“It’s nothing,” the warrior said.
“Fine, then. Let me bind it up before we go on,” the halfling replied. Narm shrugged and held out his arm as Arlith retrieved a bandage from her pack.
Kurzen wandered back over to the nearest of the dead troglodytes, and frowned as he studied the body. “This fellow’s missing an eye. And so is this other one. And this one, too. I think they all are.”
Jack ventured as close as he could stand, and looked at the bodies on the ground. Sure enough, each of the troglodytes was missing its left eye. Leather patches had been sewn over the sockets. In fact, now that he looked more closely, he saw that what he’d taken for crude body decorations on their scaly hides were actually very comprehensive designs. Each troglodyte was painted with symbols of eyes, dozens of them. “How strange,” he murmured. “Some sort of tribal custom?”
“They’re weak-minded creatures, easily dominated by other monsters,” Kurzen replied. “I think it’s their way of pledging loyalty to their master.”
“What sort of master?”
Kurzen shrugged. “Hard to say. Let’s hope that our path just skirts their territory instead of leading us deeper in. I hate fighting troglodytes; can’t stand the smell of them.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” Jack said. “Let us press on before any more of them show up.”
From the market hall, they turned northward again-or so Kurzen said, anyway-and followed a wide, straight passage for some distance. Suites of chambers were cut into the stone on either side, many littered with rubble and old debris. From time to time, Jack caught a whiff of troglodyte stench hanging in the air; either some of the musk had rubbed off on his clothes or more of the foul brutes were not as far off as he’d like them. Fortunately, no more of the creatures appeared, and he began to think that perhaps they’d left the trogs behind them.
At the end of the straight passage, they came to a cloverleaf-shaped chamber with fine masonry walls and great double-doors of bronze lying wrecked in a grand doorway to the right. Dead fountains stood before the doors, revealed by the golden light of Halamar’s light spell. “The Hall of Knowledge,” Kurzen explained. “The city’s sages and scribes gathered here. Few of my forefathers took to wizardry, but those who did were counted part of the sage’s brotherhood.”
“Is it worth exploring?” Jack asked, studying the darkened doorway with interest.
“It was plundered long ago,” Kurzen answered. “I’ve heard there are hidden vaults that haven’t yet been found, but the deeper reaches are guarded by magical constructs-gargoyles, golems, things of that sort. Best to leave it for another day.”
The rogue’s interest dimmed as soon as Kurzen mentioned guardians. “Maybe we’ll have a look if the rest of the day’s work comes up dry,” he decided. “Carry on.”
Kurzen led the band to another staircase leading down. This one descended only thirty feet or so before emerging onto a ledge in the side of a large natural crevasse. For a moment Jack thought they’d found the upper landing of the elevator to the deeper Underdark again, but he realized that this was a much smaller cavern. The stairs turned left and descended along the sheer side of the crevasse; the dwarf guide paused to scan the stalactites hanging overhead carefully before continuing down the stairs. Shadows thrown by Halamar’s light on the stone formations created vast, fanglike caricatures on the crevasse’s rough walls. They were more than a little unnerving, and Jack was glad when they reached the bottom of the stairs and turned back into a passageway surrounded by solid stone.
“Lower your light,” Kurzen said softly to Halamar. “We’re drawing near to the temple.”
The sorcerer waved a hand over the glowing crystal at the head of his staff, dimming its brightness to little more than a small lamp. With an exchange of glances between the members of the small company, they fell silent and advanced more slowly. Ahead of them a huge stone lintel loomed out of the shadows, covered with geometric designs and the sharp-edged runes of Dwarvish writing. Cautiously they ventured beneath the doorway, finding themselves in a great antechamber or narthex between the passage they’d followed and another hallway at the opposite end. In the middle a mighty archway led into the temple proper; Jack caught a glimpse of golden tile and the shadow of mighty columns waiting beyond.
“The Temple of the Soulforger,” Kurzen said in a hushed voice. “There are grander rooms in Sarbreen, but none more sacred or more beautifully wrought. Tread these chambers with respect, my friends.”
“Well done, Kurzen,” Jack answered.
He started forward … only to catch the sudden sharp reek of troglodyte-musk and the sound of scaly feet ahead. Dozens of troglodyte warriors poured out of the arch leading to the inner temple and rushed the small party.
“Bane’s blazing bollocks! Here they come again!” shouted Narm. He ran forward to meet the monsters’ charge, brandishing his greatsword.
Kurzen followed after him, raising his shield and guarding the big fighter’s back. Halamar conjured up a great curtain of fire that momentarily stopped the wave of troglodytes from simply overrunning the company; Jack decided to stick by to the sorcerer and defend him from any close attack. In a matter of moments Jack was hard- pressed by a pair of the degenerate monsters, fending them off with thrust after thrust of his rapier. Despite the company’s aggressive defense, the sheer weight of numbers forced the adventurers back toward the hallway outside the temple narthex.
“These fellows are the same tribe as the others.” Arlith called. “Look at their eyes!”
The halfling was right, Jack noted; the troglodytes he fought wore ragged eye patches like their comrades upstairs, and were likewise painted with eye-like symbols. Ragged volleys of trog javelins flew through the air, clattering all around the company. “Fall back!” he shouted to Narm and Kurzen. “We can hold them off on the stairs outside!”
The dwarf and the half-orc gave ground grudgingly, retreating back to the narthex entrance. A blast of green fire suddenly roared in the opposite archway, incinerating a number of the troglodyte dart-throwers that were hanging back from the press. The trogs pressing in against Narm and Kurzen hesitated, risking quick glances over the shoulders and hissing at each other in their thick, rasping voices. Then another party of adventurers appeared, bursting out of the smoking opening as their own battle spilled over into the temple’s great narthex. Two of the newcomers-an elf armed with sword and wand and an armored human wearing the robes of a cleric of Tempus- instantly turned to face whatever followed them out of the opposite tunnel, while a tattooed human swordsman and a tiefling wielding a scimitar of black fire simply cut into the back ranks of the troglodytes facing Jack and his companions without even breaking stride. Silhouetted by emerald fires smoldering in the doorway, a trio of umber hulks shambled into fray, pursuing the other heroes … only to be momentarily checked as a black-haired woman in dark mail appeared and took a stand against them, her katana flashing in the greenish light.
“Jelan? No!” Jack exclaimed. “What is she doing here?” The question was rhetorical, of course: Myrkyssa Jelan was seeking the Sarkonagael after all, or she wouldn’t be on the doorstep of the Temple of the Soulforger. And that meant that either the resting place of the tome was not quite as secure as he’d believed or the Warlord had been keeping her eye on him. Jelan glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes met Jack’s for an instant before she turned back to the monsters pressing her.
Jack started to shout a warning to his comrades or to simply protest this unfair turn of events, but the troglodyte battering at him redoubled its assault, feeling the threat approaching from behind it. Jack ducked a wild swing of its spiked club, which shattered the face of one of the figures shown in the ancient dwarven carvings that covered the walls, and riposted with a clean thrust into the troglodyte’s chest. The monster hissed in agony and staggered, but as soon as Jack drew back his point, it raised its club and came on again.
“Not fair!” Jack cried. “You are supposed to fall. Can’t you see that I’ve killed you?”
The trog lumbered ahead and swung again; Jack had no room to backpedal, so he leaped inside its swing and found himself breast-to-breast with the stinking creature. It dropped its club and seized Jack’s throat with one big, scaly claw, opening its mouth impossibly wide to reveal rows of sharp, serrated teeth. Blood spumed in its throat, but the creature held Jack fast as it prepared to take his face in its jaws. In desperation Jack dropped his rapier to the floor, drawing the dagger from his belt and plunging the blade into the trog’s neck just under its ear-hole. The monster shuddered and collapsed; Jack shouldered aside its body and scooped up his sword again.
The battle was absolute chaos. Troglodytes seethed back and forth between the two companies of adventurers, filling the air with their awful reek. The umber hulks chasing Jelan’s group waded into the middle of it all, lashing out with their mammoth claws and scissoring their horrible mandibles with an awful clacking sound.
