Sound Advice

[McIan]

“You are out of your mind, brother!” Dharzhal, the Black Prince, chided his friend, Jexmir, who had appeared suddenly at the Mage School, Sorcere, in Targrancimon, city of the drow. Jexmir had slipped in, certain that he had been followed at least to the outskirts of the city, but found his mark quickly and told him of his recent “association” with Damian Racsen, whom he had vowed to destroy. “And a fool to boot! Do you really think he does not know why you are there?! It is only a matter of time before he has no more use for you and kills you.”

“He only restrains because of his friendship with you, I know. He is using me but I am using him. It is simply a matter of who strikes first.”

“You won’t be able to kill him.”

“I do not wish to kill him… until, at least, he has suffered beyond endurance.”

Dharzhal shook his head and sighed. “Let… it… go, brother. What’s done is done. This vendetta thing of our people is our curse. The gods of chaos laugh at us.”

“I came because I needed to talk to you about something… alone.”

They sat together in Dharzhal’s private quarters, a spacious grouping of connected chambers having vaulted ceilings; ebony walls from which hung delicately-woven tapestries; furnished with plush velvet-lined chairs. The soft, violet, glow of precisely interspersed lamps fully enhanced the calming ambience. It was his quiet place, designed for comfort, study, contemplation, rest and relaxation. The prince had met a female drow. Taken with her, and she him, they shared the domicile. While they talked she prepared a meal for them, a most unusual development by drow standards. Her presence was the object of Jexmir’s request for solitude.

“She is busy. She is trustworthy or she would not be here with me. I will not send her away for anyone or for any reason. You can tell me what you need to say,” he replied rather brusquely.

Jexmir nodded. “I did not mean to offend,” he apologized. “Very well, it is this: Damian found one of your books, a journal of some kind. It contained a formula for the creation of a substance that makes humans docile, controllable, though, in appearance, undrugged. His assistant, Darthos, told me he has improved it, calling it ‘Utopia.’ They plan to use it on some unsuspecting people.”

Dharzhal’s eyes widened in horror. “That is the missing book I have been looking for! You say he has used it to enhance something written within it?”

“Yes. But there is a side effect that is disturbing. Humans begin to hallucinate, see spiders, and go mad.”

“The fool! He doesn’t know what he is doing! That was an alchemy formula I recorded at a meeting ages ago. We were trying to develop a means to calm humans that we brought in as prisoners and slaves. It worked for a good while, but in the end it made them too calm; we could not make them do anything at all. Nothing affected them… if they did not wish to work, they didn’t, and no amount of pain nor coercion worked. They became useless, worse than felines… all take and little give.”

“Well, this ‘Utopia’ is about to be introduced into the realms above. What should I do?”

Dharzhal thought for a moment. “Do you know his grand purpose for this? Is there one?”

“He has made an alliance with an official, the new governor of Yew, Trammel. They have their own plans, to which I am not party… yet. I can only guess that he intends to use it on his citizens. Some of his policies are heavy-handed and he may think it will help forestall rebellion. That is one of those things I highly suspect.”

Remembering that most, if not all, of Jexmir’s intuitions, hunches, guesses, and the like, quite often translated into realities, Dharzhal accepted his words as fact. “We must send warning. There are those who can get the word out.”

Jexmir shook his head. “No, if that happens, it will be traced to me. I was followed here. Damian has assigned one of his stealthy henchmen as my shadow. He, or she, is very wily and nearly as good at it as am I. Damian will know that I revealed this to you. He will break bonds with you and will find a way to end me. There must be another way to foil his plans that do not involve us.”

“I have connections in the realms to whom hints could be provided. Drop enough of them and the wise ones will figure it out in short order,” Dharzhal stated, then abruptly changed the subject. “But you cannot go back there! Stay here and help with the training. Your skills are extraordinary. To lose one such as you is foolish. This vendetta thing of yours blinds you; it drives you mad.”

The mage, young by elf standards, thought for a moment. “I sense it will be my doom. Still, I must make him suffer, if not kill him.”

The drow consort interrupted to invite them to dinner and they heartily complied. More discussion resulted afterward, but eventually Jexmir took his leave and returned to the Crystal Palace to continue his deadly game with Damian.

 

[McIan]

Warning Sent

Ussath, a drow courier, slipped out of the city using the hidden portal only a select few of his kin knew about. It was an invention of the mages at Sorcere permitting them secrecy: a small, circular, cramped niche inside a stone wall almost invisibly hidden. Within the recess was a gem, a marble-sized ruby, fastened into the wall, concealed by a sliding, thick, slab of granite, retractable for those who knew where to look and the intricate passwords to open it. A thumb-touch and the words, allowed egress into the city to an abandoned drow-house basement. The courier knew of all this because he was sent in secret, with a message written in drow script, from his employer, and friend, Dharzhal T’Ar, the Black Prince. For the very few humans and elves who could read it, it read:

“Friend, greetings,

Who I am is not of value, nor prudent to reveal. Danger there is. A substance will soon be introduced into your realm. Slaves it will make of those who partake. Food and drink will be the conveyor. No unusual signs will accompany, only passivity and docility. Its name is Utopia. Yew is likely a target. The officials are involved. Beware and others warn. Dismissing this warning your doom awaits.”

Unfortunately for Ussath, one not a drow remembered the portal. The shade had followed Dharzhal there, and observed when its master departed from it, having been released from prison. It did not know the word of entry, but it did know the location of it , and for some reason waited behind when Jexmir, its mark, had departed an hour ago. Its patience was rewarded.

Silently, slowly, and stealthily, the shade began following the man, certain he had something of importance, some secret, that he was taking to the world above.

 

[McIan]

A Fine Catch

This time the sound was clear, unmistakable; the drow’s keen ears were not deceiving him. It was not breathing, not the moving of stones underfoot, or the soft rustle of footsteps – no, it was sound where there should be none at all. Ussath stopped and whirled quickly, flashing his poisoned dagger, his arm held back and his eyes narrowed in determined defense.

There was nothing. Only the inky blackness and hollow echo of dripping water somewhere deep within the caverns he tread. He glanced about slowly, wordlessly, breathing only enough to keep air in his lungs. He was no novice to sudden, brutal, attack and assassination – he had been in on them all his life. He maintained his wariness yet slowly, very slowly, lowered his knife arm.

The shade whom Damian employed had a practiced technique of its own. It needed its mark to stop, just for a moment. For it to keep walking or moving might spoil the aim, even if it meant it would be alerted to danger.

Then it struck. From shadowy blackness deeper and darker even than that of the Underdark, it swiftly swung its scythe, blade-end turned backward deliberately, and rapped the drow across the rear of the skull, yet only enough to send it sprawling, unconscious, to the cold, dank, floor…

* * *​

“Well done, my servant,” Damian proffered praise. “You have done very well,” he added, having received the report from his trusted minion on the capture of the drow courier. He rested on a throne made of pure, blue-green crystal, atop his home with only the minion to whom he spoke, present with him.

The shade remained silent with head bowed.

“It was wise of you not to kill him. His success will be believed, and only until he delays his return will it be of any notice. By that time, he shall be, how shall I say it… properly conditioned? When he does it will be too late.”

Damian had read the missive, the warning from Dharzhal. It had been translated by Kelvearn, his drow thrall assistant, who had been teaching him the language. Although unsigned, Damian could guess it came from his old friend Dharzhal, with whom, by this act, he was disappointed though not surprised – the drow had a gentler side he disdained most of the time.

“What remains is for us to find out how this came about. How did Jexmir discover our secret? You have been following him – all the communication crystals he used have been discovered – he could not have known without being told. I would bring that wretch in and choke it out of him, but I need him for another purpose. There is someone else involved. I must learn of this. You will find out for me and soon. Interrogate the captive but do not kill him… perhaps he knows.”

The shade bowed. It started to move in the direction of the exit, from whence it would go to the prison ward of Castlemare and extract whatever information could be gleaned.

Yet before it could leave, a gargoyle guard appeared on the parapet entryway and walked quickly to where his master reposed. “I have an important message m’lord,” he stated quietly.

Damian, scowled, slightly perturbed by the unexpected intrusion, “What is it?”

“The drow courier is dead. He may have killed himself. We are looking into it even now.”

The Elder’s eyes flashed anger. “What do you mean?! He was chained to a wall was he not?!”

The gargoyle nodded. “Yes. We found him dead, however, after the change of jailors – a mere ten minutes at most between shifts.”

“Then he was murdered! Someone within did this!” He looked back to the shade, his face a mask of fury and his tone ice cold. “You have a new assignment – find the perpetrator, the traitor, and bring him, or her, to me!!”

 

[McIan]

"Ussath has not returned, nor has he communicated to our agents in any way," the drow informant explained to Dharzhal. "I fear he never made it out, or at least to his destination."

Dharzhal thought for a moment. "We must assume he was intercepted and is either imprisoned or dead. It will do no good to send another message the same way. I will have to intervene myself."

"What will you do?"

"I will consult the others who created the original formula for Utopia and we will discover how to counter it. When that is done I will return to the surface with it and distribute it."

"That may take a lot of time, will it not?"

"That depends. I will get on it immediately."

 

[McIan]

Judgment Seat

The shade returned to report to the Elder its findings: Darthos was the culprit in the murder of the drow prisoner. The gargoyle jailors were very cooperative when questioned due to their disdain for the drow alchemist’s haughtiness with them. They told the shade that he, alone, knew of their schedule and that he was seen leaving the prison ward just before the body was discovered. Now, in the presence of his master, Darthos stood with head bowed, heart beating wildly, awaiting a potentially dire sentence.

“And now you have disappointed me, Darthos,” Damian stated coolly. “Why did you kill the prisoner?” He tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne.

“M’lord, I discovered a complication with the formula, so I used him as a test subject, and, sadly, it failed.”

“What is this complication? Why have you not told me of it before now?”

“Apparently… in some subjects… it causes hallucinations when use is prolonged or if the quantity ingested is too great. These hallucinations make the subject unstable and suicidal. I thought I had a remedy for it, so I tried it on this one. It failed. He died.”

“He lies,” the shade’s raspy voice contradicted. “The prisoner was drow, not human, and was never tested along with the others. He had yet to have been given any Utopia. Therefore it would have been pointless to test anything upon him. He lies, master.”

Damian’s gaze turned from the shade to his alchemist. His eyebrows lifted. “What say you to this?”

A few seconds’ hesitation confirmed his duplicity. “I… it…”

Damian leaned forward. “Let us try this again,” he said, pointing a finger at him, “In Sar!” A wave of pain engulfed the drow, one so powerful it dropped him to his knees. He gasped loudly as his body was wracked by waves of intense, sharp, jolting, pain leaving him convulsing in paralyzing spasms of agony. “Now… the truth… or the next thing you feel may be the last thing you feel.”

Darthos rose to his feet slowly. He caught his breath before speaking. “Yes… master. I spoke truth about the complication. I wanted to learn from the creator of the substance, Dharzhal, how serious it was; if it was symptomatic of the old formula. I deliberately told Jexmir, knowing he would take the information to Dharzhal and return with an answer for me. I thought if I knew from which component the hallucinations derived I could fix it before any harm could come of it, to your plans. When I discovered this drow was sent to warn the humans, I knew you would eventually learn of the complication before I had a chance to fix it. You might even suspect me of being in league with Jexmir, and kill us both. That is the truth.”

Damian sat back. A smile crossed his face. “Clever… and while I admire diabolical cunning, and I do… you crossed a line my friend.” He leaned forward again. “No one of some value to me is executed while in my custody, or in my employ, or in any other way, without my consent or approval! I have few rules, but that is one I will not defy, and nor should you have.”

Darthos went silent, lowering his head, accepting his doom with stoic grace.

“However, you are forgiven… this time… this once. You are too valuable to me to maim or destroy. Perhaps you knew that is how I would view this, but let me assure you it will not happen again.”

The reprieved alchemist breathed a sigh of relief and nodded gratefully.

“Find a remedy for the hallucinations if you can. Within a short span of time the formula must be perfected. It will be put into use within the month and nothing must go wrong… at least at the outset. I have given my word to the governor’s man that this will succeed for them, and so it must. We will pour out what we have already built up and bottled – it is the way of things and there is no use fretting over it.”

“Yes master, I shall. I swear I shall,” Darthos vowed.

Damian waved him away. “Go back to work.” As he departed, Damian spoke to the shade. “Watch him. This takes priority now. See if he makes contact with Jexmir and what is the substance of any conversations they may have,” he commanded. “Keep me informed.”

“Yes master. I live to serve you,” it stated as it silently floated away.