Joya stopped in the middle of the bridge, gazing out over the city, her face cast in silver-blue light and in shadows. “Invasion,” she said calmly. “The drow of Guallidurth are coming at last to finish what they started centuries ago in the Night Wars. They’re coming to take over Iltkazar.”
One of the guards brought Zollgarza food and water. Lying on his side with his back to the cell door, the drow heard the jangle of keys before the door swung open. Metal scraped on stone as a plate slid across the floor. The guard plunked the water cup down after it and shut the door quickly. Zollgarza never moved.
At least they had unchained him after Mith Barak’s interrogation was over. When the guard’s footsteps receded, Zollgarza rolled over and stretched out a hand to drag the plate closer. A slab of rothe meat veined with fat swam in a puddle of chunky gravy. Nearby, a bruised potato had rolled off the plate when the guard slid it across the floor. Zollgarza’s lip curled in disgust at the dirt smudges staining the vegetable. The feeling intensified when his stomach growled, betraying him.
He picked up the dripping meat, bit off one end, and began the laborious process of chewing until the fatty bite was small enough to swallow without gagging. With his other hand, Zollgarza reached back and undid the leather cord that secured his black hair. The strands fell around his face, snaring in the gravy that dripped down his chin. Zollgarza ignored them and spread the leather tie on the floor beside him.
The only polite thing he could say about the gravy was that it was full of salt. As soon as he tasted the meat, he wanted to drain his water cup dry, but it was well worth the discomfort.
Keeping an eye on the door, Zollgarza dipped his fingers in the gravy and rubbed them on the leather cord, grinding the salty liquid in deep until the gravy smear had taken on a berry color and smelled slightly of dung. Zollgarza nodded, satisfied with his work, and shoved the plate away. One bite would have to sustain him, at least for now.
Next came his favorite part.
Combing his hands through the strands of his black hair, Zollgarza found the thin black ribbon tied around the shorter hairs at the base of his scalp. Four small needles pierced the ribbon. These he removed and placed carefully on the floor next to the puddle of berry-colored gravy. He sniffed the mixture, noting that the dung smell had grown stronger. The poison was ready.
Zollgarza retrieved the potato lying on the floor. It appeared to have been boiled, though half-heartedly. The tuber was still tough in places, which suited Zollgarza’s purposes. Carefully, he picked up a needle and drove the blunt end halfway into the potato. He did the same with the other three, lining them up in a row. Then, palming the potato in his right hand, Zollgarza dragged the needles through the berry-colored gravy until they were suitably coated.
The Quanzsit berry poison was Zollgarza’s own concoction and one of his favorites. The leather cord, treated with the poison and dried, was harmless. Expose it to salty liquids, like those found in his food, and the situation changed dramatically.
Zollgarza put the potato back on his plate, careful not to let the poisoned needles dip into the gravy still swimming around the meat. He fetched his water and drank it down while he waited for the guard to return.
Logically, he knew he couldn’t escape, even if he managed to get his weapons back from the guards. His only target now was Mith Barak and the sphere. If it meant his death, he would fulfill Lolth’s command and facilitate the invasion of Iltkazar.
But he would die with gaping holes in his memories, questions he had no answers for. Zollgarza tried to quell these doubts, but they taunted him. Mith Barak claimed he wasn’t responsible for Zollgarza’s condition. Lolth’s touch was upon him, the dwarf said, and part of Zollgarza thrilled to the possibility that the goddess had reached out to him. Yet why alter him, rip out his memories? And what if the dwarf king lied?
More than anything, Zollgarza wanted Mith Barak dead. Pain lingered from the dwarf’s mental assault. Such a violation would not stand.
He heard the guard’s footsteps. Zollgarza set his cup on the floor and waited. A key turned in the lock, and the guard pushed open the door. When he saw Zollgarza sitting up, with the plate in his hands, the dwarf’s eyes narrowed.
“Decided to eat, did you?” The guard stepped inside the cell, his drawn sword leading. “Put it on the floor.” He waited while Zollgarza complied. “Now slide it over to me.”
Zollgarza slid the plate across the cell, jostling it so the potato slid off onto the floor. He put his hands in his lap, took a calming breath, and waited.
The dwarf bent to pick up the plate. Zollgarza exploded into motion, leaping across the cell in a breath. The guard brought his sword up, but Zollgarza was already too close. He grabbed the dwarf’s sword hand, jerking him off balance. They grappled, hands flailing, the dwarf’s blade flashing dangerously close to Zollgarza’s neck.
The dwarf was strong, stronger than Zollgarza had expected, but he was still off balance, trying to compensate for Zollgarza’s speed. As they struggled, Zollgarza tore one hand away and reached for the potato lying nearby. His fingers barely avoided the needles. How the goddess would have laughed if he’d managed to stick himself.
Unable to wield his sword with Zollgarza so close, the dwarf dropped the weapon, let out a loud bellow and dived on top of Zollgarza. Together they rolled on the hard stone floor, but somehow Zollgarza managed to hold on to the potato. Calloused, sweaty fingers came around Zollgarza’s throat. The dwarf bellowed again for the other guards.
Zollgarza knew if he didn’t act in that instant, he was dead. He aimed the needles and brought his hand up, stabbing the exposed flesh along the dwarf’s jaw.
Growling, the dwarf wrenched his hands from Zollgarza’s throat long enough to slap the improvised weapon out of his hand, scattering the needles across the floor. Zollgarza used the precious seconds to gulp in air. The dwarf reached up and pulled a needle out of his skin, examining the blood-smeared object. Zollgarza saw the understanding dawn in his eyes.
“Moradin curse you and all your kin,” the dwarf whispered. His words were slurred. The poison already had him.
Zollgarza dodged as the dwarf lunged for him and collapsed onto the floor. Convulsions wracked his body. The dwarf gasped for air as Zollgarza had done only a breath ago.
The guards were coming. Zollgarza heard their running footsteps. Too many, and they’d come too fast. He wasn’t even going to get out of his cell. He’d failed, and Lolth bore witness to that failure. Zollgarza snatched up the guard’s sword and held the blade to his own throat, letting out a howl of rage.
“Lolth, I am shamed!” he screamed. His palms dug into the blade. Skin broke and blood flowed, but Zollgarza could not bring himself to slit his own throat. Not unless he knew it was the goddess’s will. His life belonged to the Spider Queen. “I would die for you,” he cried, near tears. “If you gave me a sign, I would bury this blade inside me. Stay with me, I beg you! Give me one more chance, and I will prove myself!”
The rest of the guards burst into the cell. Zollgarza barely heard them cry out at seeing their comrade prone on the floor, the drow standing over him with a bloody sword. He barely felt it when they tackled him and yanked the sword out of his hands. Blows rained down on his head and chest. Perhaps he was going to die now, Zollgarza thought. Perhaps this was Lolth’s will, after all.
Let it be done, then, Zollgarza thought.
He closed his eyes and let the dwarves have him.
Ruen stood in the open plaza, glancing between the temple to Moradin and the king’s hall. Carved out of a protrusion of rock, half the temple remained in its natural state, while the other half had been shaped into a columned facade. The building looked as if a sculptor had merely discovered the temple in the shape of the stone, rather than an architect had built the place.