Condemnation

Chapter SEVENTEEN

Halisstra sat in a window bench, alone in the apartment set aside for her, and plucked idly at the strings of her dragonbone lyre. She'd been confined to the room for two days, and she found herself growing more than a little weary of incarceration.
Whatever I manage to find in this whole venture, she promised her-self, I will not be locked up again.
She had expected torture, magical compulsion, or worse during her interrogation, but Tzirik seemed to have taken her at her word. More than a few drow would have indulged themselves in the opportu-nity to torture a prisoner regardless of whether she was being truthful or not, leading Halisstra to wonder if Tzirik was waiting for word of Quenthel and the others before doing something that might anger them. Halisstra didn't think the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith and her comrades had managed to cow the entire House, but it was entirely possible that their competence had persuaded Tzirik not to look for trouble without good cause.
She looked out the narrow, barred window. Dawn was fast approach-ing. The sky was already growing painfully bright in the east, though the sun had not yet risen. Halisstra could make out the endless green forest of Cormanthor, rolling away from her for mile after mile.
A knock at the door startled her, followed by the jingling of keys in the lock. She looked around and stood as Tzirik entered the room, dressed in a resplendent high-collared coat of red and black.
"Mistress Melarn," he said, offering an indulgent bow, "your comrades have returned. If you'll come with me, we shall see whether they had some good reason for abandoning you in the wilds of the World Above."
Halisstra set down her lyre and asked, "Were they successful?"
"In fact, they were, which is why I intend to set you at your liberty now. Had they failed, I'd planned to use you as a hostage to compel them to try again."
She snorted in amusement, and the priest escorted her from the room. He led her through the elegant pale halls and corridors of Minauthkeep. A pair of Jaelre warriors trailed them, dressed in cuirasses dyed a mottled green and brown, short swords at their hips. They came to a small chapel, decorated in the colors of Vhaeraun, and there they found Quenthel, Dan-ifae, and the rest of the company waiting.
"I see you have survived the rigors of Myth Drannor and returned to tell the tale," Tzirik said by way of a greeting. "As you see, it seems I have found something of yours, just as you have found something of mine."
Halisstra studied the faces of her former companions as she appeared. Most showed some degree or another of surprise - a raised eyebrow, an ex-change of glances. Ryld offered her a warm smile before dropping his gaze and shifting his feet nervously, while Danifae actually came forward to clasp her hand.
"Mistress Melarn," she said. "We thought you lost."
"I was," Halisstra replied.
She was surprised to find how relieved she was to be back among her former companions - though they were interlopers from a rival city - and her scheming battle captive. Danifae might not have been Halisstra's ornament anymore, but the binding spell was still there, making her the only ally Halisstra had left in the world.
"Where have you been?" Quenthel asked.
"I was subjected to several days worth of effort to convert me to the worship of Eilistraee, if you can believe such a thing," Halisstra answered. "Lolth granted me an opportunity to slay two of the Eilistraeen clerics and escape."
Though her heart glowed with dark pride at her accomplishment, Halisstra found herself feeling a bit disappointed by the results of her treachery. She was no stranger to the traitor's dark art, but it seemed as if she had only managed to do what was expected of her.
"Undoubtedly the surface folk set you free to see what you were up to," Quenthel said. "It's an old trick."
"So we thought, too," Tzirik said. "However, we investigated Mistress Melarn's story and found it to be true. It's almost comical, the naivete of our sisters in Eilistraee's worship." He paused and rubbed his hands to-gether. "Be that as it may, Jezz informs me that you helped him recover the tome we needed."
"Wehelped him?" Jeggred growled.
"His task was to bring back the book," Tzirik replied, "not to battle the denizens of Myth Drannor."
"You have your book," Quenthel said. Ignoring Jeggred's snarl, she folded her arms and fixed her eyes on Tzirik. "Are you ready to fulfill your end of the bargain?"
"I have already done so," the priest replied. He glanced up at the bronze image high on the wall, and made a small genuflection. "Whether or not you returned alive, I intended to consult with the Masked Lord and find out for myself what takes Lolth from you. Your story made me quite curious."
Quenthel virtually ground her teeth in frustration.
"What did you learn, then?" she managed.
Tzirik savored his knowledge, responding with a deliberate smirk as he paced away from the company and took a seat on a small dais that stood to one side of the chapel.
He steepled his fingers together and said, "In all essentials your story is true. Lolth does not grant her priestesses spells, nor does she reply to any entreaties."
"We already knew as much," Pharaun observed.
"But I did not," the priest answered. "In any event, it seems that Lolth has, in some manner, barricaded herself within her infernal domain. She denies contact not only to her priestesses, but all other beings both mortal and divine, which would explain why the demons you conjured up to question about the Spider Queen's doings were unable to assist you."
The Menzoberranyr stood silent, considering Tzirik's answer. Halisstra was puzzled, as well.
"Why would the goddess do this?" she wondered aloud.
"In the spirit of candor, I will admit that Vhaeraun either does not know or does not wish for me to know," Tzirik said. He fixed his cold gaze on Halisstra. "For the moment, divine capriciousness seems as good an ex-planation as any."
"Is she . . . alive?" Ryld asked quietly. Quenthel and the other priest-esses turned angry glares on the weapons master, but he ignored them and went on. "What I mean to say is, would we know if she had been slain by another god, or sickened, or imprisoned against her will?"
"If only we were so lucky," Tzirik said, laughing. "No, Lolth still lives, however you might define that for a goddess. As to whether she has sealed herself into the Demonweb Pits, or been sealed in by another power, Vhaeraun did not say."
"When will this condition end?" Halisstra asked.
"Again, Vhaeraun either does not know or does not wish for me to know," Tzirik said. "The better question might be, will it end? The answer to that isyes, it will end in time, but before you take too much comfort in that I must remind you that a goddess may have a very different sense of what we would consider to be a reasonable wait. The Masked Lord might have been referring to something that would happen tomorrow, next month, next year, or perhaps a hundred years from now."
"We can't wait that long," Quenthel murmured. Her expression was distant, fixed on events in faraway Menzoberranzan. "A resolution must be reached soon."
"Take up the worship of a more caring deity, then," Tzirik replied. "If you're interested, I would be happy to discourse at length on the virtues of the Masked Lord."
Quenthel bristled, but held her tongue - a feat of remarkable self-control for the Baenre priestess.
"I decline," she said. "Does the Masked Lord have any other advice for us, priest?"
"In fact, he does," Tzirik replied. He shifted in his seat, leaning for-ward to convey his point to Quenthel. "These were the exact words he spoke to me, so take note of them. 'The children of the Spider Queen should seek her for answers.' "
"But we have," Halisstra cried. "All of us, but she does not hear us."
"I don't think that's what he meant," Danifae said. "I think Vhaeraun is suggesting that we won't learn anything more unless we go to the Demonweb Pits ourselves, and beseech the goddess in person."
Tzirik remained silent and watched the Menzoberranyr. Quenthel paced in a small circle, considering the idea.
"The Spider Queen requires a certain amount of initiative and self-reliance in her priestesses," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said, "but she also demands obedience. To go before her in her divine abode in the ex-pectation of answers . . . Lolth does not smile on such effrontery."
Halisstra fell silent, thinking furiously over what Tzirik suggested. Ventures into other planes of existence were not unknown, of course. Pha-raun's spell had carried the company across the Plane of Shadow, after all, and there were many more universes that mortals armed with the right magic could reach, a multitude of heavens and hells, wonders and terrors beyond the confines of the physical world, but the notion of attempting such a journey without Lolth's explicit invitation terrified Halisstra.
"The penalties for failing to understand the goddess's will in this matter would be severe indeed," Halisstra said.
"Have we not just heard the goddess's will?" Danifae asked. "She led us to this place and this question through her silence, just as surely as if she had placed the commands directly in our hearts. She might be angered if we fail to do this."
Halisstra was accustomed to a feeling of certainty when it came to interpreting the Spider Queen's wishes. Before the divine silence had fallen over the priestesses of Lolth, she'd known the rare touch of the goddess's whispers in her mind. It didn't happen often, of course - she was only one priestess, and Lolth was served by uncounted thousands - but she knew what it felt like to understand to the depths of her soul what the Spider Queen wished, and how she could accomplish it. Halis-stra felt nothing. Lolth's will, evidently, was that she should figure it out for herself.
Halisstra glanced up, where the bronze mask of Vhaeraun hung over a black altar. The foreignness of the place seemed palpable, a tangible expres-sion of everything she had lost. Instead of standing before the ancient altar in the proud temple of House Melarn, Lolth's divine certitude thrumming in her very soul as she performed the rites of sacrifice and abasement the Spider Queen demanded, she stood alone, lost, an interloper in the temple of a pre-tender god, groping blindly for a hint of Lolth's intentions for her.
She imagined standing before Lolth, her soul naked to her goddess, her eyes blasted by the sight of Lolth's dark glory, her ears scoured by the sound of the Spider Queen's sibilant voice. Perhaps it was effrontery to think that Lolth would erase her doubts, supply answers for her questions and a balm for her wounded heart, but Halisstra discovered that she did not care. If Lolth chose to discard her, to punish her, then she would, but then why had she destroyed Ched Nasad and House Melarn if not to bring Halisstra before her andreceive her plea?
"I agree with Danifae," she said at last. "I cannot see what the point of this has been, other than to summon us before the goddess's throne. We will find our answers in her presence."
Quenthel nodded slowly and said, "I read her will in the same way, sisters. We must go to the Demonweb Pits."
Ryld and Valas exchanged worried looks.
"A sojourn to the sixty-sixth layer of the Abyss," Pharaun observed. "Well, I have dreamed of the place. It would be interesting to see if the reality matches my dream from years ago, though I have to say, I do not relish the thought of meeting Lolth in person. She minced my soul to pieces when I had that vision. It took me months to recover."
"Perhaps we should return to Menzoberranzan and report what we have learned before we consider anything rash?" Ryld asked, clearly alarmed by the prospect of descending into the infernal realms.
"Now that I understand the goddess's will, I do not wish to delay in obeying it," Quenthel said. "Pharaun can use his sending spell to apprise Gromph of our intentions."
"More to the point," Valas said, "how exactly does one get to the Demonweb Pits?"
"Worship Lolth all your life," Quenthel replied, a dark look clouding her eyes, "then die."
Halisstra glanced at the high priestess, then looked at the scout and said, "Were the goddess granting us our spells, we could do it easily enough. Without them, it is not so easy. Pharaun?"
The wizard wrung his hands.
"I will learn the proper spells at the first opportunity," he said. "I sup-pose I will have to locate a wizard of some accomplishment who happens to know the right spells, and persuade him to share one with me."
"That will not be necessary, Master Pharaun," Tzirik said. He stood up from his seat and descended the dais, powerful and confident. "As it so happens, my god has not seen fit to deprive me of my spells. I have an in-terest in seeing for myself what transpires in Lolth's domain. We can leave as soon as tonight, if you like."
Company by company, the Army of the Black Spider marched proudly into the open cavern behind the Pillars of Woe. It was nothing compared to the vast cavern of Menzoberranzan, or the incomprehensible gulf of the Darklake, but the plain at the head of the gorge was still im-pressive, an asymmetrical space perhaps half a mile across, its ceiling rising a couple of hundred feet overhead. Innumerable columns supported its roof, and shelflike side caverns twisted away on all sides like highways beckoning in the dark.
Nimor surveyed the place from astride his war-lizard, watching as the great Houses of Menzoberranzan filed into the cavern, forming up in glittering squares beneath a dozen different banners. He'd had more than two days to reconnoiter the various crevices, caves, and passages leading to the open spot. The strategic value of the Pillars of Woe was obvious. Only one road lead south through a torturous canyon, yet sev-eral tunnels met where he'd led the drow, each leading into Menzober-ranzan's Dark Dominion.
"A good place for a battle," he said, nodding to himself with satisfaction.
His mount, vicious and stupid beast that it was, still seemed to dully sense the impending conflict. It hissed and pawed at the pebble-strewn floor, its tail twitching in agitation.
Nimor waited near the center of the scout line holding the gap be-tween the Pillars, at the head of a force of almost a hundred Agrach Dyrr riders. Those among his scout force who had any other House allegiance lay sprawled among the rocks and crevices of the gorge below, where Nimor and his men had slaughtered them soon after reaching the Pillars of Woe.
Nimor ached to go riding up to greet Mez'Barris Armgo, Andzrel Baenre, and the rest of the army's priestesses and commanders. He could see their pavilion, already rising in the center of the cavern.
The difficulty with a betrayal spanning a whole battlefield, he thought, is that one simply can't be everywhere at once to savor the moment in its entirety.
He noted a lean runner-lizard pelting from the command pavilion toward where his company waited.
"It seems I am wanted, lads," he called to the Agrach Dyrr soldiers waiting behind him. "You know what to do. Wait for the signal. When it comes, hold nothing back."
Nimor kicked his war-lizard into motion and rode back a short dis-tance to meet the messenger. The rider was a young fellow in the livery of House Baenre - no doubt a favored nephew or cousin, given a relatively safe task in order to gain a blooding without too much risk. He wore no helmet, allowing his hair to stream out behind him like a mane. A bright red banner fluttered from a harness secured to his saddle.
"You are Captain Zhayemd?" he called, slowing his lizard to greet Nimor.
"I am."
"Your presence is requested at the command pavilion immediately, sir. Matron Del'Armgo wants to know where the gray dwarves are, and how best to dispose the troops."
"I see," Nimor replied. "Well, ride on back and tell her I'll be along presently."
"With respect, sir, I am to - "
Three great horn blasts, two short followed by one long, bellowed up from the space between the Pillars of Woe, echoing so loudly it seemed the rock itself had given voice to the cry. The messenger broke off and twisted his mount around, padding past Nimor to peer back toward the Pillars.
"Lolth's wrath, what was that?" he said.
"That," said Nimor, "would be the signal for the duergar attack."
From the depths of the gorge beneath the Pillars of Woe came the ground-shaking rumble of an army on the move. Below Nimor's line of scouts, hundreds of duergar lizard riders suddenly rose from beneath care-fully arranged blankets of camouflage and pelted up and into the gap Nimor's scouts were supposed to hold. Behind the duergar cavalry, rank upon rank of duergar infantry ran forward, shouting their uncouth war cries, hammers and axes raised high. The Agrach Dyrr riders scrambled to their saddles, taking position to bottle up the charge between the mammoth columns of rock - and, as arranged, they wheeled in unison and dashed to one side, leaving the line unguarded.
"The Agrach Dyrr! They betray us!" the messenger shouted, horror and shock on his face.
He wrenched his mount around, but Nimor leaned out from his saddle and ran the boy through. The young Baenre clutched at his wound, swaying, and toppled from the saddle. Nimor slapped his sword against the lizard's rump and sent the beast bolting off back into the main cavern, the dead messenger dragging behind it with his feet tangled in the stirrups.
Nimor spurred his mount up onto an uneven shelf of rock about fif-teen feet above the cavern floor, overlooking the Pillars. From that vantagehe could see most of the cavern.
"A good view of the fray, my prince!" he called. "What a magnificent day for your triumph, eh?"
"I'll tell you in a quarter-hour if we have a victory or not."
From the shadows at the back of the ledge, Horgar Steelshadow emerged. He and his personal guards were warded by a well-crafted illusion, invisible to anyone below, unless one knew precisely where to find them.
"Do not come closer, Nimor," the crown prince said. "I do not wish someone below to notice you disappearing into a wall, and become overly curious about what might be up here."
"Surely you mean to join the battle, Prince Horgar? I know you are a dwarf of no small valor."
"I will venture into the fray when I'm certain I will not need to issue any more orders, Nimor. In another few moments you won't be able to hear a fellow shouting in your ear."
Nimor turned his attention back to the battle. The Agrach Dyrr riders, well clear of the Pillars, charged madly in a circle, skirting the perimeter of the cave and avoiding the main mass of the Menzoberranyr army. Their task was to get to the rear and aid the Agrach Dyrr infantry in sealing the tunnel through which the Army of the Black Spider had just come.
Duergar cavalry streamed up and through the gap, overrunning the positions that had been supposedly held against them and spilling out onto the cavern floor. Several of the House contingents in the van of the march milled about in evident disorder, surprised to find themselves sud-denly faced with a thundering charge in an open field instead ofsiege-work and camp-building behind a stout line.
Other Houses responded to the sudden assault with adroitness and valor. The huge Baenre contingent raised a fierce war cry of their own, and dashed forward to seize the pass before any more duergar could floodthroughit.
"A bold move, Andzrel," Nimor said, not without admiration. "Un-fortunately, I think it's too late to put the cork back in that bottle."
Nimor flicked his war-lizard's reins and positioned himself for a better view of the cavern center. He'd expected the mad rush of motion, the sight of armored ranks surging forward to crash and retreat like the bloody surf of an iron sea, but the sound of the battle was intolerable. Caught by rock above, below, and to all sides, the roars, screams, and clang of weapons on shields became completely indistinguishable, growing into a single great thundering sound that continued to build and build as more and more warriors became embroiled in the fighting.
"The noise will stand to our advantage," he cried over his shoulder to Horgar, though he could not hear his own words. "The commanders of the Army of the Black Spider must decide how to respond, and give the appropriate orders."
"Aye," the gray dwarf monarch answered. Nimor had to strain to un-derstand him. "The middle of a fight is hardly the best time to draw up your plan of battle!"
A brilliant lightning bolt tore into the duergar ranks, followed by a thunderclap audible even over the din of the battle. Exploding balls of fire and scathing sheets of flame streaked across the battlefield, as wizards on each side began to make their presence felt.
Nimor frowned. A handful of powerful wizards could decide the issue, even in the teeth of the ferocious duergar assault and the duplicity of his allies in Agrach Dyrr, but there were wizards among the duergar troops, too, many of them disguised as common riders and infantrymen. As the drow mages struck at the attacking gray dwarves, they gave away their own positions. Duergar wizards answered each bolt of lightning, each blast of fire, in kind, and in moments the cavern was filled with flashes of painful light and ruddy fire, the air hot and acrid with the mighty magic thrown heedlessly from one side to the other.
Try as he might, Nimor couldn't tell whose magic would prevail, as the whole terrible scene descended into complete anarchy. In the space of a few dozen heartbeats, the sheer mass of Menzoberranyr troops in the middle of the cavern checked the initial rush of the duergar charge, the two armies tangling in a long line of contact that snaked across the cavern floor for hundreds of yards. Standards waved and fell, war-lizards reared and plunged, as the great charge bogged down into a thousand individual duels.
Rushing columns of heavily armored duergar pressed through the seams where dark elf Houses met, streaming in and around their desper-ately battling foes. Nimor smiled grimly. The dark elves had very little notion of how to weld their companies together to make an army into a single weapon, but each House contingent was a small army of deadly, sea-soned veterans by itself. The duergar assault had smashed the Army of the Black Spider into twenty smaller forces that swarmed and stung back like a basket of scorpions that had been kicked over.
"Our victory is still in question, Nimor," Horgar called from above. "The cursed wizards have checked our first assault!"
"Yes, but you have forced the Pillars, have you not?" Nimor shouted back. "I'd thought the initial charge would break the Menzoberranyr out-right, but it seems the House armies are not so easily swept away."
As he surveyed the battle, Nimor thought the gray dwarves, with ad-vantage of surprise, would most likely be able to defeat the Houses of Menzoberranzan in detail, but it would be a long hard day of fighting to reduce the dark elf force. House Baenre, in particular, had managed to close the Pillars of Woe for the moment, and the longer Andzrel held the pass, the better the dark elves' chances were.
Fortunately, Nimor had taken steps against this very possibility. The Menzoberranyr seemed heavily engaged to the front with the gray dwarf assault. It was time to slip his knife between Menzoberranzan's ribs while their swords were locked.
"Now, Aliisza," he said into the raging air.
Nimor wheeled his mount around, drew his sword, and spurred his war-lizard down into the confused fray. Mez'Barris Armgo and Andzrel Baenre were somewhere near the center of the fight, and he intended to make sure they did not escape the destruction of their army.
A little less than half a mile away, crowded into a small tunnel that de-scended from the east toward the upper field at the head of the Pillars of Woe, Aliisza stood with her eyes closed,her mind focused on the spell that allowed her to observe Nimor. By virtue of the magic she used, she heard his every word as if he'd spoken clearly in a quiet room. She shook herself and allowed the spell to dissipate.
"It's time," she said to Kaanyr Vhok.
"Good," the warlord said. His pointed teeth were bared in a fierce smile, anticipating battle. He glanced at the assassin Zammzt, who stood nearby. "Well, renegade, I suppose this is your lucky day. I will throw my warriors against the dark elves, not your duergar allies."
Zammzt inclined his head and replied, "I assure you, you will not regret it, Warlord. Destroy this army, and Menzoberranzan will lie naked before you."
Kaanyr strode past the alu-fiend and the dark elf to the place where his standard-bearers stood.
"Sound the charge!" he cried.
Instantly, a dozen bugbear drummers struck their instruments, sounding a simple three-beat ruffle, repeating three times. Thronging the tunnel below, the tanarukks of Kaanyr Vhok's Scoured Legion howled in bloodlust and pressed forward, stamping their feet and clashing their axes as they poured down the tunnel. Kaanyr drew his own molten sword and joined his charging troops, as his guards and standard-bearers hurried to keep up. Aliisza caught her breath at the sight, and took to the air to wing after Kaanyr's standard. A battle like this didn't come along every day, after all.
Ahead of the charging tanarukks, one of the cavern walls on the flank of the Army of the Black Spider seemed to shimmer, and abruptly van-ished, revealing a gaping tunnel mouth that had been concealed by a clever illusion. The screaming horde of slavering tanarukks poured from the hidden roadway, streaming out to take the drow army from behind while the great Houses were engaged by the duergar riders who had come up through the Pillars of Woe. Aliisza glimpsed Kaanyr's red banner flying proudly at the head of the force, and the Scoured Legion slammed into the battle.
Only a handful of minor Houses stood in the path of the onrushing horde. The wave of bloodthirsty orc-demons overran them, a spear of red-hot iron punching deep into the army's flank. Aliisza found herself whooping in exultation and terror, gripped by the terrible spectacle and helpless to express her excitement in any other way. The Army of the Black Spider was hopelessly entangled in the very battle it did not want to fight, a wild melee in open terrain against the combined armies of Gracklstugh and Kaanyr Vhok. Like islands in a swirling sea of foes, each House of Menzoberranzan stood alone against a tide of steel and spell, battling for its life.
The alu-fiend alighted atop a blunt stalagmite and stared down at the battle below her.
Ah, Nimor, she thought. What a great and terrible thing you have done!
Nimor Imphraezl, Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin, waded through a scene such as all the devils in all the hells could hardly have imagined. The blood of dozens of highborn drow mingled on his rapier and splattered his black mail. His war-lizard was long gone, burned out from under him by a lightning bolt hurled by a Tuin'Tarl wizard, and his limbs ached with fatigue and a dozen minor wounds, but Nimor grinned savagely, giddy with the results of his deadly work.
"Who has accomplished something now, Revered Grandfather?" he laughed aloud. "Zammzt may have delivered Ched Nasad into your hands, but I have brought low the favored city of the Spider Queen!"
The battle had raged for several hours. Instead of holding an im-pregnable line between the Pillars of Woe, the Army of the Black Spider had found itself beset on all sides by a foe who'd picked the terrain and the moment to strike. Of course, like a great dumb beast with a mortal wound in its belly, a broken army could take a long time to die, thrash-ing and convulsing for hours as its blood slowly ran out. In the battles of the World Above, perhaps the defeated drow would have thrown down their arms and hoped for good terms from the victors. In the ruthless calculus of warfare in the Underdark, quarter was neither given nor asked. The gray dwarves had no intention of allowing a single dark elf to sur-vive the day. The warriors of Menzoberranzan knew that, and they fought to the death.
Some of the smaller Houses were smashed apart and scattered throughout the cavern, leaving drow in pairs or threes to sell their lives as dearly as they could. Bands of duergar, bugbears, ogres, and other soldiers loyal to the Crown Prince of Gracklstugh roamed the cavern, drunk on slaughter as they hunted the wretched drow whose companies had been scattered by the assault. Some Houses stood where they were in the great cavern, fighting furiously as the duergar tide rose higher and higher, as-sailing them from all sides, and some of the Houses held together and tried to cut their way out of the fray, hoping to snatch survival from the specter of a catastrophic defeat.
The soldiers of Barrison Del'Armgo had been driven into a narrow, twisting side-tunnel, and forced from the field. Retreating through a passage only twenty feet wide, the proud warriors of the Second House held off repeated duergar assaults. Mez'Barris was penned in and unable to join with any other Houses, while her supplies burned along with the rest of the train, fired by the Agrach Dyrr infantry who had brought up the rear of the day's march. Del'Armgo would have a long and hungry march home.
House Xorlarrin's company, well stocked with the potent wizards the House was famed for, was caught near the center of the cavern, far from any place of relative security. The Xorlarrin mages kept five times their number of duergar at arm's length for most of the day by raising walls of fire and ice, and lashing out with sweeping blasts of destructive energy - but their wizards were tiring, exhausting their spells. Hundreds of duergar lancers mounted on war-lizards waited for the chance to ride down the Xorlarrins when their arcane defenses failed.
The proud company of House Baenre, more than five hundred strong, stood like a rock as lesser Houses were shattered and pulled down around them. As Nimor had predicted, Andzrel Baenre had been forced to relin-quish the Pillars of Woe soon after seizing them, and his forces had slowly battled their way across the cavern to the tunnel mouth through which the Army of the Black Spider had marched only hours before. The Baenre turned their full attention on the Agrach Dyrr who barred escape back down the path of the march. Quarrels, javelins, and deadly spells flew thick and fast as the two Houses battled furiously. While the Baenre out-numbered the treacherous Agrach Dyrr more than two to one, the war-riors of the First House were obliged to defend themselves against attacks on all sides while they tried to cut their way through to escape.
Nimor stalked toward the thick of the fighting, picking his way past the dead and the dying. Fortunately, he'd readied several spells of invisi-bility for the day, otherwise he would have been waylaid time and time again by raging tanarukks or grim duergar anxious to slay any drow they encountered. Hundreds of Horgar's Stone Guards clashed with the Baenre footsoldiers ahead of him, while the Agrach Dyrr barricaded the mouth of the main tunnel on the opposite side. Nimor carefully skirted the fight, catching sight of Andzrel and Zal'therra beneath the Baenre banner.
The Baenre leaders led their soldiers into the thick of the battle against the Agrach Dyrr, slowly but surely cutting their way through the warriors of the treacherous House. A tight knot of bodyguards surrounded them.
The assassin grinned, seeing his opportunity. The Baenre leaders had committed themselves to the fray. If he could destroy them, he would de-capitate the Baenre contingent, and if their force disintegrated, there was an excellent chance that nothing of the Army of the Black Spider would survive the day.
Nimor spotted Jazzt Dyrr, who stood back from the melee, directing the Agrach Dyrr soldiers. The nobleman held his hand to a bloody slash across his ribs. The assassin hurried over and released his invisibility.
"A job well done, my kinsman," he shouted to Jazzt. "Continue to hold the Baenre on this side, and the crown prince's guard will grind them to nothing."
Jazzt looked up. Fatigue and pain faded from his face as he surveyed the fight.
"Easier said than done," he said. "The Baenre fight like demons, and more than a few of our own lads won't be going home." He straightened, and offered Nimor his hand. "I had my misgivings about you, Zhayemd, but your plan seems to be unfolding well enough. I'd say we could use you here, but I take it from the blood all over you that you're keeping yourself busy."
"The great Houses still hold in the center of the cavern floor, but this is the spot of decision," Nimor replied. His eyes were fixed on the Baenre banner. "Lend me whatever lads you can. I mean to kill the Baenre commanders."
"Good, we need the help," Jazzt replied. He gestured sharply, andbrought up a reserve of a dozen seasoned warriors. "You lads, you go with Zhayemd. Take the Baenre banner!"
Nimor readied his rapier and dagger while the fresh fighters gath-ered behind him. The melee edged closer, as the Baenre continued to claw their way toward escape. He could see the Baenre standard, waving above the center of the fight. Andzrel himself stood near the forefront, surrounded by the best House Baenre had to offer, while Zal'therra hobbled along a few steps back. The priestess was struggling with a bad wound in her hip, and she had her arm around another Baenre as the line advanced.
Nimor waited until the leading Baenre guardsmen were within a spearcast of his soldiers, and shouted, "Up and at them, lads!"
With a ragged cheer the warriors of Agrach Dyrr dashed forward from their hiding places, some firing crossbows into the Baenre before discarding the weapons and drawing blades. Quarrels hissed in the tunnel mouth. Some bounced from the armor of the Baenre guards and priest-esses, but other quarrels struck home. The Baenre guards readied them-selves for Agrach Dyrr's charge as best they could. Zal'therra hopped to one side of the tunnel and defended herself with a huge, black, two-headed flail, unwillingto trust her injured leg enough to press into the skirmish but still far from helpless - as an Agrach Dyrr soldier learned when she expertly tripped him and followed up with a blow that pulped the wretch's skull. In a moment the din of steel on steel and the awful sound of steel in flesh filled the corridor, accompanied by the screams, grunts, and curses of the fighters.
Andzrel, unlike his kinswoman, threw himself into the fight, wielding a double-ended sword with expert skill and lashing out with brutal spin-ning kicks to hammer his foes to the ground while they parried his flash-ing blades. Nimor watched in admiration as the furious assault swayed back and forth, then, the Agrach Dyrr making way, he approached the Baenre weapons master.
"Greetings, Andzrel," he called. "Your master of scouts must report that the duergar seem to have slipped past our line at the Pillars of Woe, and now pose a considerable danger to the Army of the Black Spider."
Andzrel Baenre fell still as the skirmish swept away from him. Hard anger seethed beneath his disciplined manner.
"Zhayemd," he spat. "You have made a grave mistake in confronting me. You would have been wiser to savor the fruits of your treachery from afar."
"We shall see," Nimor replied.
He leaped forward and aimed a murderous thrust straight for the center of the Baenre's torso, but Andzrel was not unprepared. The weapons master twisted aside and brought up his double-sword in a spinning parry that deflected Nimor's blade, and whirled in close to slam his armored elbow against the side of the assassin's head. Had Nimor been the slight drow he appeared to be, the blow might have fractured his skull. Instead it merely jolted him, hard. He responded by spinning the other way and bringing up his off-hand dagger in a hidden slash that scored Andzrel beneath the breastplate. The weapons master took half a step back and leaped into the air, planting his boot in the assassin's ribs, but Nimor merely grunted and threw Andzrel back with contemptuous strength.
Andzrel rolled and came up with his sword high, his eyes wide.
"What in all the goddess's hellsare you?" he muttered.
Before Nimor could compose a suitable answer, the weapons master's hand flashed down to his boot and he hurled a knife straight for Nimor's throat. The assassin threw his arm in front of his face and caught the blade in the meat of his left forearm. He snarled and pulled it out, blood spat-tering the dusty cavern floor.
Andzrel didn't wait for him, of course. The Baenre followed his thrown dagger by hurling himself forward and rolling under Nimor's guard, trying to run him throughwith a quick jab.
Nimor jumped clear over the weapons master, pulling his feet up close to his body, and landed on the other side. As Andzrel reversed his thrust and came back up, Nimor punched his rapier through the Baenre's breast-plate and scored a deep wound in the weapons master's side. Andzrel grunted and stumbled, losing his balance. He sprawled to the ground at Nimor's feet, his two-ended sword flat on the ground below him.
"A good effort," Nimor said, drawing back his sword to finish off the Baenre.
Before he could strike, a globe of amber energy encased him. Magical force halted the thrust of his blade as surely as if he'd tried to skewer Narbondel, and resisted his knife as well.
"What in the Nine Hells?" Nimor demanded.
The assassin snarled in rage, even as he realized that the sounds of battle in the tunnel had increased threefold at the same instant. He glared out of the sphere, trying to determine where it had come from and what was happening.
Outside, dozens of fresh Baenre troops poured into the fight from the tunnel behind the Agrach Dyrr, catching Jazzt and his footsoldiers between hammer and anvil. The Agrach Dyrr blocking the tunnel were quickly driven away or killed, clearing the retreat for the House Baenre contingent. Nimor watched in cold wrath as the Baenre began to stream past his magical prison, reinforcing their embattled kin. In the space of a few moments, the battle rolled away from him and back into the main cavern.
Nimor glanced back down the tunnel, and found himself looking at a tall, round-bodied wizard in the colors of House Baenre, who studied the amber globe with a smirk of self-satisfaction. Zal'therra and Andzrel both stared at the newcomer as well.
"Nauzhror," said the priestess. Blood streamed from her injured hip. "Your timing is impeccable."
"A fortunate accident, really," the wizard purred. "The matron mother instructed me to obtain news from the field, and soI scried the army, found the battle underway, and noted your difficulties. I made use of a very valuable scroll to raise a gate and bring you some help." He turned and studied Nimor in the globe of energy. "Isn't this fierce fellow Captain Zhayemd of Agrach Dyrr?"
"So he says, anyway," Andzrel gritted. "Can you destroy him in that sphere?"
"Not right away. It simply captures someone for a time, encapsulating the victim in an impervious shield of magical force. It will fade in a short while, after which you may kill him at your leisure."
"Later, then," Andzrel said, dismissing the question of the trapped Nimor.
With one hand he groped for a small vial at his belt - a healing potion, Nimor guessed - and drank it down. He glanced back at the fight-ing, his face expressionless as he studied the savage melee.
Zal'therra limped up beside him and said, "Make ready to charge. With Nauzhror's reinforcements, we can turn the tables on these cursed dwarves and tanarukks." She looked over to the wizard. "How many sol-diers did you bring?"
"Only a single company, I fear. The matron mother did not want to risk any more of our strength in a lost battle, if things go poorly."
Zal'therra began to protest, but Andzrel set a hand on her arm.
"No," he said, "the matron mother was right. Now that we've secured our line of retreat, we must withdraw any Houses we can from the fight. The duergar and their tanarukk allies have won the day."
Nauzhror's eyes widened and he asked, "Is it as bad as that?"
"If we move swiftly," Andzrel answered, "we will bring a good portion of our soldiers off the field yet. Once we've got the important Houses out of the fray, we can make a fighting retreat all the way to Menzober-ranzan if we have to. There is no time to lose, if we want to save Xor-larrin and Tuin'Tarl. Fey-Branche is all but gone, I haven't the faintest idea what happened to Barrison Del'Armgo, and Duskryn and Kenafin were swept away by the tanarukks. Menzoberranzan can't lose any more drow here."
"Your retreat will only delay the inevitable," Nimor said. "You can't stop it now."
Andzrel leaned on his two-bladed sword and threw a dark look at Nimor.
"On second thought," the weapons master said, "I'll detail a few lads to wait for this sphere to fade. I see no reason to let him live a moment longer than I have to." He met Nimor's eyes with a cold expression. "Your House will rue the day you betrayed our city, traitor."
Nimor tried the force globe again, to no avail. Andzrel, Zal'therra, and the Baenre wizard turned away and followed their soldiers into the renewed battle, while several Baenre guards trotted back and took up stations sur-rounding the sphere of force.
"I'll see you in Menzoberranzan," Nimor promised the Baenre.
The Anointed Blade invoked the power of his ring, and disappeared from the force globe into the welcoming shadows.