"—And you can forget finding your way to my bedroll, ever again!" Viconia said, throwing a tin cup to the stones by him.
The Twisted Rune were a group of Calimite lamp-buggerers who didn't like folk knowing they existed; from time to time they wanted something the Zhent higher-ups disagreed on, and they'd fight. Or get in bed with each other against the likes of the Harpers or surfacer pointy-ears. He'd only eavesdropped on the name once or twice; knew enough not to tangle with it. Xzar'd more tattered tales he knew or made up from his madness.
"I'm not afraid of the Dewiest Runt," the mad wizard said. "They're powerful and they have the invisible limbs of a thousand millipedes...but I've not met them before. I'm a necromancer now." He shook his head. "What was that about you and Montaron?"
"None o' your business. Mage, set up a shield," Montaron said. "No sense in pulling it without a bit of rest." They'd found their way to a shallow cave in a hillside, where the bloody forest grew thicker. He'd already checked it for beasts and found only bats' guano.
"Trademeet," Xzar said slowly, sketching shapes in the dirt with a stick. "That's quite near, isn't it?"
"Don't ask me. I neither know nor care of your surfacer incompetent settlements," the drow said.
"Remembered now I forgot to thank ye before, your ladyship," Montaron said, faux-politely, "if not for you we'd lie dead by the Rune already. Tremendously kind and generous of you for that casting."
"I'll pack your wounds with salt the next time I heal them. It will cause you less pain than my present annoyance." She dragged herself up to sit by the wizard; giving signs it'd taken a lot out of her.
"Trademeet. Caravans to and fro, Amn and...south, isn't it, Monty? South to—well, the land of the tides' wet urn. And besides they'll expect us to go to ground. You have to do opposite of the rabbits thinking what you'll do," the mad wizard said. Lines grew from him in the dirt. "On the other hand, Trademeet is also the place for northern travellers bound south. In all the unrolled dispatches I ate. Monty, they'd help us—or more probably wouldn't, but I think we should ask." He sounded almost in control of himself; but then added, "And the trees will stop moving on us and changing places."
"Northern travellers?" Viconia said. "What is meant by that?"
"Zhents are but a humble organisation of peaceful merchant traders, ye see," Montaron said; he flicked a silver coin up in the air, and spun it further with the point of a dagger. "Some who bring all sorts o' goods, some stored under the caravan's floorboards and some not; nothing wrong with crossing trade routes, after all. Like as not they'll be useful to us as a piss in a storm, but the town's big enough to hide in, at least until the Rune decides to catch us up. Sometimes they like to take their time, when they're undead or pointy-ear."
"One of my sisters was offended by a duergar once," Viconia said. "She took him prisoner and allowed most of his clan to live, which we thought was weakness. But she owned a ring of regeneration, and each year on the day of his offence she ordered a pile of the duergar's limbs to be delivered to his clan's doorstep. For four hundred and twelve years. Time is a friend to we drow."
"I've seen those used in cellars below the Keep," Montaron said. "Doesn't surprise me."
"Then one night I freed the duergar from his chains and convinced him to assassinate my sister, and slew him afterward to leave no witnesses."
"The Trusted Wine are long of time, but others can walk through it," Xzar said. "Have you heard of the winged stone statues that open their eyes? They end time for you by forcing you into the past, and thus with you dead they eat everything you could have been..." Xzar said, and they gave the madman no heed. Stories like that were mad ravings. "Trademeet, perhaps, Monty. Submit our reports for once."
"Fine, mad mage," Montaron said.
Viconia walked over to face Xzar, and lifted a hand slowly to touch his jawline. "Sometimes I say I want a thing only once," she said, meaning Montaron to hear it, "and sometimes I...change my mind. You have noticed me, necromancer, I know it." She added another hand, reaching along the mage's ribs, the sensitive spots between them. "What do you think of me?"
She'd said outright to him that she only wanted it once, and he'd still got the bruises. A milksop would sit around and whine; Montaron waited to see what she'd do to the wizard.
"You remind me," Xzar said cheerily, making no attempt to brush her away, "Of... —When I was a young apprentice one of my older compatriots thought it would be amusing to use me as bait for a spell to summon a succubus into a pentagram with me," he began. "I'm afraid I disagreed with the theory, or it disagreed with me, and it hardly forms the most heartwarming tale of innocences lost," Xzar said, speaking slightly more quickly. Normal men would've boasted of bedding one of those. "You remind me of that demon, my lady, though she would have no recourse but to envy you." Viconia preened at that.
"Or, in short: I know better," Xzar finished, pushing her back at last, disentangling himself thoroughly. She scowled and tossed her hair, leaning forward with a line of bare skin crossing her chest where her tunic had come undone.
"Perhaps too young to appreciate," she flung back, and it still applied now; in halfling's years the mad mage was a boy and none so old in human either, to drow in particular. Seen things in short enough time to make him madder than a gibbering mind-blasted Strifeleader of the Black Sun. "I admit human slaves of undeveloped years gave me little pleasure."
"Shame, that," Montaron agreed nastily. "Ye'd be worth at least a silver on the market. I'd've paid at least five copper more for ye to wear a gag to stop your mouth all the way during it, but nobody complains about a free service."
"Ignore your ape," Viconia said firmly, and added a new tight grip on Xzar's shoulders. "You have noticed me, I know, jaluk, at times between your insanities. Coward? Inadequate?"
"—Understanding of the fourteenth and fifteenth letters of the alphabet," Xzar said, as if he wasn't so scared of her. He detached himself again. "Mad, not foolish. Also, you don't much like magic."
"Dream of the dark desires I could have sated," Viconia said. She raised a hand as if to slap the mad wizard, but lowered it. She'd wanted—Xzar was the one who reported to Zhentil command; head-turn both of them at once, or rather groin-leading. Montaron could've cackled over the madman's reaction, but stopped himself. The mage snapped his fingers for a light to read his spells, and Viconia peeled off her boots to fling them far away.
"How long will this trip through foul conditions of the primitive trees last?" she demanded.
"Fiveday at most," Montaron told her.
—
They were woken on the freezing morning of the fourth day by bandits.
S'posed to be the drow on watch. Whined about the rain in the day, the prayers she'd had to cast to keep herself warm and dry, then she'd got the last.
"Psst! Hey. Hey there. Rise and shine now, gentlemen. Oh, I hope I didn't disturb ye. My, boys, but we've got sound sleepers here. Did'nay hear us wee little bandits and now look at this mess."
"Get your filthy hands off me, rivvil! Get—" Viconia's voice was choked off by the garrotte around her neck. There were bows aimed at them; Montaron calculated, a reach for the crossbow and getting to the oak tree for half a shield, one of Xzar's quick spells getting off.
Wasn't even as if they were sitting on much in the way of obvious coin, and the skinny longlimbs looked desperate enough. The one with the drow'd elected himself speaker.
"See the sharp little pinker by your dark elf's neck? I'd not like to let it slip. Pretty thing, isn't she? Wouldn't be so pretty if this sharp thing carved her a second mouth."
"—Foul rivvin—I did nothing—" Viconia was cut off, struggling in the wire. Bird in a trap.
"So we'll ask ye nicely to hand over your trinkets, and then we'll all be going on our way. No quick moves, if ye don't mind. Sometimes my hand's a touch shaky, y' see, and the knife wants to have its way. No doubt ye'd hate it if she bit it."
"—I'd offer ye the mad wizard's sexual favours for a thank-you, in fact, but ye don't seem the type," Montaron said, keeping his hands away from weapons.
"Slaves!" Viconia shrieked in a ragged voice. "Traitorous male slaves!"
"Oh. Bit of a misunderstanding, eh?" the man said. Xzar opened his mouth.
"Not a word out of ye, wizard, lest these gents think you're spelling," Montaron said quickly. "Look, humans, there's things ye must know; she took us out of the Underdark for surface cover—spelled and potioned so we wouldn't know the way there or back. A—twoday or so from the dark elves' home, I guess. Perhaps the mage and me could join up with you fellows."
"Turn bandit?"
"Beats slave to drow," Montaron said. Xzar nodded frantically.
"Almost anything does," the mad wizard said, "down in the dark, mad hands reaching for you. You shatter to save yourself for control, and they chain you still. Don't send us back to the—" He chewed on his nails, all fright. It helped support the sort of story they told.
"What an offer. A finger-wiggler and a little one. Can you fight?"
"Have for years."
"Share one for all, goods and food?"
"Fine by me."
"Stand and come with us, on trial. In Ertof Dand's group, it be all even-equal."
Amateur bandits. The four bowmen let out a ragged cheer. They'd be butchered in a few minutes flat against Zhentilar.
"Probably a reward if ye drag her to the nearest town, wherever that is; or ask her about the invasion plans," Montaron said. "I remember shelves laid with shiny drow enchanted weapons, not far back from where she took us to scout. If an army of them comes up to raid in the dark..."
He'd baited the hook; see how bright the poor saps were.
"I lost two of my brothers to drow," one of the bowmen snapped, his hands shaking. "—Could get a reward; could stop them from coming up."
"They said they didn't know where the Underdark cave was, only she did," a younger bandit said.
"These weapons," Dand said, holding the wire tight around Viconia's neck. "How...well-guarded would you say they were?"
"Usual for drow, strong patrols from Underdark direction against their drow buddies. Won't ye be taking us to the town?" Montaron continued; the more a mark felt they were leading you, the less suspicious they were. "Dand, sir—mind if I call ye Dand? Best to give the warning, and ye'll have the reward to earn our part as bandits among ye."
"I think we scout first," Dand said slowly. "Say, if'n the drow wouldn't be expecting surfacers to come thataway; and if you can lead us once the drow shows us her entrance..."
"They're magic weapons the drow use on the surface," said one of the men, "obsidian-black and glimmering with ice and fire, terrible and powerful. A few of those and in the night everyone in Amn'd fear our gang."
"Fine," Montaron said. "If ye get to the town, and listen to us and don't tarry in places ye shouldn't go. You're right, Dand," he said like he didn't want to admit it, "they're not protecting against humans 'cause they don't think humans are going to know about it. But it's awhile since we saw surface, and we'd rather stay above it."
"And prevent the suffering of others in the same dreaded fate!" Xzar chimed in, posing like some holy knight. "I say, if you want slaves, make yourself some zombies."
"Agreed," Dand said, and pulled at Viconia. "Hear that, drow lady? You get to live by telling us where ye came from—and your men join with us. Deal's on as long as you sweet-talk us and tell the truth," he said, and the men joined him laughing at her.
Dand, six-foot Tommen the Midget, Snagtooth Jack, Young Dalsin, Redbeard Jaregard. A low-ranked guardsman turfed out for thieving, three farmers who'd lost land, and a runaway carpenter's prentice. There'd been a few more in the band who'd died in their incompetent robbery. They tore into Montaron's supplies without caring to save for later, suffering from not enough food.
"This the right way, drow lady?" Dand teased her, grinning as if he was full-bellied for once. They'd shared Montaron's one vial of Imnesvale ale, partying well. He'd refused it, himself. "Two days, your men say," Dand said. "If'n we're not there in time, the more we hurt ye. Understand?"
"Understood well enough, rothe," Viconia said coldly. She was the same as they'd done to Fentan, tied up on the ground. The smallest of the humans had slipped her armour off her and stretched it out over his shape.
"Roth. What's that?" Dalsin said, red-cheeked from that small amount of booze; couldn't so much as hold his ale. "Calling us names?"
"Drow bitch," Snagtooth said, "drow whore. I know what all your kind does to people."
"You're inferior and cowardly fighters," she snapped out, "nadorhuanel yeunnen torthusen."
"Not so strong yourself," Jaregard said, "bound as ye are—let me make sure—"
"Don't dare to lay a hand on me," Viconia said, kicking out as he went to her with a dirt-encrusted gag. The five of them were around her, hurting her, Snagtooth grabbing a tit; and there was genuine fright in her face, Montaron would have sworn to it.
The mad wizard had looked over his book this night. This would be easy. And Xzar was already starting forward.
"Turn rust and wither!" he shrieked the spell, and by then Montaron's blade had already carved Dand's tendons into fancy ribbons of meat. The wouldbe-bandits' weapons shrivelled, they barged into each other on the way, and too soon they were dead. No pesky bows to back them up. Montaron drew the blunter end of the blade across Ertof Dand's throat.
"There. Wasn't the wild bluegull chase easier than begging 'em not to hurt the lady?" Montaron said, setting the drow free. She chanted spells to heal herself first.
"Nobody likes people who touch without asking," Xzar said, and muttered a necromantic incantation over the burned body of the Midget. "He'll make an excellent zombie. Carry our materials. Eye, nerve, skin, flesh—very useful on experiments upon the dead."
"I will have that armour cleaned before I wear it once more," Viconia said. The kid who wore it had been hardest to kill; but it didn't cover the knees, and that was his mistake. "Carry it for me, male."
"I would not have been able to tell the fools the way to the Underdark in any case," she said, sitting by the bandits' fire amidst their corpses, not looking at either of them while she spoke. "When I left...the Spider Queen had seized power from me in one swift knifestroke. I felt blind and stumbling through the tunnels of home. I was born to be a priestess, and the Queen of the Demonweb Pits was with me for above six hundred years. I rose to an archpriestess, strong enough to burn anyone with fire from the underworld in moments, arm undead the size of giants and set them against my enemies.
"Then I might as well have been a stumbling surfacer with no prayer or magery within me, nothing but my skin to shield me from spells and blows."
Exactly how the likes of him existed each day, Montaron thought. Nothing between him and blows but blade and skill, and he liked it that way.
"The Spider Queen had me lose the drow's gifts. I was crippled and blinded in the maze of shadows I fled to escape. But in the darkness Shar found me and gave me the will to survive," Viconia said. "I emerged in lands of endless sand. Calimshan, it was called, but the male was a traveller bound north. He spared me from goln who sought to end my life; and the price for my survival was the erotic arts of the drow. We females are taught to take pleasure slaves, not to live as them, but I knew the arts of it. I stroked my dark hands along his sweaty folds, tickled him artfully with my tongue, I let him exert himself wildly inside me while he bit my shoulder. Does that repulse you, kivvin? He was nigh wide as he was tall, with red fleshy thighs and a belly full of streams of yellow fat that wobbled above or below me, three oily chins on his face and missing teeth in his mouth that stank of rot."
"Yes, because you had to," Xzar said, "but it's not fair when you know we're going to say it."
"In fact I had charge of the caravan," Viconia said. "The Calishite merchant was my pawn, and I enjoyed having him as my possession. We went as I wished to colder climes where the accursed sun did not burn so cruelly. I manipulate such things at my will, which will never be a skill of either of you." She held her head high as a gallowspost and looked down her nose. "These here were males as pathetic. I deceived them each step of the way."
"Right ye are," Montaron said. "Stay awake next time on watch, will you?"
"I would still be in that caravan if the merchant had not expired of a sudden...heart attack, on top of me one night," Viconia said viciously. "Alas, the guards thought it murder and chased me away. Overexertion can indeed kill."
—
A/N: Dr Who reference. ;)
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