Book VI, Part 7
“Descent into Undermountain... sounds like another grand adventure for the heroes of the ‘wild west,’ eh Cal?”
Cal didn’t respond to Benzan’s comment, his mind focused on other things as they rode swiftly through the streets of Waterdeep, guided by a young human man who was part of Alera’s staff. The man, named Ulan, was really little more than a boy, probably in his late teens, but he knew the streets of the city, and in less than a quarter hour after leaving Calloran House they reined in before the famous (or infamous, depending on who you asked) inn best known for its open portal to the twisting corridors of Undermountain.
“Thanks, lad,” Benzan said, tossing the youth a silver piece as he dismounted from his borrowed horse. “Tell Alera not to worry, we’ll get her grandson back.”
“I’m to stay, in case there’s word,” Ulan insisted, taking the reins of the three horses but not otherwise budging from his position in the street.
“Well, might as well come in and get a beer then,” the tiefling noted. “This might take a while.” He turned to Cal, who’d also dismounted but still looked distracted, as if he was thinking about a puzzle that he couldn’t quite solve.
“Are you all right, Cal?”
Cal looked up, and forced a smile. “I am ready. Let’s go then.”
* * * * *
The tavern was deceptively spacious inside, with a larger interior space than first seemed evident on examining the exterior. At this early hour there were only a few patrons present in the common room, mostly local craftsmen and laborers by the look of them. The welcome smell of food being prepared in anticipation of the lunchtime rush wafted out to them from the half-doors that led into the kitchen area.
Everything was clean and obviously well-kept, from the long bar along the right wall to the polished hardwood floors. But what drew their attention was what gave the place its name. The portal was like a great well, its opening easily ten paces across, rimmed by a stone wall just under four feet in height. At the moment, however, the portal was closed by a heavy lattice of metal wire strung across its mouth, secured to the surrounding floor by heavy iron pitons that were driven through holes in the floor into the very foundation of the inn. That webbing in turn was covered by a thick canvas tarp that covered all but one corner of the opening, where the canvas was folded back. Even that small opening seemed foreboding, although nothing but inky blackness was visible through the web of cable strands. A metal winching apparatus was folded to one side of the pit, partially covered by another heavy tarp.
Benzan whistled softly. “Now that’s something. The entrance to the most dangerous dungeon on all of Faerûn, and its right in the middle of an inn."
“It’s amazing what people can get used to,” Cal said. “I came here a few times, years back, when adventurers would come here to try Halaster’s Halls. Some would come back with pouches filled with gold and stories of traps and monsters they’d defeated. Others wouldn’t come back at all. I remember that people would wager on the outcomes, and watch folks descending into the pit as though it was some sort of entertainment.”
A tall, balding man in a leather apron noticed their entry and came over to them from the bar. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
“We’re looking for Durnan,” Cal explained.
“He’s not here right now—had an errand he had to run up the coast a bit on short notice. My name’s Alcar, I’m lookin’ after the place while the boss is out. You must be the gents that Alera’s sending over; I’m to let you through the Portal, I understand.”
“Yes. Were you told what happened?”
“Terrible thing, truly. But it’s always been that way, the Portal drawing them bold youngsters like a spilled pot of honey drawing flies. If’n the Portal weren’t there, though, they’d be findin’ another way to get into trouble, I reckon.”
“Has there been any... trouble lately?” Benzan asked.
“Been quiet as the grave, last few weeks,” Alcar said, glancing back at the covered opening as though reassuring himself that it was still so.
“Why’d Durnan close it in the first place?” Cal queried.
“There were a number of... incidents, a few months back. Small things, at first; a few flights of stirges flew up into the inn, one time even a couple of rabid dire bats. A few patrons were hurt, but Durnan provided healing free of charge, and our trade even went up after that. The Portal’s always been the big lure, here, and it’s like folks are drawn to the possibility of danger, like the risk of something comin’ up and layin’ the hurt on you makes your ale taste sweeter or something.” The old man shook his head, as though he couldn’t quite grasp the concept himself.
“Then what happened?” Cal asked, sensing that the story wasn’t quite finished.
“Well, we had a real busy crowd one evening. Some folks got a bit tipsy, and started daring each other to lean down into the pit, some started tossing stuff in there, even though Durnan don’t take well to such games—calls it ‘provokin’ the pit’. Anyway, suddenly somebody starts shootin’ from down there! One guy takes a bolt and falls into pit, another takes one through the heart and falls to the floor of the inn, dead as day. Durnan and some others went down into the pit to find the first guy’s body, but they didn’t find anything. The next day, he had the pit sealed up like you see here now.”
“But he let Nelan and his friends go down.”
“I wasn’t there, friend, but Durnan’s never believed that it was his job to save people from themselves.”
Cal and Benzan shared a look, one that showed that they were thinking the same thing. Business as usual, for them, and with half their usual number not present this time, the task lying ahead was not going to be an enviable one.
Alcar offered to bring them a meal while they waited, and while Benzan tore into the offered fare with gusto, Cal still seemed distracted. The gnome used the time to glance over some of the scrolls that Alera had given him, impressed by the potency of some of the spells stored within the neat lines of magical writing. Several of them were well beyond his current level of magical skill, and as with the teleport scroll would have to be used most judiciously. The place grew busier as the noon hour arrived, and people from the surrounding district dropped by for some hot food and good conversation before returning to their day’s labors. But even in the general stir of activity the covered pit constantly drew the eye, and its presence was never forgotten.
As he finished his meal, Benzan belched loudly and rose. “Well, if we have some more time, I’m going to see if I can find a shop where I can top off with a little more gear. Some more arrows, in particular...”
He was interrupted as the outside doors opened and a newcomer arrived. A pair of newcomers, really, a stout, muscular gnome accompanied by the largest wolf that any of them had ever seen. It caused a stir, momentarily, as the gathered patrons reacted, most commonly in sudden alarm, to the presence of the massive creature. Even standing, Benzan would only have come up to the beast’s shoulder.
“Ah, don’t worry yerselves, Fenrus here is housebroken,” the gnome drawled, ignoring the gestures of Alcar as the old man sputtered something in protest, crossing the room to where Cal and Benzan were seated. The wolf, unconcerned with the reaction its presence had provoked, curled up in a mound near the door and started out into the room with its penetrating canine eyes.
“Well, if it isn’t the Prodigal himself, returned from his self-imposed exile,” the gnome said as he drew himself up before them. Even without the backdrop of the massive wolf, there was a feral hint to him, his hair running wild and uncombed in a wave down his back, his face lined with the effects of years of exposure to the vagaries of the weather out of doors. He was well into middle-age but still looked hale, his bare arms thick with muscle, and the leather covering the hilt of the scimitar slung across his back was worn with frequent use. He wore a vest of thick leather that had been detailed with various spiraling designs etched into its surface. The pattern was reminiscent of the Calloran family crest that Cal had recognized atop Alera’s message, and it seemed to suit the manner of this wild gnome who stood with an almost defiant cast facing them.
“Nice to see you too, Pel,” Cal said. “Still like to make a dramatic entrance, I see.”
“I’m here because the Family needs me,” the gnome said.
Cal sighed. “So be it, then. I was hoping that you’d let old water pass under the bridge, but if there’s anything we Callorans are good at, it’s nursing grudges.”
“I wasn’t the one who ran out on his obligations,” Pelanther responded.
“In any case, we don’t have time for this,” Cal said, rising quickly and grabbing his pack. “As you said, we are needed now, and we have a most difficult task ahead of us. Shall we agree to a truce, then?”
“Aye. But after, we may be needing to have a conversation, you and I.”
“All right then.”
The two gnomes locked stares for a moment longer, then Pelanther retreated to recover his animal companion. Benzan commented, “So I take it there’s a little love lost between you two?”
“It’s a long story,” Cal said, gathering up his gear and checking his pouches to make sure that everything was in its proper place. “For another time,” he added, turning toward the portal as Pelanther rejoined them, Fenrus now in tow. The effect added to the gnome’s presence, although it looked as though the wolf could down Pelanther in a single gulp if he was so inclined.
“Nice doggy,” Benzan said, as the wolf gave him a quick once-over, the two standing virtually eye-to-eye.
“I don’t generally bring Fenrus into the city, but I was thinking we might be needing a bit of back up on this little expedition.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Cal said, moving to the edge of the well. Every eye in the place had been on them since Pelanther’s dramatic arrival, and now a stir traveled through the otherwise silent crowd, as they realized that they would be witnessing the beginning of another excursion into Undermountain.
Alcar and a few helpers from the staff uncovered and set up the winch with rapid efficiency, and then undid enough of the moorings of the steel mesh to uncover enough of the pit to let them through.
“That won’t be necessary,” Cal told them. “My feather fall spell will accommodate all of us—even the wolf.”
“Keep your spell,” Pel said. “Fenrus and I will take the rope down.”
The winch apparatus had been designed to accommodate a wide variety of passengers, and it only took the staff a few moments to hook up a harness that would fit the massive wolf. Fenrus stood there placidly while several very wary men hooked up the harness around his torso, then at Pel’s command the wolf climbed up over the lip of the pit. Pelanther leapt onto the wolf’s back, steadying himself by grabbing the heavy line that led up to the winch. With a half-dozen men working the winch, wolf and gnome together descended down into the darkness.
“Well, shall we?” Benzan said.
Cal nodded. Alcar had placed a two-step wooden stepladder against the lip of the well, so the two companions climbed up to the edge, and looked down into the darkness. Both could actually see rather well, Cal’s low-light vision letting him make out the outline of Fenrus and Pel quite clearly below, and Benzan’s darkvision giving him a similar advantage.
“After you go down, we’ll reattach the mesh, but will leave the tarp pulled back over this corner,” Alcor was saying. “If you need to come back up, just make a ruckus and we’ll open the mesh.”
The two adventurers nodded. “Ready?” Benzan asked. When Cal nodded, the two of them turned forward and stepped off into the darkness.
As they disappeared into the pit, the audience crowded around, peering in after them.
Among the more adventurous, the wagering had already begun.
