Cale's reflection vanished from the surface of the basin. Points of dim ochre light lit the water like distant embers in the deep. Cale felt the intangible threads of magical power scouring Faerun, searching for the slaad, searching. . .
Nothing. The light within the basin dimmed and died.
"Damn it," he softly cursed.
Cale leaned back in the chair and took a breath to calm himself. He knew that a variety of factors could prevent the success of the spell, including magical protections or simple bad luck, so he was not alarmed. Since Azriim couldn't know or suspect that Cale was looking for him, he believed that sooner or later his spell would take.
He cut his palm again and recast the spell. Again no success. He repeated the process again and again, growing more and more frustrated with each attempt, until the basin contained as much of his blood as it did water, and the harsh light leaking through the shutter slats had faded to evening's twilight. Still nothing.
"I'll find you," he promised the slaad-promised himself.
Distantly, Cale recognized the beginnings of obsession, but ignored it and cast the spell again.
Sometime later, hours perhaps, the door to the room opened and Jak entered, bathed, shaved, fed, and bedded. Light streamed in from a lantern in the hallway. Cale blinked in the sudden brightness but barely spared the halfling a glance.
"Cale?" Jak asked in a concerned voice, his silhouette framed in the door by the lantern. "Dark, man! It's pitch in here. Did you even eat?"
"Yes," Cale replied.
"Cale. . ."
"Not now, Jak," Cale replied, focusing on the basin.
He put Jak out of his mind, concentrated, and cast again. The image of the slaad's eyes was imprinted on his brain. He focused ...
There!
In the depths of the basin, a light sparkled. He fixated on it, willed the spell to follow it.
"Cale?" Jak asked.
A wavering image took shape in the water. He saw a gray-skinned, grizzled dwarf walking a torchlit street. Decrepit buildings made of scrap wood lined a packed earth road. At first, Cale thought the spell might have gone awry, but when the dwarf turned and Cale saw the perfect teeth and the eyes-one blue and one brown-he knew his spell had located Azriim. He tried to contain his exultation and keep the spell focused.
He couldn't hear the sounds around Azriim, but he could see the surroundings. Shadowy buildings, creatures, and people moved in and out of the spell's field of vision. Most of the people and creatures appeared to be running. Several were shouting and pointing.
"Where are Riven and Mags?" Cale asked the halfling.
"Next door," Jak answered.
"Get them. And all three of you get in here," Cale said. "Right now. I've found them."
Jak took Cale's meaning right way. The halfling ran to the room next door and pounded on the door. Cale heard muffled voices and boot stomps. Magadon, Jak, and Riven piled into his room, shutting the door behind them.
"It's pitch black in here," Magadon said. "What are you doing, Cale?"
"Scrying for the slaadi," Jak answered. "He's got them."
"You've got them?" Magadon asked, excitement in his voice.
Cale nodded and beckoned them over, saying, "Look for yourself."
His three comrades gathered behind and around him, and stared into the bowl.
Azriim walked the dark street beside a gray haired, balding human with a giant pot belly.
"But. .." Magadon started to protest, then the dwarf's eyes became clear.
"Dark and empty," Riven breathed. "That's him. That's his eyes, Mags, and no mistaking. The bald one must be one of the other slaadi."
"Where are they?" Jak asked, standing on tiptoes to see into the bowl.
Cale shook his head. From what they'd seen, Azriim could have been walking the nighttime streets of any city in Faerun. He needed more information. He concentrated, working to expand the field of vision afforded him by the spell.
The vista spread out. People and creatures of all sorts-gnolls, orcs, even drow-crowded the streets around Azriim and the pot-bellied human. A coffle of nearly naked slaves stood in the background. A troll shambled by. They were all looking up at something.
"What in the name of the goddess ... ?" said Magadon.
With an effort of will, Cale moved the scrying eye to view the object of attention. The spell dispelled the moment they focused on it, but in that single instant they all saw it well enough: a glowing skull floating amidst a backdrop of rope bridges and catwalks.
Riven's sharp intake of breath rang loud in the quiet of the room. Cale sat back in the chair, his mind racing.
"Burn me," said Jak.
Magadon looked from one face to another. "What? What is it?"
"Skullport," Cale said, turning to face his comrades.
The guide's face showed recognition.
"Skullport?" Magadon blew out a soft whistle, looked to Riven, then to Jak, and asked, "What I've heard ... Is it as bad as that?"
"Likely worse," Riven said. "Imagine Waterdeep is a sieve. The Lords of Waterdeep shake their city and the worst of the residents fall down to Skullport, there to join the worst the Underdark has to offer."
"You've been there?" Magadon asked Riven.
The assassin nodded, his face thoughtful.
"Once, a long time ago," the assassin said, his voice low. "Slaves ... drugs . .. life is worth coppers. The worst things you can imagine, those things you can buy cheap. It's the things you won't even consider until you see them that cost the real coin." He shared a glance with Cale then eyed Jak meaningfully. "If we're going there, we need to understand that it ain't nice. And we can't try to fix it and make it so. Understood? Fleet? Cale?"
Jak pulled out his pipe, tamped, and lit. The tindertwig gave their faces an eerie cast. The smell of pipeweed, rich and deep, filled the room.
"I hear you," the halfling said.
"Is that new leaf?" Magadon asked absently.
Jak raised his eyebrows and looked impressed.