House Aleval had not been the problem Khaless anticipated. Their schemes hadn't taken a deep root yet, which proved extremely helpful. A few sabotaged relationships and some concerted reputation-smearing later, she had handicapped at least a few operatives from the shadows. She hadn't even laid eyes on the Weapon Master. All of that barely mattered, however, because it was only two weeks before she got the message to meet at the Lady's again. This time, Ghaundar decided to wait out in the main room, leaving her to walk in alone.
It wasn't Zesanna waiting for her. It was the cleric's consort, Vorn, holding a bundle with a grim expression on his face. Vorn was usually grim, but he was the favored whipping boy of House Xaniqos. She understood. "I am here at my mistress's wishes," he said bluntly by way of greeting. "She has a task for you. Guard this with your life until it is time for Thandysha to see it."
Khaless accepted the bundle and felt her chest tighten with panic when it moved. She didn't want to look. She knew she would regret it. "What do you mean?" she said, hearing the desperate note creeping into her own voice. She cleared her throat to cut the sound. The bundle in her arms moved again. She knew exactly what this was. "I can't do this, Vorn. Tell her to find someone else."
"There is no one else trustworthy enough," Vorn said shortly. He had never been a happy man and this was not one of his finer days. Furthermore, it was well known that Zesanna's child was not his, so his pride had been wounded for the past nine months. "Rauva is already looking." The mention of the first daughter of House Xaniqos chilled Khaless's blood. This was more than dangerous. "You will do this thing if you wish to live in Erelhei-Cinlu, Khaless D'veldrin." The way he stressed the word 'live' suggested that Zesanna had not spoken of the consequences with levity.
Khaless flipped the bundle open and found herself looking down at a sleeping baby. Her stomach had curled into a tight knot, almost but not quite overpowering the strange warmth in her chest. This was going to be hers to protect...and raise. Vith, she thought. She was not a mothering type, not that any female drow really was. "Did Zesanna pick a name?" she asked quietly in defeat.
"Vhondryl," Vorn said. He looked pleased at her submission, though it was a brief flicker in his otherwise sour expression. "I also have a letter from Zesanna to explain further." He flipped the envelope out and handed it to Khaless. "Good luck."
Khaless silently cursed him and the entire bloodline that had resulted in him, but she couldn't really bitch out loud. This wasn't his doing. She looked down at the baby girl in her arms and sighed, knowing that it wouldn't be long before the crying started. She sat down on one of the couches and gently set the slumbering infant down before tearing open the envelope unceremoniously. It read:
My shadowy friend,
You know of the deep and abiding affection that my older sister regards me with, and for me to bear a female child is an unspoken threat despite her estimation of my abilities. In keeping with the fine tradition of the drow, she fully intends to make certain my child is removed from our family in the ancient and accustomed manner. I would prefer this not to happen and that is where you enter the picture. You can protect Vhondryl until she is ready to be presented to the Matron. I will of course keep in touch. This task will require a great deal of secrecy and resourcefulness. If anyone were to find out, whether within or without the House, the consequences for Vhondryl and thus myself would be dire. I am well aware that I am putting upon you in the extreme, but the favor that I owe you is matched in its magnitude. If you fail or betray me, however, I cannot vouch for your safety.
I expect her to be everything a scion of House Xaniqos should be, and I know that you are one of the few who could shape something such as that. Khaless, look at this as an opportunity. You may be the guiding hand on the arm of a woman destined to be one of the most powerful Matron Mothers in the world of the drow. I doubt she will forget the debt she owes you, just as I will not forget.
- Z.
Khaless sighed and tucked the letter away. She would have to show it to Ghaundar as well, if only to explain the sudden addition to their lives. While part of her had always wondered what it would be like to have a child, she wasn't certain she was alright with having one suddenly thrust upon her. The baby girl started to wriggle and then cry. It was a heart-wrenching sound that immediately pulled fiercely at something deep inside Khaless. Whatever her personal feelings on the matter, there was something more important to take care of. Perhaps she was a selfish creature, but not a naturally sadistic one. The drowess scooped up the infant with a soft, almost cooing sound that she would die before ever letting Ghaundar hear. The crying did not abate and Khaless sighed. Reluctantly, she held the baby a little closer and tighter before stroking white downy hair at the crown of her head. Vhondryl seemed perfectly formed with no bruising, which the rogue knew meant that the baby had been cut out of Zesanna rather than birthed normally. That explained why the high priestess hadn't come herself.
The baby was beginning to be soothed by the touch, if the slowly declining volume of the cry was any indication. Khaless remembered vaguely one of the half-elven followers of Eilistraee she'd met on the surface singing to his infant son. Perhaps it was merely the choice of a lover of song, but perhaps it would work here.
She tucked Vhondryl's tiny head under her chin, wishing for a moment that she wasn't wearing cold and unforgiving armor. The warmth of her throat would reach the swaddled infant. Finally, she cleared her throat. It had been years since she last sang, but she knew her voice would be good enough for such an uncritical ear. She remembered the song about a stone in love, and felt her heart ache. Sometimes she heard it in her thoughts and then it would forever bring her mind to him. A little tremor in her voice, she sang:
"...Years flowed by with laughing grace.
I memorized his smile, his face,
The way, in thought, he turned his head—
And then, so swiftly, he was dead.
Nevermore will still stones fly,
Rocks don't die. Rocks don't die..."*
The crying slowly came to a halt as she sang and she felt the wiggling still. She didn't dare look down to see if the baby was still awake. Minutes passed, but the crying did not continue. She could feel a tiny ear pressed against her jugular, listening to her heartbeat. Khaless hummed softly and gently rubbed the delicate back of this marvelous little creature. Her heart was beginning to warm more and more to the idea of this duty. It wasn't what she had expected and it would mean changing her whole life, but it gave her a purpose. A meaning. She had been missing that since she watched her lover die in her arms. It had all happened so fast. If she had been able to just savor the time she had with him, if she could have more than memories and a few drawings...
There was a soft knock at the door and then it opened to reveal an irritated Ghaundar. "Khal, what in the nine hells is taking you so l—" The words died in his throat when she gave him a look that could strike a balor dead. Khaless was not amused.
"If you wake her up, I will kill you," the rogue whispered softly, venom dripping from every word. She stood up and gently eased the baby away from her throat. She flipped the cloth back over to hide the tiny face and arm, then stood up with her precious bundle. "We need to go."
Ghaundar nodded, though he still looked completely baffled. She couldn't blame him. She was still processing herself. Together, they slipped out of the Lady's with minimal attention and headed home. It was only once Vhondryl was safely installed on Khaless's bed that they were safe to talk in hushed voices in the room. Khaless told her friend everything and passed over the letter, which he read with some amusement.
"Deep and abiding affection? The sarcasm is masterful," he said with a soft chuckle. He glanced at Khaless speculatively. "We're not prepared to do this."
"We have to be," the rogue said. She ran her fingers through her hair in that way he had only seen when she was trying to soothe herself during something extremely stressful. "I'll find a wet nurse if you make a crib. Deal?"
"She's sleeping in your room, Khal. Zesanna wants you to take care of it, not me."
Khaless groaned a little loudly and then immediately held her breath. The baby slumbered on and she exhaled in a soft, barely audible sigh. "I have the maternal instincts of a battering ram, Ghaundar," she whispered.
"I know you, Khal," he said more comfortingly. "You do better than you think you will." Her crimson eyes were doubtful when she looked at him and he tried to give her what he thought was a reassuring smile. "Drow women far less suited to motherhood than you have made it work. Look at Matron Thandysha. Zesanna turned out...alive."
"High bar," Khaless said irritably. Almost as if sensing her frustration, the baby woke and started to cry again. "Vith. I need to go find a wet nurse right now."
"Take her with you," Ghaundar advised.
"And have her crying all down the street?" the drowess demanded, wild-eyed. When she sensed he wasn't going to yield, she gave. She wanted to demand that he do it with her status as a female, but she didn't want him to touch the baby with spite anywhere in his demeanor. Vhondryl seemed to respond to the moods of whoever was near her. "Fine."
When she went over and scooped up the baby, the crying slowed to a hiccuping stop. Khaless rocked the infant carefully, feeling that strange warmth in her chest again. She hadn't felt it for a very, very long time. Ghaundar grinned at the sight and the softness he saw in the rogue's features. Maybe this was exactly what she needed, he decided. The little one certainly seemed happier with her around.
"She misses her mother," Khaless said quietly after a few moments, looking up at Ghaundar. It was hard to fathom anyone missing Zesanna, but a baby didn't really know any better.
"You're her mother now, Khal."
It was a terrifying thought for the rogue. She knew how to kill people, how to move silently in the shadows, how to pass without being noticed even in the middle of the busiest cycle, how to mix poisons and concoct antidotes. This, however, was well out of her comfort zone. She tried not to think about it too much as she left on her quest. In the Ghetto of Outcasts, it wasn't hard to find a desperate woman willing to nurse an infant along with her own. Khaless brought enough coin to make all of the woman's problems go away in exchange for a promise of assistance. The disgraced drowess was quick to agree to those terms. Now they had a way to feed Vhondryl.
Fate had plans for her other than a restful night. When she returned, there was indeed a crib waiting. It was plain but comfortable looking enough. Khaless knew from some distant memory that it was important to put a baby down to sleep on its back, so she carefully lay Vhondryl down that way. Sleepy amethyst eyes looked up at her. It wasn't an unheard of color, but it was rarer. Certainly different from Vorn's and Zesanna's, the mark of a father unnamed and unknown at present. Khaless smiled a little and she brushed a soft cheek with the back of two fingers. She didn't like to touch the little baby too firmly, as if worried she would somehow break Vhondryl.
A sixth sense screamed warning, but she turned around instead of ducking like she should have. The boot to the side of her face dropped her for a moment. The world spun and her neck burned in agony. It wasn't broken, but it felt horrible. It was only the blurry sight of a shadowy figure headed towards the cradle that made Khaless move. She kicked out, sweeping the intruder's legs out from under him. He crashed to the floor with a sharp curse, only to find himself being assaulted by a very unhappy, albeit wounded, drowess. She snarled and grabbed for the dagger he had dropped before he could get to it. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt first and she used it to pierce his hand viciously, driving between the bones. He screamed. "Who sent you?" Khaless growled out. She had a knee on his throat before he could react. All she had to do was drop her whole weight and his trachea would be crushed. "Lie to me and you die."
"I—" When she twisted the knife in his hand, he let out a wail. "Rauva!"
"Does she know where the baby is?" Khaless demanded. Her neck ached ferociously and she knew she was going to be miserable. She could hear Vhondryl crying and Ghaundar's frantically hurried steps coming up the stairs.
"No! I haven't reported back yet!" he yelped when she twisted again. The door burst open to reveal Ghaundar, his sword drawn. The metal gleamed dully in the light where the scars on the blade interrupted the smoked dullness of the adamantite weapon.
"Good," Khaless breathed out. She withdrew the knife only to plunge it into his chest, striking his heart with a practiced ease. The assassin thrashed and struggled for a few moments, then gradually fell still. She rose unsteadily to her feet, head swimming from the blow still. She wiped the blood off her hand onto her pants-leg and then scooped up the crying baby. She whispered, "Shh...shh..." and rocked Vhondryl gently.
"Told you that you'd be a great mother," Ghaundar said with a faint smile as he sheathed his sword and padded over to the body. He examined the dead man. Drow, certainly, but no professional assassin. He seemed more like the spy kind, which made some sense. It wasn't as though a baby would put up much of a fight and that blow should have downed Khaless in one hit. "Also, good thing you have a hard head."
Khaless thought about snapping at him, but she'd just managed to calm the baby down. The pain in her head and neck was only getting worse as the adrenaline wore off. She tucked Vhondryl back in the crib and sank into a chair with a groan. She could rock the crib gently with one foot without moving the rest of her body, which was unfortunately connected to the parts of her that were in agony. "I need a cold pack," she said quietly.
For all his flaws, Ghaundar was quick to fetch one. "Do you think there'll be more?" he said as he passed it over so Khaless could apply it to her neck, head, and shoulder.
"Undoubtedly, but not tonight. If Rauva doesn't know, she won't be able to send assassins. This one was probably a fluke, watching and following Vorn. He must have seen the male leave without the bundle of cloth and us exit with her. Can you do something with the body before it starts to smell? I would help, but..."
"No problem, Khal," the grizzled veteran said. He swung the dead body up onto his shoulder. "I'll be back by the time you wake up."
Khaless looked over at the baby. The odds of her catching more than an hour of peaceful sleep were doubtful at best. "Thanks," she said anyway, letting her eyes drift closed as he headed off with his burden. Dead weight was always the worst, but Ghaundar was a particularly strong drow after a lifetime of training for battle.
Hours later, when Ghaundar returned from the Ghetto of the Dead, he found Khaless still in her chair, but leaned back at an angle with the baby lying on her chest. Vhondryl's ear was pressed over her heart to listen to the comforting beat. The two of them were going to get along just fine, he wagered. Khaless would be in a hell of a lot of pain in when she woke up, but for now she was resting. It hadn't taken her long to attach to the baby, which he sort of expected from a follower of Eilistraee. They were usually fairly squishy on the inside and he didn't think of Khaless as an exception to that rule, despite his experience with her bitter side.
The thought of Khaless's faith made him wonder. Would his friend raise the little girl to be a proper servant of Lloth like Zesanna wanted, or would she implant those little seeds of doubt about the way things were? Ghaundar didn't think of himself as a religious man, but he paid his dues to Lloth like the other drow even though he had some secret admiration for the priests of Vhaeraun who had dared to grant power to male drow. Not enough admiration to join them in their ultimately futile crusade, but he at least appreciated what they were trying to do. In Erelhei-Cinlu, he knew that other evil gods were worshipped with the permission of the Church, but never the members of the Dark Seldarine who were bent on 'stealing' followers from Lloth, such as Eilistraee and Vhaeraun.
It was not a choice he envied her in making, but he knew that whatever Khaless did, she would think it was the right thing.
Settling into the Ghetto of Foreigners had been an almost insurmountable challenge. Thalion and Alassëa found that the non-drow residents of the city still virtually hated them, though there was a sense of community that slowly began to seep through. It was less cheery neighborliness and more a sort of conspiratorial social contract that read without words: see nothing, say nothing. The only way they had found to survive was in Alassëa's healing skills. It made her invaluable, even if they still weren't popular. Malagos and Thalion were the muscle that kept her safe, and Nek was Nek. The svirfneblin's particular brand of charm hadn't faded. He made himself useful in small ways, though. Adventuring jobs were hard to come by for surface elves, but when Malagos was the one doing the asking, they acquired some chances to go root out problems like bandits on the roads. It brought in just enough coin to scrape by on the bare minimum.
"This was not what I imagined finding Khaless would be like," Alassëa admitted in a low tone as she helped Thalion scrub down the table after a patient. The blood had dripped across the surface and onto the floor. Her magical healing could mend without a scar, but there was always a bit of mess left behind. "It's been weeks and we haven't seen any sign of her. I don't even know where to start looking."
Thalion gritted his teeth. He knew Alassëa just wanted to help, but she was stating the obvious—that they didn't have a clue of what was going on—and that grated on him a little bit. This was what neither of them had pictured. Now they didn't even have enough coin to leave the city. Erelhei-Cinlu was a trap as much as Malagos had said it was. Parts of the city were hellish. He could hear the screams of the tortured rising from certain areas. He'd seen the masses of people being moved and auctioned in the Ghetto of Chattel once, though Malagos had drug them through swiftly before they could be mistaken as slaves, their fair faces hidden by the hoods of their green cloaks. So many hopeless faces with vacant eyes, doomed to suffer at the hands of the drow and their servants. Never before had he realized the sheer scale of the evil Shevarash combatted. He didn't know how Khaless could even bear to live in a place like this...provided she was even here in this city. "We might be able to find her through Eilistraee's faithful," he said quietly. He was new to the worship of the Dark Maiden, though he favored Corellon...another, more forceful enemy of Lloth. Eilistraee's faithful showed a gentler path that his war-like nature struggled fiercely with. Vengeance through death of the responsible party was in many ways simpler and easier.
"Those will be hard to find," Malagos said from where he was feeding wood-like mushroom stalks into the hearth to keep the feeble flames burning. The caves felt perpetually cold to Alassëa, the most sensitive of all of them. "The Spider Queen may permit the occasional worship of other gods by outlanders, but She does not tolerate the veneration of Eilistraee and Vhaeraun. They are too dangerous. Besides, Lloth is a jealous goddess. Why would She tolerate anything that might sway the attentions of the drow from her? Lesser races are insects and so she pays them little mind unless they worship her foes."
Thalion exhaled explosively and slammed his hand into the table. "They're a lot easier to find than one drow rogue," he said snappishly. Alassëa, Nek, and Malagos all flinched at the sudden display of anger. He had been so calm for so long, but now he could feel the walls closing in. If they had some actual coin and a whisper to go off of, he knew he would be far less paranoid. "Alassëa, you could ask around discretely. Nek, what about you? You're being suspiciously quiet."
The svirfnebin cleared his throat. "I did some asking around with old friends. They don't know of any Dryaalis in the city, but one of them did recognize the name Khaless," he said. "It's not a common one. Apparently—and this is not common knowledge—she's an associate of Zesanna Xaniqos, one of the nobles around the city."
Thalion felt his heart leap and constrict sharply at the same time. "What does that mean?"
"Well, Zesanna is generally known for selfish indolence and a mindlessly sadistic nature. She's a formidable woman by virtue of her position, but she isn't as cunning, talented, or ambitious as the rest of her family. A strange person for your drow to buddy up with out of all of the options. No one seems to know what exactly goes on with them, just that they meet," Nek explained. He began sharpening his dagger with a thoughtful air.
"That doesn't sound like someone she'd be able to stand," Alassëa said dubiously. "For one, Khal always said she hated nobles."
Nek laughed. "Hatred and aspiration are not mutually exclusive. Zesanna is stupid enough to allow someone to use her. If your drow is borrowing the second daughter to win a Matron's attentions, particularly one as vicious and ambitious as Thandysha Xaniqos...well, then this just got a lot more complicated."
When he saw confusion on the face of the elves, Malagos spoke up. "A noble's favor means wealth, status, and power. A Matron's means triple that," he said. "If the woman you're looking for is a fugitive, she has every reason to get as close to the powerful in Erelhei-Cinlu as she can. A patron like that could keep her safe."
"But House Baenre—" Alassëa started.
Nek chuckled as he swiped the blade across the oiled sharpening stone. "Baenre doesn't rule a scrap of land anywhere near this city and couldn't muster a one-man army," he said. "Their Matron could have a bitch-fit in the street and the eight ruling houses here wouldn't bat an eye. Well, they might have her arrested for causing a disturbance. Verdaeth would probably enjoy that." When he saw the blank look, he clarified, "The Matron of House Tormtor. She runs the city, at least in name. It's really all eight of them: Verdaeth Tormtor, Mevremas Aleval, Shehirae Despana, Ythesha'na Shi'qos, Siadef Godeep, Sereska Vae, Eclavdra Eilservs, and Thandysha Xaniqos. These are names you ought to know by now."
"We're new to the city, Nek," Alassëa pointed out.
The svirfneblin snorted. "So am I. I learned it. Live elbow to elbow with the drow and it pays to know who not to piss off. If your drow is caught up in politics, my advice is to stay away. That's a fool's game for an outlander. Hell, it is for most drow."
"Noted," Thalion said brusquely. "Nek, did your friend say where we could potentially find this Khaless?"
The deep gnome appeared to contemplate this deeply. "You know, finding this information was expensive," he said after a moment's deliberation.
"Oh, come on. Tell us because we're friends," Alassëa said with a gentle pleading.
Nek all but rolled his eyes. "This is the Underdark, princess. Nobody's a friend to anybody. You want me to scratch your back, you'd better scratch mine. Reciprocity," the svirneblin said, examining his knife's edge for a moment. It only took a few more scrapes and then he was satisfied.
"What do you want?" Thalion said grimly. Whatever the task, it wouldn't be easy if Nek was deigning to ask for help. The wood elf was furious with the delay, but he knew getting angry wouldn't help.
"I have some outstanding debts to a drow merchant, Callimar Faertala. He's hired some rather unpleasant men to collect those debts. If you could make those men go away and convince Callimar to forgive the debts, I'll tell you everything I know now about this Khaless woman and whatever else I can find out about her. Deal?" Nek said.
Thalion fought the urge to groan. "Deal," he said, standing up from the stool he'd seated himself on. "Do these men have names?"
"Dunno about the peons, but their leader is a great big orc named Vargan Blackblade," Nek said. "They're looking for me at the Destitute Prince. It's mostly svirfneblin and duergar there, so you'll stand out even with hoods up. Granted, so will he and his bully boys."
"You coming, Nek?" Malagos grunted as he stood from his crouch by the fire. The half-drow didn't exactly look happy, but he was used to the way the Underdark worked and Nek was the rule rather than the exception.
"Nah. I'll mind the home front. You're quite capable on your own, judging from what I've seen," the deep gnome said. It was true. In the many battles they'd fought in the Underdark, Thalion and Alassëa had given as good as they got or better even before they had joined up with Malagos. That was the only reason the two of them were still breathing. The hook horror had been a dangerously close call. Thalion still remembered the massive hook embedded in his flesh as it scraped him along the cavern walls and floor by his thigh. Alassëa blinded it and Nek shot it until it let go, fortunately. The beast then retreated into the darkness, leaving their cleric to patch up the group.
The three donned their full armor and weapons, knowing that a knife could be waiting in any alley or around any corner. The green cloaks followed—it was not a rule they planned on breaking. Thalion and Alassëa both liked their heads firmly attached. Once they were out in the street, Malagos looked over at the pair of surface elves. "This merchant...he will likely not negotiate well with elves. We may have to bash his ears open."
"I feel like assaulting a drow citizen is a bad idea," Alassëa said, clearly uncomfortable with the notion. "We could be imprisoned."
"Alassëa, be realistic," Thalion said with a grim humor. "They'd never imprison us. Torture is much more fun."
"Very funny," the cleric said, shooting him a glare. "I'm being serious. A fight is the last thing we need."
"Then we hope he sees reason. And if he doesn't, we hope we don't get caught," the wood elf said, shrugging his shoulders. "From what I can tell, the drow don't really have watch in the traditional sense. There are guards, but they belong to different Houses in different districts. If we get into hot water with one, we can just run into a different one's territory. Like gangs."
"You're not wrong," Malagos admitted. "While there is law in the city, it is largely handled by the different ruling Houses. That, and personal revenge. The justice you have is that which you can exact yourself. Rarely will guards interfere with vengeance. Drow should be strong enough to fend for themselves. If they die, they were weak and did not deserve to live."
"That's horrible," Alassëa said despite the fact that she knew it was the reality of the drow world. She had seen enough of that in Rilauven and Karsoluithyl to know that. It still felt gnawingly wrong to her. "How can people live like this?"
"These are ancient customs, laid down at the founding of the city long, long ago. Traditional is best as far as the rulers of Erelhei-Cinlu and its people are concerned," Malagos said with a shrug. "It has not steered them wrong. Breaking with the tradition brought about the Priestess Wars and the assault on the Fane. Ugly and unpleasant as it may be, it is not inclined to change."
Together, they passed through the streets and largely ignored the evil eye they received from other people on the street, particularly the drow. They were not accustomed to friendly looks after a couple of weeks in the city. Even if they were too distant to be recognized as elves, the color of their skin was enough to draw relentless ire. Never before had Thalion felt himself in so alien and unforgiving of a world. They had spent most of their time in the Wilds prior to Erelhei-Cinlu and so he had never been forced to adapt to a drow city until now. They found the tavern with some help from Malagos, who was learning the city much faster than them. Alassëa still relied largely on Undercommon. Thalion spoke fairly fluent Drow, albeit with an easily noticeable accent. Neither of them would be going undercover as drow at any point in the near future.
The Destitute Prince was a good name for the bastion of tattered remnants of glory that made up the tavern on a corner here in the Ghetto of Foreigners. Its ostentatious front was in ruins, beautiful windows spattered with mud or damaged by cracks. The edifice was generally run down and the interior was little better. The furniture seemed in varying states of repair with not a single new stick in the place. The floor looked like it had never been swept and the corners were full of cobwebs. The people looked downtrodden, though not as hopeless as the average slave. They were just clearly aware of the oppression of the drow, who were noticeably absent in this bar. The crowd was primarily duergar, with humans mixed in. They were definitely the only elves. "Found him," Alassëa whispered as she fixated on their brutish quarry, her eyes going wide.
Big was an understatement of Vargan Blackblade, the orc looming over the counter near a gang of poorly armored thugs. He towered like a mountain with a shadow so large that it could have crushed a full-grown man if it had any weight. Alassëa looked like a dwarf in comparison. He wore a black, wicked looking blade with saw teeth. There were bits of flesh clinging to the bastard sword, rotting away and lending the blade the ability to grant infections to anyone it struck. It was as effective as any poison, if slow and agonizing. Vargan wore plates of varying metal bent into shape and then strapped to various parts of his body, every single one of them as scarred as the body beneath. His face was like a fist, blocky and ugly without much of a nose. One of his yellow tusks was broken to a jagged edge, jutting out of a ferocious underbite. "Vith," Malagos muttered. The half-drow was shrimpy compared to the full-blooded version.
"Who the hell did Nek piss off?" Thalion demanded, cursing their gnome in his head.
"We could always try to find Khaless on our own," Alassëa said nervously even as she trailed after Thalion. The wood elf was approaching the big orc without a trace of fear, though a significant amount of caution.
"Might be worth it," Malagos mused. "Maybe we should have brought them Nek. Might be a reward...like not being killed. The thugs don't look so tough, but Vargan looks like he could tear off Thalion's arm and beat him to death with it."
Alassëa winced at the mental image.
Ahead, Thalion cleared his throat. "You Vargan?" he asked, sizing up the orc. He didn't like his chances any more than Malagos did. Not here in a bar without the element of surprise. From a distance with a bow from ambush, he would have been much more comfortable.
"Who wants to know?" the mountain of an orc rumbled, grinning a little as he turned around to see the wood elf, who was a good two feet shorter than him. Thalion was not a small elf, either.
"Thalion Vanafidon," the elf said. He knew better than to say he was a friend of Nek's. For one, it would be a lie—he only tolerated Nek, as opposed to befriending him—and two, it would probably get him thrown through the particularly solid looking walls. "I'm looking for Callimar Faertala. Word is that you work for him."
"Yeah?" the orc said, piggish dark eyes now focused intently on the elf. "And why would Callimar want to talk to a faerie?"
Now Thalion knew he would have to think very, very quickly to avoid things going sour. "I have information that he'd like, about one of his rivals operating here in the Ghetto."
The wood elf was seized by his collar and lifted off the ground like a child's doll until he was eye to eye with the orc. Alassëa stifled a gasp and looked over at Malagos. "Do something!" she whispered.
"I think he's got this," Malagos said with a confidence he didn't really feel.
Thalion stared into Vargan's eyes with all the intensity he could muster, hand sitting on his sword's hilt. "We're all friends here," Thalion said pleasantly. "You could probably kill me, Vargan, but I could cut you so bad you'd never be able to chew your own food again. That really a risk you want to run?"
The orc chuckled. "Brave, for a faerie." He set the elf down a little bit roughly.
"Smart, for an orc," Thalion said. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he couldn't afford to look like a minnow in a city full of sharks.
"Callimar is upstairs," Vargan said, motioning towards the stairway. "Let's go see if he likes what you have to say."
Thalion glanced back at Malagos and Alassëa, who both looked anything but reassured. "You two can wait here if you want," he offered.
Alassëa shook her head. "I'm going with you," she said. "We're in this together."
Malagos sighed and adjusted his greatsword across his back, a clear indicator that he was coming too. He was just a little more reluctant about it than Alassëa.
They walked up the creaking, narrow stairs after Vargan, who barely fit in the hallway. It opened up on the second floor into a wide corridor with doors to rooms on either side. Vargan walked to the very end and opened it. "Master Callimar, there are faeries here to see you. And they brought a half-breed," the orc rumbled.
Inside was a male drow dressed in expensive, dark silks with a brilliant blue sash. The dark elf leaned back in his seat as if he owned the whole of the tavern, and his feet were propped up on the table. "Excellent. Let them in," Callimar said, his crimson eyes seeming to light up. "You can wait out in the hallway." Vargan growled, but didn't argue. He allowed Thalion, Alassëa, and Malagos to enter and then closed the door behind them with a very final thud. Callimar studied them appraisingly for a long moment. "I presume this is about the outstanding debts of one Nek Stonestrider and not, in fact, a courtesy call."
"You made it sound like you were expecting us," Thalion said, crossing his arms.
"I was," Callimar said pleasantly, removing his feet from the edge of the table. He sat up straight and then motioned for them to seat themselves at the table across from him. "My mistress suggested that you might stop by. She knew of your association with the miserable little creature who was asking all of those rather untoward questions. Now, me? I'm a firm believer in privacy."
"Your mistress?" Alassëa said curiously.
Callimar chuckled, sounding almost friendly. "Privacy, as I said. Regardless, I simply cannot release your little associate from his debts. If word got around that people didn't have to pay Callimar Faertala...well, Vargan would be cracking that many more heads. Reputation is everything in business, I find. Now, if you were to pay off said debts, then we would have no problem."
"And if we, say, didn't have that coin?" Malagos said, looking over at Thalion.
"Well, I'd suggest that you pay it in some other way. Like work," Callimar said. He was still smiling in that unnervingly pleasant way. The lack of overt hatred was deeply unsettling to the elves. He poured himself a small glass of some kind of sharp-smelling liqueur. "Drink?" When all three shook their heads in unison, he chuckled. "Why would I poison you? I want you to do work for me. You see, my mistress has put out a substantial reward for a lost relic from the time of the first war between the drow and the faeries, just before the founding of Erelhei-Cinlu. It is a collector's piece, a statuette of the Goddess. The kind of thing that Houses clamber for because it might be evidence that the Spider Queen favors them."
"And why ask elves to fetch it?" Thalion asked.
Callimar sipped from his small glass. "Because it is in an elven shrine. Here, beneath the earth. I believe it sank in one of the great cataclysms of the first war. The shrine has defenses. I do not believe they would be activated if it were faeries to walk in, whereas if I or Vargan walked in unaccompanied, they would. Besides, mercenaries are expensive. If you die, I really haven't lost anything, now have I? Call it pragmatism."
Thalion actually felt himself relax a little bit at the last comment. A cavalier attitude towards the death of elves was something more in line with what he'd expected. Overt friendliness made him suspicious, and rightfully so, knowing the nature of the drow. He was well aware that drow were more than just hateful—they were cunning, charming, and extremely dangerous. He also realized that he had a potential chance to glean information, even if it meant risk. "Have you ever heard the name Khaless?" he asked.
Something flickered in Callimar's expression, but Thalion had no idea what it was. He wasn't a creature of subtlety like their drow host was and the former avenger hadn't been privy to the miniscule maneuverings that were part of everyday conversation between drow despite their travels. He didn't have someone to introduce him to it or point things out. Even Malagos was ignorant of most of it, as he'd grown up largely with his orcish half. Perhaps if he had seen Khaless among her people, he would have had a better idea of how much a mere glance could communicate. "Now why would you be looking for a drow?" Callimar said, his pleasantness still there. There was just a tiny note of caution as he felt out the waters.
Alassëa and Malagos exchanged a look. They could either say the right thing or the wrong thing here, forever ending their line of inquiry or opening it up to reveal an answer. But it was Thalion who spoke, taking a surprisingly oblique path for him. "We crossed paths. Beyond that, it's our business," he said a bit bluntly.
Callimar cleared his throat. "The name is vaguely familiar," he said offhandedly. "I think a rival of mine once hired a woman of that name to obtain an object from someone who did not want to sell said object. I presume she's just another guttersnipe. Now, the relic. I'm sending Vargan with you to make certain you do not deliver that item to anyone but me. It shouldn't be very large, so it's not as though you'll need help carrying it."
Thalion wasn't an expert, but he knew what someone avoiding a topic sounded like. Callimar knew something. Unfortunately, they had no leverage over the merchant to get a word out of him on the subject. "We might need the help in battle," Thalion said. "Provided, of course, he doesn't just kill us and take it."
"Tempting though that may be, I believe I might have future use for people of your caliber," Callimar said pleasantly. "Now, let us break out the map. I know the approximate location of the shrine from the reports of a few scouts, but not the exact place. The scouts in question never returned alive, you see. Their journals were found out in the Wilds after their bags were carried off by ettercaps. Will one of you fetch Vargan? He'll want to see this as well..."
*slightly modified version of Old Rock Sings from Gemstone IV.