Realms of the Underdark - J. Robert King [2]
With the silence of one shadow slipping past another, Zaknafein-weapons master of House Do'Urden, Ninth House of Menzoberranzan, ancient city of the dark elves-trod down the rough-walled passage. He had left his lizard mount behind, clinging to the side of a massive stalagmite some distance back. Swift and soundless as the giant reptiles were, Zak preferred to rely on his own powers of stealth for the final twists and turns. It would not be far now.
Like a wraith, he plunged deeper into the Dark.
Dominion, the wild region beyond the borders of the underground city. His ebon skin and black rothe-hide garments merged with the dusky air, and he had concealed his shock of bone-white hair beneath the deep hood of hispiwafwi, his magic-tinged cloak. Only the faint red glow of his eyes-eyes that required no light to see, but only the countless gradations of heat radiated by stone and flesh and all things in between- might have belied that it was not a dark breath of air that moved down the passage, but a living being.
Zak cocked his head, pointed ears listening for the first telltale sounds. He had now passed beyond the farthest reach of the patrols-those merciless troops of dark-elf soldiers and wizards that kept the tunnels around Menzoberranzan free of monsters. Anything might lie beyond the next bend of stone, any one of those thousand waiting horrors. Yes, death could be found in endless variety in the Underdark. But what did he have to fear? Zaknafein laughed without sound, his white teeth shining in the darkness. Were not the draw the greatest horror of all?
He moved on.
Minutes later Zak came upon his prey: a band of pale, bug-eyed kobolds. Until that moment, he had not known he was hunting the stunted, dog-snouted creatures. It might have been bugbears, or deepspawn, or black crawlers, or any one of a score of different monsters. It made no difference. All that mattered was that they were evil. He had come upon the kobolds first. They would serve him well enough.
The ragged creatures huddled in a small cave, pawing over the spoils of their latest victim. Zak's red eyes detected the cold metallic outline of a horned helm and a stout warhammer. A dwarf. Dwarves were fierce fighters, and kobolds were cowardly creatures, but a dozen of them would not hesitate to swarm a lone wanderer. No doubt the dwarf had had the ill luck to find himself alone and too far from the underground home of his clan. Tufts of hair matted with blood still clung to the armor and weapons. The kobolds had jumped him and ripped him to shreds.
"Mine!" one of the creatures shrieked in the crude common tongue of the Underdark, its eyes glowing with lust. It snatched a cloak of fine cloth from one of the others, clutching it in grimy hands.
"Mine, it is!" the other kobold growled. "I it was who bit its filthy neck!"
"No, mine!" hissed a third. "Gouged its foul, sticky eyes with my own fingers, I did!"
The two hateful contenders tackled the first creature, snarling and biting with yellow teeth, tearing the cloak to tatters in the process. Quarrels broke out among the rest of the kobolds as they fought over the dead dwarfs goods. Zak knew he had to act now if there was to be any work left for him to do. Tossing back his concealing piwafwi, he stepped into the cave.
"Why don't I settle this little argument for you?" he asked in a ringing voice. A fierce grin split his angular visage. "How about if you all get-nothing?"
The kobolds froze, staring at the drow weapons master in surprise and dread, bits of cloth and jewelry dropping from their bloodstained fingers. Then, as one, the diminutive creatures shrieked in terror, scrambling and clawing past each other to escape