lost a fully laden pack lizard - and five soldiers unlucky enough to be close to the beast - to a flight of hungry yrthaks, raking the high trail with their sonic blasts.
No tremendous loss, Nimor reflected, but every day brought its own mishap or accident, and so the army's attrition began. In all truthfulness, the Jaezred Chaulssin assassin had not really grasped the enormous effort required to move a large, well-equipped army a hundred miles through the Underdark. He was quite familiar with journeying the dark ways by himself or in the company of a small band of merchants or scouts, trav-eling light, making use of the secret byways and known refuges that lay hidden along the main routes of travel. Having marched several days alongside an army, with ample opportunity to observe minor setbacks, difficulties, and challenges he hadn't even imagined, Nimor appreciated the scope of the expedition. The duergar were anxious indeed to strike a mortal blow at a neighbor in distress, if they were willing to tolerate the vast expense in beasts, soldiers, and materiel required to put an army in the field.
The assassin rounded a precarious bend, and came upon the crown prince's diligence: a floating hull of iron, perhaps thirty feet long and tenwide, ensorcelled not only to levitate itself above the ground but also to move as directed by the gray dwarves controlling the thing. Its ugly black form bristled with spikes to repel attackers and armored slits through which the occupants could fire missiles or work deadly spells on anyone outside. The diligence was pierced with several large, shuttered windows that were propped open, and through these Nimor glimpsed the quiet and orderly bustle of the duergar leaders and their chief assistants. The whole construct functioned as command post, throne, and bedchamber for the crown prince while in the field with his army. It was the perfect embodiment of the dwarf approach to things, Nimor reflected, a device displaying skillful craftsmanship and powerful magic, but no grace or beauty.
With a light bound he hopped up onto the running board of the dili-gence and ducked through a thick iron door. Inside, dim lights gleamed from blue globes, illuminating a great table that held a representation of the tunnels and caverns between Gracklstugh and Menzoberranzan. There the lords and captains of the gray dwarves studied their army's march and planned for the battles to come. The assassin took in the various officers and servants with one quick glance then turned to the elevated center por-tion of the diligence. The lord of the City of Blades sat at a high table with his most important advisors and watched over the planning below.
"Good news, my lord prince," Nimor said, sweeping into the circle of captains and guards surrounding Horgar Steelshadow. "I have been ad-vised that the Archmage of Menzoberranzan, old Gromph Baenre himself, has been removed from thesavaboard of our little game. The matron mothers do not yet suspect our advance into their territory."
"If you say so," the duergar lord replied gruffly. "In dealing with the dark elves I have found it prudent not to rule out the presence of an arch-mage until I see him dead under my own hammer."
The assembled gray dwarves around Horgar nodded, and glared at Nimor with undisguised suspicion. A drow turncoat might have been a useful ally in a war against Menzoberranzan, but that did not mean they considered Nimor a reliable partner.
Nimor spied a gold pitcher standing by the high table and poured himself a great goblet of dark wine.
"Gromph Baenre is not the only skilled wizard in Menzoberranzan," growled Borwald Firehand. Short and stocky even for a gray dwarf, the marshal gripped the table with his huge, powerful hands and leaned for-ward to glare at the assassin. "That cursed wizard school of theirs is full of talented mages. Your allies played their hand too quickly, drow. We're still fifteen days from Menzoberranzan, and Gromph's death will pro-voke alarm."
"A sensible notion, but not entirely correct," Nimor said. He drained off a large gulp from his goblet, savoring the moment. "Gromph will be missed soon, I'm sure, but instead of casting their arcane gaze out into the Underdark to search for approaching foes, every Master of Sor-cere will be searching fruitlessly for the archmage and scheming against his colleagues. While the crown prince's army approaches, the most pow-erful wizards in the city will have their eyes firmly fixed on each other, and more than a few will seek to murder