Off they ran, Drizzt sealing the end with a globe of magical darkness. Then he paused as Entreri and Dahlia spread out beyond, seeking the proper routes.
The drow held perfectly still, craning his neck in concentration. He heard the slightest of footfalls, and sent a line of arrows into and through the magical darkness.
He ducked out of sight around a corner, and not a heartbeat too soon as a Shadovar wizard responded with a stream of magic missiles, and a second mage added a line of biting fire.
On charged the shades, and Drizzt leaned out and drove them back once more, the Heartseeker’s arrows cutting holes through rank after rank, three shades dropping with the first shot alone.
Drizzt ran off.
Only a heartbeat later, the area where he had been crouching exploded in a fireball, then a second and third.
“Keep running,” he warned Entreri and Dahlia as he crossed by them, and he tossed something at Entreri.
The assassin caught it: his buckle knife.
On they ran.
Chapter 21: The Shifting Web of Allies and Enemies
Brack’thal stood in the orange-glowing chamber, staring down past the swirling water elementals to the bubbling lava maw of the primordial beast. The mage rubbed his thumb across the ruby band on his index finger, for through that ring, he could hear the call of the primordial, and could understand it.
Parts of it, at least, for this being was truly beyond Brack’thal’s comprehension, even with the assistance of the ring. This was a most ancient power, a god beast. Though it was quite above him, its primary call carried a simple enough message: the beast wanted to be freed.
Brack’thal looked down to his right, to the narrow mushroom stalk bridge that had been put in place to cross the pit.
His gaze moved out through the continual mist across the pit to the archway, barely visible through the fog, and the small antechamber beyond. He pictured the lever, and spoke the word for it—not in the drow tongue or in the common tongue of Faerûn, but in a language he knew from his ring, the language of creatures of the primal plane of fire.
The primordial roiled hopefully, far below.
Ambergris hustled to the door ahead of the rest of her hunting band. This portal opened into the main corridor, she knew, and knew, too, that her band of Shadovar hunters had arrived in time to intercept the trio. She didn’t waste any time, sprinkling some powdery substance down on the floor and drawing it into specific shapes as she quietly chanted her spell.
“What is it?” Afafrenfere said, coming in through the room’s other door.
“Keep yerself back,” the dwarf warned, holding up one hand. “There be a powerful ward placed on this portal.”
By the time she rose and turned around, several others had entered, including the sorcerer who had been designated as the patrol’s leader.
“Glyphed,” Ambergris explained, moving toward them.
The shade wizard looked at her curiously. “This one, you check?” he asked suspiciously, for they had come through a dozen such doors.
“I been checking most,” Ambergris replied, to a doubtful look.
“Check for yerself then, fool,” the dwarf said. “Meself ’s looking for another way about.”
“Go to the door,” the wizard ordered Afafrenfere.
“Don’t ye move,” Ambergris remarked, drawing the wizard’s icy stare.
The dwarf returned that with a grin, and looked knowingly to Afafrenfere, who indeed was making no movement toward the portal. The others didn’t know about Ambergris and Afafrenfere’s allegiance to Cavus Dun, but Afafrenfere had not forgotten it, nor the fact that such affiliation superseded any orders he might be given here, other than those coming directly from Lord Alegni himself.
“Dwarf says it’s glyphed,” the monk replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Do not delay!” the wizard commanded, turning all around. He focused on another of the shades, a female standing beside him, and threw the woman forward. “Go! Go! Before they pass us by!”
The woman glanced at Ambergris only momentarily before easing toward the door. She neared tentatively, sliding one foot before the other.
She almost made it, and was even reaching for the door handle, when the glyph of lightning exploded, throwing the poor shade through the air, the thunderous retort shaking the floor and walls.
“Well done!” Ambergris congratulated the sorcerer, and the others fell back, except for the poor victim, of course, who went crashing aside, her hair dancing, her teeth chattering, blood running from her eyes.
The sorcerer stared at the dwarf hatefully.
“Our enemies know we’re here now, I’m guessing,” the dwarf taunted. “But if ye’re not sure, ye might want to set off another alarm or two.”
“Now we go through!” the sorcerer demanded.
Ambergris huffed at that. “Another glyph or two remaining,” she warned with a shake of her hairy head, and she walked past the sorcerer, muttering, “Idiot,” as she went.
That proved more than he could tolerate, and he reached out and shoved the dwarf . . . who didn’t budge. Ambergris did move, though, sweeping her large mace across and swatting the sorcerer aside. The shocked mage grunted as he slammed into the side wall, then groaned and slumped to the floor.
“Gather the idiot,” Ambergris instructed Afafrenfere and one other. “We got to backtrack and with all speed if we’re hoping to catch them three afore they get on much more.”