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."
"Cut it, Mags," Cale said. "Let's keep moving. We're close to that caravan now."
CHAPTER 18
THE CARAVAN
The duergar on point whistled for a halt and the caravan creaked to a stop. Two of the gray dwarves who had been on point were jogging back to the main body of the caravan, their armor and weapons clanking. Dolgan, Azriim (who had just returned from the rear), and the duergar leader stepped forward to meet them.
"A large open cavern is just ahead," one of the two dwarves said in Undercommon. Scars crisscrossed the gnarled duergar's bald head, and dirt caked his beard. "It's flat as an orog's head and riddled with side tunnels. Ideal for an ambush."
The duergar leader, his dusky skin pockmarked with the scars of a past disease, turned to Azriim and said, "I know that cavern. It'll take the wagon a hundred count to cross it, and that's pushing the lizard. We should scout it out first."
The duergar leader looked to Dolgan, who the slaadi had represented to them as the client paying their wages. "That cavern's the equivalent of an exposed valley on the surface. Very vulnerable to attack from the heights, or in this case, from all sides. We should be cautious."
Dolgan nodded, but unwilling to respond without Azriim's prompting, he projected to his broodmate, What do I answer?
Instead of responding to Dolgan directly, Azriim sniffed, pulled his beard, and shook his axe.