"I tell you, Liriel, daughter of Sosdrielle, daughter of Maleficent, the runecaster is near," insisted Vasha. The vile Toth, son of Alfgar, misbegotten upon Helda, the goddess of boars, whilst she was in human form – or so Alfgar claims – is in this very city." The barbarian's voice was slightly fuzzy now, and her ruddy face glowed with the combined warmth of the tavern's fires and too much dwarven brew. Still, she spoke with a conviction that rattled the globe on their table's oil lamp.
The drow leaned back in her chair and signaled for another round of drinks. A half-ore servant hastened over with two more foaming mugs. Vasha threw back her head and quaffed her ale without once coming up for air. She slammed the empty mug on the table and ripped out a resounding belch.
Liriel sighed. The swordwoman had a prodigious thirst and an apparently endless capacity for dwarven ale. Although Vasha's tongue loosened a bit with each mug, Liriel feared that the barbarian would drain the tavern's cellars before giving up anything useful.
"Believe me, magical travel can be tricky, and in your case something went wrong," the drow explained for the eleventh time. After two hours of this, Liriel was clinging to her patience by her fingernails. Fate had handed her a priceless opportunity to learn of the Rus firsthand, but she found herself less grateful than she probably should have been. "Listen, Vasha: I'll try to help you get home, but first you must tell me more about your people's magic."
The swordwoman scowled and reached for her companion's untouched mug. "I am Vasha, daughter of Hani-gard-"
Liriel slammed the table with both fists. "I know who you are, for the love of Lloth! Just get to the blasted point!" ' "Some warriors of the Rus know rune magic. My family is not among them," the swordwoman said bluntly. "We spit upon magic, and those who wield it rather than honest weapons. Even the sword I carry, passed down to me upon the glorious death of Hanigard, queen of the ice water raiders-"
"What. About. The sword?" Liriel prompted from between clenched teeth.
"It cleaves through magic, as you have seen. That is all the rune lore I know, or care to know."
The drow slumped. Things were not turning out quite as she'd expected. In exchange for knowledge of rune magic, she had offered to shepherd Vasha around Skull-port. Vasha admitted that a guide might be useful, but she was adamant about finding this Toth before passing on any magical secrets.
"Let's go over this one more time," Liriel said wearily. "Why do you insist that your runecaster is in Skullport? And why did you promise me rune lore, if you have none to give?"
Vasha reached into a boot-the only garment large enough to yield much storage space-and pulled out two objects. One was a small leather-bound book, the other a broken bit of flat stone carved with elaborate markings. Liriel snatched up the book at once and gazed at its creamy vellum pages with something approaching reverence. This was an ancient spellbook, yet the pages were as white and the runes as sharp and clear as if they'd been inscribed yesterday.
"Those were written by Toth's own hand," Vasha said, "and the book is yours, in fulfillment of the word of Vasha, daughter of Hanigard, and so forth. According to the runecasters who sent me here, Toth escaped to a distant place of wicked rogues and fell magic, where such as he might walk abroad and attract no more notice than bear droppings in a forest."
"That describes Skullport, all right," Liriel agreed as she tucked the precious book into her bag. "But it doesn't necessarily follow that Toth is here."
The barbarian picked up the piece of stone and handed it to Liriel. The fragment was as hot as a live coal; the drow cursed and dropped it. She glared at Vasha and blew on her throbbing fingers.
"The closer the runecaster, the warmer the stone," Vasha explained. "This is a fragment of a time-coin, one of the very excesses that prompted King Hrothgar to censure Toth, to his ultimate sorrow. With this stone, the vile runecaster can travel at will through time."
"But how?" Liriel demanded, her eyes, alight with a certain greed. She was always eager to learn new magic, and this time-coin surpassed any travel spell she knew.
Vasha shrugged. "The secret is in the stone coin, and in the runes thereon. How it was done, I know not, and neither do I care. This much I can tell you: Toth left half of the coin in his keep, that he might later return. One fragment of that half remains in the judgment hall of the Red Bear Clan. The other you see before you. Once I have Toth and the half of the coin he carries on his person, I can return with him to my own land and time. When the time-coin is again whole, the lawful runecasters will see it destroyed for once and all."
The drow absorbed this in silence. She was horrified that such wondrous magic would be lost, but she set aside her dismay in favor of more immediate, practical concerns. "Then it's possible for Toth to escape from Skull-port to yet another time and place, as long as he leaves behind a bit of the coin-half he carries?"
Vasha's jaw fell slack as she considered this possibility. "It may be as you say," she allowed, eyeing Liriel thoughtfully. "Perhaps the gods did not err in sending me to you, after all. No honest warrior can walk the devious, twisted pathways of a dark elf s mind, yet such might be the straightest way to a wretch like Toth."
"Don't think I'm not enjoying all this flattery," said Liriel dryly, "but if we're going to find your runaway runecaster before he goes somewhere and somewhen else, we'd better get started."
The barbarian nodded, drained the rernaining mug, and exploded to her feet. Her chair tipped over backward with a crash and went skidding along the floor. A patron, just entering the tavern, stepped into its path.
Liriel saw the collision coming but could do nothing to avert disaster. There was barely time to cringe before the chair crashed into a purple-robed illithid. The creature's arms windmilled wildly as it fought to keep its balance, and the four tentacles that formed the lower half of its face flailed about as if seeking a saving hold. There was none, and the illithid went down with an ignominious crash.
A profound silence fell over the tavern as everyone there studiously minded his own business. An illithid, also known as a mind flayer, was greatly respected (and generally avoided) for its strange psionic powers and its habit of eating human and elven brains. The illithid scrambled awkwardly to its feet and glided over to intercept the barbarian woman, who, heedless of danger, was striding toward the tavern door.
Vasha pulled up just short of the man-shaped creature. Her wintry eyes swept over the illithid, taking in the stooped, misshapen body, the bald lavender head, and the pupilless white eyes and writhing tentacles that defined its hideous face. All this she observed with detached curiosity. But when her gaze fell upon the arcane symbols embroidered upon the creature's robe, her lip curled with disdain.
"Stand aside, runecasting vermin, if you value your life," she ordered, placing a hand on the hilt of her broadsword.
Because drow knew illithids like cheese knows rats, Liriel saw what was coming, and she pushed back from the table with a cry of warning. Too late: the mind flayer let out a blast of power that sent Vasha's auburn braids streaming backward. The swordwoman stood helpless- her eyes wide with shock and her powerful muscles locked in place-as the illithid closed in to feed. One purple tentacle snaked upward and flicked aside the woman's horned helmet. In the silence of the tavern, the clatter of bronze hitting the stone floor resounded like a thunderclap.