“You trust him to do that?”
“Not entirely, but it’s something we could not easily do ourselves.” The scout grimaced and said, “It’s one thing to deal with the duergar clans in a reasonably forthright fashion. If I was caught looking into forging our passes, I would look very much like a spy, wouldn’t I? And so would all of you, by association.”
“Real spies would approach Gracklstugh in much the same manner we have,” Ryld said from one corner, where Splitter leaned against the wall, within easy reach.
“True, but remember that Coalhewer is something of a smuggler himself. He’s hardly anxious to bring us to the attention of the crown prince,” Valas replied.
“Still, the weapons master and I settled for replenishing our provisions, so we’re ready to leave whenever Coalhewer obtains our pass.”
“It seems we’ve done all we can for now,” Halisstra observed. “I, for one, am tired of blinding deserts, soul-bleaching shadowlands, and bare cavern floors. If we’re soon to return to the bleak and comfortless wilds, I’ll enjoy what civilization I can.”
Halisstra held up her cup for Danifae to fill. The battle captive rose sinuously and refilled her mistress’s goblet.
“Drink if you like, but don’t let your wits become too sodden,” Quenthel warned from her couch. “We’re hardly among friends in this filthy city.”
“When are any of us truly among friends?” Ryld asked with a snort.
Halisstra laughed softly and said, “Indeed, Ryld, but tonight we can rest in comfort, confident in the knowledge that we none of us trust each other and that not too far away lurk grim enemies who would destroy us if they could. Would we have it any other way?”
Danifae carried the ewer to Quenthel. Ignoring the subtle writhing of the priestess’s serpent whip, she lowered her eyes and leaned forward to refill the high priestess’s cup.
“We must seize what pleasures we can when the opportunity arises,” Danifae added. “Is that not the purpose of power?”
Halisstra sipped her wine and watched the scene. Danifae had neglected to don an arming-coat beneath her mail, as she had found the black mithral shirt without its leather padding. Of course, Halisstra had already offered Danifae a spare coat of her own, and she had no doubt that in the morning Danifae would accept it. In the meantime, the girl’s perfect dark skin gleamed through the metal mesh, and her full, round breasts swayed enticingly beneath the steel as she stooped to pour Quenthel’s wine. The males in the room could not take their eyes from her, try as they might. Even Jeggred, four-armed hulking beast that he was, seemed entranced by the girl’s grace and beauty. Valas frowned and busied himself with oiling his kukris, obviously sensing the peril of the moment and recoiling with his usual caution. Ryld, on the other hand. . . .
Ryld was looking at her. Halisstra carefully kept the surprise from her face as she met the weapons master’s gaze. Their eyes locked. His expression seemed avid, intense, and Halisstra knew that Danifae’s posturing could not have escaped his notice, but instead of gaping at the girl in her armor of metal mesh, the weapons master turned that gaze on her.
Ryld offered a slight smile and made a soft gesture with his hand: An interesting play.
I do not follow your meaning, Halisstra replied, though she could see easily enough that the weapons master knew perfectly well that she did.
She returned her attention to Danifae as the girl kneeled close beside Quenthel, sipping her own wine. The company grew quiet, and Ryld pulled out his traveling sava set to play a game against Valas while the others contented themselves with savoring a moment’s respite from danger.
Pharaun returned eventually, a handful of scrolls tucked under one arm. He retired to his chamber after a couple of halfhearted jibes at the weapons master to break his concentration. Ryld won anyway, though the Bregan D’aerthe scout gave a good account of himself.
“It has been a long day,” Quenthel said. “I shall retire to my chambers. Jeggred, Valas, split the watch tonight. Two others will watch tomorrow.”
She stood and stretched, and turned her eyes on Danifae before gliding out of the room.
“I think I’ll do the same,” Danifae said.
The battle captive glanced at Halisstra, offered a coy smile, and went quickly after Quenthel. Ryld put away his sava board and headed up to his room, while Valas and Jeggred tossed a coin for first watch. Halisstra stood, gathered her piwafwi around her, and went up to her own room. She paused briefly by Quenthel’s door and listened, just long enough to hear what might have been a soft gasp or a rustle of clothing, then she moved on. Quenthel’s serpents would likely report an eavesdropper at her door.
Clever girl, Halisstra thought. Quenthel was an astute and daring move indeed. In Ched Nasad Halisstra had sent Danifae to seduce a rival on more than one occasion. Even the most pragmatic priestess had her favorite pets, and sometimes an otherwise cold and calculating female might be manipulated through her secret pleasures. Halisstra doubted that Danifae could succeed in establishing any real influence over Quenthel, but at the worst, she was providing the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith with a reason not to abandon Halisstra and her handmaid on a whim. Of course, if Danifae’s services proved too valuable to Quenthel, the Baenre might be inclined to claim the captive as her own, but that was a risk Halisstra was willing to take.
Even if Danifae continued to encourage the Baenre to do just that, Halisstra thought of the silver locket around the girl’s neck, and allowed herself a smile. Unless Danifae managed to free herself of the binding spell, she couldn’t take the smallest step in that direction, as Halisstra’s death would precipitate her own. For the moment Halisstra felt she could rely on Danifae’s loyalty. Halisstra found her room and undressed for bed, setting her armor on a chest in the small room and leaving her mace where she could reach it quickly.
She drifted into Reverie thinking about Quenthel and Danifae together.
Aliisza rode in an iron palanquin through the streets of Gracklstugh, carried by four ogres and escorted by a dozen tanarukk warriors. The tanarukks wore armor of burnished iron and carried wickedly hooked greatswords. One fellow carried a yellow banner emblazoned with Kaanyr Vhok’s assumed symbol—a scepter clasped in a gauntleted hand. Twice their number of gray dwarf warriors escorted the embassy along, suspicious glares fixed rigidly on the black palanquin and its occupant. The alu-fiend preened just a little beneath the attention. She would have moved much quicker on her own, of course, but making a grand entrance into the city of the gray dwarves might encourage the duergar to take her seriously. Besides, it was fun.
The journey from the halls of old Ammarindar had not been particularly swift or easy. Aliisza and her warriors had pressed hard at their best possible speed for five days along ancient dwarven highways to reach the shores of the Darklake, and it had taken three days more to obtain a duergar boat to cross it. She was growing tired of dashing this way and that through the Underdark at Kaanyr Vhok’s command. On the other hand, it continued to demonstrate her usefulness to the demonspawned warlord, and perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing that circumstances gave her reasons to leave his side from time to time. It whetted his appetite for her return, and sometimes gave her the opportunity to indulge her taste for... variety.
Gracklstugh seemed to be one great smithy, a city of roaring forges and reeking smoke. It struck Aliisza as not unlike the foundry hall in the ruins of Ammarindar, except Kaanyr Vhok’s forge was only a fraction of the size of the gray dwarf realm.
What an ugly place, Aliisza thought. Still, the sheer scale of the work that went on around her was staggering. More than once, she spotted components of siege engines of enormous size being assembled in their workshops. Ched Nasad might have been far more graceful and insidious, but Gracklstugh was strong. Dwarven skill and single-mindedness seemed almost a match for drow magic and cruelty.