Dawn of Night

by Paul S. Kemp

  Abruptly, the connection between seed and mother tree ended. The nursery went quiet. The seed had exhausted itself, had been born, thrived, and died all within a span of heartbeats. In its death throes it had sent the energy from its “soil” exploding along the lines of the Weave, all to be harvested by the Weave Tap, used to grow more seeds, and stored.

  Vhostym looked upon the Weave Tap and thought that even partially-powered it was among the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Within the glowing, amber leaves lay encapsulated the power of an archmage—several archmages—and Vhostym could draw upon that stored power at any time.

  But he would not yet do so. He had two more steps to complete before he could complete his plan, and for those steps, his own power would have to serve.

  His thoughts turned to his children, his beloved slaadi. They had served him well. He would reward them with transformation to gray, but he would not yet give them their freedom, for he still would need their assistance.

  He thought of Skullport, and wondered in passing what destruction had resulted from the Weave Tap’s draining of the mantle. Perhaps the Skulls had been able to save the city; perhaps not. Vhostym didn’t care. He would do what he willed.

  He sent his consciousness searching for his sons. He quickly located Azriim and Dolgan. The largest of his sons was alive but sorely wounded. Serrin he could not locate. He wondered without sentiment if his third son had died.

  Azriim and Dolgan were on Faerûn’s surface, no doubt having used their teleportation rods to escape the destruction of Skullport.

  Well done, my sons, he projected, and caressed the pleasure receptors of each of his brood. Well done, indeed.

  To Azriim alone, he projected, Where is Serrin? And the priest and his comrades? Did you kill him, as you had so hoped?

  He sensed hesitation.

  Serrin is dead. And I did not kill the priest, Azriim returned, with some disappointment. But we believe he is dead, he and two of his comrades. The other …

  The other? Vhostym pressed.

  Azriim’s confusion carried through the connection.

  The other saved me and offers alliance. We’re bringing him to you. He wishes to join the brood.

  Vhostym frowned, unsure of Azriim’s meaning. No matter. He would deal with the priest’s ally when he arrived back on the pocket plane.

  Bring him, he projected to his slaadi. I would reward you both.

  He sensed the excitement of his sons through the mental connection. Azriim and Dolgan were imagining their transformation into gray slaadi.

  Azriim’s mental voice answered, We are coming now.

  An Excerpt

  R.A. Salvatore’s War of the Spider Queen

  Book V

  Annihilation

  Philip Athans

  Valas could tell that Danifae didn’t know the drake was behind her until the second his arrow sliced through the fine membrane of its wing, surprising it. It made a noise deep in its throat, the arrow made a wet ripping sound as it entered, and the drake’s smooth motion ended in a jerk. All that was enough for anyone to sense some disturbance behind her and turn—and it was that simple reflex that saved Danifae’s life.

  Though the drake forgot its intended target, it landed hard in a skidding roll and would have bowled her over if she hadn’t jumped clear—and she barely managed that.

  The portal drake whirled in the direction from which Valas’s arrow had come. Saliva dripped from its open mouth, curling around jagged teeth and collecting on the cave floor in steaming pools. Valas saw the intelligence in the thing’s eyes, the great age—centuries spent stalking the alluring magical portals of the Underdark—and the cold, hard anger.

  The drake searched the darkness for him, but Valas knew it wouldn’t see him. Valas didn’t want to be seen, it was that simple.

  Behind the creature, Danifae scrambled to her feet, drawing her morningstar at the same time. Valas already had another arrow in his hand, and as he slipped sideways along the edge of a deep shadow he set it to his bow and drew back the string. The drake mirrored that expansive movement by drawing air into its lungs. It couldn’t see Valas, but it had apparently come to the conclusion that all it had to do was get close. And that was a conclusion Valas was unable to find fault with.

  After taking a heartbeat to aim, Valas let the arrow fly. The drake exhaled, releasing a billowing cloud of greasy green vapor into the air. It rolled and expanded as it left the dragon’s mouth. The drake began to strain to get it all out.

  Danifae struck with her morningstar from behind it—a weapon enchanted with the power of lightning—and the portal drake jerked forward. Valas’s arrow bit deeply into its chest, finding the half an inch it needed between two hard scales. The thing’s armored skin quivered, and muscles rippled and jerked. The breath caught in its throat and its cloud was cut short. Still, the gas rolled in Valas’s direction.

  The scout could see it coming, and it was aimed toward, rather than at him, so he flipped backward away from it. He had no way to protect himself from poison gas. It was a weakness in that situation that Valas found frustrating. All he could do was avoid the gas, but avoidance, at least, was something the scout was well versed at.

  “Hide in the dark there if you wish, drow,” the portal drake hissed in Undercommon. It’s voice was cold and sharp, almost mechanical, and it echoed in the high-ceilinged chamber with a sound like glass breaking. “I can’t see you.”

  The creature turned to face Danifae, who was whirling her morningstar, looking it in the eye, and backing up.

  “But I can see her,” the drake said.

  Danifae smiled, and the expression sent a chill down Valas’s spine. He stopped, noting the sensation but utterly confused by it.

  When the battle-captive lashed out with the enchanted morningstar again, the drake dodged it easily.

  “What are you expecting, lizard?” Danifae, nonplussed by her failed attack, asked the drake. “Do you think he’ll reveal himself to save me? Have you never met a dark elf before?”

  Valas, about to draw another arrow, let it drop silently back into his quiver. He slipped the bow over his shoulder and made his way around the back of the drake, skirting the edge of the cavern wall toward the giant face. He quickly estimated the number of steps, the number of seconds, and gauged the background noise for sound cover.

  “Dark elves?” the drake said. “I’ve eaten one or two in my years.”

  Danifae tried to hit it again, and the drake tried to bite her. They dodged at the same time, which ruined both their attacks.

  “Let us pass,” Danifae said, and her voice had an air of command to it that got Valas’s attention as well as the drake’s.

  “No,” the creature answered, and Danifae stepped in faster than Valas would have thought her capable of.

  The morningstar came down on the portal drake’s left side and Valas blinked at the painfully bright flash of blue-white light. The burning illumination traced patterns in the air like glowing spiderwebs. The creature flinched and growled again, its anger and pain showing in the way its lips pulled back from its teeth.

  Danifae stepped back, setting her morningstar spinning again. The drake crouched and Valas stopped, stiffened. It didn’t lunge at her—it burst into the air with the deafening beat of wings. In less than a second it was high enough to disappear into the gloom up in the cathedral-like space.

  Valas stepped forward and let his toes scrape loose gravel on the floor. Danifae looked up at him.

  Run back to the tunnel, Valas traced in sign language. Go!

  Danifae saw him, didn’t bother to nod, and turned to run. Valas slipped back into the darkness, drew his piwafwi up over his head, and rolled on the floor until he knew he was back in a place where no one would be able to see him.

  Valas watched the battle-captive run, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see the portal drake. He drew another arrow slowly so that it wouldn’t make a sound as it came free of the quiver. He turned and twisted a f
raction of an inch here, a hair’s breadth there, so the steel tip would reflect no light. Breathing slowly through his mouth, the Bregan D’aerthe scout waited—but didn’t have to wait for long.

  The sound of the portal drake’s wings echoed from above, then doubled, then doubled again, and more—not just echoes.

  Five, Valas counted.

  Still cloaked in auras of invisibility and the gloom of the long-abandoned cavern, Valas started forward.

  The five portal drakes swooped out of the shadows in formation, then the two at the far ends swept inward, and two others shifted out. They changed positions as they flew, but their target was the same.

  Danifae hesitated. Valas could see it in her step. She heard them, and knew they could fly faster—many times faster—than she’d ever be able to run. To her credit, though, she didn’t look back.

  The five portal drakes were identical in every detail, and no one who had traveled as extensively as Valas had could have been fooled for long. Only three wing-beats into it, Valas knew what they were.

  Not all of the trinkets the scout wore were enchanted, but the little brass ovoid was, and Valas touched it as he ran. The warmth of his fingers brought the magic to life, and but a thought was needed to wake it fully. It happened without a sound, and Valas never missed a beat, or revealed himself at all.

  Danifae stopped running anyway, leaving Valas to wonder why.

  Similarly confused, the portal drakes drew up short, all five of them fluttering to a halt, crossing each others’ paths, and coming within fractions of an inch from collision.

  Danifae smiled at the dragons—all five of them rearing up to shred her with claws like filet knives—and she said, “Careful now. Look behind you.”

  The toothy sneer that was the drake’s reply played out simultaneously on all five sets of jaws.

  Valas let his arrow fly, and all four of his own conjured images did the same. The little brass ovoid—a container for a spell that had been very specially crafted by an ancient mage whose secrets had long ago been lost—had done its work, and for each of the five portal drakes, there was a Valas.

  For each of the five portal drakes there was an arrow.

  The dragon might have heard them, or sensed them in some other way, or maybe its curiosity had gotten the better of it. The creature whirled around and met the arrows with its right eye. Four of the arrows blinked out of existence the instant they met with the false drakes, and those illusionary dragons disappeared as well. The barrage left only one real arrow, one real portal drake, and one real eye.

  The force of the impact made he beast twitch, then stagger back a step.

  Valas could tell that the dragon could see him—all five of him—with its one good eye.

  “I’ll eat you alive …” the portal drake rasped, “for that.”

  Valas drew his kukris and his images did the same. The dragon, blood pouring from its ruined eye, didn’t bother to pull out the arrow that still protruded from its socket. Instead it charged, wings up, claws out, and jaws open.

  Valas stepped to the side, into its blind spot. The drake had obviously never fought with only one eye before and the creature fell for the feint. Valas got two quick cuts in—cuts each answered with a deep, rumbling growl from the portal drake.

  It lashed out and Valas stepped in and to the side, letting one of his images cross in front of the attack. The portal drake’s claw touched the image’s shoulder, and by the time the talon passed through the false scout’s abdomen the illusion was gone.

  The drake grumbled its frustration and Valas attacked again. The creature twisted out of reach and snapped its jaws at Valas—coming dangerously close to the real dark elf. When the dragon’s single eye narrowed and smoldered, the scout knew the dragon had pegged him.

  Valas danced back into the drake’s blind spot, stepping backward and spinning to keep it off balance and to keep his mirror images moving frenetically around him. The drake clawed another one into thin air, then bit the third out of existence.

  Valas watched the image disappear, and followed the portal drake’s neck with his eyes as it passed half an arm’s length in front of him. He looked for cracks, creases, any sign of weakness in the monster’s thick, scaly hide.

  He found one, and sunk a kukri between scales, through skin, into flesh and artery and bone beneath it. Blood was everywhere, pumping out of the creature in torrents. The dragon flailed at Valas, though it couldn’t quite see him. As it died it managed to brush a claw against the last false drow. The drake started to fall, and Valas skipped out of the way. Its head whipped around on its long, supple neck, and the jaws came down on Valas’s shoulder, crinkling his armor and bruising the black skin underneath.

  The scout pulled away, rolled, and came to his feet with his kukris out in front of him.

  No new attack came. The portal drake splayed across the floor of the cavern. Blood came less frequently, and with less urgency, with every fading heartbeat.

  “Always knew …” the dying dragon sighed, “it would be … a drow.”

  It died with that word on its tongue, and Valas lifted an eyebrow at the thought.

  He stepped away from the poisonous corpse and sheathed his kukris. There was no sign of Danifae. Valas didn’t know if she’d kept running back the way they’d come, or if she was hiding somewhere in the shadows.

  With a shrug, and a last glance at the portal drake, Valas turned and went to the abandoned monastery. Assuming that the Melarn battle-captive would eventually return to the cavern, and the portal that was their goal there, Valas climbed into the great down-turned mouth.

  Inside the semicircular structure were two tall, freestanding pillars. Between them was nothing but dead air and the side of the cavern wall. The interior was shrouded in darkness, and there was the sharp smell of the portal drake’s filth.

  Danifae stood between the pillars, her weight on one foot, her hand on her hip.

  “Is it dead?” she asked.

  Valas stopped several strides from her and nodded.

  The battle-captive looked up and around at the dead stone pillars and the featureless interior of the huge face.

  “Good,” Danifae said. “Is this the portal?”

  When she looked back at Valas, he nodded again.

  “You know how to open it,” she said, with no hint that it might be a question.

  Valas nodded a third time and Danifae smiled.

  “Before we go,” she said as she pulled a dagger from her shapely hip, “I want to harvest some poison.”

  Valas blinked and said, “From the portal drake?”

  Danifae walked past him, smiling, spinning her dagger between her fingers.

  “I’ll wait here,” he told her.

  She kept going without bothering to answer.

  If she survives that, Valas thought, she might just be worth traveling with.

  Available in Hardcover From Wizards of the Coast July 2004

  PAUL S. KEMP

  While his mind is often in the FORGOTTEN REALMS® world, Paul Kemp’s body lives in Grosse Pointe, Michigan, with his wife Jennifer, his dog Penelope, and four cats: Newt, Libby, Emmitt, and Homer (after the poet, not the Simpson).

  He is a graduate of the University of Michigan-Dearborn and the University of Michigan law school. When he’s not writing tales in Ed Greenwood’s magnificent brainchild, he practices corporate law in Detroit. Yes, that does make him a tool of “the Man.” Keeping a heel on the throat of common folk is what he does. Helps him write believable villains.

  The Erevis Cale Trilogy, Book II

  DAWN OF NIGHT

  ©2004 Wizards of the Coast LLC

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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e Coast LLC.

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  Map by Dennis Kauth

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2004100684

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-5673-9

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