Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [71]
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,