And she was watching him.
Natrac wrenched his gaze from her and back to Biish as he finally ran out of words. “If you’re so powerful,” he said to the hobgoblin, “then you have nothing to worry about from me. I’m out of this game. You know it.”
“Are you asking me to let you go?” Biish’s wolf ears rose. “For one, I don’t think you are out of the game. I know you wouldn’t have dared to come back to Sharn and Malleon’s Gate unless you had some important reason. For another, there’s the matter of why I’m using your fine old headquarters instead of mine.” A flush crept back into his face. “They still talk about the explosion in some taverns.”
Natrac looked him straight in the eyes. “As long as you were running me out of Sharn, I wanted to be sure you had something to remember me by.”
Biish’s teeth snapped together-but any response he might have made was lost as the door of the outer chamber burst open and another goblin stumbled through. “Biish!” the little creature said. “Lord Storm is back. He’s waiting for you in the meeting room.”
Natrac thought Biish looked like he was going to explode. If the hobgoblin had been able to tear himself in two-one to stay and harass Natrac, the other to go and meet this “Lord Storm”-he probably would have. After a moment, though, Biish leaned close to the bars of the cell.
“Don’t go anywhere, Natrac,” he growled. “We have a lot of catching up to do. Maybe you’ll tell me how you lost your hand-and maybe I’ll finish what someone else started.” He whirled away and stomped out the chamber door. “Dabrak, sharpen your axes! Benti, come with me.”
The bugbear stood up straight with an eager expression on his face. The half-elf just nodded. They and the rest of Biish’s retinue followed the head of the Longtooth gang out of the chamber. The door slammed shut and darkness fell over the room once more. Natrac sagged in relief.
“Gray-haired Olladra,” he prayed with desperate piety, “see me out of this, and I’ll build a shrine to you in Zarash’ak.”
And may the Sovereign Host bless the arrival of Lord Storm, he added silently. Presumably he was some associate of Biish’s and a major one if he took precedence over Biish’s revenge. Natrac couldn’t complain. He had a reprieve, and he needed to make the most of it. He stood upright and rattled the door of the cell with his hand. Or tried to rattle it. The door was as solid as the day he’d watched it installed. He stepped back and cursed. He wasn’t getting out that way!
But maybe there was something else he could do. He glanced down at the floor.
When he had the small room converted into a cell, he also had the floor reinforced with heavy planks. He didn’t want anyone escaping by ripping up the floorboards. While the carpenter was laying the new planks though, he’d discovered something: hidden beneath a loose board was a cavity and at the bottom of the cavity was a fine screen that looked into the room below. From the lower room, the screen was all but invisible, hidden by shadow and a panel of carved wood.
Magical scrying could be foiled, but there was little that could be done to counter simple eavesdropping. Natrac had the carpenter construct a new access to the hidden cavity, paid him handsomely, and moved him and his family out of Sharn to make sure it stayed a secret. He began holding his meetings in the lower room, and those left in the room to speak in private began to wonder how he learned of their conversations.
If Biish had been using his cell all these years, maybe he was using his meeting room too. Eavesdropping was a small thing to build an escape on, but it was a start.
At the base of one wall, Natrac pressed his hand against a section of plank and pushed it forward, then to the left. An old catch released, and the section rose just enough that he could get his fingernails into a fine groove and turn it on a hidden pivot.
Underneath, the cavity and its screen remained just as he remembered. Natrac cursed silently and wondered if he should have hidden his escape kit beneath the plank.
Light was coming up from the room beneath, though-light and Biish’s voice. Moving carefully, Natrac lay flat on the floor and peered down into the cavity. The view was restricted, but he could see Biish sitting down on one side of a table. The half-elf woman, Benti, stood behind him. Someone else, just a moving shadow and quick footsteps, paced back and forth on the other side of the room. It sounded like Biish was in the middle of offering his visitor an apology.
“… didn’t expect that you would turn up so late last night, Storm.” Biish had left off speaking Goblin, and Natrac guessed that Lord Storm didn’t understand the language. “I had business to attend to.”
“I know what your business was. Charging around Malleon’s Gate hunting for some changelings! Are they paying you? No!”
Lord Storm’s voice was loud and unrestrained-and the sound of it brought Natrac’s eyes open wide. He jammed two knuckles of his fist into his mouth and bit down to keep himself from crying out. A moment later, Storm stopped pacing and stepped up to the table. Natrac bit down harder as anger and fear beyond even what he felt for Biish surged in his belly.
Lord Storm was Vennet d’Lyrandar!
As Biish’s orange skin turned red with outrage, Natrac studied Vennet. The last time he had seen him in Taruuzh Kraat, the half-elf had been spattered with old blood, his clothes torn, his hair matted, and his eyes filled with madness. He’d cleaned up since then, with new clothes and clean hair. He could probably have passed among strangers without rousing suspicion, but Natrac had known him for years, had sailed with him from Zarash’ak to the remote port of Yrlag and back many times before Vennet had turned on him. The intensity of madness was still in his eyes. Since he’d devoted himself to Dah’mir, something had happened to crack Vennet’s mind. Not that he’d been entirely sane before. Natrac’s right arm tingled with phantom pain. In service to the cults of the Dragon Below, Vennet had been the one who’d hacked off his hand, leaving it as bait to lure Dandra into a trap.
What was he doing here?
Then a new fear cut into Natrac as Biish opened his mouth to respond to Vennet’s scorn. If the hobgoblin told Vennet who he had imprisoned upstairs, there would be no point in trying to escape. Vennet-and Dah’mir-would know he, Dandra, and the others had escaped Taruuzh Kraat. He squeezed his eyes shut, afraid to watch what unfolded.
Biish’s rage saved him. Natrac’s eyes popped open again as Biish unleashed a blistering storm of furious curses and roared out, “Your gold buys you and your freakish birds a hiding place and my services, you lunatic dog! If you think it puts me at you beck and call, then the Keeper take your soul and I’ll send it to him myself!”
The hobgoblin was on his feet, but Vennet just leaned into his bellows as if leaning into a sea wind. There was even a beatific half-smile on his face. As Biish ran out of breath, Vennet straightened up and said calmly, “You’re afraid of me.”
Biish made a strangled noise and might have leaped across the table at Vennet if Benti hadn’t held him back. Vennet just pulled out a chair and sat down. He looked up Biish. “Sit,” he said. “We have things to discuss. Are your preparations ready?”
Breathing hard, his fists curling and uncurling, Biish stared at him and slowly eased himself into his chair. His ears, though, were still flat to his head. “Mazo,” he said. “We’re ready. The plans are drawn up. We have two possible targets for the first part of the operation. One is preferred, but if we can’t get it, we’ll get the other.”
Vennet pressed his fingers together in front of his face and sat back. His gaze was on Benti. “There is the matter of someone to take the helm.”
“You’re looking at her,” Biish said, jerking his head at the woman. “This is Benti Morren.”
Vennet’s eyes glittered. “Show me,” he said.