CHAPTER TEN
13 Uktar, the Year of the Banner (1368 DR)
(art by Romy Jones)
“Be on your guard when you leave the chamber.” Flame flickers before the azer’s eyes, clouding his view of Amra. “Vermin!” is the last word he gets out, before the flame consumes him and he vanishes a bright burst of light.
Amra raises a hand in a final salute, then sighs. “Be on guard,” she tells the others.
With the azers gone, already the chamber is a bit cooler, although the rock of walls, floor, and ceiling have soaked up the azers’ heat for ages. Firnous, heeding the cryptic message, steps quietly to the exit, stilling even his breath. For a moment, he sees and hears nothing. But then he turns, and mouths one silent word to Amra...
“Spider.”
Amra nods to Firnous. She runs a finger down the length of Iralenmaska’s blade and murmurs a prayer to Vandria. “Lady of Grief, sharpen my blade against thy foes,” she whispers, and is answered when the sword’s emerald hue darkens slightly.
Then she looks to Imoen. “Are you ready?”
“Like scared and about to faint? Then yes,” Imoen said.
Amra smiles. “*It* should be afraid!”
“Good thought there,” Imoen said. Firnous also signals his readiness. “What should I do?” Melly asks.
“Stay here and warn us if something attempts to come up from behind.”
“All right,” Melly said very seriously, taking the instruction at face value.
Amra nods gravely and then traces a line, as of a sword blade, on her forehead before moving to the exit from the azer’s chamber.
As Amra creeps forward, she can hear the clacking of the spider’s hard foot-tips against the stone floor. Judging from the sound, it must be right outside in the corridor.
Amra relaxes and then kicks a small chunk of stone down the corridor towards the clack-clack.
For a moment, there’s silence, and then the clacking becomes more agitated -- the stone has set the spider into agitated motion.
Amra purses her lips and kicks another stone.
The second stone bounces out into the corridor. The spider, this time alert, detects its origin. Clacking feet come skittering down the corridor toward the still-warm chamber vacated by the azers.
The spider runs forward, its body emerging into the chamber, forelegs and mandibles probing for the stone-thrower.
Amra is ready. She sweeps her sword so fast it seems to leave a green glow in its wake, and cuts deep into the chitinous hide of the monstrous spider. Ichor splashes and spills.
Amra’s companions are ready, too. Firnous fires an arrow at one of the spider’s larger eyes. The shot is well-aimed, but without the blessing borne by Amra’s sword, the arrow glances off the hideous head, doing no more than a scratch...
Imoen keeps a small crossbow in her off hand, but she relies on her magic wand. A trio of magical projectiles flare in the dim chamber, swirling toward the spider and impacting it along one side of its body. The monstrous creature thrashes, burned by the weapon....
Then, it’s the spider’s turn to lash out.
A chitinous beak opens wide and snaps forward, attempting to close on Amra.
The goddess’ favor lends speed to Amra, and she ducks to the side, well out of harm’s way, and then spins around to ready a new strike.
This time, though, the element of surprise is gone, and the monster is able to lift its threatened leg up with startling speed, spoiling Amra’s attack.
Firnous throws his bow aside and draws the fine shortsword he carries, ready to put himself between Imoen and the spider. Imoen herself discharges another volley from her wand, further enraging the spider but doing little to slow it. Amra is still its closest target...
A leg sweeps out, foot-parts attempting to knock the sword from Amra’s hand.
Amra narrows her eyes in anger. “Never!” she hisses in Elvish, even as she snaps her sword-arm back just in the nick of time.
The spider hisses and attempts to pin Amra with its bulk.
Amra drops down and rolls to the side, out from under the enormous spider.
From beneath, Amra can see the scars in the creature’s chitin, left by her own previous fight with the beast, and Hadarlas’ before that.
“For Askavar!” Amra calls out, stabbing up at the mesh of fresh scars. Iralenmaska is keen as ever and adds a new line of pain to the spider’s underbelly.
The spider roars in pain. Poison drips from its slavering jaws, splashing on the stone next to Amra’s head. Fighting its urge to pull away from Amra’s keen blade, the spider tries to smother Amra by crushing her between its body and the stone pavement.
“Amra!” Imoen calls out, as the elf vanishes from view beneath the spider’s lowering bulk.
A heartbeat or two later, Amra pops up behind the spider. She raises her sword in a quick salute to Imoen and Firnous and then takes it in both hands.
Amra catches the briefest glimpse of relief on Imoen’s face as the spider wheels to confront its persecutor anew. Once more, its jaws snap!
And close on Amra’s shield. The mandibles are held open by the metal sunrays embossing the old shield. Amra grunts, trying to hold her ground against the spider’s overpowering strength, then shifts...
And strikes. “Vandria!” The jade sword cuts deep, vanishing almost up to the hilt into the bulk of the enormous old spider. Amra’s shield catches most of the ichor that gushes Like an unholy geyser, and her cloak manages to block the rest. She yanks her sword free and steps back to avoid any last thrashing of the spider’s limbs.
The spider jerks and thrashes in its death throes, but nothing can stop its demise. Firnous runs forward to pull Amra back, away from the flailing legs and claws. Finally, the thrashing subsides, and the spider’s carcass lies still on the cold stone.
“Is anybody hurt?”
“You never let it get close to *us*,” Imoen said with mock petulance.
“I didn’t want it to faint and ruin our exercise.”
Imoen grins. Melly comes running forward from the back of the room. “You did it! You did it!”
Amra nods at the young girl. “Thank you for standing guard. You missed some of Firnous’ heroism, though, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll make him tell me everything!” Melly insists with surprising force.
Amra grins and wides the unholy blood off Iralenmaska’s blade. She then studies the dead spider for a moment. “Well.”
Firnous keeps his sword ready, just in case any of the reanimating swarms appear from the carcass, but none do.
“I have to say: I don’t Like these ruins,” Imoen comments.
“Then let’s continue on,” Amra said. “With any luck, the way will be clear now.”
“We can fetch Rindol on the way out,” Imoen agrees.
Amra nods and sheathes Iralenmaska, then starts back towards where they left the dwarf.
The trip back to where the injured dwarf cleric is waiting is uneventful, free from extraplanar fire beings, magical mists, or unholy spider-kin. Rindol is scratching at his leg when the others arrive.
“How do you fare, master?”
“My leg itches mightily. Which means it’s healing, I think. It’s got enough feeling back to torment me, anyway.” He grins. “How are *you*?”
“Victorious on many fronts,” Amra said. She tells them of the azers and their dilemma, and the defeat of the spider.
“You elves will be the embarrassment of the dwarves yet,” Rindol said. “I couldn’t have hoped for better.”
“Yet?” Amra asks with a wink and a grin. “Your advice gave us the advantage. Do you think you are ready to leave this place?”
“I’ve been ready for weeks,” Rindol said. “If I could get a little help--“ Firnous moves to help the dwarf up.
“Liberation is at hand, Rindol.” Amra smiles and helps Firnous get him to his feet.
It is slow going, but with everyone’s help (Melly especially pitches in, still feeling guilty about the injury to Rindol’s leg), the group manages to return to the entrance where they first stepped into the ruined complex. And this time, the outside world is visible, clear of mists.
Amra breathes in fresh, surface air and a smile lights up her face. She steps through the doorway first, just in case.
... and she steps outside, into the open air.
Amra turns and beckons the others forward. “Come!”
The others follow after, voices loud with enthusiasm. “We need to find Sparrowchaser!” “We need to find Auravahinue!” “And Dobyn!” “I made a bet with Wulfgar!”
Amra laughs. “Very well. Let’s begin.” She closes her eyes and lets out a sudden, melodic whistle that reaches from Faerûn into the celestial places.
Brighter sunlight beams, making the already brilliant sunlight pale in comparison. With a whinny, Auravahinue gallops forth, seemingly out of thin air, a wide-eyed, open-jawed dwarf on his back.
“Hail!” Amra calls out, her expression mirroring the sun as Auravinhue graces them with his presence. “How do you fare, master dwarf?”
Dobyn is left stammering, trying his best to piece words together. “Better!” he finally manages.
“I’m glad. I’m certain the ale was less than you hoped for, and I assume there are few forges.”
“Trees!” Dobyn said breathlessly.
Rindol laughs.
Amra grins.
Perhaps not surprisingly, Dobyn’s wounds appear to have been well tended during his time in Arvandor.
“I’m glad you’re well again, Dobyn.”
A prodigious feat, Dobyn manages to assemble two words, one right after the other: “Thank you!”
“Wulfgar will be glad to see Dobyn back,” Rindol tells Amra. “Maybe even me, too.”
“He owes me money!” Firnous reminds, not for the first time.
Amra grins again, then nods at Rindol. “Then let’s see. We have a horse to rescue, as well.”
With the mists gone, it’s not hard to find the section of ruins that conceal the dwarves’ underground stronghold. A sentry recognizes the approaching party, this time in the company of missing dwarves, and they are all quickly admitted (with the exception of Auravahinue, who is too large to easily fit through the confining entryway).
Wulfgar comes running out. “You!”
“Good day, master Wulfgar,” Amra said with a polite bow.
“You didn’t die.”
“Not today.”
Firnous grins a predatory grin.
Rindol steps forward. “They did more than that, Wulfgar.” He waves Dobyn into view, as well.
“Now, I think it’s time to talk.”
Wulfgar’s eyes widen as he sees two of his missing comrades, presumed dead. “I’m listening,” he said, for once slightly subdued.
“This squabble with the gnomes should end.” Amra explains what they learned of Hadarlas and his travels.
Wulfgar, despite his initial inclinations, is true to his word. He listens dutifully to the entire tale. “I can’t fault this Hadarlas if he tried to help my boys, even if two were lost. I’d like to think dwarves would have done as well, or better – But I can’t say that for sure. I owe you an apology.”
Wulfgar waves over one of the other dwarves, whispering instructions to him. The other dwarf steps away, deeper into the stronghold.
“You did what seemed right based on what you knew,” Amra offers. “I think the gnomes are the ones you should mend ties with,” she said as the other dwarf hurries off.
“I’ll speak to Maester Erris about it. She’ll have a few words for me, I imagine,” Wulfgar said wearily. “But we were allies longer than we were at odds. You should see her yourself, you know. She’ll want to know about the mists.”
“I would be glad to tell her.”
Wulfgar nods to Amra, then looks knowingly at Firnous, still waiting for his reward. “When you go topside, be sure to pick to up your other horse,” Wulfgar reminds.
“Thank you, master Wulfgar. One day, perhaps we can meet again under less trying circumstances.”
“You are welcome here, if you return this way in later days. I hope you fare well in your search,” Wulfgar said. Rindol and Dobyn chime in with similar sentiments.
Amra bows to the three dwarves. “Thank you again,” she said, then turns to depart.
The dwarves bow in kind. The group heads up to the surface. Sparrowchaser is waiting, watching the birds fly past in the mist-free sky, while the dwarf Wulfgar summoned is busy securing heavy saddlebags across Sparrowchaser’s back.
Amra raises an eyebrow at Sparrowchaser’s new cargo. “What is this?”
“Wulfgar said he owed you,” the dwarf said, casting an eye in Firnous’ direction. Firnous runs forward, opening the bags. “Coin,” Firnous said. “Lots of coin!”
Auravahinue comes round as well, drawn by the group’s voices.
Amra raises the other eyebrow. “You both deserve it,” she tells Firnous and Melly.
Melly’s eyes go wide. She’s never seen this much money. “We’ll... we’ll share it with you!” Firnous offers.
“There’s no need. I have what I need. You can split my share between yourselves,” Amra tells the three young humans.
“We’ll need to lay in supplies as we travel,” Imoen said pragmatically. “Maybe we can buy some better food from the gnomes.”
“There you go, then.”
It doesn’t take long to make the final passage back to the gnomes’ concealed entryway. Maester Jantick, his brightly colored round cap perched precariously on his head, is making some sort of arcane measurement over the area previously hidden by the illusion door. “Oh. You’ve come back.”
“We have, Maester,” Amra said. “With tidings from the dwarves.”
“They’ve declared war. They’ve sent you as an opening salvo.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
“Well, someone will take you prisoner below,” Jantick quips. “Go submit for processing.”
“Gnomish justice is much to be admired.” Amra laughs and enters the fearsome jail.
This time, the resident gnomes are *slightly* less surprised to see an elf and three humans crowd into their low-ceilinged burrow. Maester Erris is quickly located. “You’ve returned! What did you *do*?” she asks.
Amra explains what they did.
“You’ve changed this place *forever*,” Erris said. She doesn’t seem exactly happy.
Amra ‘s good mood begins to ebb. “We ended a powerful curse. Was this wrong?”
Erris relaxes a little. “No. The azers did not belong here. I am sure they were pleased -- if such creatures can be pleased -- to return to their home. And the dwarves welcome their kin back, I know. And we will be glad if they do not blame us for anything. But....”
“But?” Amra asks warily.
“The mists were a constraint on the prowlings of adventurers here. The parts of the ruins that were accessible had long been stripped nearly bare. With the entire complex laid open to scrutiny -- and permanently, at that -- we will no doubt be flooded by treasure-seekers and raiders. And I cannot guarantee for certain there are not more dangers in the ruins.”
Amra’s face falls. “You and the dwarves must cooperate, then. I am sorry. We did not anticipate such a thing.”
“You put right an ancient wrong,” Erris tells Amra. “We have lived here long, both dwarves and gnomes, and never bothered to put straight what was awry right above our noses. If we must work harder for a time, it is not you who bears blame, but us, for our neglect. You have done no wrong and much good, Amra Amariya. Do not trouble yourself over it.”
Amra nods slowly, not looking very persuaded by this.
“I shouldn’t sound so dire about this,” Erris said. “But would you want to work With Wulfgar?” She grins.
“Had I mentioned our pressing need to depart posthaste?” Amra asks, finally grinning again.
“You are too wise,” Erris said, sighing but smiling. “Let me do this for you, before you go. Enjoy our hospitality for the night. I will replenish your stocks and make sure any wounds are treated. And while you wait, I will have my sentries circle the complex. If your missing elf departed through another exit -- one covered by the mists until now -- they will find his tracks....”
“Perhaps that will give you encouragement for the next leg of your journey.”
“You are too kind, Maester,” Amra said With a bow.
“You saved my people from a needless squabble With the dwarves. And dwarves, we both know, bear long grudges. What little I can do for you, you have earned several times over.”
“As you say,” Amra murmurs. “I’m sure my companions are hungry after all our dashing around.”