“You will all be inspected,” Emilian said again. “Head to toe. If any wounds or scars of recent wounds are found, the inspection will grow more intrusive, I am afraid.”
“Zak was the only one injured in that fight,” Catti-brie said.
“Yes, and it is a great tribute to your goddess that he is still alive,” Emilian replied. “Chaos phage usually kills the host, transforming the victim into a slaad, red or sometimes green, within a few days, at most, but that is not the only way the slaadi expand their numbers. One type produces eggs.”
“Zak saw the eggs in that cave,” Jarlaxle said, but Emilian shook his head.
“The eggs are small, and cut into hosts at the end of a red slaad claw, and there they gestate and hatch, and grow inside the victim until the tadpole devours the innards and bursts forth from the chest. It can take a matter of months.”
Catti-brie remembered the out-broken ribs, and she shuddered at the horror of it. “So Zaknafein had an egg inserted into him?” she asked. “I’ll admit I’m more than a little confused.”
Emilian laughed. “Not as confused as the slaadi,” he said. “And no, Zaknafein has no egg within him. For the slaadi, those who are not evolved to the greater ranks of their kind, there are three types: red, blue, and green. And they hate each other viciously. But they need each other. The red slaadi inject the eggs, which burst forth when they are ready.”
“Like the bones we found in the Ulutiun town,” Catti-brie said.
“I’m so glad we followed you here,” Entreri sarcastically remarked to Jarlaxle.
“Yes,” Emilian said. “Those tadpoles become slaadi, most blue, but some, if the host was powerful in the ways of magic, green. The blue slaadi inject the chaos phage, as with your friend Zak, who would, who still may, become a red slaad or a green.”
“He is not wizard or priest,” Jarlaxle said.
“Red, then,” Emilian told them.
“And the green? We battled a green,” Catti-brie explained. “What do they make of their victims?”
“Dinner,” Emilian replied.
“Cooked with fireballs,” grumbled Jarlaxle.
“They were spellcasters before; they are spellcasters still,” Emilian explained. He clapped his hands together as if to put an end to that troubling conversation. “So you see that our most prudent course would be to simply kill you all and burn your corpses,” he finished. “But that is not our wish. So tell us the full story of your journey to Callidae and make yourselves worthy of our mercy.”
Many hours later, and after possibly the most careful and intrusive inspection any of them had ever known, the three friends emerged from the inquisitor house beside Emilian, their gooey shackles removed.
“Go where you will,” Emilian told them. “I will accompany you.”
“To watch over us,” Entreri remarked.
“Of course you are being watched—you were watched the first time you traversed Scellobel. Would you expect less of us? But no, I am not accompanying you to watch over you, but to watch out for you. Word of the revelations at the wine battle, of the chaos phage, has spread wide, no doubt. You will find many questions confronting you as you move about Scellobel.”
“We are glad to have you, and thank you,” Catti-brie said.
“We wish to see Zaknafein, of course,” Jarlaxle said.
“Not now,” Emilian said, shaking his head, but then brightened a bit as he motioned for them to look out to the street, where Ilina was coming quickly to meet them, along with Vessi and the woman Zak had been battling, Ahdin Duine.
“He fares a bit better,” Ilina told them before they could even greet her. “The herbal wraps are in place. Zaknafein is strong.”
“Azzudonna is with him,” Vessi added.
“Our apologies,” Jarlaxle said with a bow. “We did not know that he was afflicted.”
“I thought his wounds cured before we arrived here,” Catti-brie explained. “I pray to Mielikki that you are not in danger,” she told Ahdin Duine.
The drow warrior woman shook her head.
“The danger would have come if the chaos phage had taken him fully,” Emilian replied, “for then we would have had a slaad among us. Chaos phage spreads only from the claw of a blue slaad.”
“If it were more contagious than that, we’d all likely be hopping instead of walking,” Ilina added with a chuckle. She looked to Emilian and held her hand out toward the three strangers to Callidae. “The inquisitors are satisfied?”
“They are. Our visitors should be glad that Holy Galathae sits on the dais at this time. Galathae is most sensitive to the words and movements of one being questioned,” Emilian explained to the three. “She can discern not only whether one speaks truthfully, but the intent behind the words.”
“She is a paladin,” Catti-brie realized.
“Oh, by the gods,” Artemis Entreri muttered, but in Common, not Drow, and he heaved a great sigh.
Jarlaxle laughed a bit too much, Catti-brie thought. “My friend here has suffered some difficult—perhaps the better word would be ‘annoying’—encounters with paladins in the past. A paladin king, in particular. Pay him no heed, for he is ever cynical.”
“I find that I like him all the more,” Vessi said, and Emilian and Ilina laughed.
“Vessi was once paired with Galathae,” Ilina explained, and Vessi’s sigh was as heartfelt as Entreri’s had been.
“Paired with?” Jarlaxle asked. “Married, you mean.”
“No, no,” said Vessi. “We did not get near to that!” This time, he joined Emilian and Ilina in their laughter.
“I find Galathae most wonderful,” Ahdin Duine said, clearly surprising the other Callidaeans.
“You marry her, then,” said Vessi.
“One never knows” was all that Ahdin Duine would say.
“When can we see our friend?” Catti-brie interrupted the ensuing cheers.
“Azzudonna will bring him to us, to you, when the healers are done with him and he is able,” said Vessi. “Until then, let them keep to their work, and Zaknafein to his rest. I warn you, he is doing better now, but until powerful spells can be put upon him, the phage will remain, and will grow.”
“He has had the disease within him for a long time,” Ilina told Catti-brie. “It might require the greatest spell of all.”
Catti-brie returned a blank stare, not sure what she might be speaking of, and very sure that she was not enjoying the implications.
“This talk is for another day,” Ilina announced. “The healers work with your friend and they are very hopeful that he will be kept alive and as drow until the magic returns to us. And then, of course, fully restored. Let us go about and enjoy the festival of Twilight Autunn. The smells and the song and the dance call to my heart.”
Vessi pointed at Entreri. “I sense a kindred spirit here,” he said. “Come . . .” He paused, prompting Entreri with his wagging hand.
“Artemis,” he answered.
“Come, Artemis,” Vessi continued, “I will show you places of great enjoyment for those of our common . . . shall we say, temperament? Places paladins do not enjoy. This is the last day I am allowed to travel to the tunnel taverns between the boroughs, and I wish to go into my seclusion with Biancorso holding my head in my hand!”
“I think you would have more fun with him,” Entreri replied, pointing to Jarlaxle, but Jarlaxle wouldn’t hear of it, and pushed the man forward.
“Go,” he told Entreri. “Learn something.”
“Would you show me the herbs?” Catti-brie asked Ilina as Entreri and Vessi started off.
“Ardin is a long way,” the priestess answered. “But yes. It will give us the chance to speak at length. I wish to hear more about your goddess.”
“Well, that makes you the fortunate ones,” Jarlaxle said when the two women departed, leaving him with Emilian and Ahdin Duine.
“I hope your friend will recover,” Ahdin Duine said.
Jarlaxle paused, collecting himself. �
��Thank you. He is indeed my friend, my oldest friend. I will tell you of our adventures together, or of those we have the time for.”
“He had me defeated,” Ahdin Duine admitted.
“He did,” Emilian agreed. “Though you fought brilliantly, Vessi told me. He and Azzudonna will speak highly of you to Biancorso.”
That brought a smile to the young aevendrow woman.
“Zaknafein was the greatest warrior in Menzoberranzan in those many years we lived there,” Jarlaxle told them. “He is to this day the greatest drow warrior I have known, and I have known many. Well, the greatest with one exception—his own son, the husband of Catti-brie.”
“I would like to hear those tales of adventure,” Emilian said.
“And I,” Ahdin Duine agreed. “I have been told that the vintners have brought forth the bottles filled in Twilight Autunn the year I was born in honor of my battle with your friend.”
“We mustn’t miss that,” Emilian said.
“Not for the world,” Jarlaxle agreed, and let himself be led away.
Chapter 18
Softness
“Cold, yes?” Azzudonna said when she crawled into the access tunnel to Zaknafein’s bedside.
Propped up in a sitting position, the weapon master didn’t need to nod to confirm the obvious, for his smile showed chattering teeth. His shoulder and arm were wrapped in a giant ice-pack bandage, and his bed itself was no more than a bit of padding cut into the glacial ice wall.
“They will take you out soon,” Azzudonna told him. “It’s believed the cold may slow the progress of the phage, particularly when it is in an arm or a leg, and it allows the herbs to better battle it.”
Zak nodded. “The w-woman I f-fought,” he chattered. “Did I infect her?”
“Oh no, put your heart at ease. You cannot transfer the phage. Only the claw of a blue slaad can do that.”
Zak nodded again and took a relaxed breath.
“You fought well,” the woman said. She moved a bit closer and turned sidelong, mirroring Zak’s position. She lay on her side and propped her head up on an arm bent at the elbow, her thick mane of purple-and-white hair cascading down to the ice floor of the crawl space.
“She surprised me with her strength,” Zak managed to get out, and he finished with a shudder and a puff of frosty breath. “It almost ended before I knew it had begun.”
“We saw that. Ahdin Duine is no minor opponent. It is likely that she secured a rank among those we would elevate to Biancorso if we lose center guards. And yes, we all saw, she almost had the match won. All she had to do was survive the fight and she would have taken the victory, since your grape stains were—”
“Are,” he corrected, bringing his working arm to his red-and-purple-stained shift.
“Yet, if you had not fallen to the phage, she would not have held out,” Azzudonna said.
Zak shrugged, and shivered.
“I do not say that in false flattery,” she assured him. “As soon as you recovered your footing, you found her weakness and exploited it.”
“She was too forward with her attacks,” Zak said. “She lowered her off-hand guard in trying to hit a bit harder.” He smiled ruefully. “I’ll admit, she hit hard.”
“If you remain in Callidae, you will fight in cazzcalci next year, I do not doubt. I hope that you will choose Scellobel as the borough of your home.” She paused and gave him a playful smile. “Because I would not wish to have to beat you senseless.”
Zak managed another wide smile, but winced in pain as he shifted. “Will I ever fight again?” he asked, as much to himself as to his guest.
He looked to Azzudonna as he finished, though, his eyes redirecting the question to her.
She wasn’t smiling.
She was trying to smile. But she wasn’t smiling.
The companions were housed in a large low structure near the crossroads of Scellobel. This was the only inn within the entire borough, typically used for visitors from the other three who didn’t feel like hiking back after a visit. And occasionally, very occasionally, it was used for outsiders who had wandered into the glacial rift, or who would have been doomed had not the aevendrow gone out to rescue them from the unforgiving elements. The placard outside named the inn as ibilsitato, a word Jarlaxle did not understand until he broke it down and rearranged a syllable.
“It’s just a welcome to visitors,” he explained to Entreri and Catti-brie.
“No wonder, then, that you had trouble with it,” Catti-brie quipped. “It’s not something you would readily read in Menzoberranzan.”
“Not true. The dungeons of House Baenre have a similar greeting above the entry door,” Entreri said.
But they were not in the dark city of the drow, and this was no dungeon. The place was more a common room, a tavern of sorts, than an inn, with just a few bedrooms set in the back. It didn’t take long for the companions to realize that one of their newfound friends had eased the way for them here, for they were met with warm greetings by the kurit busing and waiting the tables and the two aevendrow moving in and out of the kitchen with trays of food, the round-faced Ulutiun chef close behind and reminding her team repeatedly, “Dance and serve. Food is the lust of life, remember!”
They were given a table near the middle of the room and felt the eyes of Callidaeans upon them as the establishment filled up around them. There were no harsh words aimed their way, though, and more than one of those gathering came up to them and offered well-wishes for their afflicted friend, with assurances that the healers of Scellobel were very familiar with battling the chaos phage.
Catti-brie noticed that Jarlaxle was saying less and less to those who came over, and seemed to be looking inward more than outward, a quite unusual posture for the clever, detail-devouring rogue. She couldn’t miss the look in his eyes (and how unusual it was to see both of his eyes!), however, as he took in the sights and sounds of mirth about him.
She understood that, and felt it, too.
“Do you see the future here, Jarlaxle?” she asked after a while.
“The future for me?”
“For your people,” the woman clarified. “Is this place a vision of your hopes for Menzoberranzan? For Luskan, perhaps?”
“I don’t yet know what to make of it,” he admitted. “I don’t doubt the sincerity of our hosts, nor do I even fear that there is a more vicious underbelly to this place. Not much of one, at least, and that is more than I can say of almost any city I have ever visited.”
“It’s not Menzoberranzan,” Entreri agreed.
“But there are flashes of Callidae in Menzoberranzan,” Jarlaxle pointed out. “In the Stenchstreets, mostly, where the influence of the matrons is minor.”
“And where bodies are often found in alleyways,” Entreri reminded him.
“Ah, my friend, but that is the spillover from the political and familial rivalries, most often.”
“Menzoberranzan is a noxious place,” Catti-brie said. “I don’t feel that here, and I don’t believe that we are being deceived. Their smiles are real, and grounded in joy.”
“They play hard, and drink harder,” said Entreri, who was nursing a tremendous headache. “They dance, they love, and they sing with abandon.”
“And they drink,” Jarlaxle repeated with a knowing grin.
Entreri groaned and held his head.
“You enjoyed your time with Vessi?” Catti-brie said with a laugh.
“Too much so. But yes. He took me to a place he called De’lirr. I did not know that drow could sweat so much.”
The other two looked at him curiously.
“It was half a dance, half a fight to see who could stay on the floor the longest. Few left alone.”
“Including Entreri?”
The man just shrugged and even seemed to blush a bit, which caught Catti-brie off guard.
“They are alive,” Entreri went on. “Maybe more alive than any people I have known. They play harder than many fight.”
After
a moment of quiet, Catti-brie surprised her companions when she looked to Jarlaxle and asked, “Are you ready to admit it yet?”
“Dear lady, whatever are you talking about?”
“That this, Callidae, is why we’re really up here in the far north,” Catti-brie replied. “It wasn’t about Doum’wielle, and certainly not about Khazid’hea. You brought us here because you knew of this place.”
“I did not,” Jarlaxle said, somberly and evenly, fully without flare. “I did not know of it, but . . .”
“But?”
“But yes, I suspected its existence.”
Catti-brie sat back and sighed. Artemis Entreri locked his stare upon the rogue.
“On the same trip I took to visit the Moonwood, I met a very old elf in Silverymoon who was known to spout wild stories of drow in the north, at the top of the world.”
“What a wonderful coincidence,” Catti-brie sarcastically remarked.
“It was no coincidence,” Jarlaxle admitted. “I had heard of Freewindle before, and had already commissioned a lord of the region to look more deeply into the rumors, and also to arrange the visit with Sinnafein. You see, it has always been about Doum’wielle as well, and yes, though it is a minor thing, about Khazid’hea. Finding Doum’wielle, if she is who I believe her to be, will prove no small thing in the coming trials of Menzoberranzan. I knew she was in the north and had somehow, so it seemed, survived. I thought she might be here, if here even really existed.”
Entreri snorted.
“What?” Jarlaxle bade him.
“I do not much like being used,” he said, “though I wonder why it even surprises me where you are concerned.”
“You were not used, and not deceived.”
“This sounds like your words to the inquisitors,” Catti-brie said. “You remember, the ones that almost got us thrown from a cliff.”
“I knew only whispers of such a place as Callidae from an elf nearing the end of his life and seemingly more lost in fantasy than present in that which was truly around him,” Jarlaxle said. “I didn’t even know its name, and had no idea that it might be within a glacier, or that it would be anything like this.”
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