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still wore iron bracelets dangling lengths of broken chain。 From somewhere it had procured a great axe sized for a creature of its immensity； and was using it to pulp any drow it noticed scurrying about。
Valas had gotten separated from his rades sometime back。 That was all right。 He was used to traversing wild places by himself； though in truth； he'd never explored any tunnel as perilous and unpredictable as Menzoberranzan had bee this night。
He'd been killing ores and gnolls； first with his short bow； and； after the arrows ran out； close in with his kukris。 He'd thought he was making some genuine progress until he encountered this。
It was a daunting sight； but someone would have to kill the big undercreatures as well as the little ones； if Menzoberranzan was to survive and Bregan D'aerthe was to be paid for its services。
Valas touched a fingertip to a ninepointed tin star pinned to his shirt； and murmured a word in a language of a race few Menzoberranyr had ever even heard of。 In the blink of an eye he was crouched on the stone giant's shoulder。
The surface was smooth and rounded。 He started to slip off； but； reacting like the acplished rock climber he was； negated his weight and caught himself。 He clambered within reach of the giant's neck and started hacking at the arteries within the behemoth's neck with both kukris。
To no avail。 Perched somewhat precariously； Valas couldn't use his strength and weight to full advantage； and his first stroke skipped harmlessly off the giant's rocklike hide。
The behemoth did feel the impact； though。 Its head snapped around； the chin nearly brushing Valas away。 The giant glared down at him； and he struck； this time with greater success。 With a crackle of lightning； the enchanted weapon split the slave's lower lip。
Crying out in pain and anger； a deep sound Valas felt in his bones； the stone giant flinched its head away。 A huge gray hand rose up to catch the drow； who scrambled forward and cut at the colossus's neck。
Dark； thick blood leaped forth and washed Valas into space。 He fell hard onto a rooftop and watched the giant stumble about； clutching at its throat。 After a few steps； the huge thrall fell backward； crushing some unlucky hobgoblins that were wandering by。
Gromph was in a vile humor as he floated up the cliff face。 He'd cast light into the foot of Narbondel the same as always； and the world exploded into madness。 Ores lunged out of nowhere and attacked his guards。 His own ogre litterbearers summarily dumped his luxurious conveyance on the ground and joined in the uprising。
The archmage had sought to strike the undercreatures dead with a spell； but nothing happened。 Someone had conjured a magical dead zone around him。 Either one of the ores was a shaman powerful enough to create such an effect； or； more likely； one of the brutes had stolen a talisman from his owner。
However they'd managed it； the beasts were charging； and the spells in Gromph's memory were just odd little rhymes； his robe and cloak； mere flimsy cloth； and his weapons； inert sticks and ornaments。 Well； probably not all of them； but he wasn't reckless enough to stand and experiment while the ores assailed him with their pilfered blades。 Forfeiting his dignity； he turned and ran。 The exertion made his chest throb where K'rarza'q had gored him。
When he reached the edge of the plaza； he thought he must have exited the dead zone。 He'd better have； because he could hear the grunting ogres with their long legs catching up behind him。 He turned； pointed a wand； and snarled the trigger word。
A drop of liquid shot from the tip of the rod。 It struck the belly of the lead ogre and burst into a copious splash of acid。
With his magic restored； Gromph obliterated every attacker who lacked the sense to run away。 His dark elf attendants were already dead； leaving him to make his way back to Tier Breche alone。
As it turned out； the slave rebellion was pandemic； and the trek wasn't altogether easy。 He considered going to ground in some castle or house； but when he saw the flames gnawing stone； he knew he had to get back。
Dirty； sore； and coughing； he eventually made it home； and when he rose to the top of the limestone wall； he saw something that lifted his spirits； albeit only a little。
Eight Masters of Sorcere stood in the open air； chanting； gesturing； attempting a ritual； while an equal number of apprentices looked on。 The wizards had fetched much of the proper equipment out of the tower。 That was something； Gromph supposed； but the incantation was a useless mess。
The Baenre reached out and hauled himself onto solid ground and his hands and knees； another irksome affront to his dignity。
He rose and shouted； 〃Enough〃
The teachers and students twisted around to gawk at him。 The chanting died。
〃Archmage〃
〃I'm sure；〃 said Gromph； striding closer。 〃I noticed all the search parties you sent out looking for me。〃
Guldor hesitated。 〃Sir； the mistress of the Academy manded—〃
〃Shut up；〃 said Gromph。 He'd e close enough to see that the teachers were standing in a plex pentacle； written in red phosphorescence on the ground。 〃Pitiful。〃
He extended his index finger and wrote on the air。 The magic words and sigils reshaped themselves。
〃My lord Archmage；〃 said Master Godeep。 〃We drew this circle to extinguish the fires below。 If you break it—〃
〃I'm not breaking it；〃 said Gromph； 〃I'm fixing it。〃 He turned his gaze on one of the apprentices； some moner youth； and the dolt flinched。 〃Fetch me a bit of fur； an amber rod； and one of the little bronze gongs the cooks use to summon us to supper。 Runf
〃Archmage；〃 said Guldor； 〃you see we already have all the necessary foci for fire magic。〃 He gestured to a brazier of ruddy coals。 〃I'm whispering to the flames below； manding them to dwindle。〃
〃And making more smoke in the process。 That's just what we need。〃 Gromph kicked the brazier over； scattering embers across the rock。 〃Your approach isn't working； elementalist。 I should exile you to the Realms that See the Sun for a few decades； then you might figure out what it takes to extinguish a fire of this magnitude。〃
The male came sprinting back with the articles Gromph had requested。 The Baenre whispered a word of power； and the pentacle changed from red to blue。
〃Right； then；〃 he said to the wizards。 〃I assume you can tell where you're meant to stand； so do it and we'll begin。 I'll say a line； you repeat it。 Copy my passes if you're up to it。〃
For a properly schooled wizard； magic was generally easy。 He relied on an armamentarium of spells； many devised by his predecessors； a few； perhaps； invented by himself。 In either case； they were perfected spells that he thoroughly understood。 He knew he could cast them properly； and what would happen when he did。
An extemporaneous ritual was a different matter。 Relying on their arcane knowledge and natural ability； a circle of mages tried to generate a new effect on the fly。 Often； nothing happened。 When it did； the power often turned on those who had raised it or discharged itself in some other manner contrary to their intent。 Yet occasionally such a ceremony worked； and with his station； his wealth； and his homeland at stake； Gromph was resolved to make this one of those times。
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