Given their elven creators and their ancient age, however, the corridors and chambers remained in surprisingly good condition-from what she could see of them, anyway. The lighting was poor to say the least, with wispy flames barely clinging to widely spaced torches. She supposed they were lucky to have any light at all. Drow were known for their ability to see clearly in the dark, and the undead certainly hadn't lit the brands. The torches must be for the benefit of another mortal race. The cultists?
Corran led the group around a bend. A fork they'd passed previously lay just a few hundred feet beyond. Suddenly, the paladin stopped short-but not before a band of drow in the intersection spotted the party. 'Hold!' one of them cried. 'If you value your wretched lives!'
'They've nowhere to go, Razherrt!' came a voice from behind them. 'We heard their noisy clanking all the way down at our post.'
Beshaba's bad breath! They were surrounded! Kestrel tensed, swearing silently at the Maid of Misfortune as she prepared to grab Loren's Blade and hurl it in a single swift movement should the need arise. Corran's hand rested on his sword hilt, while Durwyn gripped his axe more tightly. Faeril stood with hands on hips, her fingers inches from the hilt of her new sword.
'Humans. How such a primitive race has survived this long baffles the mind.' The dark elf Razherrt laughed humorlessly as he approached. Six other warriors accompanied him. All wore black leather armor emblazoned with the symbol of a phoenix rising toward a dark green moon. Similarly marked bracers on Razherrt's arms set him apart from the others. Their patrol leader, Kestrel guessed.
The drow fighters pointed their halberds at Kestrel's party, but Razherrt held his weapon upright as if unconcerned by the possibility of any sudden moves by the lowly adventurers. His gaze swept the party, rapidly assessing each member, lingering on Ghleanna. 'A half-breed. I see the People continue slumming.'
The half-elf remained silent under the draw's insults. Corran, regarding the patrol leader warily, removed his hand from his weapon to indicate peaceful intentions. 'We seek only to pass through.'
A sneer crossed Razherrt's chiseled features. 'You presume too much, human. The House of Freth does not appreciate vermin trespassing through its territory.' As he spoke, he almost absently moved his hands in a series of gestures, as if he spoke in sign language.
'We did not realize the House of Freth laid claim to these halls.'
Razherrt studied Corran with an intensity that Kestrel thought would bore holes through the paladin's forehead. The leader of the other patrol said something in a language Kestrel had never heard before. Whatever he said, the statement elicited a low chuckle from Razherrt, who responded with several quick hand signals. The waiting drow warriors raised their blades.
'You find me in a good mood today, human,' Razherrt said. 'I deal with matters too important to waste time exterminating rodents. Get thee gone from my sight. No-better still, we shall escort you out of the Freth domain, so you do not 'accidentally' wander in again. Turn around.'
Corran hesitated, apparently reluctant to expose his back to the drow.
Razherrt lowered the point of his weapon until it touched Corran's chin. 'Are you hard of hearing or just simple? You have already trespassed on Freth territory- do not trespass on my patience.'
The paladin turned, the expression in his eyes instructing the others to do likewise. Kestrel had rarely found herself so happy to travel in the middle of a party-as far away as possible from the drow on either end.
'Lead us to the stairs,' Razherrt told the other patrol. 'I don't know where our friends were headed, but they're going down now. We'll see how they like strolling below.'
As they wended through the dungeons, they passed several more bands of drow at work clearing out various chambers. Apparently the House of Freth intended to stay for a while and make itself comfortable in Myth Drannor's underworld. Dark elves threw debris-and any other items they considered valueless-into carts for dumping in other parts of the dungeon. On one such cart, piled high with refuse, a skull rested as if carelessly tossed there. Was it Kestrel's imagination, or did a faint blue-white glow surround the skull?
Without warning, she was knocked to the floor from behind. Faeril sprawled on top of her.
'Get up, you sun-worshipping dog!' Razherrt kicked the cleric. 'Are you too stupid to even walk?'
'I–I tripped.' She caught Kestrel's gaze. The skull, Faeril mouthed before Razherrt gripped her wrist and jerked her to her feet.
So it was indeed Anorrweyn's skull! Kestrel couldn't guess how the cleric knew for certain, but at the moment she didn't have time to care. The skull lay about eight feet away, and they wouldn't be passing any closer. 'My knee!' She rolled onto her side with a groan. 'You landed on my knee, you bumbling fool!'
Faeril's expression clouded with genuine contrition. 'I am sorry! Here, let me-'
'Oh, save it!' Kestrel awkwardly climbed to her feet and stumbled toward the cart holding the skull.
Razherrt's blade stopped her. 'Where do you think you're going?'
'To lean against that garbage cart, if you don't mind.'
'Kestrel, watch your tongue. You insult our hosts by not seeking their permission,' Corran said. Was it a true rebuke, or had he also spotted the skull? 'Pray overlook my companion's rudeness, Razherrt. If you'll let her pause a moment, I'm sure she'll give you no more trouble.'
Kestrel balanced on one foot, as if she couldn't bear to put weight on her right leg. Razherrt stared at her, undecided. Her heartbeat accelerated as nervous energy coursed through her veins. 'My apologies, sir. You know that humans are weak. Pain clouds my judgment.'
She nearly choked on the sycophantic words, but they seemed to work. The drow raised the tip of his halberd. 'A minute's rest. No more.'
Kestrel stumbled to the cart and leaned against it, her fingers inches away from the skull. Anorrweyn's remains seemed to radiate an aura of calm, removing the anxiety she'd felt. Now she needed but a few seconds' distraction to snatch the skull from its disrespectful perch and drop it in a deep inside pocket of her cloak.
A series of chimes sounded across the room. All eyes turned in that direction-except Kestrel's. One of the sorcerers must have figured out her ruse. If not, she'd take advantage of the diversion no matter its source.
'What's that?' Razherrt glared first at Corran, then at the sorcerers. 'Do you play games with us?'
'Perhaps it is a charm of the dungeons themselves,' Jarial said. 'Magic long sheltered the city above. Why should that not hold true for the city below?'
Razherrt grunted. 'Get moving, all of you.' He pointed at Kestrel. 'You, too.'
Kestrel rejoined the party, remembering to hobble. The uneven movement helped hide the bulge in her cloak.
'Of all the insufferable-'
'We're alive and unharmed,' Corran tossed over his shoulder. 'And we retrieved Anorrweyn's skull to boot. Just count your blessings, Kestrel.'
Kestrel found the paladin's condescension almost as galling as the Freth's arrogance. She simmered as they trod through the undercity's second level in search of another stairway leading down. 'Well, I've had enough drow attitude for one lifetime, I'll tell you that. Primitive race, indeed! Razherrt can kiss my human-'
'Hush!' Faeril glanced around as if she'd heard something. 'Did you-'
From out of nowhere, a huge ball of flame barreled down the corridor at them. Ghleanna immediately called out a command word and thrust her hand toward the accelerating flames. The blaze snuffed itself out, leaving only a few dying sparks scattered in the passageway- enough to illuminate the cult sorcerer on the other side.
Two drow bodyguards flanked the mage. As Corran and Durwyn moved to close in on the spellcaster, the dark elves immediately engaged them. The drow fought with mechanical precision, thrusting and parrying without so much as a grunt of exertion. Faeril tried to reach the sorcerer but wound up joining the melee instead, fighting by Corran's side.
The dark elves seemed utterly devoted to protecting the cultist. They could not, however, prevent Ghleanna and Jarial's magical attacks from reaching him. Kestrel decided to target the drow and leave the sorcerers to a spellcasting contest. She sent one dagger sailing toward each elven warrior.
Her aim held true. One blade struck its target in his side, the other hit Durwyn's opponent in his chest. Neither warrior cried out. She followed the double strike with Loren's Blade, hitting the first dark elf a second time. The dagger wounds did not seem to slow him down.
Kestrel had never seen combatants so fierce. Despite their injuries, the drow wielded their halberds with relentless vigor. The length of the weapon gave them an advantage over Durwyn's axe and the holy warriors' swords. Kestrel sucked in her breath. How could she fare any better with her club?
