Paul Kemp - Dawn of Night

Riven scowled and the creature recoiled. The assassin produced three gold pieces from his pouch and flashed them before the goblin's eyes. The creature grabbed at the coins but Riven pulled them out of reach.

"What's it you wants, one-eye?" the goblin asked.

Cale looked around to see whether they had drawn attention. To his alarm, he saw that one of the Skulls had moved nearer to them to observe. It floated above them, its empty gaze seeing everything.

"Riven. . . ." Cale said, gesturing toward the ceiling.

Riven's gaze followed Cale's. Seeing the Skull, he slowly lowered the goblin to the ground, but kept his grip on its shirt.

"These are yours," Riven said to the creature, again flashing the coin while eyeing the Skull sidelong, "when you tell me what I want to know."

A cunning look came across the goblin's red-skinned face. It rubbed its hands together greedily.

"Asks me, hole-in-face."

Riven said, "Less than half an hour ago, a single wagon went into the tunnels. It had a score or more of gray dwarves as guards."

The goblin nodded and said, "Me sees that one."

"Which tunnel?" Riven asked, giving the goblin a shake.

"You gives more," the goblin replied.

Riven's gaze went hard.

"I'll give you two more," he said.

The creature smiled in satisfaction, and licked its lips. Riven took out two more coins and held them before the goblin's face.

"And I'll drive each of these through your eyes and into your braincase, you little vermin. Speak, now."

The goblin's eyes went wide.

"That one," it said, and pointed toward the tunnel that Magadon had indicated.

Riven released it and flung the coins into the crowd. The creature let out a shriek and scrabbled after the gold.

Above, the Skull turned away from them and floated back to its high perch.

"Wanted to be sure, Mags," Riven said to the guide, by way of apology.

"Keep moving," Cale said, and they hurried down the tunnel, all the while under the watchful gaze of the Skulls.

* * * * *

The stink of the duergar drove Azriim to distraction. He thought they must bathe once per month, at best. And their clothing! He wondered how anyone could long tolerate the coarse mushroom-fiber tunics and lizard-skin leather trousers they wore. Even their armor, while obviously well-crafted, looked boxy and inelegant.

He consoled himself with the knowledge that soon all of the gray dwarves would be dead. He hadn't even bothered to remember their leader's name, only that the foul creature was an ally of Kexen and served Zstulkk Ssarmn. In fact, the whole clan of duergar to which the guards belonged had pledged its service to the yuan-ti slaver.

Pulled by two of the sure-footed, pony-sized cave lizards endemic to the Underdark, the lone wagon in the caravan rumbled its way north through the twisting but smooth-floored tunnel. Stalactites hung from the low ceiling, and ledges and curtains of stone marked the walls. Phosphorescent lichen lit the road ahead. Water dripped from the ceiling to pool in the recesses of the floor, natural cisterns to quench the thirst of travelers.

Thirty-three duergar-including Azriim in the form of a duergar-guarded the enclosed cart. Dim glowballs hung in rope nests from the sides of the wagon, bouncing with each bump in the road, lighting the caravan like a beacon. Within the cart lay the bait: the magical items Azriim and his broodmates had stolen from the Xanathar.

Four of the gray dwarf warriors walked point perhaps thirty paces in front of the cart, crossbows cocked and loaded. The remainder of the duergar warriors stomped loudly along beside, before, and behind the cart, axes and hammers bare, scowls visible even through their beards. The four duergar mages, each armed with a wand provided to them by Azriim (and taken from the Xanathar's stash; Azriim enjoyed the irony), moved amongst them.

Dolgan, in the form of the Amnian ship's captain who had commissioned the caravan, paced along beside the cart, looking as dull-witted as usual. Azriim lingered near the rear of the troop, eyeing the walls above and listening for noise from behind. He knew where Ahmaergo had set up the ambush-less than an hour's travel ahead-but he couldn't be certain how, when, or where Cale and his companions might appear. As best he could, he wanted to time their appearance with that of the dwarf's ambush. With a combat between two of the most powerful, influential factions in Skullport taking place in a main trade tunnel not far from the city, and with ample magic use occurring, Azriim thought it a virtual certainty that the Skulls would appear in force. By his estimation, Skullport's guardians would appear quickly once the combat began in earnest. He simply wanted Cale and his companions to find themselves in the middle of the hell storm. Watching them die would have been a joy. But alas, it would not be. Azriim and his broodmates would remain on the battlefield only until the Skulls began to show.

Smiling, he reached out with his consciousness, connected to Dolgan, and continued through the tunnel ahead, until he felt contact with Serrin.

* * * * *

Serrin, dressed in the flesh of one Maxil, a human male warrior in service to the Xanathar and late of Skullport, crouched with his "comrades" in the darkness of one of the many narrow side tunnels that opened off a main cavern. An entire network of thin, winding tunnels intersected in the large, open cavern that Ahmaergo the dwarf called the killing field. It was in that cave that Ahmaergo intended to ambush the caravan.

The dwarf had assembled a sizeable force of mercenaries, mages, and even four trolls. All were protected with wards cast by priests of Bane allied with the Xanathar. The dwarf's force waited in hiding in multiple separate groups near the mouths of several of the side tunnels. When the trap was sprung, they would catch the caravan in a crossfire of quarrels and spells.

Or at least that is what Ahmaergo planned. Serrin would have none of it, of course. He and his broodmates would manipulate the would-be ambush to make it unfold as they wished. Afterward, they would use their rods-in Serrin's case, a replacement rod provided by the Sojourner-to teleport away.

He shared his tunnel with six men armored in mail hauberks and armed with crossbows and swords. A gnome mage stood with them, an illusionist, and his glamour had rendered them all invisible. A troll hulked at the mouth of the cave, its respiration as loud as a bellows, the stink from its green, warty skin as foul as a sewer.

"Demons' teeth," whispered one of the warriors near Serrin, looking down the main tunnel from which the caravan would approach. "I'd just as soon get this thing going apace."

Playing his part, Serrin offered a disingenuous nod.

"Aye. Move your arses, boys," he whispered to the empty tunnel, "and let's get to it."

The soldier thumped him on the shoulder at the same moment that Serrin felt the familiar tingle of psionic contact at the base of his brain-Azriim. He gave no outward sign of the contact.

Is the dwarf's force in position? projected Azriim.

They are, Serrin answered, and I am with them.

Notify Dolgan before the ambush is sprung, Azriim said. Dolgan?

I'll alert the caravan when Serrin alerts me, Dolgan replied.

Azriim's satisfaction was palpable even as he sent, The attack must not be allowed to take the caravan by surprise. Once it begins, draw out the battle as long as possible, and ensure that magic is cast in abundance. We make for the provenience of the mantle when the Skulls begin to appear.

Understood, Serrin answered, and Dolgan too projected an acknowledgment.

What of Cale and his companions? Serrin asked before Azriim broke contact.

Serrin wished to see the one-eyed assassin die, and die slowly, for what the human had done to him back in the farmhouse outside of Selgaunt.