Dissolution

SEVENTEEN

All the undercreatures gawked when Pharaun and Ryld strolled into the cellar, and why not? The mage doubted this foul little drinking pit had ever seen such an elegant figure as himself, an aristocrat of graceful carriage, exquisite ornaments, dress, and coiffure. . well, he hoped that, after some emergency adjustments, his hair was at least passable. In any case, it was plain the goblins, orcs, and whatevers had little interest in aesthetic appreciation. They whispered, glowered, and fingered their weapons whenever they thought the two dark elves weren't looking at them, and the fear and hate in the sweltering, low-ceilinged room were palpable. Pharaun supposed that considering what Greya

He wondered how they'd react if they discovered his sister had slaughtered their fellows by the score merely to create an opportunity to kill him. Perhaps if was a question best left in the realm of the hypothetical. Knowing that Ryld was watching his back, the Master of Sorcere sauntered to the bar and, with a sweep of his arm, scattered clattering coins across it. The currency was the usual miscellany encountered in Menzoberranzan—rounds, squares, triangles, rings, spiders, and octagons—half of it minted by the dozen or so greatest noble Houses and the rest imported from other lands in the Underdark and even the World Above. It was all silver, platinum, or gold, though, more precious metal than this squalid hole probably saw in a decade. «Tonight,» Pharaun a

The taverner, a squat orc with a twisted, oozing mouth and a mangy scalp, stared for a heartbeat or two, scooped up the coins, and began dipping some foul-smelling brew from a filthy tub. Cursing and threatening one another, the rest of the undercreatures shoved forward to get it. The wizard noted that no one thanked him. After looking around for another moment, Pharaun spotted another dark elf slouched in a corner, evidently one of the wretches who'd sunk so low the goblinoids accepted him as one of their own. «Come here, my friend,» the wizard beckoned. The outcast flinched. «Me?» «Yes. What's your name?» The fellow hesitated, then said, «Bruherd, once of House Duskryn.» «Indeed, until your noble kin kicked you out. We have much in common, Bruherd, for I myself am outcast twice over. Now come advise me on a matter of vital importance.» «I'm, uh, all right where I am.» «I know you don't mean to be unsociable,» said Pharaun, setting blue sparks dancing on his fingertips. The Duskryn sighed, and, limping in a ma

«They don't want the priestesses to find you here,» said Bruherd. He hadn't made a move during the skirmish. Perhaps he'd frozen, or maybe he'd figured his best hope of survival lay in passivity. «I don't, either. They're liable to kill us, too.» «How disappointing,» Pharaun said. «And here I thought Ryld and I had found a cozy enclave of kindred spirits. But of course we won't force our company on those who lack the ratified sensibility to appreciate it. Neither, however, will we quit this place before we slake our thirst. You goblins and whatnot will have to withdraw. Good evening.» The undercreatures glowered. The mage could tell what they were thinking. They were many, and the intruders only two. Yet they'd seen what those two could do, and after a few seconds, they started trudging out, leaving their unconscious comrades sprawled on the floor.

«You're crazy,» Bruherd told the masters. «You need to keep your heads down very low for a few years. Give the matrons and the Academy time to forget.» «Alas,» Pharaun said, «I suspect I'm unforgettable. You too may depart If you can bear to tear yourself away.» «Crazy,» the outcast repeated. He limped for the stairs and in a moment was gone like the rest. Pharaun walked behind the bar. «Now,» he said, «to begin drow's eternal search for the stuff that, bubbles.» Ryld surveyed the slumbering goblins as if pondering whether to stick his sword in them. «I still think this is a bad idea,» the weapons master said. Careful not to soil his boots, Pharaun stepped around the two bloody pieces of the barkeep and inspected a rack of jugs and bottles.

«You always say that, and you're always mistaken. The goblinoids will carry word of our whereabouts far and wide. The rogues are bound to hear.» «As will your sister and everyone else we've managed to a

He opened a glass bottle with a long, double-curved neck, and the contents hissed. «Aha! I've found the draught the Duskryn recommended.» «Someone's here,» said Ryld. The mage turned. Two figures were descending the stairs. They looked like orcs, with coarse, tangled manes and lupine ears, but Pharaun's silver ring revealed that the appearance was an illusion, disguising dark elf males. The wizard saw the masks as translucent veils lying atop the reality.

He conveyed the truth of the situation to Ryld with a rapid flexing and crooking of his fingers. «Gentlemen,» said the mage, «well met! My comrade and I have been looking everywhere for you.» «We know,» said the taller of the newcomers, evidently not surprised that a Master of Sorcere had instantly penetrated his disguise. He was Houndaer Tuin'Tarl, one of the highest ranked of the missing males, likewise one of the first to elope, and thus almost certainly one of the ringleaders. Certainly he looked like a princely commander of lesser folk. His rich silk and velvet garments, the magical auras of many of his possessions, and strutting demeanor all proclaimed it. He wore crystals in his thick, flowing hair—a nice effect—had close-set eyes and a prominent jaw, and looked as if he knew how to manage the scimitar hanging at his side. He also looked rather tense. «We've known for a while,» said the other stranger, whom Pharaun didn't recognize. At first glance, he appeared to be a nondescript commoner, with the squint and small hands of a craftsman proficient at fine work. However, the dagger tucked in his sash fairly blazed with potent enchantments, as did an object concealed within his jerkin. Evidently he'd layered one disguise on another. «Well,» said Ryld, «you took your time contacting us. I guess that's understandable.»

«I think so,» said Houndaer as he and his comrade advanced. A goblin moaned, and the noble kicked the creature silent. «Why were you seeking us?» «It's our understanding,» said Pharaun, stepping from behind the bar, «that you offer a haven for males who find existence under the thumbs of their female relatives uncongenial and who, for whatever reason, aspire neither to the Academy, a merchant clan, nor Bregan D'aerthe. If so, then we wish to join your company.» «But you two already did aspire to the Academy,» the aristocrat said. «You rose to high rank there. Some might say that gives my associates and I cause for concern.» The orc mask's tusked mouth perfectly copied the motions of his actual lips. Pharaun couldn't have created a better illusion himself. «You speak of the dead past,» Pharaun said. «You've no doubt heard I'm in disgrace, and Master Argith finds Melee-Magthere stale and tedious.» The dark powers knew, his discontented friend shouldn't have much trouble convincing them of that. «We require an alternative way of life.» Houndaer nodded and replied, «I'm glad to hear it, but what assurances can you give that you aren't an agent the matrons sent to find us?» Pharaun gri