Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [8]
Q'arlynd teleported to the cavern, deposited his prize amid the darkstone crystals, then returned to the High Moor. The journey took only a few moments. Eldrinn still stood where Q'arlynd had left him, staring vacantly at the ground. He leaned forward, as if about to trudge in circles again, but Q'arlynd caught his arm, stopping him.
He turned his thoughts to Sshamath. He'd visited the city only once before-on a trading mission, decades ago-yet he still had a clear memory of its main point of entry: the cavern at the top of the Z'orr'bauth Pillar. He let this fill his mind. Then, his hand gripping Eldrinn's shoulder, he teleported them both to it.
* * * * *
The Month of Tarsakh
The Year of the Bent Blade (1376 DR)
Kвras waved a hand to catch the eye of the bet runner. "Three gold on the derro."
The bet runner, a lanky slave with ice-white hair and eyes that darted about like a hunting lizard's, sprinted up the stairs of the arena to the top row of seats. He took Kвras's coin and passed him a token.
The female seated next to Kвras laughed. "That derro won't last a minute against the quaggoth. Just look at the size of her!" She caught the bet runner's arm and wrenched him to her side. "Seven gold on the quaggoth."
The boy took her coin, wincing slightly at her grip on his arm.
"The females don't always win," Kвras said, idly stroking his chin. "The derro may appear weaker, but appearances can be deceiving."
His comment prompted a derisive snort from the female. She was secure in her finery and status-a priestess of Lolth, judging by the whip that hung from her belt. The bet runner, however, took Kвras's meaning. He coughed into his hand, then wiped his fingers across his mouth. Secretly returning the sign of the mask. His other hand moved at his side. Directly across from you. Top row. Three this side of the pillar.
Kвras gave the slightest of nods. The boy darted away to take another bet.
As the stone benches filled with spectators, Kвras sized up the male he'd been sent to kill. The fellow was slender-boned and delicate looking, but clearly used to taking care of himself, judging by his confident expression. He sat with his back against the wall, on the top bench. Every few moments he glanced around, alert for threats. His piwafwi hid his forearms, but Kвras spotted the head of a wristbow bolt peeking out from the edge of the cloth.
Kвras had been told his target's name: Valdar. Aside from that, he knew little. Only that the fellow was a former priest of Vhaeraun, just as Kвras was. The target wasn't wearing his mask; that would have been suicide, there in Guallidurth. Perhaps he'd given up the faith altogether after Vhaeraun's death. More than one Nightshadow had done that, rather than bow to the Masked Lord's conqueror.
Kвras, however, was more practical than that.
Rather than moving into position at once, he feigned interest in the upcoming match. The quaggoth was, as the female sitting beside him had just noted, an enormous creature, one and a half times the height of a drow, as broad as one of the World Above's bears. The white-furred creature was indeed female, though it was hard to tell with all that fur. She had disdainfully cast aside the club they'd given her and was flexing her hooked claws and roaring, working herself up into a killing rage.
The derro on the opposite side of the circular ring was less than half the quaggoth's height. His coarse white hair fell in a tangle across his pale blue face, hiding his blind eyes. He would be relying upon sound and smell alone to tell him where his opponent was. He gripped a dagger in each fist. The blades appeared clean, but Kвras had learned