I require that you answer some questions, Thyld. Without expletives, and without lies. If you tell a falsehood, I'll know. If you curse, or otherwise give voice to vulgarity, I will punish you.
Thyld seemed unable to speak. Sweat dotted his high brow. At last he gave a sharp nod.
You are an agent of the Kraken Society, Azriim projected, and nodded at a small tattoo inked onto Thyld's bare chest-a purple squid in a red field. In addition, unbeknownst to your superiors, you sell information on the side to the various factions in Skullport.
The human did not deny it, simply stared wide-eyed and breathed hard.
Azriim continued, That fact need never leave this room. But it happens that I am in possession of information that would be of interest to Zstulkk Ssarmn and possibly the Xanathar. Who are your contacts within those organizations'?
He held up a clawed hand to forestall any protests that Thyld might have offered. Azriim already knew that those organizations were nearly at war-the fact was integral to his plans. Ssarmn, the yuan-ti slaver, and the Xanathar, the beholder crime lord and slaver, had been quietly murdering one another's operatives for months. They needed only an additional spark to turn their campfire of a conflict into a conflagration.
Thyld shifted uncomfortably in his bonds. Azriim could see the human's mind racing, desperately seeking for a way out of his current straits.
"I can provide you an introduction," Thyld offered. "My contacts are accustomed to speaking only with me."
Azriim smiled a mouthful of fangs, which disconcerted Thyld.
I understand, but I must contact them directly, Thyld, without the intervention of you or the Kraken Society.
When Thyld seemed still to hesitate, Azriim dispensed with the niceties.
Listen carefully: If you do not tell me the names of your contacts now, I will torture you until you do.
At the mention of torture, Azriim sensed a flash of agitation from Serrin.
It seemed to take Thyld a moment to understand the importance of Azriim's words. When he did, he began to shake. So too did Dolgan, but out of a different sentiment all together.
Azriim continued, If you tell me what I want to know, you will be paid handsomely.
That was a lie, of course. But like all lies, it came easy to Azriim.
Three times Thyld opened his mouth to speak and each time nothing but a squeak emerged. Finally, Dolgan clapped him on the back of the head. His claws scratched open the human's scalp. Thyld squealed and bled.
"There," Dolgan said in his guttural tone, after licking his fingers clean. "At least something other than a squeak is coming out. Now answer the question, creature."
Thyld blurted a reply, "Kexen the slaver, for Ssarmn, and Ahmaergo the dwarf for the Xanathar. Both have ways of sending information up the hierarchy. Both will pay you well."
Azriim knew the names. With only slight effort he would be able to locate and set up meets with each of them. He fixed Thyld with a stare. The human recoiled as much as his bonds allowed. The stink of fear leaked from his pores.
"When are you due to report back to your superiors in the Kraken Society?" Azriim asked.
The human hesitated, apparently sensing the danger that lurked behind that question.
"Ten cycles," he said at last.
Cycles. Skullport's skulkers had dwelled in the dark for so long that they no longer divided twenty-four hours into day and night, but instead into two twelve-hour cycles. Azriim would have five days before Thyld's superiors noticed his absence. Time enough.
The human must have mistook Azriim's thoughtful silence as something more foreboding.
"Th-that's the truth," Thyld stammered.
Azriim waved a hand dismissively, his mind still on how to move his plan forward. A Xanathar caravan was arriving through a magical portal within the next six hours.
That should do, Azriim thought.
"What are you going to do with me?" Thyld asked, the trepidation in his voice evident.
Azriim ignored the human, eyed his broodmates, and silently asked the question. They could spare Thyld, he knew, and merely keep him prisoner for the time it took for their plot to unfold. In another five or six days, it would all be finished and the seed of the Weave Tap planted. After that, it could not be undone, and whether Thyld was alive or dead would be irrelevant.
Serrin answered his look with a predictably efficient response.
We should not leave him alive. If he is found, or escapes, it would compromise our efforts.
Dolgan licked his lips and nodded, eyeing the crown of Thyld's head hungrily all the while.
Azriim too nodded. He had been thinking much the same thing. Leaving Thyld alive would entail taking an unnecessary risk. Azriim enjoyed risks, but only when they brought him a thrill. He saw no thrill in sparing Thyld.
With his mind made up, he leaned in close to Thyld-the proximity of his fangs and eyes sent the human into a virtual paroxysm of terror. Azriim studied the human's face with care, took one last look at his build, and began to change. His squat dwarf frame lengthened, his head narrowed, and his build slimmed. In moments, he looked very much like Thyld, complete with a weak chin and potbelly.
Seeing that, the human slumped in his chair.
"You're not going to let me live," he said.
"You're not going to let me live," Azriim parroted, adjusting his vocal cords to approximate Thyld's tone. "No, I fear not. But if it dulls the pain any, I will need your robe." He eyed the rag at his feet with distaste before adding, "Unfortunately."
The human said nothing, merely hung his head in resignation.
We should not leave a body, Dolgan projected, with eagerness in his tone.
Azriim knew that too. Though he preferred brains almost exclusively, they would need to devour Thyld's entire body. He sighed and took out the wand that transmogrified one creature into another. He looked to his broodmates.
Alive or dead for the feast? Azriim asked.
Alive, Dolgan responded quickly.
Azriim nodded. He would use a silence spell to mask the human's screams. He took a deep breath.
"What are you hungry for?" he asked his broodmates.
Thyld began to weep.
* * * * *
Dolgan had requested that Thyld be turned into an ogre before they ate him, bones, hair, flesh, and all. Azriim shook his head as he walked. The big slaad's tastes were sometimes inexplicable. After cleaning up and retaking Thyld's form, Azriim exited the storehouse and made the rounds of Thyld's appointments. Hungry for more sensation, and intoxicated with the aftereffect of consuming Thyld-the-ogre's brain-Azriim had taken that choice morsel for himself-he bedded two of Thyld's whore-spies at Aryn's before paying them their stipend.
Shapechanging had its benefits, he thought.
Later, he would set up meets with Kexen and Ahmaergo. But first, he and his broodmates had a Xanathar caravan to intercept.
CHAPTER 9
SENSELESS MASSACRE, SENSIBLY DONE
Azriim, Serrin, and Dolgan crouched amidst a grouping of thick stalagmites and waited. There was no sound except the quiet, anticipatory respiration of the slaadi, and the steady, monotonous drone of dripping water from somewhere near the high ceiling.
Azriim shifted his weight from one clawed foot to the other. The stone floor of the chamber felt damp under his hind claws. The dank, stale air slicked his leathery hide-the closest he could come to perspiring while in his natural state. He felt a bit awkward in his own skin. Of late, he'd been more comfortable as a humanoid, particularly when he took his preferred half-drow form. He attributed the feeling to the enjoyment he took in humanoid fashions, humanoid females, and to the pleasure he took in the sensitivity of humanoid skin. In slaad form, he wore not high fashion, but only a leather belt with pouches, a canvas satchel, and a thigh-tube for his wands. And his slaad skin was not sensitive but tough, coarsened to withstand the seething chaotic energies of the Plane of Limbo. In his natural form, he could hardly have felt the playful brush of a humanoid female's fingertips.