Authors: Richard Baker
Pharaun paused, turning in a slow circle as he searched for some sign of the rest of the company or any foes still on their trail. Ryld held still and listened. A gentle wind moved the treetops and sighed in the branches overhead. Leaves rustled, and branches creaked. A small brook trickled nearby, but he could detect nothing that might signal dangeror Halisstra’s return.
Stupid to hope for such a thing, he told himself.
Something troubles you? motioned Pharaun.
No, the weapons master replied.
The wizard studied him, the brilliant silver moonlight gleaming on his handsome face.
Tell me you’re not worried about the female!
Of course not, Ryld replied. I’m concerned only because she’s been a valuable comrade, and I don’t like the idea of proceeding without her skill at healing. But I am not concerned on any other account. I am no fool.
I think perhaps you protest too much, Pharaun signed. It does not matter, I suppose.
He started to say more, but at that moment a soft rustle behind them cut off his words. Wizard and swordsman turned together, Ryld’s hand stealing to Splitter’s hilt as he aimed his crossbow with the other hand, but from the bright shadows Valas Hune suddenly appeared. Of all the company, the Bregan D’aerthe seemed almost as skilled as the surface dwellers in the patient cat-and-mouse game of forest hunting.
Did you catch sight of any of our foes? the scout asked.
No, but someone saw enough of Ryld to shoot an arrow, Pharaun replied. Since they seemed to guess where we were, we left an illusion and came to rejoin you.
Any sign of Halisstra? Ryld asked.
No. Nor you, then? Valas replied.
Perhaps half an hour ago we heard sounds of fighting from back down the trail. It went on for a couple of minutes. That might have been her, Pharaun signed.
“There it is, then,” Valas muttered under his breath. “Well, come on then. The others are waiting, and if we can’t ambush our pursuers, we might as well keep moving. The longer they keep us here, the more likely it is that more of them will show up and join the fight.”
The scout led the way as he hurried through the trees and brush, moving swiftly and silently. Pharaun and Ryld could not match the softness of his steps, but the wizard’s magic seemed an adequate ruse, since they encountered no more hidden archers or spearmen. In a few hundred yards they came to a small, steep ravine, well screened by thick brush and large boulders. There they found Quenthel, Danifae, and Jeggred lying low, watching vigilantly for any sign of a renewed attack.
“Did you surprise the archers?” Quenthel asked.
“No. They located us quickly, and avoided a fight,” Ryld replied. He ran a hand over his stubbled scalp and sighed. “This is not a good battlefield for us. We can’t bring the surface elves to grips, not with the advantage they have in this terrain, but if we don’t do anything, they’ll eventually surround us and cut us to pieces with arrows.”
Valas nodded in agreement and added, “They’re working to find and flank us now. We’ve got a few minutes here, but we’re going to have to move or fight soon. Ten minutes or less, I think.”
“Let them come,” rumbled Jeggred. “We killed a dozen of them not an hour ago when they stole up on us from behind. Now that we know the day-walkers are out there, we’ll slaughter them in heaps.”
“The next assault will most likely consist of a rain of arrows from archers we won’t even be able to see,” Valas said. “I doubt that the surface dwellers will oblige us by lining up for us to kill. Worse yet, what if the rangers sent for help? The next attack might come at daybreak with two or three times the numbers we’ve seen so far. I don’t relish the thought of being showered with arrows and spells after the sun comes up and our opponents suddenly begin to see much better than we do.”
“Fine,” Jeggred snarled. “So what would you do, then?”
“Withdraw,” Ryld answered for the scout. “Make the best speed we can and keep moving. With luck we’ll outdistance our pursuers before the sun comes up, and maybe we’ll find a good place to hide.”
“Or maybe we’ll reach territory controlled by the Jaelre,” Valas added.
“Which may, of course, prove to be even more dangerous than playing cat-and-mouse with our friends the surface dwellers,” Pharaun said. “If the Jaelre aren’t fond of visitors… .”
“It doesn’t matter if they are or not,” Quenthel said. “We came to speak to their priest, and we will do so, even if we have to cut our way through half their House to do it.”
“Your suggestion is not very encouraging, Master Hune,” Danifae said. She bled freely from a wound in her right arm, where a hard-driven arrow had actually punched through her mail and transfixed her upper arm. As she spoke she worked awkwardly with one hand to bind the wound. “What happens if we fail to outpace our enemies? They seem well able to keep up with us in these damnable woods.”
“One moment,” Ryld said. “What about Mistress Melarn? She’s back there somewhere.”
“Most likely dead already,” Valas said with a shrug. “Or a prisoner.”
“Shouldn’t we make sure of that before we leave her?” the weapons master replied. “Her healing songs are the only magic of that sort we have left to us. Common sense dictates”
“Common sense dictates that we don’t waste time and blood on a corpse,” Quenthel interrupted. “No one came after me when”
She stopped herself, then stood and walked over to help Danifae cinch her bandage.
“Our mission lies ahead of us, not behind,” the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said. “The quest is more important than any one drow.”
Ryld rubbed his hand over his face and glanced around the company. Valas looked away, busying himself with some unimportant fastening of his armor. Pharaun stared at Quenthel with an expression that made it clear the wizard noted the priestess’s hypocrisy, if nothing else. She had, after all, spent more time in Ched Nasad hoping to empty Baenre storehouses of their goods than seeking the renewed attention of Lolth.
Danifae stared off into the woods behind them, her brow furrowed with concern, but obviously unwilling to argue the point on behalf of her mistress.
Finally Quenthel turned to Pharaun and said, “Perhaps our skilled wizard has some magic that might help us discourage these cursed day-walkers from following too closely?”
Pharaun stroked his chin, and thought.
“Our chief difficulty in these circumstances,” the Master of Sorcere said at length, “lies in the fact that our antagonists are able to use this terrain to their advantage, and our disadvantage. Should a forest fire suddenly arise, the smoke and flames would”
Valas laughed and interrupted, “I’m afraid you know little of surface forests, Master Mizzrym. These trees are far too wet to oblige you with a forest fire now. Try again in a few months, after summer has dried them out.”
“Oh,” the wizard replied, “I can see that’s true for mundane fire.”
“You won’t be able to prevent fire from sweeping back on us,” Ryld said, the idea giving him some anxiety.
“Well, I can’t be certain they won’t, but my fires will burn in the manner I choose,” Pharaun said. “As Master Hune observed, the forest is damp enough that the trees won’t catch unless directly affected by my spell. We will, of course, have the advantage of knowing how and when the fires begin.”
Quenthel thought for a moment, then said, “Very well, you may proceed.”
Ryld felt his throat tighten and he stepped away from the group, quickly regaining control of himself.
The Master of Sorcere stood and reached into a pouch at his belt to withdraw a tiny silk purse. He emptied it into his hand. Red dust glittered in the moonlight. Pharaun studied the forest, turned to sense the wind, and spoke his spell quickly, casting the powder into the air. Bright crimson sparks appeared amid the falling dust, growing brighter and more numerous moment by moment. With another gesture, Pharaun scattered the burning motes across a great, wide arc of the forest before him.
As each tiny mote settled to the ground, it flared into life, growing into a spiderlike shape fully as large as a man’s head. Wreathed in crimson flame, the fire spiders scuttled across the ground, moving deeper into the trees. Whatever they touched smoldered at first, then burst into flame. The wood was indeed wet, and the flames were smoky and slow to spreadbut Pharaun had conjured hundreds of the spider creatures. The living motes of fire seemed to set upon the moss-grown trunks with a peculiarly savage ferocity, almost as if the presence of so much timber had provoked them into a frenzy of fiery destruction.
“Good, good,” Pharaun murmured. “They like trees… they truly do.”
“The fire’s too slow to burn our pursuers,” Quenthel observed.
“I’ve never heard of a surface elf who’d allow a fire such as this to burn unchecked in his precious forest,” Pharaun said with a smile. “They’ll be busy chasing down my spiders and extinguishing the flames for some time.”
Quenthel watched the blaze a moment longer, and smiled.
“It may serve, then,” she said. “Master Hune, take the lead. I mean to reach House Jaelre before we’re troubled by the surface dwellers again.”
Kaanyr Vhok folded his well-muscled arms and frowned.
“How many this time?” he asked.
Kaanyr surveyed the aftermath of a battle between the tanarukks of his vanguard and a titanic purple worm, a carnivorous giant over a hundred feet in length. The worm was dead, hacked to death by dozens of the half-demons soldiers, but a handful of the Sceptered One’s troops lay torn and crushed by the monster they had killed.
“Seven, my lord, but we slew the beast, as you can see.”
The tanarukk captain called Ruinfist leaned on his huge greataxe, spattered with the foul juices of the creature. The orc-demon’s left hand had been mangled in some battle long before, and was encased in a locked battle-gauntlet that served as a better weapon than the damaged hand it covered.
“The warriors heard it moving in the rock,” Ruinfist continued, “but it came through the ceiling and dropped on them.”
“I didn’t bring you here to slay mindless worms,” Kaanyr said. “Nor did I bring warriors to this spot to feed whatever monster happens by. This was a battle best avoided, Ruinfist. These seven warriors won’t be with us when we meet the dark elves, will they?”
“No, my lord,” the tanarukk growled. He lowered his head. “I will tell the patrol leaders to do what they can to avoid needless battles.”
“Good,” said Kaanyr. He offered the tanarukk a hard grin and clapped the creature on the shoulder. “Save your axes for the drow, Ruinfist. We’ll be on them soon enough.”
A hungry light flared in the tanarukk’s eyes, and the demon-orc raised his tusked jaw again. He growled in assent and trotted off to go find his fellow captains.
“You did not discipline him?” Aliisza asked, slinking out of the shadows. “Mercy is not a quality I am accustomed to in you, love.”
The cambion lord turned at her approach.
“Sometimes,” he replied, “one soft word serves the purpose of two hard ones. Knowing which to choose and when is the art of leadership.” Kaanyr nudged one of his dead warriors with his toe, and smiled. “Besides, how can I take offense at a show of the very fighting spirit I’ve worked so hard to instill in my Scoured Legion? It’s the nature of a tanarukk to throw himself into battle and bring down his foe or die trying.”
Aliisza looked at the purple worm and shuddered.
“I think that’s the biggest worm I’ve ever seen,” she murmured.
The half-demon’s seat of power in the ruins of ancient Ammarindar was the better part of two hundred and fifty miles southeast of Menzoberranzan, and the Darklake was an obstacle in their path. Fortunately, tanarukks were fast, hearty, and could endure swift marches with few supplies. The dwarves of ancient Ammarindar had carved great subterranean highways through their realm, broad, smooth-floored tunnels that ran for mile after mile through the endless gloom. Kaanyr was somewhat disconcerted to think that the tremendous cavern of the Darklake lay somewhere a mile or two beneath his feet, but the old dwarven road offered far and away their best route to the environs of Menzoberranzan. If the road happened to be plagued by hungry monsters, well, any other route would have problems of its own.
He shook himself from his reflections and started to walk back toward the long file of his warriors, streaming past the scene of the battle in a ragged double-column.
“So, tell me again about this Nimor,” Kaanyr said. “I can easily understand Horgar Steelshadow’s motive in mustering this attack. The gray dwarves and the dark elves have fought many wars over the centuries. What I don’t understand is what’s in it for a drow assassin?”
“As best I can tell,” Aliisza replied, “he hates the great Houses of Menzoberranzan enough that he’ll destroy the city in order to bring about their fall.”
“Such a purity of intent is rare in a dark elf. You know he’s lied to you, of course.”
Kaanyr suspected, as always, that Aliisza was holding something of her encounter with Nimor to herself. After all, she was an alu-fiend, the daughter of a succubus, and her weapons and methods were obvious.
“Lied?” she quipped. “To me?”
“I merely point out that that one should beware of dark elves bearing gifts,” Kaanyr replied. “He might have convinced you it was in my best interest to bring my army here, but I don’t believe for a heartbeat that your mysterious assassin doesn’t have more to gain from this alliance than I do.”
“That goes without saying, doesn’t it?” she said. “If you see that, why did you agree to bring your army to the Pillars of Woe?”
“Because something is going to happen there,” Kaanyr said. “My ambitions have reached the borders of old Ammarindar, and I don’t care to arrest them there.”
The cambion watched his fierce warriors marching by, staring past them to the dark visions that enthralled him.
“We’ll be approaching from above and to the east,” Kaanyr said, “perfectly positioned to flank a force trying to hold the Pillars against the approach of Gracklstugh’s army. On the surface, that is why Horgar Steelshadow and his drow assassin want us there. It might suit their purposes to sit in the gorge a few days and let the drow decimate my soldiers before they attempt to force the pass. Being on the same side of an obstacle as our enemies carries a liability, as well as an opportunity. I wouldn’t put it past Horgar to manufacture some excuse for a delay in order to let my tanarukks handle the brunt of the fighting.”