Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [92]
Finally their doom stood revealed. There were four drow, all of them male. Two hung back, taking the unmistakable posture of subordinates standing guard. Of the other two, Chadrik was unsure which led and which followed.
One of them wore a warrior's leather armor and carried more fine weapons than Chadrik had owned in his most extravagant dreams. The drow's white hair was cropped close, probably to deprive his foes of a handhold, and a stylized dragon tattoo was emblazoned on one cheek. The other was clad in fine garments and gems, his long hair carefully woven into a multitude of braids. A large red gem was set in his forehead like a third eye. He regarded the men with a smile, the meaning of which was unclear to the terrific ruffian.
The warrior spoke first. "You sent word that you'd found the ruby."
Chadrik promptly handed over the necklace. "It's yours. No need to settle up; I'll get my pay from the man what hired me." His words tumbled over each other in their haste to be said.
None of the drow spoke. Chadrik dredged his fear-sodden mind for something to say. Remembering stories of drow hatred of surface elves, he manufactured a leer and a lie. "The elf wench was payment enough for me."
This did not seem to endear him to any of the dark elves.
"We have the ruby," the dandy said, gesturing to the gem in his forehead. "I can assure you that one is quite enough. Not a wise thing, to cheat the drow of the Dragon's Hoard."
"We didn't know! I swear," Chadrik babbled. "We took the elf woman just like the man said, got the necklace she was wearing. A mistake's been made, that's plain to see, but we stole the necklace in good faith. We're out the coin we paid the corpse-hauler to bring us in here, and the scribes who forged the burial papers. Not that I'm complaining! Take the gems for your trouble, and we'll be square."
The warrior listened in silence. When at last Chadrik's voice faded into silence, he tossed a glance toward the attentive guards. "Kill them."
"Not yet," said the other softly. "Many of the best tales have a circular form. The heroes or villains end as they begin. Justice is not always undesirable, provided the path it takes is sufficiently twisted."
"Meaning?" the tattooed drow demanded.
"You go along. I'll catch up in a bit."
The well-dressed drow turned to the captives, and the light in his eyes was horribly familiar. The warrior scowled but did not argue. He jerked his head toward one of the doors, indicating that the soldiers should follow. The door slammed shut behind the three drow. Somehow Chadrik knew that there would be no opening that door, or any of the others.
Chadrik had few morals and no illusions. Until this moment, he'd been certain that nothing could appall him.
He thought of the elf woman and envied her the ability to die at will.
Shakti Hunzrin ducked through of the low entrance leading to a small cavern on the outskirts of Menzoberranzan. The forces the archmage had promised her were assembled, and they stood awaiting her inspection in eerie silence.
She eyed her new command with dismay. The soldiers were not mercenaries, as she had expected, but undead drow. All of them were female.
For some reason that struck Shakti as deliberately offensive. Making matters worse was the fact that all of the zombies' heads had been shaved. Their lives gone, their names forgotten, even their luxuriant tresses stolen-reduced to this state, they were no better than males.
At least the fighters looked strong, and they were certainly well equipped. All were clothed in identical rothe-hide armor, sturdy boots, and well-laden weapon belts. Most of the zombies were dark-clad, but a few wore crimson sashes to mark them as squadron leaders. Each of these leaders held a spear, and all the zombies carried swords that were plain but well made.