spoke.
“Firritz,” Valas repeated. “Is he here?”
“How you …?” the gnoll muttered, eyes like slits. “How you know Firritz?”
Valas waited for the gnoll to understand that he wasn’t going to say any more. It took seven heartbeats.
With a glance at the increasingly restless line, the gnoll said, “Follow.”
Valas didn’t smile, speak, or look at the others. He followed the gnoll in silence the full length of the line then through a mildewed curtain into a very large room with an uncomfortably low ceiling. The space was so crowded with sacks and crates and barrels that in the first few seconds after entering, Valas saw at least one of everything he’d come for.
A single, stooped old drow sat at a table in the center of the storehouse. A dozen different types of coins were arranged in neat stacks on the table in front of him. The gnoll nodded toward him, and Valas stepped closer to the merchant.
“Firritz,” the scout said, his voice echoing.
The old drow didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, he slowly counted a stack of gold coins then wrote the total on a piece of parchment on the table in front of him. Valas waited.
Perhaps ten minutes went by, and in that time the gnoll left the room and came back three times. Each time he came back, he seemed a bit more perplexed. Valas hadn’t moved a muscle.
Finally, when the gnoll had left the room again, Firritz looked up from his counting and glanced at Valas.
“That’s about how long you would have waited in line,” the old drow said, his voice reedy and forced. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“Remember that you kept Bregan D’aerthe waiting,” Valas said. “Don’t threaten me, Valas Hune,” Firritz said. “Menzo’s reputation has become a bit less impressive of late. Gray dwarves, Iheard. Why aren’t you there to defend the motherland?”
“I go where the coin leads me,” said the scout. “Just like you.”
“The coin doesn’t lead to Menzoberranzan anymore, does it?”
“Bregan D’aerthe’s credit is still good here,” Valas said. “I need supplies.”
“Credit?” said Firritz. “That word implies that your master at some point intends to pay his debt. I run up a tab, more and more, year after year, and see nothing for it. Maybe things have changed enough that that isn’t necessary anymore, eh?”
“Take a deep breath,” Valas said.
The old drow looked up at him. They stayed like that for a bit, but finally Firritz drew in a deep breath then exhaled slowly.
“That’s what you see for it,” Valas finished, “and it’s necessary I get a few supplies.”
Firritz frowned and said, “Nothing magical. Everyone’s been buying up the magic bits—and for twice, even thrice the market value.”
“I need food,” the scout replied, “waterskins, a few odds and ends.”
“You have a pack lizard?”
“No,” Valas said with a smile and a tip of his head, “so I’ll need something to carry it in. Something magical.”
Firritz swept his arm across the table, scattering the coins onto the floor with a thousand echoing clatters.
“Food, Firritz,” Valas said. “Time has become an issue for me.”
Danifae could feel the Binding, and she could feel Halisstra. No matter how many thousands of feet of rock separated them, they were connected.
Danifae’s skin crawled.
The farther from the center of the city she walked, the higher the mix of non-drow she passed on the streets. It was with no little relief, and after enduring lewd remarks from a trio of hobgoblins that she came to her destination.
She had never been to Sschindylryn before and had never seen that one particular structure, but she had gone straight to it. She’d made no wrong turns and asked for no directions.
Danifae stood in front of a complex jumble of mud bricks and flagstones arranged into what looked like some kind of hive or termite hill. Over the wide door—wide enough to accommodate apack lizard and a decent-sized wagon—hung a
“Firritz,” Valas repeated. “Is he here?”
“How you …?” the gnoll muttered, eyes like slits. “How you know Firritz?”
Valas waited for the gnoll to understand that he wasn’t going to say any more. It took seven heartbeats.
With a glance at the increasingly restless line, the gnoll said, “Follow.”
Valas didn’t smile, speak, or look at the others. He followed the gnoll in silence the full length of the line then through a mildewed curtain into a very large room with an uncomfortably low ceiling. The space was so crowded with sacks and crates and barrels that in the first few seconds after entering, Valas saw at least one of everything he’d come for.
A single, stooped old drow sat at a table in the center of the storehouse. A dozen different types of coins were arranged in neat stacks on the table in front of him. The gnoll nodded toward him, and Valas stepped closer to the merchant.
“Firritz,” the scout said, his voice echoing.
The old drow didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, he slowly counted a stack of gold coins then wrote the total on a piece of parchment on the table in front of him. Valas waited.
Perhaps ten minutes went by, and in that time the gnoll left the room and came back three times. Each time he came back, he seemed a bit more perplexed. Valas hadn’t moved a muscle.
Finally, when the gnoll had left the room again, Firritz looked up from his counting and glanced at Valas.
“That’s about how long you would have waited in line,” the old drow said, his voice reedy and forced. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“Remember that you kept Bregan D’aerthe waiting,” Valas said. “Don’t threaten me, Valas Hune,” Firritz said. “Menzo’s reputation has become a bit less impressive of late. Gray dwarves, Iheard. Why aren’t you there to defend the motherland?”
“I go where the coin leads me,” said the scout. “Just like you.”
“The coin doesn’t lead to Menzoberranzan anymore, does it?”
“Bregan D’aerthe’s credit is still good here,” Valas said. “I need supplies.”
“Credit?” said Firritz. “That word implies that your master at some point intends to pay his debt. I run up a tab, more and more, year after year, and see nothing for it. Maybe things have changed enough that that isn’t necessary anymore, eh?”
“Take a deep breath,” Valas said.
The old drow looked up at him. They stayed like that for a bit, but finally Firritz drew in a deep breath then exhaled slowly.
“That’s what you see for it,” Valas finished, “and it’s necessary I get a few supplies.”
Firritz frowned and said, “Nothing magical. Everyone’s been buying up the magic bits—and for twice, even thrice the market value.”
“I need food,” the scout replied, “waterskins, a few odds and ends.”
“You have a pack lizard?”
“No,” Valas said with a smile and a tip of his head, “so I’ll need something to carry it in. Something magical.”
Firritz swept his arm across the table, scattering the coins onto the floor with a thousand echoing clatters.
“Food, Firritz,” Valas said. “Time has become an issue for me.”
Danifae could feel the Binding, and she could feel Halisstra. No matter how many thousands of feet of rock separated them, they were connected.
Danifae’s skin crawled.
The farther from the center of the city she walked, the higher the mix of non-drow she passed on the streets. It was with no little relief, and after enduring lewd remarks from a trio of hobgoblins that she came to her destination.
She had never been to Sschindylryn before and had never seen that one particular structure, but she had gone straight to it. She’d made no wrong turns and asked for no directions.
Danifae stood in front of a complex jumble of mud bricks and flagstones arranged into what looked like some kind of hive or termite hill. Over the wide door—wide enough to accommodate apack lizard and a decent-sized wagon—hung a
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