“Took one,” he finished.
Riltana sighed. She got out of her bed and faced Demascus. She traced a rectangle shape in the air. From glovespace, the painting emerged and became a real weight in her grip. She set it against the wall. The painting was of a figure in a dark cloak and mask that nearly blended into the brick backdrop of the composition. The figure carried a satchel stuffed with gold coins that overflowed from the top.
“Some kind of thief?” said Demascus.
“That’s its name,” she said. “The Thief. It told me. It knows amazing stuff—all about burglary, hiding, getting in and out of secure places—”
“And you stole it,” said Demascus. “Some kind of wizardly artifact, brimming with useful knowledge anyone would value. No wonder House Norjah has sent a hit squad of vampires after you!”
“Yeah.” The eyes behind the painted mask caught Riltana’s. The portrait volunteered in a papery thin voice, “Acquisition of keys is not nearly as important as acquisition of trust. To break into a place of commerce, all that’s required is—”
“Hush, you,” whispered Riltana. She snatched up the painting and folded it away. What did it think of the glovespace, there with her extra rope, sunrod, the Prisoner’s Stone, arambarium chest, book of poisons, and other useful bits?
Demascus scratched his chin. “I don’t want to be the one to tell you your business, Riltana, but … maybe you should give the painting back. Norjah knows who you are, they know who I am, and they’re vampires, or have vampires on call. I doubt they’re going to rest until they kill us. Maybe if we return what you took to the head of the house, we can end this.”
Shame heated her cheeks. Demascus was right. Why was she so damn reckless? Yes, she should return it. She had actually already considered it. But she wanted to pump the arcane artifact for a few tidbits first. She wanted to learn the trick for picking a particular lock mechanism that’d always eluded her, maybe find a recipe for eyeblack that actually worked, and perhaps even the rudiments of breaking encrypted messages …
“Piss,” she whispered loudly. “I wish I’d never heard of House Norjah! If I ever see that bitch who told me Cyndra’s painting was there, she’ll meet the business end of my boot.”
Chant snorted, and Jaul rolled over. Demascus chuckled quietly, one finger up to his lips. “I almost feel sorry for her already. What was her game, I wonder?”
“Who knows? I never met her before. Though she seemed to know me. She was tall and had eyes like the cloudy orbs of a stormsoul. Very striking on a human.”
Demascus blinked. “Wait, what? Your informant was … a tall woman with eyes like storm clouds? Dark hair?”
She nodded. The deva’s mouth was working, as if trying to formulate a sentence after being clubbed in the face.
“Yeah … Hey, are you all right?” she said.
Demascus staggered out of the bed. “Did she have skin like coffee?”
Riltana nodded slowly. “Yes. You know her?”
“It sounds like the … the woman I … the woman a previous incarnation of me killed, the one I told you about. Madri. I saw her when I first reclaimed Exorcessum, and a couple of times since. I assumed it was only a memory so strong I hallucinated her presence. But … lords of light. Has she actually returned?”
“Uh …”
“How could she? She’s human, not bound to the world like me. Unless she’s a spirit … a spirit of vengeance …”
“Wait, you’re saying the woman who told me about Cyndra’s painting is, what? A ghost come to … to have her revenge? Then why’d she approach me with a false lead?”
Demascus shook his head in confusion. His usual halfsmile was gone, replaced by a grim frown. “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”
“I … No. My past is still stalking me. The mistakes, the enemies, and the angry ghosts of those I’ve wronged. And of all those I’ve forgotten.”
“If it is her,” said Riltana,” then she knows a lot about you and your friends. She knew about my oath to get Cyndra’s painting back.”
Demascus looked glum.
“If you were lovers once, she probably still has a soft spot for you. Maybe next time you see her, you should—”
“What, apologize for killing her?”
“For starters,” Riltana said. “And ask her to explain a few things. Maybe you don’t have to find your missing Whorl of Ioun to learn more about your past. Maybe you just need to find, um, what’s her name?”
“Madri.”
“Find Madri—shouldn’t be too hard. She’s apparently watching you. And me.”
Riltana shivered. She didn’t like the idea of a vengeful ghost from Demascus’s past stalking her, manipulating her. All the more reason the goat-humping deva needed to mend fences with Madri, whatever she was. After that, Riltana had a few questions for the woman herself. Such as, why’d she send Riltana into House Norjah in the first place? Had she wanted the thief to stir up the vampires? It didn’t make any sense. Not to mention how the repercussions of her theft were getting in the way of their main objective.
“Riltana,” Demascus finally said, “I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what you’re suggesting. I mean—I killed a person in cold blood, a person who trusted me! She’s not going to just forgive and forget.”
A scream like a cat being flayed burst into the bedchamber.
Chant and Jaul both started awake.
“What was that?” said Jaul.
“The vampires,” Chant said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “They’ve found us.”
ITHIMIR ISLE
19 LEAFFALL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
LIGHTNING SIZZLED JUST OVER CHENRAYA’S HEAD. THE flash nearly blinded her, and she dropped to the ground as her passive-defensive spells channeled away most of the lightning’s charge into so many chasing sparks. But something still got through; it felt like a giant kicked her in the chest.
She squinted up against the flickering, smoke-obscured ceiling of the massive cavern. Lord Pashra stood over her, yelling something and brandishing his cleaver at the genasi soldiers and war wizards who’d engaged them.
Chenraya had thought crushing the final knot of defenders would be easy. Of course the oni had told her otherwise, that the remaining defenders were strongest and would prove blah, blah, blah … She’d ignored him. Genasi were no more special than any other slave race, she’d said. They’d succumb to Lolth’s will. So she’d selected only herself, Pashra, and an exploratory force of arachnids to deal with the problem.
Lying in the rubble while gasping in pain from the last genasi stroke was bad. But being proved wrong by the oni was far worse. It was a slight that couldn’t be forgiven.
However, given that her exploratory force had been turned into smoking carcasses, she now had other priorities. Beginning with the fact that she could barely feel her extremities. The defending war wizard’s lightning bolt had been even more potent than she’d realized.
Pashra dragged her by her cloak behind one of her fallen arachnid behemoths. She was too surprised by his impudence to resist.
“Are you hurt?” he yelled. His voice was oddly muted, as if her head was covered in a layer of webs.
She shook her head, and her ears began to ring.
The final genasi defenders were barricaded against the mine face that contained the mother lode. The genasi couldn’t retreat—they could only fight. And fight they did, with the strength and cunning of those with no other options.
She, the oni, and her force had dashed against them and broken like waves on the shore. Which hardly seemed fair, given how easily everything else had gone. Genasi on the surface hadn’t expected claim jumpers, probably because an attack had never happened before. The upper island defenses had fallen immediately a few tendays ago. Since then, she and Pashra had surreptitiously moved several shipments of arambarium back through Airspur and, from there, into the Demonweb for final transfer to Menzoberranzan.
But the defenders down here
had held out that entire time, despite being bottled up and unable to call for help. Their numbers were depleted, but they held fast. They knew the moment Chenraya broke them, the mother lode would be lost. They were well-trained, loyal subjects of the Throne of Akanûl.
That was about to change; soon, they’d just be corpses.
“Lolth, hear your daughter’s prayer,” she whispered. “Lend me your grace, as I accomplish your will. Blood will be spilled and souls reaped for your glory.” New strength flowed into her as she spoke. The ringing in her ears subsided, the pain in her chest faded, and feeling returned to her fingers and toes.
Chenraya rose and stood next to Pashra. “If you can fight, show me. We don’t have time for this conflict.”
The oni growled, swinging two vicious tusks her way. Would he actually be stupid enough to attack her?
No. Instead, he drew a glamour over himself. A moment later, a genasi male stood where Pashra had been. He was dressed in a close approximation to the uniforms worn by the mine defenders—the armor and sash of an Akanûl elite peacemaker.
The genasi said in Pashra’s voice, “I’ll create a distraction on their flank, Chenraya. I trust you’ll take advantage.”
Then he faded into invisibility.
The drow priestess was reluctantly impressed. The ogre magician had his uses. If he could deliver on his promise to distract the defenders, maybe she wouldn’t sacrifice him. At least, not immediately.
Chenraya considered using her most potent charm, or calling on her most powerful prayer. The charm was shaped like a yochlol, a demon servitor of Lolth. The prayer, when spoken, would literally dissolve and disintegrate the flesh of friends and foes alike … but she had only one yochlol bead, and the vile prayer was too potent for her to use more than a few times. Better to hold onto those trump cards until nothing else would serve. Instead she settled on something less catastrophic and invoked a prayer of flame.
A pillar of purple fire crashed down from the ceiling as if it’d bored straight through all the rock between the sky and this buried cavern. She’d called it down on the heads of the defenders, but they’d somehow managed to deflect it to one side. But a few still got caught in the flames and died screaming.
The rest returned fire. Arrows, quarrels, and a few screaming bolts of magic arced toward her. She ducked back down behind the arachnid carcass and waited for Pashra’s distraction.
She didn’t have to wait long. A new scream of outrage and pain echoed across the cavern. Chenraya leaped from cover and dashed forward as the defenders behind the barricades contracted in violent confusion.
The floor of the cavern was strewn with open cavities, forming a crude checkerboard of pits. Chenraya thudded across a plank that bridged a rough-sided mine scar. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw a shape move in the darkness below. She glanced down and caught the faintly illuminated shape of a drake-like figure made of stone rising beneath her. She leaped to one side as it burst up from the pit and tried to bite her head off. Failing, it still struck her hard enough that instead of falling into the pit, she tumbled to a halt several feet past its lip. Face down in the dirt for the second time in almost as many heartbeats.
Her attacker was a stone elemental in the shape of a minor dragon, glimmering with arambarium stains. A genasi defender rode on its back, controlling it. Unlike the obsidian entity she’d subverted beneath Airspur, this one was already fully activated—and she was its target.
A stone claw descended on her but she rolled to one side, then back the other way as the other claw raked at her. The genasi rider, an earthsoul, of course, was crowing in victory.
Chenraya broke the yochlol charm’s leather thong with a jerk and threw the yellowish item one way as she scrambled the other.
A flash of mustard-colored light bloomed. Chenraya kept rolling until she was several feet from the drake, which suddenly had more immediate problems to deal with than her.
Then she was up again, her heels to another pit, readying another prayer of purple fire.
Consternation was visible in the earthsoul rider’s face as his elemental faced down a creature of Abyssal phlegm, with spastic tentacles and roving eyes in an amorphous yellow body. It was the yochlol she’d summoned, a gift from Lolth sent to protect her.
The yochlol spoke, its voice a shockingly seductive contralto, more beautiful than any normal drow woman’s. “The Spider Queen watches you, Chenraya. You’re so pretty. I wish I could stay. I’d dearly love to get to know you better.”
“I … I am honored, handmaiden,” Chenraya replied.
“Of course you are, little one.” The yochlol laughed. Unlike its speaking voice, the demon’s mirth was nightmarish. Chenraya avoided cringing by clenching her teeth as hard as she could.
Then the stone drake pounced on the yochlol. The yellow body splattered beneath the granite bulk like a popped fruit. Strands of yellow ichor spewed up as tentacles and coiled around the drake.
The elemental beast shuddered as the yochlol’s arms tightened. The earthsoul leaped clear, even as drake and yochlol glimmered like a heat mirage.
The yochlol said, “You and I will meet again, Chenraya Xorlorrin. You’ve incurred a debt.” Then demon and elemental seemed to flatten, losing dimension, until the intertwined image folded away and was gone. Lolth’s handmaiden had returned to the Abyss and brought an elemental drake morsel back with it.
Chenraya wasted a moment wondering if the demon handmaiden had lied. Or had some kind of debt really been incurred? That was the problem dealing with demons—one moment they followed instructions as they should, but the next, they were feasting on your entrails. Demons just didn’t follow rules of any sort. Just like their mistress, Lolth herself …
The priestess clamped off that potentially blasphemous line of thought. Instead she focused on the brown-hued genasi thrown from his stone saddle. He was already casting some kind of spell. Which meant he was one of the war wizard defenders. A geomancer, probably, summoning another rocky beast to inflict on her.
But he was cut off from the rest of the genasi, who by the sound of it were having trouble dealing with the disguised oni’s “treachery.”
Chenraya pointed at the geomancer and loosed a venom bolt. The ray caught the man full in the face. He gagged, shook with palsy as the poison coursed through his blood, but tried to finish his spell nonetheless. It was a close call. She readied herself.
However, the genasi slumped to the cavern floor, blackened and shriveled, before he could choke out the final phrase.
She murmured a prayer for his soul. If she was lucky, she’d just consigned his spirit to Lolth’s tender mercies instead of wherever it should normally have gone. The little things were what sometimes made life worth living.
The priestess turned her attention back to the genasi barricade. None of the defenders were paying attention to her. They’d all hunkered down, watching each other with wary eyes, wondering which one among them had suddenly gone crazy and started killing his compatriots.
Chenraya decided to take advantage of the confusion and risk drawing attention to herself. She whispered a short prayer of amplification. Then she bellowed at the top of her lungs, “Descend, my army—join me, my harem! Find me, slothful mercenaries of Bregan D’aerthe! Why’ve you left your mistress alone so long?”
Her voice bounced back and forth across the great chamber, blasted down the side tunnels, and rose like an explosive plume up the access shafts to the surface. The defenders clamped hands over their ears to block out the fury of the sound.
In truth, the mercenaries should have already joined her, without her having to summon them. Surely the fact that she, Pashra, and the exploratory force of arachnids hadn’t returned after more than an hour should’ve drawn her supposed allies to make certain all was well. Perhaps the genasi were not the only ones dealing with treachery …
A flash of violet light presaged the appearance of the Bregan D’aerthe laggards. A handful of dark elf silhouettes with drawn swords
and wands engaged the defenders before the genasi realized the equation had changed.
With Pashra already behind the enemy barricade, she and the mercenaries made quick work of the last stubborn stragglers over the course of ten heartbeats filled with screams and blood.
At last, the mine was completely under her control. All its tunnels, its hollow pits, and its mineral resources were hers to do with as she wished.
For starters, she’d fortify the vast cavern so that, unlike the genasi before her, she wouldn’t lose control of the mother lode. She studied the ceiling and nodded. If anyone came from Akanûl to reclaim their arambarium, she’d bring the entire island down on his or her head.
“Can you feel it?” came Pashra’s voice, uncharacteristically hushed with awe.
Chenraya turned round to see the oni pointing at the blank cavern wall. But she knew the blankness was just a facade. Standing so close, it was impossible to ignore the way her hair stood on end and her skin prickled. Something truly ancient lay trapped behind the stone. Something powerful beyond accounting.
The arambarium mother lode. Or, as Pashra claimed, a relic carved from a dead primordial of sundered Abeir that had fallen to Faerûn like a dead star.
SOMEWHERE IN THE DEMONWEB
19 LEAFFALL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
THE WONDERFUL THING ABOUT A CIRCULAR FLOOR PLAN, thought Demascus, was that if you went around long enough, sooner or later you circle around back to where you started. As long as your pursuers didn’t immediately realize the same thing. They might have split their number, sending one group down the scent trail and another down the counterclockwise path. That would be bad. Demascus shrugged. The situation couldn’t be helped. They could only go forward.
The chamber ahead was a clutter of wizardly paraphernalia, ominous in its dusty immobility. “Be careful,” he whispered. “Don’t knock anything over. But go quick.” He adjusted his twin swords sheathed through his belt on either hip. Hopefully their ends wouldn’t swing into anything as he passed. Vampiric victory screams shivered the air. The Norjah pursuers had found their odor. Now we race.
Sword of the Gods: Spinner of Lies Page 13