she said. “And I’m glad she did. The lich is not yet controllable, or even predictable.”
Devand gave a slight bow, lowering his eyes appropriately and letting the conversation go at that.
The Ashmadai leader chose their companions well and the skilled fighters didn’t slow Dahlia as she eagerly descended through Illusk and back to the bowels of Luskan. The Ashmadai scepters also contained a bit of magic in them that allowed them to glow like a low torch, and Devand’s was even more powerfully enchanted, illuminating as fully as a powerful lantern. Between that and their brooches, they found little trouble with the numerous ghouls and other undead things of that haunted land. They came upon the former chambers of Valindra in short order.
The place was exactly as Dahlia remembered, though more dusty. Otherwise, everything was the same: the furniture and old tomes, the various twisted and decorated candelabra.…
Everything except that the other skull gem, Arklem Greeth’s phylactery, was gone.
Dahlia mused over that for a bit, wondering if it was a sign that the powerful lich had at last escaped his imprisonment. Or perhaps Jarlaxle had departed the city, taking Greeth’s prison with him. He wouldn’t leave a treasure like that behind, after all.
The elf did well to hide her disappointed sigh. She’d desperately hoped that Jarlaxle was still in Luskan.
“The tendrils!” she heard Devand call from outside the chamber, and she moved out to find him and the other Ashmadai inspecting the ceilings, following the green roots of the fallen Hosttower.
“The tendrils!” Devand announced again when she arrived, and she nodded.
“Down there,” she said, pointing to a tunnel that ran off to the southeast. “That is the route to Gauntlgrym. You two,” she said, pointing alternately to Devand and one other, “follow that trail and see if it remains open.”
“How far?” Devand asked.
“As far as you can. You remember the way back to the city?”
“Of course.”
“Then go. As far as you may, for the rest of the day and night. Search for signs of recent passage all along the way—a discarded waterskin or the soot of a torch, footprints … anything.”
With a bow, the pair rushed off.
Dahlia and the others returned to Luskan and the appointed rendezvous with the rest of the team, a shabby inn in the south end of the city, not far from Illusk. The smaller groups returned one by one, reporting on the progress of identifying the various inns and taverns scattered about the city. They were learning the ground, as ordered, but none reported any sign of dark elves as yet.
Dahlia took the news stoically, assuring them all that it was just a beginning, and a solid foundation for their designs. “Learn the city,” she bade them, “its ways and its denizens. Enlist the trust of some locals. You have coin. Let it flow freely to purchase drinks in exchange for information.”
Again, the elf secretly prayed that Jarlaxle had not left Luskan.
She was a bit less composed when Devand returned before the next dawn with news that the way to Gauntlgrym was no more.
“The tunnels have collapsed and are impassable,” he assured her.
“Take half the team with you after you’ve rested,” Dahlia commanded. “Search every tunnel to its end.”
“It’s a maze down there,” Devand protested, “and it’s filled with ghouls.”
“Every tunnel,” Dahlia reiterated, her tone leaving no room for debate. “This was the way to Gauntlgrym. If it is sealed from Luskan, then we can return to Sylora with our assurances that, from here at least, none will inhibit the awakening.”
Devand argued no more and departed to get some rest, leaving Dahlia alone in her small room at the inn. She paced about, moving to the one dirty window, and peered out over the City of Sails.
“Where are you, Jarlaxle?” she whispered.
A DROW AND A DWARF
YE KNOWED IT WAS HIM ALL ALONG,” BRUENOR CONCLUDED WHEN IT became obvious that Drizzt intended to follow the thief’s trail all the way to the City of Sails.
“I knew it was a drow who raided our camp,” Drizzt said.
“I telled ye that.”
Drizzt nodded. “And I knew he wanted us to follow him. The trail he left was far too obvious.”
“He was in a hurry,” Bruenor argued, but Drizzt shook his head. “Got to be him, then,” the dwarf muttered, and when Drizzt didn’t reply, he added, “Wantin’ us to follow him, eh?” He glanced over at Drizzt, who nodded.
“He won’t be wantin’ that when I find the rat,” Bruenor declared, and shook his fist in the air.
Drizzt just smiled