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.
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.