Paul Kemp - Dawn of Night

One of the slaadi? Magadon asked. Or just a lookout for Riven's contact?

Cale shook his head. He had no way to know without closing to use a divination spell, but that would risk his being noticed. He could have turned himself invisible to approach the drunk, but he remembered well the fight in the alley back in Selgaunt when Azriim had seen and captured an invisible Jak. From that, he assumed that the slaadi-if the drunk was indeed a shapechanged slaad-could see invisible creatures. He didn't want to tip his presence.

"Mags, link us to Riven," he said.

The guide nodded and closed his eyes. After a moment, Cale felt as though another window had been opened in the room of his mind.

Riven? he projected.

A pause.

I hear you, the assassin responded. Didn't expect to, after our little disagreement. Think I'm untrustworthy, First of Five?

Cale ignored Riven's venom and asked, What's your assessment?

Another pause. Likely the assassin's attention was focused on whatever the contact was telling him.

Eyes are normal, Riven finally answered, his tone more moderated. He looks right and talks the talk. But he offers too much for too little. He's either stupid or one of our slaadi.

Hearing that, Magadon shifted on his feet. Cale too felt adrenaline charge his muscles. He doubted stupidity to be the explanation.

Keep him talking, Cale said to Riven. To Magadon, he projected, Back in Starmantle you said you could put yourself behind someone's eyes and see what they see.

Magadon nodded, immediately grasping Cale's point.

The slaad or Riven? Magadon asked.

The slaad, answered Cale.

I can do that, the guide answered. But I need to see the target first, to plant the first hook. After that, he can be anywhere. He paused, then added, Also, he might sense the mental intrusion.

Cale nodded. They would have to take that chance.

How long can you maintain it?

Magadon answered, As long as I wish, though it will drain me somewhat. The connection is latent and requires little mental energy until I activate it to see what the target sees. Each time I activate it, though, we again risk him sensing my presence.

This is a waste of time, Riven said. Let's just put him down right now.

Cale shook his head, though he knew Riven couldn't see him.

No, he answered. He's only one of the three slaadi. Another may be out here in the street. We need to learn their play and put all of them down at once. Stopping them doesn't necessarily stop the Sojourner.

Riven fell silent, though Cale could sense his irritation through the mental connection.

Cale thought about having Magadon connect to the drunk down the street but decided against it. If the drunk was a slaad, he was not the leader. The leader would be the one talking to Riven.

Riven, Cale projected, we need to see the one you're talking with. Hear what he says and walk out with him. If he detects Mogadon's psionic attack, you'll get your chance then. If that happens, Mags and I will take the watchman out on the street.

Riven projected acquiescence and the connection went quiet.

* * * * *

Riven stared across the table, hearing what the false human was saying, wondering what the slaadi were planning, and fighting down the desire to draw steel. Despite his inner turmoil, he had no trouble keeping his expression neutral, even vaguely friendly. Riven had so often sat across tables from men he intended to kill that he had long ago mastered the ability to keep his face expressionless even while choosing between blade, garrote, or poison. No moral crisis ever rose from Riven's conscience to trouble his expression. For him, murder was business. For him, everything was business. The critical point was that he be on the winning side in the end.

Unlike his comrades, he felt little personal animosity toward the slaadi. In truth, he probably felt more antipathy toward Cale-the First of Five-than he did the slaadi. Riven wanted to put down the slaadi only because letting them live offended his professional pride.

And because the Shadowlord seemed to want it.

The slaad was just finishing describing to Riven the route the caravan would take through the northern tunnels of the Underdark.

"When?" Riven asked.

"The third hour of the cycle after next," responded the slaad.

Riven nodded, giving the appearance of being satisfied.

"This duergar has earned your ire?" asked the slaad.

Riven stared into the slaad's eyes, wondering if there was not an offer there. The slaad's gaze revealed nothing. Riven shook his head.

"No," he said. "This is a business matter. And like all matters of business, I care only for coming out of it better than how I came in." He paused while the slaad nodded sagely, then added, "For that, I always make sure that I end up on the winning side."

The slaad stopped nodding and gazed at him curiously. "I see..."

"I'm pleased you do," Riven said, and offered no further explanation. He leaned back in his chair, reached into one of his belt pouches, and withdrew one of the small diamonds he had brought with him from Selgaunt.

"This is equitable, I assume?" he said.

The slaad mumbled agreement, scooped the gem into his palm, and pocketed it in his worn robe without even an appraising glance. If Riven hadn't already been certain, the slaad's nonchalance regarding payment would have solidified Riven's opinion that he was not dealing with an ordinary human information broker.

"This business is complete, then," said the slaad, rising to his feet.

He smiled down at Riven, a disingenuous gesture, and the assassin noted his perfect teeth.

Not hardly, thought Riven, but he only offered a nod.

"Luck to you with this duergar," the slaad said. "I've heard he's quite the killer."

Riven waved a hand dismissively and took a drink from his ale.

The slaad's ears flushed red with anger but to his credit, he managed to keep an agreeable smile pasted on his face.

"I'll take my leave, then," said the slaad, his voice tight.

Riven let him walk a few paces away before he stood.

"I believe I'll be leaving too," he said. "Hold a moment."

The slaad, looking uncomfortable at the prospect of the assassin's company, waited for Riven to catch up. As they walked for the door, Riven casually kept a hand on one of his sabers. He eyed the slaad's back sidelong, located the kidneys, and wondered whether the creature would sense Magadon's psionic attack.

We're coming out, he projected to Cale and Magadon.

Be ready, Cale answered back. If he responds to the attack, he's your responsibility.

Riven didn't bother with an answer. He didn't require instruction from Cale. He understood his responsibilities-all of his responsibilities-full well.

Riven and the slaad exited the inn and the assassin quickly surveyed the nearby street traffic, rooftops, and catwalks above. Nothing unusual. In the darkness, he didn't see Cale and Magadon, and he didn't see the drunk. A rothe-pulled wagon piled high with dried mushrooms was stopped in the street near them, its gray-skinned gnome owner pulling at the rothe's bridle. The creature lowed in agitation, shook its shaggy mane, but did not budge. A group of drunk half-orcs peppered the gnome with laughter and curses. From down the street, a crowd in one of Skullport's many fighting dens let loose an approving shout.

Now, Magadon projected.

Riven knew that somewhere nearby, Magadon was insinuating himself into the slaad's mind.

I'm in, Magadon said.

The slaad spun around to face Riven.

Reflexively, Riven's grip on his saber hilt tightened, though he kept his face expressionless

"Louts," the slaad said, indicating the half-orcs. "Listen to them curse. They have the intelligence of rocks."

Riven let his grip on his saber relax.