Mostly, the reverberations of conflict reached the mage's ears from his level or below. What had in all likelihood begun in the plaza outside of House Melarn had quickly spread, engulfing the citizens and visitors all across the city, on every level. The wizard wondered how many had actually managed to flee into the caverns surrounding the City of Shimmering Webs. Though the team from Menzoberranzan had been indisposed for much of the Initial martial activity, he recalled that, since their escape from the collapse of House Melarn, they had seen surprisingly few ordinary folk in the streets. Of course, that was also because they'd spent most of their time high in the city, where only the nobles prowled. Farther down, in the lower sections, he imagined a much different scene. There, he supposed, the general rabble had gotten caught up in the fighting, much like the rebellion back home.
The uprising had taken a decidedly different twist than the insurrection in Menzoberranzan, though. The insurgents involved in the upheavals in Ched Nasad were the noble Houses themselves. Their own infighting was the flash point. Pharaun counted himself fortunate that the Houses of Menzoberranzan had proven less prone to petty backbiting. If they had, there might not be a city for him to return to. The mage grimaced, thinking of Gromph's attempts on Quenthel's life, and his own sister Greyanna's failed efforts to kill him.
There might not be anything left, he thought, before this is completely finished.
As he neared the section of the city where the inn was located, the wizard noticed that the damage was less severe there. In fact, the Flame and Serpent was thus far unscathed. Immediately he saw the reason why. A horde of mismatched drow and other creatures, probably residents of the inn, self-reliant mercenaries, and whatnot had formed a perimeter defense around the place. It didn't appear that they were under fire at the moment, but an intense battle must have raged there earlier, judging by the number of bodies present.
Not wanting to be either attacked or drawn into the midst of the siege, Pharaun elected to circle around to the back side of the inn and enter it that way. He recalled the window of the room he shared with Valas and Ryld, the one that looked out on the wall of the massive cavern that Ched Nasad called home, and he made for that. He approached from the roof and settled down between the wall of the building and the wall of the trench. It was just wide enough for him to levitate down between the two, and he hovered there while he contemplated how best to get through the opening without attracting attention.
He had just the spell, the Master of Sorcere realized, a minor incantation that would open the window from the inside, so that he wouldn't have to break it to get through. Reaching into his piwafwi, he fumbled around in three or four pockets before he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a brass key and tapped it softly against the window as he uttered the words that would complete the spell. The window opened without resistance, and Pharaun squirmed inside the room.
The wizard, the weapons master, and the scout had taken all of their belongings when they'd left the inn upon being summoned to attend the «party» in their honor. That seems almost a lifetime ago, Pharaun mused as he made his way out the door and down the hall to Quenthel's chambers.
Upon reaching the door, the mage hesitated, wondering if the high priestess had placed some sort of protective enchantment on it before leaving, but then he remembered that Ryld and Valas had invaded the room when they came seeking healing magic. Chuckling, he tried the door and found it locked.
Of course, Pharaun silently muttered. Leave it to Valas to put it back the way he found it.
Shrugging, the wizard dug around in the pockets of his piwafwi yet again, drawing forth a pinch of clay and a small vial of water. Sprinkling the water over the clay, he invoked the Weave and completed the spell. A portion of the wall next to the door began to sag, transforming from solid stone to thick, viscous mud. The wall oozed down into a puddle, and Pharaun stepped back to avoid soiling his boots. When the opening was wide enough, the Master of Sorcere nimbly leaped through into the room beyond, avoiding the mess he'd made.
Pharaun spied Quenthel's backpack, filled with extra supplies, on a table near the Reverie couch. Some of Faeryl's things, including the ambassador's haversack, were on the other table. The wizard hefted the high priestess's pack and grunted.
So, the mage thought with a wry grin, she finally figured out a way to make me carry her possessions.
He slung the backpack over his shoulder, grabbed up the second one, Faeryl's, and turned to go.
A crossbow bolt smacked into Pharaun's chest, somehow managing to slip through the part in the piwafwi's fabric, and embedded itself in his shoulder. The Master of Sorcere grunted and stumbled back into the room, spinning away so that his back was to his assailant and he was more completely protected by the piwafwi. He looked down to see that it was a drow bolt, and he realized his magical invisibility had worn off.
Pharaun staggered over to the opposite side of the room, dropping the two satchels as he scrambled to find cover. There were really only two good places he could go: behind the Reverie couch or into an armoire. As he rushed past the armoire, he grabbed the door and yanked it open, then shoved it shut again as he slumped behind the Reverie couch. The door to the oversized cabinet slammed shut just as two pairs of boots darted into the room, which Pharaun observed from beneath the couch. The mage stayed low, on his knees, watching under the couch as the two pairs of boots spread apart, both slowly headed toward the armoire, their owners presumably covering the room.
«He went into the cabinet,» one of the creatures said in the language of the drow.
The crossbow bolt set his shoulder throbbing, but Pharaun quietly watched for his assailants to appear. He blinked, unable to focus clearly, and he suddenly began to feel lightheaded. He kept thinking that if he could just cast a spell, this would all be over, but a decision about which one or how to go about doing it eluded him. The crossbow bolt wound had begun to burn, and Pharaun realized that he was growing weak. The bolt had been coated with poison. He would have to hurry to get back to the others before it overwhelmed him, and he only hoped they had a means of treating the toxin.
As his foes both came into Pharaun's line of view, crossbows held up and ready, he could see why they'd attacked him on sight. They were both dark elves, and they wore the livery of House Zauvirr. Mentally kicking himself for not considering the possibility that Ssipriina might send someone to their inn on the expectation that he or others in the group might return, Pharaun tried to phrase the arcane words of a spell, but they wouldn't come. The two drow were grinning as they sighted down their crossbows at him.
Pharaun closed his eyes, wondering if it would hurt much to die, and pondered whether or not he could work his rapier free, when he heard a noise. The expected twang of crossbows being fired it was not. Instead, he heard a woman's voice—a familiar voice—uttering a quick phrase. The wizard squinted, his vision blurry, as a spray of intertwined, multicolored beams of light cascaded over his two foes.
Both drow reeled backward from the sudden, bright assault, crying out and flinging up their hands to cover their eyes. The first one spasmed as crackles of electricity raked over his body from the yellow ray of light, while the second drow was engulfed in flames upon coming into contact with the red beam.
Pharaun watched as the two soldiers crumpled to the ground. Whether either or both of them were dead or not, he didn't know, nor did he care. He was growing intolerably weak from the effects of the poison.
«Hello, Pharaun,» the voice purred.
With an effort, Pharaun opened his eyes again and looked up, realizing who it was.
«Aliisza,» he slurred, relaxing as the alu came around the couch toward him. «How did you find—»
The fiend's slap across Pharaun's face stung immensely and he jerked, alert, his eyes watering.
«What the—«the wizard grunted, rubbing his cheek as Aliisza squatted down beside him, her hand upraised. «What's the matter with you?»
He again wondered if he could produce the rapier.
«How dare you!» the alu growled, one eyebrow arched, but without the accompanying smile. «How could you be interested in that trollop after sharing my bed?»
Pharaun blinked, thoroughly confused. Trollop?
«Who in the blazes are you talking about?» he demanded, feebly raising his good arm to ward off the impending slap.
«Don't you play dumb with me, you wretched excuse for a dark elf. You know the one I mean. The pretty you pulled from that collapsing house. I should have gouged her eyes out!»
«Oh, by the Dark Mother,» Pharaun muttered, understanding at last. «It's not what you think. .»
«Ooh! You males always say that. According to your gender, it never is. I don't want to hear it.»