Lady of Poison (21 page)

Marrec couldn’t bring himself to say more.

Ususi said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and perhaps I do not want to know. We all have secrets, you know, but listen. You are the man your actions make you, nothing more, nothing less, and I don’t see a monster standing before me.”

<•>-ŠŚ-Š•-ŠŚŚŠŚ

When Henri appeared, sans Ash, Marrec feared the worst, but Elowen noted that there were still supplies in Henri’s saddlebags. The horse yet wore the bridle given it by the Nentyarch. The elf hunter figured the horse had escaped, nothing more.

Gunggari soon confirmed her hypothesis when he backtracked the horse to the lane’s end. A hole gaped in the base of a weed-infested mound. The Oslander indicated clear signs that two people, one a child, had entered the mound, taking steep stairs downward.

“How much time?” asked Marrec.

“Not more than an hour. We have a real chance to catch them.”

Ususi said, “It appears we have reached the dark ways the Nentyarch described.”

Marrec asked, “Where is the map the Nentyarch gave us? Does it show this entrance?”

Elowen retrieved the map scroll from her pack and unrolled it across the face of a large boulder. The group gathered round.

“Unfortunately, no,” said Elowen after a few seconds of study.

Marrec identified the Rawlinswood and the Arches of Xenosi. The map recorded where the Arches petered out, apparently where they stood. According to the map, the entrance identified by the Nentyarch was further back, located midway along the lane made by the

Arches and about half a mile to the east of the lane.

Ususi said, “This mound isn’t even noted on the map. It’s a waste.”

Elowen replied, the slightest flush tinting her face, “Don’t be rash. If Fallon is heading for the center, no doubt he shall wander onto or across the route marked by the Nentyarch.”

Marrec pointed to a tag on the map, asking, “What’s the ‘Lurker in the Middle’ and why should we ‘beware’ it?”

Elowen said, “Some Nar demon bound below the earth, probably, but maybe not completely bound.”

Gunggari asked, “I would like to know more about these Nar. Such knowledge may aid us if we venture into their realm of old.”

Elowen nodded, rolling up the map. She said, “I can tell you something of ancient Narfell. This is what my mentor taught me when I was a child.

“More than a thousand years ago the sorcerous land of Narfell grew mighty on the strength of its unholy mages and cruel priest-lords. It was Narfell’s trafficking with demons that contributed to its eventual downfall, though I do not know specifically the event that brought them down. Secrets of the old Nar lore draw unscrupulous spellcasters who attempt to plunder buried vaults in search of knowledge and power. Rawlinswood is thick with these vaults. It’s sort of like one extended vault, I suppose.”

Ususi commented, “One can’t be a practicing mage in these parts without hearing about Nar rituals, Nar obscenities, and trinkets of supposed Narfell vintage. I’ve found that most are fakes, sold by fakir wizards to the credulous.”

Marrec realized that Ususi was admitting to being fooled herself on at least one occasion.

“Demons and foul magic, then,” said Gunggari. “Can demons be any worse than the blightlords and their pets we’ve already faced?”

Ususi said, “They could. Demons are not from the world. They have an infernal power, and some even have abilities that could imperil your immortal spirit.”

“Hmm,” was Gunggari’s only response.

Marrec walked to the edge of the mound entrance. “Let’s go.”

Gunggari and Ususi stepped forward, but Elowen said, “Hold on, what about Henri? We can’t just leave him.”

Ususi said, “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of such things—mounts being left at the mouths of subterranean passages too narrow for hooves. He should be safe enough until we return. If we return.”

“He won’t be safe in the Rawlinswood.” The elf stroked the pony’s mane.

Marrec paused. He had much on his mind, but he knew he couldn’t forsake the creature. He said, “Henri is too large to negotiate the stairs.”

“Too bad. We could have used a packhorse,” said Gunggari. The Oslander was nothing if not practical.

“Remember, Elowen, he yet wears the gift of the Nentyarch. It was that magic that probably allowed Henri to find us just now. I don’t doubt that it will see him safe all the way back to Yeshelmaar.”

Elowen subsided. “I suppose you’re right. He’s probably safer than we are, come to think of it. We’ve just cleared the path back out of the forest.”

They sent Henri on his way. The pony didn’t seem dispirited to put his back to the dark, ill-smelling stairs.

They descended. The stairs were steep. Worse, the breadth of each step was shallow. Hard packed earth, then smooth stone, rose up on either side as they descended ever deeper below the surface.

Ususi conjured a light, one on the tip of Marrec’s spear, and one for herself. The radiance was strong and unwavering, exactly unlike the light of a torch or even magical lights that emulated candle or torch flame to

which Marrec was most accustomed. The woman possessed exotic spells, that was certain.

“It’s getting colder,” said Marrec.

Ususi responded, “That’s normal underground.”

“No. I mean, I’ve experienced the subterranean chill before—this is unnaturally cold.”

The stairs ended on a landing below. The light on Marrec’s spear revealed the truth of his words. Ice slicked the walls, glinting like crystal. An icy arch opened into a dark space beyond.

Marrec stepped off the stairs and up to the arch. He thrust his light through to reveal a wide, flat tunnel, obviously worked. The passage was completely sheathed in ice to the limit of Marrec’s light source. Ice sickles hung like stalactites from the ceiling. His breath steamed out before him

Marrec turned to Gunggari, “I don’t suppose you brought your furs, eh?”

Gunggari shook his head, “They’re back in Yeshelmaar. We departed too quickly for me to gather all my effects.”

“Yeah, I remember,” responded the cleric.

Gunggari bent, touching the floor. He said, “They went this way. Come.”

A voice, stark and devoid of warmth, spoke from the darkness ahead. It said something in a language incomprehensible to Marrec.

Ususi said in a quiet voice, “That is the language of the Abyss. Looks like you get to meet your first demon, Gunggari.”

A creature of black ice slid into the light. It eased to a stop not more than ten feet from Marrec, without any outward sign of effort or limb movement. The creature was something like a wolf, though its icy composition and size belied any thought of a natural origin. Points of red hellfire burned in its eye sockets. The shards and chunks of ice that made up the creature flexed and pulsed in sick

mockery of life, or with a life usually unknown except in the cold nether regions of Abyssal provenance. The monstrosity was wrapped in stink, reminiscent of a corpse buried in winter snow disturbed by scavengers.

The cleric made to cast his spear.

The demon spoke again, but that time in a language Marrec could understand. It said, “Parley.” It rose to its rear legs, standing with an obscene approximation of a biped.

“Parley,” it said again. “Speak with the Queen Abiding. Make agreement good for you, good for she that Abides.”

When it talked, its breath chilled Marrec even where he stood.

“How can we trust you, demon?” called Ususi, coughing slightly, holding a hand over her mouth and nose.

The creature raised one hand palm forward and said simply, “Come.”

Marrec refrained from casting Justlance. He asked, “Can you tell us about the male elf and child who passed this way a little while ago?”

“Ask the queen.”

Without looking away from the icy envoy, Marrec said, “What do you think, Gunny?”

“I have no experience with demons, Marrec, but someone told me once that demons are infernal.” The tattooed soldier shot a glance at the mage.

Ususi chimed in, “Bargains with demons rarely work in the favor of any other than the demon in the long run.”

The creature giggled then said, “Talk with queen. Good for you, good for us.”

Elowen said, “Every fight we can avoid will leave us stronger later when we may need it the most.”

“All right, lead us to your queen,” Marrec finally said. “We can decide if we want to deal after we hear your pitch.”

Daintily, despite its ungainly bulk, the creature pirouetted and slid swiftly back the way it had come. Its

voice echoed out of the darkness, “Come!”

Gunggari shrugged. “This is also the way Fallon’s tracks lead.”

Marrec said, “Right. If we’re lucky, they’ll have his head wrapped in holiday paper for us, a present from the demon queen of Under-Tharos.”

The group moved forward, their light by turns glinting off the ice that sheathed the corridor, other times completely absorbed. The tunnel emptied into a much wider space. Circular, the floor was ice but rough enough to offer some purchase. The walls and ceiling were filigreed with traceries of brittle black ice. Tiny bits visibly crumbled in places, tinkling. In other places, the filigree grew quickly enough for Marrec to notice it. Sinister stalactite chandeliers hung like icy infestations above. Up until then, he’d always found the natural patterns formed by ice and snowflakes to be enchanting. That was the problem; nothing was natural. All was warped under the influence of evil born of dimensions far from Faerun.

Marrec hoped to Bee Ash and Fallon in the chamber, but his hope was unfounded. Instead, the chamber held only the demon who’d met them and a massive, cylindrical block of ice. Rivulets of water so black it looked like oil ran in tiny streams from the block, but through some process beyond Marrec’s ken, the block grew no smaller.

As they walked carefully into the chamber, their light picked out forms in the ice below: humans, elves, a few dwarves, halflings, and other humanoids equipped in armor, wearing packs, expedition style. Marrec mentally theorized that the bodies represented a grisly collection of failed Dun Tharos explorers unlucky enough to find the Queen Abiding before them. Fallon and Ash were not among those frozen there.

“Where is your queen then?” asked Marrec.

Several of the stalactites shifted, dropping from the ceiling onto four shard-studded legs. They looked somewhat similar to demon who’d ushered them into the

chamber. The newly revealed brumal demons began to rub their forearms together, creating a keening noise that drove cold spikes through Marrec’s composure. They were outnumbered.

Marrec cleared his throat and said, “Queen Abiding, we come to parley, as we were bid.”

One of the demons, the one closest to the central ice mass, slowly rose a limb, pointing an icy digit into the heart of the ice.

Marrec moved closer to the central ice, bringing the brilliant light glowing on his spear tip to bear, directly touching the crystalline surface.

The light leached into the ice, mixing like milk poured into oily tea. The keening of the demons grew louder. The suffusing light reached the center of the mass but refused to illuminate it. Something was held there, a blot of nothing, a dark beetle in amber, something the light refused to touch.

Their host croaked, “The Queen Abiding.”

Improbably, the blot of darkness trapped in the center moved. It surged forward, unrestrained by the feet of ice which surrounded it, as if the frozen water were but liquid. With a cry Marrec fell back, but the darkness stopped short of crashing out of the ice. It hovered just at the boundary, creating the illusion of a wall of darkness where it pressed up against the periphery of the icy mass.

A new voice spoke then, with a pleasant, even seductive female timbre. The voice said, “Are these the ones who disturbed our sleep?”

“No,” spoke the original brumal demon. “Gone. Toward the center. Tramping and knocking, waking the sleepers. One elf, one child hiding power.”

The woman’s voice spoke again. Marrec knew it was coming from the dreadful blot caught in the ice. The voice had a cloying, thick quality beneath its velvet surface that made him shiver. “These follow after, eh? Well,

speak up, followers. If my offspring were intent on freezing you into our collection, they’d have done so already, don’t you think?”

Marrec inadvertently glanced down and saw a human woman’s face and hand clutching a bow. He shook his head and said, “We do follow after. We seek a betrayer and have no interest in conflict with you, your kind majesty.”

The woman’s voice laughed. “Majesty, is it? I was old before your civilization was born. I am she whose name is unremembered. I served those of such power that they thought they could challenge the power of gods, but they are crumbled away now/while I remain, trapped. I must abide here until I can find the token of my freedom, but,” she paused, “you may continue to address me as majesty. It pleases me.”

The darkness roiled, as if beginning a slow boil. Its movements sometimes synched up with the speech, other times not. Marrec backed off from the ice wall a pace, but he was blocked from moving too far by the dark icy carapaces of the crowding demons. He noticed that his friends seemed equally crowded. The smell of decay was quickly growing intolerable.

“Then, your majesty, please allows us to continue,” requested Marrec, his breath steaming out before him.

“Though you may be surprised to learn it, I will indeed allow you to leave this chamber,” purred the voice.

One of the gathered demons tittered as if at a joke only it had heard.

“But?” guessed Marrec, sensing something still unspoken.

“But,” continued the voice, “I’m afraid I can’t let you go free, can I? There is a condition that I must impose. You’ll accept that condition, won’t you, my fierce pet?”

Marrec locked eyes with Gunggari. Marrec raised one eyebrow; Gunggari shrugged, shaking his head. These motions required only a second, but a question was asked and answered: Marrec asked the Oslander what

he thought their chances were in a fight against the creatures. Gunggari responded that he couldn’t gauge the outcome.