From the author: Sorry about the delay, but I only write in my spare time, which has become scarce ever since I got into college. For anyone still reading, my hat's off to you. And yes, there is somewhat a lack of fight scenes, but sometimes it's unavoidable. Enjoy the show.

"Flaming Death! Come and get me, ye bastards!" Zak Crimsonleaf raged in the face of death. An onrushing tide of duergar was coming straight at him, and there was nowhere left to run. The half-elf was already exhausted from two other fights, both of which had left their marks. In a few seconds he would be swept away, his fate sealed. But he was determined to go down fighting. However, he never got the chance. A harsh, blaring horn resounded throughout the cavern, sounding a charge, and with deep-throated battle cries, another dwarven force rounded the bend to his right, flooding the stony surroundings with light from the torches they carried. Zak threw a hand across his face, temporarily blinded, and he suspected the gray dwarves felt that disadvantage much more keenly, being as they were creatures of darkness. The clashing of steel on steel echoed in his ears, half deafening him as well. But as his sight returned, he found both sides locked in furious battle. The newcomer dwarves had taken full advantage of their element of surprise, and many duergar lay dead beneath expert strokes of hammer and axe. Too tired to care, the sellsword collapsed against the rough wall and waited. He didn't have to wait long, for the duergar began staging a fighting retreat back the way they came, and the other dwarves were content to let them go, with both sides railing at each other in the jaw-cracking dwarven speech.

It was about then they noticed him, and he found himself perilously close to the business end of several gleaming weapons. He glanced behind him to see if Jemic had gotten away, and breathed a prayer of thanks to Tymora that she was nowhere to be found. Raising his hands slowly, he spoke, praying one of them understood Common.

"I mean ye no harm. My name is Zak Crimsonleaf and-" He was interrupted by the dwarf with the most ornate armor, who glared suspiciously at him while he talked, in heavily accented Common, fortunately.

"I'm not for caring who ye be, surfacer. I've not the faintest idea how ye came to be in the Underdark, but ye're to be taken straight back to the captain fer questioning." The half-elf nodded, lowering his hands.

"Believe me, I'm just glad to meet someone who isn't trying to kill me on sight." The dwarf's attitude didn't change one bit.

"Don't start celebrating just yet, surfacer. If we're not for liking yer answers, ye may yet find yerself staring death in the face. The Army of Gold hain't known fer it's mercy to spies."

"I'm no spy!" Zak snapped indignantly. Then he remembered a half-forgotten bit of lore about the dwarves who lived far to the south of the Sea of Fallen Stars.

"Wait a minute, the Army of Gold? Then you're from the Great Rift? That's a long way from here." The lead dwarf gave him a sour look.

"We'd just as soon not be here, if'n ye take my meaning. Now give over yer arms and come wi'us." Zak cautiously shrugged off his bandolier, sheathing his sword, and handed it over, along with his crossbow. The dwarf inspected the weapons with an expert eye and grunted.

"Passable work ye have here. Is that all?" Grumbling, Zak relinquished the one dagger he had kept after the fight with Dram, the biggest one that could double as a sword breaker in a pinch. He kept it in the small of his back. Handing the little blade over to his associates without looking, the dwarf stared Zak in the eye.

"Come along, then, surfacer, an' don't fall behind. Like as not ye'll get lost in these tunnels an' the gray scum will find ye afore we even notice yer gone." He snapped an order in dwarven and the group formed up into a rough line and set off at a fast march. Zak kept up as best he could, but dread clawed at him. What had happened to Jemic?

The ranger, as it happened, after obeying Zak's command to run, began stumbling in the dim light of the torch she held, which was beginning to burn low. She had no idea where she was going, only that death lay behind and most likely ahead. And that her only possible friend and ally in the Underdark was probably dead. Her breathing grew ragged and she began to stumble, but fear drove her onward. When she tripped, she thought it was simple fatigue, but something came down hard on the back of her head, and the lights went out.

When she awoke, she was in total darkness. Her hands and feet had been tied, and she was gagged. She became aware of a pair of dim red glowing spots before her, and strained to make out whatever was behind them. Then someone spoke to her in a sibilant whisper, in slightly accented Common. It sounded strangely familiar.

"Do not struggle, human, or the bindings will hurt more. You are the prisoner of House Jrin'selyn." The ranger's mind raced, trying to place where she'd heard that accent before. She tried to speak, and choked on the gag.

"Oh yes, and I have no interest in hearing you speak, either. You are probably aware that sound travels a great ways in the Underdark. As such, this is the only time you will receive these instructions. Nod if you understand." Jemic had no choice but to nod as best she could.

"Good. You will be carried along by two of us, since you cannot move in silence. At no time will you try to wriggle free to make noise, or you will be killed without question." Jemic heard nothing, but two pairs of strong arms were suddenly hoisting her up like a sack of luggage. Then they were off, with only the breeze of their swift passage to mark their movement. Jemic fought down a torrent of fear, and prayed to Mielikki that Zak was doing better then she was.

Zak sat in the middle of the dwarven camp, under guard, and unarmed. He was not happy. The camp had originally been intended to be temporary, that much was clear in the position of the gates and outposts, but at sometime it had been made permenant, and fortified. The three gates were guarded by long corridors where any incoming foes that breached them could easily be held off by a far lesser amount of men. A set of mine cart rails ran through the center of the place, and he'd seen two of the little vehicles arrive and depart, carrying supplies of quarrels, and boxes he assumed were food, though the smell that had been rising from them was hardly indicative of anything nutritious. And naturally, a few barrels of ale, dwarves being what they were. The object that drew his attention the most was probably the wargong over by a wall. The instrument was made out of shields that were either of dwarven of goblin craftsmanship, and a set of mallets hung nearby. He sulked in silence, and cursed the wizard who got him into this. Wherever that little snot-nosed slime mold is, I hope he's in great pain!

Arakanzar and Devlar were sitting comfortably in the half-drow's study, a smallish affair occupying an hourglass-shaped cavern disguised through illusion and warded with abjurations. Arakanzar was relaxing in a chair reading a tome entitled Peoples of the Shining South, while Devlar was practicing knife throwing with a wooden target at ten paces. The constant thunk! was starting to get on the wizard's nerves, but he made an effort to ignore it. Experts at a profession often had such quirks. Halfway through a passage detailing a certain battle in the wars between Coramshan and High Shanatar, one of his wards chimed softly, indicating someone had passed the first layer of illusions that hid the study's entrance. Marking his place with a spare scrap of parchment, the half-drow closed the hefty volume and set it aside, rising and picking up his staff.

"Dev, we have a visitor. If you'd be so kind as to remove yourself from sight?" The thief nodded once and scrambled up the ladder to the second level, seeming to pass straight through a layer of rock. He would be able to hear the conversation even if he wouldn't be able to see it, and if things went bad, Arakanzar would give him a cue. The wizard waited patiently, as three successive wards chimed in different pitches. Finally, his impromptu visitor emerged from the shadows. Her chin held high with a regal pride, a dark elven warrior stood before him. Her leather armor was crossed with streakes of gray and brown, and would easily blend into any part of the Underdark. A longsword hung at her side, it's hilt etched with the sinous lines of drow script, and a helm with the insignia of House Jrin'selyn sat firmly on her head. Arakanzar bowed low, watching her as best he could with his peripheral vision.

"My warmest greetings to you, Kraya. I trust all goes well?" She stood stiffly and her reply carried more than a hint of scorn.

"The war between the dwarves continues to go nowhere. Battles are won and lost, but neither side has advanced or retreated for years. We are growing impatient. Have you finished gathering enough information for us to act or not?" Arakanzar smirked indulgently. He had finished his work here months ago, and had been holding out on his employers. It wasn't that hard, given Kraya's intelligence level. A common soldier in T'lindhet's army, she knew that the sort of scheming and plotting he was used to was very far above her, and didn't bother to try her hand, allowing him much greater freedom than he would have been allowed had they considered him worth assigning a higher-ranking drow to. Their mistake.

"As it happens, I've just finished. You get the information when I get the other half of my payment."

"You have received it already, and more, this year past. My commanders will never agree."

"I rather think they will when they'll be getting much more than they bargained for. I have in my possession information on every detail of the gold dwarven fortifications, supply lines, troop dispositions, and strategies employed over the past month. Believe me, its well worth the extra coin." Kraya scowled, but finally nodded, turning away. Almost as an afterthought, her fingers flew, relaying a message in the dark elven sign language. We have taken a surfacer prisoner. We are at a loss as to how she found her way down here. You will help us with her interrogation and give us the information before you receive any additional compensation. He nodded graciously.

"Bring her over whenever you feel ready, and I'll take a look." She vanished into the darkness, leaving him smirking.

"Dev, you can come out now," he called. The thief came down the ladder again, chuckling heartily.

"You've not lost your touch, boss. Played that lady like a harp you did." The wizard shrugged modestly.

"Elven contempt is easily exploited. Though it's going to be difficult to figure out what to do with Jemic…if it is her they've caught." Devlar rolled his eyes.

"And how many other clueless surfacer women d'you think they'd be likely to come across. Can't say how she and that sellsword got separated, but this ain't gonna end well for either of'em, I'm thinking."

"For you and me though, things are looking rather well. Isn't that what counts?"

"Always boss, always."