Agreed, Valas answered.
Valas thought, frowning as he tugged absently at the odd charms and tokens he carried on his clothing.
Feel like taking a chance? the scout signed.
Ryld glanced around the street. Thummud had pretty much told them outright that things wouldn’t change for several more days at a minimum, and that was not going to please Quenthel. If Gracklstugh meant to attack Menzoberranzan, he wanted to know about it before the duergar army marched. They would want to find a way to send a warning back home. The duergar were no slave rabble to be crushed at the leisure of the great Houses. The army of the City of Blades would be large, strong, disciplined, and well armed for an assault on the drow, and Ryld didn’t like the thought of what an army of that sort might do to his home city.
Let’s go, he replied.
Valas nodded and set off at once. Instead of heading back to the lakeside district and the Cold Foundry, he turned deeper, toward the heart of the cavern. They weaved through the foul-smelling streets and dark alleyways for a fair distance, passing through business districts where duergar artisans and merchants kept their shops in cramped buildings of field-stone. The hour was growing late, and traffic along the dwarf city’s streets seemed to be diminishing. The two dark elves finally reached a street that ran along the edge of a deep cleft or chasm bisecting the city’s higher, more inaccessible districts from its ramshackle lakeside neighborhoods. Numerous bridges of stone spanned the gap, leading to narrow streets that continued on the far side. A squad of vigilant duergar soldiers stood watch at the foot of each, barring passage across the chasm.
The scout drew Ryld into the shadow of an alleyway and nodded toward the rift and its bridges.
Laduguer’s Furrow, he signed. Also known as the Cleft. Everything on the west side is strictly off limits to foreigners. There are a couple of large side caverns on the far side that might serve as good marshalling grounds, and they’d be secure from any casual observation.
Ryld studied the Bregan D’aerthe scout thoughtfully, wondering how he knew so much about a part of the city that was supposedly off limits.
I take it you’ve been there before? Ryld asked.
I’ve passed through Gracklstugh a couple of times.
I wonder if there’s anyplace Valas hasn’t been, Ryld thought. He shifted in the shadows to get a better look at the guarded bridges. He was a fair hand at staying out of sight when he needed to, but he didn’t like the possibilities offered by the narrow, railless spans. There was no cover at all once one set foot on any of the bridges.
How do we cross? he asked.
Valas finished his knots and stepped close, setting his right foot in one bottom loop and crooking his right arm through the topmost.
“Stay close to this stalagmite as you ascend,” he said. “We’ll want the cover.”
Ryld nodded and reached up absently to touch the insignia pinned to his breast. It identified him as a Master of Melee-Magthere, and like the clasps and brooches of many noble Houses, it was enchanted with the power of levitation. Valas didn’t doubt that Ryld had fought long and hard to win the right to wear it.
As he’d hoped, the enchantment proved strong enough to support both Ryld’s weight and the Bregan D’aerthe’s. Effortlessly they glided up into the smoke and gloom of Gracklstugh’s upper reaches, until the fumes obscured the streets below. From the top of the great cavern, the floor seemed shrouded in haze and smoke, glaring firelight making bright circles of glowing red mist in a hundred spots around them.
“This is better than I thought,” Valas said. “The smoke and fumes give us some concealment.”
“And they make my eyes water,” Ryld said. He reached the ceiling and found that the cavern roof was rough and pitted. “Which way?”
“To your right. Yes, that’s it.”
Valas indicated the northern wall of the city with a jerk of his chin, keeping his foot and arm secure in the rope stirrups he’d fashioned. Carefully, Ryld turned to face the ceiling more evenly, and he pulled himself along hand over hand as if he were climbing a vertical wall of rock. The scout shifted to secure his grip, and kept his own eyes down at the cavern floor below, directing the weapons master in his progress.
“One gray dwarf wizard with a spell of cancellation would certainly ruin our day,” Ryld remarked. “Aren’t you a little nervous in that arrangement?”
“I’ve always had a good head for heights, but let’s not talk about it anymore.”
Ryld chuckled.
For days, the journey had been simply uneventful and dreary. The tactical challenge of spying in the heart of the duergar city, though, fully engaged them both.
“Head more to your left,” Valas said, interrupting his own thoughts. “There’s a bit of a ledge on the cavern wall that should run the way we want to go.”
Ryld complied, and the two of them carefully leveled off and descended along the sloping roof of the cavern until they found the place where it dropped more or less straight down and became the wall. There, an old weathered seam circled the cavern like the eaves of an old tavern. The weapons master looked at it dubiously, but as they drew close Valas disentangled himself and leaped lightly down to crouch in the space like a skinny spider.
Ryld followed, somewhat more awkwardly. He could manage it, barely, but he was lucky to have the magic of his insignia to fall back on if his footing or grip failed him.
Valas moved confidently forward, following the seam as it descended sharply and disappeared around a sharp bend overlooking a side cavern.
Ryld scrambled down after him, cursing silently as his foot dislodged some loose rock and sent it clattering down the clifflike wall. The forges and hammers of Gracklstugh covered the sound fairly well, though, and they were still above Laduguer’s Furrow. The rock skittered into the abyss and vanished.
Valas glanced back from his perch at the bend.
Carefully, he signed. Come up here and see this.
Ryld worked his way up beside the scout, finally stretching out on his belly to stay on the ledge. The seam ran down to a side cave and turned in sharply. From their vantage a hundred feet or more above the floor, they could see a good-sized cavern, perhaps three or four hundred yards long and about half that wide. The walls were hewn into barracks rooms, enough to house quite a large number of soldiers, but the floor of the place was level and open, a good drilling ground for bodies of troops.
From end to end, it was crowded with wagons and pack lizards. Hundreds of duergar swarmed over the scene, securing great panniers to the ugly reptiles, loading wagons, and preparing siege engines for travel. The noxious reek of the city’s smelters didn’t suffice to mask the heavy smell of animal dung in the large chamber, and the lizards’ hisses and rasping croaks filled the air. Valas began counting wagons and pack beasts, trying to estimate the size of the force that might be on the march. After a few minutes, he finally tore his eyes away.
Somewhere between two and three thousand? Ryld said.
The scout frowned and replied, I think somewhat more, maybe four thousand all together, but there may be more trains gathering in other caverns nearby. Is there any reason to think they’re not bound for Menzoberranzan? Ryld asked. We’re not their only enemies. Still, I don’t like the timing.
“I don’t believe in coincidences, either,” Ryld whispered. He carefully began to worm his way back from the edge, taking great pains to dislodge no more rocks.
“I would suggest checking the other caves for more soldiers, but I think we’ve seen more than the duergar would want already, and I don’t feel like pressing my luck. We’d best get back and report this to the others.”
8
“We should just leave,” growled Jeggred. His white fur was streaked with red wine, and hot grease from a roast of rothe meat stained his muzzle. The draegloth didn’t take well to long waits, and two days of confining himself to the Cold Foundry had been hard for him. “We could be out of the city before they knew we’d gone.”