Those elves were uncomfortably close to the Dire Wood and were not inclined to probe deeply, but one elf wizard grew intrigued and cast a spell to search for magical illusion. He found skillfully hidden magical emanations that implied a large concealed space, but was unable to reveal it. They suspected that it may have been some relic of a lost civilization, one of a great many strewn about the High Forest—possibly the elves' own Eaerlann.
"This is only a rumor, you understand," said Faeniele. "But I will contact Reitheillaethor and ask if anyone knows more. It may be within the memory of some of our elders." Thluna thanked her profusely.
Later, as Thluna relaxed beneath a great oak, having consumed some of the Tree Ghosts' hearty ale, Kellin came and slumped down next to him.
"Have you learned anything interesting?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, her speech slightly slurred. "Very interesting indeed. How about you?"
"I think I might have learned where we're going."
"Wonderful," said Kellin. "And Thluna?"
"Yes?"
"Isn't it time somebody told me what happened in the Fallen Lands?"
The question hung in the air, unaddressed. Thluna felt a kind of shame as he thought about it. But it was only right that she should know. "Yes," he said, and told the story as honestly as he knew how.
CHAPTER 9
It was midnight at the Wet Wizard tavern. Fueled by a new shipment of Tanagyr's Stout from Zhentil Keep, discussion turned, as it so often did in Llorkh, to Ardeth Chale. Lord's Men, locals, and visiting merchants and their caravan guards all had their say.
"My younger brother played with her as a child. She's a local girl. Taken an odd turn, that's for sure..."
"She does everything Geildarr says, but really she has more power over him than the other way around."
"Word is that she and Royce's band have taken off on one of Geildarr's crazy missions. What's weirdest of all is that Mythkar Leng's gone along with 'em..."
"Word about her has even reached Zhentil Keep. Geildarr thinks of her as his Ashemmi."
"Ardeth is the loveliest thing I've ever seen. What I wouldn't do for a chance to..."
"What annoys me most is the way she exerts her authority over the Lord's Men, without rank or position to justify it."
"Geildarr thinks he owes her everything. Some renegade dwarves would have taken over Llorkh if it weren't for her..."
"A Zhent skymage went off on a mission with her. She came back alone, riding his mount. What does that tell you?"
But all turned to hushed silence when Clavel Foxgray came into the tavern, his cheeks already rosy with drink. The Lord's Men shut up immediately, and the rest followed suit, wondering why.
"Let me guess," said Clavel, sneering. "You were talking about Ardeth."
A half-orc caravan guard snickered and asked, "What's yer beef with her?" Clavel provided the answer.
"A hobgoblin knocked me into the ditch with an axe," Clavel said, leaning against the doorframe to keep his balance. "I can live with that. Somebody would have gotten a rope and let me climb out. Oh, I'd have been laughed at a bit, but I would have laughed, too. Except Ardeth came along and told them to leave me there all night, then demote me. She's no place in the chain of command, but her word is law. So I'm back on the night watch, two years of seniority stripped away by Ardeth's whim. So—" he smirked at the half-orc "—so that's the reason conversations about Ardeth tend to go sour when I walk in."
The assembly in the Wet Wizard was silent as Clavel strode over to the half-orc's table. "That's too bad," Clavel continued. "I have quite a lot to say about her. The big question is this—does anybody know exactly what goes on between her and Geildarr? She lives in the Lord's Keep, does she not? On his floor or somewhere else? Because the image of that fat old slug of a mayor and that lithe demoness turns my stomach like nothing else. Or maybe they deserve each other."
"Clavel," said one of the other Lord's Men. "Perhaps you've had a bit much to drink..."
"Not nearly enough," Clavel slurred. "Like the rest of you—well, any of you who've seen her—I'd very much like to spend a little time in the dark with her. But the difference is, at the end of it, I'd want to sink a dagger into that sweet breast of hers!"
"That's quite enough, Clavel," shouted a Lord's Man, jumping to his feet. He and a companion grasped Clavel by the neck and hauled him out into the street. Sounds of struggling and fighting drifted into the tavern.
Nobody wanted to talk about Ardeth any longer.
* * * * *
Sungar reached around, his hands weak, and rubbed the lash marks along his back. "Kiev never speaks, does he?" he asked, on the off-chance that his neighbor was awake and listening. "He laughs sometimes. Snarls. But I don't think I've ever heard him say a word."
"Maybe he's embarrassed by his voice," said Hurd. "Could be it's high-pitched and squeaky or somethin'."
Sungar laughed. His lungs hurt as he did so, but he was happy; it may have been the first time he laughed since he found himself in this cesspit.
"Or maybe, more likely, he lets his whip speak for him," the dwarf added grimly.
"Are there other inmates of this dungeon?" asked Sungar. "Or is it just the two of us?"
"Probably some in the other wings. Petty criminals, cut-purses, dishonest merchants—people who commit crimes in Llorkh. But they don't last long. They're all executed pretty quickly, or maybe even released if they kiss Geildarr's hindquarters enough. Not so with us—Geildarr likes to keep his important prisoners alive forever. Makes him feel more powerful, I reckon."
"Why you?" asked Sungar. "If all the rest of your people are gone, why are you still here?"
"Don't really know," said Hurd. "I'm guessin' the answer is in Geildarr's mind. As I said, he likes to feel powerful—there's no power in presiding over an empty dungeon. I was one of Trice Dulgenhar's top men. I'm a plum prize, but not one that's dangerous to keep alive. Simple as that.
"Not long ago, the dungeon was full to the gills with dwarves. One by one they just seemed to disappear. Could be Geildarr released them, but not likely. There were rumors that they were given over to a priest of Cyric, who was trying to corrupt them into groundlings."
Sungar could hear the disgust in his voice. "What are groundlings?"
"Something like a dwarf, but mixed with a giant badger. The Zhentarim breeds them as assassins. It took a nefarious mind to conceive of such a thing. A Zhentarim mind."
"How did you end up in here, then?" asked Sungar. "You've been waiting for me to ask, haven't you?"
Hurd snorted. "At one time, a lot of dwarves lived in Llorkh, and humans alongside. I lived here in those days. We mined the nearby mountains, but after they started to run dry, a lot of us left. Those who stayed behind were eventually captured by the Zhentarim.
"Those black-hearted Zhentarim murdered the old mayor, Phintarn, and put in Geildarr instead. Truth is, they weren't interested in mining but wanted this town as a caravan stop on the Black Road 'cross the Anauroch Desert. What dwarf miners were still here mostly left, especially since Mithral Hall was open for business again.
"But some of us clung to the dream of liberating Llorkh from its captors—the damned Zhentarim. We formed a circle dedicated to it, set up spies in Llorkh, and made allies among the humans living here. Our leader was Trice Dulgenhar, as great a dwarf as I've ever known.
"Then we thought we saw our chance. When the phaerimm burst out of Evereska, Llorkh was under siege from a whole army of bugbears. Even the beholder they kept in the Dark Sun died in the fighting. And better yet, since the Zhentarim was still reeling from Shade's return, they weren't rebuilding Llorkh as fast as they could. We thought that if we moved quickly we could seize Llorkh, and with help from Secomber—and maybe even the Harpers or the Lord's Alliance—we could keep it out of Zhentarim hands for good. Make it a beacon of light and good in Delimbiyr Vale, rather than the dung heap it is now."