on a limp neck. The head he'd cradled, oh so carefully, when his son was still too young to hold it upright on his own. He remembered Dalmara appearing at his side, screaming, 'He's going cold!' as she shook Remmie's arm, trying desperately to make him wake up. Remembered the wound: a terrible bloody puncture in his son's hand-a hand that should have been holding a child-sized lute, lay trampled on the floor beside them. Imagined his son, terrified, trying to fend off the dagger. He remembered the ranger saying, 'It's no use. The blade was poisoned,' each word a cold stone laid on Sorrell's heart. Remembered someone, upstairs, shouting for a cleric. None came.
That was when Dalmara, her face white as bone and her eyes already red with tears, had spoken the awful truth. 'Remmie is unpledged. No god will claim him. He will enter the Fugue Plain alone.' Her eye fell on the poisoned dagger. Her expression turned steely. 'I will not… let the demons… have my son.'
She picked up the dagger.
Sorrell grabbed her wrist. 'No! I won't let you!'
Dalmara's eyes became ice. She turned the dagger hilt toward him. 'Then you do it.'
Sorrell's felt his eyes widen. He released her wrist. 'I love you,' was all he'd been able to manage.
Dalmara hugged him fiercely-and carefully, as if Remmie was still alive and she was afraid of crushing him. 'Until Arvandor,' she whispered.
Then she pricked her palm with the dagger.
That had been two years ago. Since then, Sorrell had learned that the Old Skull Inn concealed an entrance to the Underdark, and that the drow who had killed his son that night were most likely assassins who had tried-and failed-to kill a famous wizard who had been visiting Shadowdale that evening. Sorrell pieced together what had happened: Remmie had wandered down to the cellar and surprised the drow as they emerged from their secret hole. He'd been 'silenced'-even though he was barely three years old, still full of baby talk and babble that probably wouldn't have been understood by anyone but his parents, two elf bards ignorant of the secret doings of the Dales. And his death had been pointless; a moment later, the serving girl and the ranger, intent upon a liaison, had descended to the cellar and also surprised the drow. Despite taking a crossbow bolt in the leg, the ranger had managed to raise the alarm and drive the drow back below. And he'd knocked the poisoned dagger out of the last drow's hand.
A hand which, the ranger's keen eyes had noted, had been coated in a layer of pitch.
Sorrell had learned everything he could about the Blackened Fist in the months since then-though what he'd learned had been precious little. But Shevarash had rewarded his persistence. In just a few moments, Sorrell was either going to avenge his family, or die trying.
Sorrell gripped his club tightly in one hand. His other hand was on Pendaran's shoulder as the leader whispered the prayer that would send them either into the drow stronghold-or, more likely, into solid rock, spilling their spirits into the Fugue Plain. Sorrell wondered which god would claim him and carry him to Arvandor. Would Corellon Larethian summon him to sing at his side? Or would Shevarash claim Sorrell to join him in his grim wanderings? Perhaps both would find him wanting, and Sorrell's spirit would linger on the Fugue Plain for all eternity.
Nairen kissed the blade of his sword, then locked eyes with his half-brother. Adair took a deep breath, nodded. Koora raised her right hand above her head, sling trailing from her fist, in Shevarash's defiant salute. She caught Sorrell's eye. A rush of exultation filled his heart. Soon, he told himself, Shevarash willing, he might be killing the very drow who had murdered his son.
Pendaran completed his prayer.
Adair's voice: Here we The tearing sensation came. Sorrell closed his eyes. -Go!
The world went white with Shevarash's holy fire. Sorrell's body was yanked through space… Dalmara, he thought, panicked, I'm coming. I'll find you.
His feet touched solid ground.
He gasped. Glanced down, saw the dull purple of cold stone. He wasn't dead!
Flash! Pendaran shouted. The leader's hand swept down, releasing a flash gem.
Sorrell had only a heartbeat in which to register the room they had teleported to. A large, circular hall, with eight arched exits leading to corridors. The statue of a spider, carved from glossy black obsidian, stood at the center of the room on fragile-looking legs. On the far side of it were three drow: two males, kneeling before a larger female. As the flash gem clattered toward them between the legs of the statue the males sprang to their feet and yanked daggers from sheaths on their belts. The female leaped into the air, levitating.
The gem…
Sorrell screwed his eyes shut just as a silent flash of white filled the room. The instant it was dark again he ran forward, club swinging.
The two males stood blinking, their pupils mere pinpricks. The one that Nairen and Adair rushed had the presence of mind to cock his head sideways, listening, and to slash with his dagger. He died with Adair's spear through his chest as Nairen's sword lopped off his arm at the elbow.
The other male turned and bolted for a corridor. Sorrell heard a sling stone whistle past his ear. It slammed into the back of the drow's head, staggering him. Sorrell swung his club in a sweeping arc. It connected with the head of the reeling drow, shattering it like a gnarlwood nut. Chunks of brain, glowing a bright red to Sorrell's magically enhanced vision, slid from the ruined head as the body fell.
Sorrell stood, panting. His first drow kill! He should have been exulting, but instead he felt only a sick revulsion.
He heard a sob above him. He glanced up and saw the female drow, still levitating, shudder with grief. Tears poured from her eyes. For a moment, he thought she was mourning the two males. They looked young enough to be her sons. Then he realized that Pendaran was casting a spell at her. The sun elf pointed at the drow, his lips moving in silent prayer.
With a violent shake of her head, the drow shook the spell off.
Pendaran cursed.
Koora whipped her arm forward. Another sling stone whistled past, shattering on the wall just behind the female drow's head. The drow-not blinded, she must have realized what the flash gem was and closed her eyes in time-whirled in midair to stare at the spot the stone had come from and shouted something in the drow language. A spider the size of a large dog appeared in midair, and fell onto Koora's shoulders.
Soul spider! Koora gasped. Suddenly the wild elf was fighting for her life.
Sorrell took a step toward her.
The priestess! Pendaran shouted, nocking an arrow in his bow. Attack her!
The drow dropped to the floor behind Sorrell. He whirled, swinging his club. The drow dodged the blow without effort, as though she could see him. Adair hurled his spear at her, but she sidestepped it. She leaped toward Adair, one foot extended in a kick. He ducked, and she missed, spinning gracefully on her other foot directly into the path of Nairen, who held his sword ready to deliver a killing slash. The blade swept down-but then the drow seemed to blur. As Nairen's weapon slashed through empty air, throwing him off balance, the drow crashed into him, chest to chest, and sank her teeth into his cheek.
The cheek Nairen had washed clean, back in the drider's cavern.
The moon elf stiffened. Adair scrambled to get one of the potion vials out of his belt. 'Nairen!' he gasped aloud.
Pendaran's bow twanged. One of his black-shafted arrows plunged into the drow's back and found her heart. Twitching like a crushed spider, she fell.
So did Nairen, his face already paling to a dull purple. His half-brother rushed to his side, ripped the cork out of the vial he held with his teeth, and fought to pull Nairen's mouth open. Locked in a death grimace, the jaw wouldn't budge.
Sorrell heard a cracking noise behind him. He turned, saw Koora with her arms wrapped around the spider. As she slowly squeezed it, her body glowed with Shevarash's fire. A final crunch, and the spider was dead. Koora, however, staggered as she let its body fall. Despite her armor paint, her arms had several deep, bloody puncture marks. As Pendaran turned toward her, a look of concern on his face, she swayed, steadied herself with a hand against the wall.
I'm good, she said. Just a little drained. Are the corridors clear?
