Deeper in the bowels of the dungeons, travel became still more difficult. Huge chasms blocked their progress, forcing them to repeatedly backtrack and seek other routes through the claustrophobic tombs and prison blocks. They now wended through a narrow passage that seemed to go on forever. Kestrel wondered if they would ever find the Rune of the Protector that marked the entrance to the baelnorn’s level.
“The passage seems to widen ahead,” Corran said over his shoulder.
“About time,” Kestrel muttered. It couldn’t get much tighter—Durwyn’s armored shoulders already threatened to scrape the walls.
They emerged in an enormous chamber but could enter only a few feet. They stood on an apron overlooking a drop-off so steep they could not see the bottom of the chasm. Kestrel kicked some loose rocks over the edge. She never heard them land.
Across the chasm stood a raised wooden drawbridge. She quickly scanned the nearby walls, floor, and ceiling for some mechanism to lower the drawbridge from their side but spotted nothing. She ran a hand through her hair, gripping the roots in frustration. “We are not turning around yet again.”
“You don’t have to,” echoed a voice from across the chasm. A female drow warrior stepped out from behind the drawbridge. She held a long, jagged-bladed dagger as casually as another woman might carry a spindle. A topknot secured her long white hair, exposing every angular line of her face. Sharp cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and hard-cast eyes appeared carved in stone. Worn, ragged armor revealed a body so muscular that Kestrel doubted this woman had a soft spot inside or out. Though the dark elf bore the same chevron symbol as the enthralled drow they’d encountered earlier, her skin had the healthy black color borne by Razherrt’s band of living drow.
“Is that a threat?” Kestrel called back.
“Not yet.” At a gesture from the woman, a ragged band comprising half a dozen drow warriors appeared behind her. “At present, we merely command parley.”
Kestrel bristled at the word “command.” The dark elves made Corran seem downright humble. After enjoying the House of Freth’s gracious hospitality, she had no interest in chatting with more drow and was about to say so when Corran stepped forward.
“What do you wish to discuss?”
“Mutual interests.”
Kestrel laughed humorlessly. “Your friend Razherrt didn’t seem to think we have any.”
The drow leader spat. “The House of Freth is no friend to the House of Kilsek. We seek the Freth’s blood.”
“We do not wish to become involved in a blood feud among the drow,” Corran told the dark elf.
“Nor would we allow it! The House of Kilsek reserves for itself the honor of slaying our betrayers! I speak of a different enemy—the Cult of the Dragon.”
Corran paused at that declaration. “What do you know of the cult?”
“More than you do, human! The Freth betrayed my kinfolk to the archmage and her minions. She uses a foul pool to trap my people’s souls, then feeds their blood to a dracolich and enslaves their bodies. We despise Kya Mordrayn and her wicked cult even more than we loathe the traitorous Freth!” The drow’s voice, which had risen to a fever pitch, suddenly turned cold as ice. “Hate is the song in our blood. It is all that lives in us now. We have sworn to release the souls of our kin into true death, even at the cost of own lives.”
Corran studied the dark elf as she spoke, remaining calm in the wake of her passion. “What do you propose?”
“This chasm blocks your path. A cult sorcerer nearby blocks ours. He wields a magical device called the Staff of Sunlight—fatal to us but harmless to surface-dwellers. Agree to kill him, and I will lower the drawbridge. Claim the staff to use against the Freth—I care not. Just stay away from us.”
Kestrel listened to the dark elf’s proposal with growing wariness. Seven drow couldn’t take on one sorcerer? When Corran looked to the group for opinions, she shook her head. “Either they’re lying about how many cultists wait ahead or this sorcerer is more powerful than any we’ve faced so far. They’re looking for spell fodder. After we take him on, they’ll step over our dead bodies and continue on their way.”
“I disagree,” Corran declared. “His staff puts them at a disadvantage we won’t suffer.”
“So they say! Even if that’s true, how do we know they won’t betray us after we defeat him?”
Durwyn cleared his throat. “Kestrel’s got a point. The woman said herself that dark elves aren’t even loyal to each other.”
“It does them no good to betray us,” said Ghleanna. “We fight a common foe.”
Irritated that Ghleanna sided with Corran, Kestrel listened to Jarial and Faeril’s opinions and grew still more agitated. Except for Durwyn, they all favored the paladin. After their treatment at Razherrt’s hands, how could they even consider allying with a group of dark elves?
“These drow are more concerned about their zombie kin than stopping the cult,” she said, her voice rising louder than she intended. “Didn’t you hear her? They want to release the Kilsek’s souls, not battle Mordrayn. How does that help us?”
“Once my people enter true death, they will no longer pose a threat to you,” the drow leader responded. “Know this: Before we’re done I fully intend for the archmage to know the sensation of her blood draining from her body.”
Kestrel studied the dark elf as intensely as she could across the gap. The drow leader stood proud and confident, apparently unperturbed by the rogue’s scrutiny. “How do we know we can trust you?” Kestrel called. “You haven’t even given us your name.”
“Nathlilik, first daughter of the House of Kilsek. And you don’t.” She shrugged. “Accept our proposal or not, humans. You’re the ones who need to cross this chasm.”
The way Nathlilik used the word “human” as if it were a racial slur made Kestrel grind her teeth. She turned to Corran and the others. “To hell with them. We’ll find another way across. I can use my grappling hooks to—”
“We accept,” Corran called to Nathlilik. “Lower the bridge.”
Kestrel gasped involuntarily. “But—”
“You’re outvoted, Kestrel. And we can’t afford for Nathlilik to change her mind while we waste time arguing.”
So now her opinions were merely a waste of time? She fairly shook with anger at this latest example of the paladin’s high-handedness. How dare he just shut her up? She glared at Corran, ready to unleash a stream of epithets when, entirely unbidden, Caalenfaire’s final words entered her head. Do not let conflict between you threaten your mission.
With one final, very uncharitable thought toward Corran D’Arcey, she swallowed her ire. Nathlilik had begun lowering the drawbridge, and they needed to present a united front to the drow band. If anyone’s egoism crippled their quest, it would be Corran’s, not hers.
As they waited for the bridge to settle into place, Kestrel found herself standing off to one side with Ghleanna. Corran and the others were engrossed in watching the bridge mechanism. She studied the paladin as he bantered easily with Jarial and Faeril—even Durwyn. “Why do you all follow him so faithfully?” she muttered, half to Ghleanna and half to herself.
Ghleanna followed her gaze. “He inspires confidence.”
Kestrel looked at the sorceress, puzzled. All Corran had ever inspired in her was frustration. “What do you mean?”
“When we go into battle. Just being near him—I am not afraid. Whatever odds we face, his presence makes me believe we can overcome them. I think it is because his faith is so strong.” She met Kestrel’s eyes. “Surely you feel it, too?”
Kestrel shook her head.
“Mayhap you have not let yourself.”
Kestrel returned her gaze to Corran. To hear Ghleanna talk, the paladin had some aura about him that everyone could sense but her. As a rogue, she prided herself on her perception, on her ability to read people accurately. Had she allowed herself to become blinded? Even so, Corran had his own failings to work on, whether the others could see them or not.