“I think,” he said at length, “that we won’t give Horgar the chance to refuse your help. Do you know of a place called the Pillars of Woe?”
Aliisza frowned and shook her head.
“It’s a gorge between Gracklstugh and Menzoberranzan,” Nimor said, “a place I have great plans for. I am certain that some of Kaanyr Vhok’s scouts will know the spot, and I’ll make sure you know where to find it. Go back to Kaanyr Vhok and have him bring the Scoured Legion to the Pillars of Woe with all possible speed. You will have your chance to assist in the destruction of Menzoberranzan. If the crown prince proves completely unreasonable, you will have other opportunities available to you, but I believe that Horgar will accept your stake in events once he encounters your force in the field.”
“That sounds risky.”
“Risk is the cost of opportunity, dear lady. It cannot be avoided.”
Aliisza measured him with her smoky gaze.
“All right,” she said, “but I’ll warn you that Kaanyr will be quite put out with me if he marches his army off into the wilds of the Underdark and misses all the fun.”
“I will not disappoint you,” Nimor promised. He allowed himself a deep draught of wine, and pushed his chair away from the table. “That would seem to conclude our business, Lady Aliisza. I thank you for the fine supper and the pleasant company.”
“Leaving so soon?” Aliisza said, with just a hint of a pout.
She drifted closer, a mischievous fire springing up in her eyes, and Nimor found his gaze roving over the voluptuous curves of her body. She leaned forward to put her hands on the arms of his chair, and enfolded her wings around him. With sinuous grace she lowered herself closer to nibble at his ear, pressing her soft, hot flesh against him.
“If we’ve finished our business already, Nimor Imphraezl, it must be time for pleasure,” she whispered into his ear.
Nimor inhaled the delicious odor of her perfume and found his hands roving to stroke her hips and bring her closer still.
“If you insist,” he murmured, kissing the hollow of her neck.
She shivered in his arms as he reached up to unlace her corselet.
The crude paddlewheels at the sides of Coalhewer’s boat clattered loudly in the darkness, churning the black water into furious, white, rushing foam. The hulking skeletons in their well-like space at the boat’s center stooped and rose, stooped and rose, their bony hands clamped to the crankshafts driving the wheels. Relentlessly, tirelessly, they continued their mindless work, held to their labors by the necromantic magic that had animated them years, or perhaps decades past. Halisstra was no judge of waterborne travel, but it seemed to her that Coalhewer’s boat was holding to a pace that would be difficult to match. She risked a glance back over her shoulder to see if her companions had marked any signs of pursuit. Ryld, Jeggred, and Pharaun all stood in the rear of the boat, watching its wake. Quenthel sat on a large trunk just under the boat’s scaffoldlike bridge, also gazing back toward Gracklstugh. Valas stood on the bridge alongside Coalhewer, making sure that the duergar captain kept the ungainly vehicle to the course he desired.
Halisstra and Danifae had taken up the posts of lookouts, peering ahead to make sure they didn’t run headlong into trouble. Halisstra hadn’t bothered to debate the arrangement. The males were best placed between the rest of the company and the most likely threats, and Pharaun was probably their best weapon against any pursuit out of Gracklstugh.
The city itself was no longer visible, except as a long, low red smudge. The firelight of the dwarves’ forges could be seen for several miles across the vast black space of the Dark Lake’s open waters, a sense of distance that reminded Halisstra of the unnatural vistas of the World Above. They’d churned their way east and south from Gracklstugh’s waterfront for several hours, with no sign of anyone following, but Halisstra couldn’t shake the impression that they were not clear of the duergar yet. Reluctantly she shifted her gaze back to the boundless dark in front of the boat, and checked her crossbow to make sure it was ready to fire.
Halisstra carefully scanned her half of the bow, starting with the water close to the boat and working her way farther out until even her drow sight could make out nothing more through the blackness, then she returned her gaze to the boat and started again. Great stalactites or columns—it was impossible to tell—descended from the ceiling and vanished into the inky water at odd intervals, creating titanic pillars of stone for the boat to navigate around. In other spots the jagged points of stalagmites jutted from the surface like spears. Coalhewer steered well clear of those, pointing out that there might be two submerged rocks for every one that broke the surface.
“I can’t believe I’m crouching on the deck of a duergar boat, fleeing for my life from a city I’d never seen before three days ago,” Halisstra murmured, breaking the long silence. “Two tendays ago I was the heir apparent of a great House in a noble city. One tenday ago I was a prisoner, betrayed by the petty malice of Faeryl Zauvirr, and now here I am, a rootless wanderer with nothing more to my name than the armor on my back and whatever odds and ends are stowed in my pack. I just cannot fathom why.”
“I am not unfamiliar with changes in one’s circumstances and fortunes,” Danifae said. “What is the point of asking why? It is the will of the Spider Queen.”
“Is it?” Halisstra asked. “House Melarn stood for twenty centuries or more, only to fall in the hour when Lolth withdrew her favor from our entire race. It was only in her absence that our enemies could overthrow us.”
Danifae did not reply, nor did Halisstra expect her to. That thought was perilously close to heresy, after all. To suggest that something had occurred against Lolth’s will was to doubt the power of the Spider Queen, and to question Lolth’s power was to invite death and condemnation as a faithless weakling. The fate that awaited the faithless in the afterlife was too terrible to contemplate. Unless Lolth chose to take the soul of a follower to her divine abode in the Demonweb Pits, a drow’s spirit would be condemned to anguish and oblivion in the barren wastelands where the dead of all kinds were judged. Only abject worship and perfect service could sway the Dark Queen to intercede on one’s behalf and grant life beyond life, eternal existence as one of Lolth’s divine host.
Of course, thought Halisstra, if Lolth is dead, then damnation and oblivion become unavoidable, don’t they?
She blanched at the thought and shivered in horror, standing quickly and pacing away from the bridge to hide her face from the others.
I must not think such things, she told herself. Better to empty my mind of all thoughts than to entertain blasphemy.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, doing her best to banish her insidious doubts.
“We’ve got trouble,” Ryld announced from the afterdeck. The weapons master knelt and peered through the darkness behind the boat. “Three boats, much like this one.”
“I see them,” Pharaun said. He glanced up at the bridge. “Master Coalhewer, I thought you said this was the fastest vessel on the Darklake. Am I to gather that you exaggerated a bit?”
The dwarf scowled back into the darkness and replied, “I’ve never been overtaken before today, so how was I t’know any different?”
He muttered a foul string of curses and paced from one end of the bridge to the other, never taking his eyes off the following boats.