The Last Satyr: The Two Paths Part 2
A Drow City

The satyr boy looked for a way into the city. He soon discovered that the enemy inside the city walls saw better in the dark than he and Ronthiel could. The two barely made out the window holes of the towers and couldn’t discern whether any sleepless eyes stared back at them. And though Leradien could see half as far as the enemy, and her demon powers extended that even further, it was still not far enough. The enemy would always spot them first. They wouldn’t sneak into the city this way.

Between the towers were stone ramparts, and the drider path led to an iron gate with many guards because, as a general rule, driders were unwelcome in drow cities for having offended Lolth. The gate was closed to them.

So they proceeded to the next wall, where they found a polished stone highway leading to a larger and more heavily patrolled orc gate. Orcs manned this gate as the drow left them to police their section of the city. However, this gate was also closed. Still, the boy assessed that this would be the least guarded entrance to the city, as orcs were not very smart, or at least most of them weren’t, and so they kept a close eye on it and eventually figured out who guarded it and how many. They even learned the orc password to open it - “Morannon,” although, not being orcs, it would do them little good.

Perhaps they should go back and try the original drider gate? At least Leradien could get in there.

While they were discussing it, orc horns blew. Vaguely, in the dark, they saw a line of bodies moving down the main highway toward the orc’s city gate and the faint gleam of scimitars and helmets. It was a troop of orcs entering the city.

Leradien became interested in them and whispered, pointing towards the approaching troop.

“The old keeper, the one you call Graybeard, is amongst them.”

The elf and satyr strained to see how one in line wore a lighter robe when the others wore black.

The drider remarked, “He still carries his staff.”

Then it was Graybeard. The boy got an idea.

“Leradien, I need you to bring us an orc.”

“Dead or alive?” she wished to know.

“Dead is fine.”

“Easy enough,” she said and left.

“Ronthiel,” said the boy, “use those sharp elfish ears of yours and replace out where they are taking Graybeard.”

To avoid distracting Ronthiel, the boy slipped away, as the orcs called for the gate to be opened. He soon found Leradien or, rather, she soon found him while carrying a dead orc speared clean through on one of her claw-tipped forelegs.

“The last in line is seldom missed,” she said, dumping the corpse.

Now Ronthiel arrived, groping in the dark to replace them by voice.

“They are taking Graybeard to a place called East Prison,” he shared, replaceing them.

“Then we’re heading there too,” said the boy. “Ronthiel, you are about to become a drow, with me as your prisoner.”

“I can hardly pass for a drow.”

“You will if we use this orc’s blood to mix with the dirt to darken your face and hands.”

“Now that’s a pleasant thought,” replied Ronthiel. “I think I should rather die than do so!”

“Graybeard will die if you don’t.”

The elf was still unconvinced. “Dark skin is not dark enough. I will also need white hair.”

“At least this way your skin is not light, and Leradien has white hair and much of it. We shall cut her locks and weave you a wig. That way you shall look the part of a drow.”

“My eyes are still the wrong color,” pointed out the elf.

“Those are orc guards, not drow,” countered the boy. “You will be riding Leradien, and she will pretend to be mad. The orcs will be so busy noticing her that they shall pay no attention to your eyes. Your being smeared with bloody soot will only terrify them more.”

“You make it sound like it will almost work,” sighed Ronthiel as he obediently rubbed orc blood mixture on his face.

The boy removed his knife to cut Leradien’s hair.

“Cut very little,” Ronthiel showed with his hands the needed length. “I shall not have it said that anyone destroyed such beauty on my account.”

Both Leradien and the boy looked at him in surprise to hear him speak such words.

“We don’t need much,” Ronthiel told them, ignoring their look. “If I pull up my hood, we shall only need enough of her hair to hang out the front. Two locks will do.”

“Did you just say I was beautiful?” asked Leradien, in amazed surprise.

“You know you are,” answered the elf indifferently. “Don’t pretend you don’t! But don’t take it to heart simply because I said so.”

Another time, the boy would have made fun of Ronthiel for his admission. Yet there was no time now.

He cut the locks from Leradien.

She fitted them under the elf’s raised hood, for the locks were long enough.

“Remember!” said the boy, handing Ronthiel his two spears and placing his bow and arrows around Leradien. “I’m your prisoner. You’re taking me to East Prison. You’ll ride Leradien and march me before you. Leradien, you will distract the orcs from Ronthiel’s appearance by pretending to be mad.”

“Who says I have to pretend?”

“Good thinking,” stated Ronthiel, mounting her. “I am ready!”

“So am I,” agreed Leradien.

“Then let us go,” said the boy.

They started down the road for the gate. They were quickly spotted, for the orc guards became obviously excited, and the three of them could hear them all wildly talking. Their voices carried, and, while their words were not clear in their mangled tongue, one name was heard to be mentioned repeatedly, and that was Lolth.

“Morannon!” Ronthiel called out the password as they stopped below the ramparts. “I bring another captive to East Prison!”

There was silence. No answering call came. This went on for some time.

Finally, an orc’s hand nervously reached out and fearfully pushed the Iron Gate open for them. The gate swung outwards, but no one moved. Not an orc was to be seen at his post.

Leradien stepped ahead, and Ronthiel’s spear prodded the boy from behind to enter. Still, there was no challenge. Indeed! The orcs appeared to have all abandoned their posts. Only the one who opened the gate remained, and he stood aside, cringing in fear.

“Which way to East Prison?” asked Ronthiel of him.

A shaking, boney finger pointed the way ahead.

“You dare ride her?” the orc whispered in a quaking voice of disbelief as they passed.

They proceeded on. Wherever they went in this section of the city, the orcs cleared out their way, once again with the fearful mention of the name Lolth. Ronthiel had difficulty in even replaceing an orc willing to give them directions.

By and by, the boy began to understand their fear. They thought Leradien was Lolth, the queen of beauty, cruelty, and malice whose hideousness dwelt within the form of a black widow spider.

Now no drow could be so easily fooled, as Lolth was not a drider and allowed no one to ride her, but orcs knew no better. They knew Lolth by description and reputation only—and Leradien had not entered by the drider gate. Thus, they fled before her, knowing that Lolth tortured goblins, their orc cousins, merely for sport and would easily do the same to them.

Unfortunately, because of the rampant fear Leradien now provoked, it took them two hours to replace East Prison when, had they been able to stop any orc long enough for proper directions, it should have taken less than one.

When they reached it, they found a place of cold gloom. With its windows barred and the entrance double-gated, the prison was built even stronger than the city walls. By now Leradien was wise to her misidentification and ordered Ronthiel off her. She boldly walked up before the prison walls and demanded. “Bring out the captain of the guard!”

After a long pause, the gate reluctantly creaked open, an unpleasant stench wafted through the air, assaulting their senses like a hammer blow. The foul odor, a wretched amalgamation of dampness, decay, and the unmistakable taint of despair, seemed to cling to the very walls of the prison. It was as though the air within those grim confines held the lingering anguish of countless tormented souls. Leradien, Ronthiel, and the boy exchanged grimaces, each nostril rebelling against the repugnant greeting that emanated from the heart of East Prison.

Three tough, ruthless-looking orcs, Urak Hais by the look of them, came out to face them, scaring the boy half to death just by their appearance. Orc enforcers, each one a hulking mass of brawn and menace, stood before them. Towering over the group, their broad shoulders clad in dark armor, and their faces etched with scars and the harsh lines of a brutal existence, Urak Hais exuded an aura of primal ferocity. Thick, sinewy muscles rippled beneath their coarse skin, and their eyes glowed with an unsettling intensity.

“I am Ulrich,” said their leader, “captain of the guard.”

“And I am Lolth, Queen of Darkness!” cried Leradien back at him, her red eyes flashing, and her white mane tossing. “I have come for my prisoner! Give him to me!”

“The prisoner just arrived,” Ulrich noted. “How are you here so soon?”

“Since when do I take questions from an orc?!” screamed Leradien in anger. “Lolth comes when Lolth desires! Why are you not bringing him out to me? Or have you lost the prisoner already?!”

“East Prison 'as never lost a prisoner,” Ulrich stated. “T’ere is no safer place! No drow prison can make such a claim. I t'ot you would give us the honor of torturing and interrogating the prisoner here first.”

“No!” replied Leradien. “The honor is mine! I take the new prisoner elsewhere. Now give him to me!”

The orcs lost their confidence, faltered, and drew back inside.

The boy wondered what would happen. If Graybeard was not brought out, he doubted Leradien could tear that fortress down. The walls were as thick as a man stood tall.

He waited anxiously, and, for a while, nothing happened.

Yet then the gates opened, first one and then the other, and five orcs led Graybeard out, Ulrich at their front.

“Here he is, my Queen,” he said, bowing.

“Lolth!” said Graybeard in astonishment, and then he saw the boy. “They captured you, too?”

“Where is his staff?” demanded Leradien.

Graybeard’s staff was his compass of wisdom, a guiding star in the night of uncertainty, illuminating the path with the glow of his knowledge.

“We took it away from him,” came the reply.

“You would deny an old man his staff?” she demanded. “Give it to him!”

One orc jumped to obey.

“Is that wise?” asked a wary Ulrich.

“Is it wise for you to question me?” snapped Leradien with her wild eyes. “Or maybe you’d like to question me from a little closer?!”

Leradien showed him her pretty little fangs, which really weren't so little.

“Give him his staff,” Ulrich ordered when the orc returned with it. “Do you wish us to take the satyr prisoner for you?”

The boy was under the guard of Ronthiel, their pretended drow.

“The boy is already a prisoner!” cried Leradien. “Or are you blind to that, too?”

No. He wasn’t, but he repeated his offer.

“You have only one drow to guard him and only yourself to guard the Keeper Graybeard. Do you desire an orc-guard?” he asked.

“No guards are necessary,” replied Leradien. “I am Lolth! Am I incompetent to you?!”

Still, the orc remained unsatisfied.

“I request you allow the honor and privilege of an orc providing the escort,” said Ulrich. “After all, we captured him.”

That was true.

“Very well,” said Leradien. “You are correct. Those three with you will do nicely. Expect the usual promotions as your reward, and there shall be fresh meat for all tomorrow night.”

“Tis my humble privilege to serve you.” Ulrich gave another bow.

“I shall remember your name, Ulrich—hope that I remember it well!”

Leradien gave her orders to Graybeard. “Take the boy’s hand and walk before us. The three orcs shall lead the front ranks and escort us back to the orc gate and the highway to the Deep Hai.”

Graybeard was looking about himself suspicious of what was happening. The boy put his finger to his lips to signal him to be quiet. The old keeper took the warning, although his disapproval of the use of the name “Lolth” was high.

Once again, no one stopped them at the city gates, as if the shadows themselves had granted them safe passage. They passed out along the dimly lit highway that led back up to the Deep Hai. As soon as they turned the first corner, Leradien produced her fairy light and, by its light, Ronthiel executed the three leading orcs ahead with his arrows in as many seconds.

“What is this?” now demanded an astonished Graybeard.

“We have rescued you!” beamed the boy in delight.

“Me? Rescued?” retorted Graybeard, “by Lolth?”

“This is not Lolth,” the boy introduced them. “This is my drider. The one I told you about—Leradien.”

“Your drider?” repeated Graybeard and then remembered with raised eyebrows. “Oh! Yes! Of course!” he said with a smile. “She is the one I felt following us. She is our seventh! No wonder I could not place her.”

He looked now at Leradien and asked, quite knowingly, “But you are no ordinary drider, are you?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Let us hope that is to our good fortune,” stated Graybeard, gazing at her in wonder. “I’ve never known a drider before, but I welcome you! My! But you certainly do strike an incredible resemblance to you know who.”

“That’s not very flattering,” said Leradien.

“Leradien is actually quite beautiful when you see her under the light,” Ronthiel interjected, only to fall foolishly silent. He realized it was the second time he’d said this, and by doing so, he had once again turned Leradien’s head.

Graybeard ignored it though and looked at the elf boy. “I know your voice but not your face.”

“It is I, Ronthiel.”

“Ronthiel?” repeated an amazed Graybeard. “What is that on your face?” he asked of the orc’s blood on it, then wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Never mind!” he said. “I don’t think I wish to know.”

Instead, he asked, “Where are the others?”

“We divided into two groups to get here,” the boy explained to him. “We three took a drider tunnel. The others took a messenger tunnel. They should come out about now over there.”

The others pointed out to Graybeard that there was just such a tunnel ahead.

“They haven’t come out yet?” asked the old keeper.

“Not that we know of,” said the boy. “We’re pretty sure we got here first.”

“Then perhaps they need a little help.” Graybeard mused after some consideration. “There’s one way to replace out.”

Pointing his staff into the messenger tunnel, he mumbled a few words and a great flash of light flared from his staff to brilliantly light up the tunnel. “Let's just see what happens.”

He stepped back. “They should not be far behind.”