Part 28 (1/2)
Dripping with ichor but smiling triumphantly, Vasha followed her dark-elven guide out into the streets of Skullport.
The underground port city was located in an L-shaped cavern that lay many feet below sea level and curved around the deeply hidden Sea Caves. As one might suspect, it was damp, dark, and exceedingly murky. Much of the cavern's light came from the eerily glowing fungi and lichens that grew on the stone walls and the water-stained wood of buildings huddled haphazardly together. Some of these glowing fungi were mobile, and viscous globs of the stuff inched along the stone-ledge walkways until they were booted out of the way or squashed underfoot into luminous green puddles. Clouds of mist clung to the lanterns that dotted the narrow, twisting streets with feeble light, and everywhere the air was heavy with the smell of sea salt and the stench of the city. Travelers and merchants from some three dozen races-few of which were welcomed in most other cities-sloshed through puddles and streams whose contents were best left unex-amined.
With each step, Vasha's fur boots became more bedraggled, her visage more dangerously grim. Yet she strode steadfastly along, clutching the stone coin in her hand and choosing her path by the heat it gave off.
Liriel might have admired the woman's single-minded fervor, except for the fact that it was likely to get them both killed. The drow jogged along behind Vasha, her eyes scanning the crowded streets and dark side pa.s.sages for dangers that the barbarian would not perceive. That was no small challenge, for if Liriel had sat down and devotedserious thought to the task, she could not have conceived of a person less suited for life in Skullport than Vasha the Red.
The warrior woman met Skullport's challenges head-on, sword in hand. This was not good. The city's multilay-ered intrigues-although muted by the ”safe ground” policy that made trade between enemies possible-were complicated by bizarre magical occurrences, the legacy of the city's founder, one extremely mad wizard.
Vasha's rune-carved blade might have been forged to dispel magical attacks, but it probably had its limitations, and Liriel had no desire to find out what these might be.
Just then Vasha waded carelessly through a tightly huddled cl.u.s.ter of haggling kobolds. Her pa.s.sage sent the rat-tailed merchants scattering and allowed the object of their discussion-a comely halfling slave girl-to dart into the dubious safety of a nearby brothel. The cheated kobolds wailed and shook their small fists at the departing barbarian. Vasha spared the goblinlike creatures not so much as a glance, but disappeared into a small dark alley.
Liriel recognized the opening to a tunnel, a particularly dark and dangerous pa.s.sage that twisted through solid rock on its way to the port. She muttered a curse, tossed a handful of coins to appease the gibbering kobolds, and sprinted off in pursuit.
The drow raced down the tunnel, trusting in her elven vision to show her the way through the darkness. She rounded a sharp turn at full speed, only to bury her face in the thick fur of Vasha's bearskin cloak.
The collision did not seem to inconvenience the barbarian in the slightest, but Liriel rebounded with a force that sent her staggering backward and deposited her on her backside. From this inelegant position, she had a clear view of the magical phenomenon that had not only given Skullport its name, but had also brought Vasha the Red to an abrupt stop.
Bobbing gently in the air were three disembodied skulls, larger than life-or death, to be more precise-and glowing with faint, rosy light. Liriel had never seen the Skulls, but she'd heard enough tavern talk to know what they were. Remnants of the mad wizard's defenses, the Skulls appeared randomly to give absurd tasks to pa.s.sersby, or to punish those who disturbed the city's tentative peace. By all accounts, bad things happened to those who heeded them not. And by all appearances, Vasha was in no mood to heed. Her sword was bared, her muscles knotted in readiness as she took the measure of her new adversary.
The middle member of the weird trio drifted closer to the warrior woman. ”Stranger from another time and place, you do not belong in these tunnels,” it informed Vasha in a dry whisper. Its jaw moved as it spoke, clicking faintly with each word.
”In my land, voices from beyond the grave speak words worth hearing!” proclaimed the warrior. She brought her sword up and gave the floating skull a contemptuous little poke. ”Tell me something I don't know, or get you gone!”
”Um, Vasha-” began Liriel, who had a very bad feeling about what was to come. Tavern tales indicated that challenging the Skulls was not a good idea. Indeed, the bony apparition glowed more intensely, and its teeth clat-'
tered in apparent agitation.
”For your arrogance, and in punishment for disturbing the rules of safe ground, your a.s.signed tasks will be long and noxious,” decreed the Skull. ”First, you must capture and groom a thousand bats. Save the loose hairs and spin them with wool into a soft thread, which you will then dye in equal parts black and red. Weave from the thread a small black tapestry emblazoned with a trio of crimson skulls, and hang it in the tavern where you slew the illithid.”
Vasha scoffed. True to her nature, she focused on the only item in that discourse of personal interest. ”The squid-creature died from so small a wound? Bah!”
”Next, you shall seek out a company of goblins, invite them to a tavern, and serve them meat and drink,” the Skull continued.
”Vasha the Red, a serving wench to goblins? I would sooner bed an ore!”
”I was getting to that.” There was a peevish cast to the dry voice.
Liriel scrambled to her feet and tugged at the barbarian's fur cloak. ”Agree to anything, and let's get out of here!”
she whispered urgently. ”And by all the G.o.ds, don't give that thing ideas!”
”As to that, I shall give it something to ponder,” promised the swordwoman in a grim tone. ”No one, living or dead, gives orders to Vasha the Red!”
With that, Vasha flung back her sword arm-incidentally sending Liriel tumbling once again-as she prepared to deal a whole new level of death to the presumptuous Skulls. Her sword slashed forward and reduced all three of the floating heads to dust and fragments. Pieces of bone sprinkled the stone floor with a brittle clatter and a shower of rapidly fading pink sparks. Then, just as quickly, the fragments flew back into the air and rea.s.sembled into a single large skull. The apparition hung there for a moment, glowing with intense, furious crimson light, and then winked out of sight.
Liriel hauled herself to her feet, her face livid with fear and rage. ”d.a.m.n and blast it, Vasha, you can't go smas.h.i.+ng everything in your path!” she shrieked.
”I don't see why not.”
”Oh, you will,” the drow muttered, noting the faint glow dawning in the void left by the departed Skulls. She dived for safety just as the glimmer exploded into an enormous whirlwind of rainbow-colored light.
Out of this magic tunnel stepped a wizard-a long-bearded male garbed in the pointed hat and flowing robes of an age long past. Tavern rumors suggested that all wizshades resembled a certain sage currently residing in faraway Shadowdale. As to that, Liriel could not attest, but she could not help noticing that this wraith-wizard's hair, robes, and skin were all of the same vivid emerald shade.
Vasha the Red, meet wizshade. The green.This bit of executioner's humor flashed into Liriel's mind and was gone just as quickly. Frantically, she reviewed her current magical a.r.s.enal, but the power of the wizshades was reputed to far exceed those of most mortal wizards, and Liriel doubted that any of her ready spells would have much effect.
Vasha, naturally, took a more direct approach. The warrior slashed with deadly intent at the green wizard's neck.
Her sword whistled through the wizshade without achieving the desired decapitation. Again, on the back-swing, the broadsword pa.s.sed right through the seemingly solid wizard. Neither blow cut so much as a hair of his verdant beard.
The barbarian fell back a step and shot an inquiring glare in Liriel's direction. The drow, however, was just as puzzled. According to tavern lore, magical weapons could inflict real damage upon wizshades. But Vasha's broadsword, which until now had sliced through magic like a knife through b.u.t.ter, had drawn not a single drop of green blood. Worse, the wizshade's emerald-colored fingers had begun an ominous, spellcasting dance.
Suddenly Liriel understood what hadn't happened, and why. The broadsword had been warded to destroy magical attacks; it had no magical powers of its own. Strictly speaking, it wasn't a magic weapon. But she had weapons that might serve-strange devices steeped in the unique radiation magic of the Underdark. ~ '
Liriel s.n.a.t.c.hed a spider-shaped object from a bag at her belt and hurled it at the spell-casting wraith. Her throwing spider whirled between the gesticulating green hands, and its barbed legs bit deep into the wizard's gut. The apparition shrieked, tore the weapon free and flung it aside, and then dived back into the vortex. The whirl of multicolored light sucked in upon itself and disappeared.
Vasha tucked away her sword and regarded Liriel with approval. ”You see? Magic cannot stand before honest steel.” She stooped to retrieve and examine the throwing spider. ”Even when the steel is in so strange a shape,” she mused.
The drow decided not to waste time with explanations. She reclaimed her magic weapon from the woman and returned it to her bag. ”Let's go,” she urged, knowing that the Skulls' orders could not long be ignored. ”Either we find your runecaster and get you out of the city by day's end, or you'll be grooming bats for the rest of your natural life!”
”I'd rather bed a satyr,” muttered Vasha darkly.
”Well, sure. Who wouldn't?” agreed the drow as she pushed the barbarian firmly along the tunnel.
The swordwoman, who was becoming accustomed to the elf s dark sense of humor, shot a scornful look over her shoulder. But the expression on Liriel's face-at once serious and dreamily speculative-turned Vasha's withering glare into an astonished double take.
”This is indeed a strange place,” she marveled.
Liriel nodded her approval. ”Well, praise the Dark Lady. You're finally catching on.” -.
But Vasha the Red's insight proved to be shallow and fleeting. The warrior woman continued to meet every obstacle with a ready sword and a snarl of contempt. By the time the hour for evenfeast rolled around, they were no closer to finding the elusive Toth than they'd been at the onset of their quest. On the other hand, Vasha had hacked a sentient jelly into quivering globs, dueled to the death an ill-mannered ettin, surgically dampened the ardor of several pirates on sh.o.r.e leave, and trimmed the wings from the shoulders of a small but aggressive wyvern, after which she'd advised the creature's dumbfounded wizard master to have the hide tanned and made into a decent pair of boots. In short, only through a mixture of dumb luck and brute strength did she and Liriel survive the day.
When she could bear no more, the drow steered her charge into the Burning Troll. It was a pricey tavern, but the food was good, the halfling servants were prompt, and the patrons could be reasonably sure of an entertaining brawl.
As soon as they were seated, Liriel ordered roast fowl and bread, wine, and a bowl of cold water. She plucked the stone coin from Vasha's hand and threw it into the bowl. The hot fragment met the water with a hiss of protest, and then subsided. Liriel wished that the human could be as reasonable.
”Forget about the coin for now,” the drow insisted. ”You can't continue running around Skullport, following a piece of rock and killing whomever you please.”
”Why not? I've done just so these many hours.”
”And we have so much to show for it,” Liriel returned with acid sarcasm.
The barbarian could not dispute this failing. ”So?” she said gruffly.
”I know wizards,” the drow a.s.serted. ”This Toth seems to be an especially slippery specimen. To catch him, we'll need planning, subtlety, treachery. I know of some people who for the right price . . .”
Her voice trailed off, for it was clear that the sword-woman was no longer listening. Vasha's dangerously narrowed eyes were fixed upon the bowl of water meant to cool the stone fragment. It was now at a full boil. Steam rose from the roiling surface, and the stone tumbled in the churning water.