“The archmage is not forgiving of my tardiness.”“The enclave of Q’Xorlarrin will likely be wiped out before you return,” Jarlaxle pointed out.Kimmuriel shrugged as if he hardly cared.“This city will find its fate whether I am here or not.”“When the dwarves come, perhaps I will need you.”Kimmuriel scoffed.“Jarlaxle, you have more friends among their ranks than in Q’Xorlarrin,” he said, and he closed his eyes, opened his distancewarping mental gate, and stepped far, far away, to the antechamber of Archmage Gromph in the distant city of Menzoberranzan.He found Gromph in the other room, sitting at his desk and tapping his fingers together pensively.“Ill news will soon arrive from Q’Xorlarrin,” Kimmuriel warned.The archmage nodded, seeming unsurprised.He had felt the fall of Marilith, his demon.Are you prepared?

dnd158

Kimmuriel telepathically reached out to his student.No reply.Perhaps we should forsake your instruction this day, the psionicist offered, and he was reading the archmage’s mind as he imparted that thought.Gromph did a good job in feigning only limited interest in pursuing the lesson when he responded, but Kimmuriel knew better.The archmage had nearly panicked at the thought of foregoing the lesson, and understandably so to Kimmuriel, who knew that Gromph believed that psionics were giving him the edge in summoning extraplanar creatures, an edge he’d likely need soon enough with Quenthel Baenre holding a goristro at her side and with Marilith now banished back to her Abyssal home.Yes, Kimmuriel mused, Gromph would be very receptive to his quiet background impartations this day.And so he would give to Gromph all of the missing words and inflections, the completed spell, and let chaos reign—and let catastrophe rain upon Menzoberranzan and House Baenre.MATRON MOTHER ZEERITH sat upon her altar in the primordial chamber of Gauntlgrym, the open pit steaming behind her, the wall in front of her covered in webbing.All of her principals advisers were there—Archmage Tsabrak, High Priestess Kiriy, Hoshtar, Jaemas, and Faelas among them.“We must be gone from this place,” Faelas advised.“To remain is foolhardy.”“Nay, we must kill the dwarves,” the often-fanatical Kiriy argued.“The Spider Queen demands no less of us!”“They will overrun us,” Jaemas flatly stated.“We will turn the demons back—”“No, we won’t,” a clearly defeated Matron Mother Zeerith interrupted.“Then call out to Matron Mother Baenre,” the high priestess begged.“She will grant us allies as we continue the fight.”“Even if she sent a second army, even if it was led by a demon as powerful as Marilith once more, they would not arrive in time to save Q’Xorlarrin.”“Then what do we do, Matron Mother?” Hoshtar asked, and his tone showed that he knew well enough.“The tunnels below will shield us,” Matron Mother Zeerith said.“The dwarves will not chase us far beyond their precious forge and the beast that powers the furnaces of this place.So we will leave.Let the dwarves and the demons battle to the last.”“And then we will return,” said Kiriy, and the matron mother nodded and smiled, but unconvincingly to any who cared to study her more closely.Zeerith waved them away then, telling them to gather together the family and begin the retreat.She motioned for Tsabrak to stay behind with her, though.“Bring to me the newest prisoners,” she instructed when she was alone with the wizard.She nodded to the webbing.“You mean to greet the invaders?” Tsabrak asked skeptically.“Dwarves are not known for their mercy, Matron Mother.”“I have enough with which to bargain,” she assured him.Tsabrak shook his head.“We could just …”“Do as I say,” Zeerith cut him short.“I’ll not have an army of dwarves chasing my House through the Underdark.”Tsabrak started to argue yet again, but Matron Mother Zeerith’s scowl chased him away.“Well played, Matron Mother,” said the only other person in the room, the one whose presence had been known only to Zeerith.“That’s just what I meant to say to you, these last days, Jarlaxle,” the matron mother answered.“Do I congratulate you?Or is there another who would lay claim to the credit?”“You wound me, truly,” said the mercenary, moving over and casually sitting upon the altar stone, one leg dangling off the far end, the other foot comfortably settled on the floor in front of him.“I did not orchestrate the events, but do pride myself on being the first to understand where those events will lead.”If his words convinced Matron Mother Zeerith, she surely didn’t show it.She glanced at the room’s main exit, her expression revealing her desire to take her leave.“You guarantee my safety?”“That was the deal,” Jarlaxle replied.“A deal I am sure to regret, of course.”“The best deal you will be offered.”“I am a matron mother of Menzoberranzan!”“You were,” Jarlaxle corrected.“Would you bring your tattered House back to the City of Spiders?Where will you now rank in that hierarchy, I wonder?”“Xorlarrin was the Third House, and—” she protested.“Was,” the clever mercenary said again.

Kimmuriel telepathically reached out to his student.No reply.Perhaps we should forsake your instruction this day, the psionicist offered, and he was reading the archmage’s mind as he imparted that thought.Gromph did a good job in feigning only limited interest in pursuing the lesson when he responded, but Kimmuriel knew better.The archmage had nearly panicked at the thought of foregoing the lesson, and understandably so to Kimmuriel, who knew that Gromph believed that psionics were giving him the edge in summoning extraplanar creatures, an edge he’d likely need soon enough with Quenthel Baenre holding a goristro at her side and with Marilith now banished back to her Abyssal home.Yes, Kimmuriel mused, Gromph would be very receptive to his quiet background impartations this day.And so he would give to Gromph all of the missing words and inflections, the completed spell, and let chaos reign—and let catastrophe rain upon Menzoberranzan and House Baenre.MATRON MOTHER ZEERITH sat upon her altar in the primordial chamber of Gauntlgrym, the open pit steaming behind her, the wall in front of her covered in webbing.All of her principals advisers were there—Archmage Tsabrak, High Priestess Kiriy, Hoshtar, Jaemas, and Faelas among them.“We must be gone from this place,” Faelas advised.“To remain is foolhardy.”“Nay, we must kill the dwarves,” the often-fanatical Kiriy argued.“The Spider Queen demands no less of us!”“They will overrun us,” Jaemas flatly stated.“We will turn the demons back—”“No, we won’t,” a clearly defeated Matron Mother Zeerith interrupted.“Then call out to Matron Mother Baenre,” the high priestess begged.“She will grant us allies as we continue the fight.”“Even if she sent a second army, even if it was led by a demon as powerful as Marilith once more, they would not arrive in time to save Q’Xorlarrin.”“Then what do we do, Matron Mother?” Hoshtar asked, and his tone showed that he knew well enough.“The tunnels below will shield us,” Matron Mother Zeerith said.“The dwarves will not chase us far beyond their precious forge and the beast that powers the furnaces of this place.So we will leave.Let the dwarves and the demons battle to the last.”“And then we will return,” said Kiriy, and the matron mother nodded and smiled, but unconvincingly to any who cared to study her more closely.Zeerith waved them away then, telling them to gather together the family and begin the retreat.She motioned for Tsabrak to stay behind with her, though.“Bring to me the newest prisoners,” she instructed when she was alone with the wizard.She nodded to the webbing.“You mean to greet the invaders?” Tsabrak asked skeptically.“Dwarves are not known for their mercy, Matron Mother.”“I have enough with which to bargain,” she assured him.Tsabrak shook his head.“We could just …”“Do as I say,” Zeerith cut him short.“I’ll not have an army of dwarves chasing my House through the Underdark.”Tsabrak started to argue yet again, but Matron Mother Zeerith’s scowl chased him away.“Well played, Matron Mother,” said the only other person in the room, the one whose presence had been known only to Zeerith.“That’s just what I meant to say to you, these last days, Jarlaxle,” the matron mother answered.“Do I congratulate you?Or is there another who would lay claim to the credit?”“You wound me, truly,” said the mercenary, moving over and casually sitting upon the altar stone, one leg dangling off the far end, the other foot comfortably settled on the floor in front of him.“I did not orchestrate the events, but do pride myself on being the first to understand where those events will lead.”If his words convinced Matron Mother Zeerith, she surely didn’t show it.She glanced at the room’s main exit, her expression revealing her desire to take her leave.“You guarantee my safety?”“That was the deal,” Jarlaxle replied.“A deal I am sure to regret, of course.”“The best deal you will be offered.”“I am a matron mother of Menzoberranzan!”“You were,” Jarlaxle corrected.“Would you bring your tattered House back to the City of Spiders?Where will you now rank in that hierarchy, I wonder?”“Xorlarrin was the Third House, and—” she protested.“Was,” the clever mercenary said again.

dnd159

“Can you claim the favor of Lolth?” He laughed, and it sounded very much like a mocking snort.“My dear Matron Mother Zeerith, were you ever truly in the favor of Lolth?” “Third House,” she replied.“We know the truth of the familial rankings, so please, do not take that as confirmation.Lolth rarely meddles in such minutiae, and hardly cares beyond the identity of the Matron Mother of the First House.”“I grow weary of your chiding,” she said.“Be warned.”“I am doing no such thing!” he earnestly protested.“Now is the time for honesty, for your sake more than mine, so let us speak the truth.My fondness for you goes back many years.You know this.You alone among the matron mothers value the men of your House as greatly as the women.”“Barrison Del’Armgo …”Jarlaxle snorted.“The witch Mez’Barris uses her men as she would a pack of guard dogs, biting instruments to bring glory to the priestesses of her House, herself paramount.But you’ve never been like that.”He spoke the last words quietly, and after a proper glance around to ensure that no one had entered, he reached out and gently and intimately stroked Zeerith Xorlarrin’s cheek.And she let him, for the touch was not unfamiliar to her, though it had been years.“Lolth will punish me if I do this,” she said.“She has not punished me,” Jarlaxle argued.“And I have been doing this for centuries!”“But she will see my desertion …”“It is not a desertion!” Jarlaxle insisted.He shook his head.“My old friend, do not give in to the fear that the Spider Queen oversees our every move.Or that she cares!Her ambitions are quite beyond us, I assure you.Archmage Gromph summoned Marilith and sent her here, under his direct command, and yet the rogue Do’Urden slayed her!”Zeerith’s eyes flashed at the mention of Drizzt.Jarlaxle shook his head and gave her a stern glance, silently but clearly warning her to forget that obvious thought.Every drow in Menzoberranzan seemed to believe that bringing the head of Drizzt would somehow garner great fame and stature and the favor of the Spider Queen, but Jarlaxle knew better, knew that it was a fool’s mission.In Menzoberranzan, there was no bigger fool than Tiago Baenre, and his obsession with the rogue Do’Urden had already cost him greatly.“As you come to understand Drizzt Do’Urden the way I do, you will learn,” he promised.“You will introduce me to him,” Matron Mother Zeerith said.“In time,” was all that Jarlaxle would offer, and to his thinking, that might be a very, very long time.Though, of course, Jarlaxle expected that Drizzt might well meet Zeerith this very day.“This is difficult for you,” Jarlaxle said.“I am the matron mother of a powerful House.”“Your family will survive, and so your House will survive.”“Under the suffrage of …?”“I promised you a great measure of autonomy,” Jarlaxle reminded her.Matron Mother Zeerith seemed unconvinced, and even shook her head.“You pretend that you have options,” Jarlaxle reminded her.“It would be easier for me to abandon you here and let you play out your story in the Underdark, or back in Menzoberranzan with my unmerciful sister.

“Can you claim the favor of Lolth?” He laughed, and it sounded very much like a mocking snort.“My dear Matron Mother Zeerith, were you ever truly in the favor of Lolth?” “Third House,” she replied.“We know the truth of the familial rankings, so please, do not take that as confirmation.Lolth rarely meddles in such minutiae, and hardly cares beyond the identity of the Matron Mother of the First House.”“I grow weary of your chiding,” she said.“Be warned.”“I am doing no such thing!” he earnestly protested.“Now is the time for honesty, for your sake more than mine, so let us speak the truth.My fondness for you goes back many years.You know this.You alone among the matron mothers value the men of your House as greatly as the women.”“Barrison Del’Armgo …”Jarlaxle snorted.“The witch Mez’Barris uses her men as she would a pack of guard dogs, biting instruments to bring glory to the priestesses of her House, herself paramount.But you’ve never been like that.”He spoke the last words quietly, and after a proper glance around to ensure that no one had entered, he reached out and gently and intimately stroked Zeerith Xorlarrin’s cheek.And she let him, for the touch was not unfamiliar to her, though it had been years.“Lolth will punish me if I do this,” she said.“She has not punished me,” Jarlaxle argued.“And I have been doing this for centuries!”“But she will see my desertion …”“It is not a desertion!” Jarlaxle insisted.He shook his head.“My old friend, do not give in to the fear that the Spider Queen oversees our every move.Or that she cares!Her ambitions are quite beyond us, I assure you.Archmage Gromph summoned Marilith and sent her here, under his direct command, and yet the rogue Do’Urden slayed her!”Zeerith’s eyes flashed at the mention of Drizzt.Jarlaxle shook his head and gave her a stern glance, silently but clearly warning her to forget that obvious thought.Every drow in Menzoberranzan seemed to believe that bringing the head of Drizzt would somehow garner great fame and stature and the favor of the Spider Queen, but Jarlaxle knew better, knew that it was a fool’s mission.In Menzoberranzan, there was no bigger fool than Tiago Baenre, and his obsession with the rogue Do’Urden had already cost him greatly.“As you come to understand Drizzt Do’Urden the way I do, you will learn,” he promised.“You will introduce me to him,” Matron Mother Zeerith said.“In time,” was all that Jarlaxle would offer, and to his thinking, that might be a very, very long time.Though, of course, Jarlaxle expected that Drizzt might well meet Zeerith this very day.“This is difficult for you,” Jarlaxle said.“I am the matron mother of a powerful House.”“Your family will survive, and so your House will survive.”“Under the suffrage of …?”“I promised you a great measure of autonomy,” Jarlaxle reminded her.Matron Mother Zeerith seemed unconvinced, and even shook her head.“You pretend that you have options,” Jarlaxle reminded her.“It would be easier for me to abandon you here and let you play out your story in the Underdark, or back in Menzoberranzan with my unmerciful sister.

dnd160

If Quenthel Baenre finds advantage in having you murdered, know that your death will not be painless.”“And what might Matron Mother Baenre think of your designs, should I go to her?” Zeerith asked, a rather pitiful attempt to take back the upper hand.“She would applaud.” Jarlaxle let his smile linger for a moment, before the sound of a distant door caught his attention.“Tsabrak returns,” he said.“You have time to consider the wider reaches of my offer, of course.Quite a bit of time once this immediate crisis is averted, and your safety is my guarantee.For now, your best play is to remain.”Matron Mother Zeerith stared at him for few long moments, then nodded, and Jarlaxle disappeared once more into the shadows of the webbing, right before Archmage Tsabrak arrived with the prisoners in tow.GROMPH WASN’T SURPRISED by the next visitor to his quarters this day.The matron mother entered with hardly an announcement, and with a scowl that told him that she, too, knew of the failures in Q’Xorlarrin.“Your demon has fallen,” she said in greeting.“Along with many, it would seem,” Gromph calmly answered.“Matron Mother Zeerith will not hold for long, I presume.”“The dwarves will reclaim Gauntlgrym, but they will never hold it,” the matron mother vowed.Gromph did well not to laugh out loud at that pronouncement.He found this whole adventure rather silly.How many resources would Quenthel squander in trying to evict the formidable dwarves?And for what practical gain?“Because next time, I will be wiser than to rely on the foolish Gromph for such important matters!” the matron mother added, and she sounded so small and petulant at that moment.Had she abandoned the wisdom of Yvonnel?The archmage just stared at her, unsure as to what any of this could mean.The satellite city of Q’Xorlarrin had been brought down, or soon would be, it seemed, but in the end, most of Matron Mother Zeerith’s House would escape and so the loss would be minimal to Menzoberranzan.In fact, such an event might even strengthen Quenthel’s hold over the Ruling Council, for it would remove a very sharp thorn from the side of House Hunzrin and the Melarni fanatics, and that alliance was one that Matron Mother Mez’Barris Armgo could actually use to weaken House Baenre.“Your demon led the defense,” the matron mother spat.“This failure falls upon your shoulders.Be cautious, wizard, for Tsabrak Xorlarrin will surely survive this, and he remains in the graces of the Spider Queen.”She spun and swept out of the room and Gromph fell back in his seat, his fingers tap-tapping once more.He tried to dismiss Quenthel’s overt threat, but he began to see some troubling possibilities.Would his sister cut a deal with Matron Mother Zeerith to absorb House Xorlarrin into House Baenre?Where might the Xorlarrins go if the dwarves gained an unshakable foothold?They would not be welcomed back into Menzoberranzan as a rival House, particularly not now with so many backroom alliances being formed among the ruling matron mothers.And perhaps Quenthel would spread the whispers that Gromph had failed, that the archmage had, in fact, been the cause of the loss of Q’Xorlarrin.In that event, would Quenthel be in a stronger position to offer Zeerith one of her most coveted trophies: a Xorlarrin as Archmage of Menzoberranzan?Nay, this was not a threat Gromph could easily dismiss, and in that realization, so came his outrage.Barely had Quenthel left the tower of Sorcere when Gromph began his spellcasting, twining in the psionic insights to heighten the spell—or so he thought.In truth, the archmage was obliviously casting Lolth’s spell, given to him through Kimmuriel in the guise of the captured K’yorl Odran.Gromph’s long-developed sense of caution should have clarified the truth to him, but his anger and ego overruled his common sense, and so he pressed on.“Omminem dimti’ite’spem,” he chanted, words he did not know, a language he did not know, but he somehow understood—or that he believed at least, that this chant aligned perfectly with his usual vocalizations for his spells of summoning.This was the perfect joining, psionics and arcane magic, perhaps the greatest and purest call to the lower planes any mortal had made in centuries.He would replace the fallen Marilith with something bigger.

If Quenthel Baenre finds advantage in having you murdered, know that your death will not be painless.”“And what might Matron Mother Baenre think of your designs, should I go to her?” Zeerith asked, a rather pitiful attempt to take back the upper hand.“She would applaud.” Jarlaxle let his smile linger for a moment, before the sound of a distant door caught his attention.“Tsabrak returns,” he said.“You have time to consider the wider reaches of my offer, of course.Quite a bit of time once this immediate crisis is averted, and your safety is my guarantee.For now, your best play is to remain.”Matron Mother Zeerith stared at him for few long moments, then nodded, and Jarlaxle disappeared once more into the shadows of the webbing, right before Archmage Tsabrak arrived with the prisoners in tow.GROMPH WASN’T SURPRISED by the next visitor to his quarters this day.The matron mother entered with hardly an announcement, and with a scowl that told him that she, too, knew of the failures in Q’Xorlarrin.“Your demon has fallen,” she said in greeting.“Along with many, it would seem,” Gromph calmly answered.“Matron Mother Zeerith will not hold for long, I presume.”“The dwarves will reclaim Gauntlgrym, but they will never hold it,” the matron mother vowed.Gromph did well not to laugh out loud at that pronouncement.He found this whole adventure rather silly.How many resources would Quenthel squander in trying to evict the formidable dwarves?And for what practical gain?“Because next time, I will be wiser than to rely on the foolish Gromph for such important matters!” the matron mother added, and she sounded so small and petulant at that moment.Had she abandoned the wisdom of Yvonnel?The archmage just stared at her, unsure as to what any of this could mean.The satellite city of Q’Xorlarrin had been brought down, or soon would be, it seemed, but in the end, most of Matron Mother Zeerith’s House would escape and so the loss would be minimal to Menzoberranzan.In fact, such an event might even strengthen Quenthel’s hold over the Ruling Council, for it would remove a very sharp thorn from the side of House Hunzrin and the Melarni fanatics, and that alliance was one that Matron Mother Mez’Barris Armgo could actually use to weaken House Baenre.“Your demon led the defense,” the matron mother spat.“This failure falls upon your shoulders.Be cautious, wizard, for Tsabrak Xorlarrin will surely survive this, and he remains in the graces of the Spider Queen.”She spun and swept out of the room and Gromph fell back in his seat, his fingers tap-tapping once more.He tried to dismiss Quenthel’s overt threat, but he began to see some troubling possibilities.Would his sister cut a deal with Matron Mother Zeerith to absorb House Xorlarrin into House Baenre?Where might the Xorlarrins go if the dwarves gained an unshakable foothold?They would not be welcomed back into Menzoberranzan as a rival House, particularly not now with so many backroom alliances being formed among the ruling matron mothers.And perhaps Quenthel would spread the whispers that Gromph had failed, that the archmage had, in fact, been the cause of the loss of Q’Xorlarrin.In that event, would Quenthel be in a stronger position to offer Zeerith one of her most coveted trophies: a Xorlarrin as Archmage of Menzoberranzan?Nay, this was not a threat Gromph could easily dismiss, and in that realization, so came his outrage.Barely had Quenthel left the tower of Sorcere when Gromph began his spellcasting, twining in the psionic insights to heighten the spell—or so he thought.In truth, the archmage was obliviously casting Lolth’s spell, given to him through Kimmuriel in the guise of the captured K’yorl Odran.Gromph’s long-developed sense of caution should have clarified the truth to him, but his anger and ego overruled his common sense, and so he pressed on.“Omminem dimti’ite’spem,” he chanted, words he did not know, a language he did not know, but he somehow understood—or that he believed at least, that this chant aligned perfectly with his usual vocalizations for his spells of summoning.This was the perfect joining, psionics and arcane magic, perhaps the greatest and purest call to the lower planes any mortal had made in centuries.He would replace the fallen Marilith with something bigger.

dnd161

With a balor, likely, and one to match and exceed Quenthel’s current pet.Or perhaps several of the major demons would come to his call, bound and allied under the sheer power of his will.“Ovisin trantes vobis ohm!”He had to work hard to keep a bubbling chuckle out of his voice when he felt the power growing within him.He could visualize his hand reaching for the Faerzress, prodding through the boundary between the planes, demanding an answer to his call.And he felt the presence!A balor?A great one indeed—the strength of the demon resonated within him.He reached deeper, unwittingly wounding the boundary of the Faerzress.He reached for the great power that lurked there in the shadows, just out of sight, only barely beyond his grasping thoughts.But he could stretch …“Dimti’ite spem!”CHAPTER 24The PrinceBRUENOR’S STRIKE LANDED WITH AN EXPLOSIVE SOUND, THE VROCK’S skull disintegrating beneath the tremendous weight of the blow.Another room, another corridor, secured.“I’m thinking they runned off, elf,” he said to Drizzt.The drow ranger could only shrug, for indeed, there was no sign of any other dark elves about.They had encountered a few demons—nothing bigger than the vulture-like vrock—and various groups of orcs or goblins, but all of those had seemed more interested in running away than in fighting.And no drow.“They are either laying a trap for us, or you are quite correct,” Drizzt answered.“The Forge is clear,” Catti-brie said, coming into the room to join her friends.“Toliver’s wizard eye entered and swept through the entirety of the area, and more than once.”Drizzt was about to suggest that they should go and take the place, but he found he didn’t have to, for as soon as the woman’s message became clear, Bruenor ran off, growling with determination.Within a very short while, Bruenor’s strike force burst into the allimportant Forge of Gauntlgrym, with Drizzt, Catti-brie, and the Harpells close behind.Oretheo Spikes and a brigade of Wilddwarves fanned out to one flank, Bungalow Thump taking the Gutbusters the other way.“King Emerus should be here,” Bruenor decided as soon as they determined that the room was clear of enemies.He motioned to Mallabritches, who had served her beloved King Emerus for all her life, and she ran off for the main chamber where the gravely wounded dwarf lay.“Send an eye to the primordial chamber,” Catti-brie bade Toliver, and she pointed out the side door that led to the nearby cavern.“No need,” Bruenor insisted, and he walked right to that side door, pulled it open, and started in.Drizzt, Athrogate, Ambergris, and the wizards followed close behind.“I’m bringing three gods with me.”“Why thank ye, me king,” said Athrogate.“Not yerself, ye dolt!” Bruenor roared, and Athrogate howled with laughter.Down the tunnel they went, full of confidence.Bruenor didn’t even hesitate as he strode into the main chamber.Near the center of the ledge on this side of the pit, past a gigantic, inanimate jade spider—one that Catti-brie focused her attention on, for she had seen these guardians attack before—Bruenor, Drizzt, and the others found quite a surprise waiting for them.A beautiful drow woman sat upon the altar stone, seeming quite at ease—though an occasional wince betrayed the hatred that was in her heart.Bruenor’s entourage fanned out wide, while Drizzt and Catti-brie remained close to the red-bearded dwarf’s side, Catti-brie alternating her wary glance from the drow female to that jade spider, and to another gigantic green arachnid statue standing guard across the way, near the collapsed tunnel where Catti-brie had struck down Dahlia a couple of years earlier.“And you are the famous Drizzt Do’Urden,” the beautiful drow said, not hiding her contempt.“I congratulate you on being alive, though I doubt it will last all that long.”All the dwarves and Harpells went deeper into their crouches then, expecting some catastrophe to erupt.“Short when measured against the lifespan of a drow, I mean,” the matron mother clarified.“Fear not, Drizzt Do’Urden, or you, King Bruenor Battlehammer.There is no battle to be found.You have won back Gauntlgrym.My people, House Xorlarrin, are gone.”“You are Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin?” Drizzt asked.The woman stood and bowed.“And ye waited here to be catched?” Bruenor asked doubtfully.“I awaited your arrival that we might come to terms,” she replied.“Terms o’ yer surrender?”She bowed again.“It is a simple matter,” she said.

With a balor, likely, and one to match and exceed Quenthel’s current pet.Or perhaps several of the major demons would come to his call, bound and allied under the sheer power of his will.“Ovisin trantes vobis ohm!”He had to work hard to keep a bubbling chuckle out of his voice when he felt the power growing within him.He could visualize his hand reaching for the Faerzress, prodding through the boundary between the planes, demanding an answer to his call.And he felt the presence!A balor?A great one indeed—the strength of the demon resonated within him.He reached deeper, unwittingly wounding the boundary of the Faerzress.He reached for the great power that lurked there in the shadows, just out of sight, only barely beyond his grasping thoughts.But he could stretch …“Dimti’ite spem!”CHAPTER 24The PrinceBRUENOR’S STRIKE LANDED WITH AN EXPLOSIVE SOUND, THE VROCK’S skull disintegrating beneath the tremendous weight of the blow.Another room, another corridor, secured.“I’m thinking they runned off, elf,” he said to Drizzt.The drow ranger could only shrug, for indeed, there was no sign of any other dark elves about.They had encountered a few demons—nothing bigger than the vulture-like vrock—and various groups of orcs or goblins, but all of those had seemed more interested in running away than in fighting.And no drow.“They are either laying a trap for us, or you are quite correct,” Drizzt answered.“The Forge is clear,” Catti-brie said, coming into the room to join her friends.“Toliver’s wizard eye entered and swept through the entirety of the area, and more than once.”Drizzt was about to suggest that they should go and take the place, but he found he didn’t have to, for as soon as the woman’s message became clear, Bruenor ran off, growling with determination.Within a very short while, Bruenor’s strike force burst into the allimportant Forge of Gauntlgrym, with Drizzt, Catti-brie, and the Harpells close behind.Oretheo Spikes and a brigade of Wilddwarves fanned out to one flank, Bungalow Thump taking the Gutbusters the other way.“King Emerus should be here,” Bruenor decided as soon as they determined that the room was clear of enemies.He motioned to Mallabritches, who had served her beloved King Emerus for all her life, and she ran off for the main chamber where the gravely wounded dwarf lay.“Send an eye to the primordial chamber,” Catti-brie bade Toliver, and she pointed out the side door that led to the nearby cavern.“No need,” Bruenor insisted, and he walked right to that side door, pulled it open, and started in.Drizzt, Athrogate, Ambergris, and the wizards followed close behind.“I’m bringing three gods with me.”“Why thank ye, me king,” said Athrogate.“Not yerself, ye dolt!” Bruenor roared, and Athrogate howled with laughter.Down the tunnel they went, full of confidence.Bruenor didn’t even hesitate as he strode into the main chamber.Near the center of the ledge on this side of the pit, past a gigantic, inanimate jade spider—one that Catti-brie focused her attention on, for she had seen these guardians attack before—Bruenor, Drizzt, and the others found quite a surprise waiting for them.A beautiful drow woman sat upon the altar stone, seeming quite at ease—though an occasional wince betrayed the hatred that was in her heart.Bruenor’s entourage fanned out wide, while Drizzt and Catti-brie remained close to the red-bearded dwarf’s side, Catti-brie alternating her wary glance from the drow female to that jade spider, and to another gigantic green arachnid statue standing guard across the way, near the collapsed tunnel where Catti-brie had struck down Dahlia a couple of years earlier.“And you are the famous Drizzt Do’Urden,” the beautiful drow said, not hiding her contempt.“I congratulate you on being alive, though I doubt it will last all that long.”All the dwarves and Harpells went deeper into their crouches then, expecting some catastrophe to erupt.“Short when measured against the lifespan of a drow, I mean,” the matron mother clarified.“Fear not, Drizzt Do’Urden, or you, King Bruenor Battlehammer.There is no battle to be found.You have won back Gauntlgrym.My people, House Xorlarrin, are gone.”“You are Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin?” Drizzt asked.The woman stood and bowed.“And ye waited here to be catched?” Bruenor asked doubtfully.“I awaited your arrival that we might come to terms,” she replied.“Terms o’ yer surrender?”She bowed again.“It is a simple matter,” she said.

dnd162

“I will leave you, the members of House Xorlarrin beside me, and we will not return …” She paused and smiled.“Let us use the terms of demonic banishment,” she added slyly, “for that seems fitting at this time.We will not return to challenge you for this place you call Gauntlgrym until at least a century has passed.”“From where I’m looking, I got me a prisoner that’s worth the peace,” Bruenor replied.“For one what’s been beaten, ye’re asking a high price, even in just thinking I’m to let ye go.”He meant every word, all knew, and why would he not?King Connerad was dead, along with many Gutbusters and hundreds of dwarves from the Silver Marches who had given their lives to drive the drow from Gauntlgrym.King Emerus lay near death, and none of the priests truly expected him to survive.“Or might that we take yer ugly head now, eh?” Bruenor said.“Queen o’ this city …”“Matron Mother,” she corrected.“Zeerith Xorlarrin.”“What’er ye might call yerself!” Bruenor snapped at her.“Ye bringed me pain, and now ye’re askin’ me to just let ye walk away?”“I only remained to seal the truce, to accept the terms of surrender.”“Terms yerself’s namin’!”“Behold,” Zeerith said, and she turned to her left, away from the primordial pit, and waved her hand at the magical webbing.It parted obediently, revealing three forms hanging by filaments, and with swarms of ugly spiders the size of a dwarf’s fat hand ready to descend upon them, poison-dripping mandibles clattering eagerly.Gasps arose from all about.There hung Kenneally and Tuckernuck Harpell, somehow alive.And no jaw fell lower than that of Bruenor Battlehammer, for the third prisoner hanging in that deadly trap was none other than Stokely Silverstream of Icewind Dale.“Bah!” Bruenor snorted, and it took all of his discipline to not leap out and behead Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin on the spot.“Their bite is quite poisonous, and quite deadly, even to a dwarf,” Zeerith assured them.“And for all the delicate skin they will tear in such numbers, will they even need the poison, I wonder?”“They die and I’m throwin’ ye into the pit,” Bruenor promised.“Spare me your idle threats,” Zeerith replied, and she looked to Catti-brie and the Harpells and waggled her finger, warning them from thinking a small fireball might save their friends.“I have offered the terms,” Zeerith said.“Understand that I could already be long gone from this place, and could have left behind three corpses to bring your tears.”“Then why’d ye stay?” Bruenor demanded.This didn’t make much sense to him, particularly in light of the fact that this was a powerful drow matron mother standing in front of him.He had heard enough tales from Drizzt, and indeed, had battled these ferocious and fanatical priestesses before.But Drizzt, who had been pulled from his unconscious state and guided into battle, figured it out then, and he said, “Jarlaxle,” without a hint of doubt in his voice.Zeerith didn’t answer.She didn’t have to.Bruenor turned a puzzled expression upon Drizzt, who nodded.“Agreed, dwarf?” Zeerith asked a moment later.“Ye come back in a hunnerd years and I’ll be here,” Bruenor replied.“And don’t ye doubt that I’ll be throwin’ ye into that pit then.”Matron Mother Zeerith turned to the webbing again and waved her hands.The swarm of spiders retreated, and the filaments began to lower the three prisoners to the floor.Catti-brie, the Harpells, and Ambergris rushed over to catch them as they touched down and slouched limply to the floor.When Zeerith turned back, she focused her stare upon Drizzt, and he noted quite a few swirling emotions when he locked that gaze with his own.

“I will leave you, the members of House Xorlarrin beside me, and we will not return …” She paused and smiled.“Let us use the terms of demonic banishment,” she added slyly, “for that seems fitting at this time.We will not return to challenge you for this place you call Gauntlgrym until at least a century has passed.”“From where I’m looking, I got me a prisoner that’s worth the peace,” Bruenor replied.“For one what’s been beaten, ye’re asking a high price, even in just thinking I’m to let ye go.”He meant every word, all knew, and why would he not?King Connerad was dead, along with many Gutbusters and hundreds of dwarves from the Silver Marches who had given their lives to drive the drow from Gauntlgrym.King Emerus lay near death, and none of the priests truly expected him to survive.“Or might that we take yer ugly head now, eh?” Bruenor said.“Queen o’ this city …”“Matron Mother,” she corrected.“Zeerith Xorlarrin.”“What’er ye might call yerself!” Bruenor snapped at her.“Ye bringed me pain, and now ye’re askin’ me to just let ye walk away?”“I only remained to seal the truce, to accept the terms of surrender.”“Terms yerself’s namin’!”“Behold,” Zeerith said, and she turned to her left, away from the primordial pit, and waved her hand at the magical webbing.It parted obediently, revealing three forms hanging by filaments, and with swarms of ugly spiders the size of a dwarf’s fat hand ready to descend upon them, poison-dripping mandibles clattering eagerly.Gasps arose from all about.There hung Kenneally and Tuckernuck Harpell, somehow alive.And no jaw fell lower than that of Bruenor Battlehammer, for the third prisoner hanging in that deadly trap was none other than Stokely Silverstream of Icewind Dale.“Bah!” Bruenor snorted, and it took all of his discipline to not leap out and behead Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin on the spot.“Their bite is quite poisonous, and quite deadly, even to a dwarf,” Zeerith assured them.“And for all the delicate skin they will tear in such numbers, will they even need the poison, I wonder?”“They die and I’m throwin’ ye into the pit,” Bruenor promised.“Spare me your idle threats,” Zeerith replied, and she looked to Catti-brie and the Harpells and waggled her finger, warning them from thinking a small fireball might save their friends.“I have offered the terms,” Zeerith said.“Understand that I could already be long gone from this place, and could have left behind three corpses to bring your tears.”“Then why’d ye stay?” Bruenor demanded.This didn’t make much sense to him, particularly in light of the fact that this was a powerful drow matron mother standing in front of him.He had heard enough tales from Drizzt, and indeed, had battled these ferocious and fanatical priestesses before.But Drizzt, who had been pulled from his unconscious state and guided into battle, figured it out then, and he said, “Jarlaxle,” without a hint of doubt in his voice.Zeerith didn’t answer.She didn’t have to.Bruenor turned a puzzled expression upon Drizzt, who nodded.“Agreed, dwarf?” Zeerith asked a moment later.“Ye come back in a hunnerd years and I’ll be here,” Bruenor replied.“And don’t ye doubt that I’ll be throwin’ ye into that pit then.”Matron Mother Zeerith turned to the webbing again and waved her hands.The swarm of spiders retreated, and the filaments began to lower the three prisoners to the floor.Catti-brie, the Harpells, and Ambergris rushed over to catch them as they touched down and slouched limply to the floor.When Zeerith turned back, she focused her stare upon Drizzt, and he noted quite a few swirling emotions when he locked that gaze with his own.

dnd163

Mostly intrigue, which confused him more than a little.FAR FROM THE chambers of Gromph Baenre, in the region of the great Underdark known as the Faerzress, a burst of bright yellow light erupted within the stones of one wall, like the ignition of trapped gasses or the spark of life itself, or something in between.That fire slid down to the floor and swept out from the stones, speeding in a straight line across the expanses of the Underdark.It did not turn in deference to solid walls, but burned right through, like a heavy stone falling through still water.It shot along the miles, the tens of miles, the hundreds of miles, and moments later entered the cavern of Menzoberranzan, and only the blink of an eye later, delivered its passenger into the room of the archmage.“SHOW ME,” JARLAXLE insisted when he found Kimmuriel staring into the crystal necklace of the set he shared with Gromph and Doum’wielle.“Have you found her, then?”Kimmuriel looked up at him incredulously, an expression that begged the question of why he would bother trying to find Doum’wielle.He wisely kept that to himself, though.He was spying upon not Doum’wielle, but Gromph, which was a very dangerous, even reckless thing to do.But Kimmuriel couldn’t resist.He wanted to see the Baenre’s face when K’yorl materialized in his chamber!Let him try his rudimentary understanding of psionic power against the assault she would wage!“Not yet,” he answered, for he couldn’t let Jarlaxle know his target without tacitly admitting that he had been behind this brewing catastrophe.“I see,” Jarlaxle replied, unconvinced, and Kimmuriel knew that Jarlaxle had seen right through his pathetic attempt to dodge.“Well, do inform me when you have located her.I wish to save the poor girl, and expect that she will prove of value.”Had he spent the few moments to follow the logical conclusion of the exchange, Kimmuriel would have realized that Jarlaxle, when he learned of the disaster about to befall House Baenre and Menzoberranzan, would surely link it to him.But he was simply too excited to care at that moment, and he dived back into the connecting crystals of the necklace, seeking Gromph.He found the archmage clawing at his own eyes and screaming, falling away, Gromph’s face a mask of sheer horror.And Kimmuriel knew exultation, and swung his view through the scrying device, determined to see his mother.Then Kimmuriel, too, began clawing at his own eyes, falling back in abject terror, stumbling right over backward and falling to the floor—and that alone saved his sanity when the fall broke the connection to Gromph’s chambers in Sorcere.THRICE THE HEIGHT of a drow, two-headed, with the bright blue and red horrible faces of a mandrill or a baboon, bipedal and two-armed—though those arms were waving tentacles, replete with suckers that could catch and hold and haul prey in to be devoured—and with a scaled and sinewy saurian body, great and powerful, the summoned beast had to squat to fit within the confines of the room.Until it did not squat and simply crashed through the stone ceiling with hardly an inconvenience, and swept its great tail about, which ended in blades that seemed as if they would be more fitting set upon the claymore of a mountain giant, the mighty weapons easily slicing through the mushroom-wood and stones of the walls, tearing them with hardly a hesitation—despite the powerful enchantments that had been placed to fortify the walls of the tower of the archmage of Menzoberranzan.Dweomers seemed like child’s play in the face of this beast.One baboon head screeched at the other in protest, and the other spat back, the continuing, millennia-old battle between the dueling identities of this one great beast.That one of the most powerful wizards of the mortal realms shivered and melted, pissed in his own robes, and couldn’t find a single word to cry out for help or for mercy, didn’t impress the demon.After all, to the Prince of Demons Gromph Baenre was of no more concern than an insect.JARLAXLE RUSHED BACK into Kimmuriel’s chamber to find the psionicist in a near-catatonic state, trembling on the floor.“What?” Jarlaxle insisted, truly unnerved in seeing Kimmuriel in such a state.Kimmuriel unnerved!Kimmuriel, who had lived in the hive cities of mind flayers!“Not K’yorl,” Kimmuriel began to babble, over and over.Purely on a hunch, Jarlaxle took off his magical eye patch and set it upon the face of his friend, and indeed, the protective and calming powers of the item did bring some small measure of composure over Kimmuriel.Still, the psionicist stared at Jarlaxle bug-eyed, trembling so badly that Jarlaxle could hear his teeth rattling.“What is it, my friend?” Jarlaxle implored.“Not K’yorl,” Kimmuriel stuttered.“Gromph … summoned …”“Gromph tried to summon your mother?” a truly perplexed Jarlaxle asked, as Kimmuriel continued to stammer and stutter the name of K’yorl.Finally, Kimmuriel found a moment of clarity, and grabbed Jarlaxle desperately, hoisting himself up to look closely into Jarlaxle’s face.“Gromph,” he stammered.“The archmage … gate …”“For K’yorl?”Kimmuriel nodded, but quickly shook his head.“An Abyssal gate?” Jarlaxle prodded.He knew that what remained of K’yorl Odran, Matron Mother Oblodra, was rumored to be imprisoned in the lower planes in the service of a balor.Kimmuriel nodded so excitedly that it seemed as if his head might pop off.“Not K’yorl …”Jarlaxle stared intently as Kimmuriel managed to whisper out the name, “Demogorgon.”Demogorgon, the Prince of Demons, the most powerful creature of the Abyss, a beast even Lolth would not challenge in battle.Jarlaxle bolted upright, letting go of Kimmuriel, who dropped back to the stone floor.The mercenary glanced all around, as if expecting some terrible catastrophe to fall upon him.He knew of Demogorgon—everyone knew of Demogorgon—and such thoughts were not misplaced.Perhaps all of Faerûn would soon know misery.IT ALL SEEMED calm after the initial celebration in learning that the two Harpells and Stokely Silverstream were still alive.“I will be allowed to leave in peace?” Matron Mother Zeerith asked Drizzt, and again he noted a bit of curiosity in her manner, and it left him off balance.“I will see to it,” Drizzt said, or started to say, as a huge commotion erupted from across the primordial pit, in the small antechamber that held the lever controlling the flow of magic into this area from the under-chambers of the broken Hosttower of the Arcane in distant Luskan.All of the others jumped to attention, turning back, weapons ready—and that included Zeerith, Drizzt noted, and she, like the rest, gasped in surprise when out of that chamber came a tall drow male dressed in the distinctive robes that even Drizzt recognized to be the garb of the Archmage of Menzoberranzan.Stumbling, Gromph rushed across the bridge, nearly overbalancing and tumbling to his death into the pit more than once.He steadied himself as he came across, though he kept looking back the way he had come, as if expecting some great monster to come in close pursuit.“Bah, but what trick’s this?” Bruenor demanded, rushing to Matron Mother Zeerith, who stood there shaking her head and seeming at a complete loss.Drizzt, too, didn’t know what to make of this.

Mostly intrigue, which confused him more than a little.FAR FROM THE chambers of Gromph Baenre, in the region of the great Underdark known as the Faerzress, a burst of bright yellow light erupted within the stones of one wall, like the ignition of trapped gasses or the spark of life itself, or something in between.That fire slid down to the floor and swept out from the stones, speeding in a straight line across the expanses of the Underdark.It did not turn in deference to solid walls, but burned right through, like a heavy stone falling through still water.It shot along the miles, the tens of miles, the hundreds of miles, and moments later entered the cavern of Menzoberranzan, and only the blink of an eye later, delivered its passenger into the room of the archmage.“SHOW ME,” JARLAXLE insisted when he found Kimmuriel staring into the crystal necklace of the set he shared with Gromph and Doum’wielle.“Have you found her, then?”Kimmuriel looked up at him incredulously, an expression that begged the question of why he would bother trying to find Doum’wielle.He wisely kept that to himself, though.He was spying upon not Doum’wielle, but Gromph, which was a very dangerous, even reckless thing to do.But Kimmuriel couldn’t resist.He wanted to see the Baenre’s face when K’yorl materialized in his chamber!Let him try his rudimentary understanding of psionic power against the assault she would wage!“Not yet,” he answered, for he couldn’t let Jarlaxle know his target without tacitly admitting that he had been behind this brewing catastrophe.“I see,” Jarlaxle replied, unconvinced, and Kimmuriel knew that Jarlaxle had seen right through his pathetic attempt to dodge.“Well, do inform me when you have located her.I wish to save the poor girl, and expect that she will prove of value.”Had he spent the few moments to follow the logical conclusion of the exchange, Kimmuriel would have realized that Jarlaxle, when he learned of the disaster about to befall House Baenre and Menzoberranzan, would surely link it to him.But he was simply too excited to care at that moment, and he dived back into the connecting crystals of the necklace, seeking Gromph.He found the archmage clawing at his own eyes and screaming, falling away, Gromph’s face a mask of sheer horror.And Kimmuriel knew exultation, and swung his view through the scrying device, determined to see his mother.Then Kimmuriel, too, began clawing at his own eyes, falling back in abject terror, stumbling right over backward and falling to the floor—and that alone saved his sanity when the fall broke the connection to Gromph’s chambers in Sorcere.THRICE THE HEIGHT of a drow, two-headed, with the bright blue and red horrible faces of a mandrill or a baboon, bipedal and two-armed—though those arms were waving tentacles, replete with suckers that could catch and hold and haul prey in to be devoured—and with a scaled and sinewy saurian body, great and powerful, the summoned beast had to squat to fit within the confines of the room.Until it did not squat and simply crashed through the stone ceiling with hardly an inconvenience, and swept its great tail about, which ended in blades that seemed as if they would be more fitting set upon the claymore of a mountain giant, the mighty weapons easily slicing through the mushroom-wood and stones of the walls, tearing them with hardly a hesitation—despite the powerful enchantments that had been placed to fortify the walls of the tower of the archmage of Menzoberranzan.Dweomers seemed like child’s play in the face of this beast.One baboon head screeched at the other in protest, and the other spat back, the continuing, millennia-old battle between the dueling identities of this one great beast.That one of the most powerful wizards of the mortal realms shivered and melted, pissed in his own robes, and couldn’t find a single word to cry out for help or for mercy, didn’t impress the demon.After all, to the Prince of Demons Gromph Baenre was of no more concern than an insect.JARLAXLE RUSHED BACK into Kimmuriel’s chamber to find the psionicist in a near-catatonic state, trembling on the floor.“What?” Jarlaxle insisted, truly unnerved in seeing Kimmuriel in such a state.Kimmuriel unnerved!Kimmuriel, who had lived in the hive cities of mind flayers!“Not K’yorl,” Kimmuriel began to babble, over and over.Purely on a hunch, Jarlaxle took off his magical eye patch and set it upon the face of his friend, and indeed, the protective and calming powers of the item did bring some small measure of composure over Kimmuriel.Still, the psionicist stared at Jarlaxle bug-eyed, trembling so badly that Jarlaxle could hear his teeth rattling.“What is it, my friend?” Jarlaxle implored.“Not K’yorl,” Kimmuriel stuttered.“Gromph … summoned …”“Gromph tried to summon your mother?” a truly perplexed Jarlaxle asked, as Kimmuriel continued to stammer and stutter the name of K’yorl.Finally, Kimmuriel found a moment of clarity, and grabbed Jarlaxle desperately, hoisting himself up to look closely into Jarlaxle’s face.“Gromph,” he stammered.“The archmage … gate …”“For K’yorl?”Kimmuriel nodded, but quickly shook his head.“An Abyssal gate?” Jarlaxle prodded.He knew that what remained of K’yorl Odran, Matron Mother Oblodra, was rumored to be imprisoned in the lower planes in the service of a balor.Kimmuriel nodded so excitedly that it seemed as if his head might pop off.“Not K’yorl …”Jarlaxle stared intently as Kimmuriel managed to whisper out the name, “Demogorgon.”Demogorgon, the Prince of Demons, the most powerful creature of the Abyss, a beast even Lolth would not challenge in battle.Jarlaxle bolted upright, letting go of Kimmuriel, who dropped back to the stone floor.The mercenary glanced all around, as if expecting some terrible catastrophe to fall upon him.He knew of Demogorgon—everyone knew of Demogorgon—and such thoughts were not misplaced.Perhaps all of Faerûn would soon know misery.IT ALL SEEMED calm after the initial celebration in learning that the two Harpells and Stokely Silverstream were still alive.“I will be allowed to leave in peace?” Matron Mother Zeerith asked Drizzt, and again he noted a bit of curiosity in her manner, and it left him off balance.“I will see to it,” Drizzt said, or started to say, as a huge commotion erupted from across the primordial pit, in the small antechamber that held the lever controlling the flow of magic into this area from the under-chambers of the broken Hosttower of the Arcane in distant Luskan.All of the others jumped to attention, turning back, weapons ready—and that included Zeerith, Drizzt noted, and she, like the rest, gasped in surprise when out of that chamber came a tall drow male dressed in the distinctive robes that even Drizzt recognized to be the garb of the Archmage of Menzoberranzan.Stumbling, Gromph rushed across the bridge, nearly overbalancing and tumbling to his death into the pit more than once.He steadied himself as he came across, though he kept looking back the way he had come, as if expecting some great monster to come in close pursuit.“Bah, but what trick’s this?” Bruenor demanded, rushing to Matron Mother Zeerith, who stood there shaking her head and seeming at a complete loss.Drizzt, too, didn’t know what to make of this.

dnd164

He recognized the archmage, but why would that one come now, and why would he cross over to their side of the pit?For surely Gromph Baenre could have destroyed them all from across the way.Drizzt’s confusion turned to horror, though, when Catti-brie ran out in front of him to meet the charge of the archmage.“You cannot be here!” she cried, lifting her enchanted staff at the drow.“Be gone!”Gromph skidded to a stop, and seemed for all the world as though he only then realized there were others in the room.He looked at the woman opposing him, his amber eyes, bloodshot now and with scratches all around them, flaring dangerously.But Catti-brie didn’t blink and didn’t back down.Swirling mists gathered in Gromph’s wake, as if the very floor was awakening to his passage, to his call.And small fires danced behind Catti-brie as she stalked opposite, keeping herself squared to the dangerous drow.Drizzt moved up beside Zeerith, but suddenly felt as if this whole thing was quite beyond him.He looked to Zeerith, and could tell that she, too, wanted nothing to do with the battle that simmered on the ledge in front of them all.“Do not challenge me, foolish woman,” Gromph warned.“Not now.”“If you come intending battle, you will face me,” Catti-brie said.The fires behind her flared more intensely, and forms appeared in them, alive and begging release.But Gromph’s gray mists, too, took shape, diabolical and dark.The archmage growled and reached out behind him, turning to face the antechamber across the way.With a growl he let loose a tremendous bolt of lightning that sizzled across the pit, arcing and sparking through the archway to resound sharply within the stones of the small chamber.The bolt was so powerful it left all the air of the large chamber smelling like a battered field after a violent thunderstorm.“I will be followed,” he growled in response to Catti-brie’s puzzled look.“That chamber must be sealed!”“Do it!Oh, do it!” cried another voice, and all turned to see Jarlaxle stumbling into the room.“Shut it!Destroy it!Eliminate it!Oh, quickly!“You know?” Gromph demanded.The flames rushed in at Catti-brie, leaping upon her and limning her form.She lifted her staff, which blackened, hot lines of fire veining it.“Dull the power of the water beasts,” Catti-brie demanded, in a voice that seemed different then, hissing and crackling as if infused with the stuff of fire.Gromph launched into a spell, as did Penelope, Kipper, and Toliver, all rushing over.One spell designed to mute magic after another went into the pit, assailing the swirl of water elementals, driving them from the area immediately below the antechamber.And all the while, Catti-brie cast her own enchantment, calling to the primordial to rise up.The chamber shook, all the complex of Gauntlgrym rumbled under the power of the godlike beast.Up came a wall of lava carrying great black boulders, targeted by the will of Catti-brie.The eruption leaped above the level of the stunned companions, exploding into the antechamber across the way, the lava stones crashing and bouncing off the walkway bridge in their descent.

He recognized the archmage, but why would that one come now, and why would he cross over to their side of the pit?For surely Gromph Baenre could have destroyed them all from across the way.Drizzt’s confusion turned to horror, though, when Catti-brie ran out in front of him to meet the charge of the archmage.“You cannot be here!” she cried, lifting her enchanted staff at the drow.“Be gone!”Gromph skidded to a stop, and seemed for all the world as though he only then realized there were others in the room.He looked at the woman opposing him, his amber eyes, bloodshot now and with scratches all around them, flaring dangerously.But Catti-brie didn’t blink and didn’t back down.Swirling mists gathered in Gromph’s wake, as if the very floor was awakening to his passage, to his call.And small fires danced behind Catti-brie as she stalked opposite, keeping herself squared to the dangerous drow.Drizzt moved up beside Zeerith, but suddenly felt as if this whole thing was quite beyond him.He looked to Zeerith, and could tell that she, too, wanted nothing to do with the battle that simmered on the ledge in front of them all.“Do not challenge me, foolish woman,” Gromph warned.“Not now.”“If you come intending battle, you will face me,” Catti-brie said.The fires behind her flared more intensely, and forms appeared in them, alive and begging release.But Gromph’s gray mists, too, took shape, diabolical and dark.The archmage growled and reached out behind him, turning to face the antechamber across the way.With a growl he let loose a tremendous bolt of lightning that sizzled across the pit, arcing and sparking through the archway to resound sharply within the stones of the small chamber.The bolt was so powerful it left all the air of the large chamber smelling like a battered field after a violent thunderstorm.“I will be followed,” he growled in response to Catti-brie’s puzzled look.“That chamber must be sealed!”“Do it!Oh, do it!” cried another voice, and all turned to see Jarlaxle stumbling into the room.“Shut it!Destroy it!Eliminate it!Oh, quickly!“You know?” Gromph demanded.The flames rushed in at Catti-brie, leaping upon her and limning her form.She lifted her staff, which blackened, hot lines of fire veining it.“Dull the power of the water beasts,” Catti-brie demanded, in a voice that seemed different then, hissing and crackling as if infused with the stuff of fire.Gromph launched into a spell, as did Penelope, Kipper, and Toliver, all rushing over.One spell designed to mute magic after another went into the pit, assailing the swirl of water elementals, driving them from the area immediately below the antechamber.And all the while, Catti-brie cast her own enchantment, calling to the primordial to rise up.The chamber shook, all the complex of Gauntlgrym rumbled under the power of the godlike beast.Up came a wall of lava carrying great black boulders, targeted by the will of Catti-brie.The eruption leaped above the level of the stunned companions, exploding into the antechamber across the way, the lava stones crashing and bouncing off the walkway bridge in their descent.

dnd165

So violent was the belch of the rumbling primordial that it sent half the onlookers tumbling to the floor.But not Catti-brie, who held her ground and held fast her concentration, her demands to the fire beast.It was over as abruptly as it had started, the molten vomit settling back into the pit, the water elementals leaping back into their entrapping spin.Gusts of steam filled the chamber, turning everything ghostlike, but when the mists cleared enough, Drizzt could see that the walkway across the pit was no more, smashed and brought down by falling boulders, and the angry orange glow of the lava filling the antechamber fast darkened to black as it cooled, entombing the lever and the room.Drizzt looked for Catti-brie and found her, standing opposite Gromph, the two wizards once again staring at each other threateningly.Drizzt inched forward, ready to leap upon the archmage if he made a move against Catti-brie.But Gromph Baenre, who had just fled the most feared beast of the lower planes, offered only a respectful bow.Catti-brie didn’t blink, and she threw off her fiery coat, the living flames rushing at her demand to leap upon the thick webbing that covered the back wall of House Xorlarrin’s altar room.The webs disintegrated under the touch of the living flames, the spiders shrieked and curled in smoky death, and Matron Mother Zeerith gasped and stumbled back to fall into a sitting position on the altar stone.Gromph’s lips curled in a smile, and to the shock of all in the room, he bowed to Catti-brie yet again.Then Catti-brie wore a curious expression, and it seemed to Drizzt as if she were listening to something, as if the archmage, perhaps, was silently in her thoughts, speaking to her.“You need us,” Catti-brie said at length.“And I need you.”The mighty Archmage Gromph Baenre looked at the woman curiously.But he did not disagree.EpilogueTHAT SAME BUSY DAY, THE FIFTEENTH OF NIGHTAL IN DALERECKONING 1486, the Year of the Nether Mountain Scrolls, when the boundary of the Faerzress was broken and the dwarves claimed victory in Gauntlgrym and Demogorgon entered the Underdark of Faerûn, Bruenor Battlehammer stood in front of the Throne of the Dwarf Gods in the upper audience hall of Gauntlgrym.In the seat in front of him rested the body of Connerad Brawnanvil, Twelfth King of Mithral Hall.“Gairm mi Conneradhe Brawnanvil Ard-Righ a’chiad air Gauntlgrym!” Bruenor said, thus declaring Connerad as the First King of Gauntlgrym, and a great cheer and clanging of tankards together echoed through the great hall.“Adhlaic Conneradhe comh-glormhor,” cried Bruenor.“Bury Connerad in glory!”No sooner was Connerad taken away than King Emerus Warcrown was helped into the seat by Ragged Dain and Mandarina Dobberbright.The old king rested back comfortably, though his breathing sounded slow and labored.“Me old friend, ye’ve earned yer spot here,” Bruenor whispered to him, leaning forward and putting his lips very near Emerus’s ear.“I thank ye for lettin’ me give Connerad the place o’ honor as the first.”“Aye,” Emerus responded.It seemed like he might want to say more, but clearly, he hadn’t the strength.“And now’s yer turn,” Bruenor whispered.“Ye’ll rule well.”He started to back off, to formerly announce the new King of Gauntlgrym, but with sudden and surprising strength, Emerus grabbed him by the collar and tugged him back.“No,” Emerus whispered in Bruenor’s ear.“Moradin’s callin’ me, me friend.It’s time.”Bruenor pulled back and stood straight.He wanted to argue, but saw the light already leaving the gray eyes of old Emerus Warcrown.“Gairm mi Emerus Warcrown Ard-Righ an darna air Gauntlgrym!” Bruenor declared as loudly as he could, for he knew that Emerus, dear Emerus, was already slipping far, far away, and he wanted his dear old friend to hear the proclamation that he might carry it proudly to the table of Moradin.Soon after, the shouts echoed throughout the reclaimed dwarven homeland, from the entry cavern to the Forge, “All hail Bruenor Battlehammer, Third King of Gauntlgrym!”DEMOGORGON’S PATH OF devastation meandered from Sorcere on Tier Breche to the exit of the cavern housing Menzoberranzan, leaving in its wake great piles of rubble, including large sections of more than one drow manor, and many dead dark elves, and scores more who had been driven mad by the mere sight of the great and terrible beast.The whole city held its collective breath, for though the march of the Prince of Demons took only a short while, so great echoed the cries, so horrified sounded the calls, that every House huddled down as quietly as possible, not wanting to attract any attention.Accusations would flow soon enough, and fears expressed, and venomous words issued, from one House to another, and many toward Baenre, but behind every angry word sounded fear, true and not without cause.How much greater would the consternation and tribulation have been if the drow of Menzoberranzan saw then the walls of the Faerzress, where more flares of brilliant and powerful light sparked as other demon lords sought to pass the broken boundary.In Errtu’s lair in the Abyss, the Spider Queen Lolth purred contentedly.With her rivals soon to be gone, she would find great gains.WHAT HAD AT first seemed garish now resonated as respectful, as the bodies of the two dead kings, both heroically posed, were set on small pedestals behind the Throne of the Dwarf Gods.Connerad and Emerus appeared as they had in life, only now they were entombed in a skin of cooling lava Catti-brie had crafted.The elemental had told her this was the way the dwarves had done it in the early days of the original Gauntlgrym, preserving their kings in a coat of black stone.Indeed, following the guidance of the elemental beast, the dwarves dug out long-broken hallways and uncovered a most ancient burial ground, and there found the graves of Gauntlgrym’s earliest residents.They found no perfect statues, like the ones they had just created for Connerad and Emerus, but the top slabs of the many cairns they did discover were fashioned with a bas-relief of the dwarf entombed within.And so King Bruenor ordered that the graveyard be fully opened, and demanded proper cairns for every dwarf that had fallen in retaking this ancient Delzoun home.“He has determined that Thibbledorf Pwent will have a statue as well,” Catti-brie informed Drizzt a few days later.“A statue akin to Connerad and Emerus, and not a simple grave?”“The first dwarf to fall in the reclamation of Gauntlgrym,” Catti-brie replied.“Your pet primordial will oblige, I expect,” Drizzt said with a chuckle.“My pet …” Catti-brie replied with a sigh, for that, she understood very pointedly, was hardly the case.In fact, she was already beginning to understand that the beast was more eagerly seeking release.“On the wall opposite the throne,” Catti-brie explained.“Bruenor wants Pwent where he can see him when holding court.To draw strength.”Drizzt nodded.It seemed reasonable.“He’s asked Penelope and Kipper to retrieve the body from Longsaddle, that it can be properly interred,” Catti-brie explained, and Drizzt nodded again.“I am going with them,” the woman added, and there was more in that declaration than her simple round-trip intentions for Bruenor’s errand, Drizzt knew.

So violent was the belch of the rumbling primordial that it sent half the onlookers tumbling to the floor.But not Catti-brie, who held her ground and held fast her concentration, her demands to the fire beast.It was over as abruptly as it had started, the molten vomit settling back into the pit, the water elementals leaping back into their entrapping spin.Gusts of steam filled the chamber, turning everything ghostlike, but when the mists cleared enough, Drizzt could see that the walkway across the pit was no more, smashed and brought down by falling boulders, and the angry orange glow of the lava filling the antechamber fast darkened to black as it cooled, entombing the lever and the room.Drizzt looked for Catti-brie and found her, standing opposite Gromph, the two wizards once again staring at each other threateningly.Drizzt inched forward, ready to leap upon the archmage if he made a move against Catti-brie.But Gromph Baenre, who had just fled the most feared beast of the lower planes, offered only a respectful bow.Catti-brie didn’t blink, and she threw off her fiery coat, the living flames rushing at her demand to leap upon the thick webbing that covered the back wall of House Xorlarrin’s altar room.The webs disintegrated under the touch of the living flames, the spiders shrieked and curled in smoky death, and Matron Mother Zeerith gasped and stumbled back to fall into a sitting position on the altar stone.Gromph’s lips curled in a smile, and to the shock of all in the room, he bowed to Catti-brie yet again.Then Catti-brie wore a curious expression, and it seemed to Drizzt as if she were listening to something, as if the archmage, perhaps, was silently in her thoughts, speaking to her.“You need us,” Catti-brie said at length.“And I need you.”The mighty Archmage Gromph Baenre looked at the woman curiously.But he did not disagree.EpilogueTHAT SAME BUSY DAY, THE FIFTEENTH OF NIGHTAL IN DALERECKONING 1486, the Year of the Nether Mountain Scrolls, when the boundary of the Faerzress was broken and the dwarves claimed victory in Gauntlgrym and Demogorgon entered the Underdark of Faerûn, Bruenor Battlehammer stood in front of the Throne of the Dwarf Gods in the upper audience hall of Gauntlgrym.In the seat in front of him rested the body of Connerad Brawnanvil, Twelfth King of Mithral Hall.“Gairm mi Conneradhe Brawnanvil Ard-Righ a’chiad air Gauntlgrym!” Bruenor said, thus declaring Connerad as the First King of Gauntlgrym, and a great cheer and clanging of tankards together echoed through the great hall.“Adhlaic Conneradhe comh-glormhor,” cried Bruenor.“Bury Connerad in glory!”No sooner was Connerad taken away than King Emerus Warcrown was helped into the seat by Ragged Dain and Mandarina Dobberbright.The old king rested back comfortably, though his breathing sounded slow and labored.“Me old friend, ye’ve earned yer spot here,” Bruenor whispered to him, leaning forward and putting his lips very near Emerus’s ear.“I thank ye for lettin’ me give Connerad the place o’ honor as the first.”“Aye,” Emerus responded.It seemed like he might want to say more, but clearly, he hadn’t the strength.“And now’s yer turn,” Bruenor whispered.“Ye’ll rule well.”He started to back off, to formerly announce the new King of Gauntlgrym, but with sudden and surprising strength, Emerus grabbed him by the collar and tugged him back.“No,” Emerus whispered in Bruenor’s ear.“Moradin’s callin’ me, me friend.It’s time.”Bruenor pulled back and stood straight.He wanted to argue, but saw the light already leaving the gray eyes of old Emerus Warcrown.“Gairm mi Emerus Warcrown Ard-Righ an darna air Gauntlgrym!” Bruenor declared as loudly as he could, for he knew that Emerus, dear Emerus, was already slipping far, far away, and he wanted his dear old friend to hear the proclamation that he might carry it proudly to the table of Moradin.Soon after, the shouts echoed throughout the reclaimed dwarven homeland, from the entry cavern to the Forge, “All hail Bruenor Battlehammer, Third King of Gauntlgrym!”DEMOGORGON’S PATH OF devastation meandered from Sorcere on Tier Breche to the exit of the cavern housing Menzoberranzan, leaving in its wake great piles of rubble, including large sections of more than one drow manor, and many dead dark elves, and scores more who had been driven mad by the mere sight of the great and terrible beast.The whole city held its collective breath, for though the march of the Prince of Demons took only a short while, so great echoed the cries, so horrified sounded the calls, that every House huddled down as quietly as possible, not wanting to attract any attention.Accusations would flow soon enough, and fears expressed, and venomous words issued, from one House to another, and many toward Baenre, but behind every angry word sounded fear, true and not without cause.How much greater would the consternation and tribulation have been if the drow of Menzoberranzan saw then the walls of the Faerzress, where more flares of brilliant and powerful light sparked as other demon lords sought to pass the broken boundary.In Errtu’s lair in the Abyss, the Spider Queen Lolth purred contentedly.With her rivals soon to be gone, she would find great gains.WHAT HAD AT first seemed garish now resonated as respectful, as the bodies of the two dead kings, both heroically posed, were set on small pedestals behind the Throne of the Dwarf Gods.Connerad and Emerus appeared as they had in life, only now they were entombed in a skin of cooling lava Catti-brie had crafted.The elemental had told her this was the way the dwarves had done it in the early days of the original Gauntlgrym, preserving their kings in a coat of black stone.Indeed, following the guidance of the elemental beast, the dwarves dug out long-broken hallways and uncovered a most ancient burial ground, and there found the graves of Gauntlgrym’s earliest residents.They found no perfect statues, like the ones they had just created for Connerad and Emerus, but the top slabs of the many cairns they did discover were fashioned with a bas-relief of the dwarf entombed within.And so King Bruenor ordered that the graveyard be fully opened, and demanded proper cairns for every dwarf that had fallen in retaking this ancient Delzoun home.“He has determined that Thibbledorf Pwent will have a statue as well,” Catti-brie informed Drizzt a few days later.“A statue akin to Connerad and Emerus, and not a simple grave?”“The first dwarf to fall in the reclamation of Gauntlgrym,” Catti-brie replied.“Your pet primordial will oblige, I expect,” Drizzt said with a chuckle.“My pet …” Catti-brie replied with a sigh, for that, she understood very pointedly, was hardly the case.In fact, she was already beginning to understand that the beast was more eagerly seeking release.“On the wall opposite the throne,” Catti-brie explained.“Bruenor wants Pwent where he can see him when holding court.To draw strength.”Drizzt nodded.It seemed reasonable.“He’s asked Penelope and Kipper to retrieve the body from Longsaddle, that it can be properly interred,” Catti-brie explained, and Drizzt nodded again.“I am going with them,” the woman added, and there was more in that declaration than her simple round-trip intentions for Bruenor’s errand, Drizzt knew.

dnd166

She was telling him, reminding him, that she meant to settle there, in Longsaddle.Drizzt nodded yet again, and smiled, though it was hard for him to do so.He had been beside Bruenor for so very long—the idea of leaving now was not an easy thing to absorb.But he would accompany Catti-brie, he knew, if not this time then the next, when she would travel to Longsaddle to make it her home.“You have time, my love,” Catti-brie assured him.“We have so very much work to do.I wish to make the reign of my father the king a long one, but that will not be, unless …”Drizzt looked at her curiously.“The magic is failing,” Catti-brie said.“The fire beast will find its way out of the pit long before King Bruenor is dead of old age.”“You said ‘unless.’ ”“There may be a way,” the woman replied.“I have much to do.”AMONG THE RECONSTRUCTION, the further securing of the mines and newly discovered chambers, fortifying the lower levels and sealing off the wild Underdark, beside the shouts of gang leaders directing the labor, the first hiss of Gauntlgrym’s ovens, the first rings of dwarven smithy hammers, King Bruenor Battlehammer focused his attention on the throne room, to make it his own.He would put the statue of Thibbledorf Pwent, the encased mummy of his loyal shield dwarf, up on the wall directly in front of his throne.From that he would draw strength.And so, too, would he draw strength from the grand chair he installed to the right of his throne, the one into which he invited Mallabritches Fellhammer, to great celebration.Greater celebration found the halls of Gauntlgrym soon after, when a third grand chair was placed, this time to the left of the throne, and there sat Fist, Tannabritches Fellhammer, healed and feisty and ready for battle.“Two queens, eh?” more than one dwarf snickered and winked whenever the subject of that third chair came up in the gossip of the halls.“Ah, but suren Bruenor’ll lucky-like find that this was the way in the days of old, eh?” one or another would always answer.Bruenor didn’t care about the jokes or winks or any hint of scandal.He was following the whispers of the dwarf gods.He was following the echoes in his heart.He was Bruenor, Bruenor Battlehammer, Third King of Gauntlgrym.He wasn’t restless, as he had been in the days of his previous life in Mithral Hall.The road did not call to him, not now at least.This was where he belonged.This, he believed, was why he had been allowed back to Faerûn in a living body.“YOU’RE MAD,” PENELOPE Harpell scoffed when Catti-brie outlined the plan to her, Kipper, and, surprisingly, Jarlaxle—who had shown up in their camp quite unexpectedly—to the Harpells, at least—on the first night back on the surface above Gauntlgrym, on the road to Longsaddle.“You do not understand the power with which you are dealing,” Kipper chimed in, shaking his head doubtfully.“I understand that the power is safely contained in the pit, and there I mean to keep it,” the woman replied.“I believe he was referring to the other power you mean to involve,” Penelope clarified for Kipper.“Few in Faerûn would draw wands against that one!”“I—” Catti-brie started.“But I do,” Jarlaxle interrupted before she could begin her argument.“There is a way.”Catti-brie nodded and motioned for him to continue.“Luskan is my city,” Jarlaxle explained, and the Harpells seemed a bit taken aback by the bold admission, though of course they had heard the rumors that the drow were behind the dark powers ruling the City of Sails.“And I know the archmage well.He cannot return to the Underdark and Menzoberranzan now, so I expect he will accept my invitation.”“And rebuild the Hosttower?” Kipper asked with great skepticism.“We speak of ancient magic here, lost to the world likely.”“I speak of an ancient archmage, whose bones should long ago have turned to dust,” Jarlaxle replied slyly.“And yet here he is.If any wizard short of Elminster himself has a chance, it is Archmage Gromph.”Penelope offered Catti-brie a sympathetic look.“It seems a desperate plan.”“It is,” the woman admitted.

She was telling him, reminding him, that she meant to settle there, in Longsaddle.Drizzt nodded yet again, and smiled, though it was hard for him to do so.He had been beside Bruenor for so very long—the idea of leaving now was not an easy thing to absorb.But he would accompany Catti-brie, he knew, if not this time then the next, when she would travel to Longsaddle to make it her home.“You have time, my love,” Catti-brie assured him.“We have so very much work to do.I wish to make the reign of my father the king a long one, but that will not be, unless …”Drizzt looked at her curiously.“The magic is failing,” Catti-brie said.“The fire beast will find its way out of the pit long before King Bruenor is dead of old age.”“You said ‘unless.’ ”“There may be a way,” the woman replied.“I have much to do.”AMONG THE RECONSTRUCTION, the further securing of the mines and newly discovered chambers, fortifying the lower levels and sealing off the wild Underdark, beside the shouts of gang leaders directing the labor, the first hiss of Gauntlgrym’s ovens, the first rings of dwarven smithy hammers, King Bruenor Battlehammer focused his attention on the throne room, to make it his own.He would put the statue of Thibbledorf Pwent, the encased mummy of his loyal shield dwarf, up on the wall directly in front of his throne.From that he would draw strength.And so, too, would he draw strength from the grand chair he installed to the right of his throne, the one into which he invited Mallabritches Fellhammer, to great celebration.Greater celebration found the halls of Gauntlgrym soon after, when a third grand chair was placed, this time to the left of the throne, and there sat Fist, Tannabritches Fellhammer, healed and feisty and ready for battle.“Two queens, eh?” more than one dwarf snickered and winked whenever the subject of that third chair came up in the gossip of the halls.“Ah, but suren Bruenor’ll lucky-like find that this was the way in the days of old, eh?” one or another would always answer.Bruenor didn’t care about the jokes or winks or any hint of scandal.He was following the whispers of the dwarf gods.He was following the echoes in his heart.He was Bruenor, Bruenor Battlehammer, Third King of Gauntlgrym.He wasn’t restless, as he had been in the days of his previous life in Mithral Hall.The road did not call to him, not now at least.This was where he belonged.This, he believed, was why he had been allowed back to Faerûn in a living body.“YOU’RE MAD,” PENELOPE Harpell scoffed when Catti-brie outlined the plan to her, Kipper, and, surprisingly, Jarlaxle—who had shown up in their camp quite unexpectedly—to the Harpells, at least—on the first night back on the surface above Gauntlgrym, on the road to Longsaddle.“You do not understand the power with which you are dealing,” Kipper chimed in, shaking his head doubtfully.“I understand that the power is safely contained in the pit, and there I mean to keep it,” the woman replied.“I believe he was referring to the other power you mean to involve,” Penelope clarified for Kipper.“Few in Faerûn would draw wands against that one!”“I—” Catti-brie started.“But I do,” Jarlaxle interrupted before she could begin her argument.“There is a way.”Catti-brie nodded and motioned for him to continue.“Luskan is my city,” Jarlaxle explained, and the Harpells seemed a bit taken aback by the bold admission, though of course they had heard the rumors that the drow were behind the dark powers ruling the City of Sails.“And I know the archmage well.He cannot return to the Underdark and Menzoberranzan now, so I expect he will accept my invitation.”“And rebuild the Hosttower?” Kipper asked with great skepticism.“We speak of ancient magic here, lost to the world likely.”“I speak of an ancient archmage, whose bones should long ago have turned to dust,” Jarlaxle replied slyly.“And yet here he is.If any wizard short of Elminster himself has a chance, it is Archmage Gromph.”Penelope offered Catti-brie a sympathetic look.“It seems a desperate plan.”“It is,” the woman admitted.

dnd167

“But what is the alternative?Am I to allow the fire beast to destroy all that my father has reclaimed?And in that eruption, the primordial is surely likely to take tens of thousands of people of the Sword Coast into fiery ruin beside King Bruenor.”The Harpells exchanged looks.“We will do all that we can to help you,” Kipper said.“The libraries of the Ivy Mansion are at your disposal,” Penelope added.“Yours, but not the drow wizard’s!” Kipper was quick to say.“Pray keep him far from the borders of Longsaddle.”“If the archmage is in need of any of your tomes, I will come personally for a visit,” Jarlaxle assured them with a tip of his great hat and a rather salty wink aimed at Penelope.“And now I must bid you farewell,” the drow mercenary added.“It would seem that I have an archmage to placate, and that is not as easy a task as you might believe.”“You trust him?” Kipper asked when Jarlaxle had gone.Catti-brie, staring off into the direction where the mercenary had disappeared, nodded.“I do, and so does my husband, who knows Jarlaxle well.”“There are many gears turning where that one is concerned,” Penelope warned her.“And not all with your benefit in mind.”“All with Jarlaxle’s benefit in mind, though,” Kipper agreed.Catti-brie smiled and turned to face her Harpell friends.“The world is an interesting place,” she said.She left it at that, and held on to her smile.Because she understood the darkness that might be ahead, and if she let the smile go, she was terribly afraid that she’d not soon find it again.IN A CHAMBER below the lowest levels of the reclaimed dwarven homeland, Gromph Baenre awaited the return of Jarlaxle, and he was surprised indeed when his brother entered beside Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin and Kimmuriel Oblodra.Gromph glared at the psionicist balefully, but Kimmuriel cut him short with a quiet and innocent whisper of, “What did you do?”Gromph cleared his throat.He didn’t much like the vulnerability his error had brought upon him, but he had, after all, summoned Demogorgon to the Prime Material Plane.“I thought that King Bruenor had changed his mind and would now allow Matron Mother Zeerith to leave at this time,” the now-former Archmage of Menzoberranzan asked Jarlaxle, quite eager to change the subject.“You are correct,” Zeerith answered.“Bruenor professed his desire to speak with Zeerith more completely before she was granted her freedom,” Jarlaxle replied.“But I thought differently.”“And so you took her.”Jarlaxle casually shrugged.“You seem to have many night crawlers wriggling about in twisted plans,” said Gromph.“Oh, indeed I do, my brother!” Jarlaxle was happy to admit.“There is a broken city, my dearest homeland, in need of my careful caress.”“You speak the part of a fool.”“If we wish to discuss foolish actions …” Jarlaxle replied, and let the clear reference to Demogorgon hang in the air.Gromph’s growl showed that he did not miss the point.“Pray leave us,” Jarlaxle bade Zeerith and Kimmuriel, and when they moved into the next chamber, he turned to Gromph.“If you or that miserable Oblodran make reference again to the … trouble … in Sorcere, I will turn you both into frogs and drop you into a pond of hungry carp.”“Be at ease,” Jarlaxle bade him.“There may be good consequences for that strange event, if we are clever.”“If we are clever, we will move to the other side of the world.”Jarlaxle scoffed at the notion.“You think this is ended, brother?” he asked.“It is only just begun.”“You intend to go against the matron mothers?” Gromph asked, incredulous.Jarlaxle didn’t answer, but neither did he blink.“Then you should bring them Drizzt Do’Urden’s head to lift your station before you ultimately deceive them.”“Dear brother, I will bring them more than Drizzt’s head,” Jarlaxle promised.“I will bring them Drizzt.”Aballister Bonaduce looked long and hard at the shimmering image in his mirror.Mountains of wind-driven snow and ice lay endlessly before him, the most forbidding place in all the Realms.All he had to do was step through the mirror, onto the Great Glacier.“Are you coming, Druzil?” the wizard said to his batwinged imp.Druzil folded his leathery wings around him as if to privately consider the question.“I am not so fond of the cold,” he said, obviously not wanting to partake of this particular hunt.“Nor am I,” Aballister said, slipping onto his finger an enchanted ring that would protect him from the killing cold.

“But what is the alternative?Am I to allow the fire beast to destroy all that my father has reclaimed?And in that eruption, the primordial is surely likely to take tens of thousands of people of the Sword Coast into fiery ruin beside King Bruenor.”The Harpells exchanged looks.“We will do all that we can to help you,” Kipper said.“The libraries of the Ivy Mansion are at your disposal,” Penelope added.“Yours, but not the drow wizard’s!” Kipper was quick to say.“Pray keep him far from the borders of Longsaddle.”“If the archmage is in need of any of your tomes, I will come personally for a visit,” Jarlaxle assured them with a tip of his great hat and a rather salty wink aimed at Penelope.“And now I must bid you farewell,” the drow mercenary added.“It would seem that I have an archmage to placate, and that is not as easy a task as you might believe.”“You trust him?” Kipper asked when Jarlaxle had gone.Catti-brie, staring off into the direction where the mercenary had disappeared, nodded.“I do, and so does my husband, who knows Jarlaxle well.”“There are many gears turning where that one is concerned,” Penelope warned her.“And not all with your benefit in mind.”“All with Jarlaxle’s benefit in mind, though,” Kipper agreed.Catti-brie smiled and turned to face her Harpell friends.“The world is an interesting place,” she said.She left it at that, and held on to her smile.Because she understood the darkness that might be ahead, and if she let the smile go, she was terribly afraid that she’d not soon find it again.IN A CHAMBER below the lowest levels of the reclaimed dwarven homeland, Gromph Baenre awaited the return of Jarlaxle, and he was surprised indeed when his brother entered beside Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin and Kimmuriel Oblodra.Gromph glared at the psionicist balefully, but Kimmuriel cut him short with a quiet and innocent whisper of, “What did you do?”Gromph cleared his throat.He didn’t much like the vulnerability his error had brought upon him, but he had, after all, summoned Demogorgon to the Prime Material Plane.“I thought that King Bruenor had changed his mind and would now allow Matron Mother Zeerith to leave at this time,” the now-former Archmage of Menzoberranzan asked Jarlaxle, quite eager to change the subject.“You are correct,” Zeerith answered.“Bruenor professed his desire to speak with Zeerith more completely before she was granted her freedom,” Jarlaxle replied.“But I thought differently.”“And so you took her.”Jarlaxle casually shrugged.“You seem to have many night crawlers wriggling about in twisted plans,” said Gromph.“Oh, indeed I do, my brother!” Jarlaxle was happy to admit.“There is a broken city, my dearest homeland, in need of my careful caress.”“You speak the part of a fool.”“If we wish to discuss foolish actions …” Jarlaxle replied, and let the clear reference to Demogorgon hang in the air.Gromph’s growl showed that he did not miss the point.“Pray leave us,” Jarlaxle bade Zeerith and Kimmuriel, and when they moved into the next chamber, he turned to Gromph.“If you or that miserable Oblodran make reference again to the … trouble … in Sorcere, I will turn you both into frogs and drop you into a pond of hungry carp.”“Be at ease,” Jarlaxle bade him.“There may be good consequences for that strange event, if we are clever.”“If we are clever, we will move to the other side of the world.”Jarlaxle scoffed at the notion.“You think this is ended, brother?” he asked.“It is only just begun.”“You intend to go against the matron mothers?” Gromph asked, incredulous.Jarlaxle didn’t answer, but neither did he blink.“Then you should bring them Drizzt Do’Urden’s head to lift your station before you ultimately deceive them.”“Dear brother, I will bring them more than Drizzt’s head,” Jarlaxle promised.“I will bring them Drizzt.”Aballister Bonaduce looked long and hard at the shimmering image in his mirror.Mountains of wind-driven snow and ice lay endlessly before him, the most forbidding place in all the Realms.All he had to do was step through the mirror, onto the Great Glacier.“Are you coming, Druzil?” the wizard said to his batwinged imp.Druzil folded his leathery wings around him as if to privately consider the question.“I am not so fond of the cold,” he said, obviously not wanting to partake of this particular hunt.“Nor am I,” Aballister said, slipping onto his finger an enchanted ring that would protect him from the killing cold.

dnd168

“But only on the Great Glacier does the yote grow.” Aballister looked back to the scene in the magical mirror, one final barrier to the completion of his quest and the beginning of his conquests.The snowy region was quiet now, though dark clouds hung ominously overhead and promised an impending storm that would delay the hunt, perhaps for many days.“There we must go,” Aballister continued, talking more to himself than to the imp.His voice trailed away as he sank within his memories, to the turning point in his life more than two years before, during the Time of Troubles.He had been powerful even then, but directionless.The avatar of the goddess Talona had shown him the way.Aballister’s grin became an open chuckle as he turned back to regard Druzil, the imp who had delivered to him the method to best please the Lady of Poison.“Come, dear Druzil,” Aballister said.“You brought the recipe for the chaos curse.You must come along and help to find its last ingredient.”The imp straightened and unfolded his wings at the mention of the chaos curse.He offered no arguments.A lazy flap brought him to Aballister’s shoulder and together they walked through the mirror and into the blowing wind.The hunched and hairy creature, resembling a more primitive form of human, grunted and growled and threw its crude spear, though Aballister and Druzil were far out of range.It howled in triumph anyway, as though its throw had served some symbolic victory, and scooted back to the large gathering of its shaggy white kin.“Apparently they do not wish to bargain,” Druzil said, shuffling from clawed foot to clawed foot on Aballister’s shoulder.The wizard understood his familiar’s excitement.Druzil was a creature of the lower planes, a creature of chaos, and he wanted desperately to see his master deal with the impudent fools—just an added pleasure to a long-awaited, victorious day.“They are taers,” Aballister explained, “crude and fierce.You are quite correct.They’ll not bargain.”Aballister’s eyes flashed and Druzil hopped again and clapped his hands together.“They know not the might before them!” Aballister cried, his voice rising with his ire.All the terrible trials of two long and brutal years rolled through the wizard’s thoughts in the span of a few seconds.A hundred men had died in search of the elusive ingredients for the chaos curse; a hundred men had given their lives so that Talona would be pleased.Aballister, too, had not escaped unscathed.Completing the curse had become his obsession, the driving force in his life, and he had aged with every step, had torn out clumps of his own hair every time the curse seemed to be slipping beyond his reach.But he was close, so close that he could see the dark patch of yote just beyond the small ridge that held the taers’ cave complexes.So close, but the wretched, idiotic creatures stood in his way.Aballister’s words had stirred the taers.They grumbled and hopped about in the shadow of the jagged mountain, shoving each other forward as if trying to select one to lead their charge.“Do something quickly,” Druzil suggested from his perch.Aballister looked up at him and nearly laughed.“They will attack,” Druzil explained, trying to sound unconcerned, “and, worse, this cold stiffens my wings.”Aballister nodded at the imp’s rationale.

“But only on the Great Glacier does the yote grow.” Aballister looked back to the scene in the magical mirror, one final barrier to the completion of his quest and the beginning of his conquests.The snowy region was quiet now, though dark clouds hung ominously overhead and promised an impending storm that would delay the hunt, perhaps for many days.“There we must go,” Aballister continued, talking more to himself than to the imp.His voice trailed away as he sank within his memories, to the turning point in his life more than two years before, during the Time of Troubles.He had been powerful even then, but directionless.The avatar of the goddess Talona had shown him the way.Aballister’s grin became an open chuckle as he turned back to regard Druzil, the imp who had delivered to him the method to best please the Lady of Poison.“Come, dear Druzil,” Aballister said.“You brought the recipe for the chaos curse.You must come along and help to find its last ingredient.”The imp straightened and unfolded his wings at the mention of the chaos curse.He offered no arguments.A lazy flap brought him to Aballister’s shoulder and together they walked through the mirror and into the blowing wind.The hunched and hairy creature, resembling a more primitive form of human, grunted and growled and threw its crude spear, though Aballister and Druzil were far out of range.It howled in triumph anyway, as though its throw had served some symbolic victory, and scooted back to the large gathering of its shaggy white kin.“Apparently they do not wish to bargain,” Druzil said, shuffling from clawed foot to clawed foot on Aballister’s shoulder.The wizard understood his familiar’s excitement.Druzil was a creature of the lower planes, a creature of chaos, and he wanted desperately to see his master deal with the impudent fools—just an added pleasure to a long-awaited, victorious day.“They are taers,” Aballister explained, “crude and fierce.You are quite correct.They’ll not bargain.”Aballister’s eyes flashed and Druzil hopped again and clapped his hands together.“They know not the might before them!” Aballister cried, his voice rising with his ire.All the terrible trials of two long and brutal years rolled through the wizard’s thoughts in the span of a few seconds.A hundred men had died in search of the elusive ingredients for the chaos curse; a hundred men had given their lives so that Talona would be pleased.Aballister, too, had not escaped unscathed.Completing the curse had become his obsession, the driving force in his life, and he had aged with every step, had torn out clumps of his own hair every time the curse seemed to be slipping beyond his reach.But he was close, so close that he could see the dark patch of yote just beyond the small ridge that held the taers’ cave complexes.So close, but the wretched, idiotic creatures stood in his way.Aballister’s words had stirred the taers.They grumbled and hopped about in the shadow of the jagged mountain, shoving each other forward as if trying to select one to lead their charge.“Do something quickly,” Druzil suggested from his perch.Aballister looked up at him and nearly laughed.“They will attack,” Druzil explained, trying to sound unconcerned, “and, worse, this cold stiffens my wings.”Aballister nodded at the imp’s rationale.

dnd169

Any delay could cost him, especially if the dark clouds broke into a blinding blizzard, one that would hide both the yote and the shimmering doorway back to Aballister’s comfortable room.He pulled out a tiny ball, a mixture of bat guano and sulphur, crushed it in his fist, and pointed one finger at the group of taers.His chant echoed off the mountain face and back across the empty glacier ice, and he smiled, thinking it wonderfully ironic that the stupid creatures had no idea what he was doing.A moment later, they found out.Just before his spell discharged, Aballister had a cruel thought and lifted the angle of his pointing finger.The fireball exploded above the heads of the startled taers, disintegrating the frozen bindings of the ice mountain.Huge blocks rained down, and a great rush of water swallowed those who had not been crushed.Several of the band floundered in the icy morass, too overwhelmed to gain their footing as the pool quickly solidified around them.One pitiful creature did manage to struggle free, but Druzil hopped off Aballister’s shoulder and swooped down upon him.The imp’s claw-tipped tail whipped out as he passed by the stumbling creature, and Aballister applauded heartily.The taer clutched at its stung shoulder, looked curiously at the departing imp, then fell dead to the ice.“What of the rest?” Druzil asked, landing back on his perch.Aballister considered the remaining taers.Most were dead, but some struggled futilely against the tightening grip of ice.“Leave them to their slow deaths,” he replied, and he laughed again.Druzil gave him an incredulous look.“The Lady of Poison would not approve,” the imp said, wagging his wicked tail before him with one hand.“Very well,” Aballister replied, though he realized that Druzil was more interested in pleasing himself than Talona.Still, the reasoning was sound; poison was always the accepted method for completing Talona’s work.“Go and finish the task,” Aballister instructed the imp.“I will get the yote.”A short while later, Aballister plucked the last gray-brown mushroom from its stubborn grasp on the glacier and dropped it into his bag.He called over to Druzil, who was toying with the last whining taer, snapping his tail back and forth around the terrified creature’s frantically jerking head—the only part of the taer that was free of the ice trap.“Enough,” Aballister said.Druzil sighed and looked mournfully at the approaching wizard.Aballister’s visage did not soften.“Enough,” he said again.Druzil bent over and kissed the taer on the nose.The creature stopped whimpering and looked at him curiously, but Druzil only shrugged and drove his poison-tipped stinger straight into the taer’s weeping eye.The imp eagerly accepted the offered perch on Aballister’s shoulder.Aballister let him hold the bag of yote, just to remind the distracted imp that more important matters awaited them beyond the shimmering door.ONETHE WHITE SQUIRREL’S PETThe green-robed druid issued a series of chit-chits and clucks, but the white-furred squirrel seemed oblivious to it all, sitting on a branch in the towering oak tree high above the three men.“Well, you seem to have lost your voice,” remarked another of the men, a bearded woodland priest with gentle-looking features and thick blond hair hanging well below his shoulders.“Can you call the beast any better than I?” the green-robed druid asked.“I fear this creature is strange in more ways than the color of its coat.”The other two laughed at their companion’s attempt to explain his ineptitude.“I grant you,” said the third of the group, the highest ranking initiate, “the squirrel’s color is unusual, but speaking to animals is among the easiest of our abilities.Surely by now—”“With all respect,” the frustrated druid interrupted, “I have made contact with the creature.It just refuses to reply.Try yourself, I invite you.”“A squirrel refusing to speak?” asked the second of the group with a chuckle.“Surely they are among the chattiest—”“Not that one,” came a reply from behind.

Any delay could cost him, especially if the dark clouds broke into a blinding blizzard, one that would hide both the yote and the shimmering doorway back to Aballister’s comfortable room.He pulled out a tiny ball, a mixture of bat guano and sulphur, crushed it in his fist, and pointed one finger at the group of taers.His chant echoed off the mountain face and back across the empty glacier ice, and he smiled, thinking it wonderfully ironic that the stupid creatures had no idea what he was doing.A moment later, they found out.Just before his spell discharged, Aballister had a cruel thought and lifted the angle of his pointing finger.The fireball exploded above the heads of the startled taers, disintegrating the frozen bindings of the ice mountain.Huge blocks rained down, and a great rush of water swallowed those who had not been crushed.Several of the band floundered in the icy morass, too overwhelmed to gain their footing as the pool quickly solidified around them.One pitiful creature did manage to struggle free, but Druzil hopped off Aballister’s shoulder and swooped down upon him.The imp’s claw-tipped tail whipped out as he passed by the stumbling creature, and Aballister applauded heartily.The taer clutched at its stung shoulder, looked curiously at the departing imp, then fell dead to the ice.“What of the rest?” Druzil asked, landing back on his perch.Aballister considered the remaining taers.Most were dead, but some struggled futilely against the tightening grip of ice.“Leave them to their slow deaths,” he replied, and he laughed again.Druzil gave him an incredulous look.“The Lady of Poison would not approve,” the imp said, wagging his wicked tail before him with one hand.“Very well,” Aballister replied, though he realized that Druzil was more interested in pleasing himself than Talona.Still, the reasoning was sound; poison was always the accepted method for completing Talona’s work.“Go and finish the task,” Aballister instructed the imp.“I will get the yote.”A short while later, Aballister plucked the last gray-brown mushroom from its stubborn grasp on the glacier and dropped it into his bag.He called over to Druzil, who was toying with the last whining taer, snapping his tail back and forth around the terrified creature’s frantically jerking head—the only part of the taer that was free of the ice trap.“Enough,” Aballister said.Druzil sighed and looked mournfully at the approaching wizard.Aballister’s visage did not soften.“Enough,” he said again.Druzil bent over and kissed the taer on the nose.The creature stopped whimpering and looked at him curiously, but Druzil only shrugged and drove his poison-tipped stinger straight into the taer’s weeping eye.The imp eagerly accepted the offered perch on Aballister’s shoulder.Aballister let him hold the bag of yote, just to remind the distracted imp that more important matters awaited them beyond the shimmering door.ONETHE WHITE SQUIRREL’S PETThe green-robed druid issued a series of chit-chits and clucks, but the white-furred squirrel seemed oblivious to it all, sitting on a branch in the towering oak tree high above the three men.“Well, you seem to have lost your voice,” remarked another of the men, a bearded woodland priest with gentle-looking features and thick blond hair hanging well below his shoulders.“Can you call the beast any better than I?” the green-robed druid asked.“I fear this creature is strange in more ways than the color of its coat.”The other two laughed at their companion’s attempt to explain his ineptitude.“I grant you,” said the third of the group, the highest ranking initiate, “the squirrel’s color is unusual, but speaking to animals is among the easiest of our abilities.Surely by now—”“With all respect,” the frustrated druid interrupted, “I have made contact with the creature.It just refuses to reply.Try yourself, I invite you.”“A squirrel refusing to speak?” asked the second of the group with a chuckle.“Surely they are among the chattiest—”“Not that one,” came a reply from behind.

dnd170

The three druids turned to see a priest coming down the wide dirt road from the ivy-streaked building, the skip of youth evident in his steps.He was of average height and build, though perhaps more muscular than most, with gray eyes that turned up at their corners when he smiled and curly brown locks that bounced under the wide brim of his hat.His tan-white tunic and trousers showed him to be a priest of Deneir, god of one of the host sects of the Edificant Library.Unlike most within his order, though, the young man also wore a decorative light blue silken cape and a wide-brimmed hat, also blue and banded in red, with a plume on the right-hand side.Set in the band’s center was a porcelain-and-gold pendant depicting a candle burning above an eye, the symbol of Deneir.“That squirrel is tight-lipped, except when he chooses not to be,” the young priest went on.The normally unflappable druids’ stunned expressions amused him, so he decided to startle them a bit more.“Well met, Arcite, Newander, and Cleo.I congratulate you, Cleo, on your ascension to the status of initiate.”“How do you know of us?” asked Arcite, the druid leader.“We have not yet reported to the library and have told no one of our coming.” Arcite and Newander, the blond-haired priest, exchanged suspicious glances, and Arcite’s voice became stem.“Have your masters been scrying, looking for us with magical means?”“No, no, nothing like that,” the young priest replied immediately, knowing the secretive druids’ aversion to such tactics.“I remember you, all three, from your last visit to the library.”“Preposterous!” piped in Cleo.“That was fourteen years ago.You could not have been more than …”“A boy,” answered the young priest.“So I was, seven years old.You had a fourth to your party, as I recall, an aging lady of great powers.Shannon, I believe was her name.”“Incredible,” muttered Arcite.“You are correct, young priest.”Again the druids exchanged concerned looks, suspecting trickery.Druids weren’t overly fond of anyone not of their order.They rarely came to the renowned Edificant Library, which sat high in the secluded Snowflake Mountains, and then only when they had word of a discovery of particular interest, a rare tome of herbs or animals, or a new recipe for potions to heal wounds or better grow their gardens.As a group, they began to turn away, but then Newander, on a sudden impulse, spun back around to face the young priest, who leaned casually on a fine walking stick, its silver handle sculpted masterfully into the image of a ram’s head.“Cadderly?” Newander asked through a widening grin.Arcite, too, recognized the young man and remembered the unusual story of the most unusual child.Cadderly had come to live at the library before his fifth birthday—rarely were any accepted before the age of ten.His mother had died several months before that, and his father, too immersed in studies of his own, had neglected the child.

The three druids turned to see a priest coming down the wide dirt road from the ivy-streaked building, the skip of youth evident in his steps.He was of average height and build, though perhaps more muscular than most, with gray eyes that turned up at their corners when he smiled and curly brown locks that bounced under the wide brim of his hat.His tan-white tunic and trousers showed him to be a priest of Deneir, god of one of the host sects of the Edificant Library.Unlike most within his order, though, the young man also wore a decorative light blue silken cape and a wide-brimmed hat, also blue and banded in red, with a plume on the right-hand side.Set in the band’s center was a porcelain-and-gold pendant depicting a candle burning above an eye, the symbol of Deneir.“That squirrel is tight-lipped, except when he chooses not to be,” the young priest went on.The normally unflappable druids’ stunned expressions amused him, so he decided to startle them a bit more.“Well met, Arcite, Newander, and Cleo.I congratulate you, Cleo, on your ascension to the status of initiate.”“How do you know of us?” asked Arcite, the druid leader.“We have not yet reported to the library and have told no one of our coming.” Arcite and Newander, the blond-haired priest, exchanged suspicious glances, and Arcite’s voice became stem.“Have your masters been scrying, looking for us with magical means?”“No, no, nothing like that,” the young priest replied immediately, knowing the secretive druids’ aversion to such tactics.“I remember you, all three, from your last visit to the library.”“Preposterous!” piped in Cleo.“That was fourteen years ago.You could not have been more than …”“A boy,” answered the young priest.“So I was, seven years old.You had a fourth to your party, as I recall, an aging lady of great powers.Shannon, I believe was her name.”“Incredible,” muttered Arcite.“You are correct, young priest.”Again the druids exchanged concerned looks, suspecting trickery.Druids weren’t overly fond of anyone not of their order.They rarely came to the renowned Edificant Library, which sat high in the secluded Snowflake Mountains, and then only when they had word of a discovery of particular interest, a rare tome of herbs or animals, or a new recipe for potions to heal wounds or better grow their gardens.As a group, they began to turn away, but then Newander, on a sudden impulse, spun back around to face the young priest, who leaned casually on a fine walking stick, its silver handle sculpted masterfully into the image of a ram’s head.“Cadderly?” Newander asked through a widening grin.Arcite, too, recognized the young man and remembered the unusual story of the most unusual child.Cadderly had come to live at the library before his fifth birthday—rarely were any accepted before the age of ten.His mother had died several months before that, and his father, too immersed in studies of his own, had neglected the child.

dnd171

Thobicus, the dean of the Edificant Library, had heard of the promising boy and had generously taken him in.“Cadderly,” Arcite echoed.“Is that really you?”“At your service,” Cadderly replied, bowing low, “and well met.I am honored that you remember me, good Newander and venerable Arcite.”“Who?” Cleo whispered, looking curiously to Newander.Cleo’s face, too, brightened in recognition a few moments later.“Yes, you were just a boy,” said Newander, “an overly curious little boy, as I recall.”“Forgive me,” said Cadderly, bowing again.“One does not often find the opportunity to converse with a troupe of druids!”“Few would care to,” remarked Arcite, “but you … are among that few, so it would appear.”Cadderly nodded, but his smile disappeared.“I pray that nothing has happened to Shannon,” he said, truly concerned.The druid had treated him well on that long-ago occasion.She had shown him beneficial plants, tasty roots, and had made flowers bloom before his eyes.To Cadderly’s astonishment, Shannon had transformed herself, an ability of the most powerful druids, into a graceful swan and had flown high into the morning sky.Cadderly had dearly wished to join her—he remembered that longing most vividly—but the druid had no power to similarly transform him.“Nothing terrible, if that is what you mean,” replied Arcite.“She died several years back, peacefully.”Cadderly nodded.He was about to offer his condolences, but he prudently remembered that druids neither feared nor lamented death, seeing it as the natural conclusion to life and a rather unimportant event in the overall scheme of universal order.“Do you know this squirrel?” asked Cleo suddenly, determined to restore his reputation.“Percival,” Cadderly replied, “a friend of mine.”“A pet?” Newander asked, his bright eyes narrowing suspiciously.Druids did not approve of people keeping pets.Cadderly laughed heartily.“If any is the pet, I fear it is I,” he said.“Percival accepts my friendship—sometimes—and my food—rather eagerly—but as I am more interested in him than he in me, he is the one who decides when and where.”The druids shared Cadderly’s laugh.“A most excellent beast,” said Arcite, then with a series of clicks and chits, he congratulated Percival.“Wonderful,” came Cadderly’s sarcastic response, “encourage him.” The druids’ laughter increased and Percival, watching it all from his high branch, shot Cadderly a supercilious look.“Well, come down here and say hello!” Cadderly called, banging the lowest tree branch with his walking stick.“Be polite, at least.”Percival did not look up from the acorn he was munching.“He does not understand, I fear,” said Cleo.“Perhaps if I translate …”“He understands,” Cadderly insisted, “as well as you or I.He is just a stubborn one, and I can prove it.” He looked back up to the squirrel.“When you find the time, Percival,” he said slyly, “I left a plate of cacasa-nut and butter out for you in my room …” Before Cadderly even finished, the squirrel whipped off along a branch, hopped to another, then to the next tree in line along the road.In a few short moments, the squirrel had leaped to a gutter along the library’s roof, and not slowing a bit, zipped across a trail of thick ivy and in through an open window on the northern side of the third floor.“Percival does have such a weakness for cacasa-nut and butter,” Cadderly remarked when the druids’ laughter had subsided.“A most excellent beast!” Arcite said again.

Thobicus, the dean of the Edificant Library, had heard of the promising boy and had generously taken him in.“Cadderly,” Arcite echoed.“Is that really you?”“At your service,” Cadderly replied, bowing low, “and well met.I am honored that you remember me, good Newander and venerable Arcite.”“Who?” Cleo whispered, looking curiously to Newander.Cleo’s face, too, brightened in recognition a few moments later.“Yes, you were just a boy,” said Newander, “an overly curious little boy, as I recall.”“Forgive me,” said Cadderly, bowing again.“One does not often find the opportunity to converse with a troupe of druids!”“Few would care to,” remarked Arcite, “but you … are among that few, so it would appear.”Cadderly nodded, but his smile disappeared.“I pray that nothing has happened to Shannon,” he said, truly concerned.The druid had treated him well on that long-ago occasion.She had shown him beneficial plants, tasty roots, and had made flowers bloom before his eyes.To Cadderly’s astonishment, Shannon had transformed herself, an ability of the most powerful druids, into a graceful swan and had flown high into the morning sky.Cadderly had dearly wished to join her—he remembered that longing most vividly—but the druid had no power to similarly transform him.“Nothing terrible, if that is what you mean,” replied Arcite.“She died several years back, peacefully.”Cadderly nodded.He was about to offer his condolences, but he prudently remembered that druids neither feared nor lamented death, seeing it as the natural conclusion to life and a rather unimportant event in the overall scheme of universal order.“Do you know this squirrel?” asked Cleo suddenly, determined to restore his reputation.“Percival,” Cadderly replied, “a friend of mine.”“A pet?” Newander asked, his bright eyes narrowing suspiciously.Druids did not approve of people keeping pets.Cadderly laughed heartily.“If any is the pet, I fear it is I,” he said.“Percival accepts my friendship—sometimes—and my food—rather eagerly—but as I am more interested in him than he in me, he is the one who decides when and where.”The druids shared Cadderly’s laugh.“A most excellent beast,” said Arcite, then with a series of clicks and chits, he congratulated Percival.“Wonderful,” came Cadderly’s sarcastic response, “encourage him.” The druids’ laughter increased and Percival, watching it all from his high branch, shot Cadderly a supercilious look.“Well, come down here and say hello!” Cadderly called, banging the lowest tree branch with his walking stick.“Be polite, at least.”Percival did not look up from the acorn he was munching.“He does not understand, I fear,” said Cleo.“Perhaps if I translate …”“He understands,” Cadderly insisted, “as well as you or I.He is just a stubborn one, and I can prove it.” He looked back up to the squirrel.“When you find the time, Percival,” he said slyly, “I left a plate of cacasa-nut and butter out for you in my room …” Before Cadderly even finished, the squirrel whipped off along a branch, hopped to another, then to the next tree in line along the road.In a few short moments, the squirrel had leaped to a gutter along the library’s roof, and not slowing a bit, zipped across a trail of thick ivy and in through an open window on the northern side of the third floor.“Percival does have such a weakness for cacasa-nut and butter,” Cadderly remarked when the druids’ laughter had subsided.“A most excellent beast!” Arcite said again.

dnd172

“And yourself, Cadderly, it is good to see that you have remained with your studies.Your masters spoke highly of your potential fourteen years ago, but I had no idea that your memory would be so very sharp or, perhaps, that we druids had left such a strong and favorable impression upon you.”“It is,” Cadderly replied quietly, “and you did.I’m glad you have returned—for the recently uncovered treatise on woodland mosses, I would assume.I haven’t seen it yet.The headmasters have kept it secured until those more knowledgeable in such matters could come and appraise its value.You see, a band of druids was expected, though we knew not who, how many, or when you would arrive.”The three druids nodded then turned to admire the ivy-veiled stone structure.The Edificant Library had stood for six hundred years, and in all that time its doors had never been closed to goodly scholars.The building was huge, a self-contained town—it had to be, in the rough and secluded Snowflakes—more than four hundred feet across and half as deep through all four of its above-ground levels.Well staffed and well stocked—rumors spoke of miles of storage tunnels and catacombs beneath—it had survived orc attacks, giant-hurled boulders, and the most brutal mountain winters, and had remained unscathed through the centuries.The library’s collection of books, scrolls, and artifacts was considerable, filling nearly the entire first floor, the library proper, and many smaller study chambers on the second floor, and the complex contained many unique and ancient works.While not as large as some great libraries of the Realms, such as the treasured collections of Silvery-moon to the north, the secretive Candlekeep to the west, or the artifact museums of Calimport to the south, the Edificant Library was convenient to the Heartlands and Cormyr, and was open to all who wished to learn, on the condition that they not use their knowledge for baneful purposes.The building housed other important research tools, such as alchemy and herbalist shops, and was set in an inspiring atmosphere with breathtaking mountain views and manicured grounds that included a small topiary garden.The Edificant Library had been designed as more than a storage house for old books; it was a center for poetry reading, painting, and sculpting, a place for discussions of the profound and often unanswerable questions common to the intelligent races.Indeed, the library was a fitting tribute to Deneir and Oghma, the allied gods of knowledge, literature, and art.“The treatise is a large work, so I have been told,” said Arcite.“Much time will be expended in examining it properly.I pray that the boarding rates are not excessive.We are men of little material means.”“Dean Thobicus will take you in without cost, I would expect,” answered Cadderly.“Your service cannot be underestimated in this matter.” He shot a wink at Arcite.“If not, come to me.I recently inscribed a tome for a nearby wizard, a spellbook he lost in a fire.The man was generous.You see, I had originally inscribed the spellbook, and the wizard, forgetful as most wizards seem to be, never made a copy himself.”“The work was unique?” Cleo asked, shaking his head in disbelief that a wizard could be so foolish with his most prized possession.“It was,” Cadderly replied, tapping his temple, “except for in here.”“You remembered the intricacies of a wizard’s spellbook enough to recreate it from memory?” Cleo asked, stunned.Cadderly shrugged.“The wizard was generous.”“Truly you are a remarkable one, young Cadderly,” said Arcite.“A most excellent beast?” the young priest asked hopefully, drawing wide smiles from all three.“Indeed!” said Arcite.

“And yourself, Cadderly, it is good to see that you have remained with your studies.Your masters spoke highly of your potential fourteen years ago, but I had no idea that your memory would be so very sharp or, perhaps, that we druids had left such a strong and favorable impression upon you.”“It is,” Cadderly replied quietly, “and you did.I’m glad you have returned—for the recently uncovered treatise on woodland mosses, I would assume.I haven’t seen it yet.The headmasters have kept it secured until those more knowledgeable in such matters could come and appraise its value.You see, a band of druids was expected, though we knew not who, how many, or when you would arrive.”The three druids nodded then turned to admire the ivy-veiled stone structure.The Edificant Library had stood for six hundred years, and in all that time its doors had never been closed to goodly scholars.The building was huge, a self-contained town—it had to be, in the rough and secluded Snowflakes—more than four hundred feet across and half as deep through all four of its above-ground levels.Well staffed and well stocked—rumors spoke of miles of storage tunnels and catacombs beneath—it had survived orc attacks, giant-hurled boulders, and the most brutal mountain winters, and had remained unscathed through the centuries.The library’s collection of books, scrolls, and artifacts was considerable, filling nearly the entire first floor, the library proper, and many smaller study chambers on the second floor, and the complex contained many unique and ancient works.While not as large as some great libraries of the Realms, such as the treasured collections of Silvery-moon to the north, the secretive Candlekeep to the west, or the artifact museums of Calimport to the south, the Edificant Library was convenient to the Heartlands and Cormyr, and was open to all who wished to learn, on the condition that they not use their knowledge for baneful purposes.The building housed other important research tools, such as alchemy and herbalist shops, and was set in an inspiring atmosphere with breathtaking mountain views and manicured grounds that included a small topiary garden.The Edificant Library had been designed as more than a storage house for old books; it was a center for poetry reading, painting, and sculpting, a place for discussions of the profound and often unanswerable questions common to the intelligent races.Indeed, the library was a fitting tribute to Deneir and Oghma, the allied gods of knowledge, literature, and art.“The treatise is a large work, so I have been told,” said Arcite.“Much time will be expended in examining it properly.I pray that the boarding rates are not excessive.We are men of little material means.”“Dean Thobicus will take you in without cost, I would expect,” answered Cadderly.“Your service cannot be underestimated in this matter.” He shot a wink at Arcite.“If not, come to me.I recently inscribed a tome for a nearby wizard, a spellbook he lost in a fire.The man was generous.You see, I had originally inscribed the spellbook, and the wizard, forgetful as most wizards seem to be, never made a copy himself.”“The work was unique?” Cleo asked, shaking his head in disbelief that a wizard could be so foolish with his most prized possession.“It was,” Cadderly replied, tapping his temple, “except for in here.”“You remembered the intricacies of a wizard’s spellbook enough to recreate it from memory?” Cleo asked, stunned.Cadderly shrugged.“The wizard was generous.”“Truly you are a remarkable one, young Cadderly,” said Arcite.“A most excellent beast?” the young priest asked hopefully, drawing wide smiles from all three.“Indeed!” said Arcite.

dnd173

“Do look in on us in the days ahead.”Given the druids’ reputation for seclusion, Cadderly understood how great a compliment he had just been paid.He bowed low, and the druids did likewise, then they bid Cadderly farewell and moved up the road to the library.Cadderly watched them go then looked up to his open window.Percival sat on the sill, licking the remains of his cacasa-nut and butter lunch from his tiny paws.A drop slipped off the end of the coil, touching a saturated cloth that led down into a small beaker.Cadderly shook his head and put a hand on the spigot controlling the flow.“Remove your hand from that!” cried the frantic alchemist from a workbench across his shop.He jumped up and stormed over to the too-curious young priest.“It is terribly slow,” Cadderly remarked.“It has to be,” Vicero Belago explained for perhaps the hundredth time.“You are no fool, Cadderly.You know better than to be impatient.This is oil of impact, remember?A most volatile substance.A stronger drip could cause a cataclysm in a shop so filled with unstable potions!”Cadderly sighed and accepted the scolding with a conceding nod.“How much do you have for me?” he asked, reaching into one of the many pouches on his belt and producing a tiny vial.“You are so very impatient,” remarked Belago, but Cadderly knew that he was not really angry.Cadderly was a prime customer and had many times provided important translations of archaic alchemical notes.“Only what is in the beaker, I fear.I had to wait for some ingredients—hill giant fingernails and crushed oxen horn.”Cadderly gently lifted the soaked cloth and tilted the beaker.It contained just a few drops, enough to fill only one of his tiny vials.“That makes six,” he said, using the cloth to coax the liquid into the vial.“Forty-four to go.”“Are you confident that you want that many?” Belago asked him, not for the first time.“Fifty,” Cadderly declared.“The price …”“Well worth it!” Cadderly laughed as he secured his vial and skipped out of the shop.His spirits did not diminish as he moved down the hall to the southern wing of the third floor and the chambers of Histra, a visiting priestess of Sune, Goddess of Love.“Dear Cadderly,” greeted the priestess, who was twenty years Cadderly’s senior but quite alluring.She wore a deep crimson habit, cut low in the front and high on the sides, revealing most of her curvy figure.Cadderly had to remind himself to keep his manners proper and his gaze on her eyes.“Do come in,” Histra purred.She grabbed the front of Cadderly’s tunic and yanked him into the room, pointedly shutting the door behind him.He managed to glance away from Histra long enough to see a brightly glowing object shining through a heavy blanket.“Is it finished?” Cadderly squeaked.He cleared his throat, embarrassed.Histra ran a finger lightly down his arm and smiled at his involuntary shudder.

“Do look in on us in the days ahead.”Given the druids’ reputation for seclusion, Cadderly understood how great a compliment he had just been paid.He bowed low, and the druids did likewise, then they bid Cadderly farewell and moved up the road to the library.Cadderly watched them go then looked up to his open window.Percival sat on the sill, licking the remains of his cacasa-nut and butter lunch from his tiny paws.A drop slipped off the end of the coil, touching a saturated cloth that led down into a small beaker.Cadderly shook his head and put a hand on the spigot controlling the flow.“Remove your hand from that!” cried the frantic alchemist from a workbench across his shop.He jumped up and stormed over to the too-curious young priest.“It is terribly slow,” Cadderly remarked.“It has to be,” Vicero Belago explained for perhaps the hundredth time.“You are no fool, Cadderly.You know better than to be impatient.This is oil of impact, remember?A most volatile substance.A stronger drip could cause a cataclysm in a shop so filled with unstable potions!”Cadderly sighed and accepted the scolding with a conceding nod.“How much do you have for me?” he asked, reaching into one of the many pouches on his belt and producing a tiny vial.“You are so very impatient,” remarked Belago, but Cadderly knew that he was not really angry.Cadderly was a prime customer and had many times provided important translations of archaic alchemical notes.“Only what is in the beaker, I fear.I had to wait for some ingredients—hill giant fingernails and crushed oxen horn.”Cadderly gently lifted the soaked cloth and tilted the beaker.It contained just a few drops, enough to fill only one of his tiny vials.“That makes six,” he said, using the cloth to coax the liquid into the vial.“Forty-four to go.”“Are you confident that you want that many?” Belago asked him, not for the first time.“Fifty,” Cadderly declared.“The price …”“Well worth it!” Cadderly laughed as he secured his vial and skipped out of the shop.His spirits did not diminish as he moved down the hall to the southern wing of the third floor and the chambers of Histra, a visiting priestess of Sune, Goddess of Love.“Dear Cadderly,” greeted the priestess, who was twenty years Cadderly’s senior but quite alluring.She wore a deep crimson habit, cut low in the front and high on the sides, revealing most of her curvy figure.Cadderly had to remind himself to keep his manners proper and his gaze on her eyes.“Do come in,” Histra purred.She grabbed the front of Cadderly’s tunic and yanked him into the room, pointedly shutting the door behind him.He managed to glance away from Histra long enough to see a brightly glowing object shining through a heavy blanket.“Is it finished?” Cadderly squeaked.He cleared his throat, embarrassed.Histra ran a finger lightly down his arm and smiled at his involuntary shudder.

dnd174

“The dweomer is cast,” she replied.“All that remains is payment.”“Two hundred … gold pieces,” Cadderly stammered, “as we agreed.” He reached for a pouch, but Histra’s hand intercepted his.“It was a difficult spell,” she said, “a variation of the norm.”She paused and gave a coy smile.“But I do so love variations,” Histra declared.“The price could be less, you know, for you.”Cadderly had no doubt that his gulp was heard out in the hallway.He was a disciplined scholar and had come to her for a specific purpose.He had much work to do, but Histra’s allure was undeniable and her fine perfume overpowering.Cadderly reminded himself to breathe.“We could forget the gold,” Histra offered, her fingers smoothly tracing the outline of Cadderly’s ear.The young scholar wondered if he might fall over.In the end, though, an image of spirited Danica sitting on Histra’s back, casually rubbing the priestess’s face across the floor, brought Cadderly under control.Danica’s room was not far away, just across the hall and a few doors down.He removed Histra’s hand from his ear, handed her the pouch as payment, and scooped up the shrouded, glowing object.For all his practicality, though, when Cadderly exited the chambers two hundred gold pieces poorer, he feared that his face was shining as brightly as the disk Histra had enchanted for him.Cadderly had other business—he always did—but not wanting to arouse suspicions by roaming the library with an eerily glowing pouch, he made straight for the north wing and his own room.Percival was still on the windowsill when he entered, basking in the late morning sun.“I have it!” Cadderly said, taking out the disk.The room brightened, as if in full sunlight, and the startled squirrel darted for the shadows under Cadderly’s bed.Cadderly didn’t take time to reassure Percival.He rushed to his desk, and from the jumbled and overfilled side drawer produced a cylinder a foot long and two inches in diameter.With a slight twist, Cadderly removed the casing from the back end, revealing a slot just large enough for the disk.He eagerly dropped the disk in and replaced the casing, shielding the light.“I know you’re under there,” Cadderly teased, and he popped the metal cap off the front end of the tube, loosing a focused beam of light.Percival didn’t particularly enjoy the spectacle.He darted back and forth under the bed, and Cadderly, laughing that he had finally gotten the best of the sneaky squirrel, followed him diligently with the light.This went on for a few moments, until Percival dashed from under the bed and hopped out the open window.The squirrel returned a moment later, though, just long enough to snatch up the cacasa-nut and butter bowl and chatter a few uncomplimentary remarks to Cadderly.Still laughing, the young priest capped his new toy and hung it on his belt, then moved to his oaken wardrobe.Most of the library’s host priests kept their closets stocked with extra vestments, wanting always to look their best for the continual stream of visiting scholars.In Cadderly’s wardrobe, however, the packed clothing took up just a small fraction of the space.Piles of notes and even larger piles of various inventions cluttered the floor, and custom-designed leather belts and straps took up most of the hanging bar.Inside one of the doors was a large mirror, an extravagance far beyond the meager purses of most other priests at the library, particularly the younger, lower-ranking ones such as Cadderly.He took out a wide bandoleer and moved to the bed.The leather shoulder harness contained fifty specially made darts, and with the vial he had taken from the alchemist’s shop Cadderly was about to complete the sixth.

“The dweomer is cast,” she replied.“All that remains is payment.”“Two hundred … gold pieces,” Cadderly stammered, “as we agreed.” He reached for a pouch, but Histra’s hand intercepted his.“It was a difficult spell,” she said, “a variation of the norm.”She paused and gave a coy smile.“But I do so love variations,” Histra declared.“The price could be less, you know, for you.”Cadderly had no doubt that his gulp was heard out in the hallway.He was a disciplined scholar and had come to her for a specific purpose.He had much work to do, but Histra’s allure was undeniable and her fine perfume overpowering.Cadderly reminded himself to breathe.“We could forget the gold,” Histra offered, her fingers smoothly tracing the outline of Cadderly’s ear.The young scholar wondered if he might fall over.In the end, though, an image of spirited Danica sitting on Histra’s back, casually rubbing the priestess’s face across the floor, brought Cadderly under control.Danica’s room was not far away, just across the hall and a few doors down.He removed Histra’s hand from his ear, handed her the pouch as payment, and scooped up the shrouded, glowing object.For all his practicality, though, when Cadderly exited the chambers two hundred gold pieces poorer, he feared that his face was shining as brightly as the disk Histra had enchanted for him.Cadderly had other business—he always did—but not wanting to arouse suspicions by roaming the library with an eerily glowing pouch, he made straight for the north wing and his own room.Percival was still on the windowsill when he entered, basking in the late morning sun.“I have it!” Cadderly said, taking out the disk.The room brightened, as if in full sunlight, and the startled squirrel darted for the shadows under Cadderly’s bed.Cadderly didn’t take time to reassure Percival.He rushed to his desk, and from the jumbled and overfilled side drawer produced a cylinder a foot long and two inches in diameter.With a slight twist, Cadderly removed the casing from the back end, revealing a slot just large enough for the disk.He eagerly dropped the disk in and replaced the casing, shielding the light.“I know you’re under there,” Cadderly teased, and he popped the metal cap off the front end of the tube, loosing a focused beam of light.Percival didn’t particularly enjoy the spectacle.He darted back and forth under the bed, and Cadderly, laughing that he had finally gotten the best of the sneaky squirrel, followed him diligently with the light.This went on for a few moments, until Percival dashed from under the bed and hopped out the open window.The squirrel returned a moment later, though, just long enough to snatch up the cacasa-nut and butter bowl and chatter a few uncomplimentary remarks to Cadderly.Still laughing, the young priest capped his new toy and hung it on his belt, then moved to his oaken wardrobe.Most of the library’s host priests kept their closets stocked with extra vestments, wanting always to look their best for the continual stream of visiting scholars.In Cadderly’s wardrobe, however, the packed clothing took up just a small fraction of the space.Piles of notes and even larger piles of various inventions cluttered the floor, and custom-designed leather belts and straps took up most of the hanging bar.Inside one of the doors was a large mirror, an extravagance far beyond the meager purses of most other priests at the library, particularly the younger, lower-ranking ones such as Cadderly.He took out a wide bandoleer and moved to the bed.The leather shoulder harness contained fifty specially made darts, and with the vial he had taken from the alchemist’s shop Cadderly was about to complete the sixth.

dnd175

The darts were small and narrow and made of iron, except for silver tips, and their centers were hollowed to the exact size of the vials.Cadderly flinched as he eased the vial into the dart, trying to exert enough pressure to snap it into place without breaking it.“Oil of impact,” he reminded himself, conjuring images of blackened fingertips.The young scholar breathed easier when the volatile potion was properly set.He removed his silken cape, meaning to put on the bandoleer and go to the mirror to see how it fit, as he always did after completing another dart, but a sharp rap on his door gave him just enough time to place the leather belt behind him before Headmaster Avery Schell, a rotund and redfaced man, burst in.“What are these calls for payment?” the priest cried, waving a stack of parchment at Cadderly.He began peeling them off and tossing them to the floor as he read their banners.“Leatherworker, silversmith, weaponsmith … You are squandering your gold!”Over Avery’s shoulder, Cadderly noticed the toothy smile of Kierkan Rufo and knew where the headmaster had gained his information and the fuel for his ire.The tall, sharp-featured Rufo was only a year older than Cadderly, and the two, while friends, were principal rivals in their ascent through the ranks of their order, and possibly in other pursuits as well, considering a few longing stares Cadderly had seen Rufo toss Danica’s way.Getting each other into trouble had become a game between them, a most tiresome game as far as the headmasters, particularly the beleaguered Avery, were concerned.“The money was well spent, Headmaster,” Cadderly began tentatively, well aware that his and Avery’s interpretations of “well spent” differed widely.“In pursuit of knowledge.”“In pursuit of toys,” Rufo remarked with a snicker from the doorway, and Cadderly noted the tall man’s satisfied expression.Cadderly had earned the headmaster’s highest praise for his work on the lost spellbook, to his rival’s obvious dismay, and Rufo was obviously enjoying bringing Cadderly back down.“You are too irresponsible to be allowed to keep such sums!” Avery roared, heaving the rest of the parchment into the air.“You have not the wisdom.”“I kept only a portion of the profits,” Cadderly reminded him, “and spent that in accord with Deneir’s—”“No!” Avery interrupted.“Do not hide behind a name that you obviously do not understand.Deneir.What do you know of Deneir, young inventor?You have spent all but your earliest years here in the Edificant Library, but you display so little understanding of our tenets and mores.Go south to Lantan with your toys, if that would please you, and play with the priests of Gond!”“I do not understand.”“Indeed you do not,” Avery answered, his tone becoming almost resigned.He paused for a long moment, and Cadderly recognized that he was choosing his words very carefully.“We are a center of learning,” the headmaster began.“We impose few restrictions upon those who wish to come here—even Gondsmen have ventured through our doors.You have seen them, but have you noticed that they were never warmly received?”Cadderly thought for a moment then nodded.Indeed, he remembered clearly that Avery had gone out of his way to keep him from meeting the Gondar priests every time they visited the library.“You are correct, and I do not understand,” Cadderly replied.“I should think that priests of Deneir and Gond, both dedicated to knowledge, would act as partners.”Avery shook his head slowly.

The darts were small and narrow and made of iron, except for silver tips, and their centers were hollowed to the exact size of the vials.Cadderly flinched as he eased the vial into the dart, trying to exert enough pressure to snap it into place without breaking it.“Oil of impact,” he reminded himself, conjuring images of blackened fingertips.The young scholar breathed easier when the volatile potion was properly set.He removed his silken cape, meaning to put on the bandoleer and go to the mirror to see how it fit, as he always did after completing another dart, but a sharp rap on his door gave him just enough time to place the leather belt behind him before Headmaster Avery Schell, a rotund and redfaced man, burst in.“What are these calls for payment?” the priest cried, waving a stack of parchment at Cadderly.He began peeling them off and tossing them to the floor as he read their banners.“Leatherworker, silversmith, weaponsmith … You are squandering your gold!”Over Avery’s shoulder, Cadderly noticed the toothy smile of Kierkan Rufo and knew where the headmaster had gained his information and the fuel for his ire.The tall, sharp-featured Rufo was only a year older than Cadderly, and the two, while friends, were principal rivals in their ascent through the ranks of their order, and possibly in other pursuits as well, considering a few longing stares Cadderly had seen Rufo toss Danica’s way.Getting each other into trouble had become a game between them, a most tiresome game as far as the headmasters, particularly the beleaguered Avery, were concerned.“The money was well spent, Headmaster,” Cadderly began tentatively, well aware that his and Avery’s interpretations of “well spent” differed widely.“In pursuit of knowledge.”“In pursuit of toys,” Rufo remarked with a snicker from the doorway, and Cadderly noted the tall man’s satisfied expression.Cadderly had earned the headmaster’s highest praise for his work on the lost spellbook, to his rival’s obvious dismay, and Rufo was obviously enjoying bringing Cadderly back down.“You are too irresponsible to be allowed to keep such sums!” Avery roared, heaving the rest of the parchment into the air.“You have not the wisdom.”“I kept only a portion of the profits,” Cadderly reminded him, “and spent that in accord with Deneir’s—”“No!” Avery interrupted.“Do not hide behind a name that you obviously do not understand.Deneir.What do you know of Deneir, young inventor?You have spent all but your earliest years here in the Edificant Library, but you display so little understanding of our tenets and mores.Go south to Lantan with your toys, if that would please you, and play with the priests of Gond!”“I do not understand.”“Indeed you do not,” Avery answered, his tone becoming almost resigned.He paused for a long moment, and Cadderly recognized that he was choosing his words very carefully.“We are a center of learning,” the headmaster began.“We impose few restrictions upon those who wish to come here—even Gondsmen have ventured through our doors.You have seen them, but have you noticed that they were never warmly received?”Cadderly thought for a moment then nodded.Indeed, he remembered clearly that Avery had gone out of his way to keep him from meeting the Gondar priests every time they visited the library.“You are correct, and I do not understand,” Cadderly replied.“I should think that priests of Deneir and Gond, both dedicated to knowledge, would act as partners.”Avery shook his head slowly.

dnd176

“There you err,” he said.“We put a condition on knowledge that the Gondsmen do not follow.” He paused and shook his head again, a simple action that stung Cadderly more than any wild screaming fit Avery had ever launched at him.“Why are you here?” Avery asked quietly, in controlled tones.“Have you ever asked yourself that question?You frustrate me, boy.You are perhaps the most intelligent person I have ever known—and I have known quite a few scholars—but you possess the impulses and emotions of a child.I knew it would be like this.When Thobicus said we would take you in …” Avery stopped, as if reconsidering his words, then finished with a sigh.It seemed to Cadderly that the headmaster always stopped short of finishing that same, beleaguered point about morality, stopped short of preaching, as though he expected Cadderly to come to conclusions of his own.Cadderly was not surprised a moment later when Avery abruptly changed the subject.“What of your duties while you sit here in your ‘pursuit of knowledge’?” the headmaster asked, his voice filling with anger once again.“Did you bother to light the candles in the study chambers this morning?”Cadderly flinched.He knew he’d forgotten something.“I didn’t think so,” Avery said.“You are a valuable asset to our order, Cadderly, and undeniably gifted as both scholar and scribe, but I warn you, your behavior is far from acceptable.” Avery’s face flushed bright red as Cadderly, still not properly sorting through the headmaster’s concerns for him, met his unblinking stare.Cadderly was almost used to those scoldings; it was Avery who always came rushing to investigate Rufo’s claims.Cadderly didn’t think that a bad thing; Avery, for all his fuming, was surely more lenient than some of the other, older, headmasters.Avery turned suddenly, nearly knocking Rufo over, and stormed down the hallway, sweeping the angular man up in his wake.Cadderly shrugged and tried to dismiss the whole incident as another of Headmaster Avery’s misplaced explosions.Avery obviously just didn’t understand him.The young priest wasn’t overly worried; his scribing skills brought in huge amounts of gold, which he split evenly with the library.Admittedly, he was not the most dutiful follower of Deneir.He was lax concerning the rituals of his station and it often got him into trouble.But Cadderly knew that most of the headmasters understood that his indiscretions came not from any disrespect for the order, but simply because he was so busy learning and creating—two very high priorities in the teachings of Deneir, and two often profitable priorities for the expensive-to-maintain library.By Cadderly’s figuring, the priests of Deneir, like most religious orders, could find it in their hearts to overlook minor indiscretions, especially considering the greater gain.“Oh, Rufo,” Cadderly called, reaching to his belt.Rufo’s angular face poked back around the jamb of the open door, his little black eyes sparkling with victorious glee.“Yes?” the tall man purred.“You won that one.”Rufo’s grin widened.Cadderly shone a beam of light in his face and the stunned Rufo recoiled in terror, bumping the wall across the corridor.“Keep your eyes open,” Cadderly said through a wide smile.“The next attack is mine.” He gave a wink, but Rufo, realizing the relatively inoffensive nature of Cadderly’s newest invention, only sneered back, brushed his matted black hair aside, and rushed away, his hard black boots clomping on the tiled floor as loudly as a shoed horse on cobblestones.The three druids were granted a room in a remote corner of the fourth floor, far from the bustle of the library, as Arcite had requested.They settled in easily, not having much gear, and Arcite suggested they set off at once to study the newly found moss tome.“I shall remain behind,” Newander replied.

“There you err,” he said.“We put a condition on knowledge that the Gondsmen do not follow.” He paused and shook his head again, a simple action that stung Cadderly more than any wild screaming fit Avery had ever launched at him.“Why are you here?” Avery asked quietly, in controlled tones.“Have you ever asked yourself that question?You frustrate me, boy.You are perhaps the most intelligent person I have ever known—and I have known quite a few scholars—but you possess the impulses and emotions of a child.I knew it would be like this.When Thobicus said we would take you in …” Avery stopped, as if reconsidering his words, then finished with a sigh.It seemed to Cadderly that the headmaster always stopped short of finishing that same, beleaguered point about morality, stopped short of preaching, as though he expected Cadderly to come to conclusions of his own.Cadderly was not surprised a moment later when Avery abruptly changed the subject.“What of your duties while you sit here in your ‘pursuit of knowledge’?” the headmaster asked, his voice filling with anger once again.“Did you bother to light the candles in the study chambers this morning?”Cadderly flinched.He knew he’d forgotten something.“I didn’t think so,” Avery said.“You are a valuable asset to our order, Cadderly, and undeniably gifted as both scholar and scribe, but I warn you, your behavior is far from acceptable.” Avery’s face flushed bright red as Cadderly, still not properly sorting through the headmaster’s concerns for him, met his unblinking stare.Cadderly was almost used to those scoldings; it was Avery who always came rushing to investigate Rufo’s claims.Cadderly didn’t think that a bad thing; Avery, for all his fuming, was surely more lenient than some of the other, older, headmasters.Avery turned suddenly, nearly knocking Rufo over, and stormed down the hallway, sweeping the angular man up in his wake.Cadderly shrugged and tried to dismiss the whole incident as another of Headmaster Avery’s misplaced explosions.Avery obviously just didn’t understand him.The young priest wasn’t overly worried; his scribing skills brought in huge amounts of gold, which he split evenly with the library.Admittedly, he was not the most dutiful follower of Deneir.He was lax concerning the rituals of his station and it often got him into trouble.But Cadderly knew that most of the headmasters understood that his indiscretions came not from any disrespect for the order, but simply because he was so busy learning and creating—two very high priorities in the teachings of Deneir, and two often profitable priorities for the expensive-to-maintain library.By Cadderly’s figuring, the priests of Deneir, like most religious orders, could find it in their hearts to overlook minor indiscretions, especially considering the greater gain.“Oh, Rufo,” Cadderly called, reaching to his belt.Rufo’s angular face poked back around the jamb of the open door, his little black eyes sparkling with victorious glee.“Yes?” the tall man purred.“You won that one.”Rufo’s grin widened.Cadderly shone a beam of light in his face and the stunned Rufo recoiled in terror, bumping the wall across the corridor.“Keep your eyes open,” Cadderly said through a wide smile.“The next attack is mine.” He gave a wink, but Rufo, realizing the relatively inoffensive nature of Cadderly’s newest invention, only sneered back, brushed his matted black hair aside, and rushed away, his hard black boots clomping on the tiled floor as loudly as a shoed horse on cobblestones.The three druids were granted a room in a remote corner of the fourth floor, far from the bustle of the library, as Arcite had requested.They settled in easily, not having much gear, and Arcite suggested they set off at once to study the newly found moss tome.“I shall remain behind,” Newander replied.

dnd177

“It was a long road, and I am truly weary.I would be no help to you with my eyes falling closed.”“As you wish,” Arcite said.“We shall not be gone too long.Perhaps you can go down and pick up on the work when we have ended.”Newander moved to the room’s window when his friends had gone and stared out across the majestic Snowflake Mountains.He had been to the Edificant Library only once before, when he had first met Cadderly.Newander had been but a young man then, about the same age as Cadderly was now, and the library, with its bustle of humanity, crafted items, and penned tomes, had affected him deeply.Before he had come, Newander had known only the quiet woodlands, where the animals ruled and men were few.After he had left, Newander had questioned his calling.He preferred the woodlands, that much he knew, but he could not deny the attraction he felt for civilization, the curiosity about advances in architecture and knowledge.Newander had remained a druid, though, a servant of Silvanus, the Oak Father, and had done well in his studies.The natural order was of primary importance, by his sincere measure, but still …It was not without concern that Newander had returned to the Edificant Library.He looked out at majestic mountains and wished he was out there, where the world was simple and safe.TWOAGENT OF TALONAFrom a distance, the rocky spur at the northeastern edge of the Snowflake Mountains seemed quite unremarkable: piles of strewn boulders covering tightly packed slopes of smaller stones.But so, too, to those who didn’t know better, might a wolverine seem an innocuous creature of the forest.A dozen separate tunnels led under that rocky slope, and each of them promised only death to wayward adventurers seeking shelter from the night.This particular mountain spur, which was far from natural, housed Castle Trinity, a castle-in-mountain’s-clothing, a fortress for an evil brotherhood determined to gain in power.Wary must wanderers be in the Realms, for civilization often ends at a city wall.“Will it work?” Aballister whispered nervously, tentatively fingering the precious parchment.Rationally, he held faith in the recipe—Talona had led him to it—but after so much pain and trouble, and with the moment of victory so close at hand, he could not resist a bit of apprehension.He looked up from the scroll and out a small window in the fortified complex.The Shining Plains lay flat and dark to the east, and the setting sun lit reflected fires on the Snowflake Mountains’ snow-capped peaks to the west.The imp folded his leathery wings around and in front of himself and crossed his arms over them, impatiently tapping one clawed foot.“Quiesta bene tellemara,” he mumbled under his breath.“What was that?” Aballister replied, turning sharply and cocking one thin eyebrow at his often impertinent familiar.“Did you say something, Druzil?”“It will work, I said.It will work,” Druzil lied in his raspy, breathless voice.“Would you doubt the Lady Talona?Would you doubt her wisdom in bringing us together?”Aballister muttered suspiciously, accepting the suspected insult as an unfortunate but unavoidable consequence of having so wise and wicked a familiar.

“It was a long road, and I am truly weary.I would be no help to you with my eyes falling closed.”“As you wish,” Arcite said.“We shall not be gone too long.Perhaps you can go down and pick up on the work when we have ended.”Newander moved to the room’s window when his friends had gone and stared out across the majestic Snowflake Mountains.He had been to the Edificant Library only once before, when he had first met Cadderly.Newander had been but a young man then, about the same age as Cadderly was now, and the library, with its bustle of humanity, crafted items, and penned tomes, had affected him deeply.Before he had come, Newander had known only the quiet woodlands, where the animals ruled and men were few.After he had left, Newander had questioned his calling.He preferred the woodlands, that much he knew, but he could not deny the attraction he felt for civilization, the curiosity about advances in architecture and knowledge.Newander had remained a druid, though, a servant of Silvanus, the Oak Father, and had done well in his studies.The natural order was of primary importance, by his sincere measure, but still …It was not without concern that Newander had returned to the Edificant Library.He looked out at majestic mountains and wished he was out there, where the world was simple and safe.TWOAGENT OF TALONAFrom a distance, the rocky spur at the northeastern edge of the Snowflake Mountains seemed quite unremarkable: piles of strewn boulders covering tightly packed slopes of smaller stones.But so, too, to those who didn’t know better, might a wolverine seem an innocuous creature of the forest.A dozen separate tunnels led under that rocky slope, and each of them promised only death to wayward adventurers seeking shelter from the night.This particular mountain spur, which was far from natural, housed Castle Trinity, a castle-in-mountain’s-clothing, a fortress for an evil brotherhood determined to gain in power.Wary must wanderers be in the Realms, for civilization often ends at a city wall.“Will it work?” Aballister whispered nervously, tentatively fingering the precious parchment.Rationally, he held faith in the recipe—Talona had led him to it—but after so much pain and trouble, and with the moment of victory so close at hand, he could not resist a bit of apprehension.He looked up from the scroll and out a small window in the fortified complex.The Shining Plains lay flat and dark to the east, and the setting sun lit reflected fires on the Snowflake Mountains’ snow-capped peaks to the west.The imp folded his leathery wings around and in front of himself and crossed his arms over them, impatiently tapping one clawed foot.“Quiesta bene tellemara,” he mumbled under his breath.“What was that?” Aballister replied, turning sharply and cocking one thin eyebrow at his often impertinent familiar.“Did you say something, Druzil?”“It will work, I said.It will work,” Druzil lied in his raspy, breathless voice.“Would you doubt the Lady Talona?Would you doubt her wisdom in bringing us together?”Aballister muttered suspiciously, accepting the suspected insult as an unfortunate but unavoidable consequence of having so wise and wicked a familiar.

dnd178

The lean wizard knew that Druzil’s translation was less than accurate, and that “quiesta bene tellemara” was undoubtedly something uncomplimentary.He didn’t doubt Druzil’s appraisal of the potion, though, and that somehow unnerved him most of all.If Druzil’s claims for the chaos curse proved true, Aballister and his evil companions would soon realize more power than even he, an ambitious wizard, had ever hoped for.For many years Castle Trinity had aspired to conquer the Snowflake Mountain region, the elven wood of Shilmista, and the human settlement of Carradoon.With the chaos curse, that process might soon begin.Aballister looked beside the small window to the golden brazier, supported by a tripod, that always burned in his room.The brazier was his gate to the lower planes, the same gate that had delivered Druzil.The wizard remembered that time vividly, a day of tingling anticipation.The avatar of the goddess Talona had instructed him to use his powers of sorcery and had given him Druzil’s name, promising him that the imp would deliver a most delicious recipe for entropy.Little did he know then that the imp’s precious scheme would involve two years of painstaking and costly effort, tax the wizard to the limits of his endurance, and destroy so many others in the process.Druzil’s recipe, the chaos curse, was worth it, Aballister decided.He had taken its creation as his personal quest for Talona, as the great task of his life, and as the gift to his goddess that would elevate him even above her priests.The interplanar gate was was closed, but Aballister had powders that could open and shut it as readily as if he were turning a doorknob.The powders sat in small, carefully marked pouches, half for opening, half for closing, lined up alternately on a nearby table.Druzil was the only other living being that knew about them, and the imp had never gone against the wizard’s demands and tampered with the gate.Druzil could be impertinent and was often a tremendous nuisance, but he was reliable enough concerning important matters.Aballister continued his scan and saw his reflection in a mirror across the room.Once he had been a handsome man, with inquisitive eyes and a bright smile.The change had been dramatic.Aballister was hollowed and worn, all the dabbling in dark magic, worshiping a demanding goddess, and controlling chaotic creatures such as Druzil having taken their toll.Many years before, the wizard had given up everything—his family and friends, and all the joys he once had held dear—in his hunger for knowledge and power, and that obsession had only multiplied when he met Talona.More than once, though, both before and after that meeting, Aballister had wondered if it had been worth it.Druzil offered him the attainment of his lifelong quest, power beyond his grandest imaginings, but the reality hadn’t lived up to Aballister’s expectations.At this point in his wretched life, the power seemed as hollow as his own face.“But these ingredients!” Aballister went on, trying, perhaps hoping, that he could find a weakness in the imp’s seemingly solid designs.“Eyes of an umber hulk?Blood of a druid?

The lean wizard knew that Druzil’s translation was less than accurate, and that “quiesta bene tellemara” was undoubtedly something uncomplimentary.He didn’t doubt Druzil’s appraisal of the potion, though, and that somehow unnerved him most of all.If Druzil’s claims for the chaos curse proved true, Aballister and his evil companions would soon realize more power than even he, an ambitious wizard, had ever hoped for.For many years Castle Trinity had aspired to conquer the Snowflake Mountain region, the elven wood of Shilmista, and the human settlement of Carradoon.With the chaos curse, that process might soon begin.Aballister looked beside the small window to the golden brazier, supported by a tripod, that always burned in his room.The brazier was his gate to the lower planes, the same gate that had delivered Druzil.The wizard remembered that time vividly, a day of tingling anticipation.The avatar of the goddess Talona had instructed him to use his powers of sorcery and had given him Druzil’s name, promising him that the imp would deliver a most delicious recipe for entropy.Little did he know then that the imp’s precious scheme would involve two years of painstaking and costly effort, tax the wizard to the limits of his endurance, and destroy so many others in the process.Druzil’s recipe, the chaos curse, was worth it, Aballister decided.He had taken its creation as his personal quest for Talona, as the great task of his life, and as the gift to his goddess that would elevate him even above her priests.The interplanar gate was was closed, but Aballister had powders that could open and shut it as readily as if he were turning a doorknob.The powders sat in small, carefully marked pouches, half for opening, half for closing, lined up alternately on a nearby table.Druzil was the only other living being that knew about them, and the imp had never gone against the wizard’s demands and tampered with the gate.Druzil could be impertinent and was often a tremendous nuisance, but he was reliable enough concerning important matters.Aballister continued his scan and saw his reflection in a mirror across the room.Once he had been a handsome man, with inquisitive eyes and a bright smile.The change had been dramatic.Aballister was hollowed and worn, all the dabbling in dark magic, worshiping a demanding goddess, and controlling chaotic creatures such as Druzil having taken their toll.Many years before, the wizard had given up everything—his family and friends, and all the joys he once had held dear—in his hunger for knowledge and power, and that obsession had only multiplied when he met Talona.More than once, though, both before and after that meeting, Aballister had wondered if it had been worth it.Druzil offered him the attainment of his lifelong quest, power beyond his grandest imaginings, but the reality hadn’t lived up to Aballister’s expectations.At this point in his wretched life, the power seemed as hollow as his own face.“But these ingredients!” Aballister went on, trying, perhaps hoping, that he could find a weakness in the imp’s seemingly solid designs.“Eyes of an umber hulk?Blood of a druid?

dnd179

And what is the purpose of this, tentacles of a displacer beast?”“Chaos curse,” Druzil replied, as if the words alone should dispell the wizard’s doubts.“It is a mighty potion you plan to brew, my master.” Druzil’s toothy smile sent a shudder of revulsion along Aballister’s backbone.The wizard had never become overly comfortable around the cruel imp.“Del quiniera cas ciem-pa,” Druzil said through his long, pointy teeth.“A powerful potion indeed!” he translated falsely.In truth, Druzil had said, “Even considering your limitations,” but Aballister didn’t need to know that.“Yes,” Aballister muttered again, tapping a bony finger on the end of his hawkish nose.“I really must take the time to learn your language, my dear Druzil.”“Yes,” Druzil echoed, wiggling his elongated ears.“Iye quiesta pas tellemara,” he said, which meant, “If you weren’t so stupid.” Druzil dropped into a low bow to cover his deceptions, but the act only convinced Aballister further that the imp was making fun of him.“The expense of these ingredients has been considerable,” Aballister said, getting back to the subject.“And the brewing is not exact,” added Druzil with obvious sarcasm.“And we could find, my master, a hundred more problems if we searched, but the gains, I remind you.The gains!Your brotherhood is not so strong, not so.It shan’t survive, I say!Not without the brew.”“God-stuff?” mused Aballister.“Call it so,” replied Druzil.“Since it was Talona who led you to it, that her designs be furthered, perhaps it truly is.A fitting title, for the sake of Barjin and his wretched priests.They will be more devout and attentive if they understand that they are fabricating a true agent of Talona, a power in itself to lavish their worship upon, and their devotion will help keep orc-faced Ragnor and his brutish warriors in line.”Aballister laughed aloud as he thought of the three clerics, the second order of the evil triumvirate, kneeling and praying before a simple magical device.“Name it Tuanta Miancay, the Fatal Horror,” Druzil offered, his snickers purely sarcastic.“Barjin will like that.” The imp contemplated the suggestion for a moment then added, “No, not the Fatal Horror.Tuanta Quiro Miancay, the Most Fatal Horror.”Aballister’s laughter trebled, with just a hint of unease in it.“Most Fatal Horror” was a title associated with Talona’s highest-ranking and most devout priests.Barjin, Castle Trinity’s clerical leader, had not yet attained that honor, being referred to only as a Most Debilitating Holiness.That this chaos curse would outstrip him in title would sting the arrogant cleric, and Aballister would enjoy that spectacle.

And what is the purpose of this, tentacles of a displacer beast?”“Chaos curse,” Druzil replied, as if the words alone should dispell the wizard’s doubts.“It is a mighty potion you plan to brew, my master.” Druzil’s toothy smile sent a shudder of revulsion along Aballister’s backbone.The wizard had never become overly comfortable around the cruel imp.“Del quiniera cas ciem-pa,” Druzil said through his long, pointy teeth.“A powerful potion indeed!” he translated falsely.In truth, Druzil had said, “Even considering your limitations,” but Aballister didn’t need to know that.“Yes,” Aballister muttered again, tapping a bony finger on the end of his hawkish nose.“I really must take the time to learn your language, my dear Druzil.”“Yes,” Druzil echoed, wiggling his elongated ears.“Iye quiesta pas tellemara,” he said, which meant, “If you weren’t so stupid.” Druzil dropped into a low bow to cover his deceptions, but the act only convinced Aballister further that the imp was making fun of him.“The expense of these ingredients has been considerable,” Aballister said, getting back to the subject.“And the brewing is not exact,” added Druzil with obvious sarcasm.“And we could find, my master, a hundred more problems if we searched, but the gains, I remind you.The gains!Your brotherhood is not so strong, not so.It shan’t survive, I say!Not without the brew.”“God-stuff?” mused Aballister.“Call it so,” replied Druzil.“Since it was Talona who led you to it, that her designs be furthered, perhaps it truly is.A fitting title, for the sake of Barjin and his wretched priests.They will be more devout and attentive if they understand that they are fabricating a true agent of Talona, a power in itself to lavish their worship upon, and their devotion will help keep orc-faced Ragnor and his brutish warriors in line.”Aballister laughed aloud as he thought of the three clerics, the second order of the evil triumvirate, kneeling and praying before a simple magical device.“Name it Tuanta Miancay, the Fatal Horror,” Druzil offered, his snickers purely sarcastic.“Barjin will like that.” The imp contemplated the suggestion for a moment then added, “No, not the Fatal Horror.Tuanta Quiro Miancay, the Most Fatal Horror.”Aballister’s laughter trebled, with just a hint of unease in it.“Most Fatal Horror” was a title associated with Talona’s highest-ranking and most devout priests.Barjin, Castle Trinity’s clerical leader, had not yet attained that honor, being referred to only as a Most Debilitating Holiness.That this chaos curse would outstrip him in title would sting the arrogant cleric, and Aballister would enjoy that spectacle.

dnd180

Barjin and his band had been at the castle for only a year.The priest had traveled all the way from Damara, homeless and broken and with no god to call his own since a new order of paladin kings had banished his vile deity back to the lower planes.Like Aballister, Barjin claimed to have encountered the avatar of Talona and that it was she who had shown him the way to Castle Trinity.Barjin’s dynamism and powers were considerable, and his followers had carried uncounted treasures along with them on their journey.When they first had arrived, the ruling triumvirate, particularly Aballister, had welcomed them with open arms, thinking it grand that Talona had brought together so powerful a union, a marriage that would strengthen the castle and provide the resources to complete Druzil’s recipe.Now, months later, Aballister had begun to foster reservations about the union, particularly about the priest.Barjin was a charismatic man, something frowned upon in an order dedicated to disease and poison.Many of Talona’s priests scarred themselves or covered their skin with grotesque tattoos.Barjin had done none of that, had sacrificed nothing to his new goddess, but because of his wealth and his uncanny persuasive powers he quickly had risen to the leadership of the castle’s clerics.Aballister had allowed the ascent, thinking it Talona’s will, and had gone out of his way to appease Barjin—in retrospect, he was not so certain of his choice.But he needed Barjin’s support to hold Castle Trinity together, and Barjin’s riches to fund the continuing creation of the chaos curse.“I must see about the brewing of our ingredients for the god-stuff,” the wizard said with that thought in mind.“When we find a quiet time, though, Druzil, I would like to learn a bit of that full-flavored language you so often toss about.”“As you please, my master,” replied the imp, bowing as Aballister left the small room and closed the door behind him.Druzil spoke his next words in his private tongue, the language of the lower planes, fearing that Aballister might be listening at the door, “Quiesta bene tellemara, Aballister!” The mischievous imp couldn’t help himself as he whispered, “But you are too stupid,” aloud, for no better reason than to hear the words spoken in both tongues.For all of the insults he so casually threw his master’s way, though, Druzil appreciated the wizard.Aballister was marvelously intelligent for a human, and the most powerful of his order of three, and by Druzil’s estimation those three wizards were the strongest leg of the triumvirate.Aballister would complete the cursing potion and supply the device to deliver it, and for that, Druzil, who had craved that day for decades, would be undyingly grateful.Druzil was smarter than most imps, smarter than most people, and when he had come upon the ancient recipe in an obscure manuscript a century before, he wisely had kept it hidden from his former master, another human.That wizard hadn’t the resources or the wisdom to carry through the plan and properly spread the cause of chaos, but Aballister did.Aballister felt a mixture of hope and trepidation as he stared hard at the reddish glow emanating from within the clear bottle.It was the first test of the chaos curse, and all of the wizard’s expectations were tempered by the huge expense of putting this small amount together.“One more ingredient,” whispered the anxious imp, sharing none of his master’s doubts.“Add the yote, then we may release the smoke.”“It is not to be imbibed?” Aballister asked.Druzil paled noticeably.“No, Master, not that,” he rasped.“The consequences are too grave.Too grave!”Aballister spent a long moment studying the imp.In the two years Druzil had been beside him, he could not recall ever seeing the imp so badly shaken.

Barjin and his band had been at the castle for only a year.The priest had traveled all the way from Damara, homeless and broken and with no god to call his own since a new order of paladin kings had banished his vile deity back to the lower planes.Like Aballister, Barjin claimed to have encountered the avatar of Talona and that it was she who had shown him the way to Castle Trinity.Barjin’s dynamism and powers were considerable, and his followers had carried uncounted treasures along with them on their journey.When they first had arrived, the ruling triumvirate, particularly Aballister, had welcomed them with open arms, thinking it grand that Talona had brought together so powerful a union, a marriage that would strengthen the castle and provide the resources to complete Druzil’s recipe.Now, months later, Aballister had begun to foster reservations about the union, particularly about the priest.Barjin was a charismatic man, something frowned upon in an order dedicated to disease and poison.Many of Talona’s priests scarred themselves or covered their skin with grotesque tattoos.Barjin had done none of that, had sacrificed nothing to his new goddess, but because of his wealth and his uncanny persuasive powers he quickly had risen to the leadership of the castle’s clerics.Aballister had allowed the ascent, thinking it Talona’s will, and had gone out of his way to appease Barjin—in retrospect, he was not so certain of his choice.But he needed Barjin’s support to hold Castle Trinity together, and Barjin’s riches to fund the continuing creation of the chaos curse.“I must see about the brewing of our ingredients for the god-stuff,” the wizard said with that thought in mind.“When we find a quiet time, though, Druzil, I would like to learn a bit of that full-flavored language you so often toss about.”“As you please, my master,” replied the imp, bowing as Aballister left the small room and closed the door behind him.Druzil spoke his next words in his private tongue, the language of the lower planes, fearing that Aballister might be listening at the door, “Quiesta bene tellemara, Aballister!” The mischievous imp couldn’t help himself as he whispered, “But you are too stupid,” aloud, for no better reason than to hear the words spoken in both tongues.For all of the insults he so casually threw his master’s way, though, Druzil appreciated the wizard.Aballister was marvelously intelligent for a human, and the most powerful of his order of three, and by Druzil’s estimation those three wizards were the strongest leg of the triumvirate.Aballister would complete the cursing potion and supply the device to deliver it, and for that, Druzil, who had craved that day for decades, would be undyingly grateful.Druzil was smarter than most imps, smarter than most people, and when he had come upon the ancient recipe in an obscure manuscript a century before, he wisely had kept it hidden from his former master, another human.That wizard hadn’t the resources or the wisdom to carry through the plan and properly spread the cause of chaos, but Aballister did.Aballister felt a mixture of hope and trepidation as he stared hard at the reddish glow emanating from within the clear bottle.It was the first test of the chaos curse, and all of the wizard’s expectations were tempered by the huge expense of putting this small amount together.“One more ingredient,” whispered the anxious imp, sharing none of his master’s doubts.“Add the yote, then we may release the smoke.”“It is not to be imbibed?” Aballister asked.Druzil paled noticeably.“No, Master, not that,” he rasped.“The consequences are too grave.Too grave!”Aballister spent a long moment studying the imp.In the two years Druzil had been beside him, he could not recall ever seeing the imp so badly shaken.

dnd181

The wizard walked across the room to a cabinet and produced a second bottle, smaller than the plain one holding the potion, but intricately decorated with countless magical runes.When Aballister pulled off the stopper, a steady stream of smoke issued forth.“It is ever-smoking,” the wizard explained.“A minor item of magical—”“I know,” Druzil interrupted.“And I have already come to know that the flask will mate correctly with our potion.”Aballister started to ask how Druzil could possibly know that, how Druzil could even know about his ever-smoking bottle, but he held his questions, remembering that the mischievous imp had contacts on other planes that could see many things.“Could you create more of those?” Druzil asked, indicating the wondrous bottle.Aballister gritted his teeth at yet another added expense, and his expression alone answered the question.“The chaos curse is best served in mist, and with its magical properties, the bottle will continue to spew it forth for many years, though its range will be limited,” Druzil explained.“Another container will be necessary if we mean to spread the intoxicant properly.”“Intoxicant?” Aballister balked, on the verge of rage.Druzil gave a quick flap of his leathery wings, putting him farther across the room from Aballister—not that distance mattered much where the powerful wizard was concerned.“Intoxicant?” Aballister said again.“My dear, dear Druzil, do you mean to tell me that we have spent a fortune in gold, that I have groveled before Barjin and those utterly wretched priests, just to mix a batch of elven wine?”“Bene tellemara,” came the imp’s exasperated reply.“You still do not understand what we have created?Elven wine?”“Dwarven mead, then?” Aballister snarled.He took up his staff and advanced a threatening step.“You do not understand what will happen when it is loosed,” Druzil barked derisively.“Do tell me.”Druzil snapped his wings over his face then back behind him again, a movement that plainly revealed his frustration.“It will invade the hearts of our targets,” the imp explained, “and exaggerate their desires.Simple impulses will become god-given commands.None will be affected in quite the same way, nor will the effects remain consistent to any one victim.Purely chaotic!Those affected will …”Aballister raised a hand to stop him, needing no further explanation.“I have given you power beyond your greatest hopes!” the imp growled forcefully.“Have you forgotten Talona’s promise?”“The avatar only suggested that I summon you,” Aballister countered, “and only hinted that you might possess something of value.”“You cannot begin to understand the potency of the chaos curse,” Druzil replied smugly.“All the races of the region will be yours to control when their own inner controls have been destroyed.Chaos is a beautiful thing, Master, a force of destruction and conquest, the ultimate disease, the Most Fatal Horror.Orchestrating chaos brings power to he who remains beyond its crippling grip!”Aballister leaned on his staff and looked away.He had to believe Druzil, and yet he feared to.

The wizard walked across the room to a cabinet and produced a second bottle, smaller than the plain one holding the potion, but intricately decorated with countless magical runes.When Aballister pulled off the stopper, a steady stream of smoke issued forth.“It is ever-smoking,” the wizard explained.“A minor item of magical—”“I know,” Druzil interrupted.“And I have already come to know that the flask will mate correctly with our potion.”Aballister started to ask how Druzil could possibly know that, how Druzil could even know about his ever-smoking bottle, but he held his questions, remembering that the mischievous imp had contacts on other planes that could see many things.“Could you create more of those?” Druzil asked, indicating the wondrous bottle.Aballister gritted his teeth at yet another added expense, and his expression alone answered the question.“The chaos curse is best served in mist, and with its magical properties, the bottle will continue to spew it forth for many years, though its range will be limited,” Druzil explained.“Another container will be necessary if we mean to spread the intoxicant properly.”“Intoxicant?” Aballister balked, on the verge of rage.Druzil gave a quick flap of his leathery wings, putting him farther across the room from Aballister—not that distance mattered much where the powerful wizard was concerned.“Intoxicant?” Aballister said again.“My dear, dear Druzil, do you mean to tell me that we have spent a fortune in gold, that I have groveled before Barjin and those utterly wretched priests, just to mix a batch of elven wine?”“Bene tellemara,” came the imp’s exasperated reply.“You still do not understand what we have created?Elven wine?”“Dwarven mead, then?” Aballister snarled.He took up his staff and advanced a threatening step.“You do not understand what will happen when it is loosed,” Druzil barked derisively.“Do tell me.”Druzil snapped his wings over his face then back behind him again, a movement that plainly revealed his frustration.“It will invade the hearts of our targets,” the imp explained, “and exaggerate their desires.Simple impulses will become god-given commands.None will be affected in quite the same way, nor will the effects remain consistent to any one victim.Purely chaotic!Those affected will …”Aballister raised a hand to stop him, needing no further explanation.“I have given you power beyond your greatest hopes!” the imp growled forcefully.“Have you forgotten Talona’s promise?”“The avatar only suggested that I summon you,” Aballister countered, “and only hinted that you might possess something of value.”“You cannot begin to understand the potency of the chaos curse,” Druzil replied smugly.“All the races of the region will be yours to control when their own inner controls have been destroyed.Chaos is a beautiful thing, Master, a force of destruction and conquest, the ultimate disease, the Most Fatal Horror.Orchestrating chaos brings power to he who remains beyond its crippling grip!”Aballister leaned on his staff and looked away.He had to believe Druzil, and yet he feared to.

dnd182

He had given so much to that unknown recipe.“You must learn,” the imp said, seeing that Aballister was not impressed.“If we are to succeed, you must believe.”He folded his leathery wings over his head for a moment, burying himself in thought.“That young fighter, the arrogant one?” he asked.“Haverly,” Aballister answered.“He thinks himself Ragnor’s better,” Druzil said, a wicked, toothy smile spreading over his face.“He desires Ragnor’s death so that he might assume captainship of the fighters.”Aballister did not argue.On several occasions, young Haverly, drunken with ale, had indicated those very desires, though he had never gone so far as to openly threaten the ogrillon Ragnor.Even arrogant Haverly was not that stupid.“Call him to us,” Druzil begged.“Let him complete our test.Tell him that this potion could strengthen his position in the triumvirate.Tell him that it could make him even stronger than Ragnor.”Aballister stood quietly for a few moments to consider his options.Barjin had expressed grave doubts about the whole project, despite Aballister’s claims that it would serve Talona beyond anything else in all the world.The priest had only funded Aballister’s treasure hunt on the wizard’s promise, made before a dozen witnesses, that every copper piece would be repaid if the priest was not overjoyed with the results.Barjin had lost much in his flight from the northern kingdom of Damara: his prestige, his army, and many valuable and powerful items, some enchanted.His retained wealth alone had played a major role in preserving a measure of his former power.As the tendays dragged on with rising expenses and no measurable results, Barjin grew increasingly impatient.“I will summon Haverly at once,” Aballister replied, intrigued.Neither the wizard nor Barjin held any love for either Ragnor, whom they considered too dangerous to be trusted, or Haverly, whom they considered too foolish, and any havoc that the test wreaked on that pair could help to diminish Barjin’s doubts.Besides, Aballister thought, it might be fun to watch.Druzil sat motionless on Aballister’s great desk, watching the events across the room with great interest.The imp wished he could play a larger role in this part of the test, but only the other wizards knew of his position as Aballister’s familiar, or that he was alive at all.The fighters of the triumvirate, even the clerics, thought the imp merely a garish statue, for on the few occasions that any of them had entered Aballister’s private quarters, Druzil had sat perfectly motionless on the desk.“Bend low over the beaker as you add the final drop,” Aballister bade Haverly, looking back to Druzil for confirmation.The imp nodded imperceptibly and flared his nostrils in anticipation.“That is correct!” Aballister said to Haverly.“Breathe deeply as you pour.”Haverly stood straight and cast a suspicious gaze at the wizard.He obviously didn’t trust Aballister—certainly the wizard had shown him no friendship till then.“I have great plans,” he said.“Being turned into a newt or some other strange creature is not part of them.”“You doubt me?” Aballister roared, knowing he must scare off the young fighter’s doubts without hesitation.“Then go away!

He had given so much to that unknown recipe.“You must learn,” the imp said, seeing that Aballister was not impressed.“If we are to succeed, you must believe.”He folded his leathery wings over his head for a moment, burying himself in thought.“That young fighter, the arrogant one?” he asked.“Haverly,” Aballister answered.“He thinks himself Ragnor’s better,” Druzil said, a wicked, toothy smile spreading over his face.“He desires Ragnor’s death so that he might assume captainship of the fighters.”Aballister did not argue.On several occasions, young Haverly, drunken with ale, had indicated those very desires, though he had never gone so far as to openly threaten the ogrillon Ragnor.Even arrogant Haverly was not that stupid.“Call him to us,” Druzil begged.“Let him complete our test.Tell him that this potion could strengthen his position in the triumvirate.Tell him that it could make him even stronger than Ragnor.”Aballister stood quietly for a few moments to consider his options.Barjin had expressed grave doubts about the whole project, despite Aballister’s claims that it would serve Talona beyond anything else in all the world.The priest had only funded Aballister’s treasure hunt on the wizard’s promise, made before a dozen witnesses, that every copper piece would be repaid if the priest was not overjoyed with the results.Barjin had lost much in his flight from the northern kingdom of Damara: his prestige, his army, and many valuable and powerful items, some enchanted.His retained wealth alone had played a major role in preserving a measure of his former power.As the tendays dragged on with rising expenses and no measurable results, Barjin grew increasingly impatient.“I will summon Haverly at once,” Aballister replied, intrigued.Neither the wizard nor Barjin held any love for either Ragnor, whom they considered too dangerous to be trusted, or Haverly, whom they considered too foolish, and any havoc that the test wreaked on that pair could help to diminish Barjin’s doubts.Besides, Aballister thought, it might be fun to watch.Druzil sat motionless on Aballister’s great desk, watching the events across the room with great interest.The imp wished he could play a larger role in this part of the test, but only the other wizards knew of his position as Aballister’s familiar, or that he was alive at all.The fighters of the triumvirate, even the clerics, thought the imp merely a garish statue, for on the few occasions that any of them had entered Aballister’s private quarters, Druzil had sat perfectly motionless on the desk.“Bend low over the beaker as you add the final drop,” Aballister bade Haverly, looking back to Druzil for confirmation.The imp nodded imperceptibly and flared his nostrils in anticipation.“That is correct!” Aballister said to Haverly.“Breathe deeply as you pour.”Haverly stood straight and cast a suspicious gaze at the wizard.He obviously didn’t trust Aballister—certainly the wizard had shown him no friendship till then.“I have great plans,” he said.“Being turned into a newt or some other strange creature is not part of them.”“You doubt me?” Aballister roared, knowing he must scare off the young fighter’s doubts without hesitation.“Then go away!

dnd183

Anyone can complete the brewing.I thought that one as ambitious as you—”“Enough,” Haverly interrupted, and Aballister knew his words had hit home.Haverly’s suspicion was no match for his hunger for power.“I will trust you, wizard, though you have never given me cause to trust you,” Haverly finished.“Nor have I ever given you cause not to trust me,” Aballister reminded him.Haverly stared a moment longer at Aballister, his grimace not softening, then bent low over the beaker and poured the final drops.As soon as the liquids touched, the red-glowing elixir belched a puff of red smoke right in Haverly’s face.The fighter jumped back, his hand going straight to his sword.“What have you done to me?” he demanded.“Done?” Aballister echoed innocently.“Nothing.The smoke was harmless enough, if a bit startling.”Haverly took a moment to inspect himself to be sure that he had suffered no ill effects then relaxed and nodded at the wizard.“What will happen next?” he asked.“Where is the power you promised me?”“In time, dear Haverly, in time,” replied Aballister.“The brewing of the elixir is only the first process!’“How long?” demanded the eager fighter.“I could have invited Ragnor instead of you,” Aballister pointedly reminded him.Haverly’s transformation at the mention of Ragnor forced the wizard back several steps.The young fighter’s eyes widened grotesquely, and he bit his lip so hard that blood dripped down his chin.“Ragnor!” he growled through gritted teeth.“Ragnor the Imposter!Ragnor the Pretender!You would not invite him, for I am his better!”“Of course you are, dear Haverly,” the wizard cooed, trying to soothe the wild-eyed man, recognizing that Haverly was on the verge of explosion.“That is why …”Aballister never finished, for Haverly, muttering under his breath, drew his sword and charged out of the room, nearly destroying the door as he passed.Aballister stared into the hallway, blinking in disbelief.“Intoxicant?” came a sarcastic query from across the room.Drawn away by the screams of “Ragnor!” Aballister didn’t bother to answer the imp.The wizard rushed out, not wanting to miss the coming spectacle, and soon found his two colleagues as they made their way through the halls.“It is Haverly, the young fighter,” said Dorigen, the only female wizard in the castle.Aballister’s evil smile stopped her and her companion in their tracks.“The potion is completed?” Dorigen asked hopefully, her amber eyes sparkling as she tossed her long black hair back over her shoulder.“Chaos curse,” Aballister confirmed as he led them on.When they arrived at the complex’s large dining hall, they found that the fighting had already begun.

Anyone can complete the brewing.I thought that one as ambitious as you—”“Enough,” Haverly interrupted, and Aballister knew his words had hit home.Haverly’s suspicion was no match for his hunger for power.“I will trust you, wizard, though you have never given me cause to trust you,” Haverly finished.“Nor have I ever given you cause not to trust me,” Aballister reminded him.Haverly stared a moment longer at Aballister, his grimace not softening, then bent low over the beaker and poured the final drops.As soon as the liquids touched, the red-glowing elixir belched a puff of red smoke right in Haverly’s face.The fighter jumped back, his hand going straight to his sword.“What have you done to me?” he demanded.“Done?” Aballister echoed innocently.“Nothing.The smoke was harmless enough, if a bit startling.”Haverly took a moment to inspect himself to be sure that he had suffered no ill effects then relaxed and nodded at the wizard.“What will happen next?” he asked.“Where is the power you promised me?”“In time, dear Haverly, in time,” replied Aballister.“The brewing of the elixir is only the first process!’“How long?” demanded the eager fighter.“I could have invited Ragnor instead of you,” Aballister pointedly reminded him.Haverly’s transformation at the mention of Ragnor forced the wizard back several steps.The young fighter’s eyes widened grotesquely, and he bit his lip so hard that blood dripped down his chin.“Ragnor!” he growled through gritted teeth.“Ragnor the Imposter!Ragnor the Pretender!You would not invite him, for I am his better!”“Of course you are, dear Haverly,” the wizard cooed, trying to soothe the wild-eyed man, recognizing that Haverly was on the verge of explosion.“That is why …”Aballister never finished, for Haverly, muttering under his breath, drew his sword and charged out of the room, nearly destroying the door as he passed.Aballister stared into the hallway, blinking in disbelief.“Intoxicant?” came a sarcastic query from across the room.Drawn away by the screams of “Ragnor!” Aballister didn’t bother to answer the imp.The wizard rushed out, not wanting to miss the coming spectacle, and soon found his two colleagues as they made their way through the halls.“It is Haverly, the young fighter,” said Dorigen, the only female wizard in the castle.Aballister’s evil smile stopped her and her companion in their tracks.“The potion is completed?” Dorigen asked hopefully, her amber eyes sparkling as she tossed her long black hair back over her shoulder.“Chaos curse,” Aballister confirmed as he led them on.When they arrived at the complex’s large dining hall, they found that the fighting had already begun.

dnd184

Several tables had been flung about and a hundred startled men and orcs, and even a few giants, lined the room’s perimeter, watching in amazement.Ragnor and Haverly stood facing each other in the center of the room, swords drawn.“The fighters will need a new third in their ruling council,” Dorigen remarked.“Surely either Ragnor or Haverly will fall this day, leaving only two.”“Ragnor!” Haverly proclaimed loudly.“Today I take my place as leader of the fighters!”The other warrior, a powerfully built ogrillon, having ancestors both ogre and orc, and carrying the scars of a thousand battles, hardly seemed impressed.“Today you take your place among your ancestors,” he chided.Haverly charged, his foolishly straightforward attack costing him so deep a gash on one shoulder that his arm was nearly severed.The crazed fighter didn’t even grimace, didn’t even notice the wound or the pain.Though plainly amazed that the vicious wound had not slowed his opponent, Ragnor still managed to deflect Haverly’s sword and get in close to the man.He caught Haverly’s sword arm with his free hand and tried to position his own weapon for a strike.Gasps of astonishment arose throughout the gathering as Haverly somehow managed to lift his brutally torn arm and similarly block Ragnor’s strike.Haverly was almost as tall as Ragnor, but many pounds lighter and not nearly as strong.Still, and despite the wicked wound, he held Ragnor at bay for many moments.“You are stronger than you seem,” Ragnor admitted, somewhat impressed, but showing no concern.On the few occasions that his incredible strength had failed him, the ogrillon had always found a way to improvise.He pressed a disguised catch on his sword hilt, and a second blade, a long, slender dirk, appeared, protruding straight down from the sword hilt, in line with Haverly’s unhelmeted head.Haverly was too engrossed to even notice.“Ragnor!” he screamed again, hysterically, his face contorted.He slammed his forehead into Ragnor’s face, squashing the ogrillon’s nose.Haverly’s head came crashing in again, but Ragnor managed to ignore the pain and keep his concentration on the more lethal attack.Haverly’s head came back in line a third time.Ragnor, tasting his own blood, savagely twisted his sword arm free and plunged straight down, impaling the dirk deeply into Haverly’s skull.The three priests of the ruling triumvirate entered the room then, led by Barjin, who was obviously displeased by the combat.“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded of Aballister, understanding that the wizard had played a role in the disturbance.“A matter for the fighters to explain, it would seem,” Aballister replied with a shrug.Seeing that the priest was about to intervene in the continuing battle, Aballister bent over and whispered, “The chaos curse,” in Barjin’s ear.Barjin’s face brightened immediately and he watched the bloody battle with sudden enthusiasm.Ragnor could hardly believe that Haverly still struggled.His foot-long dirk was bloodied right to the pommel, but his opponent stubbornly backed away, thrashing to free himself of the blade.Ragnor let him go, thinking Haverly in his death throes.But to the continuing gasps of the onlookers—Barjin’s heard most loudly—Haverly did not topple.“Ragnor!” he growled, slurring badly and spitting thick blood with every syllable.Blood filled one of his eyes and poured from his head wound, matting his brown hair, but he raised his sword and stumbled in.Ragnor, terrified, struck first, taking advantage of Haverly’s partial blindness and hacking at his already wounded arm.The force of the blow severed the arm completely, just below the shoulder, and knocked Haverly several feet to the side.“Ragnor!” Haverly sputtered again, barely keeping his balance.Again he came in, and again Ragnor beat him back, slicing through Haverly’s exposed ribs, digging at his heart and lungs.Haverly’s cries became unintelligible wheezes as he continued his advance.

Several tables had been flung about and a hundred startled men and orcs, and even a few giants, lined the room’s perimeter, watching in amazement.Ragnor and Haverly stood facing each other in the center of the room, swords drawn.“The fighters will need a new third in their ruling council,” Dorigen remarked.“Surely either Ragnor or Haverly will fall this day, leaving only two.”“Ragnor!” Haverly proclaimed loudly.“Today I take my place as leader of the fighters!”The other warrior, a powerfully built ogrillon, having ancestors both ogre and orc, and carrying the scars of a thousand battles, hardly seemed impressed.“Today you take your place among your ancestors,” he chided.Haverly charged, his foolishly straightforward attack costing him so deep a gash on one shoulder that his arm was nearly severed.The crazed fighter didn’t even grimace, didn’t even notice the wound or the pain.Though plainly amazed that the vicious wound had not slowed his opponent, Ragnor still managed to deflect Haverly’s sword and get in close to the man.He caught Haverly’s sword arm with his free hand and tried to position his own weapon for a strike.Gasps of astonishment arose throughout the gathering as Haverly somehow managed to lift his brutally torn arm and similarly block Ragnor’s strike.Haverly was almost as tall as Ragnor, but many pounds lighter and not nearly as strong.Still, and despite the wicked wound, he held Ragnor at bay for many moments.“You are stronger than you seem,” Ragnor admitted, somewhat impressed, but showing no concern.On the few occasions that his incredible strength had failed him, the ogrillon had always found a way to improvise.He pressed a disguised catch on his sword hilt, and a second blade, a long, slender dirk, appeared, protruding straight down from the sword hilt, in line with Haverly’s unhelmeted head.Haverly was too engrossed to even notice.“Ragnor!” he screamed again, hysterically, his face contorted.He slammed his forehead into Ragnor’s face, squashing the ogrillon’s nose.Haverly’s head came crashing in again, but Ragnor managed to ignore the pain and keep his concentration on the more lethal attack.Haverly’s head came back in line a third time.Ragnor, tasting his own blood, savagely twisted his sword arm free and plunged straight down, impaling the dirk deeply into Haverly’s skull.The three priests of the ruling triumvirate entered the room then, led by Barjin, who was obviously displeased by the combat.“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded of Aballister, understanding that the wizard had played a role in the disturbance.“A matter for the fighters to explain, it would seem,” Aballister replied with a shrug.Seeing that the priest was about to intervene in the continuing battle, Aballister bent over and whispered, “The chaos curse,” in Barjin’s ear.Barjin’s face brightened immediately and he watched the bloody battle with sudden enthusiasm.Ragnor could hardly believe that Haverly still struggled.His foot-long dirk was bloodied right to the pommel, but his opponent stubbornly backed away, thrashing to free himself of the blade.Ragnor let him go, thinking Haverly in his death throes.But to the continuing gasps of the onlookers—Barjin’s heard most loudly—Haverly did not topple.“Ragnor!” he growled, slurring badly and spitting thick blood with every syllable.Blood filled one of his eyes and poured from his head wound, matting his brown hair, but he raised his sword and stumbled in.Ragnor, terrified, struck first, taking advantage of Haverly’s partial blindness and hacking at his already wounded arm.The force of the blow severed the arm completely, just below the shoulder, and knocked Haverly several feet to the side.“Ragnor!” Haverly sputtered again, barely keeping his balance.Again he came in, and again Ragnor beat him back, slicing through Haverly’s exposed ribs, digging at his heart and lungs.Haverly’s cries became unintelligible wheezes as he continued his advance.

dnd185

Ragnor rushed out to meet him, locking him in a tight embrace that rendered both long swords useless.Haverly had no defenses against Ragnor’s previously free hand, now holding a dirk, and the weapon dug repeatedly, viciously, at his back.Still, long moments passed before Haverly finally tumbled dead to the floor.“A worthy adversary,” one bold orc remarked, coming over to inspect the body.Covered in Haverly’s blood, and with his own nose broken, Ragnor was in no mood to hear any praises for Haverly.“A stubborn fool!” he corrected, and he lopped off the orc’s head with a single strike.Barjin nodded at Aballister.“Talona watches with pleasure.Perhaps your chaos curse will prove worth the expense.”“Chaos curse?” Aballister replied as though a notion had struck him.“That is not a fitting title for such a powerful agent of Talona.Tuanta Miancay, perhaps … no, Tuanta Quiro Miancay.”One of Barjin’s associates, understanding the language and the implications of the title, gasped aloud.His companions stared at him, and he translated, “The Most Fatal Horror!”Barjin snapped his gaze back on Aballister, realizing the wizard’s ploy.Aballister had played the most important role in the brewing, and with a few simple words, had ranked the potion above Barjin.Already the other two clerics, fanatic followers of Talona, were nodding eagerly and whispering their praises for Aballister’s creation.“Tuanta Quiro Miancay,” the cornered priest echoed, forcing a smile.“Yes, that will do properly.”THREEDANICAThe obese wrestler rubbed a pudgy hand over his newest bruise, trying to ignore the growing taunts of his colleagues.“I have been too relaxed against you,” he said to the young woman, “my being thrice your weight and you being a girl.”Danica brushed her hair out of her almond-shaped brown eyes and tried to hide her smile.She didn’t want to humiliate the proud cleric, a disciple of Oghma.She knew his boasts were ridiculous.He had fought with all his fury, but it hadn’t done him any good.Danica looked like a wisp of a thing, barely five feet tall, with a floppy mop of curly strawberry-blond hair hanging just below her shoulders and a smile to steal a paladin’s heart.Those who looked more closely found much more than “girlish” dressing, though.Years of meditation and training had honed Danica’s reflexes and muscles to a fine fighting edge, as the clerics of Oghma, fancying themselves great wrestlers in the image of their god, were painfully discovering one after another.Every time Danica needed information in the great Edificant Library, she found it offered only in exchange for a wrestling match.For the gain of a single scroll penned by a long-dead monk, Danica found herself faced off against her latest adversary, a sweaty, smelly behemoth.She didn’t really mind the play; she knew she could defeat him as easily as she’d dispatched the others.The fat man straightened his black-and-gold vest, lowered his round head, and charged.Danica waited until he was right in front of her, and to the onlookers it appeared as if the woman would be buried beneath mounds of flesh.

Ragnor rushed out to meet him, locking him in a tight embrace that rendered both long swords useless.Haverly had no defenses against Ragnor’s previously free hand, now holding a dirk, and the weapon dug repeatedly, viciously, at his back.Still, long moments passed before Haverly finally tumbled dead to the floor.“A worthy adversary,” one bold orc remarked, coming over to inspect the body.Covered in Haverly’s blood, and with his own nose broken, Ragnor was in no mood to hear any praises for Haverly.“A stubborn fool!” he corrected, and he lopped off the orc’s head with a single strike.Barjin nodded at Aballister.“Talona watches with pleasure.Perhaps your chaos curse will prove worth the expense.”“Chaos curse?” Aballister replied as though a notion had struck him.“That is not a fitting title for such a powerful agent of Talona.Tuanta Miancay, perhaps … no, Tuanta Quiro Miancay.”One of Barjin’s associates, understanding the language and the implications of the title, gasped aloud.His companions stared at him, and he translated, “The Most Fatal Horror!”Barjin snapped his gaze back on Aballister, realizing the wizard’s ploy.Aballister had played the most important role in the brewing, and with a few simple words, had ranked the potion above Barjin.Already the other two clerics, fanatic followers of Talona, were nodding eagerly and whispering their praises for Aballister’s creation.“Tuanta Quiro Miancay,” the cornered priest echoed, forcing a smile.“Yes, that will do properly.”THREEDANICAThe obese wrestler rubbed a pudgy hand over his newest bruise, trying to ignore the growing taunts of his colleagues.“I have been too relaxed against you,” he said to the young woman, “my being thrice your weight and you being a girl.”Danica brushed her hair out of her almond-shaped brown eyes and tried to hide her smile.She didn’t want to humiliate the proud cleric, a disciple of Oghma.She knew his boasts were ridiculous.He had fought with all his fury, but it hadn’t done him any good.Danica looked like a wisp of a thing, barely five feet tall, with a floppy mop of curly strawberry-blond hair hanging just below her shoulders and a smile to steal a paladin’s heart.Those who looked more closely found much more than “girlish” dressing, though.Years of meditation and training had honed Danica’s reflexes and muscles to a fine fighting edge, as the clerics of Oghma, fancying themselves great wrestlers in the image of their god, were painfully discovering one after another.Every time Danica needed information in the great Edificant Library, she found it offered only in exchange for a wrestling match.For the gain of a single scroll penned by a long-dead monk, Danica found herself faced off against her latest adversary, a sweaty, smelly behemoth.She didn’t really mind the play; she knew she could defeat him as easily as she’d dispatched the others.The fat man straightened his black-and-gold vest, lowered his round head, and charged.Danica waited until he was right in front of her, and to the onlookers it appeared as if the woman would be buried beneath mounds of flesh.

dnd186

At the last moment, she dipped her head under the fat man’s lunging arm, caught his hand, and casually stepped behind him as he lumbered past.A subtle twist of her wrist stopped him dead in his tracks, and before he even realized what was happening, Danica kicked the back of both his knees, dropping him to a kneel.While the big man went down, his arm, bent backward and held firmly in Danica’s amazingly strong grasp, did not.Sympathetic groans and derisive laughter erupted from those gathered to watch.“Eastern corner!” the big man cried.“Third row, third shelf from the top in a silver tube!”“My thanks,” Danica said, releasing her hold.She looked around, flashing that innocent smile.“Perhaps the next time I require information, you can fight me two against one.”The clerics of Oghma, fearing that their god was displeased, grumbled and turned away.Danica offered her hand to the downed priest, but he proudly refused.He struggled to his feet, nearly falling again for lack of breath, and rushed to catch up with the others.Danica shook her head helplessly and retrieved her two daggers from a nearby bench.She took a moment to examine them, as she always did before putting them back into their respective boot sheaths.One had a hilt of gold, twisted into a tiger’s head, while the other had one of silver, bearing an image of a dragon.Both sported transparent crystal blades and were enhanced by a wizard’s spell to give them the strength of steel and perfect balance.They had been a very valuable and treasured gift from Danica’s master, a man whom Danica dearly missed.She had been with Master Turkel since her parents died, and the wizened old man became all the family she had.Danica thought of him as she resheathed the weapons, vowing for the millionth time to visit him when she had completed her studies.Danica Maupoissant had been raised amid the bustle of the Westgate marketplace, five hundred miles to the northeast of the Edificant Library, on the neck between the Lake of Dragons and the Sea of Fallen Stars.Her father, Pavel, was a craftsman, reputably the finest wagon-maker in the region, who, like many people of Westgate, possessed a stubborn and fierce independence and no small amount of pride.Theirs was a life of simple pleasures and unconditional love.Danica was twelve when she left her parents to serve as an apprentice to the aged, white-bearded potter named Turkel Bastan.Only months later did Danica come to understand her parents’ reasoning in sending her to him: they had foreseen what was to come.She spent a year shuffling back and forth across the city, splitting her time between her extensive duties with Master Turkel and those rare opportunities she found to go home.Then, suddenly, there was nowhere to go.The raid had come in the dark of night, and when the assassins had gone, so, too, were Danica’s parents, the house she had grown up in, and the wagon shop that had been her father’s lifelong toil.Master Turkel showed little emotion when he told Danica the terrible news, but the young girl heard him crying later, in the solitude of his small room.Only then did Danica come to realize that Turkel and her parents had orchestrated her apprenticeship.She had assumed it an accidental thing, and had feared that perhaps her parents had simply shuffled her away for their own convenience.She knew that Turkel was from the far-off eastern land of Tabot, the mountainous region of some of her mother’s ancestors, and she wondered if Turkel might be a distant relative.

At the last moment, she dipped her head under the fat man’s lunging arm, caught his hand, and casually stepped behind him as he lumbered past.A subtle twist of her wrist stopped him dead in his tracks, and before he even realized what was happening, Danica kicked the back of both his knees, dropping him to a kneel.While the big man went down, his arm, bent backward and held firmly in Danica’s amazingly strong grasp, did not.Sympathetic groans and derisive laughter erupted from those gathered to watch.“Eastern corner!” the big man cried.“Third row, third shelf from the top in a silver tube!”“My thanks,” Danica said, releasing her hold.She looked around, flashing that innocent smile.“Perhaps the next time I require information, you can fight me two against one.”The clerics of Oghma, fearing that their god was displeased, grumbled and turned away.Danica offered her hand to the downed priest, but he proudly refused.He struggled to his feet, nearly falling again for lack of breath, and rushed to catch up with the others.Danica shook her head helplessly and retrieved her two daggers from a nearby bench.She took a moment to examine them, as she always did before putting them back into their respective boot sheaths.One had a hilt of gold, twisted into a tiger’s head, while the other had one of silver, bearing an image of a dragon.Both sported transparent crystal blades and were enhanced by a wizard’s spell to give them the strength of steel and perfect balance.They had been a very valuable and treasured gift from Danica’s master, a man whom Danica dearly missed.She had been with Master Turkel since her parents died, and the wizened old man became all the family she had.Danica thought of him as she resheathed the weapons, vowing for the millionth time to visit him when she had completed her studies.Danica Maupoissant had been raised amid the bustle of the Westgate marketplace, five hundred miles to the northeast of the Edificant Library, on the neck between the Lake of Dragons and the Sea of Fallen Stars.Her father, Pavel, was a craftsman, reputably the finest wagon-maker in the region, who, like many people of Westgate, possessed a stubborn and fierce independence and no small amount of pride.Theirs was a life of simple pleasures and unconditional love.Danica was twelve when she left her parents to serve as an apprentice to the aged, white-bearded potter named Turkel Bastan.Only months later did Danica come to understand her parents’ reasoning in sending her to him: they had foreseen what was to come.She spent a year shuffling back and forth across the city, splitting her time between her extensive duties with Master Turkel and those rare opportunities she found to go home.Then, suddenly, there was nowhere to go.The raid had come in the dark of night, and when the assassins had gone, so, too, were Danica’s parents, the house she had grown up in, and the wagon shop that had been her father’s lifelong toil.Master Turkel showed little emotion when he told Danica the terrible news, but the young girl heard him crying later, in the solitude of his small room.Only then did Danica come to realize that Turkel and her parents had orchestrated her apprenticeship.She had assumed it an accidental thing, and had feared that perhaps her parents had simply shuffled her away for their own convenience.She knew that Turkel was from the far-off eastern land of Tabot, the mountainous region of some of her mother’s ancestors, and she wondered if Turkel might be a distant relative.

dnd187

Whatever their relationship, Danica’s apprenticeship with the master soon had taken on a different light.He helped her through her grieving then began her true instruction, lessons that had little to do with making pottery.Turkel was a Tabotan monk, a disciple of Grandmaster Penpahg D’Ahn, whose religion combined mental discipline with physical training to achieve harmony of the soul.Danica guessed Turkel to be no less than eighty years old, but he could move with the grace of a hunting cat and strike with his bare hands with the force of iron weapons.His displays more than amazed Danica; they consumed her.Quiet and unassuming, Turkel was as peaceful and contented a man as Danica had ever known, yet underneath that outward guise was a fighting tiger that could be brought roaring forth in times of need.So, too, grew the tiger in Danica.She learned and practiced; nothing else mattered to her.She used her constant work as a litany against her memories, a barricade against the pain with which she could not yet come to terms.Turkel understood, Danica later realized, and he chose carefully when he would tell her more of her parents’ demise.The craftsmen and merchants of Westgate, along with, or perhaps because of, their fierce independence, were often bitter rivals, and Pavel had not escaped this fact of Westgate life.There were several other wagonmakers—Turkel would not tell Danica their names—who were jealous of Pavel’s continuing prosperity.They went to Pavel on a few occasions, threatening him with severe consequences if he would not share with them his long backlog of orders.“If they had come as friends and fellow craftsmen, Pavel would have shared the wealth,” Turkel had said, as though he and Danica’s father had been much more than the slight acquaintances they pretended to be in public.“But your father was a proud man.He would not give in to threats, no matter how real the danger behind them.”Danica had never pressed Turkel for the identity of the men who had killed her parents—or, rather, had hired the dreaded Night Masks, the usual means of assassination in Westgate, and to this day, she did not know who they were.She trusted that the master would tell her when he felt she was prepared to know, prepared to take revenge, if that was her choice, or when he believed she was willing to let go of the past and build on the future.Turkel had always indicated that to be his preference.The image of the aged master came clearly to Danica’s mind as she stood there, holding the magnificent daggers.“You have outgrown me,” he had said to her, and there was no remorse, only pride, in his tone.“Your skills surpass my own in so many areas.”Danica remembered vividly that she had thought the time of revelation at hand, that Turkel would tell her the names of the conspirators who had killed her parents and tell her to go out and seek revenge.Turkel had other ideas.“There remains only one master who can continue to instruct you,” Turkel had said, and as soon as he mentioned the Edificant Library, Danica knew what was to come.The library was home to many of Grandmaster Penpahg D’Ahn’s rare and priceless scrolls; Turkel wanted her to learn directly from the records of the long-dead grandmaster.It was then that Turkel had given her the two magnificent daggers.So she had left Westgate, barely more than a child, to build on her future, to attain new heights of self-discipline.Once again, Master Turkel had shown his love and respect for her, placing her needs above his own obvious despair at her departure.Danica believed that she had accomplished much in her first year at the library, both in her studies and in her understanding of other people, of the world that suddenly seemed so very large.She thought it ironic that her education of the wide world would come in a place of almost monastic seclusion, but she couldn’t deny that her views had matured considerably in the year she had spent at the library.

Whatever their relationship, Danica’s apprenticeship with the master soon had taken on a different light.He helped her through her grieving then began her true instruction, lessons that had little to do with making pottery.Turkel was a Tabotan monk, a disciple of Grandmaster Penpahg D’Ahn, whose religion combined mental discipline with physical training to achieve harmony of the soul.Danica guessed Turkel to be no less than eighty years old, but he could move with the grace of a hunting cat and strike with his bare hands with the force of iron weapons.His displays more than amazed Danica; they consumed her.Quiet and unassuming, Turkel was as peaceful and contented a man as Danica had ever known, yet underneath that outward guise was a fighting tiger that could be brought roaring forth in times of need.So, too, grew the tiger in Danica.She learned and practiced; nothing else mattered to her.She used her constant work as a litany against her memories, a barricade against the pain with which she could not yet come to terms.Turkel understood, Danica later realized, and he chose carefully when he would tell her more of her parents’ demise.The craftsmen and merchants of Westgate, along with, or perhaps because of, their fierce independence, were often bitter rivals, and Pavel had not escaped this fact of Westgate life.There were several other wagonmakers—Turkel would not tell Danica their names—who were jealous of Pavel’s continuing prosperity.They went to Pavel on a few occasions, threatening him with severe consequences if he would not share with them his long backlog of orders.“If they had come as friends and fellow craftsmen, Pavel would have shared the wealth,” Turkel had said, as though he and Danica’s father had been much more than the slight acquaintances they pretended to be in public.“But your father was a proud man.He would not give in to threats, no matter how real the danger behind them.”Danica had never pressed Turkel for the identity of the men who had killed her parents—or, rather, had hired the dreaded Night Masks, the usual means of assassination in Westgate, and to this day, she did not know who they were.She trusted that the master would tell her when he felt she was prepared to know, prepared to take revenge, if that was her choice, or when he believed she was willing to let go of the past and build on the future.Turkel had always indicated that to be his preference.The image of the aged master came clearly to Danica’s mind as she stood there, holding the magnificent daggers.“You have outgrown me,” he had said to her, and there was no remorse, only pride, in his tone.“Your skills surpass my own in so many areas.”Danica remembered vividly that she had thought the time of revelation at hand, that Turkel would tell her the names of the conspirators who had killed her parents and tell her to go out and seek revenge.Turkel had other ideas.“There remains only one master who can continue to instruct you,” Turkel had said, and as soon as he mentioned the Edificant Library, Danica knew what was to come.The library was home to many of Grandmaster Penpahg D’Ahn’s rare and priceless scrolls; Turkel wanted her to learn directly from the records of the long-dead grandmaster.It was then that Turkel had given her the two magnificent daggers.So she had left Westgate, barely more than a child, to build on her future, to attain new heights of self-discipline.Once again, Master Turkel had shown his love and respect for her, placing her needs above his own obvious despair at her departure.Danica believed that she had accomplished much in her first year at the library, both in her studies and in her understanding of other people, of the world that suddenly seemed so very large.She thought it ironic that her education of the wide world would come in a place of almost monastic seclusion, but she couldn’t deny that her views had matured considerably in the year she had spent at the library.

dnd188

Before, she lived in the private desire for revenge.But Westgate, and the hired assassins, had grown so distant, and so many other, more positive opportunities had been opened to her.She dismissed those dark memories, leaving them with a final image of her father’s calm smile, her mother’s almond eyes, and the many wrinkles of Master Turkel’s wizened old face.Then even those pleasing images dissipated, buried beneath Danica’s many responsibilities to her craft.The library was a massive room supported by dozens and dozens of arched pillars, which were even more confusing because of the thousands of distracting bas-reliefs carved into each one.It took Danica some time to determine which was the eastern corner.When she finally got there, moving down a narrow isle of tightly packed books, she found someone waiting for her.Cadderly couldn’t hide his smile; he never could when he looked upon Danica, since the very first time he had seen her.He knew she had come from Westgate, several hundred miles to the northeast.That alone made her worldly by his standards, and there were so many other things about her that piqued his imagination.Although Danica’s features and mannerisms were mostly Western and not so different from the norm in the central Realms, the shape of her eyes revealed some ancestry in the far and exotic east.Cadderly often wondered if that was what had initially attracted him to Danica.Those almond eyes had promised adventure, and he was a man sorely in need of adventure.He had passed his twenty-first birthday and been off the grounds of the Edificant Library only a few dozen times—and on those occasions, always accompanied by at least one of the headmasters, usually Avery, and several other priests.Sometimes Cadderly thought himself pitifully bereft of any real experiences.To him, adventures and battles were events to be read about.He had never even seen a living orc, or monster of any kind.Enter mysterious Danica and those alluring promises.“It took you long enough,” Cadderly remarked slyly.“I have been at the library just a year,” Danica retorted, “but you have lived here since before your fifth birthday.”“I had the library figured out in less than a tenday, even at that age,” Cadderly assured her with a snap of his fingers.He fell into step beside her as she walked briskly toward the corner.Danica glanced up at him, then bit back her sarcastic reply, apparently not certain if Cadderly was teasing her or not.“So you’re fighting the big ones now?” Cadderly asked.“Should I be concerned?”Danica stopped suddenly, pulled Cadderly’s face down to her own, and kissed him eagerly.She moved back from him just a few inches, her almond eyes, striking and exotic, boring into his.Cadderly silently thanked Deneir that neither he nor Danica were of a celibate order, but as always when they kissed, the contact made both of them nervous.“Fighting excites you,” Cadderly remarked, stealing the romance and relieving the tension.“Now I am concerned.”Danica pushed him back but did not let go of his tunic.“You should be careful, you know,” Cadderly went on, suddenly serious.“If any of the headmasters caught you wrestling …”“The proud young loremasters do not leave me much choice,” Danica replied, casually tossing her hair and pulling it back from her face.She hadn’t really worked up much of a sweat against her latest opponent.“In this maze you call a library, I couldn’t find half of what I need in a hundred years!” She rolled her eyes to emphasize the vastness of the pillared room.“Not a problem,” Cadderly assured her.“I had the library figured out …”“When you were five!” Danica finished for him and she pulled him close again.This time Cadderly decided that her attention might bring some added benefits.

Before, she lived in the private desire for revenge.But Westgate, and the hired assassins, had grown so distant, and so many other, more positive opportunities had been opened to her.She dismissed those dark memories, leaving them with a final image of her father’s calm smile, her mother’s almond eyes, and the many wrinkles of Master Turkel’s wizened old face.Then even those pleasing images dissipated, buried beneath Danica’s many responsibilities to her craft.The library was a massive room supported by dozens and dozens of arched pillars, which were even more confusing because of the thousands of distracting bas-reliefs carved into each one.It took Danica some time to determine which was the eastern corner.When she finally got there, moving down a narrow isle of tightly packed books, she found someone waiting for her.Cadderly couldn’t hide his smile; he never could when he looked upon Danica, since the very first time he had seen her.He knew she had come from Westgate, several hundred miles to the northeast.That alone made her worldly by his standards, and there were so many other things about her that piqued his imagination.Although Danica’s features and mannerisms were mostly Western and not so different from the norm in the central Realms, the shape of her eyes revealed some ancestry in the far and exotic east.Cadderly often wondered if that was what had initially attracted him to Danica.Those almond eyes had promised adventure, and he was a man sorely in need of adventure.He had passed his twenty-first birthday and been off the grounds of the Edificant Library only a few dozen times—and on those occasions, always accompanied by at least one of the headmasters, usually Avery, and several other priests.Sometimes Cadderly thought himself pitifully bereft of any real experiences.To him, adventures and battles were events to be read about.He had never even seen a living orc, or monster of any kind.Enter mysterious Danica and those alluring promises.“It took you long enough,” Cadderly remarked slyly.“I have been at the library just a year,” Danica retorted, “but you have lived here since before your fifth birthday.”“I had the library figured out in less than a tenday, even at that age,” Cadderly assured her with a snap of his fingers.He fell into step beside her as she walked briskly toward the corner.Danica glanced up at him, then bit back her sarcastic reply, apparently not certain if Cadderly was teasing her or not.“So you’re fighting the big ones now?” Cadderly asked.“Should I be concerned?”Danica stopped suddenly, pulled Cadderly’s face down to her own, and kissed him eagerly.She moved back from him just a few inches, her almond eyes, striking and exotic, boring into his.Cadderly silently thanked Deneir that neither he nor Danica were of a celibate order, but as always when they kissed, the contact made both of them nervous.“Fighting excites you,” Cadderly remarked, stealing the romance and relieving the tension.“Now I am concerned.”Danica pushed him back but did not let go of his tunic.“You should be careful, you know,” Cadderly went on, suddenly serious.“If any of the headmasters caught you wrestling …”“The proud young loremasters do not leave me much choice,” Danica replied, casually tossing her hair and pulling it back from her face.She hadn’t really worked up much of a sweat against her latest opponent.“In this maze you call a library, I couldn’t find half of what I need in a hundred years!” She rolled her eyes to emphasize the vastness of the pillared room.“Not a problem,” Cadderly assured her.“I had the library figured out …”“When you were five!” Danica finished for him and she pulled him close again.This time Cadderly decided that her attention might bring some added benefits.

dnd189

He prudently moved around to Danica’s right side—he scribed left-handed, and the last time he had attempted this with his left hand, he had not been able to work for several days.Cadderly had been thrilled by what Danica called her “Withering Touch” for many months, considering it the most effective non-lethal attack form he had ever witnessed.He had begged Danica to teach it to him, but the skilled monk carefully guarded her fighting secrets, explaining to Cadderly that her fighting methods were but a small part of her religion, as much a discipline of the mind as of the body.She would not allow others to copy simple techniques without first achieving the mental preparation and philosophical attitudes that accompanied them.In the middle of the kiss, Cadderly rubbed his hand across Danica’s belly, under the bottom of her short vest.As always, the young priest was amazed by the hard, rolling muscles of her stomach.A moment later, Cadderly started moving his hand slowly upward.Danica’s reaction came in the blink of an eye.Her hand, one finger extended, snapped out across Cadderly’s chest and drove into his shoulder.Under the vest, Cadderly’s hand stopped, then fell lifeless to hang by his side.He grimaced for a moment as the burning pain became a general numbness the length of his arm.“You are such a …” Danica stammered, “a … a boy!”At first, Cadderly thought her anger just the expected reaction to his bold advance, then Danica stunned him completely.“Can you never forget your studies?”“She knows!” a horrified Cadderly muttered to himself as Danica stormed away.Expecting the attack, he’d carefully watched out of the corner of his eye and believed he knew precisely where Danica’s finger had struck.Until that moment, he had considered the attempt a success, despite the continuing pain.The young scholar paused a moment to consider the implications, then was relieved when he heard Danica’s soft laughter from just beyond the next bookshelf.He took a step toward her, meaning to amend things, but Danica spun as soon as he rounded the corner, her finger poised to strike.“The touch will work on your head as well,” the young woman promised, her light brown eyes sparkling.Cadderly didn’t doubt that for a moment, and he surely didn’t want Danica to prove her words.It always amazed him that Danica, barely half his weight, could so easily take him down.He looked upon her with sincere admiration, even envy, for Cadderly dearly wished that he possessed Danica’s direction and dedication, her passion for her studies.While Cadderly went through his life busy but distracted, Danica’s vision of the world remained narrowly focused, based in a rigid and philosophical religion little-known in Faerûn.That passion, too, enhanced the enchantment Danica had cast over Cadderly.He wanted to open her mind and her heart and look into both, knowing that only there would he find answers to fill the missing elements of his own life.Danica embodied his dreams and his hopes.He didn’t even try to remember how sorely empty his life had been before he met her.He backed away slowly, lifting his palms and holding them open and out wide to show that he wanted no part of any further displays.“Stand!” Danica commanded as sharply as her melodious voice allowed.“Have you nothing to say to me?”Cadderly thought for a moment, wondering what she wanted to hear.“I love you?” he asked as much as declared.Danica nodded and smiled disarmingly, then dropped her hand.Cadderly’s gray eyes returned the smile tenfold and he took a step toward her.The dangerous finger shot up and waved about, resembling some hellish viper.Cadderly shook his head and ran from the room, pausing only to grab a scrap of parchment and dip the quill he kept stuck under his hat band into an open inkwell.

He prudently moved around to Danica’s right side—he scribed left-handed, and the last time he had attempted this with his left hand, he had not been able to work for several days.Cadderly had been thrilled by what Danica called her “Withering Touch” for many months, considering it the most effective non-lethal attack form he had ever witnessed.He had begged Danica to teach it to him, but the skilled monk carefully guarded her fighting secrets, explaining to Cadderly that her fighting methods were but a small part of her religion, as much a discipline of the mind as of the body.She would not allow others to copy simple techniques without first achieving the mental preparation and philosophical attitudes that accompanied them.In the middle of the kiss, Cadderly rubbed his hand across Danica’s belly, under the bottom of her short vest.As always, the young priest was amazed by the hard, rolling muscles of her stomach.A moment later, Cadderly started moving his hand slowly upward.Danica’s reaction came in the blink of an eye.Her hand, one finger extended, snapped out across Cadderly’s chest and drove into his shoulder.Under the vest, Cadderly’s hand stopped, then fell lifeless to hang by his side.He grimaced for a moment as the burning pain became a general numbness the length of his arm.“You are such a …” Danica stammered, “a … a boy!”At first, Cadderly thought her anger just the expected reaction to his bold advance, then Danica stunned him completely.“Can you never forget your studies?”“She knows!” a horrified Cadderly muttered to himself as Danica stormed away.Expecting the attack, he’d carefully watched out of the corner of his eye and believed he knew precisely where Danica’s finger had struck.Until that moment, he had considered the attempt a success, despite the continuing pain.The young scholar paused a moment to consider the implications, then was relieved when he heard Danica’s soft laughter from just beyond the next bookshelf.He took a step toward her, meaning to amend things, but Danica spun as soon as he rounded the corner, her finger poised to strike.“The touch will work on your head as well,” the young woman promised, her light brown eyes sparkling.Cadderly didn’t doubt that for a moment, and he surely didn’t want Danica to prove her words.It always amazed him that Danica, barely half his weight, could so easily take him down.He looked upon her with sincere admiration, even envy, for Cadderly dearly wished that he possessed Danica’s direction and dedication, her passion for her studies.While Cadderly went through his life busy but distracted, Danica’s vision of the world remained narrowly focused, based in a rigid and philosophical religion little-known in Faerûn.That passion, too, enhanced the enchantment Danica had cast over Cadderly.He wanted to open her mind and her heart and look into both, knowing that only there would he find answers to fill the missing elements of his own life.Danica embodied his dreams and his hopes.He didn’t even try to remember how sorely empty his life had been before he met her.He backed away slowly, lifting his palms and holding them open and out wide to show that he wanted no part of any further displays.“Stand!” Danica commanded as sharply as her melodious voice allowed.“Have you nothing to say to me?”Cadderly thought for a moment, wondering what she wanted to hear.“I love you?” he asked as much as declared.Danica nodded and smiled disarmingly, then dropped her hand.Cadderly’s gray eyes returned the smile tenfold and he took a step toward her.The dangerous finger shot up and waved about, resembling some hellish viper.Cadderly shook his head and ran from the room, pausing only to grab a scrap of parchment and dip the quill he kept stuck under his hat band into an open inkwell.

dnd190

He had witnessed the Withering Touch in detail, and he wanted to sketch the image while it was fresh in his mind.This time, Danica’s laughter was not so soft.FOURCANTICLEThey are singing to it!” Druzil cried in amazement, not certain of whether that was a good thing or not.The religious fanatics of Castle Trinity had taken the potion to heart.Even the not-so-faithful, such as Ragnor, and by Aballister’s estimation, Barjin, had been swept up in the zealous flow.“Though not very well, I fear.” The imp put his wings over his ears to lessen the sound.Aballister, too, did not enjoy the discordant wails that resounded throughout the castle complex with a zeal that walls and doors could not diminish, but he tolerated the clerics better than his worrisome imp.The wizard, too, was not without his reservations, though.Ever since the battle in the dining hall nearly three tendays before, Barjin had forcefully taken the project as his own and had led the chorus of chants to the Most Fatal Horror.“Barjin has the wealth,” Druzil reminded the wizard, as though the imp had sensed Aballister’s thoughts.Aballister replied with a grim nod.“I fear that my insult has been turned back on me,” he explained, moving slowly to the window and looking out over the Shining Plains.“By naming the chaos curse the Most Fatal Horror, I sought to demean Barjin, to weaken his position, but he has weathered the torment and resisted his prideful urgings better than I had expected.All the followers believe his sincerity, to Talona and to the chaos curse.” Aballister sighed.On the one hand, he was disappointed that his ploy had not stung Barjin, at least not outwardly, but on the other hand, the high priest, sincere or not, was preparing Castle Trinity for the coming trials and thus was furthering Talona’s will.“If the followers believe our mixture is a simple magical concoction, no matter how potent, they will not so readily give their lives to the cause,” Aballister reasoned, turning back on Druzil.“There is nothing like religion to rouse the rabble.”“You do not believe the elixir is an agent of Talona?” Druzil asked, though he already knew the answer.“I know the difference between a magical concoction and a sentient shield man,” Aballister replied.“The elixir will indeed serve the Lady of Poison’s cause, and so its title is a fitting one.”“Barjin has all the forces of Castle Trinity behind him,” Druzil quickly responded, his tone ominous.“Even Ragnor does not dare move against him.”“Why would he, or anyone else, want to?” Aballister replied.“The chaos curse soon will be put to proper use, and Barjin has played a major role in that.”“At what price?” the imp demanded.“I gave the recipe for the chaos curse to you, my master, not the priest.Yet it is the priest who controls its fate and uses you and the other wizards to serve his own designs.”“We are a brotherhood, sworn to loyalty.”“You are a gathering of thieves,” Druzil retorted.“Be not so swift in presuming the existence of honor.If Ragnor did not fear you, and did not see profit in keeping you, he would cut you down.Barjin—” Druzil rolled his bulbous eyes “—Barjin cares for nothing except Barjin.Where are his scars?His tattoos?He does not deserve his title, nor the leadership of the priests.

He had witnessed the Withering Touch in detail, and he wanted to sketch the image while it was fresh in his mind.This time, Danica’s laughter was not so soft.FOURCANTICLEThey are singing to it!” Druzil cried in amazement, not certain of whether that was a good thing or not.The religious fanatics of Castle Trinity had taken the potion to heart.Even the not-so-faithful, such as Ragnor, and by Aballister’s estimation, Barjin, had been swept up in the zealous flow.“Though not very well, I fear.” The imp put his wings over his ears to lessen the sound.Aballister, too, did not enjoy the discordant wails that resounded throughout the castle complex with a zeal that walls and doors could not diminish, but he tolerated the clerics better than his worrisome imp.The wizard, too, was not without his reservations, though.Ever since the battle in the dining hall nearly three tendays before, Barjin had forcefully taken the project as his own and had led the chorus of chants to the Most Fatal Horror.“Barjin has the wealth,” Druzil reminded the wizard, as though the imp had sensed Aballister’s thoughts.Aballister replied with a grim nod.“I fear that my insult has been turned back on me,” he explained, moving slowly to the window and looking out over the Shining Plains.“By naming the chaos curse the Most Fatal Horror, I sought to demean Barjin, to weaken his position, but he has weathered the torment and resisted his prideful urgings better than I had expected.All the followers believe his sincerity, to Talona and to the chaos curse.” Aballister sighed.On the one hand, he was disappointed that his ploy had not stung Barjin, at least not outwardly, but on the other hand, the high priest, sincere or not, was preparing Castle Trinity for the coming trials and thus was furthering Talona’s will.“If the followers believe our mixture is a simple magical concoction, no matter how potent, they will not so readily give their lives to the cause,” Aballister reasoned, turning back on Druzil.“There is nothing like religion to rouse the rabble.”“You do not believe the elixir is an agent of Talona?” Druzil asked, though he already knew the answer.“I know the difference between a magical concoction and a sentient shield man,” Aballister replied.“The elixir will indeed serve the Lady of Poison’s cause, and so its title is a fitting one.”“Barjin has all the forces of Castle Trinity behind him,” Druzil quickly responded, his tone ominous.“Even Ragnor does not dare move against him.”“Why would he, or anyone else, want to?” Aballister replied.“The chaos curse soon will be put to proper use, and Barjin has played a major role in that.”“At what price?” the imp demanded.“I gave the recipe for the chaos curse to you, my master, not the priest.Yet it is the priest who controls its fate and uses you and the other wizards to serve his own designs.”“We are a brotherhood, sworn to loyalty.”“You are a gathering of thieves,” Druzil retorted.“Be not so swift in presuming the existence of honor.If Ragnor did not fear you, and did not see profit in keeping you, he would cut you down.Barjin—” Druzil rolled his bulbous eyes “—Barjin cares for nothing except Barjin.Where are his scars?His tattoos?He does not deserve his title, nor the leadership of the priests.

dnd191

He falls to his knees for the goddess only because doing so makes those around him praise him for his holiness.There is nothing religious—”“Enough, dear Druzil,” soothed the wizard, waving one hand calmly.“Do you deny that Barjin controls the chaos curse?” Druzil retorted.“Do you believe Barjin would show any loyalty to you at all if he didn’t need you?”The wizard walked away from the small window and fell back into his wooden chair, unable to argue those points.But even if he admitted that he had miscalculated, he could do little now to stop events from following their course.Barjin had the elixir and the money, and if Aballister meant to recapture control of the potion for himself, he might have to fight a war within the triumvirate.Aballister and his wizard comrades were powerful, but they were only three.With Barjin whipping the hundreds of Castle Trinity soldiers into a religious fervor, the wizards had become somewhat secluded within the complex.“They have added rituals and conditions,” the imp went on, spitting every word with distaste.“Did you know that Barjin has placed warding glyphs on the flask, so that it might be opened only by an innocent?”“That is a typical priestly ploy,” Aballister replied casually, trying to alleviate Druzil’s worries.“He does not understand the power under his control,” Druzil retorted.“The chaos curse needs no ‘priestly ploys.’ ”Aballister gave an unconcerned shrug, but he, too, had not agreed with Barjin’s decision concerning those glyphs.Barjin thought that allowing an innocent to serve as an unintentional catalyst was fitting for the agent of the chaotic goddess, but Aballister feared that the cleric was simply adding conditions to an already complicated process.“Barjin quiesta pas tellemara,” Druzil muttered.Aballister narrowed his eyes.He had heard that obviously unflattering phrase in many different contexts over the last few tendays, most often aimed at him.He kept his suspicions to himself, though, realizing that many of Druzil’s complaints were valid.“Perhaps it is time for the Most Fatal Horror to go out and perform Talona’s will beyond this pile of rocks,” Aballister said.“Perhaps we have spent too long in preparation.”“Barjin’s power is too consolidated,” Druzil said.“Do not underestimate him.”Aballister nodded then rose and walked across the room.“You should not underestimate,” he pointed out to the imp, “the advantages in convincing people that there is a higher purpose to their actions, a higher authority guiding their leaders’ decisions.” The wizard opened the heavy door, and the unholy canticle drowned out his next words.More than Barjin’s handful of clerics were singing; the canticle was a hundred screaming voices strong, echoing off the stone walls with frantic urgency.Aballister shook his head in disbelief as he exited.Druzil could not deny Barjin’s effectiveness in preparing the force for the tasks ahead, but the imp still held reservations about the Most Fatal Horror and all the complications that title implied.The imp knew, if the wizard did not, that Aballister would not have an easy time of walking away with the elixir bottle.“More like this one,” Cadderly said to Ivan Bouldershoulder, a square-shouldered dwarf with a yellow beard hanging low enough to trip him if he didn’t watch his step.The two were beside Cadderly’s bed—Cadderly kneeling and Ivan standing—examining a tapestry depicting the legendary war wherein the elves had been split into surface and drow.Only half unrolled, the huge woven cloth still covered the bed.“The design is right, but its shaft might be a little tight for my darts.”Ivan pulled out a small stick, notched at regular intervals, and took some measurements of the hand-held crossbow Cadderly had indicated, then of the arm of the drow holding it.“They’ll fit,” the dwarf replied, confident of his work.

He falls to his knees for the goddess only because doing so makes those around him praise him for his holiness.There is nothing religious—”“Enough, dear Druzil,” soothed the wizard, waving one hand calmly.“Do you deny that Barjin controls the chaos curse?” Druzil retorted.“Do you believe Barjin would show any loyalty to you at all if he didn’t need you?”The wizard walked away from the small window and fell back into his wooden chair, unable to argue those points.But even if he admitted that he had miscalculated, he could do little now to stop events from following their course.Barjin had the elixir and the money, and if Aballister meant to recapture control of the potion for himself, he might have to fight a war within the triumvirate.Aballister and his wizard comrades were powerful, but they were only three.With Barjin whipping the hundreds of Castle Trinity soldiers into a religious fervor, the wizards had become somewhat secluded within the complex.“They have added rituals and conditions,” the imp went on, spitting every word with distaste.“Did you know that Barjin has placed warding glyphs on the flask, so that it might be opened only by an innocent?”“That is a typical priestly ploy,” Aballister replied casually, trying to alleviate Druzil’s worries.“He does not understand the power under his control,” Druzil retorted.“The chaos curse needs no ‘priestly ploys.’ ”Aballister gave an unconcerned shrug, but he, too, had not agreed with Barjin’s decision concerning those glyphs.Barjin thought that allowing an innocent to serve as an unintentional catalyst was fitting for the agent of the chaotic goddess, but Aballister feared that the cleric was simply adding conditions to an already complicated process.“Barjin quiesta pas tellemara,” Druzil muttered.Aballister narrowed his eyes.He had heard that obviously unflattering phrase in many different contexts over the last few tendays, most often aimed at him.He kept his suspicions to himself, though, realizing that many of Druzil’s complaints were valid.“Perhaps it is time for the Most Fatal Horror to go out and perform Talona’s will beyond this pile of rocks,” Aballister said.“Perhaps we have spent too long in preparation.”“Barjin’s power is too consolidated,” Druzil said.“Do not underestimate him.”Aballister nodded then rose and walked across the room.“You should not underestimate,” he pointed out to the imp, “the advantages in convincing people that there is a higher purpose to their actions, a higher authority guiding their leaders’ decisions.” The wizard opened the heavy door, and the unholy canticle drowned out his next words.More than Barjin’s handful of clerics were singing; the canticle was a hundred screaming voices strong, echoing off the stone walls with frantic urgency.Aballister shook his head in disbelief as he exited.Druzil could not deny Barjin’s effectiveness in preparing the force for the tasks ahead, but the imp still held reservations about the Most Fatal Horror and all the complications that title implied.The imp knew, if the wizard did not, that Aballister would not have an easy time of walking away with the elixir bottle.“More like this one,” Cadderly said to Ivan Bouldershoulder, a square-shouldered dwarf with a yellow beard hanging low enough to trip him if he didn’t watch his step.The two were beside Cadderly’s bed—Cadderly kneeling and Ivan standing—examining a tapestry depicting the legendary war wherein the elves had been split into surface and drow.Only half unrolled, the huge woven cloth still covered the bed.“The design is right, but its shaft might be a little tight for my darts.”Ivan pulled out a small stick, notched at regular intervals, and took some measurements of the hand-held crossbow Cadderly had indicated, then of the arm of the drow holding it.“They’ll fit,” the dwarf replied, confident of his work.

dnd192

He looked across the room to his brother, Pikel, who busied himself with several models Cadderly had constructed.“You got the bow?”Engrossed in his play, Pikel didn’t even hear him.He was older than Ivan by several years, but he was by far the less serious of the two.They were about the same size, though Pikel was a bit more round-shouldered, an attribute exaggerated by his loose-fitting, drooping robes.His beard was green that tenday, for he had dyed it in honor of the visiting druids.Pikel liked druids, a fact that made his brother roll his eyes and blush.It wasn’t usual that a dwarf would get on well with woodland folk, but Pikel was far from usual.Rather than let his beard hang loose to his toes, as did Ivan, he parted it in the middle and pulled it back over his huge ears, braiding it together with his hair to hang halfway down his back.It looked rather silly to Ivan, but Pikel, the library’s cook, thought it practical for keeping his beard out of the soup.Besides, Pikel didn’t wear the boots common to his race; he wore sandals—a gift from the druids—and his long beard tickled his free-wiggling, gnarly toes.“Oo oi,” Pikel chuckled, rearranging the models.One was remarkably similar to the Edificant Library, a squat, square, four-storied structure with rows of tiny windows.Another model was a displaced wall like those in the library, supported by huge, heavily blocked arches.It was the third and tallest model that intrigued Pikel.It, too, was of a wall, but unlike anything the dwarf, no novice to masonry, had ever seen.The model stood straight to half the dwarf’s four-foot height but was not nearly as wide or bulky as the other, shorter, wall.Slender and graceful, it was really two structures: the wall and a supporting pillar, connected by two bridges, one halfway up and the other at the very top.Pikel pushed down hard on the model, but fragile though it appeared it did not bend under his considerable strength.“Oo oi!” the delighted dwarf squealed.“The crossbow?” demanded Ivan, who stood behind his brother.Pikel fumbled about in the many pockets of his cook’s apron, finally handing over a small wooden coffer.Pikel squeaked at Cadderly, pointed to the strange wall, and gave an inquisitive look.“Just something I investigated a few months ago,” Cadderly explained.He tried to sound nonchalant, but a clear trace of excitement rang in his voice.With all that had been going on lately, he had almost forgotten the models, though the new design had shown remarkable promise.The Edificant Library was far from a mundane structure.Elaborate sculptures, enhanced by the ivy, covered its walls, and some of the most wondrous gargoyles in all of Faerûn completed its intricate and effective gutter system.Many of the finest minds in the Heartlands had designed and constructed the place, but whenever Cadderly looked upon it, all he could see were its limitations.

He looked across the room to his brother, Pikel, who busied himself with several models Cadderly had constructed.“You got the bow?”Engrossed in his play, Pikel didn’t even hear him.He was older than Ivan by several years, but he was by far the less serious of the two.They were about the same size, though Pikel was a bit more round-shouldered, an attribute exaggerated by his loose-fitting, drooping robes.His beard was green that tenday, for he had dyed it in honor of the visiting druids.Pikel liked druids, a fact that made his brother roll his eyes and blush.It wasn’t usual that a dwarf would get on well with woodland folk, but Pikel was far from usual.Rather than let his beard hang loose to his toes, as did Ivan, he parted it in the middle and pulled it back over his huge ears, braiding it together with his hair to hang halfway down his back.It looked rather silly to Ivan, but Pikel, the library’s cook, thought it practical for keeping his beard out of the soup.Besides, Pikel didn’t wear the boots common to his race; he wore sandals—a gift from the druids—and his long beard tickled his free-wiggling, gnarly toes.“Oo oi,” Pikel chuckled, rearranging the models.One was remarkably similar to the Edificant Library, a squat, square, four-storied structure with rows of tiny windows.Another model was a displaced wall like those in the library, supported by huge, heavily blocked arches.It was the third and tallest model that intrigued Pikel.It, too, was of a wall, but unlike anything the dwarf, no novice to masonry, had ever seen.The model stood straight to half the dwarf’s four-foot height but was not nearly as wide or bulky as the other, shorter, wall.Slender and graceful, it was really two structures: the wall and a supporting pillar, connected by two bridges, one halfway up and the other at the very top.Pikel pushed down hard on the model, but fragile though it appeared it did not bend under his considerable strength.“Oo oi!” the delighted dwarf squealed.“The crossbow?” demanded Ivan, who stood behind his brother.Pikel fumbled about in the many pockets of his cook’s apron, finally handing over a small wooden coffer.Pikel squeaked at Cadderly, pointed to the strange wall, and gave an inquisitive look.“Just something I investigated a few months ago,” Cadderly explained.He tried to sound nonchalant, but a clear trace of excitement rang in his voice.With all that had been going on lately, he had almost forgotten the models, though the new design had shown remarkable promise.The Edificant Library was far from a mundane structure.Elaborate sculptures, enhanced by the ivy, covered its walls, and some of the most wondrous gargoyles in all of Faerûn completed its intricate and effective gutter system.Many of the finest minds in the Heartlands had designed and constructed the place, but whenever Cadderly looked upon it, all he could see were its limitations.

dnd193

For all its detail, the library was square and squat, and its windows were small and unremarkable.“An idea for expanding the library,” he explained to Pikel.He gathered up a nearby blanket and slipped it under the model of the library, folding its sides to resemble rough mountain terrain.Ivan shook his head and walked back to the bed, knowing that Cadderly and Pikel could continue their outlandish conversations for hours on end.“Centuries ago, when the library was built,” Cadderly began, “no one had any idea it would grow so large.The founders wanted a secluded spot where they could study in private, so they chose the high passes of the Snowflake Mountains.“Most of the north and east wings, as well as the third and fourth stories, were added much later, but we’ve run out of room.To the front and both sides, the ground slopes too steeply to allow further expansion without supports, and to the west, behind us, the mountain stone is too tough to be properly cleared away.”“Oh?” muttered Pikel, not so sure of that.The Bouldershoulder brothers had come from the forbidding Galena Mountains, far to the north beyond Vaasa, where the ground was ever frozen and the stones were as tough as any on Toril.But not too tough for a determined dwarf!Pikel kept his thoughts private, though, not wanting to halt Cadderly’s mounting momentum.“I think we should go up,” Cadderly said casually.“Add a fifth, and possibly sixth level.”“It’d never hold,” grumbled Ivan from the bed, not so intrigued and wanting to get back to the business of the crossbow.“Aha!” said Cadderly, pointing a finger straight up in the air.Ivan knew by the look on Cadderly’s face that he had played right into the young man’s hopes.Cadderly did so love doubters where his inventions were concerned.“The aerial buttress!” the young priest proclaimed, holding his hands out to the strange, two-structured wall.“Oo oi!” agreed Pikel, who had already tested the wall’s strength.“There’s one for the faeries,” grumbled a doubting Ivan.“Look at it, Ivan,” Cadderly said reverently.“ ‘One for the faeries,’ indeed, if that phrase implies grace.The strength of the design cannot be underestimated.The bridges displace stress so that the walls, with minimal stonework, can hold much more than you might believe, leaving incredible possibilities for window designs.”“Sure, from the top,” the dwarf replied, “but how might it take a giant’s ram on the side?And what about the wind?There are mighty cross-breezes up here, and mightier still if you go building higher.”Cadderly spent a long moment considering the aerial buttress.Every time he looked at the model, he was filled with hope.He thought that a library should be an enlightening place, physically and mentally, and while the Edificant Library was surrounded by impressive grounds and mountain views, it remained a dark and thick-stoned place.The popular architecture of the time required massive stone foundations and did not allow for large windows.In the world of the Edificant Library, sunlight was something to be enjoyed outside.“Scholars should not sit squinting by candlelight, even at midday, to read their tomes,” Cadderly argued.“The greatest weapons in all the world were forged in deep holes by my ancestors,” Ivan countered.“It was just the beginnings of an idea,” mumbled Cadderly defensively, suddenly agreeing with Ivan that they should get back to the crossbow.Cadderly did not doubt his design’s potential, but he realized he would have a hard time convincing a dwarf, who had lived a century in tight tunnels, of the value of sunlight.Ever sympathetic, Pikel put a hand on Cadderly’s shoulder.“Now for the bow,” Ivan said, opening the wooden coffer.The dwarf gently lifted a small, nearly completed crossbow, beautifully constructed and resembling the bow depicted on the tapestry.“The work’s making me thirsty!”“The scroll is nearly translated,” Cadderly assured him, not missing the reference to the ancient dwarven mead recipe he had promised in return for the crossbow.Cadderly had actually translated the recipe many tendays before but had held it back, knowing that Ivan would complete the bow more quickly with such a prize dangling just out of his reach.“That’s good, boy,” Ivan replied, smacking his lips.

For all its detail, the library was square and squat, and its windows were small and unremarkable.“An idea for expanding the library,” he explained to Pikel.He gathered up a nearby blanket and slipped it under the model of the library, folding its sides to resemble rough mountain terrain.Ivan shook his head and walked back to the bed, knowing that Cadderly and Pikel could continue their outlandish conversations for hours on end.“Centuries ago, when the library was built,” Cadderly began, “no one had any idea it would grow so large.The founders wanted a secluded spot where they could study in private, so they chose the high passes of the Snowflake Mountains.“Most of the north and east wings, as well as the third and fourth stories, were added much later, but we’ve run out of room.To the front and both sides, the ground slopes too steeply to allow further expansion without supports, and to the west, behind us, the mountain stone is too tough to be properly cleared away.”“Oh?” muttered Pikel, not so sure of that.The Bouldershoulder brothers had come from the forbidding Galena Mountains, far to the north beyond Vaasa, where the ground was ever frozen and the stones were as tough as any on Toril.But not too tough for a determined dwarf!Pikel kept his thoughts private, though, not wanting to halt Cadderly’s mounting momentum.“I think we should go up,” Cadderly said casually.“Add a fifth, and possibly sixth level.”“It’d never hold,” grumbled Ivan from the bed, not so intrigued and wanting to get back to the business of the crossbow.“Aha!” said Cadderly, pointing a finger straight up in the air.Ivan knew by the look on Cadderly’s face that he had played right into the young man’s hopes.Cadderly did so love doubters where his inventions were concerned.“The aerial buttress!” the young priest proclaimed, holding his hands out to the strange, two-structured wall.“Oo oi!” agreed Pikel, who had already tested the wall’s strength.“There’s one for the faeries,” grumbled a doubting Ivan.“Look at it, Ivan,” Cadderly said reverently.“ ‘One for the faeries,’ indeed, if that phrase implies grace.The strength of the design cannot be underestimated.The bridges displace stress so that the walls, with minimal stonework, can hold much more than you might believe, leaving incredible possibilities for window designs.”“Sure, from the top,” the dwarf replied, “but how might it take a giant’s ram on the side?And what about the wind?There are mighty cross-breezes up here, and mightier still if you go building higher.”Cadderly spent a long moment considering the aerial buttress.Every time he looked at the model, he was filled with hope.He thought that a library should be an enlightening place, physically and mentally, and while the Edificant Library was surrounded by impressive grounds and mountain views, it remained a dark and thick-stoned place.The popular architecture of the time required massive stone foundations and did not allow for large windows.In the world of the Edificant Library, sunlight was something to be enjoyed outside.“Scholars should not sit squinting by candlelight, even at midday, to read their tomes,” Cadderly argued.“The greatest weapons in all the world were forged in deep holes by my ancestors,” Ivan countered.“It was just the beginnings of an idea,” mumbled Cadderly defensively, suddenly agreeing with Ivan that they should get back to the crossbow.Cadderly did not doubt his design’s potential, but he realized he would have a hard time convincing a dwarf, who had lived a century in tight tunnels, of the value of sunlight.Ever sympathetic, Pikel put a hand on Cadderly’s shoulder.“Now for the bow,” Ivan said, opening the wooden coffer.The dwarf gently lifted a small, nearly completed crossbow, beautifully constructed and resembling the bow depicted on the tapestry.“The work’s making me thirsty!”“The scroll is nearly translated,” Cadderly assured him, not missing the reference to the ancient dwarven mead recipe he had promised in return for the crossbow.Cadderly had actually translated the recipe many tendays before but had held it back, knowing that Ivan would complete the bow more quickly with such a prize dangling just out of his reach.“That’s good, boy,” Ivan replied, smacking his lips.

dnd194

“You get your bow in a tenday, but I’ll need the picture to finish it.You got something smaller showing it?”Cadderly shook his head.“All I have is the tapestry,” he admitted.“You want me to walk through the halls with a stolen tapestry under me arm?” Ivan roared.“Borrowed,” Cadderly corrected.“With Headmistress Pertelope’s blessings?” Ivan asked sarcastically.“Uh oh,” added Pikel.“She will never miss it,” Cadderly replied.“If she does, I’ll tell her I needed it to confirm some passages in the drow tome I’m translating.”“Pertelope knows more of the drow speech than does yerself,” Ivan reminded him.“She’s the one who gave you the book!”“Uh oh,” Pikel said again.“The mead is blacker than midnight,” Cadderly said, “so the recipe says.It would kill a fair-sized tree if you poured only a pint of it along the roots.”“Get the other end,” Ivan said to his brother.Pikel pulled his mushroom-shaped cook’s cap over the tangle of green hair, which made his ears stick out even farther then helped Ivan roll the tapestry up tight.They hoisted it together while Cadderly cracked open the door and made sure that the hall was empty.Cadderly glanced over his shoulder at the diminishing angle of the shining sun through his window.His floor was marked in measured intervals to serve as a sundial.“A bit before midday,” he said to the dwarves.“Brother Chaunticleer will begin the midday canticle soon.All the host priests are required to attend and most of the others usually go.The way should be clear.”Ivan gave Cadderly a sour look.“Tut-tut,” muttered Pikel, shaking his furry face and wagging a finger at Cadderly.“I will get there!” Cadderly growled at them.“No one notices if I am just a few moments late.”The melody began, Brother Chaunticleer’s perfect soprano wafting gently through the corridors of the ancient library.Every noon, Chaunticleer ascended to his place at the podium of the library’s great hall to sing two songs, the respective legends of Deneir and Oghma.Many scholars came to the library to study, it was true, but many others came to hear the renowned Chaunticleer.He sang a cappella but could fill the great hall and the rooms beyond with his amazing four-octave voice so fully that listeners had to look at him often just to make sure that no choir stood behind him.Oghma’s song came first that day, and under the cover of the energetic and rousing tune, the brothers Bouldershoulder bounced and stumbled their way down two curving stairways and through a dozen too-tight doors to their quarters beside the library’s kitchen.Cadderly entered the great hall at about the same time, slipping quietly through the high double doors and moving to the side, behind a large arch support.“Aerial buttress,” he couldn’t help but mutter, shaking his head in dismay at the bulky pillar.He realized then that he’d not entered unnoticed.Kierkan Rufo smiled at him from the shadows of the next nearest arch.Cadderly knew that the conniving Rufo had waited for him, seeking new fuel for Headmaster Avery’s ire, and he knew that Avery would not excuse his tardiness.Cadderly pretended not to care, not wanting to give Rufo the satisfaction.

“You get your bow in a tenday, but I’ll need the picture to finish it.You got something smaller showing it?”Cadderly shook his head.“All I have is the tapestry,” he admitted.“You want me to walk through the halls with a stolen tapestry under me arm?” Ivan roared.“Borrowed,” Cadderly corrected.“With Headmistress Pertelope’s blessings?” Ivan asked sarcastically.“Uh oh,” added Pikel.“She will never miss it,” Cadderly replied.“If she does, I’ll tell her I needed it to confirm some passages in the drow tome I’m translating.”“Pertelope knows more of the drow speech than does yerself,” Ivan reminded him.“She’s the one who gave you the book!”“Uh oh,” Pikel said again.“The mead is blacker than midnight,” Cadderly said, “so the recipe says.It would kill a fair-sized tree if you poured only a pint of it along the roots.”“Get the other end,” Ivan said to his brother.Pikel pulled his mushroom-shaped cook’s cap over the tangle of green hair, which made his ears stick out even farther then helped Ivan roll the tapestry up tight.They hoisted it together while Cadderly cracked open the door and made sure that the hall was empty.Cadderly glanced over his shoulder at the diminishing angle of the shining sun through his window.His floor was marked in measured intervals to serve as a sundial.“A bit before midday,” he said to the dwarves.“Brother Chaunticleer will begin the midday canticle soon.All the host priests are required to attend and most of the others usually go.The way should be clear.”Ivan gave Cadderly a sour look.“Tut-tut,” muttered Pikel, shaking his furry face and wagging a finger at Cadderly.“I will get there!” Cadderly growled at them.“No one notices if I am just a few moments late.”The melody began, Brother Chaunticleer’s perfect soprano wafting gently through the corridors of the ancient library.Every noon, Chaunticleer ascended to his place at the podium of the library’s great hall to sing two songs, the respective legends of Deneir and Oghma.Many scholars came to the library to study, it was true, but many others came to hear the renowned Chaunticleer.He sang a cappella but could fill the great hall and the rooms beyond with his amazing four-octave voice so fully that listeners had to look at him often just to make sure that no choir stood behind him.Oghma’s song came first that day, and under the cover of the energetic and rousing tune, the brothers Bouldershoulder bounced and stumbled their way down two curving stairways and through a dozen too-tight doors to their quarters beside the library’s kitchen.Cadderly entered the great hall at about the same time, slipping quietly through the high double doors and moving to the side, behind a large arch support.“Aerial buttress,” he couldn’t help but mutter, shaking his head in dismay at the bulky pillar.He realized then that he’d not entered unnoticed.Kierkan Rufo smiled at him from the shadows of the next nearest arch.Cadderly knew that the conniving Rufo had waited for him, seeking new fuel for Headmaster Avery’s ire, and he knew that Avery would not excuse his tardiness.Cadderly pretended not to care, not wanting to give Rufo the satisfaction.

dnd195

He pointedly looked away and pulled out his spindle-disks, an archaic weapon used by ancient halfling tribesmen of southern Luiren.The device consisted of two circular rock crystal disks, each a finger’s breadth wide and a finger’s length in diameter, joined in their centers by a small bar on which was wrapped a string.Cadderly had discovered the weapon in an obscure tome and had actually improved on the design, using a metal connecting bar with a small hole through which the string could be threaded and knotted rather than tied.Cadderly slipped his finger through the loop on the string’s loose end.With a flick of his wrist, he sent the spindle-disks rolling down the length of the string then brought them spinning back to his hand with a slight jerk of his finger.Cadderly sneaked a look out of the corner of his eye.Knowing that he had Rufo’s attention, he sent the disks down again, quickly looped the string over the fingers of his free hand to form a triangle, and held the still-spinning disks in the middle, rocking them back and forth like a baby’s cradle.Rufo was leaning forward, mesmerized by the game, and Cadderly didn’t miss the opportunity.He released the string from his cradling hand, gathering the spindle-disks too suddenly for the eye to follow, then flicked them out straight at his rival.The string brought the flying device back to Cadderly’s hand before it got halfway to Rufo, but the startled man stumbled backward and toppled.Cadderly congratulated himself for his timing, for Rufo’s noisy descent coincided with the most dramatic pause in Brother Chaunticleer’s song.“Ssshhh!” came the angry hisses from every direction, and Cadderly’s was not the least among them.It seemed that Headmaster Avery would have two students to discipline that night.FIVETO KNOW YOUR ALLIESThe meeting chamber at Castle Trinity was quite different from the ornate hall of the Edificant Library.Its ceiling was low and its door squat, barred, and heavily guarded.A single triangular table dominated the room, with three chairs on each side, one group for the wizards, one for the fighters, and one for the clerics.Scan the room, Druzil suggested telepathically to Aballister, who was in the room.The imp surveyed through the wizard’s eyes, using their telepathic link to view whatever Aballister looked at.Aballister did as he was bidden, moving his gaze around the triangular table, first to Ragnor and the other two fighters, then to Barjin and his two cleric companions.Druzil broke the mental connection suddenly and hissed a wicked laugh, knowing that he had left Aballister in complete confusion.He could feel the wizard trying to reestablish the mental link, could hear Aballister’s thoughts calling to him.But Aballister was not in command of their telepathy; the imp had used that form of communication for more decades than Aballister had been alive and it was he who decided when and where he and the wizard would link.For the time being, Druzil had no reason to continue contact; he had seen all he needed to see.Barjin was in the meeting hall and would be busy there for some time.Druzil found his center of magic, his otherworldly essence, which allowed him to transcend the physical rules governing creatures of this host plane.A few seconds later, the imp faded from sight, becoming transparent, and he was off, flapping down the hallways to a wing of Castle Trinity to which he rarely traveled.It was risky business, Druzil knew, but if the chaos curse was to be in the priest’s hands, Druzil needed to know more about him.Druzil knew that Barjin’s door would be locked and heavily warded against intrusion, but he considered that a minor problem compared to Barjin’s bodyguard, who stood in the hall just outside it.Druzil entered the man’s thoughts just long enough to plant a suggestion, a magical request.There is an intruder in Barjin’s room, came Druzil’s silent beckon.The guard glanced around nervously for a moment, as if seeking the source of the call.He stared long at Barjin’s door, looking right through the invisible imp, then hastily fumbled with some keys, spoke a command word to prevent the warding glyphs from exploding, and entered.Druzil quietly mouthed the same command word and walked in behind.After a few minutes of inspecting the apparently empty room, the guard shook his head and left, locking the door behind him.Druzil snickered at how easily some humans could be controlled.

He pointedly looked away and pulled out his spindle-disks, an archaic weapon used by ancient halfling tribesmen of southern Luiren.The device consisted of two circular rock crystal disks, each a finger’s breadth wide and a finger’s length in diameter, joined in their centers by a small bar on which was wrapped a string.Cadderly had discovered the weapon in an obscure tome and had actually improved on the design, using a metal connecting bar with a small hole through which the string could be threaded and knotted rather than tied.Cadderly slipped his finger through the loop on the string’s loose end.With a flick of his wrist, he sent the spindle-disks rolling down the length of the string then brought them spinning back to his hand with a slight jerk of his finger.Cadderly sneaked a look out of the corner of his eye.Knowing that he had Rufo’s attention, he sent the disks down again, quickly looped the string over the fingers of his free hand to form a triangle, and held the still-spinning disks in the middle, rocking them back and forth like a baby’s cradle.Rufo was leaning forward, mesmerized by the game, and Cadderly didn’t miss the opportunity.He released the string from his cradling hand, gathering the spindle-disks too suddenly for the eye to follow, then flicked them out straight at his rival.The string brought the flying device back to Cadderly’s hand before it got halfway to Rufo, but the startled man stumbled backward and toppled.Cadderly congratulated himself for his timing, for Rufo’s noisy descent coincided with the most dramatic pause in Brother Chaunticleer’s song.“Ssshhh!” came the angry hisses from every direction, and Cadderly’s was not the least among them.It seemed that Headmaster Avery would have two students to discipline that night.FIVETO KNOW YOUR ALLIESThe meeting chamber at Castle Trinity was quite different from the ornate hall of the Edificant Library.Its ceiling was low and its door squat, barred, and heavily guarded.A single triangular table dominated the room, with three chairs on each side, one group for the wizards, one for the fighters, and one for the clerics.Scan the room, Druzil suggested telepathically to Aballister, who was in the room.The imp surveyed through the wizard’s eyes, using their telepathic link to view whatever Aballister looked at.Aballister did as he was bidden, moving his gaze around the triangular table, first to Ragnor and the other two fighters, then to Barjin and his two cleric companions.Druzil broke the mental connection suddenly and hissed a wicked laugh, knowing that he had left Aballister in complete confusion.He could feel the wizard trying to reestablish the mental link, could hear Aballister’s thoughts calling to him.But Aballister was not in command of their telepathy; the imp had used that form of communication for more decades than Aballister had been alive and it was he who decided when and where he and the wizard would link.For the time being, Druzil had no reason to continue contact; he had seen all he needed to see.Barjin was in the meeting hall and would be busy there for some time.Druzil found his center of magic, his otherworldly essence, which allowed him to transcend the physical rules governing creatures of this host plane.A few seconds later, the imp faded from sight, becoming transparent, and he was off, flapping down the hallways to a wing of Castle Trinity to which he rarely traveled.It was risky business, Druzil knew, but if the chaos curse was to be in the priest’s hands, Druzil needed to know more about him.Druzil knew that Barjin’s door would be locked and heavily warded against intrusion, but he considered that a minor problem compared to Barjin’s bodyguard, who stood in the hall just outside it.Druzil entered the man’s thoughts just long enough to plant a suggestion, a magical request.There is an intruder in Barjin’s room, came Druzil’s silent beckon.The guard glanced around nervously for a moment, as if seeking the source of the call.He stared long at Barjin’s door, looking right through the invisible imp, then hastily fumbled with some keys, spoke a command word to prevent the warding glyphs from exploding, and entered.Druzil quietly mouthed the same command word and walked in behind.After a few minutes of inspecting the apparently empty room, the guard shook his head and left, locking the door behind him.Druzil snickered at how easily some humans could be controlled.

dnd196

The imp didn’t have the time or inclination to gloat, though, not with all of the mysterious Barjin’s secrets open for his inspection.The room was ordinary enough for one of Barjin’s stature.A large canopy bed dominated the wall opposite the door, with a night table beside it.Druzil rubbed his hands together eagerly as he headed for the table.Atop it, next to the lamp, was a black-bound book, and next to that, several quills and an inkwell.“How thoughtful of you to keep a journal,” Druzil rasped, carefully opening the work.He read through the first entries, dated two years earlier.They were mostly lamentations by Barjin, accounts of his exploits in the northern kingdoms of Vaasa, Damara, and Narfell.Druzil’s already considerable respect for the priest grew as he devoured the words.Barjin had once commanded an army and served a powerful master—he gave no direct references to the man, if it was a man—not as a cleric, but as a wizard.Druzil paused to consider that revelation then hissed and read on.Though formidable, Barjin admitted that he had not been the most powerful of the wizards in his master’s service—again a vague reference to the mysterious master, giving Druzil the impression that perhaps Barjin, even years later, feared to speak the creature’s name aloud or write it down.Barjin’s rise to power came later, when the army had taken on a religious zeal and his master had somehow assumed godlike proportions.Druzil couldn’t contain a snicker at the striking parallels between the priest’s ascent and the chaos curse’s transformation into a goddess’s direct agent.Barjin had become a priest and headed an army to fulfill his evil master’s desire to conquer the whole of the northland.The plans had fallen through, though, when an order of paladins—Druzil hissed aloud when he read that cursed word—arose in Damara and organized an army of its own.Barjin’s master and most of his cohorts had been thrown down, and Barjin barely escaped with his life and a portion of the evil army’s accumulated wealth.Barjin had fled south, alone but for a few lackeys.Since his proclaimed “god” had been dispatched, his clerical powers had greatly diminished.Druzil spent a while musing over that revelation; nowhere did Barjin mention his claimed meeting with Talona’s avatar.The journal went on to tell of Barjin’s joining the triumvirate at Castle Trinity—again with no mention of the avatar.Druzil snickered aloud at Barjin’s opportunism.Even a year ago, coming in as a pitiful refugee, Barjin had duped Castle Trinity’s leaders, had used their fanaticism against them.After only a month in the castle, Barjin had ascended to the third rank in the priestly hierarchy, and after barely a tenday more, had taken over undisputed command as Talona’s high priest.And yet, Druzil realized as he flipped quickly through the pages, Barjin thought very little of his goddess, giving her only a few passing references in his journal.Aballister was correct.Barjin was a hypocrite.Again Druzil snickered aloud at the irony, at the pure chaos.Druzil knew the rest of Barjin’s story well enough; he had been present long before Barjin ever arrived.The journal, sadly, did not offer any further revelations, but the imp was not disappointed when he closed the book; there were too many other items to be investigated.Barjin’s new vestments, a conical cap and expensive purple robes embroidered in red with the new insignia of the triumvirate, hung beside the bed.

The imp didn’t have the time or inclination to gloat, though, not with all of the mysterious Barjin’s secrets open for his inspection.The room was ordinary enough for one of Barjin’s stature.A large canopy bed dominated the wall opposite the door, with a night table beside it.Druzil rubbed his hands together eagerly as he headed for the table.Atop it, next to the lamp, was a black-bound book, and next to that, several quills and an inkwell.“How thoughtful of you to keep a journal,” Druzil rasped, carefully opening the work.He read through the first entries, dated two years earlier.They were mostly lamentations by Barjin, accounts of his exploits in the northern kingdoms of Vaasa, Damara, and Narfell.Druzil’s already considerable respect for the priest grew as he devoured the words.Barjin had once commanded an army and served a powerful master—he gave no direct references to the man, if it was a man—not as a cleric, but as a wizard.Druzil paused to consider that revelation then hissed and read on.Though formidable, Barjin admitted that he had not been the most powerful of the wizards in his master’s service—again a vague reference to the mysterious master, giving Druzil the impression that perhaps Barjin, even years later, feared to speak the creature’s name aloud or write it down.Barjin’s rise to power came later, when the army had taken on a religious zeal and his master had somehow assumed godlike proportions.Druzil couldn’t contain a snicker at the striking parallels between the priest’s ascent and the chaos curse’s transformation into a goddess’s direct agent.Barjin had become a priest and headed an army to fulfill his evil master’s desire to conquer the whole of the northland.The plans had fallen through, though, when an order of paladins—Druzil hissed aloud when he read that cursed word—arose in Damara and organized an army of its own.Barjin’s master and most of his cohorts had been thrown down, and Barjin barely escaped with his life and a portion of the evil army’s accumulated wealth.Barjin had fled south, alone but for a few lackeys.Since his proclaimed “god” had been dispatched, his clerical powers had greatly diminished.Druzil spent a while musing over that revelation; nowhere did Barjin mention his claimed meeting with Talona’s avatar.The journal went on to tell of Barjin’s joining the triumvirate at Castle Trinity—again with no mention of the avatar.Druzil snickered aloud at Barjin’s opportunism.Even a year ago, coming in as a pitiful refugee, Barjin had duped Castle Trinity’s leaders, had used their fanaticism against them.After only a month in the castle, Barjin had ascended to the third rank in the priestly hierarchy, and after barely a tenday more, had taken over undisputed command as Talona’s high priest.And yet, Druzil realized as he flipped quickly through the pages, Barjin thought very little of his goddess, giving her only a few passing references in his journal.Aballister was correct.Barjin was a hypocrite.Again Druzil snickered aloud at the irony, at the pure chaos.Druzil knew the rest of Barjin’s story well enough; he had been present long before Barjin ever arrived.The journal, sadly, did not offer any further revelations, but the imp was not disappointed when he closed the book; there were too many other items to be investigated.Barjin’s new vestments, a conical cap and expensive purple robes embroidered in red with the new insignia of the triumvirate, hung beside the bed.

dnd197

An offspring of Talona’s symbol, the three teardrops inside a triangle’s points, the insignia sported a trident, its three prongs tipped by teardrop-shaped bottles, much like the one carrying the chaos curse.Barjin had designed it personally, and only Ragnor had offered any resistance.“So you do plan to spread the word of your god,” Druzil muttered a few moments later when he discovered Barjin’s bedroll, folded tent, and stuffed backpack under the bed.He reached for the items then jumped back, sensing a presence in that pile.He felt the beginnings of a telepathic communication, but not from Aballister.Eagerly, the imp reached under the bed and pulled the items out, recognizing the telepathic source as Barjin’s magical mace.“Screaming Maiden,” Druzil said, echoing the item’s telepathic declaration and examining the crafted item.Its obsidian head was that of a pretty young girl, strangely innocuous and appealing, but Druzil saw through the grotesque facade.He knew it was not a weapon crafted on the Prime Material Plane, but one that had been forged in the Abyss, or in the Nine Hells, or in Tarterus, or in one of the other lower planes.It was sentient, obviously, and hungry.More than anything else, Druzil could feel its hunger, its bloodlust.He watched in joyful amazement as the mace enhanced that point, its obsidian head twisting into a leering visage, a fanged maw opening wide.Druzil clapped his hands together and smiled wickedly.His respect for Barjin continued to mount, for any mortal capable of wielding such a weapon must be powerful indeed.Rumors around the fortress expressed disdain that Barjin did not favor the poisoned dagger, the usual weapon of Talona’s clerics, but seeing the mace up close and sensing its terrible power, Druzil agreed with the priest’s choice.Inside the rolled tent Druzil found a brazier and tripod nearly as intricate and rune-covered as Aballister’s.“You are a sorcerer, too, Barjin,” the imp whispered, wondering what future events that might imply.Already Druzil imagined what his life might be like if he had stepped through the brazier to Barjin’s call instead of Aballister’s.The thick backpack held other wondrous items.Druzil found a deep, gem-encrusted bowl of beaten platinum, no doubt worth a king’s fortune.Druzil placed it carefully on the floor and reached back into the pack, as exuberant as a hungry orc shoving its arm down a rat hole.He pulled out a solid, heavy object, fist-sized and wrapped in black cloth.Whatever was inside clearly emanated magical energies, and Druzil took care to lift only one corner of the cloth to peek in.He beheld a huge black sapphire, recognized it as a necromancer’s stone, and quickly rewrapped it in the shielding cloth.If exposed, such a stone could send out a call to the dead, summoning ghosts or ghouls, or any other netherworld monsters that lurked in the area.Of similar magical properties was the small ceramic flask that Druzil inspected next.He unstoppered it and sniffed, sneezing as some ashes came into his ample nose.“Ashes?” the imp whispered curiously, peering in.Under the black cloth, the necromancer’s stone pulsed, and Druzil understood.“Long dead spirit,” he muttered, quickly closing the flask.Nothing else showed to be of any particular interest, so Druzil carefully rewrapped and replaced everything as he had found it.

An offspring of Talona’s symbol, the three teardrops inside a triangle’s points, the insignia sported a trident, its three prongs tipped by teardrop-shaped bottles, much like the one carrying the chaos curse.Barjin had designed it personally, and only Ragnor had offered any resistance.“So you do plan to spread the word of your god,” Druzil muttered a few moments later when he discovered Barjin’s bedroll, folded tent, and stuffed backpack under the bed.He reached for the items then jumped back, sensing a presence in that pile.He felt the beginnings of a telepathic communication, but not from Aballister.Eagerly, the imp reached under the bed and pulled the items out, recognizing the telepathic source as Barjin’s magical mace.“Screaming Maiden,” Druzil said, echoing the item’s telepathic declaration and examining the crafted item.Its obsidian head was that of a pretty young girl, strangely innocuous and appealing, but Druzil saw through the grotesque facade.He knew it was not a weapon crafted on the Prime Material Plane, but one that had been forged in the Abyss, or in the Nine Hells, or in Tarterus, or in one of the other lower planes.It was sentient, obviously, and hungry.More than anything else, Druzil could feel its hunger, its bloodlust.He watched in joyful amazement as the mace enhanced that point, its obsidian head twisting into a leering visage, a fanged maw opening wide.Druzil clapped his hands together and smiled wickedly.His respect for Barjin continued to mount, for any mortal capable of wielding such a weapon must be powerful indeed.Rumors around the fortress expressed disdain that Barjin did not favor the poisoned dagger, the usual weapon of Talona’s clerics, but seeing the mace up close and sensing its terrible power, Druzil agreed with the priest’s choice.Inside the rolled tent Druzil found a brazier and tripod nearly as intricate and rune-covered as Aballister’s.“You are a sorcerer, too, Barjin,” the imp whispered, wondering what future events that might imply.Already Druzil imagined what his life might be like if he had stepped through the brazier to Barjin’s call instead of Aballister’s.The thick backpack held other wondrous items.Druzil found a deep, gem-encrusted bowl of beaten platinum, no doubt worth a king’s fortune.Druzil placed it carefully on the floor and reached back into the pack, as exuberant as a hungry orc shoving its arm down a rat hole.He pulled out a solid, heavy object, fist-sized and wrapped in black cloth.Whatever was inside clearly emanated magical energies, and Druzil took care to lift only one corner of the cloth to peek in.He beheld a huge black sapphire, recognized it as a necromancer’s stone, and quickly rewrapped it in the shielding cloth.If exposed, such a stone could send out a call to the dead, summoning ghosts or ghouls, or any other netherworld monsters that lurked in the area.Of similar magical properties was the small ceramic flask that Druzil inspected next.He unstoppered it and sniffed, sneezing as some ashes came into his ample nose.“Ashes?” the imp whispered curiously, peering in.Under the black cloth, the necromancer’s stone pulsed, and Druzil understood.“Long dead spirit,” he muttered, quickly closing the flask.Nothing else showed to be of any particular interest, so Druzil carefully rewrapped and replaced everything as he had found it.

dnd198

He hopped up on the comfortable bed, secure in his invisibility, and relaxed, pondering all he had learned.Barjin was a diversified human priest-wizard, dabbling in sorcery, necromancy, and who could guess what else.“Yes, a very resourceful human,” Druzil decided.He felt better about Barjin’s involvement in the chaos curse.He checked in telepathically with Aballister for just a moment, to make certain that the meeting was in full swing, then congratulated himself on his cunning and folded his plump hands behind his head.Soon he was fast asleep.“We have only the one suitable bottle,” said Aballister, representing the wizards.“The ever-smoking devices are difficult to create, requiring rare gems and metals, and we all know how costly it was to brew even a small amount of the elixir.” He felt Barjin’s stare boring into him at the reference to the cost.“Do not speak of the Most Fatal Horror as an elixir,” the clerical leader commanded.“Once it may have been just a magical potion, but now it is much more.”“Tuanta Quiro Miancay,” chanted the other two priests, scarred and ugly men with blotchy tattoos covering nearly every inch of their exposed skin.Aballister returned Barjin’s glare.He wanted to scream at Barjin’s hypocrisy, to shake the other clerics into action against him, but Aballister wisely checked his outburst.He knew that any accusations against Barjin would produce the opposite results and that he would become a target of the faithful.Druzil’s estimation of Barjin had been correct, Aballister had to admit.The priest had indeed consolidated his power.“Brewing the Most Fatal Horror,” conceded Aballister, “has depleted our resources.To begin again and create more, and also acquire another bottle, could well prove beyond our limits.”“Why do we need these stupid bottles?” interrupted Ragnor.“If the stuff’s a god, as you say, then—”Barjin was quick to answer.“The Most Fatal Horror is merely an agent of Talona,” the priest explained calmly.“In itself, it is not a god, but it will aid us to comply with Talona’s edicts.”Ragnor’s eyes narrowed dangerously.It was obvious that the volatile ogrillon’s patience had just about expired.“All of your followers embrace Tuanta Quiro Miancay,” Barjin reminded Ragnor, “embrace it with all their hearts.”Ragnor eased back in his seat, flinching at the threatening implications.Aballister studied Barjin curiously for a long while, awed by how easily the priest had calmed the ogrillon.Barjin was tall, vigorous, and imposing, but he was no match physically for Ragnor.Usually, physical strength was all that mattered to the powerful fighter; Ragnor normally showed the clerics and wizards less respect than he gave to even his lowliest soldiers.Barjin seemed to be the exception, though; especially of late, Ragnor had not openly opposed him on any issue.Aballister, while concerned, was not surprised.He knew that Barjin’s powers went far beyond the priest’s physical abilities.Barjin was an enchanter and a hypnotist, a careful strategist who weighed his opponent’s mind-set above all else and used spells as often for simple enhancement of a favorable situation as to affect those he meant to destroy.Just a couple tendays earlier, a conspiracy had been discovered within the evil triumvirate.The single prisoner had resisted Ragnor’s interrogations, at the price of incredible pain and several toes, but Barjin had the wretch talking within an hour, willingly divulging all he knew of his fellow conspirators.

He hopped up on the comfortable bed, secure in his invisibility, and relaxed, pondering all he had learned.Barjin was a diversified human priest-wizard, dabbling in sorcery, necromancy, and who could guess what else.“Yes, a very resourceful human,” Druzil decided.He felt better about Barjin’s involvement in the chaos curse.He checked in telepathically with Aballister for just a moment, to make certain that the meeting was in full swing, then congratulated himself on his cunning and folded his plump hands behind his head.Soon he was fast asleep.“We have only the one suitable bottle,” said Aballister, representing the wizards.“The ever-smoking devices are difficult to create, requiring rare gems and metals, and we all know how costly it was to brew even a small amount of the elixir.” He felt Barjin’s stare boring into him at the reference to the cost.“Do not speak of the Most Fatal Horror as an elixir,” the clerical leader commanded.“Once it may have been just a magical potion, but now it is much more.”“Tuanta Quiro Miancay,” chanted the other two priests, scarred and ugly men with blotchy tattoos covering nearly every inch of their exposed skin.Aballister returned Barjin’s glare.He wanted to scream at Barjin’s hypocrisy, to shake the other clerics into action against him, but Aballister wisely checked his outburst.He knew that any accusations against Barjin would produce the opposite results and that he would become a target of the faithful.Druzil’s estimation of Barjin had been correct, Aballister had to admit.The priest had indeed consolidated his power.“Brewing the Most Fatal Horror,” conceded Aballister, “has depleted our resources.To begin again and create more, and also acquire another bottle, could well prove beyond our limits.”“Why do we need these stupid bottles?” interrupted Ragnor.“If the stuff’s a god, as you say, then—”Barjin was quick to answer.“The Most Fatal Horror is merely an agent of Talona,” the priest explained calmly.“In itself, it is not a god, but it will aid us to comply with Talona’s edicts.”Ragnor’s eyes narrowed dangerously.It was obvious that the volatile ogrillon’s patience had just about expired.“All of your followers embrace Tuanta Quiro Miancay,” Barjin reminded Ragnor, “embrace it with all their hearts.”Ragnor eased back in his seat, flinching at the threatening implications.Aballister studied Barjin curiously for a long while, awed by how easily the priest had calmed the ogrillon.Barjin was tall, vigorous, and imposing, but he was no match physically for Ragnor.Usually, physical strength was all that mattered to the powerful fighter; Ragnor normally showed the clerics and wizards less respect than he gave to even his lowliest soldiers.Barjin seemed to be the exception, though; especially of late, Ragnor had not openly opposed him on any issue.Aballister, while concerned, was not surprised.He knew that Barjin’s powers went far beyond the priest’s physical abilities.Barjin was an enchanter and a hypnotist, a careful strategist who weighed his opponent’s mind-set above all else and used spells as often for simple enhancement of a favorable situation as to affect those he meant to destroy.Just a couple tendays earlier, a conspiracy had been discovered within the evil triumvirate.The single prisoner had resisted Ragnor’s interrogations, at the price of incredible pain and several toes, but Barjin had the wretch talking within an hour, willingly divulging all he knew of his fellow conspirators.

dnd199

Whispers said that the tortured man actually believed Barjin was an ally, right up until the priest casually bashed in his skull.Aballister didn’t doubt those whispers and wasn’t surprised.That was how Barjin worked; few could resist the priest’s hypnotic charisma.Aballister didn’t know much of Barjin’s former deity, lost in the wastelands of Vaasa, but what he had seen of the refugee priest’s spell repertoire was beyond what he would normally expect of clerics.Again Aballister referred to the whispers for his answers, rumors that indicated Barjin dabbled in wizardry as well as priestly magic.Barjin was still speaking reverently of the elixir when Aballister turned his attention back to the meeting.The priest’s preaching held the other clerics, and Ragnor’s two fighter companions, awestruck.Aballister shook his head and dared not interrupt.He considered again the course that his life had taken, how the avatar had led him to Druzil, and Druzil had delivered the recipe.Then the avatar had led Barjin to Castle Trinity.That was the part of the puzzle that did not fit in Aballister’s reasoning.After a year of watching the priest, Aballister remained convinced that Barjin was no true disciple of Talona, but again he reminded himself that Barjin, sincere or not, was furthering the cause, and that because of Barjin’s purse and influence, all the region might soon be claimed in the goddess’s name.Aballister let out a profound sigh.Such were the paradoxes of chaos.“Aballister?” Barjin asked.The wizard cleared his throat nervously and glanced around, realizing he had missed much of the conversation.“Ragnor was inquiring about the necessity of the bottles,” Barjin politely explained.“The bottles, yes,” Aballister stuttered.“The elix—the Most Fatal Horror is potent with or without them.Minute amounts are all that are required for the chaos curse to take effect, but it will last only a short while.With the ever-smoking bottles, the god-stuff is released continually.We have created just a few drops, but I believe there is enough liquid to fuel the ever-smoking bottle for months, perhaps years, if the mixture within the bottle is correct.”Barjin looked around and exchanged nods with his clerical companions.“We have decided that Talona’s agent is ready,” he declared.“You have …” the wizard Dorigen stammered in disbelief.Aballister stared long and hard at Barjin.He had meant to take command of the meeting and suggest just what the priest was getting at, but again Barjin had thought one step ahead of him, had stolen his thunder.“We are the representatives of Talona,” Barjin replied to Dorigen’s outrage.His companions bobbed their heads stupidly.Aballister’s clenched fingers nearly tore a chunk out of his chair.“The goddess has spoken to us, has revealed her wishes,” Barjin continued.“Our conquests will soon begin!”Ragnor beat a fist on the table in excited agreement; now the priest was speaking in terms the ogrillon warrior could understand.

Whispers said that the tortured man actually believed Barjin was an ally, right up until the priest casually bashed in his skull.Aballister didn’t doubt those whispers and wasn’t surprised.That was how Barjin worked; few could resist the priest’s hypnotic charisma.Aballister didn’t know much of Barjin’s former deity, lost in the wastelands of Vaasa, but what he had seen of the refugee priest’s spell repertoire was beyond what he would normally expect of clerics.Again Aballister referred to the whispers for his answers, rumors that indicated Barjin dabbled in wizardry as well as priestly magic.Barjin was still speaking reverently of the elixir when Aballister turned his attention back to the meeting.The priest’s preaching held the other clerics, and Ragnor’s two fighter companions, awestruck.Aballister shook his head and dared not interrupt.He considered again the course that his life had taken, how the avatar had led him to Druzil, and Druzil had delivered the recipe.Then the avatar had led Barjin to Castle Trinity.That was the part of the puzzle that did not fit in Aballister’s reasoning.After a year of watching the priest, Aballister remained convinced that Barjin was no true disciple of Talona, but again he reminded himself that Barjin, sincere or not, was furthering the cause, and that because of Barjin’s purse and influence, all the region might soon be claimed in the goddess’s name.Aballister let out a profound sigh.Such were the paradoxes of chaos.“Aballister?” Barjin asked.The wizard cleared his throat nervously and glanced around, realizing he had missed much of the conversation.“Ragnor was inquiring about the necessity of the bottles,” Barjin politely explained.“The bottles, yes,” Aballister stuttered.“The elix—the Most Fatal Horror is potent with or without them.Minute amounts are all that are required for the chaos curse to take effect, but it will last only a short while.With the ever-smoking bottles, the god-stuff is released continually.We have created just a few drops, but I believe there is enough liquid to fuel the ever-smoking bottle for months, perhaps years, if the mixture within the bottle is correct.”Barjin looked around and exchanged nods with his clerical companions.“We have decided that Talona’s agent is ready,” he declared.“You have …” the wizard Dorigen stammered in disbelief.Aballister stared long and hard at Barjin.He had meant to take command of the meeting and suggest just what the priest was getting at, but again Barjin had thought one step ahead of him, had stolen his thunder.“We are the representatives of Talona,” Barjin replied to Dorigen’s outrage.His companions bobbed their heads stupidly.Aballister’s clenched fingers nearly tore a chunk out of his chair.“The goddess has spoken to us, has revealed her wishes,” Barjin continued.“Our conquests will soon begin!”Ragnor beat a fist on the table in excited agreement; now the priest was speaking in terms the ogrillon warrior could understand.