With effort, Azriim resisted the temptation to smack Ahmaergo for referring to himself in the third person-a personal peeve of Azriim's. At least the dwarf didn't make casual use of expletives.
"I did meet with Kexen on a matter unrelated to you or the Xanathar," Azriim said. "But during that meeting he asked me if I could locate a buyer for certain magical goods."
Ahmaergo managed to keep his crenellated face expressionless, but Azriim sensed the sudden tension in his body. For days, Skullport's underworld had been abuzz with news of an ambushed Xanathar caravan and its store of magical goods. The Xanathar, Azriim knew, was eager to avenge the attack and needed only the slightest nudge to move against Ssarmn.
"Continue," the dwarf commanded. "And be truthful. If Ahmaergo does not like your story, he can have your corpse questioned almost as easily as your living body."
Azriim let his eyes show concern, though he felt an almost uncontrollable compulsion to gut Ahmaergo.
"Here is evidence of the truth, Ahmaergo," Azriim said.
He unslung the satchel bag at his shoulder, and the head spike of the axe pressed more firmly into his chest.
"Slowly," Ahmaergo said, his voice low and dangerous.
Azriim nodded and reached into the satchel. From within, he slowly withdrew four garnet-tipped wooden wands wrapped in leather oilcloth. The appearance of the magical devices had the desired effect. Ahmaergo lowered his axe and seized them from Azriim's hand.
"How did you get these?" he asked.
Azriim kept the smile from his lips. "I had a contact arrange the purchase from Kexen. These wands are from among those items for which he asked me to find a buyer. It seems he has many more. When I heard about the .. . unfortunate events that befell one of the Xanathar's caravans, I purchased only these, declined further dealings with Kexen, and resolved to inform you."
"Ssarmn," Ahmaergo hissed.
"Indeed," Azriim said. "And there is still more, Ahmaergo." He adopted the mien of Thyld-the-businessman. "We need only discuss my price first."
The horned dwarf was notoriously cheap, but he surprised Azriim by saying, "Name it."
"Four thousand in gold coins," Azriim said. "Waterdhavian mintage."
That amount was the exact fee that Kexen had charged Azriim and Dolgan to provide an armed escort for the bait caravan. Azriim enjoyed the symmetry.
"Very well," Ahmaergo said. "But if this is a set-up, Thyld, or if you tell me a half-truth . . . death will not come quickly."
Azriim feigned the appropriate amount of fear while saying, "If I wanted to set you up, I would have employed a middleman to convey this information."
Ahmaergo tilted his head to concede the point. He also put the wands in an inner pocket of his shirt. Apparently, the dwarf meant to keep them.
Azriim closed his satchel bag and went on, "I have learned that Kexen has arranged for a heavily armed troop of over twenty men and mages to escort a caravan into the northern caves of the Underdark within the next eight cycles." Azriim and Dolgan were still negotiating the exact time with Kexen. "The remainder of the magical goods are to be in that caravan. I believe he used another agent to arrange a meeting with a buyer."
The creases in Ahmaergo's brow deepened to chasms.
"Twenty you say, eh?" He re-slung his axe. "You stick down the time and tell me immediately. I know those tunnels. That caravan won't get more than a quarter league into those tunnels before I kill them all."
Azriim had to hold back a smile. He knew the tunnels too, and thought he guessed the likely spot that Ahmaergo would set up the ambush.
"I expected nothing less, Ahmaergo," he said.
CHAPTER 13
IN THE DEEP
Cale came back to himself in darkness, floating on his back in water as black and cold as a devil's heart. The weight of his gear threatened to pull him under. While not a strong swimmer he managed, sputtering, to right himself and stay afloat. His skin was clammy and tingled with gooseflesh. His breath sounded loud in his own ears. He knew he had to get out of the cold water quickly or it would suck the body heat from him. The last thing he remembered he had been rolling, tumbling, falling forever over the Dragon's Jaws-and he found himself somewhere else, with his head above water. A gentle current propelled him slowly downstream.
A vast, winding tunnel loomed over him and ran before and behind as far as he could see. The wide, curving ribbon of the river in which he swam tracked the tunnel's course, its water still and foreboding. Sharp-tipped stalactites hung from the ceiling, a crowd of pointed fingers accusing the river of something unspeakable. Water dripped from many of the stalactites to plop, with ominous echoes, into the water. Phosphorescent orange lichen clung in sporadic patches to the crannies of the rough wall and ceiling. The plants cast little light and Cale could see in the otherwise pitch darkness only because of his transformed vision. Jagged rocks and stalagmites littered the narrow riverbanks to either side. Smaller side caves too dotted the riverbanks, holes in the walls of the river's channel that led off into darkness. Some caves were large enough for an ogre, some were small enough to accommodate only a halfling. Some had been worked, others were natural. Bats fluttered overhead. The damp air carried a mineral tang.
The Underdark, Cale realized.
He was half a league under Faerun's surface in a world that never saw the sun. He felt comfortable with the darkness, but uncomfortable with the comfort. And the realization that the world literally hung over his head gave him a sense of oppression that he could not shake.
"Jak," he called, and his voice echoed loudly in the tunnel, reverberating down the river's course as if there were ten of him. He winced, and more softly called, "Magadon. Riven?"
"Here," Magadon responded, from somewhere to Cale's right. A soft splashing sounded. "I've got Riven. He's alive, but nearly drowned."
With effort, Cale paddled himself around and saw the guide's head bobbing above the water a stone's throw behind him. Magadon had an arm wrapped around the unconscious Riven's throat and used his other hand to help keep them both afloat.
"Jak?" Cale asked.
"I don't see him," Magadon answered.
Cale spun around, kicked himself as high out of the water as he could, and scanned the dark surface. The halfling was nowhere to be seen.
"Jak!" Cale called.
He swam through the water between him and Magadon, spreading his arms out wide, waving them under the water, increasingly concerned. He swallowed several mouthfuls of river water; it tasted like iron.
"Jak! Little man!"
Cale's hand brushed up against a small form floating just under the water. He grabbed the halfling by the hair and pulled him to the surface. Jak's eyes were closed; his face pale. Cale couldn't tell if he was breathing. He wrapped an arm around him and held his head out of the water.
"I've got him, Mags," said Cale. "But he looks nearly drowned too." He scanned the riverbank. "That beach to our right, the one with the clear spot between the tall boulders. See it?"
"I see it," Magadon said.
For the first time it occurred to Cale that Magadon appeared to see well in darkness too. Another gift from his fiendish father, Cale supposed.
A dim white luminescence flared on the beach between the boulders-Magadon's psionic power manifesting. Pale lizards scrabbled out of the sudden light, and bats fluttered in agitation above.
"Get Jak to shore," Magadon said. "I'll bring Riven."
With Jak in his arms, Cale shadowstepped from the water to the beach.
Behind him, Magadon swam for the shore, dragging the unconscious Riven and grunting as he splashed through the water.
Cale laid Jak down on his back on the beach, just at the perimeter of Magadon's psionic light, and tapped the halfling's cheeks. No response. Cale pulled his soaked mask from his pocket, laid his regenerated hand on Jak's chest, and whispered the words to a healing spell. Still nothing.
"Mags...."