The two mountain dwarves were old acquaintances, and Dram knew that the smith could be trusted but would demand an exorbitant price. But the steel forged in that mountain dwarf kingdom was without peer, so Dram didn’t hesitate to reach down to the floor and lift up a small sack of jewels he had prepared for just this moment. He raised it to the table, upended it, and watched with satisfaction as Rogard’s eyes grew wide.
“That’s for the first ton, and a comparable sum will be set aside for every ton that follows. And just this season alone, I’ll need at least ten tons, as soon as possible.”
Rogard reached into the sack and picked up several stones for inspection-a mixture of rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. He held them, one by one, up to the sun. He squinted suspiciously, muttering to himself as he appraised the stones. His tongue emerged from between his teeth as he beheld a particularly splendid emerald, and he couldn’t help but lick his lips again as he scrutinized the largest stone, a diamond.
“Aye,” he said grouchily. “I suppose these’ll do.” He scooped the gems into the sack and was about to tuck the bag into his pocket when Dram plucked it out of his hand, grinning.
“Tomorrow morning, then?” he said, chuckling. “You can take this away with you when I have the Kaolyn steel.”
“All right!” Rogard huffed. He had, of course, expected nothing less from such a tough businessman as Dram. “Just let me have another look.”
“Be my guest,” Dram offered, watching as the master forger carefully counted out the stones and once more hefted the bag, feeling its reassuring weight.
“We have a deal, then?” Rogard said, handing the sack back to Dram.
“Let’s make it official. Sally!” he called.
His wife scrambled up from the nearby stream bank. Her face was smudged, her hands and apron covered with fish scales and guts-she had been helping to clean the catch for this evening’s supper.
“How about a couple of cold tankards to close this deal between old friends?” Dram asked breezily.
“Get your own damn tankards!” she snapped. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Dram blinked in surprise then looked at Rogard sheepishly. “That’s what I get for marrying a hill dwarf,” he admitted with a pang in his heart, making a joke of it even as he watched her stomp back to the stream.
“Let’s have a drink when I bring the steel down,” Rogard said diplomatically, rising to his feet. “I’d better get moving. Tomorrow morning it is!”
The steeple of the temple, a shrine dedicated to Kiri-Jolith, gave them a chance to look over much of the western half of the city. They could see violent skirmishes raging in the street below as a line of knights stood behind a makeshift barricade of wagons and upturned tables removed from a nearby inn. The men were armed with swords and shields and fought valiantly against a press of goblins that had surged up against the obstacle.
Howling and jeering, the attackers pressed between the planks, crawled under the wagons, and thrust spears and swords at the knights. But the men gave better than they got, cutting down the few gobs who pushed through the barricade, chopping at the hands and heads of those enemy warriors thronging on the other side. Their discipline was admirable and for the time being, that particular group of attackers was stymied.
Things were worse down the adjacent street, they could see, where a platoon of ogres lumbered toward the palace, chasing the last survivors of a collapsed position. One knight, on foot, stood in the path of the attackers. He cut down the first ogre with a lightning-quick slash of his two-handed sword, and crippled two more with swift stabs at their legs. Even as the brutes tumbled, bellowing in agony, he was borne down by a trio of the hulking warriors, each smashing him with a crude axe until the remains were bloody.
Before the ogres could regroup, however, three mounted knights charged in from a side street. They rode in a line abreast, blocking any further advance. The horses kicked out, driving several ogres back, and the knights bore home their attack, holding their tenuous position and slowly pushing the ogres away from the palace.
“There!” cried Sir Maxwell, examining his magical compass. “Look to the north, past the armory!”
The elemental king came into view a few blocks away, striding out from behind the tall, square fortress. The giant reached out to smash down a three-story stone building, crushing the roof with a hammer blow, then pummeling the rest of the sturdy structure into rubble. Flames surged from its eyes, and immediately the interior of the broken building erupted into a conflagration. Black smoke billowed skyward, forming another of the pyres that already burned in a dozen places around the city. Stepping through the inferno, the elemental king crossed to the next block and began smashing a warehouse.
“Ankhar won’t be very far away, if the kender’s report is accurate,” Jaymes noted.
“It is!” protested Moptop.
“There’s the half-giant!” Brianna said, pointing toward the Duke’s Avenue, the wide street where goblins were hurling themselves against the barricade.
Now they could clearly see Ankhar swaggering along, several hundred yards behind the skirmishing. He was accompanied by several humans in black armor-former Dark Knights-as well as by the gray-robed Thorn Knight and the huddled, decrepit figure of the old witch-doctor. They were several blocks away from the temple, in a section of the city where all the human defenders had apparently been slain or driven out.
With his fists planted on his hips, the half-giant commander looked first toward the line of battle and the palace. Then his head quickly swiveled to the north. “He’s searching for the elemental,” Brianna guessed. The other men murmured agreement.
As they watched, the conjured creature left the wreckage of the burning building and once again passed behind the armory, heading toward the northwest. It was backtracking through its path of destruction, entering another quarter, a long block of tall buildings housing formerly prosperous mercantile shops. One sinuous limb tore through the front of a weaver’s store and cast a rainbow array of colored woolen fabrics into the air.
Ankhar and his party started after the creature, but they halted as the half-giant indicated a large, undamaged inn on a corner of the Duke’s Avenue. The watchers on the temple spire observed the bodyguards enter the stone-walled building, which was dominated by a thirty-foot tower at one corner. A moment later one of the men emerged and gestured, and the half-giant, with his wizard and shaman, followed them inside.
“Looks like he’s going to set up a temporary headquarters,” Jaymes said. He touched Moptop’s shoulder. “Do you think you can find a way over there through the sewers?”
“Sure! I can find my way anywhere; that’s why I’m called a pathfinder. We can go down through that grate that’s right over there in front of the temple. And we’ll have to find a place to come up over by that inn, but it shouldn’t be difficult. Just got to consult my maps,” he said, reaching into one of his pouches as one of the Solamnics could be heard to sigh deeply.
“Some of the grates are settled so firmly they can’t be removed,” Brianna cautioned.
Jaymes raised a hand to the hilt of his sword. “I can cut through steel, if need be,” he assured her.
“Good luck,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, squeezing him with surprising force. “And be careful.”
“You too,” he said, placing his own hand over hers then quickly breaking from her clasp, grabbing the kender by the shoulder, and pushing him into action.
The three Sword Knights, the Kingfisher, Moptop, and Jaymes quickly descended to the street level. Passing out through the front doors of the temple, they found the temple grate in an alley just to the side of the building. Two of the knights lifted off the heavy iron grid, exposing a shaft descending into the darkness. Rusty iron brackets set in the wall of the shaft held a ladder that looked to have been installed before the Cataclysm.
“This will do,” Jaymes said, the first to sit on the edge of the hole and drop his feet toward the first rung.
“Can’t I lead the way?” the kender complained plaintively, plopping down to sit beside the lord marshal. “I’m the pathfinder, remember?”
“I’ll go first,” Jaymes interjected, winking at the others. “The pathfinder must be protected. When we get below safely, you can advise me which way to go.”
With a shrug, the kender moved his legs to the side and allowed the lord marshal to precede him into the darkness. He came swiftly behind, however, followed by Sir Maxwell and the three Knights of the Sword. The kender, as usual, had a supply of small torches and passed a pair of them to two of the knights. They were ignited by the touch of one of his matches, and when held aloft produced enough illumination to tolerably light the way. Sir Maxwell, meanwhile, cast a light spell on the blade of his dagger, and held the weapon before him to add its cool, milky illumination to their mission.
Jaymes went in the lead, holding one of his small crossbows cocked and ready. Sir Maxwell, with his lit blade, advanced beside him, followed by the kender and the other knights. The passage was roughly cylindrical, with an
