Chapter II. Exploring Lith My'athar

Chama, once alone in her room, smiled to see that the Seer had indeed prepared a room very fit to her needs, since a gently steaming tub full of warm and perfumed water was waiting for her, as well as a set of clean clothes. Chama sat on the wooden chair at the desk, not wanting to dirty the bedcover with her filthy clothes. She sat, looking out the window at the darkness of the Underdark and, in an accustomed gesture, she drew Aarin's amulet from one of her pouches of spell components. She rubbed her thumb across the smooth moonstone, freeing the spell, and took comfort in the familiar pearly glow that bathed her room. She wondered if Aarin had any inkling how appropriate his gift to her had been, even if he had intended it as a gift from more than a friend, and things had turned out as they had.

She held the amulet a moment, drawing strength from the simple dispelling of darkness, and then heaved a sigh and went back to reality and everything she had to do before she could collapse on the bed for a much deserved full night of sleep.

She stripped of her weapons, spell components belt and wand straps and put it away neatly in a corner. Then, she stripped of her armour, the under-padding it carried and the cotton clothes she wore underneath. This, she just threw away in a pile, because it was so dirty it would need to be washed through and through.

She had spent the last three days in the bowels of Undermountain without a trip to Waterdeep's surface, and she reeked, along with her equipment. It was not only the lack of facilities that posed problem – a talented mage had quite a few ways to render the small inconveniences of life easier to cope with – but also the lack of privacy – she had been travelling with two men. Daelan Red Tiger was the image of gentlemanly behaviour, if one forgot his half-orc physique, and he would not have looked her way while she washed. Deekin neither would have peeked. Still, she was who she was, and she would not disrobe next to two males, even if they looked the other way.

After decades of adventuring, being so dirty had become some sort of habit, and she always had a thought for her father when she was about to wash away a particularly thick layer of grime off her – and her father had thought dwarves were filthy. Despite all the changes that she had undergone in her long life, she had always been amused by the prospect of what her father would think to see her at the worst of the inglorious moments of her adventures.

The need to wash a considerable amount of grime on repeated occasions also teaches a thing or two on how to maximise the use of water. It was easy enough finding two large bowls that she could use for her needs. She used the first one to take water from the bath and pour it over her hair, while she used the second one to hold the water that fell from her hair, accompanied with the blood, dust, soot and grease that it washed out. She rinsed her hair with water a few times, then foamed it thoroughly with the washing cream the drow used, wrinkling her nose at the heavy, flowery smell. Then she rinsed all of her hair again, the water coming out a doubtful shade of grey. The recipient was full of dirty water when she was done, so she could not wash her hair a second time in this way. She just stepped into the tub and allowed the hot water to soothe her newly healed wounds. She did not doze off, however, since it would have been a most dangerous thing to do in her state of weakness. She could easily faint in this hot water if she did not pay attention, and a drowned hero would not do much to defeat the Valsharess or free herself from a foul geas, would she.

So she scrubbed away the dirt under her nails, as short and mangled as a peasant's, washed the clogged blood from her older wounds, and soaped herself generously, to make sure the scent had gone away. After that, she got out of the tub, dried herself, and tried on those drow clothes that had been lent to her.

She did not know if they belonged to anyone, although it was doubtful since they did not appear worn out. They were cut in the same style as Nathyrra's, which meant comfortable and functional, if a bit snug to Chama's tastes. They were the right size, too, but they were made of a fabric she could not guess at. The texture was approaching linen, however. She brushed her sable hair, just to remove the tangles from it, then separated it in the middle and pushed it behind her ears. She had never been fond of elaborate hairstyle, and it had not changed when she set to adventuring and lost access to many commodities.

She rummaged through her pack until she found the small pouch in which she put the tools she needed to take care of her equipment. She cleaned her bow, checked the string and the shaft, and removed all offensive material from the quiver. She cleaned and polished her sword, trying not to listen to Enserric's rude comments about being rubbed by a woman's hands. When she turned her gaze on the armour, she sighed, chagrined, and decided to let this work to someone else.

She used what was left of cleaning power to her bath's water to wash grossly her underclothes. The water turned a dirty and smelly grey. She sighed and twisted the cloth to squeeze water out of it.

Looking at the sand clock that stood by the gigantic, smooth, soft and very tempting bed, Chama saw that it had taken her nearly two hours to get her equipment nearly clean, and that it was late evening. She rolled her armour into the leather padding that went underneath and strode out of her room. She gave an apologetic smile to the two boys in charge of the chamber service, looking back ruefully at the mess they now had to clean, then went back to the main portion of the temple, where the Seer still was, no doubt.

When she arrived, Deekin was nowhere to be seen, probably in his room sifting through his notes or something. Nathyrra was there, however, in deep conversation with a nervous-looking girl who cast suspicious glances around while she spoke to the assassin. Chama let them confer, since the matter seemed important. The tiefling, Valen, was nowhere to be seen. The Seer was also listening to a series of reports, so Chama went straight to one of the guards.

"Good evening," she greeted. The guard nodded nervously. "I would need someone to guide me around Lith My'athar. Since Nathyrra and the Seer seem busy and Valen is not here, I am left to ask you."

"I cannot leave the temple, honoured female."

"I understand that. Can you point me to someone who would show me around?"

Nathyrra, with the keen elven ears, had overheard. "Valen is currently with Imloth training the recruits; he's just a little down to your right once you get out of the temple. He'll show you around."

The guard bowed as Chama, smiling slyly, was turning to Nathyrra. "Are you sure he would not rather lose me in the direction of that poisoned river of yours?"

Nathyrra smiled at that. "He wouldn't do that. He might try to make you believe it to be sure you'll stay in line, but he wouldn't do that."

"Ah. How reassuring," Chama replied.

She passed the temple's doors, and easily found Valen and Imloth, making the recruits line themselves and repeat a series of moves with their swords. Chama made a face in spite of herself; she hated that precise exercise, and she was barely better than those recruits with her sword.

Valen turned to her; although Commander Imloth gave a nod to the head to politely acknowledge her presence, the tiefling gave no indication of respect.

"Nathyrra told me you could help me find my way around Lith My'athar," she said lightly.

The tiefling was eyeing her up and down again with those harsh eyes of his. There was like a thunderous fury held just barely in check behind the savagery of his cyan eyes and his set jaw. Chama observed him carefully and levelly. She knew that expression only too well: the half-convinced mask of someone trying to break free of a violent past despite a long habit of rage.

"The Seer believes you are our prophetical saviour; our only hope of defeating the Valsharess. I, however, do not believe in prophecies." She was not surprised or fazed by his coldness. She merely lifted an eyebrow, totally unimpressed, and obviously too confident in her abilities to be disturbed by his words. So he conceded grudgingly, "Still, you are obviously capable in your own right. And we need all the help we can get if we are to win this war. So I'm willing to take a chance."

At least, he's not totally against the very idea of my presence in the Seer's camp, she thought wryly. Still, she felt it better to clarify a few things with him from the beginning. She knew how to deal with people in his state of mind, after all.

"I get the feeling that you don't like me very much," she stated calmly and without resentment.

She saw Imloth, behind Valen's back, stare at her with widened eyes, as though no one ever dared to talk back to Valen or something. Well, considering his size, height and obvious mastery of his gigantic flail, it was probably the case. But the tiefling answered softly, his rough but gentle voice a stark contrast with his icy eyes. "Untrue. I do not even know you, so I can hardly dislike you. But unlike the Seer, I'm not about to put all my faith in you until you've proven yourself against the Valsharess."

She nodded. "I can work with someone on those terms," she said. "Now that we know where we stand, I would like to get my armour to a smith before he closes for the night; the sooner it is repaired, the sooner I can do something against that Valsharess of yours."

Valen nodded curtly and gestured her ahead of him. While they crossed the small settlement that was Lith My'athar, Valen pointed and named the different buildings to her, with their importance and function.

"I should have kept my circlet," she observed absent-mindedly, "my memory feels doubly fuzzy."

"Doubly fuzzy? What do you mean?"

"It is that I usually wear a circlet of intellect – a helm that will make me more intelligent. Now that I don't wear it, I feel slow in comparison to what I usually am, and moreover I'm not yet adjusted to the lack of enhancement. So I'm less sharp than usual, even without my circlet. I've been using it for too long. It will likely take me a day or so to adjust to myself. I feel doubly fuzzy now trying to memorize the buildings and such."

Valen quirked a curious eyebrow. "If this circlet of yours is such a marvel, why do you take it off ?"

Her expression froze into an expressionless mask that chilled him, because it showed an unnerving detachment. For one part, it contrasted with the gentleness with which he had seen her act up until then, and for another part, it reminded him of a lich or some other undead; the expression was deader than any devil or demon he had ever met.

"I take it that you've never tried one," she surmised. "It will make your mind sharper, yes, but there's a price to pay. It twists your mind in order to bend it to new pathways, to create new space for memorized words, and to take new short-cuts. It's a useful twist of the mind, but it can become dangerous if sustained for too long. I've needed it to match Halaster's traps in Undermountain, and I've been sleeping with it for nearly twenty days. The colours are starting to change and some things that I know don't exist start appearing on the periphery of my vision. That's when I know I'm really due for a break. I will not be turned a mad mage like Halaster by lack of precaution. I almost did once before, but I learn from my mistakes."

"A sound precaution then," Valen agreed. He understood that coldness now; he could imagine how the prospect of almost losing her mind by ambitious use of a dangerous magical object was disturbing her. He went on with naming the buildings for her.

Eventually they reached Lith My'athar's forge. Chama observed curiously the smith and his two apprentices. Very big arms for elves, she reflected. They were also covered in soot and sweat – even if the soot did not show so much on their dark skin, it matted in a dark grey over their white hair. As she watched, the one who was obviously the master smith brought his hammer up, uttering a word of power, and the hammer glowed as it was brought down on the long blade the drow was crafting.

The crafting of a magical weapon is not a work easily interrupted, so Chama and Valen waited as the smith hit the blade three more times. One of the apprentices was using the bellows to keep the embers red hot, and the other was holding himself at the master's disposal. The forge itself was not a big structure. There were two anvils, one mundane and the other very heavily enchanted, a single forge fire, and three buckets containing different liquids to quench the steel. Chama was not well versed into weapon crafting, so she was not sure what else than water was used. Besides the soot covering everything, the place was orderly enough.

Soon the smiths interrupted their work and the master wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He nodded to Valen, but addressed the female directly.

"You're the surfacer the Seer's been waiting for, aren't you? I wondered how long until you wandered over my way. My name's Rizolvir, master craftsman and weapon smith extraordinaire. And you're Chamaedaphen Indiwasi, right?" Not even awaiting an answer, he went on, "Pleased to meet you. If there's anything you need, I'm here to help. Feel free to look over my inventory or, if you want, I can upgrade your weapon for you."

She let out a light laugh. "Well, my sword is enchanted enough as it is, and besides, I doubt he would take kindly to be held by male hands, no offence."

Rizolvir frowned, and then his expression lit up in understanding. "A sentient blade! Where in the Nine Hells did you find a sentient blade?"

"Nowhere so far and exotic as the Nine Hells," she answered laughing. "I found Enserric in Halaster's dungeon, in the care of a 'dead' skeleton king that was very eager to awake as soon as I stole it from his lap."

"Enserric? I'm told he's among the worst mouthed sentient blades to have ever existed – along with Liliarcor, that is."

"Liliarcor? I don't know that one. I can tell you, however, that Enserric is… well… not outright bad mouthed, but he definitively lacks class. If you will forgive me for cutting short our exchange, I still have a few things to do, and it's late already. I would require your services as a smith."

"I had surmised as much," the big-armed drow answered slyly. "What can I do for you, darthirii?"

"My armour has been needing mending for a tenday now. It's about time I find a competent smith to take care of it."

She unceremoniously unrolled her armour and the strangely shining metal, dirtied and tarnished, was exposed to Rizolvir's critical eye.

"I know, I should care for it a little better, but I already spent two hours today cleaning lots of other things, so I brought it to you as such."

"I see what you want me to do with the armour," Rizolvir said, surveying the damage with a reprobating eye. Truly, cleaning the blood once in a day was not luxury. This armour had been badly neglected, and it was a shame since it was highly enchanted. But wizards had always been wizards, and they had much to do in the way of studies each day that did not allow for much care of armour and weapons. "What of the leather padding?"

"It also needs cleaning and mending, I am afraid. If it's a hopeless case, could you start from scratch and make a new one?"

"That should not be a problem, I could use this one as a template. Anything else?"

"I'd also like to look your inventory, if you would be so kind."

Rizolvir proceeded to guide her to the nearby stand where his stock was displayed. She looked at everything with quick eyes, sifting through his goods expertly, discarding instantly things that were of no use to her and evaluating rapidly the quality of his work. The smith assessed for himself that she would strike hard bargains, but her obvious lore was a skill deserving of better prices anyway.

"Forgive me for not buying anything right away, I have to count my gold and set priorities. When do you think you'll be done with my armour?"

"Tomorrow around mid-day," the smith answered. "I could do faster if necessary."

"No, take your time, I have to stay here a day at least, to recuperate from Undermountain and get to know who I am working with a little better."

The smith shook her hand vividly. "A pleasure doing business with you, darthirii."

She nodded, and then turned around. Valen heard her gasp quietly.

"Who is this male?", she asked, looking at a drow across the square, in front of a stand, wearing the robes of a wizard. She eyed him quickly; he was tall enough for a drow, and wore black and yellow wizards' robes in the elaborate style of the Underdark. He also wore a small hat which she found rather comical and a threatening-looking ring on his right hand.

Valen found her use of "male" unpleasant, even if he was growing accustomed to it after a few years surrounded by drow. He had not thought surface elves did the same.

"This is Gulhrys, house Mae'viir's High Wizard," Valen told her.

"Does he hold merchandise?" Her inquiry seemed, in Valen's opinion, a little too eager and excited to account for the simple prospect of a bit more shopping.

"Not to everyone," Valen answered. "He certainly refused to sell anything to me for a long time because I was not a magic user."

A playful, wicked smile crossed Chama's face and she walked straight to the mage. The male had his usual dour expression on at first, but as she came closer, a smile matching Chama's made its way on his face.

"So, it seems I have found a willing challenger at last," the drow said.

"I'm always in for a challenge. I hope my performance will not disappoint you too much, I'm currently recuperating from a circlet of intellect."

The male's face fell. "You cheat," he stated.

"I am unaided at the moment," she countered quietly. "Do you wish to reveal your name to the challenger, or do you keep it in reserve in case of disappointment?"

"I will hold it back and see if a cheater can do anything by herself, without her magical help."

Chama nodded. "So, what is your challenge?"

The mage thought for a moment, then said something in a tongue Valen did not understand. The tiefling knew, however, that this tongue had something magical in it and he warily took a step back. He was relieved when he only saw a small flame escape from Gulhrys' forefinger. Chama shot something back, her finger flaming also, and they exchanged short sentences for a good ten minutes, Valen watching in boredom the flame which kept blinking on and off their fingers. Finally, there was a silence after the mage said one last thing and Valen saw the male's face light with the prospect of victory, and suddenly Chama exclaimed, "Seiche bachata merankali!"

The annoying flame reappeared at the tip of her finger. The male's face fell. There was a longer silence, and finally he said, "Koromo hikati bevine."

"Zarath isith sssris."

Again the silence stretched.

"I am bested," the mage observed at last. "What is this tongue you just used?"

"Ancient kobold dialect from the Spine of the World."

The mage smiled, amused, then bowed to Chama. "It has been long since I had such a challenging opponent. I thank you for this most satisfying match."

"It was my pleasure. Perhaps you could show me the basics of the mermaid's casting tongue? I am largely unfamiliar with it."

"If you will explain how you came intimate with this ancient kobold dialect over dinner," the mage answered, treading carefully now.

Valen quirked an eyebrow at the male drow, behind Chama's back. Males were rarely so bold, especially those who had reached a high status without being associated with any female. The mage had his head lowered while he awaited Chama's answer, humbly now. The surface elf was immobile, and Valen was unable to see her face and quite curious about her reaction.

"Will you first tell me your name, my challenging opponent?", Chama answered at last.

"My name is Gulhrys, High Wizard of House Mae'viir, at your service, my lady." The drow bowed low, ceremoniously.

"I am Chamaedaphne Indiwasi, only child of the House of the Sun. Very well, Gulhrys, I will explain to you how I came to know this ancient dialect over dinner, and you will show me the base of the mermaids' casting tongue."

The male lifted his head at last and Valen observed him closely. His face was carefully expressionless, as was the prudent attitude around female drow after being so bold. He bowed again.

"You honour me, female. When will you wish my presence?"

Chama laughed. "When you will call me by my name and stop bowing endlessly. If you can manage such by tomorrow night, we should be able to have a civil dinner."

The male smirked slowly, looking at Chama with a glitter in his eye that made Valen clench his fists and grit his teeth. Valen was used to be looked at like an object or a possible conquest by the drow matrons, and the lecherous but more respectful regard Chama was drawing now was making him strangely jealous. Valen shook the feeling and forcibly relaxed his hands. It was none of his business. It was a measure of the High Wizard's distraction that he did not notice the daggers Valen had been staring at him; adult drow males rarely missed that kind of mortal threat being directed at them.

"Very well, Chamaedaphne Indiwasi," Gulhrys concluded. "Where shall I find you, to escort you to my House's dining quarters?"

Chama hesitated. "I am not well versed in your culture. Can you search for me at the temple, or would it be inappropriate?"

"If the temple is currently your House, there is nothing inappropriate in this," the mage replied.

"To the temple then. Is there somewhere I can send a message for you in case I have need?"

"My House's guards will get it to me, Chamaedaphne Indiwasi, if you wish to send me a message."

She bowed to the mage.

"Now, I hope my performance earned me the privilege of looking at your inventory?"

"Of course, my lady. I have an amulet you might find interesting while learning the mermaid's tongue…"

Valen watched as the two wizards discussed things he did not understand, switching frequently between many tongues, half of which he did not know, despite many travels through the planes. At the end, Chama concluded, "I will likely come back to your stand tomorrow to buy more things, but I need to take a better look at what I carry in my pack. There are many interesting objects and books I found in Undermountain. Maybe you would be interested in a bit of further trade?"

"I would undoubtedly be, Chamaedaphne. Is there anything you would like right away?"

"Well, I will take this amulet of yours and this ring of clear thought… it is more powerful than mine."

"You use a ring over a circlet, Chamaedaphne?"

There was a warning in the drow's words, despite the carefully studied neutrality of his tone.

"I do. I know what you think, but as I am aware that I am cheating, I am aware of the danger."

"It is not my place to question a female. I wondered if you might gift it to a companion mage; I heard you arrived here with Nathyrra."

Chama gave the drow an indecipherable look, and Valen wondered what she thought of this subservient attitude.

"I might gift one of the rings to Nathyrra if she agrees to accompany me and does not need another ring more badly. But for now, how much do I owe you for the amulet and ring?"

"The ring will cost you 23 000 gold pieces, a fair price, you will agree. As for the amulet, I give it to you if you wear it tomorrow. The delicate design would suit your neck."

She blushed. "I'm afraid I can't accept that. This is somehow symbolic in my culture. If you wish to see me wear the amulet, you'll have to let me pay for it."

"As the lady wishes." Gulhrys bowed again.

They concluded their transactions and the drow bowed one last time. Valen and Chama left in the direction of the public house, where a couple of haberdashers resided and held a stand. Valen was careful with the distance behind him and waited until he was sure to be out of earshot of the mage.

He refused to acknowledge what he itched to snap about. "What is this challenge you two fought?"

Chama startled slightly. "An old trick between wizards. It's a challenge in spellcraft. The goal is to use as many languages as possible to cast a pre-cantrip."

"A pre-cantrip?"

"A simple, barely magical exercise, if you prefer. It's not a full cantrip, but only a slim calling on magic. We used the preparing exercise for Candle today, and I was lucky that it was an introduction to Evocation, which is my school of magic of choice. Gulhrys is very learned in spellcraft. I'm not sure I could best him in Illusion or some other foreign school of magic."

Valen laughed. "Well, whatever it is you won, he was considerably more kind on the prices for you. Had I known that he prefers to deal with mages, I would have sent Nathyrra when I needed something from him."

Chama shrugged. "Where are those haberdashers you said I could hire? I really need my clothes dealt with."

"They are in the public house. But before we reach it, I would discuss something with you."

"What?", she asked, turning to look at him.

"You were asked to his House's quarters, which are in the Mae'viir's House…"

"I already told him that I'm not very familiar with drow culture," Chama cut, "and asked where I can get him a message. I trust him to be smart enough to know that I'll change the arrangements after some consultation with someone who can council me with drow customs. If you don't mind, I'd prefer to discuss the need of a chaperone or any other particular custom to be respected with Nathyrra or the Seer, and not you."

"I was kindly designated by Nathyrra to shepherd you around Lith My'athar," Valen retorted, "if you recall. I can rid you of my guidance if you don't wish it."

"Don't take it so," she answered gently. "I know Nathyrra for a slightly longer time than you, though, and would feel more comfortable discussing what awaits me – because I have every intention of trying to know what to expect – with a woman. If you don't mind."

He struggled for a while before finally yielding in what he hoped was a graceful manner. "Very well, if you will discuss politics and customs with Nathyrra. I feel I must warn you, however, to tread carefully. The Underdark is unknown to you, and it comprises many dangers that you will not suspect."

"I'll be careful. I'm aware that I am in unknown territory."

They made their way in silence to the public house. Valen gallantly opened the door for her and she was somewhat surprised by the sudden chivalry of the harsh tiefling in full armour, with a behemoth of a flail hooked at his belt.

"I had no idea you could actually be gallant. That armour of yours can be misleading."

Valen smiled grimly. "Mereth and Silmoraner are over there," he pointed.

She found the two merchants sitting behind their stall, looking bored. It was obvious business had been slow lately.

"Greetings!", the female, Mereth, exclaimed, springing to her feet to welcome them. "Customers! The rarest of furniture these times… What can I do for you, Valen? Darthirii?"

Chama smiled to herself, wondering if being brisk was a prerequisite to be merchant in the Underdark.

"I am in need of a miracle, or new clothes, that depends on your skill," she said as she unpacked her still drenched underclothes.

Both merchants wriggled their noses, although careful to keep pretence of politeness for their customer.

"I washed it before I brought it to you. Imagine that," Chama grinned. "I really like those clothes for under my armour, because it is soft and cut just right for me, but I am afraid it has seen better days, and there never seemed to be an occasion to have a copy of it made. Now I am afraid that I have to make the occasion. Is it possible to save it?"

The male, after a glare from Mereth, unfolded the drenched and smelly cloth prudently. The female, looking but not touching, assessed the state of the clothes before her.

"I doubt it will ever smell good again, and it is worn out almost beyond repair. Even if I sew the tears, it will tear apart in other places in a matter of days. It would be wiser to replace it."

"I thought so," Chama sighed. "Then, could I see your choice of fabrics?"

Silmoraner folded the dirty and worn piece of clothing and put it away under the table, hastily cleaning the counter under the renewed glare of the female. She then proceeded to show the customer the different fabrics.

"No linen or anything resembling, my skin can't tolerate that under armour," Chama pleaded.

The female put aside a whole bundle of fabrics, and then pulled another, with a look of haughty pleasure on her face.

"The lady has taste, I see. My choice of silks is all for you to try."

"You only have silk? No cotton? No nothing else?"

"Cotton is hard to grow in the Underdark, kivvil," the female answered with amusement.

"Silk it is then, I guess," Chama sighed.

Valen frowned. She was not really going to buy enough silk to replace all her underclothes? But she did, after a hard enough bargain that brought the price lower than Valen expected, but it was still an outrageous sum.

"When will it be ready?", Chama asked.

"By tomorrow night; earlier if you pay a supplement."

"Tomorrow night is fine."

Chama gave half the sum to the merchant as down payment, then was out again with Valen. She paused, and Valen asked, "Where do you want me to walk you now?"

"I'm sorry if I'm losing your time, but I really needed someone to show me around."

Valen frowned. "I didn't say that."

"No, but it's written in that frown on your forehead."

Valen blushed slightly, facing Chama's amused smile. She lifted an eyebrow; huge tieflings with harsh eyes could blush?

"I think I walked around enough for my tastes for tonight," she concluded. "I will go back to my room in the temple, and you can go back to your training with Commander Imloth."

Valen nodded, but nevertheless escorted her to the temple.