Ричард Бейкер - Condemnation

“Teleportation is risky,” he said. “First, the faerzress of the Underdark makes it dangerous to attempt transport spells. More to the point, I have never visited the Labyrinth, and so have no idea where I would be going. I would almost certainly fail. I know a spell to transform myself or others into different shapes more suited for travel, though. Perhaps if we were dragons or giant bats or something that would fly well by night. ...” The wizard tapped his chin, considering the problem. “Whomever we press into service as a mount would have to stay in that shape until I changed him back, of course, and we’d still be looking at a couple of tendays of travel. Or ... I know a spell of walking through shadows. It’s dangerous, and I couldn’t take us straight to the Labyrinth, as I have never been there and the spell is best employed to reach places you know well. I could take you to Mantol-Derith, though, which is hard by the shores of the Darklake. It would shorten our journey considerably.”

“Why didn’t you mention that before, when we were discussing months of marching across the surface?” said Jeggred, shaking his head in irritation.

“If you recall, we had not yet decided where we were going,” Pharaun replied. “I intended to offer my services at the appropriate time.”

Ryld said, “You could have transported us from Menzoberranzan to Ched Nasad in the first place. Why in the world did we walk?”

“Because I have good reason to fear the plane of shadow. As a younger and more impulsive mage I learned—the hard way—that shadow walking confers no special protection against the attentions of those creatures that dwell in the dark realm. In fact, I was very nearly devoured by something I would not care to meet again.” The wizard offered a wry grin and added, “Naturally, I now regard shadow walking as an option of last resort. I only suggest it now because I deem it slightly less dangerous than tendays of travel across the surface world.”

“We will exercise all due caution,” Quenthel said. “Let’s be about it, then.”

“Not so fast. I must prepare the spell. I will require about an hour to make ready.”

“Do so without delay,” Quenthel said. She glanced around at the ruins, and shaded her eyes. “The sooner we are back below ground, the better.”

While Pharaun retired to a dark, quiet chamber to study his grimoires and ready his spells, the rest of the party gathered their gear and prepared to leave. They were woefully unprepared for a long journey on the surface; Halisstra and Danifae had no packs or supplies of any kind. The Menzoberranyr had wisely recovered their packs before escaping Ched Nasad, but their long journey to the City of Shimmering Webs had depleted their stores.

While they waited for Pharaun, Halisstra studied the ruins in more detail. She had something of a scholarly inclination, and deliberately taking an interest in the ancient city was as good a way as any of keeping her mind from dwelling on the last awful hours of her home city. The others busied themselves with the small tasks of breaking camp, or waited patiently in the deepest shadows they could find. Halisstra gathered the few things she had brought and set out from the ruined court. Her eye fell on Danifae, who knelt quietly in the shade of a broken arch, calmly watching her leave.

Halisstra paused, and called, “Come, Danifae.”

She didn’t like the idea of leaving her servant alone with the Menzoberranyr. Danifae had served her well for years, but circumstances had changed.

The maidservant stood smoothly and followed. Halisstra led her through the crumbling shell of the palace surrounding the courtyard, and they emerged onto a wide boulevard arrowing through the heart of the old city. The air had warmed noticeably in the hour or more since sunrise, but it was still bitterly cold, and the brilliance of the day seemed almost enhanced by the crystal clarity of the skies. Both women stood blinded for several long moments in the sunshine.

“This is no good,” muttered Halisstra. “I’m squinting so hard I can’t see my hand in front of my face.”

Even when she managed to open her eyes, she could see little more than bright, painful spots.

“Valas says it’s possible to get used to daylight, with time,” Danifae offered.

“I find that hard to believe, now that I have experienced it myself. A good thing we mean to return to the Underdark soon.” Halisstra heard a small tearing sound from beside her, and Danifae pressed a strip of cloth into her hand. “Tie this over your eyes, Mistress. Perhaps it will help.”

Halisstra managed to arrange the dark cloth as a makeshift veil. It did indeed help to abate the fierce glare of the sun.

“That’s better,” Halisstra said.

Danifae tore another small strip and bound it around her own eyes as her mistress examined the ruins. It seemed to Halisstra that the palace they’d taken shelter in was one of the more prominent buildings, which only made sense. Magical portals were not easy to make, and were often found in well-hidden or vigilantly guarded locations. A colonnade stood along the front of the palace, and across the boulevard was another great building—a temple, or perhaps a court of some kind. There was something familiar about the architecture of the buildings.

“Netherese,” she said. “See the square column bases, and the pointed arches in the windows?”

“I thought Netherese cities floated in the air, and were completely destroyed by some magical cataclysm,” Danifae replied. “How could anything like this still stand?”

“It could have been one of the successor states,” Halisstra said, “built after the great mythallars of the old Netherese cities failed. They would share many of the same architectural features, but would have been more mundane, less magical.”

“There’s writing up there,” Danifae said, pointing at the facade of a crumbled building. “There . . . above the columns.”

Halisstra followed Danifae’s gesture. “Yes,” she said. “That’s Netherese.”

“You can read it?” Danifae asked.

“I have studied several languages—the common tongue of the surface, High Netherese, Illuskan, even some of the speech of dragons,” Halisstra replied.

“Our libraries contain fascinating histories and potent lore recorded in languages other than drow. I developed the habit of studying such things over a century ago, when I believed I might find some forgotten spell or secret that might prove useful against my rivals. As it turned out, I found little of that sort of thing, but I did find that I enjoyed learning for its own sake.”

“What does it say, then?”

“I’m not sure of some of the words, but I think it reads, ‘High Hall of Justice, Hlaungadath—In Truth’s Light No Lies Abide.’ ”

“What a simpleminded sentiment.”

Halisstra indicated the ruins around them and said, “You can see how far it got them. I know that name, though, Hlaungadath. I have seen maps of the surface world. Valas’s estimate of our location was accurate.”

“Even a male can do something right from time to time,” Danifae said.

Halisstra smiled and turned away to scan the ruins for any other sites of interest.

Something tawny and quick ducked swiftly out of sight. Halisstra froze on the instant, staring hard at the spot where she’d seen it, a gap in a masonry wall a short distance away. Nothing moved there, but from another direction came the sound of rubble shifting. Without looking away, she touched Danifae’s arm. We’re not alone here, she signed. Back to the others—quickly.

Together, they backed away from the court of justice and out into the street again. As they turned to retrace their steps, something long and low, covered with sand-colored scales, slid out into the boulevard. Its stubby wings clearly could never support it in flight, but its powerful talons and gaping jaws were much more developed. The dragon paused and raised up its head for a better look at the two drow on the street before it, and it hissed in delight. It was easily fifty feet from nose to tail, a hulking, powerful creature whose eyes gleamed with cunning and malice.