Storm of the Dead зкp-2

by Lisa Smedman

  Cavatina shook it from her hair. "Have you contacted Qilue?"

  "She's not answering."

  If it were true, it didn't bode well. Cavatina concentrated on the high priestess's face and said in an urgent voice, "Qilue?"

  No reply came.

  Karas gave her a flat, I-told-you-so stare.

  "All right, then," Cavatina pushed that worry aside. It helped that she'd had a taste of what lay ahead. She wasn't afraid to die. Not anymore. "We'll carry the battle forward on our own. Do what we can to stop… whatever it is the Crones are up to."

  She wound the chain of her holy symbol around her wrist and secured it. Then she glanced down at Karas. "Before we begin, I'll need you to disguise me." She smiled grimly. "Let's just hope I do as good a job of impersonating a Crone as you did at feigning paralysis, that time the revenant attacked us."

  The corners of Karas's eyes slowly crinkled. He touched fingers to his mask and cast his spell.

  As a gray robe cloaked her body and silver rings appeared on her fingers, Cavatina shuddered. She could feel her holy symbol against her wrist but couldn't see it. "Masked Lady," she whispered. "Forgive me this blasphemy."

  She sensed Eilistraee's approval. Or, at least, her recognition that this was necessary.

  Karas, also disguised as a Crone, eased open the door. Together, they crept outside.

  The main part of the temple lay just around the corner. As soon as they rounded it, Cavatina's hopes sank. The flat space ahead was packed with Crones. They stood, side by side, chanting and waving ring-bedecked hands. In front of them was what remained of Kiaransalee's chief temple, reduced to rubble. Hovering above was a sphere of utter darkness: the voidstone Karas had spoken of earlier. Drifting above it, leading the Crones in prayer, was the spirit Cavatina thought she had slain.

  Cavatina was shocked. It should have taken days for the ghost to rejuvenate. The voidstone must have accelerated the process.

  Even as Cavatina and Karas watched, the sphere of blackness expanded. Within the voidstone, Cavatina saw shapes: a vast army of undead, jostling one another and prodding at the sphere from within. At the front of their ranks stood an enormous, undead minotaur, eyes blazing with unholy fire.

  Fire that matched the Faerzress pulsing through the stone below.

  Cavatina glanced at Karas. His illusionary face betrayed the grimness he felt. Cavatina could see the lack of hope in his eyes.

  She feigned an optimism she didn't feel. "The spirit," she breathed. "We need to destroy her. What could permanently lay Cabrath to rest?"

  "Only one thing," Karas whispered back.

  Hope sparked to life in Cavatina. "What's that?"

  "Killing Kiaransalee."

  Cavatina laughed bitterly. With the Crescent Blade in hand, she might have been able to do just that. But that weapon was back at the Promenade, in Qilue's keeping. Cavatina was unarmed.

  "Let's do what we can."

  Karas nodded.

  Side by side, they shouldered their way into the chanting throng.

  *****

  Q'arlynd handed a kiira to each of his apprentices. Baltak, eyes glittering greedily, clenched his fist around the stone. Alexa peered into the depths of her gemstone as if trying to assess its worth-or perhaps its mineral content. Zarifar closed his eyes and rolled his back and forth between his palms in a series of short jerks, turning the hexagonal crystal one facet at a time, his lips silently counting.

  Eldrinn stared warily at the kiira he'd been handed. "Is it going to feeblemind me?"

  "It might," Q'arlynd answered truthfully. The boy was only a half-drow, after all.

  Alexa and Baltak glanced up sharply.

  Q'arlynd raised a hand. "This isn't a time for lies. Too much is at stake. None of you belong to a House that matches what you hold. Yet the lorestones have agreed to impart the ability to work arselu'tel'quess. When our casting is done, they'll erase all knowledge of the spell from your minds. That might feeblemind you-or it might not. But even if it does," he said as he touched the kiira on his own forehead, "I've mastered this lorestone. I'll still have my wits about me, and will see to it that yours are restored."

  Baltak stared a challenge at him. "I can see what Eldrinn gets out of it, saving his college from ruin, but what about the rest of us?"

  Q'arlynd raised an eyebrow. "Casting high magic doesn't appeal to you?"

  "Not if I can't remember how to do it afterward," Baltak snorted. His eyes strayed to Piri's corpse. "How do we know you won't kill us, too, once we're feebleminded?"

  Alexa snorted. "Don't be stupid, Baltak. If he'd wanted to do that, he would have blasted us while we were still held by his spell."

  The transmogrifist continued to stare at Q'arlynd. "No, he wouldn't. If he had, we wouldn't have been around to cast his spell for him."

  "Enough!" Q'arlynd snapped. "Can't you see what's happening?" He waved a hand at the walls. The Faerzress that infused them had brightened noticeably even in the short time it had taken to explain to his apprentices what he'd planned. It glowed with a steady, blue-green light.

  "The Faerzress is increasing in power by leaps and bounds. We have no idea what other ill effects that may cause. Divination and teleportation may only be the first of several strains of magic to be denied the drow. I know it's difficult, but you've got to trust in the kiira-and in me. And in the school we're going to build together. You've come with me this far. Trusted me. Why stop now?"

  He strode over to the dead wizard and touched a lorestone to Piri's forehead. It instantly adhered. As Q'arlynd's kiira had promised, Piri was restored to life. The demon-skinned apprentice sat up slowly, his eyes staring straight ahead.

  Q'arlynd turned to the others, rubbing his left arm. It still tingled from the poison. "It was a struggle, convincing my ancestors that we needed Piri, but they saw the wisdom in letting him participate. For our spell, we need a sixth caster."

  "A sixth body, you mean," Baltak grumbled. "Look at him; he's no better than a walking corpse. The kiira's in control."

  "Piri will be restored to full awareness once we're done," Q'arlynd said. He bent down and returned the ring to Piri's finger. "The kiira promised it."

  "What if it's lying?" Baltak countered. "What if you're lying?"

  Q'arlynd returned Baltak's stare. "Join minds with me. Look deep into my thoughts. Search for hidden motivations, hidden treachery. All of you, take a good, long look. And once you're satisfied, perhaps we'll get this done."

  The instant Q'arlynd dropped his mental defenses, Baltak barged in. Alexa and Eldrinn joined their minds with Q'arlynd's more tentatively. Zarifar drifted in last, his mind busy tracing the pattern their respective bodies formed. A hexagon, made up of Q'arlynd, the four apprentices who were not yet wearing kiira, and Piri, who was.

  For several moments, Q'arlynd felt his four apprentices rummaging through his secrets. Allowing this was difficult, the equivalent of permitting a hunting lizard to slowly run its tongue along one's exposed flesh. When they discovered the memories of the additional spells he'd ensorcelled their rings with, he sensed their blunt anger. He also heard their mental nods as they learned that the "trade mission" he and Eldrinn had been on was a ruse-being drow, they'd anticipated the lie-as well as their surprise when they learned of the priestesses' mission to the Acropolis of Thanatos. He could all but feel their eyebrows rising as they learned of Q'arlynd's admission into the ranks of Eilistraee's faithful, and their glee at learning some of the secrets of that forbidden faith. He also felt their sharp indignation at the revelation that the kiira were going to use their bodies-that the five apprentices would, at best, be conduits for the high magic they were about to cast.

  But they also, as they probed even deeper into Q'arlynd's thoughts and memories, saw the dreams his mind contained. Dreams of founding something that was truly a unity of purpose, of will. Not the resurrection of a noble drow House, but the creation of something new. A union that would transcend the colleges and Houses from which they ha
d each come.

  "Well?" Q'arlynd breathed. He asked the question both with his voice and with his heart.

  Eldrinn lifted his kiira. "I'm convinced."

  "As am I," Alexa said quickly.

  Zarifar opened his eyes and silently nodded.

  "Right," Baltak said. He tried to step in front of the other apprentices, to take charge, but Q'arlynd placed a hand on his shoulder, restraining him. Baltak, for once, relented.

  "On my three-count," Q'arlynd said. "And be sure to keep your minds linked with mine. One… two… three!"

  As the others pressed their lorestones against their foreheads, Q'arlynd felt the awarenesses that were the other five kiira join them. Each of the apprentices reacted as he'd expected: Baltak with a mental grapple, Alexa with tentative experimentation, Zarifar with a dreamy acceptance, and Eldrinn with cautious curiosity. An instant later, each succumbed as the kiira took hold. The lorestones spoke to one another through the linkage of the rings the six of them wore.

  The combined awarenesses of Q'arlynd and the kiira he wore answered them.

  It is time. Begin.

  Together, they wove a spell. Guided by the kiira, the six drow in unison spoke the words to an enchantment. As the spell waxed, the Faerzress brightened. Though Q'arlynd had to squint against its glare, he forced himself to keep staring at it. The Faerzress was their link to Kiaransalee's minions, to the undead that drew their power from its negative energy, to the Crones who venerated and created those abominations-to the Goddess of Death herself.

  From each and every one of those minds, something was about to be erased. Not a memory, but a single word.

  In a roundabout way, the inspiration for the enchantment had come from Kiaransalee herself. When Q'arlynd had heard Leliana's story about Kiaransalee erasing Orcus's name from shrines and temples the length and breadth of Faerun, he'd accepted the story at face value. The goddess must have acted out of simple vanity, he surmised. Ever the conquering queen, she wanted to obliterate all evidence of one who had ruled before her.

  Q'arlynd had come to realize the deeper implications. All deities needed worshipers to survive. Without a steady stream of the faithful praying to them on Toril and later entering their domains after death, the gods and goddesses would slowly fade away.

  What better way to end Kiaransalee's worship than by erasing her name from every worshiper's mind? Even from the mind of the very goddess herself.

  Q'arlynd slapped a hand against the wall. "Kiaransalee!" he cried.

  His spell rippled outward through the Faerzress. Like fire through dry kindling, it burned the minds of Kiaransalee's faithful. It arced through the Negative Energy Plane, streaking like a bolt of lightning through that vast void and exploding out into the corner of the Demonweb Pits that was Kiaransalee's domain.

  Q'arlynd heard a tumultuous cry-thousands of voices, shrieking. Abruptly, they choked off into silence.

  The silence of the grave.

  It is done.

  He bowed in thanks. When he rose, he saw that the Faerzress which filled the corridor was muted. Yet it was still there.

  His eyes widened in alarm. "Did we fail?"

  We succeeded. We halted the progression of the Faerzress. But even high magic can't turn back time.

  Q'arlynd nodded, exhausted. He wondered how Sshamath fared. Was divination magic still possible there? Would the College of Divination teeter and eventually fall? If it did, Q'arlynd would be right back where he'd started, without a master to nominate his school.

  At least he still had the kiira.

  His apprentices stood next to him, glassy-eyed. In unison, they began to move. Stiff as golems, they removed the lorestones from their foreheads, traced the House glyph of their kiira on Kraanfhaor's Door, and pressed the lorestone against it. The door drew them into itself and its stone smoothed over, leaving no trace of their entry.

  Like humans suddenly awakened from sleep, Q'arlynd's apprentices shook their heads and stared wonderingly around. For several moments, each wore an expression as vacant as Zarifar's.

  Then Baltak put his hands on his hips. "Where in the Abyss are we? And what's that thing on your forehead?"

  Q'arlynd smiled wearily. "That's a long story. When we return to Sshamath, I'll tell it to you."

  CHAPTER 14

  Close enough, Cavatina signed.

  They halted near the front of the crowd. The Crones pressed tightly on all sides. The sphere of voidstone hung only a few paces ahead of them, looming as large as the temple had once been. Waves of negative energy crackled from it, chilling the air. The Faezress underfoot brightened with each pulse. The spirit floated above the voidstone, hands raised, leading the chanting in a mournful moan.

  Beside Cavatina, the disguised Karas raised his arms and mouthed in time with the chant. Cavatina did the same. Odd, that it was a Nightshadow she'd wind up making her final stand with. And yet, somehow, appropriate.

  She caught Karas's eye and flicked a hand. Now.

  "Eilistraee!" Cavatina sang out, letting her disguise fall away.

  The nearest Crones spun to face her, their faces twisted with rage.

  Beside her, Karas plunged his dagger into a Crone and touched Cavatina's arm. Energy flowed into her, augmenting her prayer.

  "By my song, lay these foul abominations forever to rest!" Cavatina sang, even as the Crones leaped at her, their curved fingers raking wounds into her flesh that instantly festered. Beside her, Karas slashed desperately with his dagger, trying to take down as many as he could.

  In answer to her prayer, moonlight streaked with shadow erupted from the holy symbol clenched in Cavatina's fist. It spread through the ranks of the Crones in a flood. Several of the closest Crones collapsed as it washed clean the death magic that had animated them. Others-those who hadn't yet embraced undeath-continued their attack. Cavatina went down under their scrabbling hands and lost sight of Karas. But she caught a glimpse of the spirit as the pool of moonlight and shadow she'd summoned struck it. The ghost twisted, wailing, as Eilistraee's holy song tore at its substance.

  Then the spell ended.

  The spirit remained.

  The ghost threw back its head. Its chest swelled. As it exhaled, a ghastly keening began.

  "Eilistraee!" Cavatina cried. "Lend me your-"

  The keening struck Cavatina like a clapper hitting a bell, sending her body into violent convulsions that choked off her prayer. The Crones, meanwhile, bore down on Cavatina. Their hooked fingers tore open her hand, and her holy symbol fell to the ground. The Crones nearest it reeled away from it, wailing, but others leaped onto Cavatina, knocking her down. Her chin cracked against stone and she tasted blood. Each new laceration was a sharp slash of pain. She struggled to rise but could not. She glanced left, and saw Karas a pace or two away, no longer disguised as a Crone. He lay in a pool of blood, his flesh scored by dozens of wounds. He wasn't moving.

  Cavatina felt cold-the chill of the grave. Barely conscious, she strove to choke out her goddess's name through chattering teeth. "Eil… is… tr-"

  The ghost loomed before her. "You have lost," she hissed, her whisper somehow carrying clearly above the enraged cries of the Crones. "When we are done with you, not a scrap of your soul will remain." She drew back, cackling. A sweeping gesture took in both Cavatina and Karas-and sphere of voidstone. "Throw them into it."

  Echoing their head priestess's laughter, the Crones hoisted Cavatina and Karas into the air. Twice, they nearly dropped Cavatina. She was awash in her own blood, her body almost too slippery to hold. With the last of her strength, Cavatina fought to lift her head, to face her doom bravely. There was no use commending her soul to Eilistraee; in another moment it would all be over. As the Crones bore her to the crumbling lip of stone surrounding the voidstone sphere, Cavatina uttered one final, whispered prayer.

  "Eilistraee. Don't let it end like this. Please."

  "Now!" the spirit cried.

  The Crones swung Cavatina backward, preparing to toss her to
ward the voidstone sphere. But half of them collapsed, going from undeath to death in a blink. Those who remained-the living-struggled to hold Cavatina aloft, but weren't strong enough. They dropped her and stumbled away, as if they'd given up on killing her.

  A skull smashed down into the stone a couple of paces away from Cavatina. Then another. She twisted around and spotted Karas, also lying on the ground. Skulls tumbled from the ceiling above, smashing to pieces all around him.

  With the last of her flagging strength, Cavatina forced herself off the ground, one arm raised above her head to fend off the falling skulls. Something had just happened-but what? She looked wearily around, blinking the blood from her eyes.

  The spirit was gone.

  The Crones milled about, not paying the slightest attention to Cavatina and Karas. A moment earlier, they had been purposeful and grim, but they grew confused confused. They stared at each other, at the corpses of the undead Crones who had fallen, at the silver rings on their own fingers, perplexed looks on their faces. One of them-a Crone who had been holding Cavatina aloft just moments ago-glanced down at Cavatina with a frown, as if trying to remember who she was.

  Cavatina struggled to her feet. The possibility occurred to her that whatever had just happened might be the work of Qilue. Had the Crescent Blade claimed a second deity? Was that why the high priestess hadn't answered her summons a short time ago-because she'd been preparing to slay…

  She paused, uncertain. What was the name of that goddess again?

  Cavatina glanced around at the milling, gray-robed females. She remembered what they called themselves- Crones-and that they served a goddess of death. But try as she might, Cavatina couldn't remember that goddess's name.

  A skull slammed into Cavatina's shoulder, nearly knocking her to the ground. She staggered to her holy symbol and fell to her knees beside it. One hand pressing against the miniature sword, she prayed.

  "Eilistraee," she said through thickened lips. "Heal me."

  Eilistraee's grace flowed into Cavatina. Her wounds closed. She was not as strong as she might be, but at least she could stand. She dragged Karas into the lee of a nearby wall, out of the rain of skulls. Then she swung around to face the voidstone.