A warrior sprinted toward them from his guard post at the edge of the camp. He reached the group among the cedars and threw himself flat upon the sand before Erixitl.
“My lady, the foreigners return!”
Moments later, a trio of horses appeared behind him, cantering through the encampment. One, the leader, dismounted, while the other two held back some distance from the proud figure of Erixitl.
“What have you learned. General?” she asked, as the black-bearded rider bowed before her.
“The monsters move out from Nexal,” Cordell reported. “My scouts have observed long columns of ores, commanded by ogres and flanked by trolls, moving into the desert. They come southward, following our trail.”
The commander spoke in the common tongue of the
Realms but Halloran smoothly translated his speech into Nexalan. A rumble of concern rippled through the gathering until Erixitl raised her hand.
“How far away?” she asked.
“Still four or five days,” replied the captain-general. “But they march swiftly. Their columns extend to the east and west, barring our flight in those directions.”
“Stand and fight them here, then!” growled Totoq, a grizzled Jaguar Knight. A chorus of assenting voices joined him.
“Wait.” Gultec, also dressed in the spotted skin of a veteran Jaguar Knight, lifted his hand. Though not a man of the Nexala, his steadiness on the long flight had earned him the respect of the others.
“What is it? Have we not waited too much already?” demanded Kilti, a young Eagle Warrior.
“Gultec counsels wisdom,” Halloran added. “We have already exhausted most of the food here. True, we could establish a strong defense with a four-day delay, but what will we eat before and after the battle?”
“We must move south,” Erix stated with finality.
“It is the will of Qotal,” added Caknol, one of the white-robed priests of the Plumed God.
Erixitl, still surrounded by the glowing cloak, surprised them all by whirling on the priest.
“The will of Qotal?” she spat. “Why should we take note of his will now, after his complete abandonment of us, his people? He sent his signs-the couatl, who died bravely in the battle with the Ancient Ones, and the Cloak-of-One-Plume, which covers my shoulders, but for what purpose? And even the Summer Ice, which enabled us to flee Nexal at the moment of the city’s destruction, has but prolonged our misery!”
“But his mercy-“ the cleric stammered, surprised by the woman’s anger.
“His mercy!” Erixitl practically sneered the words. “What kind of mercy is this?” She gestured to the ragged collection humanity around them, angrily turning her back on the
Then, with no warning, she collapsed onto the ground.
Lava seethed in great seas, surging against rocky shores with hellish force, crashing upward to coat scorched boulders with fresh layers of molten stone. Cavern roofs pressed overhead, rocked by convulsions, reflecting back the infernal heat. Massive chunks of rock broke from the ceilings of vast caverns, tumbling into the flaming, blood-red liquid and shattering convulsively from the pressure and the heat and the violence.
Everywhere this world lay wracked by flame and fire, yet overhung by leaden darkness as well, for it was a world beneath the earth, where the torturous wracking of the underdark emerged as mere tremors on the surface.
It was a world without life, without sun or water or sky. The only illumination came from the crackling, seething lava, hissing upward with crimson explosions of flame. Each burst of violence consumed precious oxygen, and the air in the huge caves hung heavy and thick with poisonous vapors and choking smoke.
It was through this world that a file of repulsive, spider like beasts made its way. Led by the one of purest white, these, the several dozen corrupted monsters of the spider goddess Lolth, passed slowly and carefully along the seething shores, in search of escape from the wrath of their angry god.
The driders were beasts of hideous aspect and foul, unnatural desires. Each walked upon eight spider legs, covered with coarse fur and bristling with venomous spines. Their bodies, bloated and distended like the abdomens of spiders, swung beneath the legs.
Only their torsos and heads showed signs of their former existence. Sleek black skin covered wretched faces that had once been proud and handsome. Long dexterous fingers held black-bladed swords or long, dark bows.
But these features, formerly noble if cruel, were now scarred by flame and distorted by corruption. Great patches of skin had burned from them, and their pale eyes
no longer held the gleam of power. Instead, they stared in terror at the hellfires around them, wildly, desperately seeking escape. Even the one who led them, the one that was pale white where all the others were dark, thought of nothing other than refuge.
Escape! For now, release from this nightmare mattered more than anything. The vengeance of Lolth had scarred and terrified them, and they scuttled, as mortal creatures will, in search of refuge against the further wrath of their god. They could not know that Lolth was finished with her vengeance and now looked toward further, evil employment of her servants.
Yet the nature of the driders was too hateful, too vile, to long remain content with an existence of flight. Here again the pale one showed her leadership, for she looked upward and shook a scarred, raw fist at the fires looming overhead. She cursed the name of her god, of all the gods, and hatred grew in her like a poisonous flame.
Ultimately her thoughts, and soon those of her kin as well, began to turn toward vengeance.
Small-mouthed caves ringed the base of the narrow box canyon. Above these dwellings, others-structures of adobe, with round doors and tiny, latticed windows-extended across the face of the yellow, wind-bitten cliff face itself. The latter perched precariously, reachable only by ladders and forming an easily defensible barrier against attack from below.
Yet never in its three centuries of existence had Sunhome known attackers. Indeed, the desert dwarf village suffered no threats other than the implacable sun and parched air that provided security even as they challenged its residents to survive.
But now Luskag wondered if it were indeed impregnable. He stood at the mouth of the canyon, greeting the headmen and chiefs of other desert dwarf communities as they arrived at Sunhome for the conference, and he no longer thought of his village as an island immune to the storms of war.
“It’s a long trek you call us to,” grunted one named Pullog, whose village lay far to the south, at the fringe of the House of Tezca. As Sunhome was the northernmost of the dwarven settlements, Pullog’s trek had indeed been arduous.
“But no less important for that,” answered Luskag. “I am glad your journey passed safely, my cousin. Come, sup with us, and then the council will begin.”
The other chiefs, a full score in all, had already arrived. They gathered in Luskag’s cave, served by his daughters and warmed by the light of a mesquite fire. They talked idly during a meal of snake meat, cactus, and water, but the conversation revealed that all of them had observed the changes that had come over the desert during the past summer and the current autumn. Finally they concluded the repast, and Pullog, always impatient, turned to Luskag.
“Now, cousin, tell us why your children come to our villages, out of breath and wild-eyed, to compel us to leave our wives and make the journey to Sunhome? Is it to tell us that there is water in the desert? Or food?”
Luskag chuckled wryly, but then his expression turned grim. In answer, he reached beneath a blanket and tossed forth a large white object. The skull of the ogre rolled forward to rest before Pullog, its eyeless sockets gaping upward at the southern chief.