In the Land of Thay
“You are a slave and will die a slave. The decree is irreversible by our laws. And should you and another ever mate, any issue of yours will be a slave, as will their issue and their issue’s issue until time’s end. Slavery here in Thay is final.”
Tazi blanched at the ramifications of the decree. It was most definitely not how she had expected the situation to resolve itself. For the moment, she was at a loss as to how to proceed. However, as a slave, that was not even a concern of hers any longer. She had lost all rights and others would decide what she could and could not do from then on. Tazi could not fathom the turn fate had taken.…
From the mean streets of Faerûn.
From the edge of civilized society.
From the darkest shadows.
The Rogues
The Rogues
The Alabaster Staff
Edward Bolme
The Black Bouquet
Richard Lee Byers
The Crimson Gold
Voronica Whitney-Robinson
The Yellow Silk
Don Bassingthwaite
Also by
Voronica Whitney-Robinson
Sembia
Sands of the Soul
The Halls of Stormweather
Ravenloft®
Spectre of the Black Rose
(with James Lowder)
THE CRIMSON GOLD
The Rogues
©2003 Wizards of the Coast LLC.
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Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Hasbro SA, represented by Hasbro Europe, Stockley Park, UB11 1AZ. UK.
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Cover art by: Mark Zug
eISBN: 978-0-7869-6391-1
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v3.1
For my father
Russell P. Whitney
1946-2002
Contents
Cover
Other Books in the Series
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
About the Author
3rd Ches, 1373 DR
Adnama Stoneblood slipped farther into the inky darkness. He ran one callused hand along the wall to his left and let his heavily corded arm rest against the rockwork. He closed his eyes and let his senses spread through the stone, feeling every crevice and weakness. Nothing, he thought to himself. He opened his eyes, replaced his gauntlet, and turned to another of his senses. His darkvision revealed the sharp turn the tunnel made directly ahead and he once again mouthed a brief prayer of gratitude to Deep Duerra for her gifts. Not many of his kind thanked their gods that often, but Adnama realized how difficult this search was, and he would not risk angering anyone or anything at this point. The duergar knew, even though he called the cavernous depths his home, that he was a fish out of water here in this accursed place. And yet, he pushed forward.
He moved along soundlessly, even though he wore chainmail over his thin shirt and trousers, and gauntlets covered his hands and thick forearms. His family was well-known amongst the gray dwarves for their metal craft, and his sister, dead nearly two years now, had been renowned for her oils and rendered fats. She could make anyone’s equipment, no matter what its age or condition, as silent as a breeze.
Lucky for Adnama, she’d grudgingly passed along her secrets to her brothers just before she died of the wounds she had received in a skirmish with a band of marauding drow. Adnama carried a small pot of the arcane grease in his sack, no matter where he traveled. Silence was his ally and only friend. He recognized his lot in life, though that did not mean he didn’t want to change it. And that desire had brought him here.
Turning to the right, Adnama spied an opening in the tunnel. With his right hand, he freed the war axe he had slung along his back and moved up alongside the wall. Slowly sliding against it, Adnama peered into the opening. He almost could not believe his coal-colored eyes.
The chamber, like one other he had come across in his search, was lit with a diffuse light. Adnama couldn’t see the source, but he suspected it was of sorcerous origin, considering where he was. While the chamber, really no more than a large cavity in the rock’s natural wall, was devoid of anything resembling furniture, it was nonetheless frequented by something. Adnama’s keen eyes could detect the evidence of pick and hammer on the walls. The site had been worked recently and for obvious reasons. Every few feet, a clear light twinkled out like a star on a winter night. Adnama, certain that he was alone, re-slung his axe and moved closer to the clear, teardrop shaped glimmering objects.
“Kings’ Tears,” he whispered in awe.
He leaned one shoulder against the wall as he removed his gauntlet once again. He rubbed a grubby forefinger over one of the hard, smooth stones. The walls were littered with them. He turned and leaned back against that same wall, stroking his braided beard thoughtfully. Adnama realized that there were probably enough gems in this niche alone to keep him in wine and comfort several lifetimes over. In his mind’s eye, he could see the envy on his brother’s face while he dumped a sack full of the “lich weepings,” as his people called them, on the tavern table. The thought made him smile, and he nearly unfastened his small chisel, caught up in the temptation. But he stopped himself and shook his head. Sadly, he caressed one of the tears before re-entering the main passageway.
The dwarf continued farther into the catacombs. Most of his explorations had proven uneventful, with the exception of the treasure trove he had just abandoned. He knew his luck could not last much longer, but he harbored a perverted hope that it might last long enough. Almost like a sign, the winding stretch of tunnel in front of him shimmered with a faint, green glow. He moved cautiously forward, wiping a bit of perspiration from his bald pate.
Ormu, he thought to himself. This deep, the tunnels had become quite steamy. He was mildly surprised he hadn’t come across the fluorescent moss sooner. However, he would not look the gift horse in the mouth lest he find it rotten, as his father was fond of saying. Better to accept it without question or disappointment. The mild, green glow made his gray flesh take on a sickly hue, not that Adnama ever looked very healthy. Like
all of his duergar kind, he looked wasted when compared to other dwarves, with the exception of his broad shoulders and wiry muscles. Adnama was momentarily shocked by his own complexion in the fungal radiance.
“And if we hadn’t been abandoned all those years ago,” he whined to himself, “perhaps we wouldn’t have suffered so. Perhaps we would look as hale and hearty as the others. And I wouldn’t have to be here.”
Still, the glow made it somewhat easier to maneuver, and he was able to use his senses for other purposes. Adnama could make out that the tunnel widened perceptibly, and he reached for his axe once more. The spot was ideal for an ambush, and he craned his head as far back as he could, studying the ceiling. His sister had met her end when she was lured into a similar spot and attacked by a group of drow that had hidden themselves by levitating near the cavern ceiling. He was always mindful to look upward after that. But his concern was misplaced this time, for nothing hovered above. He didn’t relax, though; he couldn’t afford to.
Slowly going downward, Adnama’s vision was slightly obscured by the increasingly dense steam hanging in the air. He could feel beads of sweat start to roll down between his shoulder blades, and he scratched at himself savagely. He was caught up in his own discomfort for a brief moment—a moment that was one second too long.
A volley of longspears whistled through the thick air. Adnama was caught off guard. One spear snapped on impact against his adamantine chainmail, and the other two bounced harmlessly off of the wall to his right. Adnama drew his stonereaver’s war axe and scanned the passage from one side to the other, unwilling to give his attackers another opening. From the opposite side of the tunnel, he finally spotted two troglodytes melt away from the wall. Standing five and a half feet tall, they were not much bigger than Adnama. The upright, lizardlike creatures’ ability to change the color of their skin had provided an excellent disguise, blending in against the stones. The random pockets of warmth emanating from the tunnels had also masked their own heat signatures from Adnama’s vision, rendering them invisible to the duergar. No longer flush against the natural wall, though, the trogs’ skin rapidly changed color to a dullish yellow. Adnama could even make out the single frill along their scalp that ended just behind the nape of their necks. Both were frayed, and the duergar suspected that these two troglodytes had not eaten well in quite a while. The scales along their bodies were also a dull white; another indications of poor health. Realizing they had lost the element of surprise, the two creatures charged forward.
Only one of the two had on any armor at all, ragtag as it was, and it was worn by the one who led the attack. It drew its own axe, a bit of hewn stone lashed haphazardly to a piece of wood, and swung it menacingly in the dwarfs direction. Adnama easily blocked the swing with the handle of his own axe and thrust the chisel-pointed pick opposite the blade back at the trog. The lizardlike creature fell back a bit and tripped up its fast-approaching companion. That proved to be its undoing. Adnama pressed his assault, slashing back and forth with his stonereaver axe. His next swing cut through the trog’s makeshift breastplate, and once that bit of vulnerable flesh was unprotected and exposed, he drove the pick into the trog’s heart. Blood oozed from the wound, and the creature fell back shrieking and clutching at its chest.
Adnama regarded the other trog. As it watched its partner die, the surviving creature began to secrete a foul-smelling musk. The odor filled the tunnel, and Adnama stumbled back from the stench, nearly overcome with nausea. He leaned against the side of the tunnel and spread his hands flat against the wall. Even through his intense queasiness, Adnama could feel the fault in the composition of the stones behind him. He resisted the urge to vomit and called out to the remaining trog.
“Come on,” he taunted. “Don’t just stand there staring at your dead friend! Come on then!”
The unarmed troglodyte hesitated for a moment. Adnama could see it glance from him to another of the tunnels, possibly an escape route the dwarf wagered, and back to him again, torn by indecision. Adnama shouted once more.
“Come on, stink-meat! Let’s see what makes you smell so rotten!”
The troglodyte grabbed his fallen comrade’s remaining longspear and charged for the dwarf, mindless of all else. Adnama held his ground until the last possible moment. When the trog was upon him, he dived to the right and rolled a few feet away from where he had been standing. The trog was not able to stop its bull-rush attack, and it plowed directly into the wall. As Adnama had expected, the creature struck the focal point of the wall’s fault, and the force of its collision caused that section of the wall to crumble. Several large chunks of stone crashed down on the hapless lizard and buried it from waist to head. Adnama heard the sick crunch of the trog’s skull shattering under the weight of the boulders. In death, the creature released the last of its natural musk, and Adnama gagged on the odor. The dwarf drew himself up to his knees and leaned to the side to retch.
When he had rid his stomach of its meager contents, Adnama scrubbed at his mouth and stood up. He eyed the creature suspiciously as its legs still twitched spasmodically. Adnama knew it was dead but also knew that one could never be too careful. He walked warily over to the first one he had killed. Adnama rummaged through the sack it carried and discovered nothing useful. He shoved at the body in disappointment and regarded the creature’s armor. Like an appraiser examining a work of art, he moved various pieces this way and that under his scrutiny, but let them fall to the ground. A moue of distaste crossed Adnama’s lips, and he wiped his hands on his trousers as though they were fouled. He looked at both creatures and scratched at his head.
“Why did you stay,” he wondered, “when it would have made more sense to run away? That’s usually what your kind does, unless you hopelessly outnumber the enemy. What are you hiding here that is so important? You certainly don’t have it on you.”
Adnama moved toward the direction the two had appeared from and held up his axe as his vision revealed a crack in the tunnel. He was fairly sure that if there had been more troglodytes, they would have attacked already. But caution was his watchword. He realized that he was going to have to wedge himself in sideways, if he was going to pass through the opening, and leave himself somewhat vulnerable. But he was curious. Slightly smaller than the trogs, Adnama was still broader in the shoulders, and he had to force himself through sideways to squeeze through the fissure in the wall. He popped out the other side into a small, moist cavern.
Like the other niche, this one held a treasure as well. However, it was not a treasure that the duergar valued at all. In fact, it was a cache only another troglodyte would cherish. The dank grotto was littered with trog spawn.
Adnama was overcome with disgust at the clutch of speckled eggs. He swung his axe from side to side and smashed most of them, heedless of the noise he created. The few he didn’t crush with his axe he ground under his worn boots. He smiled at the sound of the developing trogs splintering and squishing under his heels.
“That’s a few less stink-meats cluttering up the world,” he said to himself with a small measure of satisfaction. Seeing that there was nothing left in the grotto to destroy, he squeezed back out into the main tunnel. He looked once more at the dead trogs. Satisfied that they would no longer trouble him, Adnama continued deeper into the catacombs.
The heat continued to climb the farther Adnama moved down. He listened more closely to the slight hiss of steam, wary of any sudden burst of moisture. He had been scalded only once as a child by a concentrated jet of steam, but he still wore the scar on his shoulder, a constant reminder of the cost of carelessness.
More than once he had to ignore the glints and gleams along the walls. He was certain he was passing rich veins of ore along the way, and the glitter tugged at his heart. Still, he continued on.
Coming to a split in the path, he paused for a brief moment to scan both passageways. To his sharp eyes, both corridors initially continued deeper. But Adnama wasn’t sure for how long, and he didn’t want to waste
the time of backtracking if he chose one that eventually started to snake upward again. He picked up two stones of similar size and tossed one down the channel on his left. He listened closely to the sounds the rock made on its course. Then he duplicated the procedure with the path on the right. The second stone made a different sound. That sound meant the second tunnel curved upward after a few hundred feet. He smiled grimly and went left.
Along with the rise in temperature, the tunnel also began to narrow. Adnama came to one area where he was forced to his knees to clear the low overhang and eventually had to slide along his belly to pass through to a larger cavern. None of the close quarters disturbed him overly much—wherever there was rockwork, there was home for him. And he was counting on the fact that it was home to more than just him.
As he rose to his feet, he examined the cavern for traps. A cursory glance revealed very little as the cave was studded with multiple pools of lava, though each one was no larger than a few feet. They bubbled cheerfully, and Adnama carefully maneuvered around them, knowing full well his armor would not protect him from this liquid fire. He watched his footing as he stepped from one solid patch to another until he was nearly free of the lava field. Just as he was clearing the last pool, the ground he thought was solid cracked under his weight. He tumbled backward toward the puddle of molten earth. Adnama only had a moment to act.
Without conscious thought, he used the momentum of his fall to launch himself backward and tuck himself into a ball. His face brushed so close to the pool mid-flip that a few of the braids of his beard caught fire. Despite the close call, Adnama successfully cleared the magma and landed on the opposite side of the pool. Coming down full force, the dwarf breathed a sigh of relief when the ground beneath his feet held firm. He batted at the ends of his beard to smother the burning hair and made his way around the other side of the pool without incident.
The cavern narrowed to another tunnel, and Adnama entered without hesitation. He had to rely on his darkvision again as the area was now too warm for ormu to thrive in any significant amount any longer. The ratty cotton shirt he wore under his mail was completely drenched with perspiration and the dwarf was tempted to peel it off. He knew if he did, though, the chainmail he wore would chafe and eventually blister his skin. It was wiser to leave the sopping fabric on as a bit of padding. He paused for a moment and pulled out his water flask, wrinkling his nose at the scent of his own burnt hair. Adnama was careful to ration out his supplies and only drank enough water to moisten his mouth and parched throat before replacing the stopper. He stored the flask, but before he could move on, a faint rumbling froze him in his tracks. He leaned against a naturally formed archway and braced himself for the impending quake. The trembling was not, however, what he expected.
The Crimson Gold Page 1