Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [73]
Faeril shook her head. “No, not ‘just like that.’ Look at these dagger wounds-there’s no blood. I suspect these drow have been dead for some time.”
“Soulless,” Corran said. “Like the orogs.”
Kestrel shuddered. Now that she had leisure to examine these dark elves more closely, they did look paler than Razherrt and his party had. They also bore a different emblem on their armor, two yellow chevrons bisecting eight red dots. She pointed to the symbol. “Do you think that’s significant?”
“I suspect it indicates their House affiliation,” Ghleanna said. “I noticed that Razherrt brushed his fingertips over his symbol whenever he mentioned the House of Freth.”
“I guess these two belong to the House of Death,” Kestrel quipped. No one laughed. Even to her own ears, the joke didn’t seem funny. Only the gods knew how many legions of enthralled drow and orogs she and her companions might have to face before they completed their quest-if they ever did.
The party spent the next several hours avoiding patrols of enthralled drow. They also came across additional soulless orogs and stumbled upon more than one lair of spectres in their search for the third level of the catacombs. Somehow, luck or the gods were on their side, and they suffered few injuries. Dead-ends and winding passages slowed their movements, but at last they found the path of descent.
Deeper in the bowels of the dungeons, travel became still more difficult. Huge chasms blocked their progress, forcing them to repeatedly backtrack and seek other routes through the claustrophobic tombs and prison blocks. They now wended through a narrow passage that seemed to go on forever. Kestrel wondered if they would ever find the Rune of the Protector that marked the entrance to the baelnorn’s level.
“The passage seems to widen ahead,” Corran said over his shoulder.
“About time,” Kestrel muttered. It couldn’t get much tighter-Durwyn’s armored shoulders already threatened to scrape the walls.
They emerged in an enormous chamber but could enter only a few feet. They stood on an apron overlooking a drop-off so steep they could not see the bottom of the chasm. Kestrel kicked some loose rocks over the edge. She never heard them land.
Across the chasm stood a raised wooden drawbridge. She quickly scanned the nearby walls, floor, and ceiling for some mechanism to lower the drawbridge from their side but spotted nothing. She ran a hand through her hair, gripping the roots in frustration. “We are not turning around yet again.”
“You don’t have to,” echoed a voice from across the chasm. A female drow warrior stepped out from behind the drawbridge. She held a long, jagged-bladed dagger as casually as another woman might carry a spindle. A topknot secured her long white hair, exposing every angular line of her face. Sharp cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and hard-cast eyes appeared carved in stone. Worn, ragged armor revealed a body so muscular that Kestrel doubted this woman had a soft spot inside or out. Though the dark elf bore the same chevron symbol as the enthralled drow they’d encountered earlier, her skin had the healthy black color borne by Razherrt’s band of living drow.
“Is that a threat?” Kestrel called back.
“Not yet.” At a gesture from the woman, a ragged band comprising half a dozen drow warriors appeared behind her. “At present, we merely command parley.”
Kestrel bristled at the word “command.” The dark elves made Corran seem downright humble. After enjoying the House of Freth’s gracious hospitality, she had no interest in chatting with more drow and was about to say so when Corran stepped forward.
“What do you wish to discuss?”
“Mutual interests.”
Kestrel laughed humorlessly. “Your friend Razherrt didn’t seem to think we have any.”
The drow leader spat. “The House of Freth is no friend to the House of Kilsek. We seek the Freth’s blood.”
“We do not wish to become involved in a blood feud among the drow,” Corran told the dark elf.
“Nor would we allow it! The House of Kilsek reserves