down, and he momentarily wondered if his defiant act would bring the whole structure down around his ears. But the roof held, and everything eventually grew quiet around the dwarf. Blinking dust and debris and blood from his eyes, he finally cracked them open to peak at his attacker.
A mountain of maroon dust was heaped up in a great pile where the golem had stood. Adnama rose on wobbly legs and tried to calm his pounding heart. He knew he had narrowly escaped death. If he hadn't thought to pack a few thunderstones, he would have been ground to dust himself. Pulling a rag from his pouch, he wiped his eyes clear and daubed at the wound on his scalp that was still seeping blood. When he had collected himself somewhat, Adnama moved over to the pile of dark dust. Nestled in the center of the powder was a perfect ruby. Adnama let the bloodstained rag slip from his fingers and lifted the gem to inspect it.
Even in the poor light, he could see the gem was of the highest caliber. It was a shade of maroon so dark that it was nearly black. He hefted the gem in his hand and estimated that it weighed at least a pound or so and would fetch quite a few coins in the right market. Then his dark eyes spotted a mark on one side that he initially mistook for an inclusion. Moving closer to the nearest pool of lava for better light, his fear of the magma overcome by his greed, Adnama sucked in his breath with a whistle. Absently, he realized that sound meant he had cracked at least one of his remaining teeth. But that was of no matter at the moment. He could see the mark on the gem was actually a design etched on one of the ruby's facets. It was the image of two hands, one living and one skeletal, gripped together.
'Szass Tarn,' the dwarf breathed almost reverently. The signature of the most powerful of Thay's Red Wizards alone increased the value of the gem as well as the danger to the dwarf.
'It figures this one would belong to you,' he continued, 'but I never thought I would hold something of yours in my grip, even for a moment.' Adnama passed the jewel back and forth between his hands as he contemplated what to do next.
I'm not here for this kind of treasure, his mind raced, but how can I pass this up, this prize within my reach?
He knew the risks of trying to smuggle something like this out of Thay. Yet, if he ultimately succeeded, his conscious argued with him, he would have no difficulty at all leaving with such a treasure. And it was a small trophy, compared to what he planned to accomplish. Without deliberately coming to a decision, Adnama slipped the heavy stone into his sack and moved from the glow of the lava fields deeper into the bowels of the catacombs. Adnama didn't notice the fell thing that slithered from the shadows and sniffed interestedly at the bloody rag he had discarded.
As Adnama dropped deeper into the catacombs, he noticed more and more pools of lava. He could still catch a whiff of his own burnt hair and moved more and more carefully around their growing numbers. The molten slag bubbled and burped as he continued, with increasing difficulty, to navigate between them. The smell of sulfur grew stronger and, while he held one hand sealed against his mouth and nose, the dwarf cursed himself for leaving behind his face rag.
Balanced precariously between two pools, he barely managed to steady himself as a small tremor rattled the cavern. Adnama grabbed for a thunderstone and stood poised to fling it at any attacker, but none appeared. After a moment, he replaced the powerful weapon when he realized that the tremor was not the herald of a creature's attack, but an actual quake, albeit a minor one.
'Gettin' jumpy,' he chided himself in a feeble attempt at humor. But Adnama was vaguely disturbed by the growing number of lava pools and now the tectonic activity. The indications were pointing to a chance of trouble on a grander scale. He had seen enough signs like this back home to realize the entire country could be in danger. If some large-scale eruption took place, Adnama had no idea how he might accomplish his goal, let alone save himself. He shook his head and slid over to a relatively stable section of the cave to consider his options.
He was once again faced with a fork in his path. Both choices proved to be descending tunnels. Realizing that there was no easy method to tell which way to go, Adnama pulled off his left gauntlet and pushed up his grubby shirt sleeve past his elbow.
Along the top of his forearm, his gray skin was covered by a series of black lines and symbols, but the pattern was not just an innocuous design of vanity or even a rank of station. Adnama had tattooed a rough map on himself, and he consulted it now. But even before his eyes fell upon the markings, he somehow knew-or dreaded-that the answer would not be there. The information he had was incomplete before he had left the Orsraun Mountains, and now he was truly at a crossroads. So he trusted his instincts and made a choice. But before he could move on, he needed to do one last thing.
Planting himself as securely as possible against a wall, he reached around his neck and pulled at a leather thong fastened there. From under his mail and cotton shirt, Adnama pulled free an unworked piece of stone. He grasped the sending stone with his right hand and closed his eyes. He composed a mental image of his location and his decision in his mind's eye and sent that image off to the matching stone far from where he was. Satisfied he had left word of his location, Adnama replaced the stone under his armor and moved on.
The path sloped down at an even and gentle pace, and the dwarf was pleased that there were not nearly as many pools of magma here as there had been in the preceding chambers. The air even became marginally clearer the farther he went, and Adnama wondered if there might be some sort of vent or fissure that connected the depths ahead of him with the outside air above. He suspected it might be possible-even necessary if other, less inhuman creatures frequented these catacombs.
He could see that the walls were smoother here. This stone had been intentionally worked. A slow smile spread across his face. Ahead about fifty feet, the dwarf could make out the faint glimmering of light-not the chaotic shimmer of molten earth, but the familiar flicker of torchlight. He nearly broke into a run.
'By Deep Duerra,' he whispered, 'I've found them. I've found them.'
At the bend in the tunnel, Adnama turned to the right with a look of absolute certainty fixed on his face. But as he rounded the corner, he slowed to a trot and covered only a few more feet before he stopped entirely, like a clockwork toy that had wound down its spring.
'It can't be,' he choked out. 'It's not possible…' his voice trailed away.
What little color Adnama possessed drained away immediately. A figure separated itself from the side of the catacomb, and the duergar recognized the bloody scrap in the thing's claws-the face rag he had abandoned earlier. The shadow held the cloth up to its face and drew in one long, almost loving breath as though the cotton had been scented by the finest of perfumes. Then it slowly slid the rag down over its mouth, all the while licking at it hungrily. Adnama turned and tried to flee, only to realize with a dawning dread that the shadowy masses surrounded him, and he was cut off from any avenue of escape. He turned in a helpless circle.
They were everywhere.
His mind could not wrap itself around what his vision had revealed to him, and it started to shut down. The dwarf could not have moved at that moment even if the ground itself had tried to shake him loose. Black spots crowded across his line of sight. He was vaguely aware that his knees were buckling out from under him, but he was p amp;werless to stop his fall. He hit the ground with a dull thud. As the last of his consciousness faded, Adnama could see the black shadows peel themselves from the darkness and start to swarm him. For the first and only time in his life, Adnama fainted from pure terror.
The rumblings of the ground rose and fell in waves. However, it was not loud enough to disguise the wet, slurping sounds drifting up from one of the many channels in the catacombs. Nor did the noise last long enough to cover the screams or the angry growls.
As it turned out, there was not enough gray meat to go around.
CHAPTER ONE
15 Mirtul, 1373 DR
Uskevren controlled her breathing. Only the lightest, frosty wisps escaped her nostrils. She knew it would take sharp eyes for something to see her, but she knew any creature down in these caves with darkvision would be able to spot the heat of her breath like a beacon. So, she used the chunk of ice she was squatting behind as a shield of sorts and let it intercept her slight puffs. She waited, watched, and, as she quietly flexed and moved her gloved
