Fortunately, the naga's poison did not prove lethal. Durwyn awoke from his drugged sleep just as Preybelish entered his final one. Within a quarter hour the warrior seemed none the worse for the battle, save the easily bandaged wound on his neck.
Ghleanna, however, was another story. She lay unconscious and badly burned on one side of her body.
Kestrel paled just looking at the injured mage. "How many of those blueglow moss potions do we have left?"
"Let me tend to her first," Corran said. He knelt at her side, removing his helm and gauntlets. Gently, he touched his hands to Ghleanna's damaged skin, closed his eyes, and bowed his head in prayer. Ever so slowly, as the paladin murmured words of supplication to Tyr, the half-elf's charred tissue healed.
Kestrel turned away. When Corran had repelled the zombies, she'd felt that his showy theatrics were meant to draw attention. Now, watching him lay on hands, she grew uncomfortable. His features and manner softened-the arrogance, the bossiness, the presumption were all set aside as he ministered to their injured companion. The sight deeply unsettled her. It revealed a side of Corran D'Arcey she did not wish to acknowledge.
Jarial approached, carrying Ozama's cloak. "I thought Ghleanna could use this," he said.
"I'm sure she'll appreciate it." Kestrel glanced at the woman rendered so vulnerable by the same magic she herself wielded. Corran still had a lot of healing to do. She turned back to Jarial and gestured toward Preybelish's treasure. "Let's leave them in peace and find that Wizard's Torc."
He regarded the naga's hoard reluctantly. "It doesn't seem important anymore. Certainly not worth the lives it cost-and almost cost." His lips formed a rueful smile. "Sixteen years trapped in a boulder has a tendency to alter one's perspective."
Kestrel could scarcely believe her ears. After all he'd been through, how could he not want the prize? "You're right-your lady did sacrifice her life in pursuit of the torc. Don't you think you owe it to her to retrieve it now that you have the opportunity?" Besides, it sounded valuable-if he didn't take it, she would.
A spark of interest returned to his eyes. "I suppose we should at least see if it's here."
By the time they emerged from the naga's lair with the magical necklace in hand, Ghleanna was up and around. Corran had done as much healing as was in his power, and one of the remaining blueglow moss potions had done the rest. Both she and the paladin appeared drained, however. The group elected to sleep a while in the relative safety of Preybelish's den, gnawing hungrily on dried provisions and taking turns keeping watch.
Their strength restored, they left the complex and returned to the maze of corridors. Eventually, they came upon a stairway leading up.
"Finally," Kestrel muttered. "I was beginning to think we'd never get out of this place."
"Don't start looking for the sun yet," Jarial said. "There are two dungeon levels built into the hill, so we have another stairway to locate after this one."
At least they were moving in the right direction. Kestrel nearly sprinted up the steps in her eagerness to make more progress exiting these tomblike corridors. She slowed, however, at the top of the stairs.
Light spilled out of a room about thirty yards down the passage. A grid of shadows on the floor revealed it was a prison cell with a door of wrought-iron bars. From within, a harsh male voice bellowed questions at someone whose replies Kestrel couldn't hear.
"Just give up the damn word, you cretin! We'll learn it eventually anyway!" The smack of someone being struck echoed off the stone walls. "Tell me what you know or I'll feed you to my master for supper."
The explorers exchanged glances. "Someone should sneak ahead and see what's going on," Corran said. Kestrel sighed. Given everyone else's skills at stealth, no doubt "someone" meant her.
She left the group hidden from sight in the stairwell and crept along the passage, keeping to the shadows as she neared the barred doorway. Though she moved silently, the interrogator spoke loudly enough that even Durwyn could have approached unheard.
Inside, a warrior sat on the floor. He was a sturdy young man, no older than twenty, dressed in brown leather armor. His wrists and ankles were bound to one wall with chains. Six skeletons, armed with short swords as those downstairs had been, stood at attention on one side of the cell. It was the room's other occupant who made Kestrel suck in her bream.
A masked figure circled the prisoner. Though a red leather hood covered the interrogator's head and shoulders, holes revealed his eyes, mouth, and jaw. The hard cast of these features matched his voice. What Kestrel could see of his face was so devoid of kindness or any other humane emotion that it might as well have been carved from stone. He wore little other clothing: a loincloth, boots, and one bracer-all made of red leather that matched the hood-a wide studded steel belt, and a circular medallion on a neckchain. His athletic body, particularly his upper legs, bore menacing green tattoos in a weblike design.
The figure's most striking feature of all was his right hand-or lack thereof. In place of a normal human hand, the man bore a five-fingered reptilian claw. As the mutant human continued to hurl questions at the bound warrior, he scratched and poked the prisoner with his claw to underscore his displeasure.
"Perhaps a little sorcery will loosen your tongue. Shall I turn you into a rodent?"
Kestrel felt the blood drain from her face. This malevolent being was a sorcerer?
He struck the prisoner in the back of the head with his claw. The skeleton nearest them mimicked the movement, hitting the captive with the flat of its blade. The mage grabbed the fighter's hair and jerked his head up to look him in the face. "Who sent you here? What were your orders?"
"No one sent us."
"Liar!" He slapped him with his open hand. "You saw what we did to your companions. I'll give you one more day to come to your senses. If you put any value on your pathetic little life, you better start singing." He hit him once more.
Kestrel slowly backed down the corridor. It sounded as if the sorcerer were about to leave, and she didn't care to encounter him in the passageway. After the fight with the naga, she could happily live out the rest of her life without battling another spellcaster, and she intended to try.
She returned to the others. "There's one prisoner, a warrior. He's in chains. Used to be part of a larger group- it sounds like he's the only one left."
Ghleanna gasped. "One of Athan's band?" The half-elf's face brightened
"Possibly. He refused to tell who he works for or what he's doing here. But the-"
"We've got to free him!" Ghleanna said. "Is it Athan? What does he look like?"
"Who cares what he looks like? You should see the interrogator! He's some sort of sorcerer, a big guy with lots of tattoos. One of his hands is a claw!"
Corran looked at her as if she'd gone daft. "What do you mean, a claw? Is his hand shriveled?"
"No, I mean the end of his right forearm looks like it belongs on some other creature, like a bird-or a dragon."
Corran raised his brows. "Oh." He digested this bit of information, then inquired about other guards.
"Six skeletons. The sorcerer sounds like he's leaving soon. I figure if-"
"Once he leaves, I'll take care of the skeletons. Durwyn, you try to break the prisoner's chains." Corran looked to the mages. "Unless one of you can get them open?"
Kestrel clamped her mouth shut. She'd been about to suggest a plan of her own, but apparently Corran thought he was the only person capable of devising one.
"I'll have to look at how heavy they are, but I'm sure I can break them," Durwyn said.
"Good. Kestrel, you keep watch."
Keep watch? She ground her teeth, biting back a retort. The lowliest apprentice rogue could spring the locks on those irons. She'd mastered the skill as a child, when Quinn hadn't been quite fast enough to outrun some of the city patrols they'd encountered. Corran's arrogance made her want to spit. She hoped the high-handed paladin was the first to die when Durwyn's blows alerted the sorcerer to their activities.
The clang of iron signaled the sorcerer's departure. Kestrel watched as the threatening mage locked the door behind him and walked down the hall-thankful he went in the direction opposite from that where the party waited. Four skeletons stood sentinel outside the cell; the other two presumably remained inside with the captive.
When the sorcerer's light faded from view and they deemed him out of earshot, Corran led the group toward the cell. He held his holy symbol before him. "Leave us be!" he commanded the skeletons.
The creatures backed down the passageway about ten feet afraid of Corran but apparently unable to abandon their post The two inside the cell greeted the party at the door, thrusting their blades through the bars, until Corran repelled them, too. They retreated to the far corner of the cell.
"Who's there?" the captive called out
Ghleanna's face fell. Apparently, the prisoner's voice wasn't the one she'd hoped to hear. "Friends." Despite her obvious disappointment the half-elf injected a note of cheer into her tone.
Durwyn raised his axe to smash the padlock. Though Kestrel had planned to let him bang on it til doomsday, she changed her mind: Her own survival depended on the party's. She extended her hand to stay the warrior's arm. "There's a quieter way."
"But Corran said-"
"Yeah, I heard him." Though Durwyn looked to the paladin for guidance, Kestrel didn't waste a second glance on either man. She was the best person for this job and she didn't care what His Holiness had to say about it. She withdrew her lock picks from their beltpouch and went to work on the padlock, which opened easily in her expert hands. Then she defiantly went inside the cell with Corran and the mages. Let Durwyn keep watch.
The captive looked up expectantly as they entered, hope flitting across his broad face. "Are you here to free me?"
"Yes." Kestrel knelt beside him and examined his irons. The shackles, too small for his meaty wrists, chafed the skin but had not yet broken it "You're not magically bound, are you?"
"No-at least, I don't think so."
"Then I'll have you out of these in no time."
Ghleanna came forward and also knelt at the prisoner's side while Kestrel worked on the lock. "How long have you been held here?" The half-elf smoothed matted brown hair away from a nasty-looking cut on his forehead. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine. That sorcerer makes plenty of threats, but so far he's only smacked me around." Kestrel sprung open the wrist irons. He shook his arms to return the blood to his hands. "I believe I've been here two days or so. They knocked me out when they captured me, so I'm not certain."
"They?" Corran prompted from across the cell. He poked his head out the door to signal their success to Durwyn.
"The scarred mages. I'm not exactly sure who they are. Some sort of cult. You can't miss them-they all have one mutated hand. My companions and I never learned what they were all about but I think we got too close to finding out."
Kestrel shuddered involuntarily as she worked release the leg irons. There were more of the tattooed, clawed figures?
"Your companions-" Ghleanna began hesitantly. "Was a man named Athan among them?" Though the half-elf used a casual tone, Kestrel noted her grave expression.
The fighter had been watching Kestrel's progress on his chains, but now turned to Ghleanna with upraised brows. "You know Athan?"
Relief washed over her features at his indirect confirmation. She leaned forward excitedly. "I knew several in your band-Allyril and Loren as well."
"We came here to aid your party but arrived too late," Corran added. He offered the prisoner a hand as Kestrel sprung the lock on his leg irons.
Enlightenment spread across the prisoner's features. "You're the guards we tried to contact in Phlan! Thank the gods-there's still hope." He took Corran's hand and pulled himself upright. "My name is Emmeric. We doubted that magical gate would open, but desperation made us try. Did any of my companions survive?"
Corran shook his head. "We found four bodies."
"I didn't recognize any of them as Athan," Ghleanna added.
Kestrel studied the female wizard. The half-elf mentioned this Athan person repeatedly. Even now, her brows were drawn together in concern. Did Elminster's apprentice share more than a passing acquaintance with the missing adventurer? Was he a paramour? Of course- why hadn't Kestrel noticed before? Such a connection would explain the mage's eagerness to jump through that unstable gate and take up the fallen party's mission.
"There were six of us," Emmeric said. "I don't know what happened to Athan. The cultist who's been interrogating me hasn't mentioned another prisoner. I suppose he could have escaped alive, but the way those scarred mages were throwing spells at us, and other cultists- fighters-attacking…" He shook his head in resignation. "Even Athan couldn't have held them off forever. I hate to say so, but it's quite possible that there wasn't enough left of him to be found."
A stricken look crossed Ghleanna's features before she turned her face away. Oblivious to the half-elf's distress, the men continued their discussion. Kestrel decided to keep her suspicions to herself for now. The mage's relationship with Athan was her own business.
Emmeric confirmed that the cultists who attacked his party stole the Ring of Calling. While one of the sorcerers interrogated him to learn the ring's command word, a contingent was sent to the Room of Words to do its own research. "Our greatest failure," he said, his shoulders sagging, "was also losing the Gauntlets of Moander to the cult. From what I overheard before being isolated here, the cult's leader-an archmage named Kya Mordrayn- now possesses the gauntlets."
"Is she aware of their power?" Corran asked.
"Most certainly. Whoever these cultists are, they're the force behind the new Pool of Radiance. Knowing that the gauntlets can destroy the pool, Mordrayn keeps them with her at all times, or so I understand."
One of the skeletons in the cell clawed the wall, returning the group's attention to their surroundings. "We shouldn't tarry here," Corran said.
"Where are you headed?" Emmeric asked.
"The Room of Words. We hope to get that Ring of Calling back," Corran said. "Feel up to joining us?"
"I'll lead the way."
The party found the topmost level of the dungeon crawling with lizard men and orogs. Though Emmeric had warned them en route about the presence of the humanoids, even he was surprised by their numbers. The creatures of both races seemed focused on a single task: systematically looting every abandoned lair in sight
"Tyr's toenails," Kestrel swore as they observed an orog band from a hidden alcove. The blasphemy earned her a withering look from Corran. Good. She'd meant to goad him. "I've never seen so many humanoids in one place." The orogs looked like bigger, meaner-and unfortunately, more intelligent-orcs.
"I'm surprised the two races are operating as allies," Jarial said.
Emmeric shook his head. "I don't think they are. The orogs, I know, work as mercenaries for the cultists-a couple of them roughed me up to persuade me to talk, but I believe the lizard men were pillaging these caverns long before the cult showed up. They might resent the interlopers."
"I don't think they like each other at all," Durwyn announced. "Look at the way the orogs keep glancing at that group of lizard men over there. And the lizards watch them right back. Then each side whispers among themselves. They're like schoolchildren."
The guard's apt analogy surprised Kestrel. She hadn't credited the big man with such perceptiveness.
"Perhaps we can use their enmity to our advantage," Corran said. "They won't notice us if they're too busy fighting each other."
A smile broke across Emmeric's features. "I like the way you think. What do you have in mind?"
Corran turned to Jarial. "Was that an invisibility spell you used back there against the naga?" At the mage's nod, he continued. "Can you cast that on any of us, or just yourself?"
"Any creature close enough for me to touch."
"Excellent." The paladin addressed the group. "Here's my plan. Jarial can use his invisibility spell on me. I'll move among the orogs and lizard men, getting close enough that if I speak they will hear me, but staying far enough away to make them think my voice is coming from a rival band. Then I'll utter a few insults to make the two groups turn on each other."
It sounded like a good scheme to Kestrel-it involved no risk on her part, and if it failed, she could spend the rest of this mission reminding Corran that it had been his idea. In moments, an invisible Corran was sneaking toward the nearest group of lizard men to put his plan into action.
"Look, Ugdag! Look at lizard slime." Though Kestrel easily recognized the voice as Corran's, he'd dropped it an octave lower than his natural timbre and covered his blue-blood accent with a guttural rumble. The disguise proved convincing enough to fool the lizard men. Several of the scaly green beasts snapped their heads toward the orogs, webbed hands gripping the hafts of their spears more tightly. Unable to hear Corran's slurs, the orogs continued about their business.
"Lizards weak," Corran went on. "Hai! Too weak to fight orogs. Too weak to serve orogs!"
The reptilian leader of one band hissed. Hatred rimmed his red eyes. "Orogs full of swamp gas!" he cried, drawing himself up to his seven-foot height. His insult drew the attention of every orog in the vicinity. He shook his spear at them. "Orog clods! Shashiki!" The rest of the lizard men raised their spears as well. "Shashiki!"
"Lizard heads water-logged!" one of the orogs shouted in response. He strode forward, clawed toenails clacking on the stone floor, until he stood mere feet away from the lizard leader. Breath issued from his snout in angry bursts. The orog forces lifted their weapons. "Gagh-hai!" he cried, "Grabesh!"
"Graaabesh!" echoed the orogs.
"Shashiki! Kripp-kripp!"
The two races rushed toward one another, each determined to exterminate the other. In the confusion of battle, no one noticed the five visible-and one invisible-adventurers passing through.
With Emmeric to guide them, they moved swiftly toward the entrance to the House of Gems. They slowed, however, as they passed an ice-covered doorway.
"Hey, that's just like the room we saw below." Durwyn ran his hand over the frosty surface. "With the frozen floating ball inside."
"There's a similar sphere in this room," Emmeric said. "We examined three such rooms-one on each level we explored. We never did figure out their significance."
They wound their way through the corridors until Emmeric stopped before a huge seal inscribed on the stone floor. Two small concentric circles lay within a larger one, with two arcs connecting the inner circles to the circumference. "From the description given us by the elven clerics at the tree shelter, we believed this is the Circle of Mythanthor," Emmeric said. "If so, the glyph protects a hidden door to the city surface."
"The one the Ring of Calling will enable us to access?" Corran's disembodied voice made Kestrel jump. Though she knew he was among them and her sensitive ears could hear his sounds of movement as they traveled, the paladin's continued invisibility unnerved her. She preferred to keep her antagonists, and her allies for that matter, where she could see them. Unfortunately, Jarial said the spell would remain in place for twenty-four hours, unless Corran attacked someone first.
"Yes, that door, but we never found the ring's enabling word," Emmeric said. "I don't know how it might be learned."
"What do you mean?" Ghleanna asked. "It wasn't in the Room of Words?"
Emmeric shook his head. "We searched thoroughly, but without success. When the cultists attacked us, we were on our way to visit the elven clerics to see if they could suggest another place we might look. Of course, during my captivity I never revealed that the command couldn't be found in the Room of Words-I wanted the cult sorcerers to waste as much time as possible conducting their own futile search."
Kestrel rolled her eyes. Could this quest become any more hopeless? "So let me get this straight-the cultists have both the Gauntlets of Moander and the Ring of Calling. Even if we can get the ring back we don't have the password. And if by some miracle we do somehow get to the city surface, we still don't know where the new Pool of Radiance is, or what this cult plans to do with it Does that about sum it up?"
Ghleanna and Durwyn exchanged glances but did not speak. Emmeric appeared bewildered, but then he didn't know she'd never wanted to join this fool's errand in the first place.
The silence only provoked Kestrel further. "When are you people going to face reality? We can't beat these odds. If we keep this up, we're going to die trying."
Corran's voice penetrated the stillness. "I'd sooner die an honorable death than a cowardly one." She was glad the paladin remained invisible so she couldn't see the holier-than-thou look on his face. Self-righteousness dripped heavily enough from his voice.
"I'd rather not die at all, thank you."
"You have always been free to leave us, Kestrel."
Free to die alone trying to get back to civilization, he meant. It was not a true choice, and the paladin knew it. She glanced from one companion to the next, seeking a glimmer in just one pair of eyes that would reveal a like mind, a dawning of sense in one of these naive do-gooders. None appeared. Obviously, nothing she said would convince any of them to give up their doomed mission.
"Are you quite finished?" Corran asked.
Oh, how she wished she could see the paladin's face-so she could smack off the smug expression she knew it bore.
Emmeric, still in the lead, rounded a bend and quickly retreated, nearly bumping into Kestrel. "The entrance to the House of Gems is right around this corner," he said. "The cultists have posted guards, though."
"How many?" came Corran's disembodied voice.
"A cult sorcerer and maybe a half-dozen orogs."
Kestrel sucked in her breath. She'd rather face twice as many orogs than the cult sorcerer. Just the thought of that clawed hand-let alone the spells it could hurl-made her cringe.
"We can handle them," Corran declared. "We should focus most of our effort on the mage-he's the most unpredictable, and if the orogs are mercenaries they might flee once their employer is defeated. Durwyn, you and Emmeric fend off the orogs. Ghleanna, Jarial, and I-and Kestrel, if she cares to participate-will concentrate on the cult sorcerer."
Kestrel was sorely tempted to respond to Corran's barb by "declining to participate," but she let it pass for now. Later, when she had leisure for retaliation, she'd put the condescending paladin in his place.
Everyone readied weapons and spells. As one, they charged around the corner.
The cult sorcerer and his minions paused in momentary shock but soon recovered themselves. "Who are you?" the cultist demanded. "Depart from the House of Gems!"
"I'm afraid we can't do that," Ghleanna said as she released a spell. Three bursts of magical energy raced toward the evil wizard, all striking him in the chest. Before the injured spellcaster could utter more than a foul expletive, Jarial sent one of his magical acid-tipped arrows singing through the air. The missile struck its target squarely between the eyes.
"By the hand of Tyr!" Corran's voice rang out in warning. The paladin materialized as his sword impaled the mage. The cultist sunk to the floor, staring sightlessly through his red leather hood.
Kestrel, unused daggers still in hand, looked at the dead sorcerer in amazement "Damn, that was fast."
The orogs, who hadn't even had time to close in, froze at a command from their leader. "Hey, you gubuk," he said to Emmeric and Durwyn.
"Gubuk?" Durwyn repeated.
"You soft-skin people. I parley with you. Stand. Stand and talk!"
The fighters turned for guidance to Corran, who nodded. "All right. Let us speak."
The two sides lowered their weapons and approached each other warily. "Orogs swore to protect ugly mage," the orog leader said. "If ugly mage dead, orog honor say, nothing to protect. No need to kill you gubuks. We go now. No hard feelings."
Kestrel had to smile at the creatures' simple logic. And pragmatic loyalties.
"A few questions first," Corran said. "What can you tell us about your employers?" Kestrel almost wished he hadn't asked-the rank smell of the orog leader's matted, hairy hide made her queasy. Or was that his breath?
The orog shrugged and tossed his head. His stringy, greasy hair didn't move. "Ugly mages full of lies. Make deal with orogs. Orogs walk dungeons, yes, find magic items. Mages promise lots of gold. But ugly mages no pay." He blew air through his snout. The noise seemed meant to signal disgust. Today ugly mages say get small gubuk, put in box, they give big treasure. We take gubuk, put in box. Ugly mages not pay."
Ghleanna frowned. "Who was he-the small gubuk?"
"Garbage man. Lives in wagon-"
"Nottle." Kestrel groaned, shaking her head. Stupid scamp. Hadn't they warned him?
"Nottle, yes. That what ugly mages call gubuk. Oho, garbage man not like box! He talk and talk."
"Where is this box?" Corran asked.
"In old dwarf treasure room," the orog said. "Down in dungeon. Way, way down."