Zaknafein wasn’t really surprised at the chilly reception he found when he entered the open-air amphitheater that served as the temple to Eilistraee. He had been informed of the decisions of the Temporal Convocation, and had heard whispers that the priests of the Dark Maiden were not overly pleased.
He thought that perhaps they should be more generous with him, as he was going to fight a war they desperately wanted to join. They were, after all, allies in spirit if not in body in battling this common foe.
He did understand their surliness, though. There was a bitterness here, and the wound was fresh. Resentment was a predictable emotion and it likely wouldn’t last.
“She is in the back meditation chamber, furthest from the altar,” a young priestess told him matter-of-factly before he ever asked.
Zak started to ask the priestess her name, but she turned away almost immediately and went back to her work cleaning the beautiful floor, a mosaic of tiny stones presenting a magnificent image of Eilistraee the Dark Maiden.
He kept his head down as he went through the main chamber, where most of the congregation had gathered in prayer and meditation. Zaknafein heard their quiet grumbles as he walked through, the words “unfair” and “ungrateful” tossed about many times.
Again, he reminded himself that this was a time of mourning for these would-be warriors, who were so anxious to take up the call of their goddess to do battle with the influence and corruption of Lolth.
He wished he could take them all with him, but he understood and could not disagree with the decisions of Mona Valrissa and the representatives.
He moved through the rear meditation circles, approaching the eastern wall of Scellobel, and slowed his footsteps when he heard a familiar voice chanting solemnly. He edged around a pillar and noted Galathae, kneeling, her blue-white sword upright on the floor, tip-down before her, her hands about its hilt, her forehead resting against her crossed thumbs.
He could barely make out the words of her quiet prayer, but he heard “Bluccidere” more than once.
She was blessing her sword, he realized. Azzudonna had told him of Galathae’s weapon, which was carved magnificently from the deep, compressed ice, the flat of the blue-white blade imbued with runes of power from hilt to tip, so startling in contrast with the silvery mithral hilt and crosspiece, both decorated with gold. And the wondrous weapon was imbued with something else as well: the grace of Galathae’s goddess.
So she claimed.
Perhaps that was true, Zak thought, but he, who had no god, had similarly imbued his weapons, or at least blessed them and felt kindred to them, with the strength of his own spirit. Either way, Zaknafein knew that he would be taking a powerful ally with him to Menzoberranzan, and for that, he was glad.
Galathae finished by kissing the gemstone balance at the end of the mithral hilt, a large, deep blue stone Zak did not recognize.
“My good lady,” he quietly said.
“Well met again, Zaknafein,” the paladin replied, rising. She lifted Bluccidere vertically before her in a salute to the man, then sheathed it on her left hip. “Our great trial awaits.”
“I will tell you as much of Menzoberranzan as I can recall on our journey,” he promised, and not for the first time.
“I heard that Azzudonna’s petition was rejected.”
Zak nodded.
“She is pledged to Biancorso,” the paladin said. “Such vows are taken seriously in Callidae.”
Zak nodded again, though he thought that disqualifying condition—a pledge to a team engaged in a sport—rather silly, given the scope of the event awaiting them. Callidae first and foremost, he understood in theory at least, but this was a chance for the aevendrow to free their udadrow kin from the grip of a tyrant. To perhaps actually secure Callidae even more by interacting with the outside world. He tried to keep the disappointment off his face, since the decisions of the Temporal Convocation were not Galathae’s fault. She was his ally, and one he was glad to have. He must have showed something, though, for she just nodded in sympathy.
“Have they reached out to Gromph Baenre?” he asked.
“No. And they won’t. Anticipating such demands, and unsure of how they would be met by the Siglig, Mona Valrissa and Jarlaxle had already prepared. The mona thinks it best that we avoid the city of Luskan and the Hosttower of the Arcane altogether, as well as the dwarven realm. None should know that any of Callidae are marching to the Underdark.”
“It’s just you,” Zak reminded with a chuckle.
“That is enough, and I go under a strict and enforced prohibition. If I am weak under torture—or even not, if I am compelled by magic or deceived in any way—and I begin to reveal anything of Callidae, the Geas Diviet will take me from this life and consecrate my body and spirit.”
“Why didn’t they do the same to me? Or to Drizzt or Jarlaxle, then?”
“Why would our enemies even think to ask you of another city of drow? With you, it is simply a matter of trust, and that trust, you have earned. The Ritual of Diviet is no small matter, and one they are very hesitant to perform.”
“I’m honored.”
“The wizard Allefaero will join us shortly. He is now trying to discern a proper chamber where he can teleport us. From there, as soon as we bid him farewell, we are on our own through the tunnels to the Underdark and Menzoberranzan.”
Zak’s expression revealed his alarm, he knew.
“You know the way?”
“Perhaps we will catch up to Jarlaxle and his band.”
“And if we do not?” she asked, probing. “Do you know how to get us into the city?”
“There are many ways to enter Menzoberranzan, and many ways that seem to be but are not,” Zak explained. “The trail is not marked, but that is likely the least of our problems. You do not know the Underdark. It is no place for a small party to be wandering.” He pointed to her sword.
“Bluccidere?” she said.
“It will likely be put to use often in the tendays it will take us to navigate to the city, and that will only grow even more dangerous if we go off course. And we will, I fear. I know the general direction from beneath Gauntlgrym, I believe, but there are mazes down there and many choices and side tunnels and great chambers with dozens of exits.” He shook his head helplessly. “I haven’t walked these paths.”
“But you know the general direction, the earliest tunnels we must take?”
Zak nodded and Galathae considered her sword. “That is all we will need. I asked if you can get us into the city. If you know the general way, I can get us to the gates of Menzoberranzan.”
Zak looked at her curiously.
“Through this sword, I speak to my goddess. She answers my auguries through Bluccidere, which will tell us which choice is the best for reaching our goal. Our path will be true. Every tunnel or exit chosen will be the right one. I can get us there, but can you get us into Menzoberranzan?”
“Through stealth or blood, we’ll get in,” he promised.
“Come,” Galathae bade him after letting that thought hang in the air for a few heartbeats. “Pray with me.”
“I serve no god.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Galathae assured him. “You are a warrior, a true warrior, and that means that you look inside often in meditation, to find your strength, to strengthen your heart and will, to consider your movements.”
Zak couldn’t disagree with that, and when Galathae turned, knelt, and planted Bluccidere once more, Zak took a knee beside her. He drew out the hilt of his weapon, shaped as a beautiful red-and-gold phoenix, wings wide to form the crosspiece, the tiny rubies of its eyes glistening with inner fire, as was the larger ruby that looked like the balled-up tail feathers in the pommel. With a thought, he brought forth the magical blade of this mighty weapon, a sheath of the purest light.
He inverted it as Galathae had done with Bluccidere, set its tip on the stone, and fell into a mediation with his forehead against the phoenix.
“Have you named it?” Galathae asked, drawing him from his thoughts sometime later.
“It is the Blade of Light, that is all.”
“But it is more than a blade,” Galathae reminded. “It can be a whip as well, or an empty hilt.”
“Indeed,” said Zak. “And that whip can reach into the very plane of fire and tear a rift.”
“Which do you prefer, sword or whip?”
“Two swords,” Zak replied, turning to show the less remarkable but still powerful shorter sword sheathed at his other hip, one he had been given to replace Cutter when the Callidaeans had demanded it be taken from the city. “But the whip is often quite useful.”
“And does that second sword have a name?”
“It hasn’t earned one.”
Galathae laughed, understanding.
“Your main weapon needs a proper name,” Galathae told him. “Tell me about it?”
Zak understood that she was just trying to pass the time while they waited for the wizard to keep any doubts about their course away, but he was happy to oblige. He told her of how he had taken the weapon from a vile man named Arrongo, a pirate, and then described how Catti-brie had used the magic of a forge fired by the primordial named Maegera to join the sword with the powerful whip into a singular weapon.
“She did the same with one of Drizzt’s scimitars,” Zak explained. “Twinkle, by name. She joined the broken Twinkle with Vidrinath, a magical blade from Menzoberranzan, to create a new and more powerful weapon.”
“Catti-brie is formidable and clever.”
Zak nodded, wondering, and not for the first time, how he had ever thought that accomplished and competent human woman was not worthy of his son. What a fool he had been when first he returned from his long sleep of death, bringing with him to the lands his son had come to call home a level of ignorance and prejudice that had almost driven him apart from Catti-brie and Drizzt forever.
“Maegera, then?” Galathae offered. “Or Maegera’s Torch?”
Zak rolled the names about in his thoughts, but shook his head.
“Lolth’s Bane?”
“We hope, but no. The demon is not worthy of a namesake such as this, and the fewer times I speak her name, the better.”
“It will bring light to Lolth’s darkness,” said Galathae. “Illuminator?”
“This type of weapon is called a sun blade,” Zak explained. “That would offend Lolth, I think!”
“Soliardis!” Galathae replied suddenly, and with a smile. “The Callidae word for the watchful orb of summer.”
“Soliardis is a good name,” Zak agreed.
“Tell the sword,” Galathae said and went back to her prayer position.
Zak did likewise, using the quiet to ready himself for the trials ahead.
They left the meditation chamber shortly, moving through the main chapel, where the congregation remained.
Galathae led the way and picked up the pace, thinking to go straight through, but she and Zak were intercepted by High Priest Avernil.
He locked stares with her for a long while, then said, “I still do not approve of what you did in the assembly. Had you but even tried to help bolster our petition, you would be traveling with a powerful and capable entourage.”
“And you still know the answer Mona Valrissa would have given,” Galathae said gently, “even if I had joined our petitions as one.”
Her relief was palpable to Zak when Avernil, though wincing more than once, nodded his agreement.
“We are frustrated, that is all,” he said.
“I am, too, my friend. I would have greatly desired you and yours to be by our sides on this task.”
Avernil seemed to appreciate that. “Then know that our hearts and hopes walk with Galathae and Zaknafein. Do the will of the Dark Maiden well, my friend.”
It seemed to Zak as if a great weight had just lifted from Galathae’s strong shoulders. She came forward and wrapped Avernil in a tight hug, whispering, “I will,” over and over again.
Zak noted, but said nothing of, the moisture in the eyes of the typically stoic Galathae when they left the temple, making their way to a small park by the main entrance outside Callidae and into the borough of Scellobel, very near to the slide that had taken Zak and his companions on a swift ride into the city on their initial visit, and not far from the vineyard where Zak had battled Ahdin Duine in the half-barrel combat ring.
The wizard Allefaero was there waiting, along with a round-faced Ulutiun man whose lips were moving constantly as he fretted about a handful of some small items—small colorful stones, perhaps.
He was still talking when Zak and Galathae arrived, though too quietly for them to make out any words. He kept looking up, but not looking at them or at anything else, it seemed, his eyes darting about nervously, frenetically.
“I believe you know Nvisi,” Allefaero said to the paladin.
Galathae nodded, but didn’t seem overly pleased. She looked at Zak and rolled her eyes, then said to Allefaero, “You were not able to find a proper location?”
“I believe I did,” he replied, “but I’ll take no chances with such dangerous magical transport.”
Galathae didn’t seem impressed as she looked to Allefaero’s companion, and just as Zak followed that gaze to the small human, Nvisi threw his seven rainbow stones up into the air before him, where they danced and floated, and darted about, their movements leaving trails of residual color in the air behind them.
That levitational magic seemed to suddenly cease and Zak started to crouch, expecting the gemstones to crash down and bounce about the ground. But they did not, instead landing as if on an invisible platform before the bi-eyed Nvisi, where they bounced about weirdly for a few heartbeats before settling and then hovering once again.
Nvisi kept talking to himself, pointing to each and making what sounded like a conclusion or proclamation about its position in the group.
More than a minute passed before the unkempt man gave a great chortle and swept the seven pebbles into his hand, proclaiming to Allefaero, “Aya, aya, aya!”
“Yes,” Galathae quietly translated to Zak.
“‘Aya, my choice is correct,’ or ‘aya, you have found a better . . .’?” Allefaero asked.
“Found a better,” Nvisi rambled. “Your selection to land . . . your death. Too short. Head in the ceiling or feet in the floor. Joined to stone and only to die.”
“Did he just say that your teleport would have killed us?” Zak asked.
Allefaero nodded, but Galathae simply shrugged it off. “Nvisi is . . .” she started to say, but seemed unable to give a proper word for it, so she just held up her hands and sighed in surrender.
“A diviner,” Allefaero finished for her. “And the best in Callidae. His predictions—”
“Are so convoluted that they could always be true and always be false at the same time,” said Galathae.
“A powerful ally, then,” Zak muttered, prompting a quick snort from the paladin.
“That is simply not correct,” Allefaero replied, looking to Nvisi, who seemed unaware of the ongoing conversation of which he was the subject. “Some people just have to listen more carefully.”
“You are going to let him tell you where we should magically appear?” asked Galathae.
“I am. You do not understand his mumbles, nor do I, but he does. He sees the world differently, but accurately. He knows that which I need and that which you seek, and will guide us through a magic that we cannot understand.”
“I would have more faith if I understood it.”
“Do you know how I create a lightning bolt with a bit of fur and a crystal rod?”
“No, but others do the same.”
“Because that magic is . . . commonplace to us. Nvisi’s is different, perhaps unique, because he does not perform his divinations in ways that our own aevendrow diviners can begin to understand.”
“Perhaps he is the Pikel Bouldershoulder of Ulutiuns,” Zak quipped. “I think we’ve all learned to trust Pikel.”
“It is hardly the same,” Galathae insisted.
“You have tasked me with getting you to a safe beginning point below the lowest doors of this dwarven kingdom I have never seen,” Allefaero put in. “Or had not ever seen, until Nvisi showed it to me. Do you know this place called Gauntlgrym, Zaknafein?”
“Of course.”
Allefaero began describing it, from the great entry hall off the natural cavern, one shaped by defensive fortification, catapults and ballistae mounted on the floor, on stalagmites and stalactites, on the ceiling, even. He spoke of the raised platform and the strange carriage—the tram.
And Allefaero verbally navigated his way through the place quite accurately, down to the lower corridors and chambers, to the forge room and the chamber that held Maegera.
If that description wasn’t enough to convince Zak and Galathae, Nvisi tossed his pebbles once more, and this time they swirled about each other, each trailing lines of its color, and those lines began to sketch an image, one that Zak knew well: the Great Forge of Gauntlgrym.
The red, yellow, and orange stones filled the mouth of the forge with painted fire.
“Trust Nvisi,” an astonished Zak muttered to Galathae, and Allefaero smiled widely, and added, “He knows things.”
“But how does he know things?” Galathae asked.
“Neither the aevendrow diviners nor the kurit shamans nor even his fellow Ulutiuns have figured that out yet,” Allefaero admitted.
“But he knows things?” Galathae echoed.
“He knows Gauntlgrym,” Zak confirmed.
“Can he answer for himself?” the paladin asked.
Allefaero shook his head. “If you plan to leave this day, I wouldn’t ask that of him, no.”
When Galathae seemed less than satisfied with that answer, Allefaero reminded her, “When I teleport us, I will be going with you.”
“Take him, too,” Zak said, nodding toward Nvisi.
“That will work,” Galathae agreed.
“Tell me when you are prepared to—”
“Now,” Galathae answered before he had even finished.
Allefaero looked to Nvisi, then tapped the short man on the shoulder, drawing him out of his personal dialogue. When the Ulutiun looked at the wizard, Allefaero nodded.
Nvisi cast his stones again, floating them before Allefaero’s eyes. He walked up beside the wizard, stood on his tiptoes, and began whispering, then giggling, then grumbling, and back to whispering into Allefaero’s ear. Whatever Nvisi was doing seemed to affect Allefaero greatly, for his eyes glazed over and he seemed very much to be looking at something that wasn’t there in this park in Scellobel.
The stones sparkled, throwing little bursts of light to reflect in Allefaero’s eyes.
As if in a trance, Allefaero held out his right arm toward Galathae and took Nvisi’s hand with his left. Galathae took the wizard’s right hand with her left, then held her free hand out to Zak, completing the line.
Allefaero began chanting rhythmically.
Nvisi cackled.
The gems fell out of the air and landed on the ground—but not the ground they had been standing upon! No, a hard stone floor, the magical sparkles of the gems providing the only bits of light in an otherwise lightless chamber.
Doodles ran out of Nvisi’s pant leg and gathered up the stones, stuffing them into chubby rodent cheeks before scurrying back up under Nvisi’s ill-fitting pants.
“How? Where?” Galathae asked.
“We are somewhere below the lowest corridors of Gauntlgrym,” Allefaero assured her, conjuring a magical light cantrip to bathe the small chamber fully, revealing three passages leading out of it.
Galathae turned all about. “But which way is which?”
“This way is east,” Zak replied without hesitation.
“How do you know?” Allefaero and Galathae asked together.
“I do not know how I know, but I know. This way is east. East is where we must go.”
The other two looked to Nvisi, whose attention shifted away from them as Doodles appeared out of one pocket and began spitting the gemstones one by one into the man’s hand. When the lemming disappeared once more, Nvisi looked up and nodded his agreement with Zak.
“In Callidae we say, ‘May the Merry Dancers light your path,’” Allefaero remarked. “I don’t know what to say here.”
“Farewell,” Zak told him. “Just that.”
So he did, and so the two warriors left down the eastern tunnel, while Allefaero cast a second teleport dweomer to bring him and Nvisi back to the park in Callidae.