And if Eldrinn did recover, and guessed that Q'arlynd had pocketed the kiira, perhaps a deal could be struck. Q'arlynd could agree to hand the lorestone over in return for a share of whatever knowledge it held.
He smiled. After two months of fruitless searching, not one but two prizes had dropped into his lap. A kiira-and a mind-damaged wizard, ripe for rescue, whose return to Sshamath might just warrant a reward.
For the time being, he would tuck the kiira away in a place where it would be impossible to find: in a certain cavern with no natural entrances or exits, completely lined with dark-stone crystals that would block all scrying and detection attempts. Only three drow, besides Q'arlynd, had known of the cavern's existence. Two were dead-their bodies had been lying on the cavern's floor when Q'arlynd had briefly returned to it a month ago. The third was unlikely to ever visit it again.
Q'arlynd teleported to the cavern, deposited his prize amid the darkstone crystals, then returned to the High Moor. The journey took only a few moments. Eldrinn still stood where Q'arlynd had left him, staring vacantly at the ground. He leaned forward, as if about to trudge in circles again, but Q'arlynd caught his arm, stopping him.
He turned his thoughts to Sshamath. He'd visited the city only once before-on a trading mission, decades ago-yet he still had a clear memory of its main point of entry: the cavern at the top of the Z'orr'bauth Pillar. He let this fill his mind. Then, his hand gripping Eldrinn's shoulder, he teleported them both to it.
The Month of Tarsakh
Karas waved a hand to catch the eye of the bet runner. "Three gold on the derro."
The bet runner, a lanky slave with ice-white hair and eyes that darted about like a hunting lizard's, sprinted up the stairs of the arena to the top row of seats. He took Karas's coin and passed him a token.
The female seated next to Karas laughed. "That derro won't last a minute against the quaggoth. Just look at the size of her!" She caught the bet runner's arm and wrenched him to her side. "Seven gold on the quaggoth."
The boy took her coin, wincing slightly at her grip on his arm.
"The females don't always win," Karas said, idly stroking his chin. "The derro may appear weaker, but appearances can be deceiving."
His comment prompted a derisive snort from the female. She was secure in her finery and status-a priestess of Lolth, judging by the whip that hung from her belt. The bet runner, however, took Karas's meaning. He coughed into his hand, then wiped his fingers across his mouth. Secretly returning the sign of the mask. His other hand moved at his side. Directly across from you. Top row. Three this side of the pillar.
Karas gave the slightest of nods. The boy darted away to take another bet.
As the stone benches filled with spectators, Karas sized up the male he'd been sent to kill. The fellow was slender-boned and delicate looking, but clearly used to taking care of himself, judging by his confident expression. He sat with his back against the wall, on the top bench. Every few moments he glanced around, alert for threats. His piwafwi hid his forearms, but Karas spotted the head of a wristbow bolt peeking out from the edge of the cloth.
Karas had been told his target's name: Valdar. Aside from that, he knew little. Only that the fellow was a former priest of Vhaeraun, just as Karas was. The target wasn't wearing his mask; that would have been suicide, there in Guallidurth. Perhaps he'd given up the faith altogether after Vhaeraun's death. More than one Nightshadow had done that, rather than bow to the Masked Lord's conqueror.
Karas, however, was more practical than that.
Rather than moving into position at once, he feigned interest in the upcoming match. The quaggoth was, as the female sitting beside him had just noted, an enormous creature, one and a half times the height of a drow, as broad as one of the World Above's bears. The white-furred creature was indeed female, though it was hard to tell with all that fur. She had disdainfully cast aside the club they'd given her and was flexing her hooked claws and roaring, working herself up into a killing rage.
The derro on the opposite side of the circular ring was less than half the quaggoth's height. His coarse white hair fell in a tangle across his pale blue face, hiding his blind eyes. He would be relying upon sound and smell alone to tell him where his opponent was. He gripped a dagger in each fist. The blades appeared clean, but Karas had learned they were coated with greenblood oil, rendered invisible by a spell.
When it came to laying odds, Karas would take small and sneaky over brute force any day.
The crowd thickened. Most of the spectators crowded the first few rows, seats so close to the arena that their occupants were sometimes hit with a hot spray of blood.
As the bet runner moved into place, climbing the stairs toward the spot where the target sat, Karas rose to his feet, shouting out a last-moment bet. "Three gold!" He waved his arm, as if trying to catch the bet runner's eye.
The bet runner ignored him.
Karas clambered down the stairs, unfastening the coin purse at his hip. "Three more gold on the derro!" he shouted again. He continued calling and waving as he climbed the stairs on the other side of the arena.
Before he could reach the bet runner, the gong sounded, signaling the start of the combat.
"Out of the way!" a spectator cried. "I can't see."
Karas continued up the steps to the bet runner. The boy had positioned himself next to Karas's target, as was the custom when each fight began, with his back against the wall so as not to block the view.
"Didn't you hear me, boy?" Karas shouted. "I wanted to place a bet."
The bet runner cringed. "Sorry, Master! Too late. The fight's already-"
Karas cuffed him, splitting his lip.
The boy was good. He glared back at Karas as if he wanted to kill him, and cringed when Karas raised his hand a second time. Seemingly cowed, he slunk away.
Karas glanced back at the combat, sighed heavily, then squeezed onto the bench next to Valdar.
His target glanced at him, his unusual pink eyes flicking briefly to Karas's wrist-crossbow and dagger and lingering a moment longer on the scars that gave Karas's left eye a perpetual squint. If Valdar survived, he'd remember Karas. Survival was unlikely, however.
Karas turned his attention to the fight. In the arena below, the quaggoth leaped forward with a roar. Despite her size, she was swift as a jumping spider. The derro deftly sidestepped and slashed, but missed. The quaggoth spun and raked the derro's shoulder with its claws, drawing first blood.
The crowd shouted its approval.
Karas snorted. "Hah. Perhaps it's just as well I didn't get to place that bet."
His target didn't comment.
The derro feinted with his left, stabbed with his right.
The second dagger almost scored a hit, parting the fur at the quaggoth's hip.
The female sitting on the other side of Valdar leaped to her feet and shook her fist. "Kill him!" she screamed.
The quaggoth slammed a paw into the derro's back, sending the little male stumbling. The derro turned it into a somersault and sprang back to his feet. He shouted something at the quaggoth-a shout laden with magic that sent the quaggoth reeling. Before she could recover, the derro raced in and stabbed her in the thigh. Bright red blood stained her fur. She staggered, blinked stupidly at the wound. Then she fell.
The crowd roared.
"Ha!" Karas cried. "I wish I had placed that bet. I knew the derro would win. But at least I've made a little profit, this match." He folded his arms and leaned back, as if pleased with himself.
Now was the moment. Before the noise of the crowd ebbed, he whispered a terse prayer that would freeze his target in place. He abruptly leaned sideways, jostling Valdar. The dagger concealed by his folded arm stabbed into Valdar's side.