The old drow didn't turn to look at him. Instead, he slowly counted a stack of gold coins then wrote the total on a piece of parchment on the table in front of him. Valas waited.
Perhaps ten minutes went by, and in that time the gnoll left the room and came back three times. Each time he came back, he seemed a bit more perplexed. Valas hadn't moved a muscle.
Finally, when the gnoll had left the room again, Firritz looked up from his counting and glanced at Valas.
'That's about how long you would have waited in line,' the old drow said, his voice reedy and forced. 'Now, what can I do for you?'
'Remember that you kept Bregan D'aerthe waiting,' Valas said.
'Don't threaten me, Valas Hune,' Firritz said. 'Menzo's reputation has become a bit less impressive of late. Gray dwarves, I heard. Why aren't you there to defend the motherland?'
'I go where the coin leads me,' said the scout. 'Just like you.'
'The coin doesn't lead to Menzoberranzan anymore, does it?'
'Bregan D'aerthe's credit is still good here,' Valas said. 'I need supplies.'
'Credit?' said Firritz. 'That word implies that your master at some point intends to pay his debt. I run up a tab, more and more, year after year, and see nothing for it. Maybe things have changed enough that that isn't necessary anymore, eh?'
'Take a deep breath,' Valas said.
The old drow looked up at him. They stayed like that for a bit, but finally Firritz drew in a deep breath then exhaled slowly.
'That's what you see for it,' Valas finished, 'and its necessary I get a few supplies.'
Firritz frowned and said, 'Nothing magical. Everyone's been buying up the magic bits—and for twice, even thrice the market value.'
'I need food,' the scout replied, 'waterskins, a few odds and ends.'
'You have a pack lizard?'
'No,' Valas said with a smile and a tip of his head, 'so I'll need something to carry it in. Something magical.'
Firritz swept his arm across the table, scattering the coins onto the floor with a thousand echoing clatters.
'Food, Firritz,' Valas said. 'Time has become an issue for me.'
Chapter Eight
Danifae could feel the Binding, and she could feel Halisstra. No matter how many thousands of feet of rock separated them, they were connected.
Danifae's skin crawled.
The farther from the center of the city she walked, the higher the mix of non-drow she passed on the streets. It was with no little relief, and after enduring lewd remarks from a trio of hobgoblins that she came to her destination.
She had never been to Sschindylryn before and had never seen that one particular structure, but she had gone straight to it. She'd made no wrong turns and asked for no directions.
Danifae stood in front of a complex jumble of mud bricks and flagstones arranged into what looked like some kind of hive or termite hill. Over the wide door—wide enough to accommodate a pack lizard and a decent-sized wagon—hung a slab of black stone into which was carved an elaborate sigil. The symbol contained unmistakable traces of the Yauntyrr crest but somehow turned in on itself, imploded, perverted.
Danifae reminded herself that no matter what happened, House Yauntyrr was gone. The integrity of its heraldry was of no concern to her, nor, she was sure, to anyone else.
She stepped inside.
Zinnirit's gatehouse, not unlike the larger gatehouse they'd entered the city through, was mostly open space on the street level. There looked to be room for another floor or even two above—likely Zinnirit's private residence —but the heart of the establishment was in that single cavernous chamber.
There were three gates, each a circle of elaborately interconnected stones easily thirty feet in diameter. No seething magical light pulsed through them. All three were inactive, dark.
'Zinnirit!' Danifae called.
Her voice echoed in the empty space. There was no immediate reply. Danifae had lost track of time quite a while before, and as she called the former House Mage's name again, she realized she might have dropped in on the wizard in the middle of his Reverie.
She didn't care.
'Zinnirit!'
A quiet, slow shuffling of feet answered Danifae's third entreaty. The sound was unmistakable but difficult to trace in the huge, echoing space. Despite the echoes, Danifae got the distinct impression that there was more than one set of feet. She couldn't count exactly how many—maybe half a dozen—and they were getting closer.
Danifae drew her morningstar and set it swinging at her right side.
'Zinnirit,' she called. 'Show yourself, you old fool.'
Again, the only answer was that same echoing set of shuffling footsteps.
A shadow bobbed back and forth at the edge of her peripheral vision from deeper into the gatehouse. Danifae reacted with a thought, calling without question or hesitation on an ability bred into all highborn drow.
Five figures blazed to life with shimmering purple light. The faerie fire ringed their bodies and outlined them against the dull gloom behind them. The figures slowly shambled toward her and took no notice of the faerie fire.
The realization of what they were hit her half a second after the foul smell did.
They were zombies: walking dead of what looked to be mostly humans, though Danifae wasn't interested in conducting a thorough physical examination.
'Zinnirit. .' she breathed, irritated.
One of the zombies reached out for her, and a quiet, painful-sounding groan escaped its rotting, tattered lips.
In answer, Danifae stood straight, arched one delicate eyebrow, held out one slim-fingered hand, and said, 'Stop.'
The zombies stopped.
'That will be all,' she said, her voice a perfect, level calm.
The zombies, all still aglow in purple, turned clumsily, bumping into each other, and shambled away from the battle-captive. They were moving a bit faster away from her than they had come at her.
'Well,' a firm male voice said, the single word echoing a thousandfold in the gatehouse chamber.
Danifae put her hand down, let it rest on her hip.
'You shouldn't have been able to do that,' the voice said, quieter but closer.
Danifae followed that echo back to its source and saw another drow-shaped shadow at the edge of the gloom.
'No need for faerie fire,' he said and stepped close enough for Danifae to see him.
'Zinnirit,' she said, pasting a broad grin on her face. 'How lovely it is to see you, my old friend.'
The aged drow moved a few steps closer to her but still kept a respectful—no, suspicious—distance from Danifae.
'You were taken to Ched Nasad,' the wizard said. 'I heard that Ched Nasad fell apart.'
'It did,' Danifae answered.
'I honor Lolth as much as any drow,' the wizard said, 'but you can keep buildings made of web, thank you very much.'
'That wasn't the problem,' Danifae replied. 'Of course, you don't give the south end of a northbound rothe what happened to Ched Nasad.'
'You know me too well still,' he said.
