by Lisa Smedman
Q’arlynd’s eyebrows rose in surprise. The rat was speaking High Drowic. Moving quietly, Q’arlynd pulled his quartz out of a pocket and peered through it, but the crystal clouded with violet faerie fire. Hoping that the creature in front of him was just as it seemeda wet black rathe lowered his crystal.
Just as Q’arlynd was debating whether to speak to it, the rat spoke again. “Kâras? Is it you?”
The rat moved closer to Q’arlynd, sniffed the ground beside his still-invisible feet, and gave a startled squeak. “Not him!” it said. “Not him! Not him!” It ran away down the tunnel, in the direction Eldrinn and the others had gone.
Interesting.
After the rat was gone, Q’arlynd listened for a time. The Moondeep lay in silence, its waters still against its shores. The only sounds were the occasional drip of water from the handful of stalactites that clung to the cavern’s wide ceiling and a faint, crackling hiss, nearly imperceptible, from the Faerzress that infused the rock next to him.
He moved to the mouth of the tunnel and stared across the vast cavern that held the Moondeep Sea. The moon had set some time ago, its reflection vanishing from the dark surface of the water. Only a handful of the Tears of Selűne remained. One by one, those too vanished.
Q’arlynd was well and truly alone.
He stroked his chin. Cavatina had told him to wait there until moonrise. It had been couched as a suggestion, but her hand had brushed against her holy symbol as she spoke; that must have been when the geas was cast. If he was stuck there until the next moonrise, he might as well use the time wisely. A second experiment was in order. Qilué had, very pointedly, mentioned his skill at teleportation. Perhaps she hoped that he’d still be able to manage it, even there. That was certainly worth finding out.
He drew a deep breathpreparing himself, as he would for a freefall from one of Ched Nasad’s ruined streets. He chose a spot just a few paces away, in the center of the tunnel. Concentrating on it, he spoke the words of his spell.
He slammed into a wall face-first. Pain flared in his noseit felt like he’d broken it a second timeand warm blood slid from his nostrils. Bruised, embarrassed, he pushed himself roughly away from the wall. The Faerzress was, he noted, glowing more brightly than it had a moment before. A faint violet smudge had appeared on the pale blue, in the spot where his body had struck the wall. It looked, he thought wryly, like the dent his body would have made had it struck a soft patch of ground from a great height. He could even see the imprint of one outflung hand.
He watched as the violet glow slowly faded. A moment later, the Faerzress was back to its usual, pale-blue color.
Q’arlynd wiped his nose gingerly. That was enough experimentation for one night, he decided. He’d been lucky. His nose had indeed been re-broken, but at least the rest of his body was in one piece. He could have wound up a frayed, bloody mess after the teleportation mishap.
He sighed. It would be a long, tiresome wait for moonrise, but with the first glint of moonlight on the underground sea, he’d be out of there.
He unfastened his belt and settled into a crosslegged position on the floor. He laid the belt across his knees and passed a hand over it, dispelling the magic that concealed the writing on the broad band of leather. His spells were written in a script so tiny it was almost impossible to readhe normally relied upon the crystal to magnify thembut the words were still crisp. The dunking in water hadn’t blurred them.
Q’arlynd read, refreshing his spells. The night dragged on to its end. In the World Above, the sun rose, made its slow passage through the heavens, then set. The first of the evening stars sparkled against a purpling sky.
In the Underdark, in the tunnel where Q’arlynd waited, all was silent and darksave for the Faerzress that shimmered across the rock next to him. Fortunately, no more undead came creeping or slithering along. The wait, though long, had been uneventful. Q’arlynd straightened as a thin wedge of light glinted on the water: one horn of the crescent moon, rising in the surface realms above.
“Come on,” he said impatiently. “Come on.” He paced back and forth to warm himself. The long wait had left a chill in his bones. “A little further. Just a little more …”
As Selűne shimmered fully into view on the Moondeep’s surface, Q’arlynd heard a splash. A head broke the surface of the water some distance from shorea head with sky-black skin and white hair. Probably the priestess who had returned to the temple with the body.
She twisted about, looking disoriented.
Q’arlynd stepped to the edge of the tumbled rock and waved. “Chizra!” he shouted. “I’m over …”
The words died in his throat as the swimmer turned toward him. That wasn’t the priestess, or even a drow. It was too big, with strangely articulated arms and things protruding from its chest that churned the water like writhing snakes.
Q’arlynd stepped back into the corridor, rendering himself invisible the moment he was out of the creature’s sight. Then he changed direction and ran forward. As the monster swam toward the tunnel with powerful strokes, he sprang from the lip of the rockfall into the air and activated his House insignia. His gamble paid off; the creature didn’t look up. It didn’t notice him levitating above.
Q’arlynd shielded himself and pulled out the components for a lightning bolt but held back on casting it. The thing in the water looked demonic, and he didn’t want to draw its attention if he didn’t have to.
Below him, the creature reached the shore and clambered up the rockfall toward the tunnel. Water streamed from its massive body as it paused at the tunnel mouth to look around and sniff the air. Now that the creature was out of the water, Q’arlynd could see it was female. She was twice the height of a drow, with matted white hair that hung in a tangle to her shoulders and back. The things protruding from her chest weren’t snakes but spider legs.
Q’arlynd decided the creature must be a half-demon of some sortperhaps some new form of draegloth. He was even more convinced when he got a good look at her face. It was the face of a drow female, yet twisted, like a clay sculpture that had been stretched and flattened while the clay was still wet. A hairy bulge protruded from each cheek, just under the eye. Fangs sprouted from these, scissoring together in front of an oversize mouth.
Q’arlynd frowned. The face looked familiar, somehow. As if he’d seen the creature somewhere before. He didn’t mess around with demonsthat was Piri’s thing, not hisand yet …
The creature started to look up. Hurriedly, Q’arlynd cast a cantrip that caused a rock some distance down the tunnel to shift. At the faint noise, the she-demon whipped around, turning her attention to the tunnel. A malicious laugh gurgled from her throat. She stepped into the tunnel, turned back to face the cavern again, and flung out both hands. Webs burst from her fingertips. Weaving her hands back and forth, she sealed the tunnel’s entrance. Then she loped away into the abandoned mine.
Q’arlynd let out a long, slow breath. When he was certain the demon-thing was out of earshot, he drifted down to the rockfall. He studied the web a moment: it was haphazard and asymmetrical, something Lolth herself might have created. He pulled a pinch of brimstone-impregnated tallow from a pocket and tossed it at the ground. A quick evocation caused the marble-sized ball of tallow to expand into a fist-sized ball of flame as it rolled toward the base of the web. The magical fire consumed a corner of the web, leaving a space big enough for a drow to pass through.
Q’arlynd was just about to crawl through this when he heard a splash. Not out on the lake, this time, but at the base of the rockfall. He whirled and saw two figures emerging from the water. He sighed in relief as he recognized them as priestesses of Eilistraee.
One was Chizra, the priestess who had taken the dead Protector back to the Promenade. The other was even more familiar to Q’arlynd. It had been nearly two years since he’d seen her last, but he remembered every detail of her lean, muscular body and ice-white hair.
“Leliana,” Q’arlynd said as she
approached. Belatedly, he remembered to bow. “I hadn’t expected to see you”
“Chizra, watch the lake,” Leliana ordered.
Only after the other priestess had turned in that direction, sword in hand, did Leliana acknowledge Q’arlynd. Rather than greet him, she asked a brisk question. “Any sign of the svirfneblin?”
“None at all.”
Leliana strode past him to inspect the web. Over her shoulder, she asked, “What kind of spider spun this?”
So it was going to be like that, was it? Q’arlynd opened his mouth to protest to Leliana that he’d done everything he could to protect her daughter’s soul. Then he remembered Leliana’s skill with truth-compelling prayers. He answered her question, instead.
“It wasn’t a spider that spun it, but something demonic. It looked a little like a female draegloth. She came out of the Moondeep and disappeared down the tunnel.”
Leliana turned. “Describe her.”
Q’arlynd did. When he was done, Leliana looked as though she wanted to spit. She glanced back at the other priestess, who was still keeping an eye on the Moondeep. “That explains the delay in opening the portal. And the water’s brackish taste.”
Chizra called up from below. “I thought it tasted tainted.”
Q’arlynd glanced at the web. “Was it one of Lolth’s minions who…”
He didn’t bother finishing his question; Leliana wasn’t listening. She stared into the distance and spoke Qilué’s name. A moment later, she cocked her head, as if listening, then repeated, swiftly and in an urgent tone, what Q’arlynd had just told her, describing the demon-thing.
That done, Leliana listened again. She blinked rapidly, as if surprised by what she heard.
“What is it?” Q’arlynd asked. “Bad news?”
Leliana gave him the strangest look, an odd mix of reluctance and pity. There was something she wanted to tell himsomething important. Had the demon-thing somehow marked or tainted him? He resisted the urge to inspect his body, to see if there were visible signs of corruption. “What? Tell me.”
Leliana pressed her lips together. “I can’t,” she said at last. “Qilué’s orders. She said it’s better if you don’t know.”
Q’arlynd’s eyes narrowed. “It’s my body, my soul. If either has been corrupted, then I have a right to”
“It’s nothing like that,” Leliana said. “It’s something that happened long ago, to someone else. But that’s enough said. Let’s just leave it at that.”
Q’arlynd stared at her. Leliana was trying to tell him something, in an oblique way. He wondered what it might be.
Whatever it was, no hints were forthcoming. Leliana, obviously the senior priestess there, turned to Chizra. “Wait here. Conceal yourself well, and warn me if anything else comes through the portal. The wizard and I will try to catch up with the others.”
Q’arlynd took a deep breath. “The wizard” was he? Well so be it. “As you command, Lady,” he said, giving Leliana an exaggerated bow. Then he followed her into the tunnel.
“What’s wrong, Qilué?”
Laeral touched her sister’s arm. A moment ago, they had been conversing together on the balcony of the tower. Then Qilué had abruptly broken off in mid-sentence with a faraway look in her eyea look Laeral knew well. Her sister had been called by someone. An urgent summons, judging by the crease of Qilué’s brow.
Qilué didn’t answer. Her lips pursed together as she composed a mental reply. She spoke a name aloud: “Cavatina.” More silent communication followed.
The summons must have been urgent, indeed.
Laeral waited patiently for her sister to finish. As she waited, she stared at the buildings below. The City of Hope had been raised nearly three years ago by the same high magic that had scoured away ancient Miyeritar. The walled city was laid out like a wheel within a circular wall. Nine roads led from its central plaza to sentinel towers that stood watch over the High Moor. The tower on whose balcony they stoodan exact replica of Blackstaff Tower in Waterdeepwas one of several wizard’s towers that had been raised on the night the city was forged. It was one of the most distinctive. Utterly black, forbiddingly stark, it had neither window nor door. Those who knew the passwords could slip through its walls like ghosts; all others were barred by its powerful wards.
Qilué had come to speak to Laeral about something that was troubling her: some fell magic that was originating from the area of Kiaransalee’s chief temple. Laeral was no expert in the Dark Seldarine. She was only part-elf, “sister” to Qilué through the grace of Mystra alone, whereas Qilué was wholly drow. They were as different, each from the other, as day and night, Laeral with fair skin and emerald-green eyes, clad in an elegant gown, Qilué head and shoulders taller, with ankle-length white hair and skin the color of midnight, protected by a warrior-priestess’s armor. Yet both were Chosen of Mystra, bound from their birth to serve the goddess of magic.
At last, Qilué turned. “One of our priestesses, missing these past two years, has been found.”
Laeral smiled brightly. “Certainly that’s good news?”
“I’m not sure,” Qilué answered slowly. “I thought that coin had landed, but it seems it has been tossed in the air a second time and is spinning still. Whether it will be aid or betrayal this time is unclear.”
Laeral frowned. Qilué could be annoyingly cryptic at times. “I’m not sure I follow you, sister.”
“The priestess I spoke of was reclaimed by Lolth. Made unclean. The Spider Queen’s webs cling to Halisstra still, causing her to stumble. There were deaths in the Shilmistadeaths that may have been by her hand.”
“By ‘her,’ do you mean Lolth … or this priestess?”
Qilué sighed. “Both. Or perhaps neitherit is too soon to tell. Eilistraee permitted Halisstra to use one of the Moonspring’s portals, after all. In any case, Cavatina has been warned.”
“I see,” Laeral said, even though she didn’t. She steered the conversation back to its original course. “You said you wanted my help with that problem of yourssomething to do with the Faerzress?”
Qilué nodded. “Faerzress are being augmented throughout the Underdark. Each day, the effect spreads farther and grows stronger. Just this morning, we saw the first glimmerings of it in the Promenade. Eilistraee willing, my priestesses will confirm the cause of it soonand by sword and song, eliminate it. But should they fail, there will be dire consequences for the drow.”
“How so?”
“The drowalone of all of Toril’s many raceswill be prevented from casting divinations. Nor will they be able to utilize any spell or prayer to magically convey themselves from place to place. For now, this is impossible only in the Dark Wastes, and simply more difficult the farther afield one ventures from the effect’s point of origin. But if the augmentation of Faerzress continues, such magic will be impossible for drow throughout the Underdark.”
“Surely that bodes well for your crusade. Won’t it be one more reason for your people to come up to the surface?”
“It wouldexcept for one thing,” Qilué said, a grim look in her eye. “Hand in hand with the augmentation of the Faerzress comes a second, unforeseen effect. We’ve noticed it at our settlements on the surface. In recent days, the drow who came up into the light have begun retreating from the World Above, finding excuses to make their way back to the Underdark. I’ve felt it myselfa subtle, lingering longing that makes me loath to leave the Promenade. These past few days I visited our shrines that lie closer to the source of the effect. The call I felt there to go below was strong. Curious to know more, I allowed it to guide my footsteps and followed it down into the Underdark. I found myself drawn to a cavern filled with Faerzress. Once there, I pressed myself against its walls, heedless of danger. I was a moth, drawn to a Faerzress flame.”
Qilué shivered, despite the sunlight that warmed the tower’s dark stone. “If this isn’t stopped, we’ll all be drawn below. Everything I’ve worked a lifetime for will be un
done.”
“Oh, sister,” Laeral sighed. “That’s terrible. But you said you’ve sent scouts to snoop around Kiaransalee’s templethe best warriors the Promenade has. Surely they’ll put an end to this before it’s …” She stopped, not wanting to say the words.
Qilué finished the sentence for her. “Too late?” Her jaw clenched. “Sister, that is my most fervent prayer.”
“Tell me how I can help,” Laeral said. “What would you have me do? Just name it, and it shall be done.”
“I wish I knew,” Qilué said. She stared out across the citynot at the city itself, but at the horizon. The High Moor was still flat and featureless, but some color had returned. Here and there were splotches of green and fall-red: young trees that had grown these past three years. That’s what she loved about the surface. Its beauty was ever-changing, not frozen like the cold stone of the Underdark.
“I asked Eilistraee the same question myself,” Qilué continued. “What would she have me do? The goddess’s answer, however, puzzled me. ‘It will end where it began,’ Eilistraee replied. ‘The High Moor.’” She turned to Laeral. “What that prophecy means, I cannot say. I thought you might have some idea, sister.”
Laeral stood for several moments, lost in thought. Endings. Beginnings. “The City of Hope is an obvious ‘beginning,’ ” she said. “As for an ‘ending,’ Faertlemiir, Miyeritar’s City of High Magic, once stood here millennia ago, until it was laid waste by the killing storm. But that’s surely something you’ve already thought of.”
Qilué nodded.
“I’m sorry, sister. I have no answer for you. But I will think long and hard on it. I’ll contact you at once if anything occurs to me.”
“Thank you.”
“In the meantime,” Laeral said, “I’m curious. Is that the Crescent Blade at your hip? Did it really slay a demigod, as the ballads say?”
Instead of smiling, as Laeral had hoped, Qilué’s expression grew closed and hard. Her right hand strayed to the hilt. She turned slightly away from Laeral, as if protective of the weapon. As if she half-expected Laeral to take the sword from her.