R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation (60 page)

“The quickest way to get where we want to go is going to be by floating there,” the scout said. “As long as Jeggred is willing to bear me, that is.”

Quenthel looked first at the draegloth, then at Faeryl, and said, “You’re not going to give me reason to have Jeggred or Pharaun kill you by trying to run away, are you?”

Faeryl glowered but shook her head.

“Good, then lead on, Valas. I am weary and would like to enjoy the Reverie on a proper couch for a change.”

Jeggred lifted the scout up in one arm, and soon they were all rising easily toward the higher parts of the city. Faeryl had been right. As the group reached higher and higher elevations, the crowds abated somewhat. It was still busier than Valas had ever remembered, but at the higher levels, it was at least tolerable. He led them toward an upscale business section of the city, a zone where many of the lesser Houses, those with only enough power to make fortunes in trade as opposed to actually being powerful enough to run the city, maintained commercial offices.

It was this section, Valas knew, that many of the wealthy merchants from other regions of the Underdark frequented while visiting the city. The inns were extravagant enough that they would support the creature comforts expected by the trading community’s elite, and they wouldn’t do more than bat an eye even at someone as unusual as Jeggred. Valas hoped that there the Menzoberranyr would find a room that would satisfy Quenthel’s need for pampering and not draw undue attention to themselves. If they could find a room at all.

Pharaun insisted that he be the one to negotiate with the innkeepers. The first two establishments nearly laughed in the wizard’s face, and the third one made biting comments concerning the “Wrath of Lolth” before suggesting that a payment of submission for ritual cleansing would buy them the opportunity to share one room together. The fourth place had nothing either, but the proprietor there, a half-orc blind in one eye, suggested a place that was near the edge of the city, two sections higher. He claimed that his cousin ran the place and catered to mercenaries who hired on with caravans—or at least, they used to, when caravans still ran. Valas wondered which side of the family the relation was on.

It took a bit of searching before the group finally found the Flame and Serpent, a sprawling hive of stacked cocoon-shapes nestled together where one lonely strand of calcified webbing was anchored to the wall of the cavern. It held promise, if only by virtue of its out-of-the-way location and its appearance.

Quenthel balked upon first seeing the inn, but Pharaun suggested that they at least inquire inside before dismissing any possibility, and the high priestess once again let the male convince her.

She really must be weary, Valas mused. She’s letting him run the show today. Well, one good night’s Reverie, and that’ll all change.

For a pleasant surprise, the inside of the Flame and Serpent was substantially more inviting than the outside had been. While Pharaun approached the innkeeper, a fat orc with silver caps on his tusks and two ogre bouncers to back him up, Valas looked around. There were certainly plenty of folk sitting in the tap room, and though Jeggred drew more than one lingering stare as he crouched beneath a ceiling that wasn’t quite the right height for him, most of the patrons ignored them. Valas recognized why. They really were mercenaries, independents in the business for gold and little else, and as long as no one interfered with them or their livelihoods, they would keep to themselves. They were Valas’s kind of folk.

Quenthel’s expression was one of distaste, but Pharaun returned with a gleam in his eye and the good news that they had actually managed to get the Flame and Serpent’s last two rooms. When the wizard mentioned the price, Quenthel rolled her eyes, but Valas realized they had probably still gotten a bargain.

“Only two?” Quenthel said doubtfully. “Then the males will have to share one, while Faeryl and I take the other. Jeggred, you, of course, will remain with me.”

Faeryl’s face looked stricken at the prospect of sharing her quarters with the draegloth, but she said nothing.

The rooms were not in the same area of the inn. The larger of the two, the one Quenthel claimed for her own, was a round chamber with a separate bathing room. It was near the front of the structure, with several small windows that looked out over the city. From their vantage, the females could see the magnificent glowing web streets stretching off into the distance both above and below. The smaller chamber was at the rear of the Flame and Serpent, an elongated room with two beds and a divan for a third person. The lone window opened to the wall of the cavern, where rivulets of water ran down, leaking through from the World Above and trickling down to the bottom of the
V
-shaped city, where it fed beds of fungi.

It’s not much of a view, Valas decided, but it might prove useful for leaving the inn unobserved.

“I want to rest for a while, so you three,” Quenthel said, looking at the males, “stay out of trouble. We will convene at the end of the day and discuss what to do next over our meal. Until then, leave me alone!”

With that she stalked off to her chambers, dragging Faeryl and Jeggred along with her.

Valas agreed to rest on the couch, and as the three of them unpacked a bit, Pharaun stood and stretched, cracking his back.

“I don’t know about you two,” the wizard said after a bit, “but I’m too excited to flop around here. I fancy a drink somewhere and maybe a chance to hear more of the buzz around town. Are you two interested in accompanying me?”

Valas looked at Ryld, who gave the scout a nod.

“Sure,” they both said in unison, and the three of them set out together.

Three drow males moving through the streets of Ched Nasad proved to be much more anonymous than five drow and a draegloth, though Pharaun supposed that a large part of it was due to the fact that he, Ryld, and Valas were sauntering along back web streets in a higher section of the city. As they strolled, listening to the din of business all around them, the mage couldn’t help but be thrilled at the exploration of the city. Unlike Menzoberranzan, Ched Nasad was a cosmopolitan collection of sights, sounds, and smells that permeated the entire city. He could certainly detect subtle differences as the trio moved through various sections of town, but regardless of where they found themselves, the wizard absorbed it all, noting that the air vibrated with a kind of clamor, the feel of wheeling and dealing, that was only present in the baser areas of Menzoberranzan.

It was certainly more lively than Tier Breche, where Pharaun spent far too much time cloistered in the towers of the Academy, hidden away in Sorcere. Back home, he had made a habit of only getting out into the main city when he needed supplies or the occasional drink and bit of fun. It had been that way for many years, at least while his sister Greyanna longed to kill him. With her no longer posing a problem, he made a note to himself to partake of the more colorful neighborhoods of home more often.

As they strolled, Valas and Ryld seemed to be looking everywhere at once, but Pharaun knew that their attentiveness to the cacophony around them was due to a different reason than his own. Certainly, he was wary of a pickpocket or thug, but for the weapons master and the scout, it was what they had trained themselves to do for years upon years. They had honed their skills of wariness and observation to keen levels, and their entire beings reverberated with it. Pharaun doubted seriously that anyone in the city would get the drop on him while his two companions were in tow. It was a comforting thought, if only because it allowed him to truly relax and enjoy the splendor of the City of Shimmering Webs.

The mage certainly understood why Ched Nasad had been dubbed such. The tangle of streets crisscrossed in purples, ambers, greens, and yellows for hundreds of feet in every direction, and it was a marvelous sight. Everywhere the three of them walked vendors hawked mushrooms, or jewelry, or potions. Pharaun noticed that the goods seemed of an inferior sort, though, and few people were buying—everyone had a hint of something in his eyes. Fear, he decided. Everyone looked afraid.

One filthy looking drow male had small cages, each one holding a small four-armed humanoid with multifaceted eyes, mandibles, and a spidery abdomen. They were no more than a foot tall. Peering closer, Pharaun could see that the creatures had web-spinning capabilities. They shrank back as he studied them.

“You wish to buy one, Master?” the male asked hopefully, jumping up from where he had been sitting cross-legged.

“Infant chitines,” Valas said. “The adults are hunted for sport, and whenever a nest is found the babies are brought back here and sold as pets.”

“Interesting,” Pharaun replied and briefly contemplated purchasing one, though from the look of things, the drow male was having little luck drawing any interest in his wares. “I’d consider getting one—as a present for Quenthel, you know—but these seem over priced.”

The male’s hopeful stare faded to disappointment, and he sat down on the edge of the street again.

Ryld snorted, and Valas shook his head.

“They’re not too expensive,” the scout said as they walked on. “The market’s probably just flooded with them right now.”

“Why is that?” Pharaun asked.

“Because chitines and choldriths worship the goddess, too,” Valas answered quietly.

“Choldriths?”

“Chitine priestesses. Same racial stock, larger and dark-skinned. No hair, human eyes. I suspect that they may be suffering the same calamity that has befallen our own clerics.”

Pharaun’s curiosity was piqued.

“Really,” he said, musing. “It might prove useful if we could track down some of these choldriths and find out if they are suffering the same fate. It’s obvious that Ched Nasad endures the goddess’s silence, too, and once we get proof, Quenthel may be at a loss for what to do next. This would give us the means to explore further, find out if Lolth’s reticence is universal or just limited to our own race.”

“It’s a nice idea in theory, mage,” Ryld said, shooing a goblin vendor away who was trying to convince him to buy a bowl of slugs, “but you’d be hard-pressed to track any down, and struggle even more to elicit information from them. The drow hunt them for sport, so the chitines and choldriths have learned to flee or fight to the death.”

“Hmm,” Pharaun responded, spying a little shop selling something he wanted. “Perhaps, but my particular talents could come in handy in such an endeavor.”

The mage’s companions followed him to a cramped kiosk selling spirits, which was hanging at the corner of two fairly large web streets. To reach it, customers had to slide down a steep ramp of webbing to the front of the vending stand, then ascend a ladder of webbing to return to the street. Pharaun studied the small crowd of people gathered around, each in turn descending the slide and purchasing a flask or mushroom cap of beverage.

“You’d think they could have put steps in on both sides,” the Master of Sorcere sniffed disdainfully.

“Oh, by the Dark Mother,” Ryld said, shaking his head. “I’ll get us something.”

With that, the warrior moved through the crowd, very few of whom were actually buying, instead begging coin or a sip from the paying customers. Ryld ignored them and descended upon the vendor, while Pharaun and Valas stood out of the way of traffic and took the opportunity to absorb the sights again.

When Ryld returned, he had a bit of a strange look on his face.

“What is it?” Valas asked.

“That gray dwarf charged me ten times what this swill is worth and seemed to take a certain delight in it.”

“Well, a bit of gouging is to be expected, when caravan traffic has dried up,” Pharaun said.

“Yes, but when a goblin asked for the same thing right after me, I heard the proprietor sell it to him for half what he charged me.”

“Maybe the little thrall is a regular,” Valas offered.

“Possibly,” Pharaun said, opening the flask that Ryld had procured and inhaling a waft. He jerked his head back and scrunched up his face a bit. “I suspect it has more to do with relishing the opportunity to earn a little payback against the drow.” He took a sip of the brandy and passed the flask to Valas. “After all, who regulates the commerce in the city? Who gets first choice of all the best vending locations? Who runs the caravan system? Who acquires the best trade goods?”

“In other words, who sticks it to the other races with regularity?” Ryld finished.

“Exactly. The gray dwarves, the trogs, the kuo-toans, and everyone else in this city know that the ruling class has fallen on hard times, and despite the fact that they’ve been allowed to trade in a city of dark elves, they won’t waste a chance to earn a spot of revenge. And Ryld,” Pharaun added, gesturing to the flask that Valas was handing to the warrior, “you would have been had at one-tenth the price.”

Ryld shrugged, took a sip, and said, “You’re drinking it, aren’t you?”

The three companions continued on, sharing the flask and discussing the prospects of acquiring some sort of tangible confirmation that Lolth was absent from Ched Nasad. Pharaun continued to be deeply intrigued by the idea of investigating other races known to worship the goddess, and even as he contributed to the conversation, he mulled the concept over. It would require some research. Given time and Quenthel’s willingness, he had a good idea where he might go to perform the study.

The mage’s musings were interrupted when the trio ascended a webbed staircase, turned a corner, and found themselves on a colonnade overlooking an open plaza. From the congestion in the mall, Pharaun thought it obvious that refugees had taken to using the place as a sort of campground. Still, there was enough room to move along the raised walkway around the perimeter without brushing shoulder to shoulder with the riffraff, and the three dark elves glided along, ignoring the pleas and demands for coin from the unwashed around them.

A shout from below drew the drow’s attention, and when Pharaun peered toward the center of the plaza, he spotted the source of the disturbance. A priestess was standing in a fairly open area, three or four hobgoblins gathered around her. She seemed to be mumbling something, but from a distance Pharaun couldn’t make out what it was. The female drow raised her arm back and tried to lash out at one of the hobgoblins with a scourge, but the creature easily stepped aside, and the priestess stumbled forward from the exertion. She was quite drunk, Pharaun realized.