Extinction

Meanwhile, the slime left by the tentacle was creeping across his face and up his left arm. He breathed in a deep lungful of water, then blew it out through his nose, clearing his nostrils. How much longer did he have? As least his mind was still his own, and he suspected that it was one thing he would probably retain. The drow-thing had exhibited free will. It had been able to warn Valas away from Zanhoriloch?for all the good that had done.

Time to try something else, the scout thought.

Valas plucked another of his magical-items from his shirt: a short mithral tube no longer than his finger. Sculling with his left hand?the webs had already grown up to the second knuckle?he tapped the tube against one of the bars of the cage. A bright, clear note carried through the water, but nothing happened. Whatever door there might be in the cage was not responding to the chime's magic.

Slipping the chime back to a pocket, Valas reached for his last hope, a brooch set with a dull gray stone that was surrounded by a dozen tiny, uncut gems. Made by the deep gnomes, the brooch had the power to wrap its wearer in illusion, giving him whatever appearance he could imagine. It didn't actually transform the wearer, nor did it have the power to manifest more complicated illusions?like making a drow appear to be an aboleth, for example?but it would allow Valas to create subtle changes in his appearance.

He twisted the gem in its facing, and felt a warm shiver run through his body. Looking down, he «saw» webbed hands and feet and a fluked tail. The brooch's magic had worked, giving him the appearance of the drow-thing.

Everything depended on his guess: that the magic of the cage would be negated, once his transformation was complete. Kicking his legs, he propelled himself up toward the roof of the cage, praying that it would disappear.

His head struck bars with a crack that made sparks dance in front of his eyes. Grimacing, he drifted back toward the center of the cage.

That was it then. The brooch had been his final hope. Even the illusion magic of the deep gnomes was powerless against the cage that held him. He was trapped. All he could do was wait until his body caught up with the illusion he'd just created. Until he turned into a drow-thing himself.

I won't let it happen, he thought. I deserve a good clean death. A soldier's death. Not this.

He yanked out one of his kukris?the one that sent a jolt of magical energy through whatever it struck. The magic wouldn't affect him if he was holding the dagger?a precaution against accidental wounds?but if he shoved the hilt into the ground, he would be able to impale himself on the upturned blade. Reaching down for one of the bars that made up the floor of the cage, he used the dagger to prod at the floor of the lake, but the ground was too hard. The cage had landed on a patch of stone. He'd have to move it somewhere else.

Sculling up to the top of the cage, he peered back toward the spot where the cage had rested a moment before, but saw only a gently waving expanse of kelp, not the flattened parch he'd expected. Had he somehow gotten turned around? No, he could see Zanhoriloch in the distance. His sense of direction hadn't failed him. Yet he couldn't see either the spot where the cage had just rested or the place where it had been when he first found himself inside it. That was strange; the weight of the cage should have crushed the kelp flat.

Ah. . there.

He spotted a square patch of kelp about thirty paces away?which made no sense. He'd just been looking at that spot a moment ago. Had the slime spread over his eyes, blurring them?

No. He could still see as clearly as he ever could.

Suddenly, he realized the answer: the cage was an illusion. An incredibly powerful illusion?one that manifested in all of the senses. Not only were the bars of the cage visible, but they felt real. They'd even caused his chime to ring when he struck it against them?or so he'd thought. But by closing his eyes?by concentrating so hard it almost hurt?he could feel the rocky ground beneath his feet. Sculling to hold himself down against it, he slid a foot along the ground?and encountered no resistance. Instead of his foot striking a bar, it slid along rough, bare stone.

Still concentrating, he continued sliding his feet along the ground until they encountered resistance: a strand of kelp. Its touch nearly broke his focus, so close was the feel to that of the tentacle that had left the slime of its foul touch on his face. Shuddering, he pressed on until he could feel kelp all around him, then he opened his eyes.

He'd done it. The illusionary cage had disappeared. He was free.

But for how long? He could no longer move his left hand properly. It had only two fingers, with a thick web of skin growing between them. His left ear felt strange, as did his left eye. It was starting to squint shut and the colors he saw through it were somehow wrong. Further confirmation of his fate came when he saw a clump or something lacy and white drifting away from him. It was the hair from the left side of his scalp.

He glanced back at Zanhoriloch and saw that the creatures of that city were still going about their business, swimming back and forth between their stalagmite towers, oblivious to his escape. No alarm seemed to have been raised, and none of the aboleth came swimming out to intercept him. A surge of joy filled him, but it was short-lived. With a sinking heart, he realized that his escape was only temporary. Soon he would be a drow-thing, transformed forever into a water-breathing creature. The entire lake would be his prison.

Even though he knew it was hopeless, since none of his companions had healing magic, and since they'd probably mistake him for a monster and kill him on the spot. Valas tied his kukri back into its sheath and began swimming against the current, He'd completed the first part of his duty as a mercenary: he'd escaped. Next he would carry back to his companions his report, even though it contained woefully little, save for a warning to avoid Zanhoriloch at all cost.

That report delivered, he would get one of the others to kill him. If they refused, he'd do the job himself.

Chapter Thirteen

Andzrel Baenre, weapons master of House Baenre, stood in the cavern directing his troops. Ru

Faintly, from the co

In the caves to the west of where Andzrel stood, Baenre troops had forced a group of duergar back into a faerzress and hurled light pellets in after them. The resulting pyrotechnic display had apparently been quite spectacular, according to the slingers who had triggered it?slingers who had been struck blind as a result. More House Baenre fighters, waiting in the wings around a bend of the tu

Andzrel itched to be a part of it. To be crawling the jagged twists and turns of the Dark Dominion's narrow passageways, sword in hand, fighting his enemy face-to-face in the tight confines of the tu