Storm of the Dead

by Lisa Smedman

  Q’arlynd had to damp down his irritation. Eldrinn should have told him this before now.

  Khorl glanced sidelong at Eldrinn, as if looking for a cue to hang his reaction on. Daffir only nodded to himself, as if he’d been expecting this.

  Eldrinn squared his shoulders and strode to where the other wizards stood. “Gilkriz,” he said with a polite nod. “Glad to see you here. Urlryn chose wisely.” He turned to the others, nodding at each in turn. “Jyzrill. Mazeer. Good to have you along, also.”

  Q’arlynd hid his wince. The boy was trying to take charge but doing a less than convincing job of it. He was too young, his movements too uncertain.

  Jyzrill, an unusually short male with a pointed chin and a deep scowl that would have been more in place on a dwarf, muttered a greeting. The other mage, Mazeer, stood with hands on hips, forearms bristling with wands that were shoved into a two specially designed bracers. Her voice was silky as she returned Eldrinn’s greeting, but her eyes remained cold as steel.

  Gilkriz ignored Eldrinn. He turned to the other diviners and smiled, revealing gold-capped teeth. “Khorl. Daffir. So glad you’ll be helping out with this one.” He turned to Q’arlynd. “And …”

  Eldrinn answered before Q’arlynd could. “Q’arlynd Melarn, originally of Ched Nasad. A prominent battle mage from that city who joined our college more than a year ago—an addition which obviously escaped your notice.”

  Q’arlynd gave a slight nod—just enough to be polite.

  “Ah yes,” Gilkriz said. “I remember now. Isn’t this the wizard who rescued you after your disastrous journey to the surface? The trip that left you a feeblewit?” His derisive chuckle was echoed by the slight twist of Jyzrill’s and Mazeer’s lips.

  Eldrinn’s nostrils flared. “I—”

  “Say nothing, Eldrinn,” Q’arlynd interrupted. “They’re trying to learn now what their spies failed to uncover earlier. One of their wizards probably faces a similar problem, himself—and they don’t know what to do about it.”

  Eldrinn had the good sense to smile knowingly.

  Voices filled the space behind them. Q’arlynd glanced back at the double doors where Qilué still stood. Striding through them was a statuesque female Q’arlynd recognized at once: Cavatina, slayer of Selvetarm. Six females followed her: five drow and surprisingly, a halfling who wore the full vestments of Eilistraee’s faith. The priestesses deferred to Cavatina with every gesture, their expressions filled with awe.

  Mixed into the priestesses’ ranks were an equal number of Nightshadows: six in all. Though the males walked with the priestesses, they conveyed the impression of being separate from them. They kept sneaking glances at Cavatina—their expressions wary rather than worshipful.

  Q’arlynd was instantly on alert. He scanned the Nightshadows’ faces, looking for signs that any had recognized him, but the glances they gave him were bland. They paid no more attention to him than they did to any of the other mages.

  The thin, muscular male was obviously the Nightshadows’ leader. He was dressed all in black. A mask covered much of his face. An old scar puckered his left eye. His long stride compelled Cavatina to speed up in order to keep ahead of him.

  Q’arlynd gave a mental head shake. Just like the wizards, the clerics and priestesses were trying to one-up each other. Factions within factions.

  He glanced at Qilué. As always, her expression was impassive. She watched the newcomers sort themselves out. Then she shut the double doors and strode to the front of the hall.

  Aside from Cavatina—and Daffir, whose height made him tower above the drow males—Qilué was the tallest in the room. When she held her hands above her head, the murmurs fell away.

  “A song of welcome,” she ordered, “for the mages of Sshamath.”

  The females broke into song. The male clerics joined in a heartbeat later. They sang in low voices, as if unused to talking above a whisper. Their leader studied the wizards as he sang. He actually met their eyes—a rarity, for a Nightshadow.

  When the song ended, Qilué nodded at Cavatina. “For most of you, the priestess who will lead this expedition needs no introduction. But those from Sshamath may not know her.” She waved Cavatina forward. “The Darksong Knight Cavatina, slayer of Selvetarm.”

  Q’arlynd glanced at his fellow mages. Their lips parted slightly, their eyes widened. Only Khorl remained unmoved. Eldrinn stared like a smitten house boy until Q’arlynd nudged him.

  Cavatina, poised as a statue, glanced down her nose at the group. Her eyes briefly lingered on Q’arlynd—she obviously recognized him—but she made no move to acknowledge him.

  Qilué stepped back a pace. “Cavatina will tell you what lies ahead. May the Masked Lady bless you all and watch over you.” That said, she vanished.

  Q’arlynd was tempted to pull his crystal out of his pocket and sneak a glance through it to see if the high priestess had really teleported away—or if she lingered nearby, watching invisibly—but that was only idle curiosity. He studied Cavatina instead. He’d met her only briefly, nearly two years ago. He wanted to get a sense of what she’d be like as a leader.

  The Darksong Knight was not one to waste time with formal greetings. “You all know our mission,” she told them. “To halt whatever’s augmenting the Faerzress. We believe the cause to lie within Kiaransalee’s Acropolis. That’s what has prompted our decision to attack it.”

  Q’arlynd’s eyebrows rose. He caught Eldrinn’s eye. Attack? he signed, down where no one else would see it.

  Eldrinn gave a slight shrug.

  Q’arlynd glanced at Gilkriz. The conjurer’s eyebrows had drawn together slightly. Gilkriz was hiding it, for the most part, but he seemed as surprised by Cavatina’s choice of words as Q’arlynd had been. He, too, must have been told it was merely a scouting mission.

  “We leave tonight, as soon as Selûne has risen,” Cavatina continued. “We’ll be using the Moonspring Portal. Those of you who haven’t used it before should note that it involves immersion in water. If you’re carrying scrolls or equipment that will be harmed by a dunking, either find a way to protect them or leave them behind.” She paused. “And if any of you can’t swim, now’s the time to say so. We’ll be emerging into a lake. A deep lake.”

  “The Moondeep,” said the Nightshadow that the others deferred to. He stepped forward a pace, shoulder to shoulder with Cavatina. “Northeast of the Moondeep Sea, in the Deep Wastes. Several leagues from our destination. Teleportation isn’t possible where we’re going, so be prepared for a long hike.”

  “Thank you, Kâras,” Cavatina said, easing in front of him. “I’ll take it from here.”

  She snapped her fingers, and a drift disc hissed into the room. The group parted, letting it pass through their ranks. It slid to a stop in front of Cavatina. She tugged on the edge of the shield-sized disc and turned it to the vertical. Q’arlynd saw that it was engraved with a map. With the point of her sword, Cavatina gestured at an irregularly shaped oval.

  “The Acropolis of Thanatos lies here, in this cavern.” Her sword point shifted to a larger circle on the opposite side of the map. “We’ll be portalling in here, at the Moondeep Sea. From there, we’ll enter a played-out duergar mine, several tunnels of which eventually lead to the cavern that houses the Acropolis. Those passages will be well guarded, but this one—” the sword traced a line that snaked away from the sea, but stopped before reaching the first cavern she’d pointed out—“won’t be. It’s on one of the lowest levels of the mine and partially flooded. At its end is an entrance the Crones don’t yet know about. It only just opened up, due to a recent collapse. They haven’t found it because it’s below water.” Her sword tapped the drift disc again with a faint clank. “That’s our way in.”

  Kâras glanced at the map. “With respect, Lady Cavatina, there’s something you’re overlooking. We’re a large group. Too large to hide easily, with members who aren’t as skilled in stealth as Nightshadows. For this ‘attack’ to work, we need to hold the ma
in force back and send in spies—and from more than one direction.” His finger traced its own line across the map to the cavern of the Acropolis. “Enter the Crones’ cavern not only by the route you just named, but also here, and here, and—”

  “No.” Cavatina’s voice was firm. She tapped the map. “This will be the only unguarded route.”

  “My Nightshadows can slip past any guards.”

  “Once past them, they’ll need the battle experience and singing swords of the Protectors. And the spells of the wizards. No, we stick together.” She paused. “Qilué’s orders.”

  Kâras bowed, but not before Q’arlynd spotted a flash of anger in his eyes.

  Cavatina went on to describe the Acropolis itself. The temple, she told them, was situated on an island in the middle of a lake-filled cavern. A cavern immediately recognizable by the thousands of skulls spiked into its stone ceiling. The island had once been home to V’elddrinnsshar, a drow city that fell a century ago to plague—a remark that raised nervous murmurs in the assembled crowd. Cavatina assured them the plague was long gone. She reminded them that the ruined city was home to much more potent dangers: Kiaransalee’s priestesses and their undead minions.

  She touched what looked like a square wooden bead tied about her upper left arm. All of the priestesses and Nightshadows wore a similar bead. “These phylacteries will help my clerics and priestesses fight the undead.” She turned to the wizards. “I assume you’ve made similar preparations?”

  “Indeed we have, Lady,” Gilkriz said, nodding down at one of the rings on his ever-drumming fingers. Beside him, Mazeer lifted one arm, drawing attention to the wands sheathed in her bracer. Jyzrill simply snorted, as if his scowl would be enough to wither undead where they stood.

  “My staff will warn me,” Daffir said.

  “As will my trinkets,” said Khorl.

  “We’re protected,” said Eldrinn, indicating both Q’arlynd and himself.

  Q’arlynd nodded in agreement. Master Seldszar had given the boy half a dozen potions; each would provide complete concealment from undead creatures—for a time. Three of these rested in Q’arlynd’s pocket for “safekeeping.”

  “I hope so,” Cavatina said. “If it comes to a battle, we won’t just face mindless animated corpses. Many Crones embrace undeath themselves, or rise as revenants when slain, as Kâras can personally attest.”

  Kâras looked uncomfortable—a fact Q’arlynd noted with more than a little alarm. Cavatina had spilled something the Nightshadow hadn’t wanted her to. She didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. At the first opportunity, Q’arlynd would have to speak to the Darksong Knight. He didn’t want her mentioning his role in Vhaeraun’s death. Not with six Nightshadows at his back.

  Kâras cleared his throat. “I have indeed seen Crones rise as revenants. And as something more than revenants. I was in Maerimydra when it fell to the army of Kurgoth Hellspawn. In the aftermath of that battle, the traitors of House T’sarran seized control of the city in Kiaransalee’s name. Among their ranks were spirits whose wailing scythed down dozens of mortals where they stood.” He paused, then added grimly, “A small taste of what will await us at the Acropolis of Thanatos.”

  Once again, the hall filled with uneasy murmurs.

  “We’re prepared,” Cavatina said confidently. She nodded at the halfling priestess.

  The halfling—an odd-looking individual with copper-colored hair and skin stained black as a drow’s—reached into her pouch and pulled out what resembled a ball of fired clay tufted with feathers. “Silence stones,” she said in a voice that was surprisingly husky for such a small person. She patted a sling tucked into her belt in the place where a scabbard would normally hang, but her sword was strapped to her back.

  Cavatina turned back to the group. “If others among you also have the ability to create magical silence, I suggest you review those spells before we leave. Next to the singing swords, they’re our best defense.”

  Q’arlynd felt Eldrinn nudging his arm. He glanced at the boy and saw Eldrinn’s quick question. You?

  Q’arlynd shook his head slightly. You?

  No.

  Cavatina continued her briefing, warning them of the various forms of undead sure to populate the Acropolis. Q’arlynd listened attentively, eyes focused on the driftdisc map as he memorized all possible routes between the Moondeep and the Acropolis. Just in case.

  “It’s not just undead we have to watch out for,” Kâras added. “I grew up in the Deep Wastes and know its dangers.” He held up a hand and counted off fingers. “Purple worms, delvers, umber hulks …” He glanced around. “If any of you feels the tiniest vibration, I want to hear about it.”

  “Thank you, Kâras, for the warning,” Cavatina said. She turned to the others. “Knowing what to avoid for in the Deep Wastes will be valuable.”

  “What to watch for, you mean,” Kâras interjected. “If a fresh tunnel’s been bored we might be able to make use of it. Shorten the distance.”

  “No,” Cavatina said firmly. “We stick to the route we’ve chosen. We don’t want to wander into any dead ends and get trapped.”

  “How do we know the route you’ve chosen won’t be a trap?” Kâras protested. “If the Crones have found out about it—”

  Cavatina’s eyes smoldered. “They haven’t.”

  Kâras frowned. “How did you learn of this route?”

  “Through our allies in the Deep Wastes.”

  Khorl cleared his throat. “What allies would those be, Lady?”

  Cavatina seemed relieved to answer someone else’s question. “The svirfneblin.”

  Q’arlynd’s eyes widened in surprise. For a fleeting instant, he wondered if his former slave might have wound up in the Deep Wastes. It had been a long time since Q’arlynd had last seen Flinderspeld, and over the past year and a half, he’d often wondered how the deep gnome was faring. But Silverymoon was a long way from the Moondeep. More than five hundred leagues.

  Kâras’s eyebrows rose. “Deep gnomes, helping drow?” He looked as if he wanted to laugh. “The svirfneblin hate us. They’ll lead us into an ambush or hand us over to the Crones.”

  “No, they won’t,” Cavatina said. “The svirfneblin hate the Crones. And they don’t hate all drow; they trust in Eilistraee’s grace. They’ll act as our guides on this expedition. They have already braved much to scout the way to the Acropolis. One of them drowned while tracing the route through the flooded cavern.” Her eyes locked on Kâras. “Please remember that sacrifice, and treat the svirfneblin with respect when we meet them.”

  Kâras inclined his head. Slightly. “To each who contributes to our mission, I will give his fair due.”

  Judging by the expressions of the priestesses, Q’arlynd wasn’t the only one to note the choice of gender.

  Cavatina finished her briefing and asked for questions. There were several. Q’arlynd waited until most had been answered, lest he seem anxious. Then he cleared his throat and asked his question in an offhanded tone. “Lady, a question. Will our passage through the portal be a one-way trip?”

  “No. Once we accomplish our mission, we’ll use the portal to return. But bear in mind that it only functions between moonrise and moonset when the moon is magically ‘reflected’ on its surface.”

  Q’arlynd raised his hand again. “If we’re unable to scry the surface, how will we know when the moon has risen?”

  “The Moondeep is a magical sea,” Cavatina answered. “When Selüne shines on the Moonsea above, its reflection also illuminates the waters of the Moondeep. Hence the name. But you don’t have to worry. The priestesses will open the portal.” She looked around. “Any other questions?”

  There were a handful.

  The overall plan was in place. Once inside the cavern that housed the Acropolis, they would make their way across the lake to infiltrate the temple, some under cover of invisibility, others by rendering themselves ethereal. Still others would use illusion to disguise themselves as undead.


  “Once we’re on the island, we will slay as many of Kiaransalee’s priestesses as possible,” Cavatina reminded them. “But our goal is to find out what’s augmenting the Faerzress. The moment any of you discovers anything you even think might be significant, report your findings to Qilué. Just speak her name, and she will hear you. She’ll relay your findings to the rest of us and guide us from there.”

  She shifted her attention to the wizards. “You will, of course, be tempted to report to the masters of your respective colleges first. That’s only natural. But remember this. Your masters do not control the Moonspring Portal. We do. With teleportation blocked, it’s the only way drow can access an area close to the Acropolis. If our expedition runs into trouble, it will be the Promenade coming to our aid.” She paused. “I realize that vows mean little in the cities where many of you were born, but I give you my solemn word on this. Anything that is reported to Qilué will be passed on to your masters immediately. We all have a stake in this. Cooperation is the key.”

  The priestesses around her nodded. Q’arlynd dutifully bobbed his head while noting Gilkriz’s faintly skeptical look. He also noted the way the other Nightshadows drew closer to Kâras, whose fingers made a quick gesture Q’arlynd couldn’t read.

  The priestesses broke into song again. Q’arlynd wished they’d just get going. Two days had passed since he met Miverra in Sshamath. In eight days more, perhaps less, divination magic would become impossible in Sshamath and the College of Divination would fall. And with it would go Q’arlynd’s dreams of becoming one of Sshamath’s masters.

  For the time being, there was still a chance to stave off the looming crisis.

  Assuming, he thought as he glanced around at the clearly visible factions, this group held together long enough.

  CHAPTER 7

  Halisstra hummed softly, using her bae’qeshel magic to conceal herself from sight. Slowly she descended on a thread of web toward the pair who walked below. The tree she lurked in was thick with leaves. Though they rustled slightly during her descent, the male and female below didn’t seem to notice. The couple was in the throes of a heated argument, their raised voices obscuring the slight sounds from above.