Condemnation

Gracklstugh, like Menzoberranzan, was a cavern city. Unlike the realm of the dark elves, the stalagmites harbored great stinking smelters and foundries, not the elegant castles of noble families. The air had an acrid reek, and the clamor of industry rang endlessly throughout the cavern - the roaring of fires, the metallic ringing of iron on iron, and the rush of polluted streams carrying away the wastes of the duergar forges. Unlike Menzoberranzan, lightless except for the delicate faerie fire applied to dec-orate drow palaces, Gracklstugh glowed with reflected firelight and the occa-sional harsh glare of white-hot metal splashing into molds. It was a singularly unlovely place, an affront to any highborn drow. Halisstra thought the place seemed like nothing less than the Hells' own foundry.



At its eastern end, the great cavern of the city sloped down sharply to join the immense gulf of the Darklake, so that Gracklstugh was a subterranean port - though few among the Underdark races used waterways such as the Darklake in their commerce. Consequently the wharves and lakeside ware-houses of the duergar city constituted one of its poorest and most dangerousdistricts. Coalhewer moored his macabre vessel at the end of a crumbling stone quay occupied by a handful of ships of the same general design.



"Get yer things and step lively," the dwarf snapped. "The less ye're seen t'be about the streets, the better. Spider-kissers in the City of Blades be well-advised to step soft and quick, if ye take my meaning."



Valas shot the others a quick look and signed,No killing! It will not be tolerated here.



The scout shouldered his pack and followed the dwarf down the quay, wrapping hispiwafwi around him to conceal the swords at his hip.



Pharaun glanced up at Jeggred and said, "You won't like it here, half-demon. How will you pass the time without something helpless to dismember?"



"I will simply while away the hours considering how I might kill you, wizard," the draegloth rumbled.



Still, Jeggred blew out his breath and drew his own long cloak over his white mane, doing the best he could to hunch over and make himself in-conspicuous. The rest of the party followed after, threading their way through the dilapidated streets of the city's dock quarter to a fortresslike inn a few blocks from the wharves. A sign lettered in both Dwarvish and Under-common named the place as the ColdFoundry. The building itself consisted of an encircling stone wall, guarding a number of small, free-standing block-houses. The company halted just outside the inn's front gate, which stood beside a pen holding huge, foul-smelling pack lizards.



"Hardly an appealing prospect," muttered Pharaun. "Still, I suppose it's better than a rock on a cavern floor."



Valas conferred briefly with Coalhewer, then turned to the rest of the dark elves and said quietly, "Coalhewer and I will arrange safe passage out of the city and look into provisioning. It'll likely involve some bribes to obtain proper licenses and such, which will take time. We should plan on staying here for at least a full day, perhaps two."



"Can we spare the time?" Ryld asked.



"That would be up to Mistress Quenthel," Valas said, "but we may be many days on the next leg of our journey. We accomplish nothing by starvingto death after a tenday or two in the wilds of the Underdark."



Quenthel studied the cheerless duergar inn, and made her decision.



"We will stay two nights, and leave early on the day after tomorrow," she said. "I would stay longer, but I am hesitant to trust our fortunes to the continued hospitality of the duergar. Events are moving too quickly for us to tarry long."



She looked at the scout, and at Coalhewer, who stood a short distance off, watching the street with arms folded and pointedly not listening in on the dark elves' conversation.



Is this place safe? she signed. Will the dwarf betray us?



Safe enough, the scout replied. Keep Jeggred out of sight. The rest of you should be fine, as long as you avoid confrontations. He flicked his eyes at Coalhewer and added, The dwarf understands that we will pay well for his services, but if he should come to believe that we might kill him rather than pay him, he will un-doubtedly find a way to have us all arrested. He knows we're something more than merchants, but he doesn't care what errand brings us here as long as he's paid.



A loose end to be tied up? Ryld asked.



Too dangerous now, Valas signed. I will keep a close eye on him as long as we're here.



"Take Ryld with you, just in case," Quenthelsaid.



Ryld nodded and tugged at his pack, adjusting it to ride better be-tween his shoulder blades.



"Ready when you are," he said.



"I can't say I won't welcome the company, if trouble comes," Valas replied. "Well, let's not keep Master Coalhewer waiting. If you don't hear back from us by midday tomorrow, presume the worst and get out of the city by the quickest means at hand."



The scout hurried off with Ryld striding along a step behind him. They collected Coalhewer and made their way deeper into the city.



"It's that boundless good cheer we find endearing in you, Valas," Pha-raun remarked to the scout's back. "Well, I too have errands to run. I must find what passes for a dealer in arcane reagents in this grim place, and re-plenish my spell components."



"Don't take too long," Quenthel said. She glanced over at Halisstra and Danifae. "Well, aren't you coming?"



"Not yet," Halisstra said. "As long as we're here, I think I will see to providing Danifae with weapons and armor. We'll be back when she is suitably equipped."



"I thought you didn't care to allow your battle captive to fight for you," Quenthel said, her eyes narrowing in calculation.



"I have decided that Danifae is something of a liability as long as she's un-armed and unarmored. I don't want my property damaged for no good reason."



Halisstra could almost feel the depth of Quenthel's suspicion, and the Baenre silently stroked the hilt of her whip as she studied the Ched Nasadan and her handmaid thoughtfully.



Good, thought Halisstra. Let her wonder what hold I have over Dan-ifae that I feel confident arming her. A little uncertainty might improve her assessment of our usefulness.



"Don't wander far or get yourselves into trouble," Quenthel said. "I won't hesitate to set out without either of you if the circumstances so dictate."



She motioned to Jeggred and marched into the Cold Foundry, apparently dismissing both the Ched Nasadan and the Eryndlyrr from her thoughts.



Halisstra couldn'trepress a smile of satisfaction as Quenthel disap-peared from view, Jeggred slinking behind her. She exchanged looks with Danifae, and the two set off into the duergar city.



Though Coalhewer had insisted that the city was open to folk of all races, provided they brought gold, Halisstra could not convince herself that a pair of dark elves were truly safe in Gracklstugh. The short, stocky gray dwarves crowding the streets went about their business with a sullen purposefulness that Halisstra didn't like at all. They didn't laugh, or primp and preen, or even trade veiled threats with one another. Instead, they glared angrily at passersby of any race, including their own, and stomped along beneath heavy shirts of mail, fists gripped tightly on the hafts of axes and hammers thrust through their broad belts. Only after Halisstra and Danifae had passed half a dozen folk of other races in the streets did she begin to relax.



Halisstra paused in a spot between two towering smelters and looked around.



"There. I know little Dwarvish, but I think those signs advertise weaponsmiths."



They turned down the street, which was little more than a winding foot-path rounding the castle-like stalagmites. Past the great stone pillars, they came to something resembling a town square of sorts, an open place surrounded by low, fortlike buildings of mortared stone. Here they found a large storefront displaying dozens of weapons and suits of armor beneath a merchants sign.



"This seems promising," Halisstra said. She ducked through the low door and stepped inside, Danifae behind her.



The place was filled with martial accoutrements of all sorts, much of it dwarven, but a number of pieces from other races - heavy iron blades of orog-work, kuo-toan armor made from the scales of some great pale fish, and black mithral mail of drow-make. Two well-armed duergar busied themselves with assembling a suit of half-plate armor at a workbench to one side of the door. They fixed suspicious stares on Halisstra and Dani-fae when the dark elves walked in, and kept a wary eye on them as the priestess and her handmaid examined the merchandise.



"Mistress Melarn," Danifae called.



Halisstra turned to find the girl gazing up at a well-made suit of drow chain mail, worked with the emblem of a minor House she did not know. A matching buckler hung near the mail, with a morningstar of black steel alongside it. The head of the weapon was fashioned in the shape of a de-monic face with twisting, spikelike horns. Halisstra carefully muttered the words of a spell of detection, and smiled at the result. The arms were magical - not overwhelmingly so, but certainly as good as or better than anything she'd hoped to find in the city.



"What can you tell us of these drow arms?" she asked of the shop-keepers.



The duergar halted their work. The two might have been twins; Halis-stra could hardly tell them apart.



"Trophy," one of them rasped. "A captain in the service of Laird Thraz-gad sold 'em a couple of months ago. Don't know where he got 'em."



"They're enchanted," said the other dwarf. "Won't be cheap. Not at all cheap."



Halisstra moved over to the counter, and fished a small pouch from inside her hauberk. She pored through its contents, and picked out several fine emeralds to set on the counter.



"Do we have a deal?"



The gray dwarf stood and approached to study the emeralds.



He scowled and said, "More than that. A lot more."



Halisstra met his gaze evenly. She hadn't managed to carry away much from her House before it fell, and she simply couldn't waste it on a gray dwarf's greed, not if she had other options open to her.



"Danifae, have another look at the mail," she said over her shoulder. "Make sure it's what you want."



Danifae read her intent perfectly. The girl picked up the morningstar and hefted it in her hand, feeling out its balance. As Halisstra had hoped, the second dwarf became nervous, watching a dark elf handle merchandise so valuable. He set down his work and moved over to keep a closer eye on her, making sure he stood between Danifae and the door. Danifae immediately began to offer a variety of comments about the arms, admiring the mail, questioning the strength of the enchantments, and generally engag-ing the fellow in conversation.



"It'll take five times that weight of gemstones," the duergar at the counter told Halisstra. "And they'll have to be good stones, too."



"Very well, then," Halisstra said.



She shrugged a leather case from her back and set it on the countertop. Unwrapping it carefully, she withdrew her lyre, a small, curved instrument of dragonbone, strung with mithral wire and chased with mithral filigree.



"As you can see, it's an exquisite piece of work," she said.



She picked it up and strummed it as if to show off its qualities - and quietly sang abae'qeshel song. The dwarf gaped at her, then recoiled in horror when he realized she was casting a spell. Before he could call out a warning, the magic of the song ensnared him.



"What's going on there?" the duergar watching Danifae demanded.



"Tell your friend it's all right," Halisstra whispered across the counter. "You don't want the lyre."



"It's fine," the first dwarf said. "She's offering the lyre, but we don't want it."



"Of course not," the second muttered. "Do you see any instruments in here?"



He returned his attention to Danifae, who asked him about the best way to care for mail in damp places.



"Now," said Halisstra to the dwarf she'd beguiled, "we're a little far apart at the moment, but I'm certain we can strike a good bargain. You're going to sell us the arms my handmaid is looking over. Will you take the emeralds as a down payment? I will come back in a couple of days with a very handsome sum to square my account."



"The stones'll do as a down payment," the merchant allowed, "but my partner won't be happy with that. He'll think you don't mean to come back."



"Let him think I've paid in full, then, and he won't trouble you." Halisstra said.



She thought for a moment more, then leaned forward and held the fellow with her eye.



"You know," she said softly, "if something were to happen to your part-ner, the entire business would be yours to run as you see fit, wouldn't it? You could keepall of the profits,couldn't you?"



An avaricious gleam came to the merchant's eye.



"I think you're right," he said. "I don't know why it didn't occur to me before!"



"Patience," Halisstra advised. "Anytime today would be fine. Oh, and I would appreciate it if you didn't mention to anyone else that my friend and I had done business with you. Let's just keep this between the two of us."



Nimor departed Menzoberranzan, carrying various payments and tokens to indicate that Reethk Vaszune had entered into an arrangement to provide the wizards of Agrach Dyrr with certain spell reagents and components on the small chance that he might be required to talk his way out of the city. The details of the true arrangement he had forged he carried in no place except his own mind. The Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin was well satisfied with his work of the past few days. While he did not strictly need Agrach Dyrr for what he had in mind, the accommodation he'd reached with the an-cient master of the House would make the task ahead of him much easier.



Nimor slipped from the Qu'ellarz'orl into a small side cavern leading out into the Dark Dominion. He had come to know the maze of dangerous pas-sages surrounding the great city quite well in the past few months, and he quickly found a dark, quiet spot unobserved by any of the city's defenders. The Anointed Blade stretched out his hand toward the blank stone of the passage wall. The Ring of Shadows gleamed on his left hand, a small circle of inky darkness that seemed more like a tiny hole in the world than a piece of ornamentation. Among its other powers, the ring made available to him the ability to walk paths in the Plane of Shadow and so freed him from many of the constraints that travel on foot would otherwise place on him.



He stepped forward toward the wall, and vanished into the Shadow Fringe. His destination lay not much more than a hundred miles from Menzoberranzan. He'd made the trip several times before, and it rarely took more than an hour. No son of Chaulssin had much to fear walking among the shadows, so Nimor occupied himself during his journey by weighing the value of his alliance with Agrach Dyrr, and wondering whether the ancient sorcerer who secretly ruled the House could be trusted to do as he said he would.



Nimor followed the dark path the ring forged through the Shadow Fringe for a measureless span of time, and the road began to twist back toward the mundane world. It was nearly impossible to judge the passage of hours in the Fringe, but the magic of the spell was such that the path it created would, in its own time, emerge at the desired destination. The assassin set his hand to the hilt of his rapier and took the last step of his journey, stepping through a veil of gloom into a large, vaultlike chamber of carefully fitted stone blocks. Only one door led from the room, a great portal of iron reinforced by strengthening spells. Nimor drew from beneath his mail vest a large bronze key and fitted it to the looming portal. The door swung open with a squeal of rust.



Beyond the door stood a great, dark hall lit by red-glowing coals in iron braziers. Like the vault it was made of dressed stone, its ceiling supported by massive columns, but unlike similar chambers in drow palaces, the space was devoid of decoration or adornment. Nimor felt the presence of some number of guardians, though they chose not to reveal themselves.



"It is I, Nimor Imphraezl," he said. "Inform the crown prince that I am here."



From the air beside him several duergar guards appeared, shedding their invisibility. The gray dwarves stood a head shorter than the drow, but they were broad of shoulder and long of torso, their legs thick and short, their arms powerfully muscled. They wore black plate armor and carried battle-axes and shields emblazoned with the symbol of Gracklstugh. One duergar woman, her rank indicated only by a single strip of gold filigree on the brow of her helm, studied him carefully.



"The crown prince has left instructions to show you to a guest apart-ment in the palace. He will call on you shortly."



She made the courtesy sound like an order.



The assassin folded his arms and suffered himself to be marched off by a pair of the prince's own Stone Guards. The gray dwarves eyed him uneasily, as if they expected mischief from Nimor. In truth, there was little love lost between duergar and drow, despite the fact that Menzoberranzan and Gracklstugh had stood as neighbors for millennia. Gray dwarf and dark elf had fought more than one vicious war for control of the hundred-odd miles of cavern and chasm that lay between the two cities. The fact that no such war had been fought in a century or more simply indicated that both races had come to hold a grudging respect for their enemy's strength, and not any real lessening of the ill will between them.



The guards led him through the labyrinthine corridors of Grackl-stugh's palace and showed him to a large suite in a disused portion of the fortress. The furnishings were simple and functional, as fitted duergar taste. Nimor settled down to wait, moving over to gaze out of a slitlike window at the gray dwarf city beyond the palace. The city was as unlovely as ever, a reeking cauldron of smoke and noise.



After a time, Nimor noted the approach of footsteps outside and turned as Horgar Steelshadow entered the suite, flanked by a pair of Stone Guards.



"Ah," the dark elf said, inclining his head. "A good day to you, my lord. How fares the City of Blades?"



"I doubt that you care," Horgar replied. For the ruler of such a power-ful city, the crown prince was in many ways unremarkable. He looked very much like all the other duergar in the room, with a sullen cast to his eyes and a hairless skull. He carried a scepter of office and did not wear armor, which was all that differentiated him from his bodyguards. He motioned the guards to remain by the door, and strode over to speak quietly to Nimor. "Well? What news?"



"I believe I have found the allies I was seeking in Menzoberranzan, dear prince. A strong House eager to see the current order of things overthrown, but whose loyalty is not in question there. The hour of your victory approaches."



"Hmph. House Zauvirr was eager to hire our mercenaries in Ched Nasad, but damned few of Khorrl Xornbane's folk came back. I don't doubt that you or that Zammzt fellow whispered the same thing in Khorrl's ear when you hired his company."



"Xornbane's losses were regrettable, but in truth we did not expect the exceptional effectiveness of your stonefire bombs against Ched Nasad's cal-cified webs. Absent that unforeseeable chance, Khorrl Xornbane would have taken the city with House Zauvirr."



The duergar prince scowled, his beard jutting out like a bottlebrush.



"I warned Khorrl that dark elves have a habit of poorly rewarding mercenaries, especially dwarves. I won't let another of our mercenary companies march into peril like that again. Xornbane was an eighth of this city's strength."



"I have no need of a single company of mercenaries, Prince, no matter how large and fierce," Nimor assured him. "I have need of your whole army. March in your full strength, and you need not fear defeat in detail."



"It still smells like an insidious drow ruse to me."



Nimor frowned and said, "Prince Horgar, if you are hesitant to hazard any risks at all, you will rarely win a throw of the dice. You have an op-portunity to achieve something great, but I cannot tell you that your suc-cess is guaranteed, or that there are no risks in our enterprise."



"We're not talking about a handful of coins riding on a stupid game," the duergar prince said. "We're talking about my throne riding on a war that could take a turn I don't care for in any number of ways. Don't try to shore up my resolve with empty observations about risk and reward."



"Very well, then, I shall not, but I will point out that when last we met you said you wanted only one thing before you would consent to lead your army against Menzoberranzan, and that was a substantial ally within the city itself. I have provided you that ally. When will it ever be better for you to strike out at the threat a strong Menzoberranzan poses to your kingdom? Their priestesses are powerless, they have already endured a costly slave rebellion, and now I bring to you a great House willing to assist you in your efforts. What more do we lack, Prince?"



The duergar scowled and turned away to stare out at Gracklstugh. He stood for a time, thinking hard. Nimor watched him waver, and decided it was time to set the hook.



Lowering his voice, he moved close and said, "What better way to secure your seat against the unruly lairds you fear, than bydistracting them witha campaign beyond your borders? Even if you should fail to take Menzober-ranzan, some diligent planning should ensure that the forces of the most dan-gerous lairds seem to find the deadliest part of any battle you fight. In truth I believe it is within your grasp to win a great victory over Menzoberranzan, and wreck the strength of your most rebellious nobles at the same time."



The duergar prince grunted and studied Nimor closely.



"You presume much, dark elf," said Horgar. "What is it you hope to gain by destroying Menzoberranzan, eh? Why do you seek to set me on this course of action?"



The assassin grinned and clapped the duergar on the shoulder. The Stone Guards in the chamber shifted nervously, disapproving of the contact.



"My dear Prince Horgar, the answer is simple," Nimor said. "Revenge. Your army is to be the instrument of my vengeance. Naturally I recognize that you will not raze Menzoberranzan simply because I ask it, so it is a necessary part of my design that you are provided with the suitable moti-vation to do what I wish done. I have worked long and hard to bring about the circumstances under which the army of Gracklstugh might be aimed at the city I hate - including, I might add, assisting you with the small problem of your father's thoughtless longevity. How can I make my pur-pose plainer?"



"I paid for your help in that case with hundreds of stonefire bombs," the duergar prince said, bridling. "Do not speak of my father's . . . death again. If I came to believe that you might seek to influence my actions with that story, I would have to make sure that whatever information you possessed never came to light. Do you understand me?"



"Oh, I did not mean anything by the remark, Horgar. I merely pointed out that I had been useful to you before, and that I may prove useful again. Now, can I count on the army of Gracklstugh, or not?"



Horgar Steelshadow, Crown Prince of Gracklstugh, reluctantly nodded assent.



"We will come," he said. "Now, explain to me who exactly will be aiding us inside Menzoberranzan, and how he'll be able to help."



Ryld could feel hateful eyes lingering on his broad back as he followed Valas and Coalhewer through the streets of the duergar city. He was all too conscious of the fact that he was out of his element. He towered a good twenty inches over any of the gray dwarves, and his coal-black skin and inkypiwafwi didn't help him to blend in at all. The three travelers wound their way through a swordsmith's district, a narrow alleyway lined on both sides by open-air forges where duergar in leather aprons hammered endlessly on glowing metal. Ryld knew a thing or two about good steel, and he could see at a glance that the dwarves knew their work.



The weapons master quickened his step and drew alongside Valas.



"Where are we going?" he asked as quietly as possible over the ringing hammers. "I thought we needed to obtain some sort of official license or pass. Shouldn't we be heading for a courthouse, or something?"



"If ye wanted a royal license, ye would," Coalhewer answered, "but that would take ye months and cost ye a fortune in bribes. No, I'm takin' ye to call on the household of the clan laird Muzgardt. He'll give ye a writ o' passage that should get ye where ye want to go."



Ryld nodded. It was not so different from Menzoberranzan, after all.



"How far will Muzgardt's writ run?" Valas asked. "Will it get us out of Gracklstugh's dominions?"



"Muzgardt's clan be merchants. They deal in ale and liquors through-out the Deepkingdom, and sometimes bring outside brews into the city - drow wine, svirfneblin brandy, even some vintages from the surface, or so I hear. Ye'll find his folk all over the realm." Coalhewer laughed a nasty laugh and added, " 'Course, Muzgardt sells passage to those as want it, too. He likes his gold."



Ryld smiled. Coalhewer was a grasping, avaricious fellow by anyone's standards. Muzgardt's greed must be something noteworthy indeed for a dwarf like Coalhewer to comment on it.



They came to the end of the street of swordsmiths and found themselves back in the vicinity of the Darklake, though farther north along the shore. Before them stood a huge, ramshackle brewery made from loose stone stacked to make walls between the petrified stems of a small forest of gigan-tic mushrooms. Big copper vats steamed within, filling the air with a heavy, yeasty stink. Dozens of copper kegs stood nearby, and burly gray dwarves swarmed over the place, mashing fungus, mixing fermenting masses, and filling casks with freshly brewed ale.



"A dwarf's second love after gold," Coalhewer said with a crooked smile. "Ah, Muzgardt's lads do good work, I tell ye."



The dwarf led Ryld and Valas into the brewhouse and past the huge vats to a small shack or shelter in the back of the place. A pair of gray dwarves stood in heavy mail armor, wicked-looking axes resting close at hand. The guards glared angrily at the dark elves, and picked up their weapons.



"What d'ye want?" one growled.



"Thummud," Coalhewer replied. "Got a business proposition for him."



"Stay here," the first guard said.



He ducked through a ragged curtain in the doorway, and returned a moment later.



"Thummud'll see ye, but the drow'll have t'leave their weapons at the door. Don't trust 'em."



Ryld looked at Valas and signed,Are we worried about an ambush?



The scout replied, Coalhewer knows there are five more in our party, in-cluding a capable wizard and a draegloth. I don't think he'd lead us into a trap - but watch your back anyway.



"Enough finger-talk," the guard snarled. "Talk so's we can understand ye, if ye've got anything to say."



"Always," Ryld said aloud to Valas.



He gave the duergar a hard look, but shrugged Splitter from his shoul-der and set the greatsword against one wall. He unbuckled his short sword from its sheath at his hip and set it nearby.



"There's a curse on the big blade," he said. "You won't like what hap-pens if you try to handle it."



Valas set down his shortbow and arrows, then dropped his kukris to the ground. The duergar guards checked the two dark elves for concealed weapons, then ushered them into the gloomy shelter. The place was an office of sorts, with ledgers and records scattered about. By a large standing clerks desk stood one of the fattest gray dwarfs Ryld had ever seen, a round-bodied fellow with thick arms and heavy shoulders. Duergar tended to run toward a gaunt, broad-shouldered build despite their short, powerful stature, but the brewmaster Thummud was as round as one of his kegs.



"Coalhewer," he said by way of a greeting. "What can you do for me?"



"I've got a party of dark elves as need a writ o' business from Muzgardt," Coalhewer said. "They'd prefer not to wait on a royal permit."



"What sort of business?"



"We deal in gemstones, mostly," Valas said. "We're looking into setting up transport through the Deepkingdom. We need to be able to move around and talk to a lot of people, and as Coalhewer said, we don't want to wait for months to get a royal license."



"Ye're stupid or ye're lying, then. Ye'll pay ten times the cost ofa royal license to get a writ from our clan laird. Most merchants I know wouldn't do such a thing."



Valas glanced up at Ryld, then looked back to Thummud and said, "All right, then. We've got some rivals from back home that are doing a fine business here, and we want to sound out their suppliers to see if they can't be encouraged to sell to us instead of the others. A royal license wouldn't really extend that far, would it?"



Thummud snorted, "No, I suppose not."



"Can ye help me clients, or not?" Coalhewer asked. "Or do I have to go see Ironhead, or maybe Anvilthew?"



"Clan Muzgardt might be able to help ye," Thummud said after a long moment. "We'll want two hundred pieces of gold for each body on the writ, and ye can't have it today."



Coalhewer glanced up at the dark elves. Ryld nodded to him.



"They'll pay the laird's fee," the duergar sailor said, "but they want to get started right quick."



"Doesn't matter what yer clients want," Thummud replied with a shrug. "I'll have to take up the matter with the clan laird before I write you a pass."



"Ye never had to before!"



The fat dwarf folded his arms and set his jaw stubbornly. He glared at Coalhewer and the dark elves.



"Be that as it may, the crown prince's soldiers have been checking our writs and passes too closely of late. Horgar's let it be known that he wants to know who's in the Deepkingdom and why, and he's leaning on the clan lairds to withhold their writs. We'll be able to get yer clients theirs, I think, but I'll have to gain Muzgardt's blessing first. Come back tomorrow, or the day after."



Coalhewer muttered into his beard, but he didn't bother to argue the point any further. He jerked his head toward the curtain, and led Ryld and Valas outside. The dark elves picked up their arms, and in a few minutes they'd left the brewery behind them.



"Now, what should we make of that?" Valas wondered aloud. "Do you know another clan that might help out, Coalhewer?"



"Maybe, but if Horgar's cracking down on informal passes and such things, ye'll have trouble anywhere ye go." The dwarf scratched at his beard. "I'll have to ask some questions, and I don't think ye'd best be with me."



Ryld looked to Valas, who thought carefully before agreeing, and even then the weapons master didn't think his fellow Menzoberranyr looked sufficiently confident in their guide's loyalty.