around him and above him. Why hadn’t Matron Zeerith simply explained to him why she thought Brack’thal might prove to be a worthy addition? Why hadn’t Tiago Baenre simply explained to him the presence of Gol’fanin, so that the blacksmith might walk openly among the ranks, in a position of proper respect and station, instead of as a mere commoner?
Ravel looked into the pit, down through the cyclonic watery turmoil to the fiery eye of the godlike beast, and laughed at his own foolishness. Why? Because they were drow, after all, and knowledge was power, and power was not, was never, to be willingly shared!
“They are done,” he heard Berellip say, and when he looked up, he realized that she was speaking directly to him. She guided his gaze down to the right, where a stone bridge had once stood. With giant mushroom planks hauled along from the deeper Underdark, goblin and orc workers had already reconstructed a walkway across the pit. It was comprised only of four long and thick pieces, interlocked so that it was triple thick in the middle and singular at either end.
Saribel had overseen the project, along with Jearth, and now the two prodded a group of heavy bugbears across the walkway, testing its integrity. It didn’t even bow.
Tiago Baenre and one of his “servants,” who was, of course, really Gol’fanin, joined the Xorlarrins in their march across the way, to a low archway and a second, much smaller chamber set with a single large lever in its floor. Blood stains showed on the handle.
“These are not so old,” Saribel said of the stains after casting a minor divination.
“Someone put the primordial back in its hole,” Brack’thal announced, and all eyes turned his way.
He peered back under the archway and pointed up toward the high ceiling over the fiery pit, where water continued to flow into the primordial chamber. Then he pointed back at the lever. “This released the elementals into their guardian position.”
“You cannot know that,” Berellip said, but Brack’thal continued to nod against her doubts.
“I have already seen the channels that bring them in, like great roots throughout the tunnels of Gauntlgrym,” the elder wizard replied. He pointed to the lever again. “The primordial is contained. Someone has completed our major task for us.”
“Need we free the beast again to refire the forges, then?” asked Tiago.
Five sets of Xorlarrin eyes stared at him incredulously, and even his “servant,” old Gol’fanin, dared a bit of a laugh at his expense.
“If you intend to do so, then please alert me first,” Brack’thal said, “that I might be well on my way to Menzoberranzan to inform your Matron Mother Quenthel that we found Gauntlgrym, but you decided to blow it up.”
Tiago straightened. Tiago was not amused.
A sudden look of panic crossed Brack’thal Xorlarrin’s face, as he realized, as everyone around him realized, that he had gone too far in mocking the proud Baenre. “There will be another room, another control,” he stammered, “to channel power to the forges. For surely this beast is the source of their legendary powers-what else could it be?”
“Then find it,” Tiago said evenly, and he didn’t blink. Had he leaped over then and lopped off Brack’thal’s head, no one in the small room would have been the least bit surprised.
“Now,” he added when Brack’thal hesitated and dared look away from him to Berellip.
Berellip wisely nodded, but Brack’thal was already moving anyway, out of the room and across the mushroom stalk bridge.
Tiago followed soon after, motioning for Gol’fanin to follow, and casting a stern and threatening glance Ravel’s way as he went.
“Cursed Baenres,” Saribel muttered with open contempt when he was out of the primordial chamber.
In his thoughts, Ravel Xorlarrin felt the floor shift under his feet just a little bit more.
They found the second room soon after, as Brack’thal had predicted, beneath a secret panel in the flooring of one of the forges in the line. This particular forge was not a forge at all, but a clever disguise to hide the sub- chamber.
It didn’t take the skilled blacksmith, Gol’fanin, long to decipher the multitude of levers, cranks, and wheels in the steamy room. Each group of three led to one of the forges in the long line, and a combination of throwing a lever switch and turning the crank and wheel would determine how much of the primordial’s heat and sheer energy would be allowed into the respective forge. A double set of larger controls across from the others was obviously for the main forge.
“Fire up the minor ovens first,” Gol’fanin advised Ravel, who joined him, Jearth and Tiago in the lower chamber. “One at a time and slowly. That will reveal to us how contained the primordial beast truly might be.”
Ravel looked to Jearth first, his grin telling, and Jearth, after a brief shake of his head, could only return the look.
“No,” the spellspinner said. “The main forge will be the first fired.”
“We do not know if the chimney to that forge and through that forge is intact,” Gol’fanin argued. “It would be best to allow any escape of primordial power through a narrower chamber, would it not?”
“In the short term, perhaps,” said Ravel. “But I prefer to gain an advantage where I find it.”
“And if a substantial portion of primordial energy is released to wreak havoc?” Tiago asked.
“We blame Brack’thal,” Ravel replied without hesitation.
“He takes the blame, but you take the credit,” Tiago remarked.
“As it should be,” said Ravel, and he started for the metal ladder leading back to the forge room. He paused before the first rung, though, and turned back on the others. “Not a word of this,” he said.
“I like you more than I like Berellip, though that bar is, admittedly, low,” Tiago replied.
“And I need the main forge,” Gol’fanin added.
They all assembled in the forge room soon after, more than a hundred dark elves and even a few of the driders.
Ravel nodded to Gol’fanin, having decided to let the blacksmith have the honors, though few knew the true identity of Tiago’s “servant.” The older drow stooped low, entered the oven of the false forge, and climbed down the ladder.
Moments later, the forge room reverberated with a series of bangs and even small explosions, and the sound of heavy stones sliding across each other.
A gasp beside Ravel turned his gaze to the main forge, and the sudden glow that shined deep in its thick recesses. The spellspinner licked his lips and moved closer as the flames within began to mount. He bent low, but stood up straight in surprise when he noted several small, impish creatures of pure fire begin dancing within the forge.
And several became a score, and a score became a thousand, and all the room gasped loudly as the light and warmth poured forth, many drow shielding their sensitive eyes. And it was more than the light and the strength of the flames that had brought the response, for Ravel felt it clearly: There was magical energy in there. It wasn’t just a fire that needed no fuel, wasn’t just a hotter fire that could better melt all alloys. No, this fire was different. This fire was truly alive, magically alive, with a thousand elementals ready to lend their magical energies to any implements created within.
Returned from the sub-chamber, Tiago Baenre came up beside the mesmerized spellspinner, Gol’fanin close behind.
“Is it what you expected?” Ravel managed to ask Gol’fanin.
“Beyond,” the old blacksmith breathed.
“My weapons will be the envy of Menzoberranzan,” Tiago remarked, and Ravel glanced at him, then at Gol’fanin, whose awe-stricken expression showed that he did not disagree with that statement.
Ravel instinctively glanced across the way, to Jearth, and wondered what price he might have to pay for his bargain with Tiago.
“This is working as designed,” Gol’fanin said, drawing him back. “Quite ingenious and perfect in its simplicity. The primordial hungers to be free, and so it embraces these channels, these little specks of freedom. It gives a bit of its life to those pieces that escape to the forge oven, and look how they dance!”
“And the lines are holding?” Ravel asked.
Gol’fanin gave a noncommittal shrug. “The valves are open, though not fully. If the primordial could break
