taking a seat at the fire. He helped himself to a hunk of roast dropped by a bug-bear, and raised one of their jacks in another hand.
"Bugbears. . . ." he muttered.
"Hey, you!"
The surly duergar innkeeper - Dinnka - scuttled forward, anger plain on her face.
"Those three hadn't settled their tab yet," she complained. "Now how in all the screaming hells am I going to get my gold from them?"
Ryld stooped and removed the bugbear's belt pouch. He tossed it to Dinnka.
"Settle up with this," the weapons master said, "and start our tab with what's left. We'll want good wine, and more food."
The duergar woman caught the purse, but she did not move.
"I don't appreciate your scaring off paying customers, drow. Nor killing them, neither. Next time do your murdering at home, where it belongs."
She marched off, already barking orders at the goblin slaves underfoot.
Halisstra watched her go, then she looked back to the others and flashed,That was odd. Did you hear what the bugbear said?
"What hesaidabout the drow not being as scary as they used to be?" Ryld said, then he switched to sign. Has word of Ched Nasad's fall reached this place so quickly? It was only a couple of days ago, and Mantol-Derith is many days' travel from the City of Shimmering Webs.
It's possible that magical scrying or spells of communication might have spread the word already, Halisstra said. Or . . . perhaps he meant something else. Perhaps something of our unusual difficulties is known here.
That, thought Halisstra, was a very disturbing scenario. Gray dwarves and mind flayers were competent foes, creatures who knew many secrets of sorcery. If they had discerned the drow's weakness, it would not be unduly surprising, but if common bugbear mercenaries were aware of matters in Ched Nasad or Menzoberranzan, it must be widely known indeed.
Goblin slaves returned to their fire, laden with somewhat better fare than the bugbears had enjoyed, and flagons of cool wine from some sur-face vineyard. The small slaves gathered up the hulking body of the fallen bugbear and dragged it off into the darkness. The dark elves paid them scant attention. Goblin slaves were so far beneath their notice that they might as well have not existed. The party ate and drank in silence, occu-pied with their own thoughts.
After a time, Valas joined them, accompanied by another gray dwarf. This one was a male, with a short beard of iron grey and not a single hair on his head above his eyebrows. The duergar wore a shirt of chain mail and carried a wicked hand axe at his side. His visage was maimed by a set of three great furrowed scars that had taken off one ear and twisted the right side of his face into a nightmarish map of old pain. He might have been a merchant, a mercenary, or a miner - his dour attire offered few hints as to his trade.
"This is Ghevel Coalhewer," the scout said. "He owns a boat moored nearby, on the Darklake. He will take us to Gracklstugh tomorrow."
"I'll want me payment in advance," the gray dwarf warned. "And I'll have ye know I've a contract o' redress with me guild back home. If ye think to slit me throat and dump me over the side out on the lake, ye'll be hunted down for it."
"A trusting soul," Pharaun said with a smile. "We've no interest in rob-bing you, Master Coalhewer."
"I'll take me precautions, just the same." The duergar looked at Valas and asked, "Ye know where the boat is. Pay me now, and ye can meet me there tomorrow early."
"How do we know you won't rob us, dwarf?" rumbled Jeggred.
"It's usually bad business to rob drow, not unless ye be sure to get away with it," the dwarf replied. " 'Course, that may be changing, but no' so fast that I'll chance it today."
Valas jingled a pouch in front of the duergar and dropped it into his hand. The dwarf immediately poured out its contents into his big, weath-ered palm, appraising the gemstones there before scooping them back into the pouch.
"Ye must be in a rush, or yer man here might've struck a better bar-gain. Ah, well, ye drow don't appreciate a good gemstone, anyway."
He turned and stumped away into the darkness.
"That's the last you'll see of him," Jeggred said. "You should have waited to pay him."
"He insisted on it," Valas said. "He said something about wanting to make sure we didn't kill him to recover the fare."