The green of his eyes wasn’t the only thing acidic about the dragon. Dandra had seen the effects of his corrosive venom on the battlefield before the Bonetree mound. Trapped in the passage, they were easy targets. “Natrac!” she shouted.
“Down!” said the half-orc, and it felt as if they all moved at once, tumbling through an unseen hole into an even deeper darkness that reeked of filth.
There was no rain of venom, but Dah’mir’s final roar of fury followed them.
Events on the floor of the arena unfolded too quickly for Vennet to react. The sudden opening of the ramp beneath the sands, Singe and Ashi’s flight, Dandra’s break for the box containing the precious bracers, Dah’mir’s leap to intercept her-and Dandra’s reappearance beside the ramp in the blink of an eye. All he could do was thrust himself against the rail of the box and scream down, “No! No! Storm at dawn, no!”
Dah’mir’s second leap-to the gaping hole of the ramp-sent such a shudder through the structure of the arena that Vennet felt it in the rail beneath his hands. His roars and the splintering of the arena floor as he ripped at it brought the voices of the wind whipping around Vennet’s ears.
They must not escape! If they escape, your reward goes with them. They mock you, Vennet! They mock you!
“They won’t escape!” He pounded his hands against the rail. “Kill them, Dah’mir! Kill them!”
But the dragon extracted his head and neck from the hole in the floor with a slow dignity. His muzzle was wrinkled. “They’re in the sewers,” he said.
“Let me go after them!”
“There is no point. There are too many places for them to go or to hide.”
“Then let me send the wind!” Vennet’s chest felt hollow with desperation. “The wind will find them wherever they go. By the powers of Khyber, I’ll turn the very stink of the sewers against them!”
“Be silent!” Dah’mir’s voice was like a crack of thunder. Even the voices of the air fell silent. Vennet’s arms fell to his side. Dandra, Singe, and Ashi might have escaped, but at least they hadn’t captured the box. And, he reminded himself, there was still the unconscious kalashtar lying on the terrace outside the arena. He had a partial prize to present Dah’mir at least.
But the dragon didn’t seem as angry as Vennet might have expected. Dah’mir settled back on his haunches, his great eyes thoughtful. “That was Natrac that aided them.”
New rage seethed in Vennet. “Natrac!”
And behind him, Biish’s ears flicked, and he spoke coherent words for the first time since Dah’mir had revealed his majestic true form. “Natrac?” he asked. His lips twitched. “But that’s not possible.”
Vennet turned on him. “You know Natrac? How?”
The hobgoblin glanced at Dah’mir. “Mazo,” he said finally. “He … he used to own this arena, until I ran him out of Sharn and took over his gang. I found out he was back in Sharn last night. I tracked him down and took him prisoner. He should still be in his cell at my headquarters.”
A rumble rolled out of Dah’mir’s throat. “Obviously, he escaped.” His huge eyes narrowed. “How did he know to come here?”
Biish shook his head, his ears lying back flat against his head, and Vennet realized just how pathetic and frightened he looked. “Maybe Natrac overheard something,” the half-elf suggested.
Biish’s eyes snapped to him. “Impossible!”
“Yet he was here. And if he knew to come here, perhaps he overheard something more. And if he knows more than he should, then Dandra and Singe will soon know it too.” Dah’mir rose and stretched, wings sweeping out. “Biish! Are your people ready to move?”
The hobgoblin flinched back at the demand. “Mazo, lhesh!”
“Then we strike before there can be any interference,” said Dah’mir. He bared his teeth. “We strike now.”
CHAPTER 17
The door had apparently been carved into the wall of the sewer by some enterprising goblin. It was goblin height and goblin width and, once Ashi had forced it open with repeated kicks against the old wood, a tight squeeze for any of them to wriggle through. A heavy curtain, powdery with mold, dragged against Singe as he pushed himself through the doorway and into the cellar beyond. He cursed between his teeth and tore the rotten fabric away to allow the others an easier passage. The curtain and the cellar were both musty and foul, but they smelled like a temple compared to the wet stink of the sewers or the stench of the decaying bodies back in the arena.
“Have a good sniff when a battle’s over,” Robrand d’Deneith had told him more than once, “and remember that no matter how bad things smell, you’re still breathing.” Singe wrinkled his nose, brushed the thick dust from the curtain off his shirt, and raised one hand. The magical light that glowed from his ring-he’d cast the cantrip when the footing in the sewers had become too treacherous for them to depend solely on Natrac’s darkvision for guidance-shone on a room long abandoned to dampness and filth. The outline of a trapdoor showed among the low beams of the ceiling. There was no ladder, but it didn’t look like it would be difficult to haul themselves up through the trapdoor.
As Natrac squirmed through the small doorway, Singe bent down and helped the half-orc to his feet. “I wouldn’t have expected the blustering merchant I met in Yrlag to turn out to be a notorious ganglord from Sharn.”
“Former ganglord,” Natrac grunted. “That ended when Biish decided he wanted to start building the Longtooth into something to be reckoned with, Keeper take the bastard. This route through the sewers saved my life once before. We’re well across Malleon’s Gate now.” He looked around. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this room too. Kuv, I feel stupid for letting Biish get his hands on me. I should have told you about my past before this. I was putting all of us at risk.”
“What if you had told us everything?” Singe asked him. “We wouldn’t have let you come down to Malleon’s Gate alone. If Biish hadn’t gotten his hands on you, you wouldn’t have found out what he and Vennet were up to.”
“And,” added Dandra grimly as she drew herself through the door, “you would have been with us when Virikhad tried to lure us into Dah’mir’s claws. We would all be trapped.” She stood up, pressed her hands together, and bent her head over them in a gesture of thanks. “Bless your secrets, Natrac. Virikhad had the rest of us off balance trying to understand the killing song.”
The half-orc grimaced, his lip stretching tight against his tusks. “Where do you think Virikhad is now?”
Dandra shook her head. “He could be anywhere. It sounds like he knows Dah’mir’s plans. He’s probably moved on to another host so he can make sure Biish’s raid succeeds and Dah’mir captures the seventeen kalashtar he needs.”
“Seventeen kalashtar with psicrystals to wear seventeen bracers with binding stones,” said Singe. With what they had found in the arena and what Natrac had heard from his cell, it hadn’t taken much to guess what had been on the list of targets Vennet had given Biish. The month Dah’mir had been in Sharn had certainly been enough time to gather the information. If his herons had watched Fan Adar for them, the birds might have watched for kalashtar carrying psicrystals too. Or maybe Dah’mir and Vennet had spied on Fan Adar themselves. How the dragon had built the list didn’t matter-it was a curiosity, much as the half-elf Benti’s role in the raid was a curiosity. Singe had tried to reason out why Vennet and Dah’mir should need another bearer of the Mark of Storm and come up with nothing. For the moment, the important thing was that list and the danger to the kalashtar.
They still had a chance to disrupt Dah’mir’s plans. The kalashtar elders would also know who in Fan Adar possessed psicrystals, and Dah’mir’s potential victims could still be hidden or scattered.
If they could get back to Overlook in time to warn them.