R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation (109 page)

“It is I, Nimor Imphraezl,” he said. “Inform the crown prince that I am here.”

From the air beside him several duergar guards appeared, shedding their invisibility. The gray dwarves stood a head shorter than the drow, but they were broad of shoulder and long of torso, their legs thick and short, their arms powerfully muscled. They wore black plate armor and carried battle-axes and shields emblazoned with the symbol of Gracklstugh. One duergar woman, her rank indicated only by a single strip of gold filigree on the brow of her helm, studied him carefully.

“The crown prince has left instructions to show you to a guest apartment in the palace. He will call on you shortly.”

She made the courtesy sound like an order.

The assassin folded his arms and suffered himself to be marched off by a pair of the prince’s own Stone Guards. The gray dwarves eyed him uneasily, as if they expected mischief from Nimor. In truth, there was little love lost between duergar and drow, despite the fact that Menzoberranzan and Gracklstugh had stood as neighbors for millennia. Gray dwarf and dark elf had fought more than one vicious war for control of the hundred-odd miles of cavern and chasm that lay between the two cities. The fact that no such war had been fought in a century or more simply indicated that both races had come to hold a grudging respect for their enemy’s strength, and not any real lessening of the ill will between them.

The guards led him through the labyrinthine corridors of Gracklstugh’s palace and showed him to a large suite in a disused portion of the fortress. The furnishings were simple and functional, as fitted duergar taste. Nimor settled down to wait, moving over to gaze out of a slitlike window at the gray dwarf city beyond the palace. The city was as unlovely as ever, a reeking cauldron of smoke and noise.

After a time, Nimor noted the approach of footsteps outside and turned as Horgar Steelshadow entered the suite, flanked by a pair of Stone Guards.

“Ah,” the dark elf said, inclining his head. “A good day to you, my lord. How fares the City of Blades?”

“I doubt that you care,” Horgar replied. For the ruler of such a powerful city, the crown prince was in many ways unremarkable. He looked very much like all the other duergar in the room, with a sullen cast to his eyes and a hairless skull. He carried a scepter of office and did not wear armor, which was all that differentiated him from his bodyguards. He motioned the guards to remain by the door, and strode over to speak quietly to Nimor. “Well? What news?”

“I believe I have found the allies I was seeking in Menzoberranzan, dear prince. A strong House eager to see the current order of things overthrown, but whose loyalty is not in question there. The hour of your victory approaches.”

“Hmph. House Zauvirr was eager to hire our mercenaries in Ched Nasad, but damned few of Khorrl Xornbane’s folk came back. I don’t doubt that you or that Zammzt fellow whispered the same thing in Khorrl’s ear when you hired his company.”

“Xornbane’s losses were regrettable, but in truth we did not expect the exceptional effectiveness of your stonefire bombs against Ched Nasad’s calcified webs. Absent that unforeseeable chance, Khorrl Xornbane would have taken the city with House Zauvirr.”

The duergar prince scowled, his beard jutting out like a bottlebrush.

“I warned Khorrl that dark elves have a habit of poorly rewarding mercenaries, especially dwarves. I won’t let another of our mercenary companies march into peril like that again. Xornbane was an eighth of this city’s strength.”

“I have no need of a single company of mercenaries, Prince, no matter how large and fierce,” Nimor assured him. “I have need of your whole army. March in your full strength, and you need not fear defeat in detail.”

“It still smells like an insidious drow ruse to me.”

Nimor frowned and said, “Prince Horgar, if you are hesitant to hazard any risks at all, you will rarely win a throw of the dice. You have an opportunity to achieve something great, but I cannot tell you that your success is guaranteed, or that there are no risks in our enterprise.”

“We’re not talking about a handful of coins riding on a stupid game,” the duergar prince said. “We’re talking about my throne riding on a war that could take a turn I don’t care for in any number of ways. Don’t try to shore up my resolve with empty observations about risk and reward.”

“Very well, then, I shall not, but I will point out that when last we met you said you wanted only one thing before you would consent to lead your army against Menzoberranzan, and that was a substantial ally within the city itself. I have provided you that ally. When will it ever be better for you to strike out at the threat a strong Menzoberranzan poses to your kingdom? Their priestesses are powerless, they have already endured a costly slave rebellion, and now I bring to you a great House willing to assist you in your efforts. What more do we lack, Prince?”

The duergar scowled and turned away to stare out at Gracklstugh. He stood for a time, thinking hard. Nimor watched him waver, and decided it was time to set the hook.

Lowering his voice, he moved close and said, “What better way to secure your seat against the unruly lairds you fear, than by distracting them with a campaign beyond your borders? Even if you should fail to take Menzoberranzan, some diligent planning should ensure that the forces of the most dangerous lairds seem to find the deadliest part of any battle you fight. In truth I believe it is within your grasp to win a great victory over Menzoberranzan, and wreck the strength of your most rebellious nobles at the same time.”

The duergar prince grunted and studied Nimor closely.

“You presume much, dark elf,” said Horgar. “What is it you hope to gain by destroying Menzoberranzan, eh? Why do you seek to set me on this course of action?”

The assassin grinned and clapped the duergar on the shoulder. The Stone Guards in the chamber shifted nervously, disapproving of the contact.

“My dear Prince Horgar, the answer is simple,” Nimor said. “Revenge. Your army is to be the instrument of my vengeance. Naturally I recognize that you will not raze Menzoberranzan simply because I ask it, so it is a necessary part of my design that you are provided with the suitable motivation to do what I wish done. I have worked long and hard to bring about the circumstances under which the army of Gracklstugh might be aimed at the city I hate—including, I might add, assisting you with the small problem of your father’s thoughtless longevity. How can I make my purpose plainer?”

“I paid for your help in that case with hundreds of stonefire bombs,” the duergar prince said, bridling. “Do not speak of my father’s . . . death again. If I came to believe that you might seek to influence my actions with that story, I would have to make sure that whatever information you possessed never came to light. Do you understand me?”

“Oh, I did not mean anything by the remark, Horgar. I merely pointed out that I had been useful to you before, and that I may prove useful again. Now, can I count on the army of Gracklstugh, or not?”

Horgar Steelshadow, Crown Prince of Gracklstugh, reluctantly nodded assent.

“We will come,” he said. “Now, explain to me who exactly will be aiding us inside Menzoberranzan, and how he’ll be able to help.” Ryld could feel hateful eyes lingering on his broad back as he followed Valas and Coalhewer through the streets of the duergar city. He was all too conscious of the fact that he was out of his element. He towered a good twenty inches over any of the gray dwarves, and his coal-black skin and inky
piwafwi
didn’t help him to blend in at all. The three travelers wound their way through a swordsmith’s district, a narrow alleyway lined on both sides by open-air forges where duergar in leather aprons hammered endlessly on glowing metal. Ryld knew a thing or two about good steel, and he could see at a glance that the dwarves knew their work.

The weapons master quickened his step and drew alongside Valas.

“Where are we going?” he asked as quietly as possible over the ringing hammers. “I thought we needed to obtain some sort of official license or pass. Shouldn’t we be heading for a courthouse, or something?”

“If ye wanted a royal license, ye would,” Coalhewer answered, “but that would take ye months and cost ye a fortune in bribes. No, I’m takin’ ye to call on the household of the clan laird Muzgardt. He’ll give ye a writ o’ passage that should get ye where ye want to go.”

Ryld nodded. It was not so different from Menzoberranzan, after all.

“How far will Muzgardt’s writ run?” Valas asked. “Will it get us out of Gracklstugh’s dominions?”

“Muzgardt’s clan be merchants. They deal in ale and liquors throughout the Deepkingdom, and sometimes bring outside brews into the city—drow wine, svirfneblin brandy, even some vintages from the surface, or so I hear. Ye’ll find his folk all over the realm.” Coalhewer laughed a nasty laugh and added, “ ’Course, Muzgardt sells passage to those as want it, too. He likes his gold.”

Ryld smiled. Coalhewer was a grasping, avaricious fellow by anyone’s standards. Muzgardt’s greed must be something noteworthy indeed for a dwarf like Coalhewer to comment on it.

They came to the end of the street of swordsmiths and found themselves back in the vicinity of the Darklake, though farther north along the shore. Before them stood a huge, ramshackle brewery made from loose stone stacked to make walls between the petrified stems of a small forest of gigantic mushrooms. Big copper vats steamed within, filling the air with a heavy, yeasty stink. Dozens of copper kegs stood nearby, and burly gray dwarves swarmed over the place, mashing fungus, mixing fermenting masses, and filling casks with freshly brewed ale.

“A dwarf ’s second love after gold,” Coalhewer said with a crooked smile. “Ah, Muzgardt’s lads do good work, I tell ye.”

The dwarf led Ryld and Valas into the brewhouse and past the huge vats to a small shack or shelter in the back of the place. A pair of gray dwarves stood in heavy mail armor, wicked-looking axes resting close at hand. The guards glared angrily at the dark elves, and picked up their weapons.

“What d’ye want?” one growled.

“Thummud,” Coalhewer replied. “Got a business proposition for him.”

“Stay here,” the first guard said.

He ducked through a ragged curtain in the doorway, and returned a moment later.

“Thummud’ll see ye, but the drow’ll have t’leave their weapons at the door. Don’t trust ’em.”

Ryld looked at Valas and signed,
Are we worried about an ambush?

The scout replied,
Coalhewer knows there are five more in our party, including a capable wizard and a draegloth. I don’t think he’d lead us into a trap—but watch your back anyway.

“Enough finger-talk,” the guard snarled. “Talk so’s we can understand ye, if ye’ve got anything to say.”

“Always,” Ryld said aloud to Valas.

He gave the duergar a hard look, but shrugged Splitter from his shoulder and set the greatsword against one wall. He unbuckled his short sword from its sheath at his hip and set it nearby.

“There’s a curse on the big blade,” he said. “You won’t like what happens if you try to handle it.”

Valas set down his shortbow and arrows, then dropped his kukris to the ground. The duergar guards checked the two dark elves for concealed weapons, then ushered them into the gloomy shelter. The place was an office of sorts, with ledgers and records scattered about. By a large standing clerk’s desk stood one of the fattest gray dwarfs Ryld had ever seen, a round-bodied fellow with thick arms and heavy shoulders. Duergar tended to run toward a gaunt, broad-shouldered build despite their short, powerful stature, but the brewmaster Thummud was as round as one of his kegs.

“Coalhewer,” he said by way of a greeting. “What can you do for me?”

“I’ve got a party of dark elves as need a writ o’ business from Muzgardt,” Coalhewer said. “They’d prefer not to wait on a royal permit.”

“What sort of business?”

“We deal in gemstones, mostly,” Valas said. “We’re looking into setting up transport through the Deepkingdom. We need to be able to move around and talk to a lot of people, and as Coalhewer said, we don’t want to wait for months to get a royal license.”

“Ye’re stupid or ye’re lying, then. Ye’ll pay ten times the cost of a royal license to get a writ from our clan laird. Most merchants I know wouldn’t do such a thing.”

Valas glanced up at Ryld, then looked back to Thummud and said, “All right, then. We’ve got some rivals from back home that are doing a fine business here, and we want to sound out their suppliers to see if they can’t be encouraged to sell to us instead of the others. A royal license wouldn’t really extend that far, would it?”

Thummud snorted, “No, I suppose not.”

“Can ye help me clients, or not?” Coalhewer asked. “Or do I have to go see Ironhead, or maybe Anvilthew?”

“Clan Muzgardt might be able to help ye,” Thummud said after a long moment. “We’ll want two hundred pieces of gold for each body on the writ, and ye can’t have it today.”

Coalhewer glanced up at the dark elves. Ryld nodded to him.

“They’ll pay the laird’s fee,” the duergar sailor said, “but they want to get started right quick.”

“Doesn’t matter what yer clients want,” Thummud replied with a shrug. “I’ll have to take up the matter with the clan laird before I write you a pass.”

“Ye never had to before!”

The fat dwarf folded his arms and set his jaw stubbornly. He glared at Coalhewer and the dark elves.

“Be that as it may, the crown prince’s soldiers have been checking our writs and passes too closely of late. Horgar’s let it be known that he wants to know who’s in the Deepkingdom and why, and he’s leaning on the clan lairds to withhold their writs. We’ll be able to get yer clients theirs, I think, but I’ll have to gain Muzgardt’s blessing first. Come back tomorrow, or the day after.”

Coalhewer muttered into his beard, but he didn’t bother to argue the point any further. He jerked his head toward the curtain, and led Ryld and Valas outside. The dark elves picked up their arms, and in a moment they’d left the brewery behind them.

“Now, what should we make of that?” Valas wondered aloud. “Do you know another clan that might help out, Coalhewer?”