by Lisa Smedman
"I second the nomination of the School of Bae'qeshel Magic." The sphere's features shifted, adopting the face of the only other female among the ten masters. Shurdriira Helviiryn, Master of the College of Alteration stared at Seldszar and arched an eyebrow, as if daring him to protest her second.
The speaker's sphere shifted to a gaunt male face with hungry eyes. "The nomination has been second-spoken," it said in a paper-thin whisper that filled the chamber-the voice of Tsabrak, Master of the College of Necromancy. The vampire drow's real face was little more than a shadow, lost in the hood of his bone white robe. "Two nominations stand. Let the debate begin."
One by one, the masters stated their arguments and counter arguments. Warily, they fenced back and forth. Q'arlynd could imagine the unspoken calculations that must be whirling through their heads. Support one nomination? Both? What was to be gained-and lost-by building or breaking alliances? Was it better to speak first, or hold back until others declared themselves?
With this second, more complicated nomination to consider, the debate might go on for a full cycle. Or more.
Q'arlynd snuck another look at his apprentices. They were still frozen in place next to the shimmering wall of force. Behind it, one of the tentacled deepspawn the Breeder's Guild raised stared hungrily out at the two duelists.
Then Q'arlynd noticed something that chilled his gut like ice water. A crack had just appeared in the wall of force, next to the duelists. A crack that was widening.
There could be only one explanation for the rupture in what was otherwise a carefully tended wall. Someone must have spotted the two frozen duelists and decided to weaken Q'arlynd's school by ensuring the "accidental" deaths of two of its apprentices.
Q'arlynd couldn't wait for the debate to end. The second nomination had to be made null and void. Now.
He gripped the railing in front of him and took a deep breath. The moment there was a gap in the debate, he spoke. "I realize none but a master is permitted to speak, but there's something you must hear!" he said in a loud, clear voice. "Bae'qeshel magic is-"
Suddenly, Q'arlynd couldn't move. A sphere of glass, surrounded by solid stone, enclosed him.
A magical imprisonment! The favorite tactic, it was rumored, of Master Masoj-who supposedly was in full support of Q'arlynd's nomination. Q'arlynd hadn't felt the Master of Abjuration touch him-hadn't felt anyone touch him, for that matter. Yet the spell had been cast anyway.
Q'arlynd was trapped like a fly in amber. He couldn't cast spells, couldn't escape. He might never see Sshamath again, let alone realize his dream of being elevated to the Conclave.
He realized he'd been both hasty and stupid. Arrogant enough to think the Conclave would listen to him, that the masters wouldn't punish him for breaking protocol. Of all the things Q'arlynd had ever done, this had been among the most foolish.
He might be trapped, but there was one course of action open to him: thanks to his master ring, he could still scry. He refocused his attention on his apprentices. He might as well twist the dagger in deeper by watching Eldrinn die.
Via the scrying, he watched as Piri and Eldrinn unfroze. Neither noticed the crack spreading through the wall of force. Each glanced suspiciously at the other, then down at the ring on his finger. No feeblewits, they. Not like their master. They had figured out what had just happened, and what to do about it. With jerky motions, fighting the compulsions Q'arlynd had built into their rings, both Piri and Eldrinn tugged them from their fingers. They shouldn't have been able to do that. In ordinary circumstances, Q'arlynd would have wondered what magic was used to counter the rings' hold on their minds. But this was hardly the time to ponder such trivial betrayals.
No! Q'arlynd silently raged. It's not me you have to be worried about. It's-
The scrying ended.
Time passed.
Had Q'arlynd's heart been beating, he might have measured time by it.
Suddenly, he was back inside the Stonestave's central chamber, facing the Conclave once more. He immediately dropped to one knee and turned his head, exposing his throat. "My profound apologies, masters. I bow to your…"
He noticed something: a golden ball, hovering in the air just ahead of him. He glanced up and saw all ten masters staring at him. Nine of them had golden balls hovering in the air in front of them; Master Seldszar did not. He'd temporarily forfeited his right to a voice on the Conclave, so Q'arlynd might say his piece.
The speaker's sphere bore Master Tsabrak's visage. The vampire drow's voice whispered out of it. "Rise, Q'arlynd. Finish what you started to say earlier."
Q'arlynd rose to his feet and nodded his thanks to Seldszar. Q'arlynd was certain he'd pay for this later-pay dearly-but he was glad to have been given a second chance. He turned to face the female he was about to accuse. She stared back at him from her perch on the driftdisc-a flat, level stare that held a promise of retribution for whatever he was about to say.
Q'arlynd couldn't worry about that now. Nor could he let himself be distracted by speculating how much time had passed while he'd been imprisoned, and whether one or both of his apprentices were dead. He would keep this short and to the point. He touched the golden ball.
"Bae'qeshel is a bardic tradition, it's true," he told the Conclave, his eyes still locked on those of the female on the driftdisc, returning her challenge. "But it is only practiced by members of a particular faith-by those who worship Lolth."
T'lar didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. Someone else in the room must have, though. Q'arlynd heard more than one sharp intake of breath.
Guldor was the first to touch his golden ball. "How can you make such accusations? You know nothing of bae'qeshel magic!"
"My sister was a bae'qeshel bard."
Guldor was good: his face didn't even flush. "You lie."
"A simple divination will prove that I do not," Q'arlynd said quietly. He waited a moment or two-long enough for any of the masters who had a spell that would detect falsehoods to cast it. "My sister, Halisstra Melarn, was a bae'qeshel bard. She was also a devotee of Lolth. You cannot be the first, without the second. Something you were no doubt privy to, Guldor Zauviir."
The sphere assumed Master Shurdriira's face. "I withdraw my second."
For several moments, there was silence in the chamber. Then Master Tsabrak spoke. "T'lar Mizz'rynturl, leave us."
Never once taking her eyes off Q'arlynd, T'lar moved back. Instead of the anger Q'arlynd expected, T'lar looked as if she were appraising him-sizing him up. The doors to the chamber opened silently, and the driftdisc slid out, whisking her away.
Guldor's face was purple with barely suppressed rage, but he rallied quickly. "Q'arlynd Melarn," he said in a soft voice. "Do you worship the Spider Queen?"
Q'arlynd answered warily, aware that whatever divinations the masters might have cast earlier would still be detecting falsehoods. "I was raised to follow Lolth-as are all drow. But I never formally pledged myself to her."
Guldor smiled. "Because you worship Eilistraee?"
Q'arlynd's eyes narrowed slightly before he could prevent it. He was on dangerous ground, here. Eilistraee's worship was not forbidden in Sshamath-the Conclave officially permitted all faiths-but her worship was still a quick way to make enemies, among those masters who had, secretly, taken the Spider Queen as their patron deity.
One thing was in his favor, however. Guldor had to be guessing. If not, he would have phrased that last as a statement, rather than a question.
"Only females are welcomed into Eilistraee's circle," Q'arlynd answered. He arched an eyebrow. "Surely you don't mistake me for one?"
"Males can become lay worshipers."
Q'arlynd waved a hand dismissively-the hand that didn't bear Eilistraee's crescent-shaped scar. He turned away from Guldor. "He's grasping at spider silk," he told the other masters, feigning a lighthearted tone he didn't feel. "Appropriate, considering the company he keeps."
Someone chuckled.
Out of the corner of his eye, Q'arlynd
watched Guldor. The master's lips were pressed tightly together. Guldor would have anticipated that his nomination of T'lar Mizz'rynturl might fail, but he hadn't expected to be mocked. Q'arlynd had just made a lasting enemy of the master of a very powerful College.
The face on the sphere grew fatter, more jowly. "Now that only one nomination remains to be considered," Master Urlryn said, "Why don't you tell us, Q'arlynd, why the School of Ancient Arcana should be named a College."
That was better. Things were back on track. And Eldrinn couldn't have been dead yet-if he had been, Master Seldszar wouldn't have looked so unperturbed. Though gods only knew what was happening, down at the Cage.
"The reason is simple," Q'arlynd began. He followed the speech he'd rehearsed with Seldszar earlier, down to the last syllable. "Accept my school as Sshamath's eleventh College, and your city will reap the rewards. To the city itself, my College can provide powerful magic: spells that have been forgotten since the time of the Descent, spells that have been revealed to me by… this."
He pointed to his forehead with a flourish, and dropped the invisibility that had been hiding the lorestone. A corresponding bulge appeared on the forehead of the face on the speaker's sphere. "Only a few of you will have seen its like before," he told the masters. "It's a selu'kiira of ancient Miyeritar."
Eyes widened. The masters must have noted the lorestone's deep color.
Q'arlynd held up a cautioning finger. "Lest any of you think of claiming it, I offer this warning. The lorestone will only share its secrets with a descendant of House Melarn-and I am the last surviving member of that noble House. Everyone else, from its matron mother to the lowest boy, lies buried in the rubble of Ched Nasad. Anyone else who attempts to wear House Melarn's lorestone will wind up feebleminded."
Heads nodded slightly at that. All remembered the state Eldrinn had been in, when Q'arlynd had returned the boy to the city two and a half years ago. The connection was obvious.
His speech concluded, Q'arlynd fell silent. There was a further incentive for certain masters, but it couldn't be spoken aloud. Master Seldszar had spent the last year carefully tracing the lineage of each of the current masters of Sshamath's Colleges. Two other masters, besides Seldszar, could trace their lineage back to ancient Miyeritar. Like him, each might be able to claim a kiira from Kraanfhaor's Door, so long as he was shown how-something that wouldn't happen until the College of Ancient Arcana became a reality. Neither of the two masters would know for certain whether anyone else had been promised a selu'kiira. Each would do whatever he could to influence the rest of the Conclave, in order to claim his reward.
"A pretty promise," Master Shurdriira said. She tipped her head. "But how do we know you will share this magic?"
Q'arlynd smiled. "I have already." He watched as that sunk in-as the masters glanced covertly at one another, wondering who had already benefited. Then he added, "Do you dare run the risk of being the only one without access to my spells?"
Master Seldszar flicked his fingers: My ball.
Q'arlynd inclined his head, then nudged the gold ball to Seldszar. The Master of Divination touched it, and the speaker's sphere assumed his likeness. "I suggest we end this debate and put the nomination to a vote."
"Agreed," Urlryn said.
"Agreed," Tsabrak echoed.
One by one-with the exception of Guldor, who remained sullenly silent-the other masters gave their assent.
Tsabrak spoke. "Q'arlynd Melarn, leave us."
Q'arlynd bowed. Even before he'd finished rising, he teleported away.
He appeared straddling the femur that was the dividing line, his hands raised and ready to cast a spell. Piri lay on the ground a few paces away, either unconscious or dead, his wand beside him. Eldrinn was in even more dire straights.
The deepspawn had already squeezed three of its six tentacles through the gap in the wall of force. One was wrapped around the boy's chest, and held him dangling above the ground. Though Eldrinn still held his wand, he was either too frightened or too badly hurt to use it. His eyes widened as he spotted Q'arlynd, and his mouth worked, but no words came out. Judging by his purple face, there wasn't any air left in his lungs.
Q'arlynd conjured lightning. He aimed for the base of the tentacle that held Eldrinn, but the monster was unaccountably fast. It yanked that tentacle-and Eldrinn with it-back behind what remained of the wall of force. The magical barrier absorbed the eye-searing bolt.
"Mother's blood," Q'arlynd swore. This monster was a fast one.
Suddenly he recalled what his masters at the Conservatory had taught him about these creatures, so many years ago: deepspawn were capable of listening in on thoughts. For someone who could cast spells to shield his mind, this wasn't a problem. But Q'arlynd had trained as a battle mage. He had dozens of lethal spells at his fingertips, still more that would shield his body. But none that would hide the contents of his mind.
The deepspawn retreated fully behind the wall of force. It waved a tentacle at Q'arlynd, taunting him. The other two tentacles continued to cling tightly to Eldrinn and to something invisible: Piri's quasit. Even as Q'arlynd watched, Eldrinn stopped struggling, and slumped. His wand fell from his fingers and clattered to the ground.
Q'arlynd had to think of something, and quickly. If he didn't, the deepspawn would kill Eldrinn-assuming it hadn't already done so. And now that the monster had withdrawn behind the walls of its cage, Q'arlynd would only be able to target it through the hole. He edged to the side, trying to get into position to do that, but the deepspawn read his mind and moved away.
Come out from behind the wall, coward, he thought at it. Let's see if you can catch a lightning bolt in your tentacles.
Q'arlynd moved to the spot where his other apprentice lay, bent down, and touched his fingers to Piri's throat. Blood pulsed beneath the skin. Piri, at least, was still alive. As Q'arlynd straightened, his foot nudged something that scraped across the ground. Something metal. He looked down, but didn't see anything there.
Then he realized what it must be: Piri's ring gate!
Q'arlynd hurled himself at the ground. As he did so, the tentacle holding the quasit flicked forward, trying to toss the demon away. This time, Q'arlynd was faster. Before the deepspawn could release the quasit, Q'arlynd landed, chest down, on the spot where the ring gate lay. As he made contact with it, he shouted an incantation. The mirror in his shirt pocket shattered, fueling his spell. Energy rushed out of it, as fast as light. It erupted out of the second ring gate, into the deepspawn. Intense silver light played over the tentacled monster, altering the very substance of its body. When the light vanished, so too did the creature's natural coloration. A heartbeat before, the deepspawn had been a living, breathing thing. Now it was transformed into clear, solid glass.
Its body, no longer suspended by magic, crashed to the ground. Tentacles shattered.
Q'arlynd stood and brushed himself off. Tinkling bits of mirror fell from the ruin of his shirt pocket. "Bet you didn't expect that one," he said dryly. Then he hurried forward. He stepped carefully through the rent in the wall of force and felt its powerful energies lift the hair on his arms and scalp. When he was underneath the transformed deepspawn, he reached up and grabbed the tentacle that held Eldrinn, and wrenched on it. As it snapped, the boy tumbled to the ground. Eldrinn groaned, low and deep-a sound that was music to Q'arlynd's ears. The boy was still alive!
Q'arlynd scooped up Eldrinn's wand. It was of a type he didn't recognize: solid white, with an inscription in Espruar, the script of the surface elves, spiraling around it. Q'arlynd didn't have time to solve the puzzle the wand presented, however. In a few moments his spell would lapse, and the deepspawn would revert back to flesh. Even missing its tentacles, it would be a formidable foe.
He touched Eldrinn and teleported away.
They materialized within the private hospice of the College of Divination. Q'arlynd barked out an abbreviated explanation to the startled attendant. Instead of springing to his cabinet of potions, howe
ver, the elderly apothecary shifted Eldrinn's sleeve, revealing a vial that was tied to the boy's forearm. "Why didn't you use this?" He yanked out the vial and uncorked it. "It's just as potent as anything I have here."
"It is?"
"I ought to know. It's one of my best."
Q'arlynd shook his head at yet another mystery he didn't have time to solve. Eldrinn had obviously been given the potion by the apothecary, but how had the boy expected to consume it in the middle of a duel?
"Is there more of that?" Q'arlynd asked.
The apothecary nodded at his cabinet as he parted Eldrinn's lips and dribbled the potion into the boy's mouth. "In there. Why?"
"Get it ready," Q'arlynd said. "There's another of my apprentices who might need it, once I've finished with him." Then he teleported away.
He returned to the Cage in time to see a member of the Breeder's Guild rushing to the spot where the wall of force had been breached. The fellow skidded to a halt, reached into a pouch at his hip, and held up a pinch of something. Crushed gemstone dusted his dark fingers. He hurled the dust at the breach in the wall and chanted an incantation-but abruptly halted when he noticed the transformed deepspawn, its clear glass body all but invisible behind the shimmering wall.
"Hey! What did you do to our breeding stock?"
"A transmutation," Q'arlynd shouted back. "I suggest you complete your spell. The transmutation's only temporary."
The guild member hesitated, as if wanting to challenge Q'arlynd further, but decided against it. He waved his hands and chanted, hurriedly completing his repair.
Q'arlynd picked up Piri's wand, touched his apprentice, and teleported away. This time, the destination was his private study. He'd have to placate the Breeder's Guild-they'd demand compensation for the damage to their deepspawn-but that could wait. He patted down Piri's pockets, looking for the ring the apprentice had removed earlier. He found it-the compulsion built into the rings was too strong for his apprentices to rid themselves of the rings entirely-and slipped the ring into his own pocket. As he waited for Piri to recover, he examined the apprentice's wand. It was made of ebony, inlaid with chips of red agate: a fire wand. A wise choice for a duel, given Piri's demon skin. If the wand's blast had been deflected back at Piri, the fire would have sloughed off his body like water off a slate roof.