Insurrection

FIVE

«You're late,» Drisinil Melarn snapped as Ssipriina Zauvirr strode into the audience chamber of House Melarn.

The matron mother of House Zauvirr forced herself to suppress the hot retort that she ached to unleash, contenting herself instead with pursed lips.

I am sincerely apologetic,» Ssipriina lied, bowing low to the other matron mother, knowing she mocked the other drow simply through the use of such formal comments and antics. «It could not be helped. I had urgent business matters to attend to, issues that keep your coffers full, Matron Mother.»

Ssipriina liked the dangerous glitter she was creating in Drisinil's hot eyes. It would be hard for the head of House Melarn to chastise her minion for working so diligently to keep her wealthy, and Ssipri-ttia knew that. That's what made these subtle jibes all the more fun. Still, I sped here with as much haste as dignity would permit,» Ssipriina added, «for I have good news. They have entered the city.»

«You're sure?» the matron mother asked. «Do you have any indication that they've changed their plans?»

«Yes, I am sure of it,» Ssipriina replied. «My male made contact with Faeryl only a few hours ago, and she informed him that they were headed toward the Fracture Gate in the lowest quarters of the city. Apparently, Mistress Baenre is still bent on stealing your goods. My spies saw them enter the city just a few minutes ago.»

Drisinil sat in thought for a few moments, leaving Ssipriina standing expectantly Finally the matron mother stirred.

«They don't suspect that we know, do they?»

«I don't believe so. I have instructed Faeryl to be as agreeable as she can to whatever Quenthel is planning, and I have my spies set to keep track of them, wherever they go. They won't know a thing until it's too late.»

«And you want to let them go through with it?»

«Well, not exactly, Matron Mother. I am suggesting that we let them get to the storehouse and get inside. We'll be there to catch them in the act. We'll have the proof, then, and we can present it to the other matron mothers.»

«Hmm, yes, I like that,» Drisinil Melarn said, shifting her considerable weight atop her throne. Her face held a look of determination. «I very much want to see Quenthel Baenre's face when she realizes she's not getting a single scrap of my wealth. I want her to realize she's just crossed the wrong House.»

Truer words were never spoken, Ssipriina thought.

«Yes, of course. I will make plans for us to be there before they arrive at the storehouse. I trust that you wish for me to utilize House Melarn guards?»

«Absolutely» Drisinil said. «She needs to see just who she is trifling with. I want a strong presence there, Ssipriina, and when this crisis is over and the council lifts the ban on exportations, I'll make sure you're rewarded for your patience and diligence.»

«Of course,» Ssipriina said, bowing. «I will see to this matter personally.»

Ched Nasad was a bustling city filled with drow, duergar, and even the occasional illithid during normal times, but Valas found it suffocating. The scout was certain three times as many creatures occupied the place than was usual. It was brimming with desperate, starving masses who pushed and shoved their way along the thoroughfares, raising a deafening rumble and a pungent odor.

The gate through which the Menzoberranyr had entered was near the bottom of the City of Shimmering Webs, a metropolis filling a huge, V-shaped trench in the Underdark. The entirety of the city was crisscrossed with massive calcified webs set aglow with magic, a hundred or more layers of pathways that ran every direction and supported the population. Thousands of rounded, amorphous structures clung to these huge webs like egg-sacs or cocooned prey, thrusting up or dangling below and housing the citizens, guests, slaves, and their businesses. Right now, it looked like a writhing colony of ants swarmed over the webs, for as far as Valas could see overhead, the streets literally vibrated with the masses of humanoids taking refuge there.

The scout would normally have been in the lead of the entourage, but it was nearly impossible to move, so crowded were the streets. Instead, Quenthel had ordered Jeggred to run point, and the towering fiend was pushing his way slowly through the throngs. Valas stayed close behind the draegloth, and the rest of the group pressed in close behind the scout, fearful of getting cut off in the madness and winding up lost, Valas noted that time and again sullen-looking faces glowered at Jeggred while he growled and rumbled at everyone to stand aside. They all did, intimidated by the formidable creature.

There were few drow low in the city, but just about every other race was present. Many of the slave races, as well as representatives of the other major Underdark nations, clamored with one another, shouting, pushing, bartering, or just milling about. The Menzober-ranyr stood out, and it was plain that they were being sized up by the populace. Sooner or later, there was going to be a problem.

More than once, Valas felt the brush of a hand or finger as someone in the milling crowd deftly attempted to pilfer a trinket from one of his pockets. He had already snatched two hands away from the charms pinned to the front of his shirt, leaving each with a nasty gash across the palm from one of his kukris.

Valas turned and glanced over his shoulder. Faeryl and Quenthel were both right behind him, the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith threatening bystanders with her horrid whip. Behind the two priestesses, Pharaun held his piwafwi closed and kept his head bowed, protecting himself from the press of the crowd. Ryld brought up the rear, using his bulk to shield the wizard in front of him.

This is ridiculous, the scout thought, shaking his head. We've got to get out of this part of town.

He started to lean over and tell Quenthel when a disturbance in front of Jeggred interrupted him. Valas turned back in time to see the draegloth pounce on an ogre armed with a greatsword that was blocking the path. A second ogre stood beside him, hefting a spiked club and glaring.

Jeggred leaped forward like a coiled spring, raking one of his razor-sharp claws across the front of the first ogre. The attack was so sudden, the creature didn't even have time to react. It stared down at its stomach as blood sprayed. Several screams erupted from the crowd as some struggled to get out of the way and others pushed and shoved to get a better view—or a chance to scavenge the bodies. The first ogre opened its mouth to scream, sinking down to one knee and holding its hands across its midsection, as Jeggred slashed again, ripping the humanoid's throat out. The ogre gurgled and flailed, wide-eyed with fear.

The second ogre snarled and swung its club at Jeggred, slamming the spiked weapon into the draegloth's shoulder. The fiend spun with the blow, his mane of white hair flowing behind him. The twist avoided the worst of the damage and brought Jeggred back to face his enemy from a crouched position.

At that moment, Valas was knocked sideways by a lunging goblin, teeth bared and daggers drawn. Before the scout could kick the wretch away from him, Quenthel lashed out with her whip. Several pairs of fangs sank into the goblins flesh, and it fell to the ground, writhing and frothing at the mouth. Valas lurched back to his feet before more of the throng could surge over him. He put his back to Quenthel and openly brandished his kukris, holding back several shouting, cursing gray dwarves.

The entourage had formed a defensive circle, Valas realized. Ryld had Splitter out, and the wizard's magical rapier danced in the air before him, while Pharaun himself held a small wand of some sort, eyeing the increasingly angry crowd. Even Faeryl held her hammer in her hands, swinging it back and forth experimentally. Only Jeggred wasn't a part of the defensive formation, having moved a few feet off, finishing his bloody work with the two ogres. Out of the corner of his eye, Valas could see the fiend biting his foe, ripping chunks of the ogre's face off.

«We've got to get higher!» Valas yelled at Quenthel over his shoulder. When the high priestess didn't seem to hear him, he repeated himself. «Mistress Quenthel, we need to get to a higher section of the city. This is not working!»

Next to him, Pharaun jerked as a crossbow bolt snapped against his piwafwi, Someone was taking potshots from the crowd.

«What do you suggest?» Quenthel called back, extending her whip and flailing at an unfortunate kobold that had squeezed to the front of the gathering and was shoved forward from behind.

«Follow me!» Faeryl cried, and she began to lift from the ground, rising up into the air. «We must get to the mercantile district, and this is the fastest way.»

No,» Valas groaned, eyes widening. «I can't—! I have no way to stay with you!»

But it was too late. The other drow had began to follow the ambassador's example and were lifting from the ground. Valas backed in to the center of what had once been their circle, warily eyeing the crowd around him.

«Ryld!» he shouted. «Wait!»

Valas saw the warrior look down at him, but before the other «row could take action, Valas was grabbed from behind. He tried to spin around and slash out with his kukri, but the grip on him was powerful, and he couldn't get a clean swing in. A split-second later, he was glad, for Jeggred was the one who had a hold of him. Coated in blood that matted the fiend's fur, the draegloth held tightly to the scout as he left the ground. A couple of bold gray dwarves stormed forward, intent on getting in a parting swipe with their war axes at Valas's feet, but Jeggred still had a large, clawed hand free and slashed out at them, forcing the pair of duergar to leap back to safety.

Several more crossbow bolts whizzed by, and one sank into the draegloth's flank next to Valas, but Jeggred only grunted and spun away, levitating upward to where the other drow had gone. Valas looked back down where they had been standing only moments before. Even as the webbed street receded, the scout saw the mob swarm over the dead ogres, ripping items of value from the bodies.

Savages, he thought.

Above, Faeryl had stopped on a smaller side street several levels higher than where the drow had been previously, in a quiet space between rows of vendors. In the main thoroughfare, the crowds were less dense than below, but only slightly. Valas knew they were still relatively low in the city, for the glimmering glow of spectral light that emanated from the mesh of stone webs still dazzled his sight when he looked up, twinkling far into the distance overhead. He knew that the higher they got, the better the neighborhoods would be. Near the top of the cavern, where the trench-shaped chamber was at its widest, the nobles had constructed their sprawling Houses sufficiently beyond the stench and noise of the common folk far below. The Menzoberranyr had quite a ways to go before they would be in that vicinity.

«Is it always that. . revolting down there?» Quenthel asked as the group settled to the stone avenue, huddling together and keeping their voices low. «Why do the matron mothers tolerate that rabble?»

Jeggred released Valas, who straightened and turned to look at the draegloth, wondering how much of the blood on the fiend was his enemies' and how much was his own. Much of Jeggred's fur was matted with the hot, sticky fluid, but other than the crossbow bolt in his hip, the beast didn't seem to bear any wounds. The scout examined his own clothing and noted sullenly that he was sticky with ogre blood, too.

«The lesser races are not permitted to wander so freely in the higher sections of the city without special permission,» Faeryl explained. «It'll get better once we get a little higher.»

«I doubt it,» the high priestess said, sniffing. «I doubt the matron mothers would suffer such an embarrassment lightly. Likely they're dealing with more urgent problems, and I think we all know what those urgent problems are.»

Over Quenthel's shoulder, Valas could see a trio of female drow who had stopped and were staring at Jeggred as the fiend yanked the crossbow bolt free with a grunt of pain. One of the dark elves whispered something to her companions, and the three of them scurried away.

Pharaun was making a point of dusting his piwafwi clean and straightening the garment so that he was looking stylish and well groomed again.

«You are most likely correct,» the Master of Sorcere said, nodding inacquiescence. «still, it would not hurt for us to find a place to stay for the night, gathering our wits and perhaps some more information, too. i'm sure that between the six of us, we can find out a little more about why the city is in this condition.»

«Finding a place to stay may prove difficult,» Ryld commented. «I wonder if there's a vacant room to be had in all of Ched Nasad.»

Valas frowned, imagining the looks they would receive as they inquired after accommodations.

If we can,» the scout said, «your bodyguard will attract substantial attention. Even now, we are drawing looks. We should not stay out in the open for much longer.»

Quenthel dug in her pack of supplies and produced a wand. Moving closer to Jeggred, she aimed the magical device at the drae-gloths bleeding puncture wound and uttered a few words. The bleed-ing stopped, and the hole began to close.

Be more careful,» the high priestess admonished her nephew as she stored the wand once more. «Healing magic is limited.»

Even as overcrowded as the city is,» Faeryl said, «the higher levels will not be that bad. I know of a place where we may be able to get rooms.»

«Perhaps we need to rethink this,» Quenthel countered. «It seems obvious to me that there are troubles here. I think it would be wiser to pay House Zauvirr and House Melarn a visit. We would be assured of accommodations there.»

«No,» Pharaun said, and Quenthel's eyes widened in surprise. The mage continued quickly, before the high priestess could lash out at him. «You may be right, but even so, you don't want to lose the opportunity to move about freely, do you? If we have any hope of staking a claim to the stock of goods and coin for your House, we must be able to avoid the matron mothers' notice.»

«Well,» Quenthel said, seeming to waver, «I'm uncomfortable with the idea of living like commoners in an inn, but your argument still makes sense.»

Valas watched as the high priestess bit her lip, deep in thought.

Pharaun continued, trying to press home his advantage, «You know they will tell us nothing if there is a problem. They will keep that information to themselves at all costs. This way, we can explore a little bit, try to discover possible clues to Lolth's disappearance. It will allow us the chance to determine what has brought Ched Nasad to this condition.» He leaned in close to avoid being overheard, as another pair of drow—males who had been strolling past this time— stopped and stared for a moment. «If nothing else, we can learn from this city's mistakes.»

Ryld turned and gave the pair of males a level look, and they quickly averted their eyes and continued on their way.

«Whatever we do, we'd better do it now,» the weapons master said over his shoulder. «Valas is right. . we're attracting too much attention.»

«Then shall I show us the way to the inn I know of?» Faeryl asked. «It's called the House Unnamed, and it's just—»

«You will do no such thing,» Quenthel interrupted. «You seem far too eager to help us, and at the expense of your own House.»

Faeryl gaped at the Baenre high priestess.

«Mistress Quenthel, I am merely—»

«Enough,» Quenthel cut the ambassador off. «Until I decide to let the matron mothers know I'm here, you will not be warning them ahead of time. Jeggred, it will be your responsibility to make sure she doesn't try to sneak off.»

The draegloth grinned, first at Quenthel, then at the ambassador.

«With pleasure, Mistress,» he said.

Faeryl grimaced at the fiend's attentions, and Valas wondered just what had happened between the two of them prior to the group's departure. She'd behaved in that manner during the entire trip. He made a mental note to ask Ryld when they had a moment alone.

«Now,» Quenthel said, turning to the other three of them, «which of you knows this city best?»

«I have visited Ched Nasad a number of times, Mistress Quenthel,» Valas answered, and the other two males nodded in agreement, giving the scout center stage.

«Good. Find us an inn, someplace other than this 'House Unnamed. Make it a good one, mind you. I won't put up with the squalor you might be used to.»

Valas raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He found it interesting that the high priestess had changed her mind, agreeing to Pha-rauns plan without actually admitting to it. He wondered if they would have words about it later, but for the moment, he was happy enough to do as she had instructed.

«The quickest way to get where we want to go is going to be by floating there,» the scout said. «As long as Jeggred is willing to bear me, that is.»

Quenthel looked first at the draegloth, then at Faeryl, and said, You're not going to give me reason to have Jeggred or Pharaun kill you by trying to run away, ate you?»

Faeryl glowered bur shook her head.

Good, then lead on, Valas. I am weary and would like to enjoy the Reverie on a proper couch for a change.»

Jeggred lifted the scout up in one arm, and soon they were all rising easily toward the higher parts of the city. Faeryl had been right. As the group reached higher and higher elevations, the crowds abated somewhat. It was still busier than Valas had ever remembered, but at the higher levels, it was at least tolerable. He led them toward an upscale business section of the city, a zone where many of the lesser Houses, those with only enough power to make fortunes in trade as opposed to actually being powerful enough to run the city, maintained commercial offices.

It was this section, Valas knew, that many of the wealthy merchants from other regions of the Underdark frequented while visiting the city. The inns were extravagant enough that they would support the creature comforts expected by the trading community's elite, and they wouldn't do more than bat an eye even at someone as unusual as Jeg-gred. Valas hoped that there the Menzoberranyr would find a room that would satisfy Quenthel's need for pampering and not draw undue attention to themselves. If they could find a room at all.

Pharaun insisted that he be the one to negotiate with the innkeepers. The first two establishments nearly laughed in the wizard's face, and the third one made biting comments concerning the «Wrath of Lolth» before suggesting that a payment of submission for ritual cleansing would buy them the opportunity to share one room together. The fourth place had nothing either, bur the proprietor there, a half-ore blind in one eye, suggested a place that was near the edge of the city, two sections higher. He claimed that his cousin ran the place and catered to mercenaries who hired on with caravans—or at least, they used to, when caravans still ran. Valas wondered which side of the family the relation was on.

It took a bit of searching before the group finally found the Flame and Serpent, a sprawling hive of stacked cocoon-shapes nestled together where one lonely strand of calcified webbing was anchored to the wall of the cavern. It held promise, if only by virtue of its out-of-the-way location and its appearance.

Quenthel balked upon first seeing the inn, but Pharaun suggested that they at least inquire inside before dismissing any possibility, and the high priestess once again let the male convince her.

She really must be weary, Valas mused. She's letting him run the show today. «Well, one good night's Reverie, and that'll all change.

For a pleasant surprise, the inside of the Flame and Serpent was substantially more inviting than the outside had been. While Pharaun approached the innkeeper, a fat ore with silver caps on his tusks and two ogre bouncers to back him up, Valas looked around. There were certainly plenty of folk sitting in the tap room, and though Jeggred drew more than one lingering stare as he crouched beneath a ceiling that wasn't quite the right height for him, most of the patrons ignored them. Valas recognized why. They really were mercenaries, independents in the business for gold and little else, and as long as no one interfered with them or their livelihoods, they would keep to themselves. They were Valas's kind of folk.

Quenthel's expression was one of distaste, but Pharaun returned with a gleam in his eye and the good news that they had actually managed to get the Flame and Serpent's last two rooms. When the wizard mentioned the price, Quenthel rolled her eyes, but Valas realized they had probably still gotten a bargain.

«Only two?» Quenthel said doubtfully. «Then the males will have to share one, while Faeryl and I take the other. Jeggred, you, of course, will remain with me.»

Faeryl's face looked stricken at the prospect of sharing her quarters with the draegloth, but she said nothing.

The rooms were not in the same area of the inn. The larger of the two, the one Quenthel claimed for her own, was a round chamber with a separate bathing room. It was near the front of the structure, with several small windows that looked out over the city. From their vantage, the females could see the magnificent glowing web streets stretching off into the distance both above and below. The smaller chamber was at the rear of the Flame and Serpent, an elongated room with two beds and a divan for a third person. The lone window opened to the wall of the cavern, where rivulets of water ran down, leaking through from the World Above and trickling down to the bottom of the V-shaped city, where it fed beds of fungi.

It's not much of a view, Valas decided, but it might prove useful for leaving the inn unobserved.

I want to rest for a while, so you three,» Quenthel said, looking at the males, «stay out of trouble. We will convene at the end of the day and discuss what to do next over our meal. Until then, leave me alone!»

With that she stalked off to her chambers, dragging Faeryl and Jeggred along with her.

Valas agreed to rest on the couch, and as the three of them unpacked a bit, Pharaun stood and stretched, cracking his back.

«I don't know about you two,» the wizard said after a bit, «but I'm too excited to flop around here. I fancy a drink somewhere and maybe a chance to hear more of the buzz around town. Are you two interested in accompanying me?»

Valas looked at Ryld, who gave the scout a nod.

«Sure,» they both said in unison, and the three of them set out together.

Three drow males moving through the streets of Ched Nasad proved to be much more anonymous than five drow and a draegloth, though Pharaun supposed that a large part of it was due to the fact that he, Ryld, and Valas were sauntering along back web streets in a higher section of the city. As they strolled, listening to the din of business all around them, the mage couldn't help but be thrilled at the exploration of the city. Unlike Menzoberranzan, Ched Nasad was a cosmopolitan collection of sights, sounds, and smells that permeated the entire city. He could certainly detect subtle differences as the trio moved through various sections of town, but regardless of where they found themselves, the wizard absorbed it all, noting that the air vibrated with a kind of clamor, the feel of wheeling and dealing, that was only present in the baser areas of Menzoberranzan.

It was certainly more lively than Tier Breche, where Pharaun spent far too much time cloistered in the towers of the Academy, hidden away in Sorcere. Back home, he had made a habit of only getting out into the main city when he needed supplies or the occasional drink and bit of fun. It had been that way for many years, at least while his sister Greyanna longed to kill him. With her no longer posing a problem, he made a note to himself to partake of the more colorful neighborhoods of home more often.

As they strolled, Valas and Ryld seemed to be looking everywhere at once, but Pharaun knew that their attentiveness to the cacophony around them was due to a different reason than his own. Certainly, he was wary of a pickpocket or thug, but for the weapons master and the scout, it was what they had trained themselves to do for years upon years. They had honed their skills of wariness and observation to keen levels, and their entire beings reverberated with it. Pharaun doubted seriously that anyone in the city would get the drop on him while his two companions were in tow. It was a comforting thought, if only because it allowed him to truly relax and enjoy the splendor of the City of Shimmering Webs.

The mage certainly understood why Ched Nasad had been dubbed such. The tangle of streets crisscrossed in purples, ambers, greens, and yellows for hundreds of feet in every direction, and it was a marvelous sight. Everywhere the three of them walked vendors hawked mushrooms, or jewelry, or potions. Pharaun noticed that the goods seemed of an inferior sort, though, and few people were buying—everyone had a hint of something in his eyes. Fear, he decided. Everyone looked afraid.

One filthy looking drow male had small cages, each one holding a small four-armed humanoid with multifaceted eyes, mandibles, and a spidery abdomen. They were no more than a foot tall. Peering closer, Pharaun could see that the creatures had web-spinning capabilities. They shrank back as he studied them.

«You wish to buy one, Master?» the male asked hopefully, jumping up from where he had been sitting cross-legged.

«Infant chitines,» Valas said. «The adults are hunted for sport, and whenever a nest is found the babies are brought back here and sold as pets.»

Interesting,» Pharaun replied and briefly contemplated purchasing one, though from the look of things, the drow male was having little luck drawing any interest in his wares. «I'd consider getting one—as a present for Quenthel, you know—but these seem over priced.»

The male's hopeful stare faded to disappointment, and he sat down on the edge of the street again.

Ryld snorted, and Valas shook his head.

«They're not too expensive,» the scout said as they walked on. «The market's probably just flooded with them right now.»

«Why is that?» Pharaun asked.

«Because chitines and choldriths worship the goddess, too,» Valas answered quietly.

«Choldriths?»

«Chitine priestesses. Same racial stock, larger and dark-skinned. No hair, human eyes. I suspect that they may be suffering the same calamity that has befallen our own clerics.»

Pharaun's curiosity was piqued.

«Really,» he said, musing. «It might prove useful if we could track down some of these choldriths and find out if they are suffering the same fate. It's obvious that Ched Nasad endures the goddess's silence, too, and once we get proof, Quenthel may be at a loss for what to do next. This would give us the means to explore further, find out if Lolth's reticence is universal or just limited to our own race.»

«It's a nice idea in theory, mage,» Ryld said, shooing a goblin vendor away who was trying to convince him to buy a bowl of slugs, «but you'd be hard-pressed to track any down, and struggle even more to elicit information from them. The drow hunt them for sport, so the chitines and choldriths have learned to flee or fight to the death.»

«Hmm,» Pharaun responded, spying a little shop selling something he wanted. «Perhaps, but my particular talents could come in handy in such an endeavor.»

The mages companions followed him to a cramped kiosk selling spirits, which was hanging at the corner of two fairly large web streets. To reach it, customers had to slide down a steep ramp of webbing to the front of the vending stand, then ascend a ladder of webbing to return to the street. Pharaun studied the small crowd of people gathered around, each in turn descending the slide and purchasing a flask or mushroom cap of beverage.

«You'd think they could have put steps in on both sides,» the Master of Sorcere sniffed disdainfully.

«Oh, by the Dark Mother,» Ryld said, shaking his head. «I'll get us something.»

With that, the warrior moved through the crowd, very few of whom were actually buying, instead begging coin or a sip from the paying customers. Ryld ignored them and descended upon the vendor, while Pharaun and Valas stood out of the way of traffic and took the opportunity to absorb the sights again.

When Ryld returned, he had a bit of a strange look on his face.

«What is it?» Valas asked.

«That gray dwarf charged me ten times what this swill is worth and seemed to take a certain delight in it.»

«Well, a bit of gouging is to be expected, when caravan traffic has dried up,» Pharaun said.

«Yes, but when a goblin asked for the same thing right after me, I heard the proprietor sell it to him for half what he charged me.»

«Maybe the little thrall is a regular,» Valas offered.

«Possibly,» Pharaun said, opening the flask that Ryld had procured and inhaling a waft. He jerked his head back and scrunched up his face a bit. «I suspect it has more to do with relishing the opportunity to earn a little payback against the drow.» He took a sip of the brandy and passed the flask to Valas. «After all, who regulates the commerce in the city? Who gets first choice of all the best vending locations? Who runs the caravan system? Who acquires the best trade goods?»

«In other words, who sticks it to the other races with regularity?» Ryld finished.

«Exactly. The gray dwarves, the trogs, the kuo-toans, and everyone else in this city know that the ruling class has fallen on hard times, and despite the fact that they've been allowed to trade in a city of dark elves, they won't waste a chance to earn a spot of revenge. And Ryld,» Pharaun added, gesturing to the flask that Valas Was handing to the warrior, «you would have been had at one-tenth the price.»

Ryld shrugged, took a sip, and said, «You're drinking it, aren't you?»

The three companions continued on, sharing the flask and discussing the prospects of acquiring some sort of tangible confirma-fcon that Lolth was absent from Ched Nasad. Pharaun continued to be deeply intrigued by the idea of investigating other races known to worship the goddess, and even as he contributed to the conversation, he mulled the concept over. It would require some research. Given rime and Quenthel's willingness, he had a good idea where he might go to perform the study.

The mage's musings were interrupted when the trio ascended a webbed staircase, turned a corner, and found themselves on a colonnade overlooking an open plaza. From the congestion in the mall, Pharaun thought it obvious that refugees had taken to using the place as a sort of campground. Still, there was enough room to move along the raised walkway around the perimeter without brushing shoulder to shoulder with the riffraff, and the three dark elves glided along, ignoring the pleas and demands for coin from the unwashed around them.

A shout from below drew the drow's attention, and when Pharaun peered toward the center of the plaza, he spotted the source of the disturbance. A priestess was standing in a fairly open area, three or four hobgoblins gathered around her. She seemed to be mumbling something, but from a distance Pharaun couldn't make out what it was. The female drow raised her arm back and tried to lash out at one of the hobgoblins with a scourge, but the creature easily stepped aside, and the priestess stumbled forward from the exertion. She was quite drunk, Pharaun realized.

«Filthy animals,» the priestess barked, staggering back upright. «Stay away from me!»

Pharaun noticed her unkempt state. Her piwafwi was soiled and sloughed half off her shoulders, her lustrous white hair was disheveled, and she held a bottle of something the wizard presumed to be liquor in her other hand.

The hobgoblins merely laughed at the drow before them, casually circling, which caused the priestess to turn, trying to keep an eye on them all. The effort made her stumble again, and she nearly went down in a heap.

«I don't think I've ever seen such a thing,» Valas breathed. «The gall those subcreatures have is truly bewildering.»

«Lets put a stop to this,» Ryld said, taking a step forward.

Suddenly, Pharaun was aware of magic around him, an effect that seemed to be centered on him and his two companions. He reached out and put a hand on the warrior's arm.

«Wait,» he said. «Lets see what happens.»

When Ryld looked at the wizard quizzically, he continued, «Drawing attention to ourselves is not the best way to investigate. Besides,» the mage added, «We might see once and for all if our theory is correct. This might be the proof we need.»

The wizard flashed in sign language, Ithink someone is watching us, observing us magically.

Both Ryld and Valas raised eyebrows in concern, but before they could turn and look around, Pharaun cautioned, Don't draw attention to the fact that we know. Just pretend we're watching the spectacle.

Pharaun briefly considered dispelling the magic, but he discounted the idea because he knew It would only give their spy notification that they were aware of his or her presence. Instead, he pretended to turn his attention back to the brewing fight below while in actuality scanning the plaza for signs of someone looking at him rather than at the hobgoblins. There were a great many magical auras radiating from many different individuals, but no one, as far as the wizard could observe, seemed to be staring in his direction.

The hobgoblins seemed content for the moment to keep their distance, though they were increasingly pressed from behind by a gathering crowd. For her part, the priestess seemed to have lost interest in her detractors and was standing relatively still, her eyes closed, swaying slightly. She was mumbling something, but Pharaun again could not make it out.

Well, spy or no spy, he thought, I want to know what she's saying.

He reached into one of his many pockets and produced a tiny brass horn, with which he cast a spell. When the magic was complete, the wizard could hear the priestess's mutterings as though he were standing right in front of her.

— beseech thee, our Mistress Lolth, return to me. Give me your blessings. Do not abandon me when I am your loyal an—aieee!»

One of the hobgoblins had chosen that moment to prod the drow with a sharpened stick, and she shrieked as she jumped, losing her grip on the bottle of spirits. It fell to the calcified pavement and shattered, spilling only the trickle that remained.

«Damn you, thrall!» she screamed at the hobgoblin that had molested her, attempting to stalk forward, her hand outstretched as though she were going to throttle him.

A second hobgoblin casually reached out with his own short spear and tripped the priestess, who went sprawling.

She rose to her hands and knees and began shouting, «My goddess, come to me, aid me! Do not abandon me, your loyal servant, who will obey—»

«Your goddess is dead,» the first hobgoblin snarled, kicking the drow.

She grunted from the impact and toppled to the side, clutching for her scourge.

«No!» she shrieked. «Lolth would not abandon us! She is mighty, and her faithful are mighty!»

The four hobgoblins advanced together, and the drow priestess tried to kick at them, but the creature in the lead easily sidestepped the attack and jabbed down at her with his spear. Pharaun saw the point draw blood from the dark elf priestess's thigh.

Ryld snarled and flashed, This is not right. We should do something.

Valas nodded in agreement and produced his two kukris, one curved dagger in each hand.

The mage laid a hand on each drow's shoulder to slow them.

You only put our mission in danger, he signed. As you can see, no other drow move to help her.

He gestured down into the crowd, where several other dark elves were in attendance, observing dispassionately.

She has lost her faith and deserves no less, Pharaun admonished his companions.

It is not the priestess I am worried about, Ryld replied, a sullen look on his face, but to allow those vermin to believe they can so blatantly confront a superior being spells trouble for us all. They should be put in their place.

Perhaps, Pharaun responded, but we need anonymity if we are to finish our task. Confronting those beasts does nothing to further our own goals.

The wizard is right, Valas motioned, sagging back from the edge of the colonnade. If the matron mothers hear that three outsiders inter-fered in what may very well be one of their own plots, we will no longer be able to walk this city unhindered and unobserved.

If they're not already watching us, Ryld flashed. Are we still being off served? When Pharaun nodded yes, the warrior continued, We've got the proof we sought, anyway. Let's return to the inn. I no longer have the stomach for this city.

Pharaun nodded, though he did not share his friend's sentiment. Together, they turned and strolled back the way they had come, ignoring the screams of the priestess as the hobgoblins opened her a hundred times with quick, controlled thrusts of their short spears. After a few steps, the magical scrying vanished, and Pharaun cast his gaze around once more, hoping to find the source. He did not, and the three of them departed the plaza.

Behind them, the crowd that had gathered around the confrontation stirred and grew rowdy. Several other drow in the throng found themselves pushed and prodded as they tried to extricate themselves from the roiling multitudes. The other races were growing bold after witnessing the murder of a dark elf. Shouts rose up, curses to drow and their missing goddess. Finally, the handful of dark elves scrambled free, cither rising up above the aggressors around them, or pushing through to more open streets. The mood was turning ugly in Ched Nasad.