Extinction

I call them "thought bottles," Gromph said. Each contains a powerful spell?and all of the thoughts that led to its creation. Spells so powerful even I dared not use them, but so unique that, once created, I could not risk losing them, either. In order to avoid temptation, I created these bottles to hold them. Anyone who consumes their contents will gain not only the spell itself but every stage of the process that led to its creation.

Once I am inside Sorcere, I will take them, the illithid said.

Not unless you free me, first, Gromph said. The drawer will only open to my touch.

The archmage let his mind dwell on an experiment he'd conducted back when he'd first constructed and ensorcelled the desk. He'd deliberately left the door to his office lightly warded, then observed with clairvoyant magic as an apprentice forced his way into the office and tried to open the desk. No sooner had the drow placed his fingers inside the eye sockets than he stiffened and tried to scream. No more than a hoarse croak came from his throat, however, before a horrible wilting began. White hair broke off in clumps from his head like dried straw, and his eyes shriveled in upon themselves like heat-cured fungus and fell from their sockets. His skin chafed, then erupted in a series of cracks, from which brown dust?dried blood?trickled. Slowly he crumpled, shrinking in upon himself until all that was left was a pile of dusty clothes where a drow had once stood.

Impressive, the illithid said.

Thank you, Gromph answered.

Yet another fireball arced over the siege wall and landed a short distance away, scattering gobs of molten lava. The liquid rock slid off the illithid like water running down glass. The illithid had obviously cloaked itself in a protective spell.

Do we have a bargain, then? Gromph asked. Will you free me and receive the thought bottles as payment?

You must show me a way into Sorcere, the illithid said. It is protected by wards that prevent magical entry, is it not?

Gromph smiled and sent, A good guess. But there's a portion of the building that is not protected by these wards, because it exists in its own pseudoplane: a vertical shaft that gives access to my office. If you could gate us into it, I'll show you how to find the door.

Bring it to your mind, the illithid commanded.

Gromph fought down his irritation at being ordered about.

Of course, he answered. Ah. . what is your name, anyway?

Sluuguth.

Assuming the illithid had told the truth, Gromph had a weapon he could use against the creature. Certainly the mind flayer knew that too, which meant that Sluuguth had no intention of letting Gromph live. All that passed through Gromph's mind in a fleeting thought?hopefully too fleeting for Sluuguth to notice?then Gromph began to concentrate on the access shaft. He could feel Sluuguth mentally looking over his shoulder, studying the spot they were about to gate to with great care.

A circle of purple light shimmered into being next to them. Sluuguth fell into it and an instant later was levitating inside the shaft. It seemed to extend infinitely upward and downward and had walls of utter blackness that had a somehow palpable look to them. Had Gromph not been trapped in the sphere, he knew his nostrils would have been assaulted by the rank, foul odor of the pseudoplane, the stench of the malformed creatures that called it home.

Where is the door? asked Sluuguth.

Gromph indicated a patch of darkness that seemed more solid than the rest and sent, Dispel its magic, then push.

Sluuguth did as instructed. Previously invisible runes sparkled as light burst inside the diamond dust that had been used to inscribe them. When the light vanished, Sluuguth pushed open the door, revealing Gromph's office.

The chamber was a mess?the aftermath of Gromph's battle with the lichdrow Dyrr. The enormous desk at the center of the room was gouged in several places by the whirling blades the lichdrow had conjured, and the marble flagstone floor was cracked where Dyrr's staff had struck it. One of the bookshelves was a smashed ruin, and the scrolls that had tumbled from it had been trampled. As a sign of his disdain for the archmage's wizardry, the lichdrow had left them where they were after trapping Gromph in the sphere.

The perpetually burning red candles, set into wall sconces made from skeletal fists, still provided illumination, and a plushly upholstered chair behind the desk had survived relatively unscathed. A harder wooden chair on the other side, where a visitor would sit, lay on one side, its legs splintered. Beyond it was a door of black marble, incised with glowing silver runes.

As for the spiderstone golem that had fought in an effort to defend Gromph, the only thing left of it was a severed stone arm, lying forlornly in a corner.