Condemnation (19 page)

Valas Hune seemed honestly offended.

“No one alive can follow me when I do not wish to be followed,” he said.

Valas went out into the courtyard, throwing open the door to their room and taking a long moment to stretch. Halisstra felt Ryld shuffle forward, and she did likewise, crowding close behind him as Danifae pressed up behind her. The girl’s breath was warm at her neck.

While the Bregan D’aerthe scout casually strolled out of the inn’s gate and turned left toward the city’s central district, Halisstra and the others bent around in an awkward circle and headed right, back to the docks. The streets were not deserted, but neither were they busy. Most duergar were back in their drab residences after a long day in the city’s forges and foundries. Had the company been forced into flight at the beginning or the end of the workday, their deception might have been given away by the sheer accident of a busy gray dwarf bumping into their invisible chain as they skulked down the street.

Halisstra risked one more glance over her shoulder at Valas, who strolled quickly down the street in the opposite direction, looking a little furtive himself—a better disguise than complete nonchalance, which would have been jarring in a place like Gracklstugh. She also noted a gray dwarf porter who hefted a small cask of brandy to his shoulder as the scout passed and turned to follow, seemingly nothing more than a common laborer hired to carry goods from one part of the city to another. Valas could not have missed him, she decided. The mercenary is too sharp to miss a straightforward tail like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“True or not, now is not the time to gamble on our escape,” Halisstra said. “We’d look damned foolish if we fought our way through a patrol of the prince’s soldiers and couldn’t leave the pier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m flattered, Master Argith.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Master of Sorcere simply smiled and spread his hands.

Nimor’s soft footfalls echoed in corridor after empty corridor as he made his way through the crown prince’s fortress. At odd intervals he passed pairs of scowling guards in heavy armor, halberds held upright, and he wondered if they ever tired of looking at the blank stone walls in the course of their duties.

Most likely not, he decided. Duergar were simply insensitive to that sort of thing.

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

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

“Enter,” called a soft voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Capabilities?”

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

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

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

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

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

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