by Lisa Smedman
Cavatina ripped the iron flask from her belt and held it in front of her. “Quarthz’ress!”
The demon disappeared even before silver streaked from the flask. A heartbeat later, the metal grew too hot to hold. It seared Cavatina’s palm, forcing her to drop the red-hot flask. She backed slowly away, searching for the vanished demon. The runes of silver embossed on the sides of the flask turned molten, blackened, rearranged themselves in a new pattern, then the flask exploded.
Cavatina ducked as a near-molten shard of it whizzed past her face.
The balor, fully twice her height, appeared next to Cavatina and leered down at her. “Such trinkets will not hold me,” he whispered in a breath that stank of sulfur.
Cavatina danced back, menacing the demon with her weapon. The sword’s song was high and shrill, a reflection of the tension she felt. Had Demonbane not been destroyed, Cavatina might have been holding a sword that would make even the balor flinch. Instead she had to rely on bravado alone. “You don’t scare me, demon.”
As she spoke, she touched the silver dagger that hung against her chest and sang a question. Knowledge hummed into her mind. Poison would not harm a balor, nor would fire or cold, lightning or acid. Nor would any of the tricks she might have used against a lesser demon.
Wendonai had no known vulnerabilities.
She let the spell dissipate.
The balor reached over his back to draw his own weapon. The flame-shaped blade of the long sword glowed white. Even from several paces away, Cavatina could feel its heat. A second weapon—a flaming whip—was coiled around the demon’s waist like a belt. The hair under him was scorched black.
Cavatina risked a glance to the side. Halisstra crouched just behind the balor, her posture completely submissive. She stared up at the demon, a sly smile on her face. He reached down with his free hand and stroked her head. Idly, as one would stroke a cat. Halisstra both flinched and leaned into the caress at the same time.
Cavatina’s lips curled in disgust. “Halisstra. You betrayed me.”
Halisstra’s glance slid to Cavatina. “Of course.” Her lips twisted in a rueful smile. “I am the Lady Penitent. Lolth’s battle-captive. What else did you expect?”
“Something more,” Cavatina said. “As did Eilistraee. She reached out to you, through me. You spurned her.”
“You lie!” Halisstra shouted. She reared to her feet. Standing, she was nearly as tall as the balor. “Eilistraee abandoned me.”
“Silence, both of you!” the demon roared.
Halisstra fell back into her crouch. “Yes, Master.” One of her hands pawed at his knee. She pointed at Cavatina. “There. You have what you wanted. Return me to—”
“You dare make demands of me?” The balor’s eyes blazed.
Halisstra cringed. “No, Master, I—”
The balor flicked a finger. With a hollow crunch, Halisstra’s chest caved in. The skin of chest and back met, and like a doll from which the stuffing had been yanked, her body folded in two. Halisstra toppled to the ground, blood trickling from mouth and nostrils.
When the demon glanced down at his handiwork, Cavatina lunged. Her sword sang with glee as it slashed the balor’s stomach, slicing deep into his flesh.
The demon staggered back, his stomach dribbling gobs of smoking black blood. His whip, sliced in two by Cavatina’s sword, fell to the ground behind him, its flames flickering.
“Mortal!” he roared. “Your insolence will cost you dearly.” One hand shot up, clawing at the sky.
“Eilistraee!” Cavatina cried. She grasped her holy symbol as the demon’s hand swept down, a roaring gout of fire streaming in its wake. “Protect me!”
Fire blazed all around her in a storm of light, heat, and noise. Her clothing and boots burst into flame and were instantly reduced to ash. The straps that held her breastplate charred and parted, and the two halves of metal fell away. The heat was intense, and each indrawn breath filled her lungs with pain. The singing sword grew so hot she was forced to let it fall. It tumbled to the ground with a mournful wail. Blisters erupted on her skin, and the bitter tang of singed hair filled her nostrils. White flame blinded her and smoke boiled in the sky above her head. Yet she did not burn. By Eilistraee’s mercy, she did not burn.
The firestorm ended as suddenly as it had begun, leaving her blinking. The singing sword lay silent at her feet, its blade dark with soot.
Cavatina yanked her holy symbol from around her neck. Its silver still gleamed, unblemished by the balor’s foul magic. Wendonai might have no natural vulnerabilities, but Halisstra had inadvertently handed Cavatina a weapon she might use.
“Eilistraee!” she cried. “My enemy stands before me: the demon Wendonai. Smite him!”
A note pealed from the holy symbol, pure as thrice-blessed water. The balor, unable to fend off an attack that utilized his name, staggered backward. He threw down his sword and howled in agony, hands clasping his ears.
Cavatina bore down on him, holding the miniature sword before her. A shaft of moonlight split the flat, empty sky, its light eclipsing that of the pale yellow sun. The balor staggered back, his cloven feet punching holes in the ground that welled up with blood.
“Mortal,” he panted, black smoke puffing from his nostrils. “You vex me.”
He droned a word, low and terrible. It rasped against the pure note of the holy symbol, which trembled in Cavatina’s hand, then was parried. The note droned into Cavatina’s very core, rattling her bones. Suddenly weak, her body hot and feverish, she trembled. The holy symbol vibrated out of her hand and fell at her feet. The shaft of moonlight disappeared.
All was still for a moment. Then the howling wind returned. On it came Wendonai’s triumphant cry. “You think you can best me, mortal,” he chortled. “Think again!”
He barked out a word that hit Cavatina like the blast from a furnace, instantly stunning her. Dizzy, she toppled. She landed on her back next to Halisstra’s body. Already, the corpse was mending itself, the concavity that was her chest slowly filling, her eyelids fluttering. Halisstra would live. Such was Lolth’s infinite torment.
Wendonai loomed over Cavatina, a length of his severed whip in either hand. Bending down, he used them to bind her ankles and wrists. He licked her cheek, leaving a smear of tar on her skin. Hot, sulfuric breath panted in her face.
“Now our fun begins.”
Kâras plunged his dagger into the weeping svirfneblin’s chest, held it there a moment while the gnome died, then yanked it free. He turned, wiping the blood from his blade. “There,” he told the others. “I’ve given him the ‘mercy’ you pleaded for. No more arguments.”
The others stared at him with a range of expressions. The priestesses had shown open disgust as he’d questioned the third svirfneblin. They were angry that he’d ignored their protests that the other two had told them all they needed to know. One of the Nightshadows looked as though he shared their sentiments, but the other three males nodded in agreement with what Kâras had just done, as did the mages.
Kâras stepped over the mutilated body of the dead svirfneblin. All three lay on the floor of the tunnel at odd angles, their feet still encased in the re-hardened stone. He nodded at Q’arlynd, and the wizard repeated his spell. The stone softened beneath them, and with a push of his foot, Kâras forced them down into the mud, one by one.
As the wizard made the floor solid again, Kâras turned to the others. “Before Cavatina ran off to chase demons, she named me leader of this expedition,” he reminded them. “I’m in charge—you all just heard Qilué confirm this. The Masked Lady herself condones what I just did. There were no signs of her displeasure when I was questioning the svirfneblin. Eilistraee, at least, acknowledges what must be done if our mission is to succeed.”
No one seemed ready to argue with that.
“The plan has changed,” he told them. He gestured down at the strongbox. “We’ve learned what’s augmenting the Faerzress: voidstone. Now we need to find out exactly how the Crones a
re doing this, so we can put a stop to it. That requires a lighter touch—something a little more subtle than simply charging in and fighting our way to the Acropolis.”
The Nightshadows nodded. So did the mages.
“Three of us will disguise ourselves as deep gnomes and infiltrate the Acropolis. We’ll learn what we can, and pass the information along to Qilué. The rest of you—”
“Who’s going to pose as the three svirfneblin?” Leliana interrupted.
Kâras turned to her. With Cavatina gone, Leliana had assumed command of the other Protectors. She wasn’t like the Darksong Knight; she was less prone to erupt when prodded. She had the air of someone who’d been raised in the Underdark, who knew how to keep herself alive by swimming with the ever-shifting tide.
“I will,” Kâras answered. “I was in Maerimydra when the Crones overran it. I know how they’re likely to react.”
Leliana nodded. She glanced at her Protectors, obviously trying to decide which of them had the best chance of surviving.
Kâras spoke before she had a chance to announce her choice. “Gindrol and Talzir will come with me. They have the ability to alter their forms, as well.” He didn’t add the real reason he’d just named those two: that they were the only ones he could come close to trusting. Like him, they’d embraced Eilistraee’s faith out of expediency. They kept their old skills well honed.
Leliana held his eyes a moment but made no protest. “All right,” she agreed. Unlike Cavatina, she recognized the merits of using the best tools for the job. “The rest of us will circle around to the other side of the Acropolis and move in if you run into trouble.”
“Not as one group,” Kâras amended. “The Nightshadows’ stealth will be wasted in any attack in force. They should go a different way.”
“Agreed.” Leliana turned to the wizards. “You six have a choice. Come with us or tag along with the Nightshadows.”
Gilkriz nodded at his underling. “Jyzrill will accompany one of the Nightshadows.”
The shorter male’s scowl deepened, but he nodded.
“Khorl will go with the other Nightshadow,” Eldrinn said quickly. “And Daffir will join the Protectors. As for Q’arlynd and I—”
“We’ll join the Protectors,” Q’arlynd interrupted. “My spells are better suited to battle than to stealth. As are Eldrinn’s.”
A flicker of irritation crossed the younger male’s face.
Kâras nodded. “Let’s go, then. The water clock’s trickling, no time to waste.”
The others shouldered their packs and secured their weapons. Leliana, however, drew Kâras aside. “What if Cavatina returns?” she asked. “Someone should wait for her, tell her what’s happening.”
Kâras gave her a level stare. “Didn’t you hear what the moonrat said? The demon took Cavatina. Wherever she’s vanished to, not even Qilué can contact her.”
“She’s a Darksong Knight. She can take care of herself. And that wasn’t a demon.”
“Oh? What was it, then?”
“It was—” Leliana halted abruptly. There was something she didn’t want the others to know.
“Your devotion to your superiors is commendable,” Kâras said. He pretended to give her request serious consideration. “Very well, then. If you think it’s that important, send one of your priestesses back to the spot where Cavatina disappeared.”
Leliana turned to the wizard who stood next to her—an odd choice, Kâras thought. “Q’arlynd, I think you should go.”
The wizard gave a start. “Me?” He glanced at the young wizard who was nominally in charge of the diviners. “I can’t. Eldrinn may need me to—”
Before he could finish, Gilkriz chuckled. “To what? Hold his hand in case he stumbles into a mine shaft and falls?”
The other conjurer added a bark of laughter.
Eldrinn stiffened. “I can take care of myself, Q’arlynd. And you’d do well to remember that Master Seldszar placed me in charge of our college’s contingent.” He folded his arms across his chest. His expression, however, wasn’t angry at all. Instead the boy looked … desperate, Kâras thought.
Q’arlynd pretended to applaud. “Well done, Eldrinn! You’ll convince them you’re a mere apprentice, yet.” He winked at Gilkriz while pointing at Eldrinn. “A word to the wise: don’t turn your back on this one. He’s already fooled you once.”
This time, it was the diviners who laughed.
Kâras followed the exchange out of habit; one never knew when a tidbit of information could become useful. However amusing the interplay between the mages, it was irrelevant. What mattered was that Kâras accomplish the task the Masked Lord had set for them: putting a stop to whatever the Crones were doing. Not because the effects it had on divination—as far as the Nightshadows were concerned, anything that prevented others from spying on them was a good thing. No, it had to be stopped because the augmented Faerzress was luring the drow below. That was where, ultimately, they belonged—in the Underdark—but in order for the Masked Lord’s plans to be fulfilled, the Nightshadows needed more time on the surface. They weren’t yet strong enough to overthrow Lolth’s matriarchies.
“Enough banter.” He nodded down at the strongbox. “Let’s get moving, before the Crones start to wonder where their voidstone is.”
Cavatina expected to die. That didn’t bother her. She had served Eilistraee long and well, and her soul would certainly join the goddess’s dance for all eternity. But for the first time in decades as a Darksong Knight, she had failed. She, a slayer of a demigod, lay at the mercies of a demon. She was trussed up and helpless as a newborn babe, her holy symbol well out of arm’s reach, lying in the dust where Wendonai had kicked it. That burned at her pride like a hot coal, impossible to ignore.
She stared up at the balor with a glare fierce enough that it should have withered him where he stood. “Go on,” she gritted. “Get it over with. Kill me.”
Wendonai chuckled. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he taunted, oily black smoke puffing from his mouth as he spoke. He slid his sword into the sheath on his back, extinguishing its flame. Then he squatted beside her, arms resting on his knees, wings folded. The slash in his midriff still gaped; that it had not healed told Cavatina she was within the Abyss—the only plane where a demon could be permanently destroyed. Wendonai didn’t seem to be bothered by the entrails dangling from his wound, however, or the black blood that soaked the tangle of hair at his groin and dribbled onto the hard-packed earth below. He was too busy gloating.
Cavatina resolved to do one thing before the demon killed her. At the very least, she would alert the high priestess to Halisstra’s treachery. She pretended to cough. It hid the name she urgently whispered: “Qilué.”
“She can’t hear you,” the demon hissed. “Not unless I will it.”
“Qilué!” Cavatina shouted. Her voice sounded strange. As if it were echoing back at her.
Qilué didn’t answer.
Wendonai laughed.
Despite the residual heat of the whip that bound her, Cavatina felt a shiver slide down her spine. Qilué should have heard her name, even from the depths of the Abyss.
The high priestess’s silence was more frightening than any demon.
Behind Wendonai, Halisstra groaned and flopped over onto her stomach. Unlike the demon, she was healing. Slowly, she drew her knees up under herself and used her arms to lever herself into a kneeling position. Turning her head slightly, she glanced sidelong at Cavatina through her tangle of hair. One hand twitched out words. I thought you would kill him. That’s why I brought you here.
Cavatina didn’t believe a word of it. Had Halisstra intended that Wendonai be slain, she would have warned Cavatina in advance—or at least hinted at it. No, Halisstra was truly in Lolth’s thrall. The Lady Penitent had thrown away her final chance at redemption.
Halisstra was still signing: a single word that ended with the curved finger that turned it into a question. Attack? Her glance flicked to the demon.
Cavatina almost laughed. A little late for that. She was bound with magical rope whose heat was agony against her skin, a constant reminder of her humiliating plight. Even so, Cavatina nodded, disguising the gesture as a simple lifting of the head to glance down at her bound wrists. If Halisstra did attack the demon, it just might give Cavatina the moment she needed to roll across the ground to her holy symbol and grab it. Halisstra slowly rose …
The demon turned in her direction. “Down,” he thundered.
Halisstra collapsed, whimpering.
Cavatina threw herself into a roll, but the demon grabbed her shoulder, halting her. He slammed her onto her back. The weight of his hand on her chest was like a boulder.
“For a Darksong Knight, you’re not very smart,” he told her.
Cavatina’s eyes widened. She hadn’t told him she was a Darksong Knight.
The balor smiled. “Oh yes, I can hear your thoughts. Both yours—and Halisstra’s.”
Was that so? Cavatina envisioned carving the demon into pieces. Slowly.
The balor laughed. “Halisstra bores me. You, on the other hand, I find amusing.” He ran a lazy claw down Cavatina’s naked body.
Cavatina knew he expected her to shudder under his touch. She kept her eyes on his, steeling herself, not allowing her flesh to so much as twitch.
“You don’t frighten me,” she said.
“I can see that.” The demon lowered his blunt muzzle to her chest and sniffed. When he rose again, he was smiling. “Halisstra betrayed you. She delivered you into my hands. Tell me, priestess of Eilistraee, what will you do to her if you survive this?”
“The Lady of the Dance is infinitely merciful,” Cavatina answered. “If Halisstra is truly repentant—”