Quenthel was already in play, though the older, more experienced priestess was not wholly unaware of Danifae’s immediate desires. It didn’t take a genius to see why Danifae had seduced the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith. It was almost to be expected.
Danifae anticipated a more complicated time of it when she’d have to take on Pharaun and Valas. The Master of Sorcere was wily. He would surely be difficult to fool once things began to turn, but his open dislike of Quenthel gave her something to use. Valas was bought and paid for by House Baenre, and that kind of gold was something Danifae wouldn’t likely happen upon anytime soon. That would be delicate. And Jeggred, well . . .
But Ryld, with this strange infatuation with her soon-to-be former mistress, would be a tougher nut to crack.
What good was playing sava, she thought, if you don’t control all of the game pieces?
Valas strode into the ruins, followed by Pharaun and Quenthel, and, a moment later, by the loping Jeggred. The false smile Halisstra gave Quenthel and the way Ryld deliberately met Pharaun’s eyes, confirmed Danifae’s suspicions. Halisstra was preparing to betray her fellow priestess and Ryld his former friend.
Danifae smiled. She didn’t know what they were up to— yet—but whatever it was, she was certain it could be turned to her advantage. She walked out into the clearing, joining them.
With a quick snap of her whip, Quenthel motioned for the others to gather around her.
“Valas has found an entrance to the Underdark,” she announced. “Once we’re safely below, Pharaun will cast a spell. We’re going back to the Demonweb Pits. But not all of us. One of you will carry a message back to Menzoberranzan, to the matron mother.”
As Quenthel’s eyes ranged over the group, Danifae noted the indecision they held. Quenthel was obviously uncertain whom she could spare—or trust. Seizing her chance, Danifae prostrated herself before the high priestess.
“Let me do your bidding, Mistress,” she said. “I will serve you as faithfully as I have served Lolth.”
As she spoke, she cast a baleful eye on Halisstra, hoping Quenthel would take her point. Halisstra had acted blasphemously during their recent journey to the Demonweb Pits and was not to be trusted.
Of course, neither was Danifae. She had no intention of going to Menzoberranzan if she was chosen. Not when there was a wizard in Sschindylryn who might be able to help her to free herself, once and for all, from the odious Binding that tied her to Halisstra.
Danifae felt Quenthel touch her hair, and she looked up expectantly.
“No, Danifae,” Quenthel said, the touch turning into a gentle stroke. “You will stay with me.”
Danifae ground her teeth. Apparently, she’d done too good a job of seducing Quenthel.
Halisstra stepped forward—and, to Danifae’s astonishment, also fell to her knees in front of Quenthel.
“Mistress,” Halisstra said. “Let me carry the message for you. I know that I failed you earlier, in the shadow of the goddess’s own temple. I beg of you now. Please let me . . . redeem myself.”
“No!” Danifae spat. “She’s up to something. She has no intention of going to Menzoberranzan. She—”
Halisstra laughed.
“And just where would I go, Danifae?” she asked. “Ched Nasad lies in ruins. I no longer have a House to return to. I need to make a new home for myself—in Menzoberranzan. And what better way to start than by braving the dangers of the World Above to carry a vital message to the First House?”
Danifae’s eyes narrowed. She could sense that Halisstra was up to something.
“You’d travel to Menzoberranzan on the surface?” she asked, spitting out the word. “Alone? Through woods crawling with House Jaelre? You’d be captured again before night fell.”
Danifae was pleased to see Quenthel nodding—she was obviously about to reject Halisstra’s foolish notion and send Danifae, instead. Then Halisstra’s lips quirked into a smile— and Danifae realized that, somehow, unwittingly, she’d just played right into Halisstra’s hands.
“This will see me through,” said Halisstra, patting the leather case that held her lyre. “I know a bae’qeshel song that will allow me to walk on wind. Using it, I could reach Menzoberranzan in a tenday, at most.”
Danifae’s eyes narrowed and she said, “I’ve never seen you use a spell like that.”
“What use would it have been in the Underdark?” Halisstra said with a shrug. “There’s no wind—and if there were, I’d only
walk straight into a cavern wall. Regardless, I have not been, nor am I now, in the habit of justifying myself to a battle-captive. Our situation has changed some, Danifae, but not entirely.”
Not yet, Danifae thought, then she grasped Quenthel’s knee and pleaded, “Don’t send her. Send me. If Halisstra dies, I—”
“You’d be very, very sorry, wouldn’t you?” Quenthel said with a smirk. She was well aware of the particulars of the Binding. “Halisstra will go. With you here, we will be able to trace her, and at least know that she still lives. And the two of you Houseless wretches are the most expendable.”
Danifae lowered her eyes in acquiescence, even though inwardly she burned with impotent anger. Halisstra, on her own in the World Above, would almost certainly be killed. It would only be a matter of time.
And when she died, the magic of the Binding would see to it that Danifae died, too.
chapter
three
Valas felt the knot of tension between his shoulders relax—just a little—as familiar darkness enveloped him. The harsh sunlight had been left behind after the third bend in the tunnel. He could still smell the earthy tang of wet leaves that told him the Surface Realms were just above their heads, but the air around him already felt cleaner. As they descended the twisting fissure that led ever downward through the stone, he felt his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Gone was the itching glare of sunlight, allowing him to fully open his eyes and use his darkvision for the first time in too many days.
Behind Valas, Quenthel and the others followed in a line. They’d fallen quiet instinctively as soon as they’d left the sunlight behind. Even the upper Underdark could be a dangerous place for the unwary, and that particular tunnel was unknown territory. Yet compared to Valas, they hardly moved in silence. He could hear the scrape of armor against stone as someone behind him squeezed through a spot where the tunnel had narrowed, forcing them to turn sideways to slip through. A moment later he heard the scuff of a boot and a faint intake of breath as one of the females missed her footing. He turned and angrily started to sign Move more quietly to her, but dropped his hands when he realized it was Quenthel and not Danifae who had slipped. Danifae had once again positioned herself near the back of the group, just ahead of Ryld—not because of the potential dangers ahead, Valas was sure, but, with Halisstra gone, to keep a wary eye on her companions.
What have you stopped for? Quenthel signed from behind Pharaun. Keep moving.
One of the vipers in the whip tucked into her belt gave a slight hiss.
Nodding his head, Valas led the way through the tunnel once more. As before, Pharaun was close behind him, continually peering over Valas’s shoulder as if he was searching for something. Ryld, on the other hand, was constantly looking back the way they had come. Whenever Valas caught his eye, the weapons master would signal that he thought someone was following them. Valas had never seen him so jumpy before.
The first two times Ryld had done that, Valas had doubled back to check for himself, but there had been nothing: no sounds, no signs of pursuit. Thereafter he ignored Ryld’s anxious glances behind them.
Since Halisstra had been sent back to Menzoberranzan there were only six of them left. Personally, Valas thought that was a foolish decision on Quenthel’s part. He doubted that Halisstra would make it without Lolth’s magic to protect her. But no doubt Quenthel thought the same. She probably hoped to eliminate a rival priestess who might claim credit for discovering what had happened to Lolth—assuming that a return to
the Demonweb Pits was even possible.
For the hundredth time since Quenthel had announced her plan to have Pharaun summon a demon, Valas wondered how that was going to help. In all likelihood, the demon would turn on them and swallow them whole without guiding them a single step of the way.
He reminded himself that the lot of a mercenary was not to question how, but to do—and bow. And so he led them on. As he moved cautiously ahead into the unknown darkness, Pharaun still crowding close behind him, Valas fingered one of the magical amulets pinned to his shirt—his lucky, double-headed coin—and hoped it would give him the edge he’d need when the demon eventually turned on them, as he was certain it would.
Halisstra stood on the bluff that overlooked the ruined temple, staring out at the horizon. The others had descended into the Under-dark some time before, and the sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, painting the clouds shades of pink and gold. Though it made her eyes water to look at the sunset, Halisstra stared in fascination, watching the colors shift into ever darker shades of orange, then red, then purple, gazing as new patterns formed each time the sun’s slanting rays struck the clouds at a different angle. She was beginning to understand why the surface dwellers spoke in such rapturous tones about sunsets.
As the forest below darkened, her sight began to shift toward darkvision. She could see birds flitting through the branches below and could hear the thrumming of numerous wings as a flock of birds moved through the trees toward the bluff. She’d heard that surface-dwelling creatures followed the cycles of day and night, and it struck her that Ched Nasad’s magic-controlled lighting and Menzoberranzan’s famous pillar Narbondel—used for marking the passage of “day” and “night”—must have been holdovers from a distant time when drow still dwelt upon the surface. Had House Jaelre simply been following a call that other drow had not yet heard when they returned to the surface, forsaking the worship of Lolth?
The flock of birds had come closer, filling the treetops just below the bluff with strange whistling cries. One of them rose above the treetops, its wings beating so quickly they were a blur. Only when it was within a few paces of her did Halisstra recognize the “bird” for what it truly was. The furry body, the eight legs, the long, needle-shaped proboscis—all added up to a creature she hadn’t realized was also a danger on the surface. Especially when there was not just one of the creatures flying toward her at the speed of an arrow, but dozens: an entire flock.
“Lolth help me,” Halisstra whispered. “Stirges.”
They were too close for a crossbow shot. Whipping out Seyll’s long sword, Halisstra braced herself to meet the threat. Grimly, she realized her chain mail wouldn’t be any help; the stirges’ needle-thin noses would slip between its links.
As the first stirge dived in to attack, Halisstra swung the long sword. It was still awkward in her grip, heavier than the blade she’d been used to. Even so, her blow connected, slicing the stirge cleanly in two.
Then half a dozen of the creatures were on her.
For several frantic moments, Halisstra fended them off, killing two more with the sword and crumpling the proboscis of a third with a blow from the small steel shield she wore on her left arm.
She felt a piercing pain in her right shoulder as a stirge struck. A moment later, another plunged its proboscis into the back of her left leg, just behind the knee. The force of it caused her to stagger. Only by ducking frantically was she able to avoid the stirge lancing in at her neck. Whirling, she struck it with the sword as it flew past.
As still more of the creatures dived at her—nearly two dozen of them—Halisstra reached down with her shield hand and grabbed the stirge that had plunged into the back of her knee. She squeezed—and heard a satisfying pop as the creature’s bloated midriff burst. Yanking it from her, she threw its body away, dimly noticing the spray of blood that had soaked her gloved hand. Meanwhile, the stirge in her shoulder continued draining her of blood.
The flock dived en masse, and four more stirges plunged into her flesh. One bit deeply into her left arm, two into her right leg, and the fourth into her shoulder, beside the one that was already greedily sucking away. Halisstra killed two more with the sword—which, with the air rushing through the holes in its hilt, was making constant, discordant noises like a badly played flute. Halisstra, rapidly losing strength as the stirges drained her of blood, suddenly shivered as she realized she might very well die there. Lolth was no longer watching over her, blessing her with the magic she needed to drive the foul creatures away. The only darksong spell that would affect so many creatures at once required a musical instrument as its arcane focus—and she could hardly pluck out a tune on her lyre and fight at the same time.
Then she realized something. Perhaps there was another instrument she could use, closer to hand . . .
Abandoning her attempts to strike the stirges—there were too many of them—Halisstra reversed Seyll’s sword and brought its hilt to her lips. Closing her eyes, she blew into the hilt, fingering the holes so the rush of air escaped through a single hole. Even though she sagged to her knees as blood loss weakened her, she felt magic flow from her lips into the hilt of the sword and out through the hole in a piercing blast. Her own ears rang, then went numb as a single note—sweet, high, and impossibly strong—shattered the air. All around her, stirges tumbled from the air as a magic blast hit them. Those on her body wilted, hung for a moment, then slowly slipped free of her flesh, hitting the ground around her with soft thuds.
In the silence that followed, Halisstra could hear only the sound of her own breathing. Opening her eyes, she saw dozens of stirges lying on the ground, some of them still twitching. She picked up the closest one and squeezed it. Its blood—her blood—soaked her gloves as its body burst. Dropping it, she continued from one stirge to the next, killing them one by one. Then she pulled off her blood-soaked gloves and cast them aside.
Perhaps the surface was not a place of beauty, after all.
Then she realized that something had disturbed the stirges— something that was moving through the forest toward the bluff where she stood. Hunkering down, she crept back toward the stairs, looking for a place to hide.
Valas signaled for the party to stop when the tunnel, which had been twisting its way ever deeper toward the Underdark, opened into a jumble of broken stone that led down to a medium-sized cavern whose floor was hidden by a deep pool of water. Pharaun gave a low chuckle, breaking the silence.
“Perfect,” he breathed.
Keep quiet, Valas chastised, but Pharaun only laughed. “It’s going to be loud enough in here in just a moment,”
the mage said with a wink. Then he called back to the others, who were higher in the tunnel, up beyond where Valas could see. “Mistress, I’ve found a spot that will do nicely. Get Jeggred ready.”
Valas heard Quenthel ordering the draegloth to kneel and the sound of a drawn dagger. Pharaun, meanwhile, laid a hand on Valas’s shoulder.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I need to get by.”
Valas still wasn’t certain what the mage was doing, but he flattened obediently against the cold stone, allowing Pharaun to squeeze past him into the cavern. Pharaun reached into a pocket of his piwafwi and pulled out a tiny cone of glass. Rolling up his sleeve, he pointed the cone at the water at his feet.
“Chalthinsil!” he cried, his shout filling the cavern.
In that same instant, a cone of bitterly cold air erupted from the glass cone, filling the air with swirling frost. The magical cold struck the pool, instantly turning it to solid ice. Frost continued to roil in the air for a few moments more, coating the walls and ceiling of the cavern with sparkling white ice crystals. Then it vanished, leaving a chill in the air that made Valas shiver.
Pharaun tucked the cone of glass back into his piwafwi. “Perfect,” he said again, staring down at the expanse of ice. “Nice and smooth. Just the thing to draw on.” Then he shouted back over his shoulder, “Quenthel. I’m ready.”
Behind him
, in the tunnel, Valas heard a hiss of anticipation from one of the vipers in Quenthel’s whip. A moment later he smelled the tang of freshly spilled blood. Quenthel appeared at the entrance to the cavern, and passed a cup to Pharaun. The mage clambered down the slope, holding the cup so its contents wouldn’t spill.
Quenthel and Danifae crowded in behind Valas to peer past him at the cavern. Quenthel snapped her fingers, and Jeggred stalked down the tunnel as well, panting clouds of foul-smelling breath into the ice-cold air. One of his massive fighting hands was clamped around a spot on the wrist of his smaller arm. Blood welled out between the clamped fingers and dripped onto the stone at his feet. A moment later, Ryld joined them, having at last given up his cautious watch over the tunnel behind them.
Pharaun was already out on the ice, moving across it in a skating slide. As the others watched, he pulled out a dagger and traced an enormous hexagonal star onto the surface, carving its lines deep, like troughs. When he was done, he stood a minute, looking for imperfections.
Quenthel frowned down at the mage. “Six sides?” she asked. “Why not a standard pentagram?”
Pharaun shrugged and said, “Anyone can summon a demon with a pentagram. I like to do things with a bit more panache.” He moved around the diagram, dribbling the blood from the cup into one of the lines he’d cut in the ice. After a few moments, he raised a hand and beckoned. “Jeggred, come here.”
After a quick glance at Quenthel—who nodded her permission—the draegloth loped down toward the pool, dislodging rocks that tumbled down the slope to skitter across the ice. He crossed the frozen surface to the mage and obediently opened his hand, releasing his bloody arm when Pharaun gestured for him to do so. Taking that arm, Pharaun held the cup under the slashed wrist. When it was once again full, he motioned for Jeggred to re-clamp the wound, then continued limning the diagram in blood.
The mage had to repeat the process twice more before the pattern was complete. Despite the loss of blood, the draegloth remained impassive throughout the procedure. When Pharaun at last dismissed him, Jeggred loped up the slope to join the others.
R. A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Extinction, Annihilation, Resurrection Page 3