Paul Kemp - Dawn of Night

I will backtrack down the tunnel to ensure that Cale and the others do not miss the festivities, Azriim replied. Remain ready.

* * * * *

Azriim cut off contact with Serrin. Satisfied that all was in order with his plan, he gradually let himself lag behind the caravan. The duergar didn't seem to notice his absence, and when he reached a satisfactory distance away from the rear guard, he whispered an arcane word to render himself invisible. He knew that Cale and his companions had not preceded him down the tunnel. In his guise as Thyld, Azriim hadn't told the assassin which tunnel exactly the duergar caravan would take. Accordingly, the humans could only have watched the northern tunnels and followed after.

Pleased with himself for covering all contingencies, Azriim shifted form from duergar to slaad and prowled back down the tunnel.

* * * * *

Cale, Riven, Magadon, and Jak sped down the tunnel. The floor was smoothed, presumably to allow easy passage for carts, but they still had to skirt occasional stands of stalagmites and pools of still water. Mindlinked by Magadon, they traveled in near silence, brushing over the rock of the Underdark without even a rustle, the only sound that of their respiration and the occasional flutter of startled bats. Cale kept his hearing, heightened when he was in darkness, attuned to the passage ahead.

They traveled without light, fearful that luminescence would betray them to the duergar guards. Cale knew it must have been difficult for Riven to see by only the faint luminescence of the orange lichen, but the assassin kept up the pace and did not complain.

They traveled for nearly half an hour and still saw no sign of the slaadi, or the caravan. Magadon stopped twice to examine the tunnel for signs of passage, but the hard rock floor didn't allow him to confirm that the caravan-that any caravan-had recently passed through.

It cannot be far, Magadon said. It will be moving much more slowly than us.

Cale nodded and swallowed his concern that they may have picked the wrong tunnel. Magadon had never yet led them astray. If the guide said they were in the right tunnel, then they were in the right tunnel.

Make certain, Mags, Riven said.

Magadon looked to Cale and Cale nodded, ignoring Riven's frown.

The guide put his fingers to his temples and a corona of white light flared around his head. His eyes rolled back in his head as he made contact with Azriim and looked through the slaad's eyes.

The guide stiffened; his intake of breath was as sharp as a keen blade.

"What is it?" Cale said.

With visible effort, Magadon relaxed.

"The caravan did pass this way," he said, a bit overloud, and pointed up the tunnel.

Before Cale could ask a question, Magadon projected, Azriim is looking upon us right now. Do not turn around.

* * * * *

Invisible, Azriim crouched on a ledge slightly up on the wall of the tunnel and eyed the four humans. Until just moments before, he had not yet known whether the woodsman was a psionicist or a mage. But the telltale nimbus of white light that had just flared around the human's head bespoke the manifestation of psionic power. Azriim imagined that the taste of the woodsman's brain would be particularly sweet, flavored as it was with the spice of mental magic.

He grinned, and almost laughed aloud. The priest of Mask certainly had assembled a ragtag group of fools to follow him across and under Faerun. Had any of them understood the scope of the Sojourner's power, they would have long ago curled up in a dark hole to hide.

No matter, he thought. Soon, they will all die in the dark.

He licked his lips, eyeing the back of Erevis Cale's bald head while the woodsman confirmed for them that the caravan had traveled up the corridor. They had followed along behind the duergar, just as Azriim had expected.

I have located the humans, Azriim projected to his broodmates.

Absently, he pawed at the teleportation rod in his hand.

Dolgan and Serrin projected an acknowledgment.

Of Serrin, Azriim asked, Do you see the lights from the caravan yet?

Not yet, responded his broodmate.

But the caravan is getting near to the ambush point, Dolgan added.

Azriim allowed himself to feel satisfied. Everything was working out exactly as he had foreseen. Certainly the Sojourner would reward him.

Serrin's voice sounded in his head, Perhaps you should kill one now?

Azriim flexed his claws, powerfully tempted. He could reach Cale in a single step, and could tear the human's head from his shoulders with but one swipe.

* * * * *

Despite Magadon's admonition, Cale tensed. The shadows around his skin swirled, animated by his agitation. Beside him, Riven's hand drifted to his saber hilts. Jak's breath came faster.

Where? Cale asked.

"The caravan is not far," Magadon continued. On a ledge on your sword arm side, perhaps ten paces back the way we came. In slaad form. He holds the teleportation rod in his hand.

Cale's mind churned.

Kill him now, Riven said.

Cale considered it, and soon gave in.

Follow my play, he projected.

"The caravan could not have come this way," Cale said to Jak with affected frustration in his tone. "If it had, we'd have already caught up to it."

Jak looked startled for an instant, but quickly took to the play. The halfling shook his head and let anger creep into his eyes.

"The Hells it didn't," Jak spat back as he drew his short sword, offering Cale an excuse to unsheathe his own blade. "You keep questioning our competence. I've had enough. If you think the caravan didn't come this way, then go back the way we came. You won't find it down another tunnel."

Cale pulled Weaveshear, pointed its tip at Jak's chest, then at Magadon.

"You're both out your shares. And only our past friendship is saving your life, halfling." He gave Jak a final scowl and turned to Riven. "Riven, you're with me."

Jak made an obscene gesture.

Cale answered him with a glare, and he and Riven turned to stalk back up the tunnel. Cale saw the ledge immediately, imagined Azriim crouched atop it.

He's looking at you, Magadon projected.

You tell me if he moves, Cale answered, still holding Weaveshear bare. The blade, sheathed in shadows, seemed to want to pull him toward the ledge.

Riven rested his hands on his sabers as they walked.

Three paces .. . five .. . seven .. . and they were right next to the ledge. Cale could almost feel the weight of Azriim's gaze. His hands were sweating.

We go on my mark, he said to Riven.

* * * * *

Azriim could have reached out and touched Cale. He tensed the thick muscles of his thighs, imagined a pounce, but fought down the impulse to kill. He wanted to draw Cale and his companions into the battle with the caravan. Their presence there would increase the intensity of the combat, drawing the Skulls to the site even sooner.

To his broodmates, he projected, No, I will not kill one. We must get the caravan to the ambush point and begin the combat. The humans will hear it and rush ahead. They can die there.

His broodmates projected an acknowledgement.

Serrin said, I see the lights from the caravan now. It is near. The dwarf's forces are preparing.

Azriim smiled, mouthed a "good-bye" at Cale, and began to activate his teleportation rod.

* * * * *

Now! Cale projected, and sprung into motion.

He spun toward the ledge and leveled Weaveshear in a cross cut designed to take Azriim's head, even as Riven whipped free both sabers and lunged at the ledge with the points stabbing low.

They hit nothing.

"Gone," Magadon said aloud. "Teleported out."

"Blast," Riven said.

Frustrated, Cale slammed Weaveshear back into his scabbard.

Magadon said, "He's . .. he's back near the caravan. I can see it ahead. I think he's changing form back into a duergar."