Forgotten Realms - The Lady Penitent - Storm of the Dead

by Lisa Smedman

  “There’s a rune on its chest,” Gilkriz said. “A duergar rune. It’s faded, but I can still make it out: ‘Orcus.’”

  Leliana immediately sang a prayer. Behind her, she heard the other priestesses do the same.

  “That means something to you?” the conjurer asked.

  Leliana nodded. “Orcus is a demon. Prince of the dead. Kiaransalee killed him.”

  Q’arlynd squatted beside her. “You said he ‘is’ a demon. Did he rise from the dead?”

  “Yes, despite Kiaransalee’s best efforts. She not only killed him but conquered his realm—that layer of the Abyss known as Thanatos. Her priestesses marked the victory by naming her chief temple after it. But the demon lord eventually returned to reclaim his realm.”

  “Did the duergar of these parts worship Orcus?” Gilkriz asked.

  “The ones who dug this mine obviously did,” Leliana answered. “It’s odd, though, that this shrine remains intact. Kiaransalee’s followers made it their mission to eradicate all vestiges of the demon prince. Legend has it the goddess worked magic that erased Orcus’s name, wherever and however it had been written.”

  “And yet this rune remains,” Gilkriz said. “Maybe we should close the door,” Eldrinn blurted.

  Q’arlynd stared at the room’s far wall. “I’m wondering where those corridors go, myself. I don’t know if any of you has noticed, but they’re not glowing. The Faerzress ends at the wall on each side of those arches. I think they’re portals.”

  “Go ahead and try one, then,” Gilkriz suggested, his voice silky. “We’ve got diviners to spare.”

  Q’arlynd bristled. His fingers twitched.

  “Enough,” Leliana reprimanded. “I’ve made my decision: we’re going to seal this room and take our chances with the putrid ooze. As Gilkriz pointed out earlier, we were almost at the Crone’s cavern when—”

  “Madam,” Daffir said, his soft voice interrupting her. “Please stand aside.”

  Leliana turned. “What is it, Daffir? Do you see something?”

  “Yes. My destiny.”

  He moved closer to the door and peered inside. His head tilted, as if he were glancing at something the others couldn’t see. Then he nodded. He straightened and handed his staff to Eldrinn, startling the boy, then ducked down low and entered the room.

  “Stop!” Leliana cried. She grabbed for his robe, but missed. “We need you. You’re the only one who …”

  Daffir crossed the room with swift, purposeful strides.

  “Protectors,” Leliana barked. “Stand ready.”

  The priestesses lifted their swords and touched holy symbols.

  Without so much as a backward glance, Daffir entered the corridor to the left of the statue and vanished.

  Several moments passed.

  Gilkriz broke the silence with a snort. “Diviners,” he muttered. He waggled his fingers beside his temple. Crazy.

  Leliana expected a retort from Eldrinn or Q’arlynd, but the pair had drawn apart from the others. She could see Q’arlynd’s arms moving—he was saying something to the younger wizard in rapid, silent gestures—but his back was to her and she couldn’t see his hands. The boy’s eyes widened. Then he nodded. He clutched the staff with both hands and drew it to his chest protectively.

  Leliana caught Gilkriz’s eye. “Seal that door,” she ordered. She was just about to find out what Q’arlynd and Eldrinn were up to when Qilué’s voice sang out in her head.

  Leliana, I have news. Kâras has penetrated the Acropolis. He’s discovered what the Crones are up to.

  Gilkriz was casting the spell that sealed the door, his chanting a distraction. Leliana clapped her hands against her ears to block it out. She listened as Qilué described what Kâras had discovered: a massive orb of voidstone at the heart of the Acropolis, guarded by a ghostly Crone. And that wasn’t the worst of it.

  Judging by what Kâras described, the Crones are attempting to open a gate to the negative energy plane, just as they did in Maerimydra, Qilué told her. And I fear I know what they’re trying to bring through it. An army of undead, commanded by a vampire minotaur. The legions of the Death Heart.

  “The Death Heart,” Leliana repeated, her voice tight.

  We must stop them. This time, we won’t have the help of the Guardians. And Cavatina…

  The voice stopped.

  “Qilué?” Leliana asked. “Are you still there?”

  The others had fallen silent. They stared tensely at Leliana.

  Cavatina is beyond my reach. I fear the worst.

  Leliana felt, rather than heard, Qilué’s anguished sigh.

  It’s up to you, Leliana. You have to find a way to take the Acropolis. To halt what’s happening before the Crones spill an unholy blight upon this world.

  “The Nightshadows aren’t with us,” Leliana said. “They went another way. And we—”

  So Kâras told me. You’ll need reinforcements. I’ll be sending others through the portal, but I want those of you who are already there to move on the Acropolis at once. Kâras said he could already see shapes moving inside the voidstone. It already spat out one monster. It won’t be long, now, before the gate cracks open.

  Leliana wet her lips nervously. “Lady,” she ventured. “Will you be leading the reinforcements?”

  I… can’t. There are … matters here I have to deal with.

  “So be it, Lady,” Leliana said. “We’ll do what we can.”

  May Eilistraee lend strength to your sword and harmony to your song. Farewell.

  Farewell? The word carved a hollow in Leliana’s gut. Did Qilué have so little faith in her that she was already counting Leliana as lost? For the space of a heartbeat, Leliana regretted ever volunteering for this mission. Then anger eclipsed fear. She would prove Qilué wrong. She would do it. Take the Acropolis and destroy the voidstone. Without reinforcements.

  And if she failed, well, dying wouldn’t be anything new. She’d already given her life for the Lady once before. She smiled grimly, remembering the battle in the Misty Forest.

  The others were waiting. Leliana steeled herself. Swiftly, she relayed what Qilué had just told her. “Lady Qilué has ordered us to attack the Acropolis and destroy the voidstone. She’ll send reinforcements, but they probably won’t make it in time. Which means it’s up to us.” She stared at the wall Gilkriz had plugged the tunnel with. “We’re going to have to fight our way past that monster.”

  The other Protectors nodded grimly, their expressions matching her own.

  Gilkriz took a deep breath and stared at the wall he’d conjured. “Let me know when you’re ready.” He raised his hands.

  “Wait!” Q’arlynd said. “There may be another way to reach the Acropolis.”

  Leliana turned. “What way is that, Q’arlynd? Spit it out.”

  “I have an idea, Lady, inspired by the combined magic we three wizards just utilized to open the door.” He gestured at the wall. The door, closed, was once again cloaked by illusion.

  “Go on,” Leliana said.

  “You’ll be utilizing positive energy to destroy the voidstone, correct?”

  “That’s the general plan. With Eilistraee’s blessing, enough of us will get close enough to it to do just that.”

  Q’arlynd actually smiled. “What if I told you I could get all of us to the Acropolis?” He snapped his fingers. “Like that.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Q’arlynd slapped a hand against the wall. “The only thing preventing me from teleporting us into the cavern that holds the Acropolis is the Faerzress. There may be a way to counter it, however.”

  Gilkriz’s eyebrows rose. “Suddenly you’re an expert on Faerzress?”

  Q’arlynd smiled. “When I lingered behind at the Moondeep, I conducted an experiment. I attempted a teleport. Faerie fire didn’t erupt from my body, as it did back in Sshamath, but from the cavern wall that I… inadvertently touched. From within the Faerzress. The touch of my body somehow drew it to the surface of the rock.
I think the problem lies within us—some unique link we drow have to Faerzress energy, which in turn is fed by negative energy. We draw the Faerzress in, somehow, and release it as faerie fire. It would therefore follow that, if we can fill our bodies with positive energy, we can force the Faerzress out. Then I can—”

  All at once, Leliana saw what he was getting at. “Teleport us all to the Acropolis,” she said, finishing his thought for him.

  “Exactly.”

  “All very well, in theory,” Gilkriz said in a dry voice. “But Q’arlynd’s never even seen the Acropolis.”

  “I studied the map and heard a detailed description of the temple. For me, that’s enough.”

  Leliana nodded. “I think it’s worth a try.”

  The others nodded. All except Gilkriz, who stood with his arms folded, fingers drumming restlessly against his sleeves.

  “All right then.” Q’arlynd shrugged back his piwafwi and flexed his fingers. “Eldrinn, stand next to me; I may need your assistance with the spell. The rest of you, form a circle around me and link hands. As I finish my casting, I’ll touch one of you, and we’ll all go together.”

  “Eldrinn’s a novice,” Gilkriz protested. “What help will he be?”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Q’arlynd said. “Eldrinn’s assisted my teleports before. He knows exactly what to do, and when. Just join hands with the others, Gilkriz, and you’ll come along. Unless …” Q’arlynd arched an eyebrow. “Unless you’d rather remain here, snug and secure behind these lovely walls you just conjured, until it’s all over and we can send someone back to fetch you.”

  The conjurer’s nostrils flared, but he joined the circle. “I still don’t believe this will work,” he muttered.

  “You haven’t seen me teleport.” The wizard nodded in Leliana’s direction. “She has.”

  Gilkriz said nothing.

  “Just be sure,” Q’arlynd instructed the priestesses, “to maintain the flow of positive energy even after we reach the Acropolis. Hold it for at least a moment or two. Otherwise, we may miss our mark. If we land off target, we could wind up in solid stone. And that would be, well… unfortunate.”

  “Define ‘unfortunate,’ ” Leliana said.

  Q’arlynd grimaced. “Missing a few pounds of flesh, at best. At worst, you’ll be meeting Eilistraee a lot sooner than anticipated.”

  Leliana turned to the priestesses. “Make your preparations. If this works, in another moment or two we’ll be facing not just Crones and their undead minions, but a ghost.”

  The Protectors readied their weapons.

  Leliana glanced at the halfling. “Brindell?”

  The halfling tucked a silence stone into the pocket of her sling. “I’ll be ready.”

  The priestesses formed a circle facing inward. Each stood with her sword in her right hand, her left hand on the shoulder of the person next to her. Their swords hummed softly. Gilkriz stood next to Brindell, who had to stand on tiptoe to reach his shoulder.

  “Right,” Leliana said. “Let’s begin.”

  They sang, each keeping her attention focused inward, on the energy they were summoning into themselves and channeling to the center of their circle, where Q’arlynd and Eldrinn stood. On the song’s second verse, a glimmer of moonlight blossomed around each priestess. Slowly, the circles of light expanded into the center of the circle. Each left a patch of shadow in its wake: shadow that obscured the glow of the Faerzress.

  “It’s working!” Eldrinn cried. “I can feel it!”

  Q’arlynd grasped the boy’s wrist. He raised his free hand; it hovered just over Leliana’s shoulder. She felt the positive energy fill her, a sense of warmth and well-being as soothing as a soft hymn. She nodded at Q’arlynd: the signal. He snapped out an incantation and slapped his hand down on her shoulder.

  Her stomach did a flipflop as the floor lurched sideways under her feet. Suddenly, she was standing with the others next to a building that loomed darkly beside them. The temple atop the Acropolis! Startled Crones whirled to face them, shrieking in anger. The Protectors’ swords replied with a gleeful peal.

  Just as Q’arlynd had instructed them, the Protectors held the final note of their song a moment longer. Q’arlynd’s hand lifted from Leliana’s shoulder. His eyes met hers, and his expression seemed strangely apologetic. Then he and Eldrinn disappeared.

  Leliana blinked in surprise. Had something gone wrong with his spell?

  “Cowards!” Gilkriz shouted at the empty space within their circle.

  The Crones surged forward, hands raised. Fell magic crackled from their fingertips. At Leliana’s shouted order the Protectors whirled to face outward, raised swords pealing as the priestesses cried out their battle hymns. Then the Crones were upon them.

  As the Protectors fought with song and sword, Brindell slipped between the combatants and ran toward the temple, her sling whirling. She must have spotted something within the building. A moment later, a monstrous figure, twice the height of a drow and with spider legs protruding from her chest, burst from the doorway.

  “Halisstra?” Leliana gasped. “But how …?”

  Brindell hurled her stone. It struck Halisstra’s chest dead center, between the scrabbling spider legs. Halisstra skidded to a halt and shouted something, but her voice was swallowed by the silence that clung to her.

  A hand raked Leliana’s side, tearing open an bloody wound—a Crone, taking advantage of the distraction. Leliana slashed, her sword severing the Crone’s arm. The Crone reeled away, howling.

  Leliana chanced another glance and felt the blood drain from her face. A ghostly form had risen out of solid stone directly behind Brindell—the translucent image of a Crone. The spirit they’d been warned about! The halfling had her back to the thing; she’d never see it in time.

  Leliana dodged between two Crones and rushed the spirit, singing a battle prayer that made her sword shimmer. But even as her weapon swept down, the spirit threw back her head and wailed.

  The sound stabbed into Leliana like an icy finger, breaking her stride. Her sword connected with something—a glancing blow, struck a heartbeat too late. Leliana staggered past the spirit, her heart fluttering in her chest. All around her, she saw her companions turn an ashen gray as they sagged to the ground. Leliana and Tash’kla remained on their feet, but only barely. Tash’kla was bent over nearly double, arms clutching her chest, her sword limp in her hand.

  The spirit gave a ghostly, laugh. “Finish them,” she whispered.

  The Crones closed in.

  Cavatina stared at the spiderlike figure up ahead. Large as an ox, it stood at the end of the thread-thin path of moonlight she’d been following. She’d seen its kind before: retrievers often ventured into the prime material plane to hunt down those who had drawn the ire of a demon lord. She wasn’t surprised to find one guarding the portal.

  What was surprising was that the retriever hadn’t moved. She’d observed it for some time, and it hadn’t so much as shifted a leg. It stood, rigid as a statue. It might have been poised there for a day, or for a millennium, waiting for someone to approach the portal.

  Cavatina took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself. The battle with Wendonai had left her drained. She was naked, armed only with her singing sword. She would have to be careful.

  She approached the retriever warily, sword in hand. The portal was a hole in the ground a pace or two from it, a round pucker in the hard, cracked soil. Next to this opening lay a huddled body. As she drew nearer, she recognized him by his robe: Daffir, the human diviner.

  Even from several paces away, she could see that the human was dead. Fire had burned away his hair and crisped much of his scalp, revealing charred bone. The lenses that once hovered in front of his eyes lay on the ground nearby. His robe was a shredded mess, soaked with blood. He lay with one arm thrust stiffly forward, the fingers of that hand curled tight around a small silver disk. Sunlight glinted from it.

  Cavatina crept closer. The retriever remained motion
less.

  She stepped around Daffir’s body, close enough to have touched the demon. She leaned forward and prodded one of its legs with the point of her sword.

  The blade clinked against solid stone.

  She glanced back at Daffir. “So you managed to turn one of its rays back at it, did you?” She raised her sword in salute to the dead male. “Well done.” She sang a prayer, asking Eilistraee to claim Daffir’s soul, should it not already be spoken for by some other deity.

  Her feet were sore from her long walk across the hard, salty plain and she was tired of having to constantly carry her sword. Daffir had boots and belt. She took both. She hacked off the bottom of the leather sheath that held his dagger, modifying it to accommodate her sword. Then she cinched the belt around her waist. The wizard’s clothes were a ruined, bloody mess, so she left them on his body. She picked up his eye lenses and mirror and tied them into a piece of cloth, then knotted this around his wrist. If the priestesses back at the Promenade succeeded in reviving Daffir, he would need them.

  These preparations made, she seized Daffir by the ankles and dragged him over to the portal. Rolling him into it wouldn’t be a very dignified way to get him back, but she couldn’t very well carry him. If there were hostile creatures on the other side of the portal, she’d need both hands free to fight.

  With a grunt, she rolled Daffir into the hole.

  His body vanished.

  Cavatina drew her sword and held it in both hands. “Watch over me, Eilistraee,” she whispered. “Guide my steps.”

  She leaped into the portal.

  “Down” was suddenly behind her. She landed flat on her back on a cold stone floor, knocking the wind from her lungs. She scrambled to her feet and whirled, her sword humming a deadly warning. She was in a room, next to a quicksilver pool—a room dominated by a goat-headed statue twice her height.

  A statue of the demon prince Orcus.

  “Eilistraee!” she cried. “Shield me!”

  Moonlight streaked with shadow erupted from her skin, washing out the fainter light of the Faerzress-impregnated walls, ceiling and floor.