Richard Baker - Prince of Ravens

“That seems like a very useful spell,” Jack said to Kilarnan, impressed by how quickly his companions had cut the drow guards to pieces. Perhaps their odds were better than he had thought.

Kilarnan gave him a small nod, then motioned with his wand again and sent the two trolls lumbering off into another castle doorway. “Trolls are weak-willed creatures, easily controlled,” he said. “Still, the enchantment will not last long. Best to send them far away and tell them to forget what they were doing, before they recover and turn on us.”

Jelan headed for the castle’s main gate, and motioned to her companions to draw the foot-thick bolt securing the doors. In a few moments they had the castle gate open. No more drow were close by, but Jack could see dark phalanxes several hundred yards off to his left, near the spot where the cavern of Chumavhraele ended and the labyrinthine tunnels of the Underdark began. There was heavy fighting near the tunnel mouth; half a dozen brilliant globes of yellow light, carried aloft before ranks of human soldiers, dispelled the gloom like miniature suns. The clangor of steel echoed through the dank air, along with the distant roaring cacophony of battle. “Norwood’s almost here!” Jack said.

“Excellent,” Jelan replied. “If we hold the gatehouse, we’ll keep the drow soldiers from falling back to the castle when Norwood’s forces overwhelm them. We’ll be the anvil to Norwood’s hammer, if we can hold this spot long enough.”

“A sound plan,” Jack agreed. He bowed to the swordswoman. “Give Dresimil Chumavh and her charming brothers my best if they appear, will you? I am going to rescue Seila.”

The Warlord nodded. “Take Narm or Kurzen with you. I doubt Balathorp will be alone.”

“I’ll go,” Narm said. “Jack has a knack for forgetting to divide treasure, it seems, and Balathorp is a wealthy man.”

The rogue gave Narm a wounded look. “As I said, I incurred additional expenses … but if you wish to assure yourself of my honesty, then suit yourself. Shall we be on our way?”

Skirting through the mushroom-forest and avoiding the road leading up to the castle gate, Jack and Narm headed out into the dark cavern. Jack was struck by how deserted the place seemed. Dresimil Chumavh must have thrown almost her entire strength into the effort to block Norwood’s invasion, which boded well for Jack’s current mission. Every drow warrior and orc slave who was off fighting on the far side of the cavern was one less they’d have to avoid in their pursuit of the slaver.

“How do we find Balathorp?” Narm asked.

“We’ll begin with the rothe pastures,” Jack said. “They’re east of the castle, I think, and I know there are tracks leading to tunnel mouths in that direction.” How much of a head start did Balathorp have-half an hour? A whole hour? Had he left Chumavhraele immediately after removing Seila from the drow dungeon, or was he engaged in collecting additional captives to take with him? Jack guessed from what he’d heard of Balathorp’s conversation with his hobgoblins that the slaver wanted to escape with all the merchandise he could find, and that gave Jack hope-slaves in fetters and irons wouldn’t travel fast.

Together the rogue and the swordsman paralleled the track leading from the castle down to the fields. They soon came to Malmor’s pastures, which Jack remembered all too well. The supervisor’s shack, bunkhouse, and feed-cribs appeared to have been burned down, most likely in the quelling of the slave riots Jack had provoked. No rothe were pastured in the nearer fields, but he could see that a couple of the outlying pastures were filled with the shaggy beasts; evidently the drow had recovered at least some of their herd.

No one was near.

“Well, which way now?” Narm asked.

Jack fought back a surge of sick dread that rose up in him at the idea that he’d missed Balathorp, leaving Seila in the slaver’s power. “I don’t know,” he groaned. “I am afraid that I have no skill for tracking. I was hoping that Balathorp would still be here.”

“Should we continue along this trail? It seems to lead toward the cavern wall. Or this other path, here?” Narm compared the two trails. “One of them must be right.”

Jack looked at the forking trails. One headed more or less directly toward the cavern wall, while the other cut toward the right between two paddocks and seemed to head for a more distant intersection with the edge of the cavern and the tunnel mouths that would likely be found there. He was just about to guess on the straighter path to the left, but then his eye fell on a very familiar sight-a relatively fresh rothe patty in the middle of the right-hand path. A narrow wagon-wheel sliced right through the fresh dung. He pointed it out to the half-orc. “To the right, friend Narm,” he said. “That patty’s not an hour old. Make haste!”

He broke into an easy, long-striding lope, staying on the trail as he ran along. Narm matched his pace with some difficulty, because the half-orc was wearing a heavy chain hauberk over thick leather. They went on for several hundred yards, as the glimmering faerie-lights of the tower faded into the gloom of the cave and the sounds of battle from the north grew dim and distant. Jack began to wonder if they’d actually chosen the right path … but then, a short distance ahead of them, they saw a small caravan of rothe pulled wagons standing along a track winding through towering mushrooms. A handful of hobgoblin and human slavers directed the loading of the carts with chests of treasure and trunks of supplies, while a score of slaves-most of them pretty young women-stood chained to posts at the roadside. It seemed that Fetterfist and his gang were making preparations to move on and did not expect to return, just as he’d thought. Balathorp was nowhere in sight, but Jack caught sight of Seila waiting at one of the posts. She had been stripped to her smallclothes, and sat on the ground with her hands chained above her head. An ugly bruise marked one cheek, but she held her head high, glaring at the slavers.

Jack and Narm ducked off the trail, taking cover amid the giant mushrooms. Narm studied the slaver caravan and scratched at his chin. “I count eight,” he said. “Four or five, and I would say that we could charge on in and rely on surprise to see things through. But eight, I am not sure.”

“I’d settle for getting Seila free of them,” Jack said softly. “We can send word for the authorities to scoop up the rest when they reach the surface. Hmm … what if you created a distraction up by the head of the caravan, draw their attention away from the captives by the posts? I can slip in and cut her loose while the slavers are looking the other way.”

“If by distraction you mean attack them all by myself, then I have concerns about your plan,” Narm answered. “One on eight sounds even less appealing than two on eight.”

Jack handed the half-orc the hand crossbow he was carrying. “Here, try this. Circle around to those rocks over there, and shoot one or two of Balathorp’s men. Shout something drowish while you are at it. If they chase after you, retire into the forest here. I’ll meet you back by the pastures.”

“I don’t know any drow expressions.”

“Try caele’ilblith rodhen ,” Jack suggested.

“What does it mean?” Narm asked.

“I have no idea, but drow shouted it at me when they were angry. Now go. I will wait until you make your presence known before I move in.”

The half-orc took the crossbow in hand and hurried off into the shadows, crouching to keep low. He was surprisingly stealthy when he put his mind to it, Jack noticed; Narm vanished from sight within twenty steps. Jack composed himself to wait, observing the caravan. Balathorp appeared once or twice, issuing instructions to his slavers before heading away to check on some other task. He seemed impatient, and Jack decided that Balathorp was browbeating his minions into hurrying their preparations.