“I have heard that one,” Julen said, looking down into the contents of his cup. “But it was a frog and a spider in the version I was told. And the spider bit the frog halfway across the river, and they both died. I’m not sure I understand the point of it, the way you told it.”
Iraska ignored him, looking at Zaltys. “But I find myself wondering-what if the snake had been raised among turtles? Dressed in a shell made of wood, perhaps, with false legs glued on, so it could pass for a turtle? So it could come to believe it was a turtle? Would its nature be changed by its upbringing, or would its true poisonous essence make itself known on the first river crossing? Would it just thank the stupid useless weak turtle and let it go on its way?”
“I don’t feel well,” Julen said, swaying, one hand touching his forehead.
“I should hope not,” Iraska said. “The poison in the water should be having some effect by now. It doesn’t actually kill you-it brings on a sort of half-death in which you’ll be very susceptible to suggestion, which makes it perfect for mushroom-gathering slaves. Not so good for soldiers. We can’t even use drugged slaves as forlorn hopes-that’s what you call soldiers sacrificed to break through an enemy’s defense-because they move too slowly. Useful stuff, and so much crueler, and thus more satisfying, than simple death.”
“You poisoned him?” Zaltys said, as Julen groaned and sank to the floor, pitching over onto the stones. “But-why would you do that?”
“It’s my nature,” Iraska said, and showed her terrible fangs.
Chapter Twenty
There’s something about those lights,” Alaia murmured, gazing at the floating clouds of blue-green haze. “They’re unnatural. Just looking at them makes my teeth ache. I think they’re points of access to the Far Realm.” She shuddered. “Birth canals for aberrations. What are these creatures doing down here?”
“Foul derro magic,” Krailash said. “The sooner we can find Zaltys and Julen and get away from the creatures, the happier I’ll be. I thought yuan-ti were the most vile creatures in this jungle or below it, but the derro are changing my mind. We might petition the Guardians to send a substantial force to wipe out these creatures. I think we can convincingly argue they’re a threat to the caravan.”
Alaia nodded. “True, though the losses would be significant … We can always hire mercenaries. The other heads of the family would curse the expense, but I don’t see how I can let this go on. Whatever else I may be, I am still a shaman, and the Far Realm poisons everything. If I tell them the derro experiments could harm the terazul blossoms, they’ll come around. Let’s focus on the current situation, though.”
“We should avoid the main settlement,” Krailash whispered, peeking out from the inadequate concealment of a rock not far from the fungus fields and their plodding laborers. “I doubt they’d keep slaves there anyway-too smelly. More likely they’d keep them close to the place where they need to work, this mushroom forest.”
“Fair enough,” Alaia said. “But there’s the small matter of whip-wielding derro patrolling those fields, and for all we know, the slaves might call out for guards if they see us. Engaging in a fight this close to the heart of the derro city-if you can call that conglomeration of bone-covered mining buildings a city-seems unwise.”
“True. I don’t suppose you can create some concealment for us?”
Alaia sighed. “I couldn’t have hired a sneaking shadowy cutthroat for my head of security like the Guardians wanted, oh, no, I had to get a great unsubtle dragonborn clanking about in plate armor.”
Krailash grinned. If the stakes hadn’t been so high, he would have been enjoying himself. It was almost like adventuring again, and his blood sang with the thrill of old times restored. “I pick shifty cutthroats out of my teeth, though, so you made the right choice. Shall I just try to keep my clanking to a minimum, or do you know any tricks that can help us?”
Alaia chanted softly, and Krailash heard the words “spirit,” “moon,” and “shadow” in an old tongue, a moment before a curtain of glimmering lights and mist appeared, settling over them like dew upon morning flowers, and then vanishing from sight. “We are concealed,” Alaia whispered, “though only from sight, so try to keep quiet.”
Krailash nodded, and they crept closer to the mushroom fields. The blobby rows of fungus smelled strongly of old wet socks and intestinal distress; at least they didn’t have to worry about any of the especially sensitive slaves smelling their intrusion. Krailash paused, and pointed toward a low structure on the far side of the field. They had to go the long way, because cutting through the mushroom field would leave a swath of destruction that would certainly be noticed, and the slowness of their progress was maddening. They paused while a derro dressed in black leather and holding a cruelly-knotted whip stopped to help up a quaggoth who’d collapsed with exhaustion not three feet away from Krailash and Alaia. The derro murmured solicitously, helped the reeking, hairy beast man-which was easily two feet taller than the derro overseer-to its feet, gave it a long drink of water from his own canteen, and patted the quaggoth on the back. The slave bent down to pick up its gathering basket, and while its back was turned, the derro overseer drew a wickedly curved knife as long as its own forearm and jammed it into the quaggoth’s back, where the kidneys would be on a human. Krailash winced as the quaggoth roared, reared back, and then fell among the mushrooms. The derro overseer nudged the body with his foot, then strode off across the field shouting orders.
Krailash and Alaia continued, finally drawing close enough to see the holding pens clearly.
“Are those made of wood?” Alaia whispered. “Where would they get so much wood down here?”
Krailash shook his head. “Bone. They’re made of bone.” The slave pens were vast, long, low cages of lashed-together bones bulit up against one wall of the huge cavern. The cages were apparently divided into compartments by race, presumably to keep the more inimical varieties of slaves from killing one another. The kuo-toa compartment was backed against a dirty waterfall, so a cascade of water flowed through, and a few of the fish people huddled under the spray in a desultory way. As they watched, a pair of quaggoth slaves dragged the body of their recently-murdered comrade to the compartment of their race, and hurled the dead body in through the doors. The quaggoth inside fell upon the corpse and began tearing it apart for food. Alaia gagged at the smell, and Krailash didn’t blame her. Weren’t the quaggoths supposed to be natural shamans, with a connection to the primal world of the caverns? If so, seeing them brought so low and forced into servitude to creatures who venerated aberrations must be especially painful for Alaia.
“I don’t see any humans,” Krailash whispered, fearing the worst. What if all Zaltys’s family had been killed long ago? Most of these other slaves were natural inhabitants of the Underdark, and probably better suited to the harshness of life there.
“I didn’t expect to,” Alaia whispered back. “But do you see Zaltys, or Julen? I don’t-” She paused, and stopped breathing, and Krailash looked at her with alarm. “No,” she whispered. “No, it can’t be.”