Obrin said something under his breath and tipped his cup back, draining its contents.
“Yes, that’s true.” Ingara pursed her lips. “We’ve been conserving supplies in case of a siege, so the fare’s been simple of late.”
“It won’t come to a siege,” Garn said quietly. He’d stopped tending the fire and sat at the kitchen table with a clay mug clasped between his hands. The runes tattooed on his cheek emphasized the lines and wrinkles there, and Icelin saw a pair of scars near his left eye that she hadn’t noticed before. They distorted the skin and made his eye appear half-closed. “The king will throw open the city gates and invite the drow in for a bloody battle before he allows them to starve us out like rats,” Garn said. “Better to have one last glorious fight.”
Obrin raised his cup at that pronouncement. He and his father exchanged a private, knowing glance.
“Iltkazar’s outer defenses are formidable,” Ruen said. “The drow could lose hundreds, thousands, trying to break through. After that they still have to take the city.”
“Their magic is also formidable,” Ingara said. She reached into a belt pouch and pulled out three objects, which she held up to the firelight. “We’ve been pulling these off of drow corpses.”
They were rings, thick gold bands ornamented by a cluster of rubies and onyxes in the shape of a spider. Icelin’s eyes widened. “I know something of appraising,” she said. “The gems alone would fetch an astounding price at the markets of Waterdeep.”
“Shame we’re so far from Waterdeep,” Garn said.
Icelin ignored him and took one of the rings from Ingara’s hand. A tingling sensation danced in her palm, confirming what she already suspected.
“They’re magical,” Icelin said. “Have you seen them used in battle?”
Ingara shook her head. “Damned drow are full of magic, so it’s hard to tell where any given spell comes from. You being a wizard, I thought maybe you could tell me its powers.”
“Take those things over to the forges if you want to play with them,” Garn said testily. “Moradin’s honor, I won’t have drow magic in my house. I’ll tear it down stone by stone myself before that taint soaks into it.”
Another heavy silence fell over the group. Icelin was beginning to wish she’d taken some of that liquor after all. Her stomach had twisted up into knots.
She handed the ring back to Ingara. “I’d be happy to come to the forges and examine the rings,” she said.
“I’ve an interest in seeing this war axe you’re forging,” Ruen said. “I knew a dwarf in Waterdeep who spoke of the smithcraft with reverence. I’ve never seen the equal of the axes your family carries.”
Icelin heard the simple honesty in his words. Ruen was not the kind of man to flatter in order to gain favor. She knew enough about him to know that when he offered a compliment, he meant it. If he did not respect a person, he remained silent.
The dwarves must have felt his sincerity too, for a bit of the tension slipped out of the air. Ingara smiled. “My thanks,” she said. “We can go over now, if you like.”
Sull, Icelin had noticed, was fidgeting at his place by the fire. At Ingara’s words, he could contain himself no longer. “That’s it!” he said, throwing up his hands. “Maybe you people can sit around the fire chewin’ on nothing but words, but I have to have meat or bread or … something.” He made a helpless gesture with his hands.
“Poor Sull.” Icelin giggled before she appealed to Ingara. “Will you let my friend aid you in the kitchen? He’s completely tame, I promise you, and he’s able to make a feast out of very few rations.”
“Of course,” Ingara said, smiling at Sull. “The larder is yours, Sir Butcher. We’d be happy for the, ah, aid.” She glanced at her father, who nodded, though his eyes seemed fixed on faraway matters. Obrin said nothing at all.
Ruen stood. “Icelin and I will go with you,” he said to Ingara. “We’ll come back for the food,” he told Sull.
The butcher was already headed for the pantry. “I’ll bring you a bowl of whatever I whip up,” he called over his shoulder.
“Are you sure you won’t get lost?” Icelin said.
“I’ll follow the smell of the forge fires,” Sull assured her. “How hard could it be?”
“We should go,” Ruen said. Icelin could tell he was eager to be out of the house, and she was all for it, too.
She wondered why the Blackhorns had invited them to stay in their house, since they were obviously so unwelcome by the men of the family. Was it truly out of respect for the aid they’d given the family, or was there more to it? Judging by what Icelin had seen so far, Joya, at least, had the ear of the king and spoke more familiarly to him than any of the other dwarves she’d seen. Had the king instructed Joya to watch his “guests” during their stay? If so, for what purpose?
CHAPTER NINE
GUALLIDURTH, THE UNDERDARK
22 UKTAR
"I’ve received reports of the army’s progress taking Iltkazar’s outposts,” the mistress mother said to the assembled wizards. “The attacks are proceeding far too slowly. I expected you to work with the soldiers to have a path cleared to their main gate by the end of the tenday. At this rate, it’ll be midsummer before we’re at the city heart!”
“We have provided aid wherever we were called, Mistress.” Levriin Soltif cast a sharp glance behind him, as if to quell any protestations or denials before they rose to the lips of his fellow wizards.
Oh no, Fizzri thought. Let your dogs speak, Levriin. I’ll enjoy ripping out their tongues.
“Ah, well, perhaps the Spider Queen’s faith in your power was misplaced, Levriin,” Fizzri said sweetly. “You would not be the first of the faithful to be tested and found lacking.”
She saw the effort it took for Levriin to hold his tongue and chuckled to herself. She hadn’t expected the elder to lose his patience so quickly.
“Perhaps,” Levriin said in a controlled voice, “my mistress is anxious to hear news of her lost scout, and that is why she pushes the armies so hard to break down Iltkazar’s walls. In which case, I perfectly understand your concern but advise you not to act rashly and jeopardize the success of the attack.”
For a breath, silence reigned in the chamber. Fizzri stared at Levriin so long and so hard that the other wizards shifted uncomfortably in their places, but most kept their eyes on the ground. The mistress mother felt a stinging pain in her hand. She looked down and saw a trail of blood dripping off an exposed piece of crystal at the edge of the padded bench where she sat. She’d been clutching the sharp crystal so hard, it had punctured her skin.
“What news of Zollgarza?” she said, rising and fixing Levriin with a cold glance. “I assume you’ve learned something, else you wouldn’t have spoken.”
Levriin shook his head. “Forgive me, Mistress. There has been no news.”
Fizzri came down the steps from the bench and stood before the wizard. The rest of the males had drawn closer to their master. Was it out of fear, or were they preparing to strike at her if she used her scourge on Levriin? Excitement threaded through her veins at that prospect.
“Forgive you?” Blood dripped down her palm, staining the ring she wore on her index finger. She twisted it, flexing her fingers against the sticky warmth. “What shall I forgive you for, Levriin?”
The wizard opened his mouth but, perhaps sensing a trap, closed it again and stared straight ahead.
“Please, Levriin, don’t fall silent on me, especially when you spoke so eloquently just now,” Fizzri said. “Shall I forgive you for failing to clear a path for my army into Iltkazar? Will I forgive you for questioning my strategy of attack? Shall I show you mercy for suggesting that I am not capable of carrying it out?” The last words she spoke in a whisper against Levriin’s ear.
“Mistress, I meant no disrespect,” the wizard said, but he couldn’t quite hide the derision in his voice. “I serve the Spider Queen’s will, as do we all.”