by Лиза Смедман
Leaping forward, Ryld slashed at the troll's neck a second time, but the monster, unlike him, anticipated the attack. It ducked?startlingly fast?then lunged forward and wrapped a rubbery hand around Ryld's own. Ryld heard a bone in his hand crack and gasped at the incredible strength of the troll. Even with a hand that was missing two fingers, its fist was crushing his. The troll jerked Splitter out of Ryld's hand and cast it away.
Halisstra had struggled to her feet and was slashing at the troll's broad back, her sword making strange, flutelike noises as she swung it. The monster grunted with each stroke like a slave under the lash but otherwise ignored the deep cuts in its back. Whirling, it backhanded her away with a blow that sent her staggering. Ryld drew his short sword and thrust at the spot where the troll's heart should have been, but even though the blade buried itself to the hilt in the thing's rubbery chest the monster was not slowed.
A hand whipped out with the speed of one of Quenthel's whip vipers and wrapped itself around Ryld's neck. Powerful fingers tightened against flesh, choking off his breathing. Ryld felt a rush of magical energy flowing into his body from the dragon-shaped ring on his finger, as the ring hardened his flesh against the troll's claws?but too late. His windpipe had already squeezed shut. Abandoning his sword, still hilt-deep in the monster's chest, he drove stiffened fingers into what would have, on a drow, been a crippling pressure point?then he winced. He might as well have driven his fingers into solid stone.
Halisstra charged back into the fray and managed to slice one of the troll's feet from its ankle. It stumbled but quickly found its footing, balancing on the stump. Halisstra was rewarded with a rake of claws that snagged her chain mail, tearing a link from it.
Ryld, unable to breathe, shouted at her the only way he could.
Flee! I am finished!
"No!" she gasped. "I won't leave you."
She lunged forward, attacking the troll with a furious barrage of blows. Ryld, observing with the eye of a master, saw that Halisstra had opened her stance, inadvertently exposing herself to what would be a fatal rake of the monster's claws.
Though Ryld should have been watching with the detachment of someone who knows he is about to die and can do nothing about it, he felt a strange emotion fill him in that impossibly long moment that stretched between two fading heartbeats, a deep sadness and a sense of infinite loss. Not only because Halisstra was about to die, but because her death would mean the end of something Ryld had only just discovered: true friendship?perhaps even love. The kind that would cause a person to willingly sacrifice herself in a hopeless attempt to save another. As their eyes met, Ryld realized that he would have done the same for Halisstra?and he saw that she knew it. He also saw something he'd never seen in the eyes of a drow: trust.
At that moment a drow female burst out of the forest, her silver-white hair plastered against her face by the rain. She was naked, save for a heavy silver chain around her waist that was hung with a large silver disk and a curved hunter's horn. She moved at a full-out sprint, holding above her head a sword whose blade glowed with leaping silver flames. With a piercing, high-pitched shout that sounded like a single note in a song, strong and true, she slashed down with her sword.
The blade bit deep into the troll's shoulder, then flared. Silver fire spread instantly across the troll's body, blinding Ryld. He winced, expecting to be burned himself, but the wave of heat he'd been anticipating never came. The flames seemed to emit song rather than heat, dancing to their own rhythm as they licked over the troll's rubbery skin.
Bellowing, its flesh blackening under the magical fire, the troll sagged to its knees. Ryld, suddenly able to breathe again as the massive hand fell away from his neck, gasped in a lungful of air. Though fouled by the stench of burning flesh, it had never tasted so sweet. He watched, dumbfounded, as the troll's body crumpled in on itself, the magical, silvery flames destroying it in a matter of heartbeats.
"I thank you, my lady," he told the drow?obviously a mage or a cleric, and a powerful one. He bowed deeply before her. "You have saved both our. ."
His voice trailed off as he saw the look on the woman's face. She was staring at Halisstra with a look of surprise?and bitter anger. Ryld finally recognized the symbol on the silver disk that hung from the chain at her waist. It was a sword, set against a haloed circle. The symbol of Eilistraee.
"That's Seyll's armor," the cleric said, eyes blazing as she stared at the chain mail Halisstra was wearing. "You're the one who killed her."
The stranger wrenched the horn from her belt and blew a single, prolonged note. An instant later, the horns of her fellow hunters answered.
Chapter Seven
Nimor leaned over the map of Menzoberranzan that had been laid on the floor of the mine, its corners weighted with jagged, fist-sized chunks of silver. He gestured with his rapier.
"The spider we hope to slay has two heads," the drow told the five others?three duergar and two demons?that had gathered around the map. "Cut off either, and the body dies." The point of his blade pricked the southern edge of the city. "One head is here: Qu'ellarz'orl, the plateau where the First House stands." He moved the rapier, pointing to a spot on the northern edge of the city where a smaller cavern bulged off the main one. "The other is Tier Breche, the cavern that houses three of the most important institutions in Menzoberranzan: Sorcere, Melee-Magthere, and, most importantly of all, the great temple of Lolth, Arach-Tinilith."
"Tough stones to crack, both one of them," said Horgar, who stood immediately to Nimor's left.
The gray dwarf prince came barely to the draw's waist but had wider shoulders than the slender Nimor. He scowled down at the map, absently rubbing his bald head with stubby fingers. His two guards?duergar like himself, one of them with a scar that stretched from chin to ear along the cheekbone?kept a wary eye on the pair of half-demons that stood on the opposite side of the map.
"Quite so, Crown Prince," replied Nimor. "Which is why I want the duergar to lead the assault on Tier Breche. A frontal assault down the tunnel from the north. Your troops will establish a siege wall, then, from behind it, use catapults to lob stonefire bombs into Sorcere and Arach-Tinilith, reducing them to a smoking ruin.
"Easily said," Horgar challenged, "but not easily done. That tunnel will be thick with jade spiders. We may be able to smash our way through one or two of them but not all."
Chuckling, Nimor reached into a pocket and pulled out half a dozen flat ovals of green jade, each pierced by a hole through which a silver chain had been threaded and inscribed with a name. Holding them by their chains, Nimor jiggled them so they tinkled together.
"Thanks to an associate who's managed to penetrate deep into Menzoberranzan, I'm able to guarantee you they won't be a problem," he told the duergar.
The scarred prince snorted and said, "And where will the tanarukks be while we're making our attack? Bravely bringing up the rear?"
This elicited a growl from Kaanyr Vhok, who bared perfect teeth and thumped the hilt of the rune-inscribed sword he held against his golden breastplate.
"My Scoured Legion could outfight your mushroom-men any day," he growled, glaring angrily across the map at the scarred duergar. "Why, even our orcs would be a match for?"
A tug on his arm from Aliisza stopped him in mid bluster. He glared at her but listened as she whispered in his ear, then slowly lowered his sword.
"Gentlemen, please," Nimor said. "Hear me out." He turned to Vhok. "The Scoured Legion will indeed be involved in the fight. You will rake Donigarten, the city's food and water supply, then fall upon Qu'ellarz'orl from the east. That will cause the matron mothers to withdraw their defenders south, allowing the duergar to take up positions in the north. But not all of the duergar. One company, at least, must march together with the tanarukks, spread amongst their ranks to give the impression that our force as a whole is committed to an attack on Menzoberranzan's First House."
Vhok narrowed his eyes and asked, "We are to be a mere distraction?"
"Not at all," Nimor assured him, a twinkle in his eye. "You also have a chance at victory?an excellent chance. I've taken steps to take House Baenre out of the fight with a little surprise that I've got planned for its matron mother. Once Triel is eliminated, the other females of House Baenre will begin vying for her throne. The companies each commands will begin fighting each other?which will keep them too busy to bother about something so insignificant as defending their city.
"When the other noble Houses see Baenre in disarray, they'll sense its weakness and strike. One or more of them will try to usurp Baenre's position as First House. While they're busy fighting each other, Lord Vhok's troops can swoop in and seize Qu'ellarz'orl."
Vhok scowled and said, "An interesting theory."
"It's not just theory," Nimor countered. He paused to brushed rock dust off the sleeve of his immaculately tailored gray shirt. "It's drow nature. We're like spiders reacting to the twitching of a web. When we think we have our prey at our mercy, we strike.
"Only this time," Nimor said, "the prey will be the drow themselves. Menzoberranzan will fall. I guarantee it."
Triel coldly regarded the prisoner who had been brought before her: a young male drow. He lay on his back on the floor of her audience chamber, wrists bound tightly behind him and ankles likewise tied above his bare feet. His black pants and shirt hung in tatters, the slashes revealing a myriad of lacerations that dribbled blood onto the floor. The hair on one side of his head had been burned down to stubble, and his face was covered in blisters. One eye was fused shut, its eyelid blistered and weeping, but the other glared up at Triel with undiminished defiance.
Triel crinkled her nose at the stench of burned hair and flesh and toyed with a perfectly balanced throwing dagger?the only one still in the fellow's bandoleer when he was captured. She could tell by the tingle it sent through her fingers that it was magic?as had been the blades that had killed four of her elite guard.
"This is an assassin's weapon," she observed, handing it to one of the females who stood on either side of her: two of the House guard who attended her at all times, magical shields and maces at the ready.
A third member of the guard?an officer?stepped forward to conclude her report.
"The intruder was captured on the fifth level, Matron Baenre," she said. "We believe he was trying to reach your private quarters."
Triel stared at the officer, who, despite all that was happening, looked as if she was freshly turned out for inspection. Her adamantine chain mail was a glossy black, her long white hair neatly braided. She stood at rigid attention, a polished mace hanging from her belt and a hand crossbow strapped to the back of each wrist. Five black spiders, embroidered into the shoulder of her silver tunic, proclaimed her rank.
"How did he get inside, Captain. .?" Triel let the sentence trail off, an obvious invitation for a name.
"Captain Maignith," the woman answered, meeting Triel's eyes for precisely the amount of time that was appropriate. "He didn't get in through any of the lower doors. I questioned the guards?thoroughly. All were at their posts, and the wards are still in place. He didn't slip past us. He must have gotten in from above."
That said, Captain Maignith glanced at a second officer?a lieutenant of the lizard riders?who stood several paces farther back, as befitted a male. He wore tight-fitting, padded leather breeches and a piwafwi trimmed in silver. He held his plumed silver helmet in the crook of one arm and seemed to be having trouble looking Triel in the eye.
"Matron Mother, I … My riders saw nothing on the outer wall," he stammered.
Triel noted the shift of words with amusement. A magic earring told her the lieutenant was speaking the truth?as he believed it to be. She could hear none of the echoing quaver that accompanied a lie.
She toyed with the handle of the whip of fangs that hung from her belt, twin to the one carried by her sister Quenthel. The vipers hissed softly in anticipation, sensing her desire. The lieutenant deserved punishment?and would receive it, in due time.
Her hand fell away from the whip.
"Go and fetch your lizard," she said.
The lieutenant hesitated a moment too long, a mix of relief and puzzlement on his face. Then, suddenly remembering his place, he bowed deeply and backed from the room.
The captive smirked, obviously pleased with the concern his intrusion had caused.
Not liking the look in his eye, Triel drew a wand of braided iron that hung beside her whip. The tip of the wand was set with a tiny white feather, which she pointed at the captive as she spoke a command word, No visible force came from the wand, but the effect was instantaneous. The captive screamed?a sound of acute terror that filled the audience chamber?and drew his legs up to his chest. Had his hands been free, he would no doubt have wrapped them around his legs. He rocked back and forth, whimpering. When Maignith nudged him with the toe of her boot he screamed anew and rolled away, leaving a stain of pungent urine among the blood spatters on the floor.
Triel sighed, hoping she wasn't wasting her time. There were so many other matters in need of her attention. On the outskirts of Menzoberranzan, an army of duergar, tanarukks and other, lesser races were preparing to assault the city proper. Triel should have been in her war room, communicating with the officers who would hold the invaders at bay, but there had been an assassination attempt on her?not nearly the first, of course?and she needed to know who was behind it.
Had one of her sisters decided that she could do a better job as matron mother? Did Triel need to strengthen her defenses from within? Or had the assassin been sent by one of the other noble Houses? House Barrison Del'Armgo, perhaps? That seemed unlikely, since the second-ranking House was just as badly off as House Baenre just then. After the disastrous battle at the Pillars of Woe, Mez'Barris Armgo had come straggling back with what remained of her forces?and the sorry tale of how her troops had been driven up a side tunnel and lost one-quarter of their forces and all of their wagon trains.
As she waited for the lieutenant to return with his lizard, Triel walked to the thronelike chair that had once been her mother's. Shaped like an enormous spider and forged from solid adamantine, it balanced on eight curved legs. The chair had been imbued with powerful spells, not the least of which was a magical symbol that would instantly turn any attack directed at the matron mother back upon whomever had been foolish enough to initiate it. The chair was a symbol of Lolth, but even though the goddess had fallen disturbingly silent, its magic still functioned, since it was powered by wizardry.
As Triel settled cross-legged onto the chair?her two personal guards shifting to stay on either side of her?she thought of Gromph, and wondered, once again, where the city's archmage had disappeared to.
The door to the audience chamber opened, and the musty smell of lizard wafted into the audience room. The lieutenant walked in, leading his mount by the reins. The lizard squeezed in through the door, the sticky pads on its feet making faint sucking noises as they were lifted from the stone floor. With a body twice as long as a drow?three times as long, if the lashing tail was counted?it was a formidable sight. Its leathery skin glowed with a sparkling blue luminescence that faintly illuminated the otherwise dark room.
As it scuttled past the captive, tongue flickering in and out, it twitched its head to the side, inhaling the man's scent. The assassin, still feeling the effects of Triel's wand, whimpered and cringed away from it.
Triel drummed her fingers on the cold metal of the throne.
"So," she said, making her observations aloud. "The assassin couldn't have climbed the outside of the stalagmite. If he had, the lizards would have picked up his spoor."
The lieutenant closed his eyes in relief.
"Which begs the question," Triel continued. "How did he get in?"
Beside the lieutenant, the lizard's tongue continued to flicker in and out, licking at the blood smeared across the floor. Its round, black eyes stared, unblinking, at the captive.
Triel smiled.
"Your mount appears hu
ngry, Lieutenant," she observed.
"Why don't you slip the muzzle and let it feed?on a non-essential part, of course."
Grinning, the lieutenant did as he was ordered.
The lizard twitched its tail in anticipation, its luminescent skin darkening momentarily to a. deeper blue, but it waited tor its master's hand signal before it sprang forward. Teeth cracked through bone with a loud crunch, severing the assassin's bound legs at the ankles. The assassin screamed once as his feet disappeared down the lizard's throat, then he fainted.
Grabbing the lizard's reins, the lieutenant pulled it back.
Triel looked dispassionately at the blood that was pumping onto the floor.
"Staunch those wounds," she ordered.
Obediently, Maignith stepped forward and tapped each of the assassin's severed ankles with the head of her mace. The magic possessed by the weapon caused the head to flare brightly, cauterizing the wounds. When they stopped sizzling, Maignith grabbed what remained of the assassins hair and bent his head back. She slapped him awake.
The assassin's one functional eyelid fluttered, then opened. His burned face, once a throbbing red, had gone gray.
"Do you want to live?" Triel asked.
The assassin seemed to have recovered, at last, from the effects of the wand.
"You're going to kill me, no matter what," he croaked.
"Not necessarily," Triel answered, "You obviously have some talent, to get as close to my quarters as you did. Perhaps I'll recruit you for my House."
"With no feet?"
"We have regenerative magic," Triel answered.
"Not any more," the assassin said, wincing as he tried to smile. "Lolth is dead."
Triel shot to her feet, yanking out her whip, and shrieked, "Blasphemer!"