Warning: Another cruelty-to-minors warning. Sorry.
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"Oh, get up, weakling, you waste my time." The slap to his jaw brought him back; he rubbed at the bruises he could feel on his shoulders. Nothing but mess and rubble around them; orbs blown and burnt grey, levers splinted off, walls halfway down around their heads. The drow's hair was in a dusty mess behind her head and even her face wasn't clean.
"I thought I would fear being buried alive," she said thoughtfully, "but instead I feel triumph. The asylum was mine."
They gave lunatics asylums to run. "Dorn elgg ear's a death threat, isn't it?" Montaron said.
"Ir. Of course it is. There are times I have revenged myself very painfully—to those concerned." Viconia flicked her hair behind her back and settled her armour in place. "Make me a path over this rubble. It is useless now—and at the very least our enemies have fled. I am sure either the mage-elg'caress-vampire or the overstuffed undead rothe perished. I feel better."
Like that binding was safe for them. Could kill all they wanted now. He'd lost crossbow and smashed bottles in the upset; he still laid hand to blade. Buried her alive, in that fear of hers; he dug them a way out, and she managed to bring water from some place in the planes and dab it on hair and face. "Goes faster if ye help."
"Shar is void, the destruction we leave must be to her will." The passage beyond the control-room wasn't one they'd gone down before. It had moss on it growing by some magic, and the stink of compost not far. In a room a few dead plant-creatures lay split open and stinking, worthless spores scattered around them. Didn't sound like the Bhaalspawn's monsters were still on the rampage; run into a bloodsucker, then they'd get to kill it. If they could. Montaron could remember the twists and turns on the map to where they'd pulled down the mad mage, locked him in the asylum's depths where he belonged. Might as well fetch Xzar if he still lived, take anything that wasn't nailed down, and set the place on fire and shove it over the cliff before hunting for ship-passage in the town below.
Corridors were deserted and scarred; some by claws, some by traces of a mage-battle of some kind. Then a howling roar came to them: a surface-elf, with hair growing all over his skin.
"Halt, madman; to whom your loyalties?" Viconia called, standing ready for a casting.
"—Bad doggies took the portal! Good doggies who eat bad doggies took after them! Gateway to night, gateway to fear! Bad doggies who LICK YOUR TOENAILS OFF WITH A THOUSAND SANDPAPER LICKS! You must be figments! Don't stare at me like that, bad doggies! Hairy feet, you're a bad little doggie!"
The finger was pointed at Montaron. "Look at your own claws, werewolf," he said.
"An island curse. Was a nice young short man who saved me from it, indeed it was," the elf said. "Dradeel, navigator to mighty explorer Balduran! I was...then a curse from the bad doggies who sniff at your second-best drawers! Fancy a monkey butter muffin?"
"Who left within this portal?" Viconia asked coldly.
"Good doggies who turn into bad doggies and bad doggies who crack marrow to get at bone and do dissections with things breathing on the table, of course," the elf said. "Now, I'm afraid—the doggy nature is within me! Defend yourselves, mortals, or—arr!"
The cry turned into a wolf's howl and the werewolf flung itself at them, all fangs and fur and heavy weight. Don't let yourself get clawed by them for there was a chance it meant turning; silver and cold iron on them, and watch the way their flesh grows back. This one was only a mage. Not the faintest idea of how to fight. Behind him, Viconia chanted, but he didn't need to pay it heed. Got fast into the right position to kick up into the wolf's balls; let it howl in pain; and stabbed into the throat and up to the skull, hacking to take away head from body. Let it try growing that one back.
A bunch of dust rose up from the floor at the drow's whistling, small bones buried in the cracks of the floor. Piece by piece a human-sized skeleton shape made itself, standing by her and shuffling forward to fight. Hadn't needed it.
Asylum was all in a shambles, ripped to pieces. Montaron could remember well that vast red giant. Not easy to think of the half-hin kid as just that Bhaalspawn brat when ye knew what was in him. They came across the bloody remains of a longlimb torn in half, an arm and part of a leg and half a face that was a red mess of nothing, one or two locks of blue-coloured hair unstained at the edges. There was more blood than could've belonged to one spattered on the walls, some of it darker like it had belonged to creatures already dead. The mage's jar room was empty of the living, bodies of a dwarf and a woman and a little girl splayed across it. The girl wasn't quite human, flesh rippled at the edges like some foul shapeshifting spell; Montaron stopped to cover over the child's face. Hadn't known they stuck kids in the asylum. The bodies of the Shadow Thieves lay blank at the bottom of the broken jars, the two men and the two women of the bloodsuckers' snacking time. Searched the chests and shelves of the upper rooms; a few discarded coin pouches, tarnished weapons, one or two odd spell scrolls, potion bottles smashed and useless on the floor. The weird thing was the portal hanging glowing silver in the air, a round doorway. Then they got round to winding their way down to the mad wizard in the cellar and lockpicking him free.
"—You did come back for me! After all we've shared. I thought I might have to grow daisies here ever after. I found a nice minotaur skull to serve as a plant-pot."
Marched back up, and the fool insisted he sensed the portal. "Where'd they go, mad mage?" Montaron said.
"Can't tell. Very well-crafted, though. Pretty dancing interplanar lights inside it," Xzar said. "I smell vampire going in."
"The Bhaalchild, too, according to the dead werewolf," Viconia said. "Can not such portals be modified to unknown destinations after the first has gone through?"
"Very possibly." The mad wizard touched and prodded and poked at the portal in a way that'd get them all blown to the Nine Hells sooner or later. "The empty mage with waxen wings knows his skill."
"Vengeance against the vampires would be...pleasant," Viconia said. "Yet I am against foolishness on general principles."
"Oh, where's your sense of adventure?" The mad mage gestured over the portal and drew something into a blue flask that he sniffed. "It goes somewhere there's breathable air for the likes of us, that's enough. Come on through, and keep your heads inside the interdimensional portal as much as possible!"
Knew he should've shot him in the kneecaps before. The mad wizard leaped forward before Montaron could stab him, pulling Viconia along with him in a madman's strength Montaron had escaped. He lost sight of them in the portal's swirling depths; then cursing Xzar's name and remembering both that getting a ship passage cost gold and gems and the Bhaalspawn brat would have suffered equally to what he was about to do, Montaron went in after them.
It was a seven-foot fall to the ground; he couldn't see the portal any more behind them; and it was a dark closed cave lit only by faint glowing moss on the walls. Viconia cursed in an unending scream in her tongue. Xzar lay on the ground as she kicked him in the ribs over and over again, his arms folded protectively over his face.
"Iblith! Wael! Vith'ir! Iblith! Wael! Vith'ir! Natha zithrel draevalen! A jatha'la rothe!"
May a thousand large critters forcibly take carnal knowledge of ye, more or less. Her steel-toed boot hit the mad wizard again. An idea of where exactly they'd fetched up had passed over Montaron. Xzar unfolded his left arm and pointed a finger at Viconia, and aimed a beam of thick green light that for the moment was blinding. She jumped back and swore again.
"Vith'il—dared that on me? My armour, you damaged— Vile mage! You did this— Disintegration ray—" She shrieked her words as if she feared the spell, then stepped back toward him with her rage uppermost once more. "It did not damage me! Shar protected me! Be afraid, for my wrath is strong!"
The disintegration spell? Mad mage'd gotten busy, again. Seen it before—wasn't good news in any shape.
"Both of ye stop the squabble," Montaron said slowly and carefully. "Don't cast that cursed spell, wizard—damages mage-items off the corpses and they sell for less."
"—And remember who deserves to lead here!" Viconia said, standing back.
"Get up, mad mage, and keep your mouth shut," Montaron told him. "Turn the voicebox down, drow. I take it we've reached your home crib?"
"Yes, fool. The Underdark. Where the followers of the Spider Queen will kill me upon sight—and, if you are unlucky, take you for slaves and sell you for a few coppers before you are killed. Though it would be amusing to watch you suffer in slavery," she said, voice pitched to a tone less likely to bring a mass of enemies down on them. "Your stupidity earns it."
"Bloodsuckers and Bhaalspawn would've come this way," Montaron said. "Funny. Lead-vamp had surface-elf ears."
"I'm surprised you managed to look that far up," Viconia snapped, pulling herself together. "Nevertheless they have some goal in common with the drow or one of the lower underground races—possibly even a hatred of the foul surface darthiir, for they dislike undead. So rarely can a captive darthiir be convinced to serve in undeath, even when as slaves they wither so quickly that they are barely worth the coin. Our foes are here—unknown purpose in mind. Find their plot and gain power through them."
Everyone knew the Underdark was the stuff of nightmares. He made out well enough in dark places; but armies of drow and eye-tyrants and fish-men lurking around corners was the stuff of those fool tales they told brats to get them to shut up. When they crossed by deep cliffs so dark that the ends weren't visible, sometimes there were howls from the deep and what might have been screams. Rope bridges hung frayed across the chasms and swayed for their weight.
They could smell blood. The broken body of a black-skinned gnome lay on the road, throat ripped open and torn up for a vampire. Someone had covered the face and dragged it off to the side.
"Our prey," Viconia noted, "and a svirfneblin; a settlement must be near. No doubt they would look upon it as equal prey, for the creatures are weak." She held her head slightly higher.
"Cursed bloodsuckers," Montaron said. More than full rein to speak his mind now. "Think they can do whatever they like with ye. Ooo, we're so much classier than common ghouls and don't like wearing clothes, do exactly what we say. Bloody aristocrats. Kill all the nobs, I say."
"I am highborn; I am an aristocrat." Viconia scowled down at him.
"One o' your many annoying traits," Montaron went on. "Mad mage, I don't know what he is in the Keep—it sure isn't rich—but he doesn't act it." They stumbled along the black path.
"I have a patronymic," Xzar offered. "But it doesn't matter. It's not one of the things I need to remember."
Viconia sniffed. "A name of the father. The way you surfacers use these things can be so foolish," she said, making herself superior. "With the mother, one can always be sure; I don't doubt even your weak surfacer females have private revenges on their males." They crossed between two thick cliffs; and above them instead of night sky was only more blank rock.
"Oh, it's true enough—heart of woman's black as coal and treacherous as a drow," Montaron said, for she'd left herself open.
"It's not, Monty. It's the same colour as heart of men, and just as squishy," Xzar said. "See the little deep gnome's heart here?"
"Put it away, mad wizard," Montaron said. It was all too couch-quieted, and the least touch of foot on pebble sent sounds skittering far away.
"How black are your own hearts?" the drow said. "Do not answer that in words. In—capable deeds." She looked up to the earth above them and crossed her arms on her chest. Buried alive, she feared. Should find their way back up to the surface knocking off anything that got in their way.
The road turned and divided in two; one side, louder noises from far ahead and the other less.
"We would impress more those who do not crave attention," Viconia said. "Take the left fork."
"Far away from Menzo-thingy, would ye say? Not your home-crib," Montaron asked her. "Just as well, for ye came out in Calimshan." Hot and messy and easy to get taken as a slave; no place he cared for, for all the pictures of dancing-girls in transparent pants with rings through navel and nipples.
"Menzoberranzan. The capital of the drow, if we had such a thing. The most powerful city of us all. I have told you, I did not care where I came out on the wretched surface world. The Abyss alone knows where your foolishness has dragged us." Viconia wound her white hair behind her neck, turning and twisting it in a rough tail. "The lesser races hate the drow. Be powerful enough to awe them. The drow...will kill a houseless one."
"Fake it." Drow were killers, they were taught to backstab before solid food; but the one he knew was bright and yet no brighter than any surface-elf nob-mark. "Be Lady Muckamuck from Faraway. Simple enough con if ye've the looks and the ways about ye. I was bodyguard once to a longlimb skirt trying the same thing, picking up coin from nobs who reckoned she was one of 'em. She tried to make off with all the loot before we were done, and that made it end quick for her; but it's a light enough job to pull off for a brief while."
"Invent a House name. That would—not all memorise the names of all six hundred and sixty-six in each of the drow cities... If they fear reprisal they shall not attack. You, of course, will be viewed as my slaves." She smiled. "A foreign drow noble, travelling at the behest of one of the greater Houses...to ascertain proper loyalties to the Spider Queen in secret. They will fear me. They must fear me."
"I'd feared that, mistress," Montaron grumbled.
"That's not unpleasant to hear, halfling slave." She stalked up to the head of them, gazing at the pressing cliffs. Felt like they'd trod through a day or more; no way to tell the hours underground. The mad wizard had started to trail behind, and there was tired stiffness in the drow's body. Better not to stop in unfamiliar territory.
The path turned, and the smoke piping up from the place reached halfway up in the caves. Small houses were part-masked by caves and outcrops above, protected by a high grey rock formation.
"Svirfneblin," Viconia said. "They are weak and helpless; a houseless drow to them... Inquire of our enemies in this small place; seek lodging from them as tribute. It is never good to sleep beyond walls in the Underdark. I smell faint kuo-toa." She peeled off a strip of moist moss from the cave wall and threw it into a trickle of water winding a green way along the ground.
She stalked toward the place with nose high enough in the air for a queen, raising hands like she came without meaning them harm. Talked to a pair of armoured guards in an underground tongue; then eventually one of them ran off. They were Montaron's height or so and bald below their helmets. Pointy-eared and big-snouted like surfacer gnomes and near as black-skinned as drow.
"They have agreed to trade," Viconia said in Common, and pointed to him. "Empty your pack, slave."
"Trade what?" He wasn't giving up any weaponry.
"What you thieved from the kitchens, of course, fool," Viconia said. "The bacon and the surfacer bread and the hen eggs. Such things are a premium here. I, of course, do not concern myself with menial cooking."
"And if none of us did, ye'd be starved." Spellhold kitchen had turned to a mess when they'd prowled through there; milk spilled all over the place and egg smashed with the shakings of the place, servants decamped far out of there. He'd taken enough for a few days of travel.
"Do they eat moss here, or pretty mushrooms? I ate lovely luminescent mushrooms that changed colour once. They made me see the Butterfly Star Queen of the Poison Ivy Moon," Xzar said.
"They—we—consume mushrooms. Many of them are poisonous or give very interesting hallucinations with improper preparation by slaves. And rothe-meat. Pig's flesh holds that stronger salty taste; roast turnips and surface-cream and almonds and honey... Pathetic surfacers," the drow sneered.
Guards brought back with them the one who'd be the local gnome bigwig; potato-shaped hat turned sideways on her round head, long nose and robes topped with an iron chain of office.
"A houseless one and two surfacers? Would ye be related to the adventurers?" she said in Common. "I am mayor Goldander Blackenrock, headsgnome of this village—and we'll wish no trouble here."
Turned out the Bhaalspawn brat'd helped with a little demon problem; and had been taken to the thing the gnomes called the Light One quickly, trying to catch up to the bloodsuckers and the skin-mask in the drow city to the right-hand fork. The same Light One was meant to guard the way up to the surface, which meant they needed to pick up the directions to her.
"I am here to punish the drow city," Viconia spat out quickly. "I have no reason to lay waste to your own village when there are heretics to hunt there. Give my males and I fair trade and treatment, and you shall not be harmed."
The gnome lifted an amulet from her neck painted to look like a glowing gem on soft blue, and smiled. "I do not challenge you, my lady," she said. Another divine-fiddler; no doubt some of 'em could look and find she wasn't proper drow. Montaron moved into a formation with the three of them, in case it turned bad. "You'll find that our innkeeper accepts all forms of currency from travellers," Blackrock finished.
Coal-dusty in its bottom floors; its dark back rooms had swept stone walls and flickered with faint rush-light in a jar of thick black oil. Beds were thin stuff padded with straw. They'd fought hard enough in the asylum; past time to rest.
"Set a mage-trap," Montaron said, "exploding skull should do the trick if'n any of them get funny ideas. Then the drow animates us some skeletons if we have to fight our way out of here."
"They're short like you, Monty. The little barmaid seemed to like you," the mad mage said; the serving girl was the innkeeper's daughter, a gnome's big nose and a high voice annoying as the twittering of surface bluebirds in spring.
"What a pathetic little one," Viconia said sweetly. "Would you fetch some extra wine from her, slave? Perhaps she'd drop the price for such a daring little adventurer."
"Wouldn't want to get ye drunk and take advantage, wench," he flashed back at her. A storm of anger swept to her face.
"Or knock me unconscious first in surfacer habit! All of you are the same. Go, mad human, leave me to rest; halfling slave, fetch me something to eat."
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