After a march of about two miles, Valas called a brief halt and knelt down to sketch a crude map in the dust of the passage floor.
“Mantol-Derith lies not more than half a mile ahead. Remember, this is a place of trade and association with other races. We do not rule Mantol-Derith—no one does—and so it would be prudent to avoid giving offense to anyone you encounter there, unless you’re looking for a fight that may waste our time and resources.
“Also, I have been considering how best to find our way from the trade cavern to the holdings of House Jaelre in the Labyrinth. From here our path must traverse the dominion of Gracklstugh, city of the gray dwarves.”
“Under no circumstances will we approach Gracklstugh,” Quenthel said at once.
“The gray dwarves destroyed Ched Nasad. I see no reason to present myself at their doorstep for slaughter.”
“We have few other options, Mistress,” Valas said. “We are northeast of the duergar realm, and the Labyrinth lies several days southwest of the city. We cannot skirt the city to the south because the Darklake is in the way, and the duergar patrol its waters. Skirting the city to the north would take us at least two tendays of difficult travel through tunnels I do not know well at all.”
“Why did we bother to come this way, then?” Jeggred muttered. “We might as well have returned to Menzoberranzan.”
“Well, for one thing, Gracklstugh still lies between us and House Jaelre, whether we’re in Mantol-Derith or Menzoberranzan,” Pharaun replied. He tapped three points on Valas’s crudely sketched map. “The gray dwarves must be addressed in either scenario. The question is simply whether we dare to pass through Gracklstugh, or not.”
“Could you shadow walk us past the city?” Danifae asked.
Pharaun grimaced and said, “I have never traveled past Mantol-Derith in this direction, and shadow walking is best employed to reach a familiar destination. At any rate, it wouldn’t surprise me to find that the duergar have defended their realm against the passage of travelers on nearby planes.”
“Are we certain that the gray dwarves would object to our presence?” Ryld asked.
“Merchants from Menzoberranzan journey to Gracklstugh often enough, and gray dwarf merchants bring their wares to Menzoberranzan’s bazaar. It’s possible that Gracklstugh had nothing to do with the duergar mercenaries who attacked Ched Nasad.”
“I have heard nothing that suggests to me that we should risk entering Gracklstugh,” Quenthel said. She made a curt gesture with her hand, silencing the debate. “I prefer not to gamble on the hospitality of the gray dwarves, not after the fall of Ched Nasad. We will go around the city to the north, and trust that Master Hune can find us a way through.”
Halisstra glanced at Ryld and Valas. The scout chewed on his lip, worrying at the problem, while the weapons master simply lowered his eyes in resignation.
“We are only a mile or two from this cavern known as Mantol-Derith?” Halisstra asked, pointing at the sketch.
“Yes, my lady,” Valas replied.
“And regardless of which course we choose, we must pass through the place?”
The Bregan D’aerthe scout simply nodded again.
“Then perhaps we should see what we can learn in the trade cavern before we make our decision,” Halisstra offered. She could feel Quenthel’s eyes on her, but she did not look at the Baenre. “There might be duergar merchants there who could shed some light on the question for us. If not, well, we’ll have to provision ourselves there anyway before striking out into the wilds of the Underdark.”
“A reasonable suggestion,” Pharaun remarked. “There are a dozen mercenary companies based in the City of Blades. Is it not likely that the duergar we fought in Ched Nasad were hired by a drow House, and had no special allegiance to Gracklstugh?”
“They did Gracklstugh’s work when they destroyed the city,” Quenthel said darkly. She stood and set her hands on her hips, still staring at the sketch on the floor. She thought for a moment, then angrily swept it out with her foot.
“We will see what we learn in Mantol-Derith, then. I suspect that time is of the essence, and if we can avoid a detour of twenty or thirty days to skirt the city, we should do so, but if we hear anything to indicate that Gracklstugh may be closed to our kind, we strike out into the barrens.”
Valas Hune nodded and said, “Very well, Mistress. I suspect we will be able to arrange passage unless the duergar are openly at war with Menzoberranzan. I’ve dealt with the gray dwarves before, and there is nothing they would not sell for the right price. I will seek out a duergar guide in Mantol-Derith and see what I can learn.”
“Good enough,” said Quenthel. “Take us to the duergar, and we will—”
“No, Mistress, not ‘we’,” the scout said. He stood and brushed off his hands.
“Most duergar have little liking for drow under any circumstances, less so for noble-born drow, and even less for priestesses of the Spider Queen. Your presence would only complicate things. It might be best if I handled any negotiations myself.”
Quenthel frowned.
Jeggred, standing close behind her, rumbled, “I could go along to keep an eye on him, Mistress.”
Pharaun barked sharp laughter at the thought and said, “If a priestess of Lolth makes a gray dwarf nervous, what do you think he’d make of you?”
The draegloth bridled, but Quenthel shook her head.
“No,” she said, “he’s right. We will find a place to wait, and perhaps see what news there is to be had, while Valas takes care of the details.”
They resumed their march, and soon came to Mantol-Derith. The place was much smaller than Halisstra expected, a cavern not more than sixty or seventy feet in height and perhaps twice that in width, though it twisted and snaked for many hundreds of yards. She was used to the immensity of Ched Nasad’s great canyon, and the stories she’d heard of other places of civilization underground usually involved tremendous caverns miles across. Mantol-Derith would have been nothing more than a side cavern in a drow city.
It was also much less crowded than she would have expected. The marketplaces in her home city had always been busy places, thronged by common drow or the slaves of nobles engaged in their various errands. The market of a drow city usually hummed with industry, energy, and activity, even if those qualities were peculiarly distorted to match the aesthetic tastes of drow society.
Mantol-Derith was comparatively silent and forbidding. Here and there throughout the caverns winding length, small groups of merchants sat or squatted, their wares secured in coffers and casks behind them instead of rolled out on display. No one shouted, or haggled, or laughed. What business transpired there seemed best conducted in whispers and shadows.
Creatures from many different races gathered at Mantol-Derith. More than a few drow merchants held various corners of the cavern, most from Menzoberranzan if Halisstra read the blazons on their goods correctly. Mind flayers glided smoothly from place to place, mauve skin glistening damply, tentacles writhing beneath their cephalopod faces. A handful of sullen svirfneblin huddled together in one spot, eyeing the drow with unalloyed resentment. Of course the duergar were present in numbers, too. Short and broad-shouldered, the gaunt gray dwarves gathered together in secretive cabals, conversing with each softly in their guttural tongue.
Halisstra trailed close behind Pharaun, studying each group as they passed. She noticed that the wizard was trading discreet signs with Valas as they wound deeper into the marketplace.
Not many merchants here today, the wizard observed. Where are they all?
Valas glanced over his shoulder to make sure Quenthel wasn’t looking, and answered, Chaos in Menzoberranzan means few buyers. Few buyers means few sellers. Anarchy seems to be bad for business.