manage the weight of the ram without him, broke. First one, then another loosed their grip, turned, and ran. Crossbow bolts chased them back across the bridge. A sphere of magical darkness formed around the head of one. Blinded, the creature ran off the side of the bridge and fell into the chasm.
Gromph studied the gate and saw with satisfaction that the symbol was gone. For a precious few moments, it would remain so.
Moving quickly, Gromph hovered before the door, in the midst of the poisonous cloud, above the giant troll corpses. With the delicate touch of a skilled chirurgeon, he bent aside the lines of the ward that prevented physical passage and slipped through. He did not like leaving the intact symbol behind him but figured he would be able to leave House Agrach Dyrr much more easily than he would be able to enter it. Wards typically barred entry, not exit.
He flew through the adamantine doors and found himself standing in the gatehouse tunnel of
House Agrach Dyrr, in the midst of two score spear-armed, lizard-mounted drow cavalrymen.
Many of their spear tips glowed with magical power in Gromph's sight, power enough to harm
Gromph, had they known of his presence.
They stood in a cluster around him, not seeing him. They must have been stationed there in the unlikely event of a breach or perhaps in preparation for a counterattack.
Gromph could not hear their voices, but he could see the sweat on their faces, the determination in their eyes. Some of the soldiers shifted their mounts and passed right through him. He flew into the air to the tunnel's ceiling to avoid their touch. The negative energy associated with his shadow form might damage one of them and alert them to his presence, or worse, one might inadvertently wound him with an enchanted spear.
Safely up against the ceiling, he allowed himself a smile. He had beaten the first challenge.
He was in.
Looking to the end of the gatehouse tunnel beyond the cavalry, he saw that another ward awaited him there.
The glowing lines of the master ward charged the air around him, around the soldiers. Magic literally saturated the air around the Dyrr defenders, but they saw it no more than they saw him.
Having bypassed the first line of defense, Gromph had another perspective on the structure of the master ward. He pulled out one of his wands, triggered its dweomer, and examined the line of the master ward.
The wand showed that it had many threads within it. He frowned.
One of the threads was a contingent dimensional lock. Its latent magic likely had been triggered by the destruction of the lichdrow's physical form, to prevent easy entry into House
Dyrr and consequent access to the lichdrow's phylactery. The presence of the dimensional lock complicated matters.
A dimensional lock prevented all forms of magical transport. Even if Gromph disabled or dispelled all of the ordinary wards in House Dyrr, he would not be able to teleport out of the
Dyrr complex unless he first dispelled the master ward, or at least the dimensional lock that was part of it. Even the powerful contingent evasion spell that Gromph had cast on himself would not work in the presence of a dimensional lock.
Gromph could see that the master ward was too intricate for him to be able to dispel with any ease. It would take hours, and he could not spare the time. He had to keep moving.
He floated over the Dyrr soldiers toward the far end of the gatehouse tunnel. A flash from behind him turned him around, a defensive spell on his lips.
A violet pulse ran through the master ward and traveled to the area of the discharged symbol on the adamantine doors. The magic circled the area, redrew the symbol, recharged it, and reset it.
To Gromph's surprise and admiration, the power in the master ward then circled the point where Gromph had dispelled the first symbol and redrew it too, essentially recasting the spell.
Gromph's dispelling dweomer should have eradicated the symbol forever.
The lichdrow's spellcraft was masterful. It was unfortunate that such knowledge would be lost forever when Gromph destroyed the lich's phylactery.
Without further waste of time, he turned and began his attack on the ward at the end of the tunnel.
Chapter Twelve
Up close, the mountains were among the most majestic things Pharaun had ever seen. Sheer and jagged, they soared so high they appeared never to end, an infinite wall of rock ejected from the ground to reach for the sky. Like the rest of the Demonweb Pits, cracks, jagged openings, and tunnels dotted the face of the peaks. Spiders scuttled in and out of the holes, preying on each other. Lolth's sun gave the otherwise dark rock a peculiar reddish cast, as though the mountains were dusted with rust, or perhaps blood.
Souls streaked around Pharaun, near enough that he could have reached out and touched a dozen as they flew past. He hoped soon to add Jeggred's spirit to their number.
The nalfeshnee and chasme eyed the souls with hungry eyes as they passed. Only the barked orders of Quenthel and Danifae kept the demons from feasting on Lolth's dead.
The stream of souls flowed toward and into a jagged black hole at the base of the tallest peak.
Pharaun presumed the opening to be the Pass of the Soulreaver, though it was less pass than tunnel. To Pharaun, it looked like a rough tear in the mountain, a malformed mouth open in a scream.
The pass's opening was as dark and impenetrable as pitch. The light of Lolth's sun did not touch it, let alone enter it. The hole was a literal wall of black.
A creeping realization struck Pharaun: the Pass of the Soulreaver was on the Demonweb Pits but not of the Demonweb Pits. To enter it would be to enter something. . other.
Untroubled by Pharaun's realization, the souls poured into the hole and vanished the moment they broached the entryway, as though they had been extinguished, swallowed by the mountain.
Pharaun licked his lips.
Quenthel pointed downward with the handle of her whip and shouted an order to Zerevimeel.
The nalfeshnee headed lower. So too did the chasme bearing Danifae and Jeggred. Pharaun followed.
Zerevimeel set down fifteen or so paces to the right of the pass. Pharaun landed beside the towering nalfeshnee. Danifae steered the chasme down perhaps ten paces to the left of the tunnel.
The river of souls flowed between them, and the Pass of the Soulreaver devoured them all.
Quenthel straightened her robes and stared through the line of ghosts at Danifae. Pharaun could see the calculation in Quenthel's eyes.
The nalfeshnee, his feeble little wings still beating, bent down to Quenthel's ear and said, so softly that Pharaun could hardly hear, 'I could be of assistance to you for the right price. The draegloth would be an enjoyable kill.'
Pharaun could not have agreed more.
Out of the side of her mouth, still staring at Danifae, Quenthel said, 'I require no assistance,
creature. And this is to be decided by priestesses. You are dismissed. Begone.'
The demon hissed in anger. His muzzle peeled back from his fangs, and he reared up to his full height. Pharaun put his hand to the iron wand of lightning at his belt, just in case. He need not have worried. The demon had no desire to challenge Quenthel Baenre.
Pharaun wondered if Danifae still did.
'Remember our bargain, priestess,' the nalfeshnee said. 'You owe me sixty-six souls. I will expect payment when next we meet.'
Quenthel waved a hand dismissively. The nalfeshnee's eyes narrowed, but he gave no further expression to his irritation. He triggered the innate ability of his kind to teleport and disappeared in a blink.
A short distance away, Danifae and Jeggred stood near the chasme. The fly demon beat its wings and turned a circle in excitement.
'Perhaps my payment now, lovely priestess?' the demon said, and a long tongue emerged from a toothless mouth. Something else long and dripping emerged from his thorax.
