R. Salvatore - Night of the Hunter

The primordial had opened the door for her, to bring her in here, to pull the lever, to free it. She could feel its outrage, and when she looked around at the room, she understood that outrage to be wrought in violation. And not from the dwarves who had built this place, no, nor the wizards who had contained the volcano beneath the power of the water elementals. This outrage was new, an anger wrought in pride, an anger festering because the drow had dared turn this place into a chapel for the Demon Queen of Spiders.

Catti-brie pulled herself up from the floor, shaking her head, silently denying the primordial’s pleas. How could this be? How could she understand the language of that otherworldly plane of existence?

Her gaze went to her magically brightened hand, to the ruby ring. She had thought it a simple ring of fire protection, a fairly common item, but no, she knew now. No, this ring’s enchantment went far deeper, was far older, and many times more powerful, and it was a magic that had to be unlocked, for the wielder to prove herself worthy. And Catti-brie had done so by destroying an elemental from the opposing plane, an elemental of water.

Now with its magic fully engaged, this ring attuned Catti-brie to the Plane of Fire, and that magical connection deciphered the primordial’s call.

And through this ring, she could call back to it.

Her fire wall came down then, the magic expired, but still some small flames burned, for they had caught the webbing, layer and layer stripped away as tiny flames sparked and climbed.

Movement turned her gaze to the right, to the jade spider, as it turned to her.

Movement to the left showed her a second spider, similarly turning to face her.

“They are mine,” came a voice directly above and in front of her, and Catti-brie looked up to see a last layer of webbing burn aside to reveal a woman, an elf woman, hanging there, her arms outstretched. Her raven hair, shot with red streaks so similar to the altar stone, braided in a single line atop her head, and her face was marked with a multitude of blue dots. As she smiled and whispered the name of Catti-brie, those dots seemed to shift and join into an image.

A spider.

The newcomer drove her arms forward and the pole from which she was hanging broke in half over her back. She dropped to the floor to land gracefully, half the metal pole in each hand, and she snapped her wrists suddenly, violently, and each of those poles became two, joined by a length of cord, became a flail, and the woman put the weapon into a spin.

“Catti-brie,” she said again, wickedly, and she laughed.

She turned her head left and right and called to the jade spiders.

“Come, my pets.”

And they did.

And Catti-brie, her magic all but exhausted, stood with her back to the primordial pit.

Drizzt and Entreri moved swiftly along the tunnel in short bursts, one darting to the next position at a bend or corner, then motioning the other to run past, to the next. They passed the back side of the lava-made tunnel to the primordial chamber, to find that it had been sealed by the drow, by a wall of iron with some new masonry work securing it. Drizzt paused there, staring at the new wall, thinking of this and the mithral door with its new adamantine jamb. The dark elves were protecting the primordial pit. They had taken this place as their home.

Drizzt knew this area of the complex fairly well, and he turned around to peer into the continuing tunnel on the other side of the corridor he and Entreri now traversed. He had battled a drow mage down there, along with the wizard’s pet magma beast, which had carved these tunnels. From that mage, Drizzt had looted the ruby ring he had recently given to Catti-brie.

He waved Entreri past the opening of the lava tunnel, knowing it to be a dead end.

On they ran, leapfrogging past each other with practiced skill, and soon came to the entrance to a downward sloping tunnel, wide and smooth and recently worked, including grooves from, and for, the metal wheels of laden ore carts.

Down they ran for many strides, now side-by-side, for the tunnel was wide and straight with nowhere to hide. They came to a wide intersection, one passage forking left and down, the corridor continuing straight ahead, and a third passage breaking perpendicularly to the right. Unlike the other two, this third corridor was not descending.

Drizzt motioned for Entreri to hold this position, then started away to the right. The tunnel opened left and right into alcoves-mining stations, Drizzt realized, seeing the picks and shovels, and empty shackles staked to the stone.

“They’ve taken their prisoners with them,” Entreri remarked, catching up to Drizzt in the culminating chamber of the wing, where three separate sets of shackles sat on the stone, mining tools beside them.

Drizzt led the way back, in full run, and turned down the main, central corridor and ran on for a long way. They found more side tunnels, more empty mining stations, and then a gruesome discovery: a pair of slain humans, very recently cut down where they worked.

“The drow have gone deeper,” Entreri reasoned. “We’ll find no living slaves.”

Drizzt wanted to argue, but the reasoning was sound. They were far below the level of the Forge already, and the tunnel before them sloped more steeply and would soon open into the deeper Underdark.

“We have to return,” Entreri said, or started to, but Drizzt held up his hand for silence.

Entreri looked at him curiously.

Drizzt moved over and put his ear against the stone wall, then pointed to that side. “The other passageway,” he whispered.

As he neared the wall, Entreri, too, heard the rhythmic tapping of a pick against stone.

In their hasty retreat, the dark elves hadn’t cleared all of their slaves, apparently.

The pair ran back up to the four-way intersection and broke to their right to the far fork. This one went on for some ways before they encountered any mining stations, but as they neared the initial one, they clearly heard the slave at work.

It was a woman, a human. She shrank back as they neared, covering defensively.

“From Port Llast,” Entreri said, moving for the shackle and working fast to open the rudimentary lock. He looked at the woman. “We’re here to free you,” he said, and even as he finished, he pulled the shackle from her ankle. “Where is Dahlia?”

The woman wore a confused expression.

“The elf woman,” Entreri explained, his voice growing more insistent, more frantic. “She carried a metal staff. She was with me in Port Llast. Where is Dahlia?”

“There are others,” the woman answered and swallowed hard, clearly intimidated. She motioned down the tunnel.

“Wait here,” Drizzt bade her, and he and Entreri rushed off. Within a few moments, a bedraggled man limped up to join the woman, then a third miner limped into the room.

Drizzt and Entreri found just a few alcoves in this area, and soon broke out into another wide, descending tunnel, and it seemed as if there were no more work stations to be found, for this place, much like the center tunnel, dived more steeply now.

Drizzt motioned for Entreri to turn back, but the assassin sprinted out ahead anyway, his eyes peering through the gloom. “Dahlia?” he called softly.

Drizzt moved up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “We have to go,” he said. “We cannot pursue a drow army into the deeper Underdark.”

Entreri looked at him, and for a moment Drizzt thought the man might simply lash out.

“We have wounded,” Drizzt reminded.

Entreri’s shoulders slumped and he gave a long and profound sigh, then turned back, but as he did, he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye.