Conclusion
The exit proved to be close nearby their resting spot, and Trey praised their good fortune. The time they had lost waiting for him to recover had been made up in a few minutes. The exit was an ordinary (ordinary compared to every other door they had passed through) made of reinforced adamantine. Trey twisted the doorknob, a corner of his mind positive that this last door would be locked, but it opened and swung back on its hinges noisily.
As they stepped through, Alain spoke suddenly from behind him, breaking the silence, "Trey, I overheard one of the patrons back in the Yawning Portal,"which, he thought to himself, felt like a decade ago, "They say that even the name Undermountain carries a spell, some sort of geas that draws adventurers to this place like a fly into a trap."
Trey paused as he passed over the threshold, thinking on the matter briefly, then shook his head, "I'd have a hard time believing that. I can't imagine the power it would take to enchant a word to work anywhere and everywhere."
"Think about it, though. We're here, aren't we? Maybe the spell gains some sort of strength from each adventurer it lures inside."
"You know our reason is a little different. We're not here for glory, but for…" Trey paused. What would you call their mission: rescuing an arch-mage who may or may not have been captured by legions of Drow? Rescue? Search and destroy? He shook his head slowly, continuing, "For Waterdeep. As for power… wasn't that plague in Neverwinter said to work like that, a kind of snowball effect?"
Alain furrowed his brow, thinking, then brightened almost instantly, "Yes! From each death, the plague grew in power, until it was nigh-unstoppable. But Undermountain…the geas grows in power as it spreads from ear to ear. I bet that word of Undermountain spread very slowly, and then very quickly, when this place was first built."
Trey shrugged, and Alain, seeing he was growing tired of the hypotheticals this conversation was getting, let the matter drop. Guess it's not too important, he thought. All the same…I wonder if I could resist telling anyone that I visited the Undermountain? That is, if I ever get out of here.
They walked on in silence for a while, listening to the far-off echoes of water dripping from some ancient stalactite, until Trey spoke again, suddenly, "Do you really feel so compelled?"
Alain paused, his stride slowing, before he replied, "Yes…I can feel it. It's a kind of distant thrumming, in the back of my mind. I could ignore it, but it would be like ignoring an itch: it could be done, but it would drive you mad."
Trey nodded, as if he understood. In truth, he felt no such compulsions, magical or otherwise. The only feelings he felt was a nagging sense of urgency to reach Halaster before it was too late; worry in the back of his mind that they were being misled by Nathyrra, and under that, honest curiosity, driving him around the next corner. The sights and sounds of Undermountain were entirely unique to this place, and it was doubtful that he would ever return to this place. .
He raised a hand in the air, stopping dead in his tracks. Alain stopped a second later. Both saw the same sight: a blueish-grey light moving towards them from their left. A few seconds later, as the light grew closer, Alain recognized the light for what it was: an aura. Nathyrra's, to be precise.
The female Drow materialized from the shadows with liquid grace. A small, knowing smile was on her lips, as the Drow sheathed a dagger before moving completely from her hiding place. "We meet again. Somehow I knew we would."
"It's good to see you in one piece," Trey replied, and bowed low. His kind words, along with the exposure of his tan neck, (a gesture hardly ever performed in the world of the drow; one was too busy protecting their neck to show it willingly) served to break through Nathryya's cool demeanor, and for a moment, Alain saw a flash of emotion on her face. Was she flustered? Disgusted?
"I,uh…" Nathrrya stammered, a little put-off at the monk's words, before regaining her composure, "Thank you, it's nice to see you too." She could not remember, not once, when she had greeted anyone like that in the Underdark. The proper reply had come to her at the last second, and though it seemed clumsy in her mind, she supposed that the two men wouldn't think twice of it. She was more than a little relieved when the younger male spoke next.
"How did you know where to find us?" Alain asked, a bit concerned. Have we been that easy to follow? I know with the magical light, we must look like lanterns, but we still covered our trail, didn't we?
"I knew you would have to go by this way if you want to rescue Halaster. Farther ahead, a small bridge spans a gap in the cavern. On the other side of the bridge is an encampment of the Valsharess' force."
"Rescue, then. So Halaster is being held captive."
"He is. Captive, but alive."
Trey nodded, considering. They had been lucky enough to fight with the advantage of numbers on their side, but something told him there would be no last minute Formian calvalry to pop up from the earth if the battle turned against them. If you could call two against thirty a battle…and the drow had a hostage as well, which made things even more tricky.
"Thanks for the warning," Alain said. "I guess we'll find a way to sneak by."
"You could do that," Nathyrra answered, "Or…"
"Or?"
"The Drow have set a pair of ballista, siege machines, on one of the cliffs overlooking their camp. If you're spotted, they'll use the ballista to smash you to pieces. However, there's a path leading up to the ballista from behind the camp. If you can take control of the machines, you can wield their own weapons against them!" Nathrrya finished, a rather chilling smile on her face as she finished her thought. Alain didn't much care for her expression, but it was a good idea. After all, the more Drow they killed now, the less they would have to deal with on the trip back up.
Alain glanced at Trey, who nodded slightly, and turned to Nathyrra. "Alright then, lead us to it."
But Nathryya was already shaking her head, her white locks spilling over her shoulders like fallen snow. "I cannot. There are others matters I must attend to, and quickly. The passage is very narrow, and is farther north. It looks like a dead end, but there's a tunnel hidden behind some vegetation. Feel about there and you'll find the path up." She looked about suddenly, as if hearing something the two monks could not.
"I must go…unless there is something else?"
"There's nothing," Trey replied, "except thanks for the information. You've saved us once before, and here you are again. I don't know what we've done to deserve your help, but I hope we keep it up."
Nathyrra smiled, unsheathing her dagger as she stepped back into the shadows. For a few moments, both monks could see the glow of her aura moving through the gloom. Then, it was gone, swallowed in the blackness.
"Do you trust her, teacher? Really?"
"Mm?" Trey turned to look his student over with mild interest. "Why wouldn't I?"
"A secret passageway that she's too busy to accompany us to? Come on. It has to be a trap."
"If she wanted us dead, she's already had numerous opportunities," Trey reasoned calmly. "No, our light-footed female friend needs us in one piece for some reason, and I admit that I'm rather curious to learn what that may be."
XxXxXxX
Tenari stalked over to the angry beholder, still snarling and snapping in the middle of the camp. A tight, yet nervous ring of drow had surrounded it, the anxious soldiers fingering triggers on their crossbows as they watched a drow wizard named Leraith converse with the eye tyrant. Between beholders, communication is instaneous and immediate. For everyone else it was a little more difficult. The many-eyed beasts viewed all other races as inferior, and considered even using the common tongue to be degrading.
Leraith was one of the few drow in the camp with the mental acumen to be able to converse with it— though it was a bit more touch-and-go with some phrases than he would like. When you're speaking to a creature that can strike you catatonic with a glance, even the slightest mistakes in etiquette can be fatal. For example, eye tyrants distrusted anything that happened to blink more than twice in a minute, and…
"Leraith, report!"
Leraith broke eye contact as Tenari approached and turned to him, snapping a quick salute. "Sir!"
Tenari returned the salute, and glanced nervously at the Beholder, which was not pleased at being cut off halfway in the middle of its nonsencial tirade. Drool frothed about its mouth, and several eye-stalks glowed first red, then gray, then white, as if the Beholder was unsure which deadly spell to fire first. "What's the situation, Leraith?"
"Well, sir, the beholder seems to have a bit of a complaint with the size of its reward. It seems to think it was promised twice as much as what we discussed."
"What!" Tenari cried in disbelief. "Out of the question! The damn thing was bait, and it must be out of its fleshy little skull to think otherwise."
"Captain," the mage said, shooting a nervous glance at the Beholder, "not so loud… He doesn't understand you, but even a beast understands tone!" And, Tenari saw, this was true. The aberration was unfamiliar with the drow tongue, but it certainly looked like it had gotten the gist of what he had said; even more of its eyestalks were glowing ominously now, and a few drow began to notch their bolts. Conflict was inevitable if the situation escalated, and though there was no doubt of their victory…a barrage of eye bolts would inflict some serious damage on the troops. In fact, he thought, if anyone's getting turned to stone, it's going to be me or Leraith. And after the human, I wouldn't count on any restorations.
"Enough of this. Leraith, tell that thing that if it wishes to continue negotiating, take it up with the Valsharess. I'm sure she will enjoy haggling over rewards with the servants of a fallen foe."
Leraith nodded, and instantly rattled off something in the guttural, wince-inducing tongue that passed for the aberration's language. That was one thing Tenari liked about him: when he needed something done quickly and without question, Leraith could always be counted on to obey without question.
It also made Tenari nervous. It was the one who showed no outward signs of disloyalty that you needed to watch closely.
The beholder-kin roared in response to Leraith's words, and one of the soldiers surrounding it grunted, bringing his weapon to bear. Leraith raised a hand in protest to the soldier, his lips pressing together in concentration. This was a natural enough response— if fighting was unavoidable, he would be caught in the crossfire before he had the chance to utter a syllable. It was a rather bizarre sight— the slight, robed, altogether timid-looking form of Leraith standing eye-to-eyes with the massive globe of flesh and eyestalks, both of them snarling at each other unintelligibly. Tenari would have laughed if the situation wasn't quite so tense.
Finally, Leraith turned to him and nodded curtly. The beholder-kin floated up and off above them soundlessly as the troopers surrounding it visibly relaxed. Tenari eyed the beast until he could no longer make out its heat signature against the cold stone of the cavern. It hadn't been so long ago that he had been warring against the aberrations under the banner of the Valsharess, and even longer before that, when he had called himself one of House Ni'toraien. Now he was simply Tenari of No House, and belonged to no but himself.
The Valsharess had seemingly accomplished what so many others considered impossible, and actually cowed the xenophobic eye-tyrants into submission, both through strength of arms and her… pet devil. But this was no true alliance, and Tenari despised working with his supposed 'comrades' even more than he loathed their ruler. At least you don't have to worry about bloodsuckers. Watch in horror as a few more soldiers 'disappear' every cycle, and the ranks of the walking dead get bigger and bigger everytime you turn around…
The devil was the Valsharess' trump card, what every opponent she faced came to realize set her apart from the average drow matron with ambition and unrealistic dreams of conquest. Couple that with the disappearance of Lloth, and well… even the illithid could bend their rules on working with 'lesser creatures.'
Tenari's eyes wandered towards the bridge spanning an apparently endless drop, perhaps into the very deepest crevasse on Toril. Intuition had taken hold of him, insisting him that something, somewhere was amiss. He had learned better than to dismiss the extrasensory warning that his subconscious sent him. It had been a gut feeling which had told him to make contact with the Valsharess' forces during their siege of his House, and ultimately saved his life.
The drow hadn't felt quite right since being forced to abandon his camp, and this was not a question of ethics, but of hunches and instinct. Tenari's warband had been part of the squad sent to the surface via the Yawning Portal Inn to stage a quick raid and throw the surfacers into disarray, while the main force here was responsible for forcing Halaster to open a more effective means of travel for the Valsharess' army to reach the surface. It had taken the magicks of her finest wizards (and the pet devil) to transport them here, but it wasn't a quick enough process. The archmage would expedite things, the Valsharess' forces would rampage through the Undermountain, and the surfacers would fall before their might.
That had been the plan. But nothing was proceeding as it should.
He raised a hand unconsciously to touch the handle of his greatsword, Myrna, strapped to his back, then lowered it to his side as he started off through the camp towards the cave where Halaster was being imprisoned. Vynea, the Valsharess' sixth Red Sister, had her elite guard blocking off the entrance— and they would jump at the chance to execute him for some trumped-up charge if he gave them the opportunity. All the same, Tenari would approach to see what might be gleaned. The Red Sisters were experts at interrogation and torture methods, but it had already been three cycles and still the old madman hadn't cracked. Still, as Vynea had snarled at him only hours ago, they had all the time in the world.
Didn't they?
Humans. Halaster wasn't the only resilient one. There was also the monk who had slain the remains of the warband despite being outnumbered and unarmed. Whispers had spread through the ranks about the surfacer that the Valsharess' diviners had claimed would oppose her, and even though their nameless matriarch had slain many of the gossipers, rumors always find their way to those who listen for them. There was no way of knowing that the man he had encountered was the very same the Valsharess had been shown by her oracles, but all the same, Tenari kept word of his failure to slay him quiet. Undermountain would surely claim him. There was no way one lone human could make it this far…
Of course, he would've said the same about a human's chances of surviving an interview with the Red Sisters not so long ago.
Two stocky females clad in platemail dyed in the Valsharess' trademark colors looked him over as he approached the mouth of the cave. One eyed him with naked contempt, the other with bored amusement— as if he was an insect with delusions of grandeur. The silence stretched between the three for an uncomfortably long minute. Tenari knew what they were doing, of course: daring him to speak first, and give them a reason to take him to task for his insolence. Lloth had disappeared, but Her culture had not. Males still spoke only when spoken to in the Valsharess' ranks.
"What, male?" the woman stationed at the left side of the cave growled at last.
"Any developments? The camp's getting restless and the beholder-spawn isn't helping."
"Handling the troops' is your task, male," the soldier on the right spat acidicly, but for just a moment, Tenari thought he saw doubt in her eyes. It was all he needed to see to guess that Halaster was still resisting, unbelievable as it might seem. "If you are incapable of this, then I have no doubt that there are many who happy to replace you."
"No, that won't be necess-"
From somewhere off to the west, there was a dull CLUNK sound. Then, just behind them, the dead beholder came to earth with a resounding crash. A two-foot long ballista bolt jutted from the beast's main eye cavity, which had popped like a swollen zit upon reaching the ground. Black ichor sprayed across the stone, dousing the three dazed drow in the foul liquid.
Tenari swiped some of the fluid of his cheek numbly, his eyes locked on the dead beholder. Jelly, he thought in a dim haze, it's from it's eyes and it's all over, and then, an intuition so powerful and unexpected hit him like a warhammer, stealing his breath away. The human! That damned monk! He's here!
"That's from the ballista, isn't it?" one of the soldiers muttered to no one in particular. "What in the…"
But he could hear no more. His armor clinked rhythmically as he bolted towards the ridge— into the line of fire— at top speed. It had to be the monk. It had to be his failure. And if anyone were to discover he failed…
"AMBUSH!" Tenari bellowed at the top of his lungs. From the ridge above, more ballista bolts whistled ominously, as they fell in their death-dive towards the , he could hear cries of panic and barked orders being shouted. Some of his men were diving into tents, behind stalagmites, anything to give them some cover from the steel rain. Others were mobilizing…
But too slowly. Far too slowly.
XxXxXxXxX
Sweat covered Trey's brow in a fine sheen, as he rotated a small metal crank connected to the ballista in a counterclockwise motion. The ballista rotated to its left, its hinges squeaking slightly as he brought the weapon to bear on his next target. Nathyrra had been as good as her word: the ballistas she had spoken of were in working condition and magically enhanced. It was constructed out of lumber that was entirely unlike anything on the surface— wood that was a cool gray and cold to the touch. The bowstrings were made out of some unknown animal sinew, tough and wiry to the touch, but it was the projectiles the machine fired that were the true oddity. There was only a lone bolt, a simple wooden shaft with a head of iron that was notched easily.
The secret passage Nathryya had told them about had been a sort of tunnel, which opened beneath a stone on the far side of the ridge. Some sort of Undermountain mole must have dug it, for the path was too smooth and unmarked for it to be a natural formation, but its creator was long gone now. To theirgood fortune, there was no guard on the slope, and when the monks looked below at the camp from the lip of the cliff, they saw a group of the drow force surrounding a beholder— perhaps the very same beast which had started this mess in the first place. There were also two ballistas lining the path up to the slope. The path up the ridge was narrow, and it was the size of the path that was the main inspiration for Trey's plan.
Trey would use the catapults to attack the camp, while Alain would be his look-out. Sooner or later, when the Drow discovered they were being attacked with their own war-machines, they would regroup, and charge the ridge, hoping to slaughter their attackers. The size of the path, however, meant that only so many could come at a time. Until magic came into the equation, they might be able to hold off a direct assault for a few minutes at best…and a lot of damage could be done in a short amount of time.
Only if you pick the right targets.
Two drow males stood apart from the beholder, speaking in hushed tones. One wore the sweeping garments that belied one of a wizardly occupation, while the other seemed strangely familiar to him…tempting targets, but the beholder was a safer target. He chanced a quick glance at Alain, who was looking grim from his place at the top of the slope. In one of the tents nearby, his student had discovered a few crates filled with various handheld throwing weapons, fire-and-forget tools that the drow were fond of: alchemist's fire, caltrops, acid flasks, and so on. Alain had compiled the incendiaries in a few small canvas bags, which were arranged in a semi-circle pattern around him. They would prove to be crucial to the chaos that would come.
As he turned his attention back to the camp below, he saw that the beholder-kin had taken to the skies, the stand-off with the dark elves apparently at an end. Already it was moving high and out of sight, perhaps even out of range for the ballista, and the monk concentrated, narrowing his eyes in concentration. The dirty gray and black shades of the beast's aura swam into view, in stark contrast to the darkness around it, but it was already fading from view. In a few moments, their window of opportunity would be gone…and drow and duergar they could handle, but the aberration was another thing entirely.
Fly true, he thought, and pulled hard on the lever. The bowstrings released with an audible TWANG, the single bolt flew…
And before his eyes, perhaps in defiance of his eyes, the lone bolt twisted and grew with every foot it flew through the air. By the time it had reached the beholder, the bolt was roughly the size and shape of a thrown spear. It was hard to believe that he had fired such a thing, and that was when Trey realized that an identical crossbow bolt had set itself in the ballista, primed and ready to be fired.
Well, I'll be damned.
XxXxXxXxX
"Captain Tenari, what's going on? Some kind of trick of Halaster's?" Leraith shouted as they huddled behind a low-hanging formation of rock. The sickly-sweet smell of spilled blood wafted in the air, doubtless buoyed to his nostrils by the thunderous cracks of javelin-sized crossbow bolts puncturing the stone. Leraith had done his job too well, and now they were admiring his handiwork firsthand.
Tenari seized the hem of the wizard's robe with a hand, and discovered that he wanted to hit him, very hard. The slight alarm he saw in the mage's eyes only heightened that particular wish. Ruthlessly, he quashed it. Another time. "Shut up! We can still come out of this with our heads on our necks if we move quickly, you understand?"
Leraith nodded, his eyes showing no signs of fear, or worry. Not of him, anyway. The Valsharess was another matter entirely.
"I'm going to round up whoever's left and make a run for the slope," Tenari barked tersely. A bolt smashed into the ground a few feet away from their position, showering them in a fine spray of gravel. The two flinched, but it didn't prevent Tenari from seeing the silent calculation in the wizard's narrowed eyes. He was judging his chances, determining the odds of escape. It was a rather typical reaction, and one that he had planned for. "You and I are going to get in close while our shooter's occupied, and you're going to destroy the ballistas before it wipes us out. And if you even think about turning and running, Leraith, I'll make sure Myrna runs you through before the sniper gets a shot off. " He patted the hilt of his greatsword to punctuate his point and was gratified to see a crack of fear in Leraith's composure. He gave the frail drow a shove with his free hand, nearly pushing him into the path of a speeding bolt. "Now move!"
XxXxXxXxX
Once he had gotten the knack of maneuvering the ballista, the rest had fallen neatly into place. When he didn't have the shrieks of wounded drow to guide him, their auras served just as well. In the end, however, he was only one man with too many targets. Some were bound to slip through the storm.
"Incoming!" Alain warned, eyeing the approaching group of drow from below. Five in all, and already out of the line of sight for the ballista only extended so far…much too close. Alain cracked his knuckles, more out of nervousness than preparation, mentally planning out his attack. Five at a time was too much, but taken one or two at a time…it was doable. Above all, he couldn't let a single one of the soldiers get to Trey. The siege weapon had to keep firing if they wanted a chance at coming out of this battle alive.
Two of the drow soldiers appeared over the ridge at a brisk pace, panting with exertion and eyes narrowed in anger. Perhaps they were expecting to see a small army, some form of vengeance for their attacks on the surface, but certainly not a pair of unarmed humans. Alain saw their eyes widen in confusion for the barest moment, saw his opportunity and sprang to take it.
"GRAAAAAAH!"
War cries are for the very loud and the very foolish, Trey had told him months ago, after a brief but memorable encounter with a tribe of gnolls under the command of a human sorceress. But if you must shout like a loon, do it right as you attack, and not a second before. Your opponent will often have enough advantages without you handing him one more.
The two soldiers paused for just a split-second, stunned at both the stupidity of a lone, unarmed human attacking two armed, battle-ready drow as well as the sheer volume of his cry. It was all Alain needed. He lunged forward, throwing his weight into a hard right elbow to the nose of the drow on his right. The soldier, who had begun to swing his sword, staggered, and the blade slipped from his grasp. Deftly, Alain caught the sword, grabbing it by the handle seconds before it fell over the edge. Then, he jabbed a right palmful of Ki into the whimpering Drow's gut. The bleeding soldier overbalanced, teetered, then fell head over heels down the hill.
His companion quickly moved to correct the error his comrade had made, bringing a battleaxe across his body in a short, fast arc. Alain backpedaled hastily, and the deadly weapon swished harmlessly through the air where his ribcage had been just moments earlier. Not to be outdone, the monk hurled the longsword he had acquired at the soldier, who batted it aside with surprising adroitness. Before the drow could advance another step, however, Alain had stooped and snatched up one of the canvas bags at his feet, their contents clinking together noisily. He gave the bag a speedy underhand toss that his opponent barely avoided in time, twisting out of the way, his chainmail clinking. The bag burst in a rather showy display as its contents mixed and ignited, quickly growing into a wall of greenish flames which must have been painfully bright to the eyes of the dark elves.
Not to be outdone, Alain had followed closely behind his incendiary, and in the time it the drow to dodge his projectile, Alain delivered a short but accurate kick to his midsection. The drow's chainmail would have made such a manner of attack useless from anyone else, but Alain had yet to meet an armor which could stop Ki. The drow doubled over as all the air in his lungs abruptly took its leave. Alain gave the recovering shoulder a harsh shove that sent him tumbling down the slope, directly into the path of the hungry flames. He suppressed a grimace as the shrieks of the burning dark elf rose into the air like smoke.
It took him a moment to realize the that methodic THOCK-THOCK-THOCK of the ballista had gone silent, and a moment more to recognize that his firewall had blocked off the next trio of drow from approaching. He gave Trey a questioning look, and his student pointed to the siege machine simply, motioning him over with a hand.
"Time's up, I'm afraid. If they've got a spellcaster with them, your fire won't last too long either." Alain saw that the surface of the ballista had been eaten away by some fact-acting bowstrings had snapped and the magical bolt had degraded past the point of repair. Doubtless, the other ballista was in a similar condition.
"How…?"
"Situational awareness, Alain. Their mage fired off a spell, brought down great globs of acid. Missed me by a hair, but I was never the target. We retreat," Trey finished tersely, giving a nod towards the tunnel. Alain gave him a questioning look (Why run? I can handle them!) but said nothing, and followed his teacher's commands.. Alain was, Trey thought, probably scrutinizing his own abilities, looking for some explanation as to why they were retreating. The true reason had nothing to do with his student. Trey had recognized the leading drow from the first floor of the Underdark, he with the stones of teleportation.
Why is he here? Why didn't he go back to the Underdark? He wondered. Then, an answer came from the depths of his consciousness, maddening in its simplicity: Because his role is not over. Nothing more, and yet that seemed answer enough. He spent a last look at the wavering flames screening the top of the hill before following after Alain.
The flames blocking their path were extinguished with a whipcracking boom of light followed by a odorless, gentle breeze. Tenari reached the top of the hill first, his blade in hand and murder in his eyes. But it was just as he feared: the ballistae were abandoned and the monks gone.
"Gods DAMN it!" Tenari screeched, mad with rage. He swung his blade wildly in the air, his head pounding, and Leraith and the other soldiers took a step back, safely out of range of the greatsword. Normally the captain was the type to keep his cool under fire, as was evident from his actions during the bombardment. It was rare for him to lose his composure in such a visible display.
Tenari's swings began to ebb in force, as he realized the futility of his actions until at last he came to stop. He reined in the rage that threatened to overwhelm him with a momentuous effort— because to fail in doing so may mean his death, and he had simply come too far to allow his emotions to damn him sheathed his sword, and walked to the edge of the cliff, surveying the damage of the camp below. Most of the fires were beginning to burn out on their own, and the few fleeting Drow figures he saw among them were moving out of sight A voice spoke up from behind him, the tiniest tremble in his voice. The grunt.
"Commander. What should we do?" The soldier said, steadying his voice with far more effort than it had taken him to cast away his anger. The monk had been here, and somehow slipped through his fingers. But no one else was aware of that fact. For the moment, Tenari's failure still remained a secret, and one that could be rectified.
He turned, fixing the speaker with a steely glare."Thrice-damned rebels were here. I know it. And the Valsharess will hear of this. The rest of you, flee, fight, I care not. As far as I'm concerned, this is Vynea's problem now."
Tenari pulled a small stone from his pocket, a remnant of the supply from his first mission, and spoke the word of command. "Tokrah."
A gust of wind, a flash of light, and both the captain and Leraith were gone, leaving yellow-green afterimages in the soldiers' dazzled eyes. Just like that, they were alone and without a chain of command— and working under Vynea was no work at all. Still, the safest place nearby was the cave, where Halaster's interrogation was taking place. The Drow, a luckless male named Debluth, tightened his belt and made his way back down the hill, fervently praying to Lloth that the rebels had decided to retreat.
XxXxXxXxX
The campsite blaze was dying down to the last few embers when the two monks crossed the bridge. Trey, when he saw the last of the fire he had created, was reminded strongly of his childhood on the outskirts of the Anarouch desert. Fire was a deadly weapon in the desert— did you sacrifice your precious water to save your livelihood, or watch it all burn away and hope you could start over?
"Trey! Over here!" Alain hissed, and Trey walked over to where his student was standing, near the blackened ashes of a tent, a few feet away from the entrance of the cave. The group of Drow they had seen prior to the ambush had disappeared, scattered either to the surrounding area or the cave mouth itself.
"Look at this," Alain said, gesturing to the contents of a soot-black chest he had found. Trey stooped forward, his expression first curious, then delighted as he realized what Alain had found.
"Our stolen equipment! Alain, a good find!" Trey exulted, pulling two small, silver bracers from the chest. The bracers were light and surprisingly flexible despite their material; they had been given to him on the day of his initiation into the Way of the Open Palm. He slipped them on now, as easily as he did when he had first received them, so many years ago. The bracers flexed slightly, seeming to sigh as it conformed to fit his wrists. Their own miniature aura encompassed them, both drawn and separate from his own."I had feared these were lost for good." Trey said quietly. "Tymora favors the bold. We should move on while we can."
"Hold on a minute," said Alain. "We can't take everything with us, but we can at least change back into our robes." He removed the tunic and pants from the chest, ignoring the tinkle and clink of some of their other goods, and placed it on the top of the chest. "Also..." he took a few miscellaneous potions from the chest, and stuffed them into a small Bag of Holding he wore about his belt. "There we go." Alain said, sounding satisfied. "Just in case."
"Good thinking," Trey replied, taking his clothes. "Change quickly. There may be unfriendly eyes about, and I know how sensitive you are about your privacy." Alain rolled his eyes, and stepped behind a boulder. All was still, and the only sound that could be heard was the crackling embers of a few smouldering flames from the ridge. A trail of footprints in the dust led them towards a cave…and the lifeless bodies of two drow women, their throats slit and their eyes staring at them, almost in accusation. Before they had time to guess at who was responsible, the guilty party spoke up from the darkness.
"Not a moment too soon," Nathyrra commented mildly, stepping out from her hiding place in the shadows. This time, her arrival had caught them both unawares, though each suspected that she would show herself soon.
After all, Alain thought. We're getting close right? Very close. Nothing left but one more fight, the resolution and final farewells.
"Friends of yours?" Alain quipped sarcastically, gesturing to the bodies.
"We have no time for jokes!" Nathyrra snapped, the beginnings of anger creeping into her voice. She shook her head and continued, "The personal guard for the Red Sisters, the group of assassins employed by the Valsharess."
"We are familiar with them, I think," Trey muttered, giving Alain a sidelong glance. Nathyrra nodded.
"Further on…" she gestured into the yawning maw of the cavern, "is Halaster, along with several drow. Halaster is trapped inside a magical ring of energy, with three rune stones as the circle's focus."
Just like the Formian Queen, Trey thought. Except that focus was only one mage, instead of runes… "If we destroy the stones…" Trey began.
"Then Halaster will be released, and can take care of our enemy for us," Nathrrya finished for him. "At least, in theory."
"In theory?"
"He has been interrogated for some time, and from what I've heard, it is truly a wonder that he is still alive," Nathyrra said slowly. "I suspect that the magicks sustaining the runes have something to do with that. It is also a possibility that the shock of destroying the runes may…kill him."
Alain hissed through his teeth. "Lovely thought. Is there no other way?"
"We don't have the time to find one. It's possible, almost for certain, in fact, that a few survivors from your attack on the camp slipped inside and have warned those waiting inside. The element of surprise is crucial if we are to survive."
"You say we?" Alain asked, with a hint of scorn in his voice. "Are you planning to join us, or just watch the action again?" Trey flashed him a disapproving look, but Nathyrra chose to ignore it.
"Yes, this time, I will fight along with you. Don't worry, as you can tell," she made a slight gesture to the corpses at their feet. "I can handle myself."
"Fine. Here's the plan." Alain said, lowering his voice to a business-like tone. A strange sensation crept into Nathyrra's mind like a thief in the night, one of muted indignation. Where did this human, (an apprentice of Trey's, most likely) get off giving orders, when he was clearly out of his element? The teachings of Eilistraee stressed patience, temperance, but the stripling's attitude seemed to place those notions far beyond her capabilities.
"Think before you speak, boy. This is no mere band of brigands that you might be used to on the surface, but a Red Sister and her entourage. She's slain more warriors than you've seen in twenty cycles, and half of them showed more caution than you!"
"We've survived for this long, haven't we?" Alain shot back. "Not that you would have noticed, hiding in the shadows, right? You seem more like a tour guide, not a warrior!"
Nathyrra's dark eyes flashed in anger, but before she could deliver a scathing retort, Trey cut her off.
"That's enough, both of you. We have no time for bickering."
His words were much softer than the pair, but neither needed to strain to hear him. Trey continued slowly, looking at both of them in turn.
"Nathyrra, I've trusted my life to Alain more than once. He has a talent for strategy, and he's proven it time and again. If there's a battle plan to be made, he's your man." Alain hid a smile, secretly pleased at his teacher's praise. It was true, even though Trey was being a bit modest about his own contributions. But he had always said that he could have been a great general…if he had decided to follow a different path.
"Nonetheless, Alain, Nathyrra has been of great help to us. To ignore her now would be to court disaster. We need her just as much as she needs us. I won't hear any more on that matter," he concluded with an air of finality, and though Nathyrra could still sense the unvoiced opinions in his eyes, Alain showed no sign of disobeying his teacher. Amazing, the assassin thought dimly. He not only settled the argument, but he's refocused us. All of a sudden, she felt a little better about their chances of success. There was a slight pause, and then Alain continued.
"Sorry," he said awkwardly, scratching his head in an uncharacteristic show of sheepishness. "Anyhow, you probably have a better chance of being able to destroy those stones than we can, right?" Nathyrra nodded. She had prepared a specific spell for that purpose. "Right. Then we'll get you there. Trey and I will come up the middle, about ten feet away from each other, and you'll follow, about five feet back. That way, we can't be taken out in one attack." Trey and Nathyrra nodded. It made sense.
"What about the archers? And warriors? And the mages?" Nathyrra inquired.
"I'll handle the foot soldiers. Trey will take the archers. The mages, I'll leave to you. Basically, we act as cover. As long as you can free Halaster, then he should take care of the rest. Hopefully, he won't kill us too…" Alain trailed off darkly. Both Nathyrra and Alain looked at Trey, and the older monk suppressed a weary sigh. Feels like I've been fighting for five days straight. Well, rest comes soon or not at all.
On his nod, the three crept into the cavern, listening for any sounds betraying an ambush on the other was Nathyrra who caught the sounds of muffled voices coming from further within. The humans couldn't make out any words, but Nathyrra recognized a male, older voice, and a female voice. Priestess. She thought.
Trey pushed the door open, and pulled two shurikens from his pocket, pressing them together in their fingers. Alain followed suit, and the two entered the room, moving slowly and deliberately, ten feet away from each other.Nathyrra was last, pausing only to murmur the incantations for a useful, if temporary enchantment of invisibility. From far above, she heard a shrill whistle, and then arrows began to fall around them in a brief, deadly hail.
The two monks moved in tandem, their hands blurring in their haste, each deftly striking an arrow from its murderous flight. Broken shafts and arrowheads clattered to the ground around them like so much refuse, and they had barely broken in their stride. From further ahead, Nathyrra saw the first duergar and drow troops approaching them, and behind those, the familiar garments worn by a Red Sister flanked by two wizards. That's my mark, stated a voice from the back of her mind, the one voice she couldn't seem to dim no matter how much she learned of Eilistraee. It was the voice of the assassin she had once been, a voice which lived for the sight of her daggers opening a jugular like a parting curtain.
She sped up her stealthy creep to a jog, flitting from shadow to shadow, moving past Alain, who had just begun to meet the first of his adversaries. Idly, she noted that the younger monk fought to disarm and disable, killing only when necessary. A hand-axe flew past her and thudded into the stone; its former wielder was more concerned with cradling his fractured wrist and shrieking.
She blocked out the extraneous sounds of battle, the thin Plinks! of arrows hitting the stone, and meatier Thuds! of fists finding flesh, and concentrated on her target. Halaster seemed to be incapacitated, held within a tight circle of magical light which circled his body in criss-crossing patterns of black and red. She began the incantation for a fireball, learned by heart, her hands already tingling with the first familiar sensations of heat. One sharp-eyed wizard noticed the growing light from the corner of his eyes, but by the time he turned, the sphere of flame had already struck home, shattering one of the rune stones and knocking him off of his feet, singed. The remaning mage managed to keep his balance, but she was still gratified to see the look of naked surprise on his face. Shock turned to rage as Nathyrra's concealment spell faded, and his hands began to make the necessary incantations for what she recognized as a spell of holding. Nathyrra prepared a spell of her own quickly, but she was too slow, and a flicker of cyan light burst as the spell hit her. She fought it, her hands moving as if they were underwater, and cast her own spell, sending a magical blast of white light at the mage. The spell connected, and a queer feeling of double vision fell over her; she could see the mage clearly in her own eyes, but in her mind, she was staring at herself, through his. All of his mind lay bare to her, open like a book, and she would've gotten lost in the Drow's many experiences and encounters if her battle-minded self had not taken over. The mage knew a powerful spell, Chain Lightning, and already she knew what to do. She performed the hand motions, knowledge that came from the wizard's mind, and said the word of command, aiming (in her mind) for the next rune stone. A flare of blue light cracked from his (her) hands, followed by numb fingers. The lightning connected with the stones, infusing it with magical energy, then leapt to the next rune stone, then to the Drow priestess nearby, who had not yet noticed her. The female dark elf grunted, her jaws snapping shut as her body convulsed with electricity, before slumping to the ground. The rune stones cracked, leaking magical energy, then snapped, crumbling into dust. The energy holding Halaster seemed to tighten then released entirely.
"Quick!" cried one of the Drow archers. "Stop him, before he can use his magic!"
Sadly, it was too late for the Drow invaders. The mage gave a great cry, raising hands in the air, and seconds later a blinding white light burst from them. The three allies shut their eyes, crying in pain; the light seemed to pierce even their eyelids with its intensities. Slowly the light dimmed, then the cave returned to its perpetual gloom. Nathyrra looked about, still blinking back tears of pain. Drow corpses lay about her, burned almost to cinders, nearly unrecognizable for what they were, and she thought she could smell ozone in the air. It was lucky Halaster hadn't mistaken her for an enemy too.
The three approached the insane mage cautiously, fearing any further attacks. However, the old man didn't even seem to be paying attention to his saviors; rather, he seemed to be inspecting the area around with a wide-eyed expression Trey didn't much like. Finally, Trey cleared his throat hesitantly, and the mage turned to face them. He was a wide-eyed, pale man whose choice of dress seemed to favor absurdly bright colors. His pupils were two different colors, one blue, one green, and they seemed to shift color as they darted about the room. He brushed the dust off of his green and gold sleeves with authority, then sniffed dismissively.
"You're not the ones I expected to see. But I'll let you live, since you set me free." His eyes danced over the three, alighting on them for just a moment before they turned to the corpses. His lower lip pooched out in annoyance. Under his breath, he murmured something that Trey couldm't make out, but it had a decidedly rhythmic quality to it. Does he…actually speak in rhyme? Oh, my, this will be difficult.
"Gee, how kind of you," Alain muttered. "It's a good thing I wasn't expecting any gratitude for this rescue…"
"Hush!" Nathyrra hissed, grabbing his sleeve. "Don't forgot he's an archmage, or the power he just demonstrated. Try not to anger him!" Alain shook her off, though a smirk still played on his lips. Halaster showed no signs of hearing their exchange— instead he had begun to pace around the chamber, pausing every so often to give one of the burnt carcasses a kick in the side. Trey swallowed hard, a bad taste coming into his mouth. This man was trouble. It was time to finish their business and go.
"Halaster Blackcloak, the Lords of Waterdeep respectfully request that you seal whatever portal that the drow are using to enter Waterdeep."
"I've watched their village grow into a city. Now, they have the nerve to ask favors of me?" Halaster said, rolling his eyes. One eyeball seemed to get stuck, and Alain suppressed a nervous giggle as the mage smacked the side of his head with a hand to loosen it. It wasn't a particularly humorous display— on the contrary, it only deepened Trey's anxieties. Incredible power in the hands of a lunatic: it was a lucky thing that Halaster kept his attention fixated on his precious Undermountain, rather than on matters above.
"Since they sent you to help me, I'll do them one better." Halaster continued, his voice growing louder. "Since I must stay here, you two will go to get her."
"Get who? Why us?" Alain asked, but Trey thought he knew the answers to those questions. He still remembered his dream in the Yawning Portal Inn, of his would-be assassin. The Valsharess, who was undoubtedly responsible for both the presence of the drow they had encountered so far, as well as Nathyrra. They had struck her forces an indirect blow by freeing Halaster, but would-be conquereror were usually annoyingly persistent. She would find another way, and the reprieve that Waterdeep had gained would be temporary at best.
"There are others than us who can do that job better, Halaster. Surely you can see that." Trey said, appealing to the madman's reason. The Way of the Open Palm stated that if an appeal for help came to a disciple, acceptance of the request must be voluntary. There should be no coercion of any kind involved, for a monk took even a request for aid as a personal trial, a way to become a better person, not as simply some form of labor.
Halaster was clearly ignorant of the intricacies behind their Order, of course. The mad mage waved a hand, a seemingly innocuous gesture that nonetheless caused the two monks to inhale sharply. The hairs on the backs of their neck prickled as some unseen spell sank into them. To Trey, it felt like as if thousands of tiny hooks had been pressed beneath his flesh and then given a sharp yank upwards all at once. For Alain, it felt as if he was being wrapped in chains, head to toe, and then tethered to some very large, very temperamental beast of burden.
"What did you…" Alain began a bit weakly, running his hands over his forearms tentatively. The sensation of being confined was unmistakable, but there were no visible signs to confirm his suspicions.
Nathyrra gasped, recognizing the spell for what it was. "He's placed a geas on you both! It's a powerful curse that will compel you to follow his will. If you disobey, you're doomed to a slow death!"
Halaster grinned slyly, like a man sharing a dirty joke with a friend. With another wave of his hand, he created a small portal with a soundless POP, similar to the various openings they had seen throughout Undermountain. "What a smart little girl! And my will is this: enter the portal, and kill that Drow witch! Once the Valsharess is dead, the spell goes away. But until then, you have no choice but to do as I say. Once she's gone, I promise, you'll really be free…as long as you don't do something foolish, and come back for me."
The older monk fell silent, concentrating on the tattered wizard. After a few moments, the mage's aura, a bewilderingly beautiful mix of colors, swam into view. From above Halaster, Trey could see a small tendril of his aura branch off into two, that was now connected to his aura as well as Alain's. Likely it would remain that way, until Halaster was satisfied. Bound again. Only this time, no shock collars.
With a slight sigh, Trey resigned themselves to their fate— though Alain looked absolutely mutinous at Halaster's magical imposition. In truth, had they not already accepted Nathyrra's cause by following her advice, accepting her aid? Just what is her cause exactly? That was an easy question. She wanted the Valsharess stopped, and now Halaster had magically bound them to doing just that, or die in the attempt. A coincidence? There is no coincidence. We're being guided here, manipulated. But how?
Alain was struck by a sudden thought: the halfling thief who had inadvertently saved his life in the Drow raid in the Yawning Portal. "Alright, Halaster, we've got no choice. But there are at least three other adventurers here in your dungeon, from Waterdeep. They should be sent back to the top."
He expected Halaster to refuse, but the mage nodded. "Since you're now in my service, sure, I'll help them out. I'm cleaning Undermountain, don't have any doubts. Those three I'll send to the top. Waterdeep will know the invasion will stop. Matters will be set right, from floor to floor. My home shall be just as it was before."
"Please, Halaster, if you're sending those two down, send me as well. I have allies in the Underdark, and Trey and Alain will need help. The Seer wants to see the Valsharess gone as well. Please." Nathyrra pleaded, hoping fervently she wouldn't be struck dead in a sudden mood swing.
"You make a good point, and you asked so nice. Very well, drow, I'll take that advice. You can go to, you won't stay here. I'll send all three of you to the camp of the Seer." Halaster replied, and then his smile disappeared. A scowl replaced it just as abruptly. "Enough time has been wasted, it's time for you to go. The Valsharess is waiting so many miles below."
Alain locked his eyes on Halaster's, hard brown eyes meeting his two-tone ones. "This isn't over, Halaster. Pray we don't find you again."
The mage only grinned, and stuck out his tongue in a childish show of defiance. Then, Alain's vision went black. He dimly heard a rushing sound, his body moving through space, hurtling towards an unknown destination.