Chapter Six
Waywocket
Rilian woke in darkness, and was grateful for it.
He was underground . . . was he in the Underdark?
He moved his hand over the wound in his side and found it was fully healed. Had Sivar found him and used her magic to heal the injury?
He looked down at the wound and noticed something rather odd.
Where was his armor? Where were his weapons? He was dressed in a light shirt and his own slacks but no armor, no weapons . . . and his hands were chained together and covered in an odd sort of plaster.
How annoying. He glared into the darkness and saw an ancient looking duergar sitting in a wooden stool nearby, a pipe in its mouth. It wore long flowing robes, its beard was long enough to be tucked into its belt, and it wore a golden medallion upon which was etched a symbol that Rilian did not recognize.
"Ah . . . awake then are ye?" The duergar grunted in undercommon. Rilian nodded. "I got questions for ye then lad. Answer them proper and I wont be needing to smash yer skull."
"Where am I?" Rilian demanded.
"I told ye, I am the one asking the questions lad." The duergar said coldly. "Now never mind where ye be, where did ye come from? Ched Nasad?"
"Menzoberranzan. I am Rilian G'kar, secondboy of House G'kar, twentieth of Menzoberranzan."
The dwarf chuckled, "Are ye now? Well that's very nice. So tell me second boy, what brings ye to the surface? Anything to do with orcs?"
"I do not see how that is any of your business." Rilian said crossly.
"This is a simple line of questioning lad, cooperate and we won't need to interrogate ye . . . ye don't want me to interrogate ye." The duergar said evenly. "Now why did ye come to the surface?"
Rilian glared at the duergar, "Why did your band attack us?" He demanded.
The dwarf looked surprised, "So ye were attacked then?"
Rilian frowned, could this duergar be from another clan? He'd assumed he'd been found and taken prisoner by the same duergar that had slaughtered the slaving party . . . but if that was not the case there was no point in saying anything else on the matter.
"Ye came to the surface . . . because someone attacked ye?"
Rilian shook his head, "This is over. Release me or kill me, I will not answer any more questions."
"Are ye certain? It'll be much easier for ye if ye just do as we ask. We may even decide not to execute ye if ye cooperate." The duergar said calmly, and Rilian refused to speak. After a few moments the duergar nodded and said "Fine then. We'll be getting the information from ye one way or another . . . I just thought I might try to get it from ye the easy way . . . before the council comes in to force it from ye the fun way."
Rilian scoffed, the duergar left and he was alone.
He was in a large, empty room. The only article in the room aside from the chains that held his hands and legs together, and the longer chain that left him tethered to the far wall was the stool the duergar had sat on.
If he could reach it he might have been able to break it apart and use one of the legs as a weapon, a spike or a club, unfortunately his tether kept him far short of such a goal.
So he sat in the darkness, cured of his physical wounds but alone and ever so slightly afraid. Confused and helpless . . . was this how his story was to end? It would have been better if Ascord had killed him.
But the thought of Ascord steeled his resolve. He'd escape this place, he'd find Menzoberranzan . . . he'd kill Ascord.
Khondar Deepshadow scratched his bald head as he stood before his chieftain, Barundar Brottor.
The Shield Dwarf regarded the duergar with a nod, "What did he have to say?"
"Little." Khondar shrugged. "Got me a name off the lad, and a place of origin, little else."
"Oh? Anyone important?"
"Hardly. A prince, but that's not for sayin' much in drow society. From G'kar he said, but I never heard of them." The duergar reported.
"Well ye can tell it to the council, they're sitting like their chairs is made of knives." Barundar said, running his hands through his long golden beard.
The gray dwarf nodded, "Aye . . . doesn't seem like there's much danger of him being in league with any orcs though."
"Oh no?" A melodious if somewhat condescending voice scoffed. "Drow elves are grossly deceptive creatures, why should the name he gave you be his true name? Why should the place he named be his true home?"
Khondar turned to see the tall slender moon elf, Silvanen Sianodel of the Galanodel village leaning against the tunnel wall. It was unusual for the elf to come into the undertown of Waywocket, where the dwarves and gnomes dwelt. The elf, like most visitors, usually preferred to remain aboveground in the upper town with the human residents.
"If ye came here hoping the see the drow ye'd be out of luck," Barundar said, "The lad gets no visitors."
The moon elf's friendly smile went from ear to ear, "Not at all. I came to see one of the smiths about a special armor job."
"Aye? Ye'd still arrange for that in upper town, not here." Barundar told him.
"You mean the undertown is restricted to me?" Silvanen asked evenly.
"Don't try to put words in me mouth, or take this personally." Barundar said coolly, "Ye are as welcome in the undertwon as anybody, but nobody is allowed near the drow."
"Ye'll have to forgive him chief," Came a voice, Khondar turned to see Dankil Bladefist, one of the younger members of the Brottor clan, a brother to Barundar's wife Dorna. "I telled him to meet me here by the mead stores, I was hoping to pop in for a drink before we got to talking business, I telled him before I knew we was going to be keeping the durned drow in the old wine celler."
Khondar smiled at the young shield dwarf, Dankil was a good lad but a little overeager, especially when it came to forging special orders.
Barundar accepted the story as well with a grin, "Well get ye yer drink quick and get about your business then ye durned fool."
"Oh aye chief, aye . . . care to join us?" Dankil asked.
"Us?" Silvanen groaned, "You mean you actually expect me to drink dwarven mead along with you?"
"Oh well I don't see why not." Dankil said in a confused tone, "Tis good stuff the mead, and I always talk business better with a full mug in front of me."
Ah . . . that explained why Dankil was always taking on fantastic and often impossible jobs, Khondar decided.
"We'll be seeing ye later," Barundar laughed, "The council is in session now, we'd best be getting to them with what we've learned. Ye two take care and don't drink up everything now, or I'll be telling old Meindor about yer little adventure," the clan head said, naming the grizzled old dwarf in charge of the cellars, who constantly and to no avail tried to defend them from the younger dwarves such as Dankil.
The young dwarf and the elf nodded and set off down the tunnel to the mead cellars. Khondar whispered to Barundar, "Dankil's a good lad, but a might dim. Supposin' that elf gets away from him . . . Silvanen's hatred for drow is common knowledge in his own village, well as ours."
"Ye needn't fear for the drow, Khondar. I left the durned drow a guard, don't ye doubt." Barundar said, "I'm more worried about what the council will have to say if this drow elf really aint a rogue attached to a clan of orc. The last thing this town needs is a raid from a whole durned drow patrol."
Khondar nodded, being a gray dwarf who'd grown up in the underdark he knew better than any, save perhaps Barundar, just how deadly a drow war party could be.
Silvanen grinned widely at the dwarven guard, "The council sent us. We've food and water for the prisoner." He said, indicating himself and Dankil, who held a dried loaf of bread, Silvanen waved a flask of water at the guard.
The dwarf grunted, "Aye. On with ye then."
Silvanen smiled and led Dankil into the dark elf's cell.
The tall, and handsome moon elf smiled when he saw his smaller dark cousin. "Ah little drow. Greetings. I hope you've made peace with you're whore of a goddess . . . because you'll soon be meeting her."
