«I was their pet,» said Smylla, sneering at the memory, «a dog dressed in a gown and trained to dance on its hind legs. I just didn't know it at the time.» «I'm sure many saw you that way. Perhaps some saw something else. From all accounts, Matron Ghenni behaved as if she regarded you as a ward, just one notch down from a daughter, and with the mistress of the Fourth House indulging you, few would dare challenge your right to comport yourself like a Menzoberranyr noble. Indeed, no one did, until she turned against you.» «Until I fell ill,» said the sorceress. «Quite. Was it a natural disease, bred, perhaps, by the lack of the searing sunlight that is a natural condition for your kind? Or did an enemy infect you with poison or magic? If so, was the culprit someone inside House Faen Tlabbar, who saw you as a rival for Ghenni's favor, or the agent of an enemy family, depriving their foes of a resource?» «I was never able to find out. That's funny coming from me, isn't it?» «Ironic, perhaps. At any rate, several priestesses tried to cure you, but for some reason, the magic failed, whereupon Ghenni summarily expelled you from her citadel.» «Actually,» Smylla said, «she sent a couple trolls, slave soldiers, to murder me. I escaped them and the castle, too. Afterward, I tried to offer my services to other Houses, noble and merchant alike, but no door would open to a human who'd lost the favor of Faen Tlabbar.» «My lady,» said Pharaun, «if it's any consolation, you were still receiving precisely the same treatment we would have given a member of our own race. No dark elf would abide the presence of anyone afflicted with an incurable malady. The Spider Queen taught us the weak must die, and in any case, what if the sickness was contagious?» «It's not a consolation.» «Fair enough. To continue the tale: Unwelcome anywhere else, you made your way to the Braeryn. Despite your infirmity, some magic remained within your grasp, and you employed it to cow the residents of this particular warren into providing you with a private space in which to live. I daresay that wasn't easy.
Then, using divinatory rituals, your natural psionic gifts, and whatever secrets you'd discovered during your time with House Faen Tlabbar, you set up shop as a broker of knowledge. At first, only the lower orders availed themselves of your services, then gradually, as your reputation grew, even a few of my people started consulting you. We wouldn't let you dwell among us, but some were willing to risk a brief contact if they anticipated sufficient advantage from it.» «I never heard of you,» said Ryld, «but within the district, your reputation seems to be considerable. We've been asking questions all day, and more than one suggested we seek you out.» The door banged particularly loudly, and he glanced back to make sure the bugbears weren't breaching it. «That's all I know of your saga,» said Pharaun, «but I infer from the hostility of your cohabitants that a new stanza has begun.» «I suppose I couldn't bluff them forever,» Smylla said. «My powers, sorcerous and psionic alike, are all but gone, devoured by my malady. Once I acquired my stock in trade primarily through scrying, divinations, and such. In recent years, I've cajoled my secrets from a web of informers, whom I betray one to the other.» The withered creature smirked. «Well,» said Ryld, «I hope you teased out the one we need.» She coughed. No, it was a laugh. «Even if I did, why would I share it with you, dark elf?» «I told you,» the warrior said, «we can protect you from the bugbears and goblins.» «So can my little iron trinket.»
«But eventually, if you simply remain in here, you'll die of hunger and thirst.»
«I'm dying anyway. Can't you tell? I'm not an old woman—I'm a baby as you drow measure time! — but I look like an ancient hag. I just don't want to perish at the hands of those miserable undercreatures. I've ruled here for fifteen years, and if I die beyond their reach, I win. Do you see?»
«Well, then, my lady,» said Pharaun, «your wish suggests the terms of a bargain. Oblige us, and we'll refrain from admitting the bugbears.» She made a spitting sound and said, «Admit them if you must. I loathe the brutes, but I hate you dark elves more. It was you who made me as I am. I bartered information with you for as long as I had something to gain, but now that the disease is finally killing me, you can all go to the Abyss where your goddess lives, and burn.» Pharaun might have replied that as far as he could tell, Smylla had sealed her own fate on the day she decided to descend into the Underdark, but he doubted it would soften her resolve. «I don't blame you,» he said, making a show of sympathy. It wouldn't have deceived any drow, but even though she'd trafficked with his race for decades, perhaps she still had human instincts. «Sometimes I hate other dark elves myself. I'd certainly despise them if they served me as they've treated you.» She eyed him skeptically. «But you're the one who's different from all the others?»
«I doubt it. I'm a child of the goddess. I follow her ways. But I've visited the Realms that See the Sun, where I learned that other races think and live differently. I understand that by the standards of your own people, we've treated you abominably.» For a moment, she looked up at him as if no one had commiserated with her about anything since that long-lost season when she was the belle, or at least the coveted curiosity, of the revels and balls. She said, «Do you think a few gentle words will make me want to help you?»
«Of course not. I just don't want your bitterness to get in the way of your good sense. It would be a pity if you turned your back on your salvation.» «What are you saying?» «I can take away your sickness.» «You're lying. How could you do what the priestesses cannot?» «Because I'm a wizard.» Pharaun snapped his fingers and dissolved his mask of illusion. «My name is Pharaun Mizzrym. You may have heard of me. If not, you've surely heard of the Masters of Sorcere.» She was impressed, though trying not to show it. «Who aren't healers,» she said. «Who are transmuters. I can change you into a drow, or, if you prefer, a member of another race. Whatever we choose, the transformation will purge the sickness from your new body.» «If that's true,» she said, «then why do your people fear illness?»
«Because this remedy is inappropriate for them. It's unthinkable for a drow, one of the goddess's chosen people, to permanently assume the form of a lesser creature except as a punishment. Also, most wizards can't cast the spell deftly enough to purge a disease. It requires a certain facility, which happily, I possess.» He grinned. «And you'll use it to help me?» «Well, to aid myself, really.» The soothsayer scowled, pondering the offer. Eventually she said, «What do I have to lose?» «Exactly.» «But you have to change me first.» «No, first of all, we must establish that you do indeed possess the information my colleague and I require. We're seeking a number of runaway males hailing from noble and humble residences alike,» «We have a handful of drow hiding out in the Braeryn. Some are sick like me.
Some are outcast for some other offense. A couple are just taking a long illicit holiday from their responsibilities and female relations. I can tell you where to find most of them.» «I'm sure,» said Pharaun, «but I imagine they've resided here for a while, have they not? We're seeking rogues of more recent vintage. Menzoberranzan has suffered a mass migration in recent tendays.» Smylla frowned. From a subtle shift of expression, the mage knew she was deciding whether or not to lie. «More drow males than usual have visited the Braeryn,» she said. «Indulging their most sordid impulses, I assumed, but as far as I know they didn't stay here. If they did, I don't know where.»
Ryld sighed. Pharaun knew how he felt. Generally speaking, the wizard relished a baffling, brain-cramping puzzle, but even he was growing impatient at their lack of progress.
Given the lack of any sensible leads, he resolved to follow where intuition led. Still caught up in his role of sympathizer, he dared to step to the cot and pat Smylla on her bony shoulder. She gasped. In all likelihood, no one had touched her for a long while, either. «Don't abandon hope,» Pharaun said. «Perhaps we can still make a trade. Fortunately, my comrade and I are interested in other matters as well. Has anything peculiar occurred in the Braeryn of late?» The clairvoyant rasped out another painful-sounding laugh.
«You mean aside from the fact that last tenday, the animals rose up against me?»
&nb
sp; «I do find that interesting. As you confessed, your magical talents withered away some time ago. Since then, you've dominated the goblins through bluff and force of personality, and it worked until a few days ago. What changed? Where did the undercreatures find the courage to turn against you? Have you noticed anything that might account for it?»
«Well,» said Smylla, «it could just be they saw me failing physically, but—» Her cracked lips stretched into a grin. «You're good, Master Mizzrym. You give me a smile, friendly conversation, a soft touch on the arm, and my tongue starts to flap. That's loneliness for you. But I will have my cure before I give up anything of importance.» «Very sensible.» Pharaun extracted an empty cocoon from one of his pockets. «What do you wish to become?» «One of you,» she said, leering. «I once heard a philosopher say that everyone becomes the thing he hates.»
«He must have been a cheery fellow to have about. Now, brace yourself. This will only take a moment, but it may hurt a little.» Employing greater care than usual, he recited the incantation and used the ridged silken case to write a symbol on the air.
Magic shrilled through the air, and the temperature plummeted. For a moment, the whole room rippled and shimmered, then the distortion concentrated itself on Smylla's shriveled body. Tendons standing out in her neck, she screamed. Beyond the door, one of the bugbears shouted, «We want to get even, too! We had a bargain!» Smylla's sores faded away, and her emaciated form filled out into a healthy slimness. Her ashen skin darkened to a gleaming black, her blue eyes turned red, and her ears grew points. Her features became more delicate. Her snowy hair thickened, changing from brittle and lusterless to wavy and glossy. «The pain went away,» she breathed. «I feel stronger.» «Of course,» Pharaun said. She stared at her hands, then sat up, rose from the cot, and tried to walk. At first she moved with an invalid's caution, but gradually, as she proved to herself that she wouldn't fall, that hesitancy passed. After a few seconds, she was striding, jumping, and spinning like an exuberant little girl testing her strength, her grimy nightshirt flapping about her.
«You did it!» she said, and the pure, uncalculated gratitude in her crimson eyes showed that even wearing the flesh of a dark elf maiden, she was still human at the core. Though it was foreign to his own nature, Pharaun found her appreciation rather gratifying. Still, he hadn't transformed her to bask in her naive sentimentality but to elicit some answers. «Now,» he said, «please, tell us.» «Right.» She took a deep breath to compose herself and said, «I do believe something emboldened the undercreatures in this house. What's more, I think it's aftected goblinoids throughout the Braeryn.» «What is it?» asked Ryld. «I don't know.» The warrior grimaced. «What led you to infer this agency?» Pharaun asked. «I assume you were housebound even before you barricaded yourself in your room.» «I saw a change in the brutes who live here. They were surly, insolent, and foul-tempered, ready to maim and kill one another at the slightest provocation.»
Ryld hitched his shoulders, working stiffness out or shifting Splitter to lie more comfortably across his back. «How is that different than normal?» asked the weapons master. Smylla scowled at him and said, «All things are relative. The creatures exhibited those qualities to a greater extent than before, and whenever I heard tidings from beyond these walls, they suggested the entire precinct shared the same truculent humor.» Pharaun nodded. «Did you hear about tribal emblems appearing in the streets?» «Yes,» she said. «That bespeaks a kind of madness, don't you think?» «Maybe in one or two thralls,» said Ryld. «What of it? You promised my friend information. Tell us something we don't already know, and I mean facts, not your impressions.» The clairvoyant smiled. «All right. I was building up to it. Every few nights a drum beats somewhere in the Braeryn, calling the lower orders to some sort of gathering. Many of the occupants of this house clear out. With what little remains of my clairvoyance, I've sensed many others skulking through the streets, all converging on a common destination.» «Nonsense,» said Ryld. «Why has no drow patrol heard the signal and come to investigate?» «Because,» said Pharaun, «the city possesses enchantments to mute sound.»
«Well, maybe.» Ryld turned back to Smylla. «Where do the creatures go, and why?»
«I don't know,» she said, «but perhaps, with my health and occult talents restored, I could find out.» She beamed at Pharaun. «I'd be happy ro try. I fulfilled the letter of our bargain, but I do realize I haven't provided you with all that much in exchange for the priceless gift you gave me.» «That remark touches on the question of your future,» the wizard said. «You'd have no difficulty reestablishing your dominion here in the Stenchstreets, but why live so meanly? I could use an aide of your caliber. Or, if you prefer, I can arrange your safe repatriation to the World Above.» As he spoke, he surreptitiously contorted the fingers of his left hand, expressing himself in the silent language of the dark elves, a system of gestures as efficient and comprehensive as the spoken word. «I think—» Smylla began, then her eyes opened wide. She whimpered. Ryld pulled his short sword out of her back, and she collapsed. Pharaun skipped back to keep her from toppling against him. «Despite her previous experiences,» the lanky wizard said, «she couldn't quite leave off trusting drow. I suppose it shows you can take the human out of the sunshine, but not the sunshine out of the human.» He shook his head. «This is the second female I've slain or murdered by proxy in the brief time since our adventure began, and I didn't particularly want to kill either one of them. Do you suspect an underlying metaphysical significance?»
«How would I know? I take it you bade me kill the snitch because she was feeding us lies.» «Oh, no. I'm convinced she was telling the truth. The problem was that I deceived her. Her metamorphosis didn't really purge her disease. It was a bit tricky just suppressing it for a few minutes.»
Pharaun stepped back again to keep the spreading pool of blood from staining his boots, and Ryld cleaned the short sword on the dead human's bedding. «You didn't want to leave her alive and angry to carry tales to Greyanna,» the weapons master said. «It's unlikely they would have found one another, but why take the chance?» «And you asked Smylla about the marks on the walls. You're just too cursed curious to let the subject go.» Pharaun grinned. «Don't be silly. I'm the very model of single-minded determination, and I was asking to further our mission.» Ryld glanced at the door and the iron bar. They were still holding. «What does the strange behavior of goblins have to do with the rogue males?» he asked.
«I don't know yet,» Pharaun answered, «but we have two oddities occurring at the same time and in the same precinct. Doesn't it make sense to infer a relationship?» «Not necessarily. Menzoberranzan has scores of plots and conspiracies going on at any given time. They aren't all connected.» «Granted. However, if these two situations are linked, then by inquiring into one, we likewise probe the other. You and I have experienced a depressing lack of success picking up the trail of our runaways. Therefore, we'll investigate the lower orders and see where that path takes us.» «How will we do that?» «Follow the drum, of course.» The door banged. «First,» said Ryld, «we have to get out of here.» «Easily managed. I'll remove the locking talisman from the door, then use illusion to make us blend with the walls. In a minute or two, the residents will break the door down. When they're busy abusing Smylla's corpse and ransacking her possessions, we'll put on goblin faces and slip out in the confusion.»
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