Far away from Mills Breath, the trio of Leradien, the boy, and the limp, and dying Ronthiel had, once again, entered the outskirts of Ched Nasad. Here, the boy quickly directed Leradien to keep an eye out for the finer houses and neighborhoods, figuring these houses were more likely to contain the most poison cures rather than just poisons. That same choice also made it possible to put Ronthiel in the soft bed of a rich drow’s house. They found one with the soft murmur of a fountain to help soothe the elf boy’s troubled spirit. While Leradien stood guard over him, the satyr boy began his search of the city for a poison cure, using his elf light and his ability to read ancient Elfin to do so.
His hopes were high, like a bird on a wind. If Lolth’s poison was so effective, it reasoned the Jaezred Chaulssin, as assassins, would try to duplicate it themselves for their own murders. And developing a counter agent to it would be the next logical step in case they themselves became victims of their own poison.
But his hopes were also desperate, like a bird over shark infested water with nowhere to land. Ronthiel was fading. The poison was overcoming him. Another day and he would be beyond all aid. He was in pain and saying things, things that made no sense. He seemed to be talking to someone but not to them. By and by, they realized he was talking to Lolth.
So now the boy frantically began ransacking the empty households of the city, stepping over dead drow bodies to read every label within lantern light. Occasionally, he found poisons but no cures. In fact, the most common poison he found was called “Lolth’s Kiss”. One would think that, with so much of it around, the antidote would be equally common. But it wasn’t. The boy began to fear the rational for “Lolth’s Kiss” being so common to every household was for the precise reason that there was no cure for it.
He was just about to give up when he heard voices outside. He crept over to a window to listen.
“So why do you suppose they haven’t let us come in here? Look at all this here fresh meat!” A harsh voice spoke.
“Because it’s drow meat! They won’t let us eat drow meat!”
“But they’re all dead! It’s a waste not to eat ’em!”
They were orc voices.
“Just grab up all the gold and silver you can!”
“But why don’t we help ourselves to a few nibbles? After all, nobody will know it was us what done it!”
“Stop thinking about it and start looting! Do you realize how lucky we are to get here ahead of the others? We’ve got first pickings!”
“Well! Maybe we ain’t so lucky! Suppose there’s a reason why the rest of the army stopped? Maybe they know something we don’t?”
“They stopped, because the drow were all blinded. Once you blind a drow, they take forever to get organized again. Dat’s why they don’t even know we’s gone now. And we’d of been blinded too if we’d been looking! But once they get their mess straightened up, they’ll be looking for us and marching in here tomorrow. So grab what you can before we have to head back!”
“Yeah!” another orc agreed. “But maybe there’s something evil in here. I mean, what do you suppose killed all these drow? It looks to me like they all died a running for their lives. Where are the bodies of the ones what done it?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care! Hurry up and grab all the treasure you can carry.”
“Yeah!” said the first. “But that’s what it looks like these drow were doing—hurrying up and grabbing all the treasure they could carry—same as us.”
“So what do ya care?”
“Well! What if we gets ourselves killed the same way?”
“There’s nothing here that’s left alive! Just breathe in that air. All you smell is death! You can smell it all the way out to beyond the city! That’s why we came!”
They all breathed in deeply together.
And then there was an obvious pause amongst them.
“Funny!” one said. “I smells something else.”
“Yeah!” agreed another, “me too!”
“What is that?” asked a third curiously, noting it as well.
“I’m not sure, but it sure ain’t dead!”
“It’s not a drow.”
“No. It ain’t a drow.”
“We ain’t alone, boys!” warned one.
The sound of scimitars being drawn came to the boy’s ears.
“I think it’s over dis’ way,” one of them decided.
The boy could hear them coming towards him. By their voices, he counted nine of them—which were nine more than he could handle. They seemed to have no bows, probably because they would interfere with their ability to carry loot. And he heard no clink of armor, probably for the same reason. With them armed with only scimitars, his best weapon against them was his bow after he blinded them with his lantern gem. Unfortunately, its light did not carry very far. He might only blind the closest ones. Therefore, he ought to shoot the furthest ones away first, those that weren’t blinded, then finish off the closest ones last, that were blinded.
But could he get all nine that way?
And you can’t hold up a light and shoot a bow at the same time.
He’d be lucky to get four.
It was time for plan two.
Run!
He broke for the door and into the street, but that did not end well. He tripped and fell over an unseen drow’s corpse. Nearly losing his bow in the dark, he had to grab it up again in order to stumble on. Only the street was not a street. It was an alley. And it wasn’t just an alley but a dead-end alley. He ran up against a stone wall. His escape cut off; he spun around, cracked the elf lantern gem on, and lit up his pursuers.
All nine were at the entrance to the alley, cutting off his retreat. The boy’s spirit failed him in the face of such overwhelming evil, grinning ugliness. After all, he was only a boy, and they were all men (Though, in fact, none were bigger than him.). Only the nearest held up his hand to protect his eyes. The others seemed able to bear it, for they came forward, though blinking and squinting and moving with care.
The boy dropped the cracked lantern, raised his bow with great effort, and took aim.
“Get back!” he cried. “Or I’ll shoot!”
His voice was so thin and uncertain, he sounded afraid even to himself.
“Well! Looky here!” chuckled one. “It’s one of them there satyrs!”
“And e’s only a boy!”
“What do ya think? Does he look pretty scared to you? He looks pretty scared to me! Think we can handle him? Or shall we call for reinforcements?” The others all laughed.
As if in answer to the request for reinforcements, a huge, dark form appeared behind them, just out of reach of the light. The boy’s eyes widened and his aim shook in the sheer terror of it. He recognized that looming shape.
It was Lolth!
The boy was struck dumb with fright. No—not her! Not Lolth!
He saw nine scimitars glint cruelly under the light, coming towards him as well.
At that moment, there came the sound of sharp claws on stone as the terrible form behind them came suddenly forward. There was a cavalry charge of attacking limbs. They threw the orcs about by it like stones, skewered through by claws the length of spears. Red eyes flamed and flickered and he saw amid a great white sweeping mane a woman of incredible beauty reaping the mayhem. With her multiple legs, she killed all nine of them in as many seconds, running them all through and with the horrified orcs dying in dismay. Using the demonic strength her arms for the last one, she separated its head from its body and contemptuously tossed them both in separate directions.
Next, Leradien kicked free the still impaled orc bodies off the clawed tips of her spider limbs in disgust, while demanding of the boy.
“So what were you waiting for?” she insisted. “There were only nine of them!”
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