Томас Рейд - Insurrection

Quenthel felt the pit of her stomach leap into her throat, but before she could take any action she felt an invisible force seize her and hold her motionless. She couldn't move a muscle and saw that Drisinil Melarn was in a similar condition.

«Shall we kill them now?» one of the duergar asked, stepping forward.

Its fortunate that Valas has been here before and knows the lay of the land, Ryld thought as he pushed his way through the throngs behind his companion.

The streets were more crowded than the previous day, if that was possible, and the warrior was sure that they would have made even slower progress if they'd been negotiating the web streets without a clue as to where to go for the right kind of information or the right kind of folk.

Ryld and Valas had set off shortly after the morning meal, the scout leading the larger drow into the lower quarters of the City of Shimmering Webs. At Quenthel's instructions, they were trying to find someone, anyone, who had supplies, equipment, and bodies available to serve them on the return trip to Menzoberranzan. Ryld still doubted the likelihood of the priestess acquiring anything worthwhile in the Black Claw storehouses, but he wasn't one to quibble the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith. He had seen the folly of that with Pharaun. Or rather, he had seen the difficulties. Pharaun seemed to be getting away with his insidious little remarks more and more frequently, and the warrior realized, too, that the mage had begun following his own agenda more consistently.

Ryld pushed past a cluster of illithids—illithids! Five of them standing on a street corner, and no one paying them any mind—and he followed the scout into a particularly squalid-looking taproom.

Ryld couldn't get Pharaun off his mind. The mage seemed to be able to talk anyone around to his way of thinking, and when that didn't work, he'd figure out a way to do what he wanted anyway and explain it all away later.

The warrior wondered how often his old friend had done the very same thing to him m order to get what he wanted.

Valas shouldered his way through the crowded bar, heading for the back of the place. It always seemed to be at the rear tables where information was brokered, and in this tavern it was no exception. Ryld took up a position to watch his companion's back while Valas sat down across from a surly looking drow whose piwafwi was tattered and stained. The drow was definitely no noble, though Ryld would never hold that against him. Growing up on the streets of Menzober-ranzan, the weapons master knew as well as anyone what it was like to be born a commoner.

A sava board rested on the table, and a game was in progress. Ryld could see that whoever had been across from this drow had played himself into a bad position and left before the inevitable conclusion. He found himself wanting to sit down and push a piece or two about, trying to stave off the endgame, but he forced himself to turn away, watching the crowded room for signs of trouble.

«We're looking for pack lizards,» Valas began, setting a few gold coins on the table as he reached out and made a play on the sava board, «some supplies, and a few sellswords who can guard all of the above.

The drow snaked a hand out from under his shredded piwafwi and scooped up the gold before Valas had even completed his move, one that was not really of much help to his position, Ryld noted.

Better to let the fellow continue winning, the weapons master surmised.

«You and just about everyone else in the city,» the drow chuckled, flashing a crooked smile that revealed several missing teeth. «Those kinds of things require more gold than the two of you are bound to have,» he added, giving Valas and Ryld an appraising look.

«Don't worry about the coin,» the scout replied while Ryld returned his attention to the room. «Just point us in the right direction.»

«Weil, then,» the informant said, «I know a gray dwarf who might still have a few lizards available—for the right price, mind you—that would serve you well enough. How about buying a round of drinks while I get someone who can take you to him?»

Ryld pursed his lips in consternation. He had hoped this would be a quick affair, but of course it was not to be.

The drow slid out from the table, clapped Ryld on the shoulder, and said, «My, you're a healthy one, aren't you?» before pushing through the crowd.

Ryld stole a glance down at Valas, who seemed to be studying the sava board. The scout made no move to lure a serving boy over.

«Are you going to order those drinks, or should I do it?» the weapons master asked his companion.

«Don't worry about it,» Valas answered, looking up. «When the wretch returns, I'll tell him I couldn't get anyone's attention in so crowded a place.»

Ryld nodded and turned back to wait.

It didn't take long for the filthy drow to return, and he had not one, but four big half-ogres in tow. Ryld's eyes narrowed at the sight of them clearing a path through the crowd none too gently.

«We may have trouble,» he muttered at Valas, who craned his neck to peer past the warrior.

«Let me out,» Valas insisted, pushing Ryld forward enough to slip out from behind the table.

The scout stood next to the warrior, and Ryld noticed that Valas had his kukris in his hands, though he kept them down at his sides where they weren't easily seen.

«These are the fellows I was telling you about,» the drow informant said to the biggest of the half-ogres. «They're the ones that's got lots of coin.»

Ryld groaned inwardly as the half-ogre, who stood a good head taller than the drow, grinned ominously.

«We were just about to go fetch a round of drinks, as you suggested,» Valas said, making as if to step past the half-ogre, who was blocking their way. «I guess we'll need a couple extra. Ryld, why don't you come help me carry them all? Then we can talk business with you boys.»

«I've got a better idea,» the half-ogre said, his voice deep and rumbling. «Why don't you sit down and tell us just how much gold you actually have? Then we'll decide if you can leave or not.»

«I don't think that's such a good idea,» Valas said, his voice steely cold. «We'll just take our business elsewhere.»

«I suppose a half-ogre would be stupid enough,» Ryld said to the scout, «to think that just because Lolth has gone quiet, we've forgotten how to fight.»

The half-ogre smiled and said, «That's a pretty good joke, dark elf.»

Then the creature lunged.

In the end, it was the most straightforward approach, Pharaun decided, that would grant him entry into one of the wizardly institutes. He knew all too well from his working knowledge of Sorcere's defenses that most forms of arcane stealth would likely be detected, however careful he might be. It was the nature of mages to be distrustful of other mages, and he had discovered that with a handful of different academies, schools, and research organizations to choose from in Ched Nasad, the local spellcasters were even more wary of one another.

Apparently, competition between the associations for luring new talent inside their halls was fierce, and the prestige garnered from successful recruiting paramount. True to drow nature, the societies weren't above using any method, however violent and underhanded, to shift the balance of power. What better way to get inside, Pharaun reasoned, than to pose as a prospective new member? All that it required was doffing his House insignia and asking at the front gates for the opportunity to speak with someone who could give him a tour, expound upon the amenities and responsibilities, and so on. He could easily pass himself off as a wayward wizard in need of a home without revealing his true level of expertise or the means by which he had acquired it.