Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [84]
Q'arlynd had seen something similar years before the fall of Ched Nasad. It had been housed in the Arcane Conservatory in a room with walls several paces thick. Great care had been taken so that, like the object in the strongbox, it touched neither walls, nor ceiling, nor floor: a levitation spell, made permanent and backed up by contingencies.
One of the svirfneblin picked up the strongbox and tried to force the lid shut. Q'arlynd took an involuntary step back.
"What?" Durth asked.
"That's voidstone," Q'arlynd croaked.
Even without eyebrows, Durth could still frown. "So?"
Q'arlynd was horrified. The deep gnomes obviously had no idea what they were carrying. "It's a solidified chunk of the negative energy plane," he told them, trying to quiet the inner voice that demanded he run screaming from the deep gnome who so casually held the box. "Anything that touches voidstone is instantly destroyed. If that 'rock' falls out of the box, it won't be pretty."
The deep gnome holding the strong box looked uncomfortable. He stopped fiddling with the lid.
Durth glared at his companion. "We not afraid to die," he told Q'arlynd. "Callarduran Smoothhands will-"
"No he won't," Q'arlynd interrupted. "Voidstone destroys both matter and spirit. If that chunk spills from the box, there won't be any souls left for your god to claim."
The deep gnome holding the box turned a lighter shade of gray.
Durth glared at him. "We are paid for the risk."
"By Flinderspeld?" Q'arlynd asked. His former slave should have had more sense than to handle the stuff. "I hope, for your sake, it's some serious coin he's promised you."
Durth's smirk confirmed it.
Q'arlynd nodded at the box. "Is Flinderspeld buying or selling the stuff?"
Durth's eyes narrowed. "What business is that of yours?"
"None," Q'arlynd said. "I just… hope he knows what he's dealing with, that's all."
Durth scratched behind his cocked ear. He glanced down at Leliana. "She mean anything to you?"
Q'arlynd kept his voice completely neutral. "She is the only one who can heal my arms."
Durth said something in his own language to the deep gnome who was holding the hooked hammer. The other gnome grunted. Leliana had just been granted a reprieve.
Durth glanced furtively around and crooked a finger at Q'arlynd, inviting him to bend down to ear level. Q'arlynd did, and the deep gnome whispered in his ear. "When you get close to Acropolis, hang back a little." He raised a hairless eyebrow. "Got it?"
Q'arlynd did. "The Crones," he whispered back. "You warned them Eilistraee's priestesses were coming."
Durth nodded. "Drow against drow. Seemed fitting then, but I regret it now. The priestesses don't know we play both sides, right?"
The other two gnomes shifted restlessly, as if bored with the conversation and ready to move on. The one who wasn't holding the box twirled his hammer back and forth on the cord that bound it to his wrist.
Q'arlynd suddenly realized what was going on. That last question had been the key-the reason he was still alive. He played dumb by answering it. "That's right."
"Too bad. But a friend of Flinderspeld…" Durth shrugged.
Had Q'arlynd been a surface elf, he might have been caught off guard. But Q'arlynd was a drow, born and raised in Ched Nasad. Treachery had been in the very air he breathed. The hammer twirling had been intended as a distraction; Q'arlynd had seen the svirfneblin's other hand slide stealthily into a pocket. When the deep gnome flicked a gemstone at him, Q'arlynd was ready. His cantrip required only the most basic of gestures; the caster had only to point. Q'arlynd flopped one withered arm in Durth's direction, guiding the gemstone to the deep gnome's chest. Durth's eyes widened as it struck him. Then he collapsed.
Q'arlynd lashed out with a foot. It sank into the throat of the deep gnome who'd just tossed the gemstone. The svirfneblin gasped and staggered backward. Q'arlynd twirled, causing his useless arms to windmill.