It is done,” Levriin Soltif told the Mistress mother.
“The deception was successful?” Fizzri clenched her hands into fists to quell her excitement.
“We engaged the dwarves in what I believe was the largest skirmish yet with their forces,” the wizard replied. “We decimated their numbers and sealed them off from the city.”
“They will return,” Fizzri said. “Tunneling animals always find a way to return to their dens. We don’t have much time.”
Levriin bowed his head in assent. “Scouts report they are breaking through the debris even now and filtering slowly back to Iltkazar. If we strike again before the end of the tenday-”
“We attack on the morrow,” the mistress mother cut him off. “Our forces are already mustered for a multi-pronged assault. Prepare your magic and whatever apprentices you have left-those that will follow you,” she said, her lips curving in a wicked smile. “You’ve done well.”
“Mistress-” Levriin hesitated. Fizzri saw the doubts flashing in his eyes. Her own eyes narrowed, but this did not deter the male. “I advise taking at least one day to regroup and rest our forces. When next we engage them in battle, the dwarves will be fighting from their home ground. The advantage is theirs. If we’re not prepared, we risk losing any advantage we’ve already gained.”
“Then you will ensure we are prepared,” Fizzri said. “See to it personally, Levriin. Consider it your test, another opportunity to prove your worth to the Spider Queen.”
“Mistress, we have been bold. We’ve proven that we can take Iltkazar, a feat that hasn’t been accomplished by any of the generations of drow who’ve come before us. We will take yet another piece of Shanatar.”
“You’re right, Levriin,” Fizzri said. “And we will do so on the morrow.”
Levriin’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He bowed again and left the audience chamber. Fizzri decided not to call him back or take him to task for questioning her judgment, no matter how indirectly he’d gone about it. She felt calm, more at peace than she had been since Zollgarza had disappeared.
He was alive. Lolth was still with her. Fizzri felt it deep inside her. The goddess was letting her prove that she had this conquest in hand. She would claim the Arcane Script Sphere for Lolth.
As for Zollgarza …
He was for the Spider Queen. The goddess had maimed him and marked him. He was the vessel, the conduit that when combined with the Arcane Script Sphere would usher in Lolth’s ascension to goddess of magic. And Fizzri would be there, conducting the ritual, giving Lolth exactly what she desired. The rewards for her service and Zollgarza’s sacrifice would be beyond imagining. All Fizzri had to do was retrieve him and the sphere.
Stay alive just a bit longer, Zollgarza. I’m coming for you.
Ruen assured himself for perhaps the fifth time that day that his arms were on the verge of falling off. Doubtless they’d just be hauled away with the rest of the debris from the tunnel collapse, along with Ruen’s exhausted body.
They’d been digging for hours, though time, in Ruen’s mind, had blurred together into an endless series of motions: fitting his hands around a piece of stone, prying it loose from the pile blocking the tunnel, and hauling it away to the Hall of Lost Voices. The man or woman in front of him and behind him shared those same motions, and at first they’d talked-and even jested a little, once they’d got over the initial horror and shock of the battle’s aftermath-as they worked to reopen the tunnel. Exhaustion had gradually set in, and they worked in a silence of lumbering movements and glazed eyes. Ruen had a new appreciation for the lot of a beast of burden.
The dwarf behind him tapped him on the shoulder. Ruen reached back automatically to accept the waterskin the dwarf held out and nodded his thanks. He took a measured drink and passed it on to Obrin, who worked in front of him.
They took brief rests for food and sleep, but the only thing worse than the backbreaking labor was sitting idle in the empty cavern among the wounded and the dead. They’d gathered all the bodies together beneath the carved stone faces and covered them with blankets. Only then did it become clear how costly the battle had been. Seeing the bodies did not bother Ruen, but he felt trapped in the tunnel, the stone pressing in on him from all sides. He was weary, sore, and so damned tired of being underground. Endless darkness and no sky above his head-he couldn’t live the dwarf life.
Ahead of him, a commotion erupted. Excited whispers drifted back to Ruen, but he was so absorbed in his own world that at first he didn’t realize what they were saying.
“They’re breaking through the wall!”
“I heard his voice! He came for us-the king!”
The dwarf standing behind Ruen began shaking him by the arm. Ruen turned and saw the wide grin stretched across the warrior’s dirt-streaked face. “Did you hear? We’re gettin’ out.”
Ruen smiled wearily at the dwarf. “The king himself comes to rescue us.”
The dwarf patted him roughly on the shoulder. “We’ll get those drow bastards yet. Watch and see.”
By the time Ruen worked his way to the front of the line of diggers, they’d cleared a path through the debris just large enough for a small man to crawl through it. Obrin stood near the opening. He gestured to Ruen.
“You’re thin enough to go through. The king wants a report on the battle.”
Ruen crouched down and, with his lean body, had little trouble squeezing through the makeshift tunnel. He came out the other side after a few moments to see a similar digging force assembled at the debris pile. They still had a long way to go before they’d be able to get the dwarves out in numbers.
King Mith Barak stood at the front of the gathered diggers, looking as haggard and dirty as the rest of them. An amused smile flickered across his face when he saw Ruen poke his head out of the tunnel.
“Should have known they’d send the scarecrow,” he said. He held out a hand to help Ruen to his feet. “Your girl will be glad you’re alive,” he said. “Save me another tongue lashing.”
“We suffered heavy losses,” Ruen said.
The king nodded gravely. He led Ruen to one of the smaller tunnels off the main passage so the diggers could continue their work. Ruen imagined he also did it so the others wouldn’t hear as he enumerated their losses and the strategy used by the drow to cripple them.
“They’ll hit us on the morrow, the day after at the latest,” the king said. “Doesn’t hardly make sense, though. The drow threw as much at us as we did at them. They may have sealed us off in our own tunnels, but they paid for it. Or am I wrong?” he asked, looking at Ruen sharply.
“You’re not wrong,” Ruen said. “We decimated their ranks as well. They have superior numbers, but I can’t believe they’d recover soon enough to attack us in two days.”
“They’ve picked up the pace, hitting us hard and fast,” the king said. “It’s a risky strategy.”
“Agreed,” Ruen said. “Drow scheme and plan their conquests for months-years-before they spring their trap, attacking and retreating like shadows. These strategies have been successful for them. Large-scale, brutal attacks fly in the face of their natures. Unless their target has nothing to do with the city.”
“The Arcane Script Sphere,” Mith Barak said. “It’s the artifact. I knew it was calling out, trying to free itself. It wants to move on to other wizards, but its purpose was established before Mystra’s death. Now that she’s gone, I thought by keeping it I was keeping it safe, preserving a part of her. Instead the artifact hid itself from me, and I’ve brought doom upon Iltkazar because of it.” The king shook his head and muttered, “And there’s Zollgarza.”
“It always comes back to that drow,” Ruen said. “What is his part in all this?”
“I don’t know, but it could be his part in the scheme is the most dangerous of all,” Mith Barak said.
Ruen frowned. “That’s suitably cryptic. Have you considered the possibility that he’s also merely a distraction?”