Ascendancy of the Last зкp-3

by Lisa Smedman

  Qilue made no comment. The two priestesses wouldn't starve. Eilistraee would answer their prayers for sustenance.

  What mattered was to contain the problem before it spread. Horaldin had been easy enough to silence, but Rylla would be more difficult. The battle-mistress either knew about Wendonai or suspected, judging by the way she'd been acting. It was unlikely she'd told anyone yet-she would have realized this would start a panic. More likely, she'd be preparing a banishment spell of her own.

  If she succeeded, it would ruin everything.

  Where was Rylla? Qilue had to find her. She realized that she should have kept the battle-mistress near her, instead of sending her away. She should have trusted her instincts.

  Are you sure you didn't already bear my taint? Wendonai asked mockingly, continuing their previous conversation. You certainly think like an Ilythiiri.

  Watch your tongue, demon, or I'll banish you myself.

  And destroy the weapon that will kill Lolth? Without my essence sustaining it, the Crescent Blade will crumble to dust.

  Be silent! She grasped her sheath and tried to shove the Crescent Blade into it, but felt the familiar resistance, like two lodestones pushing each other apart. She struggled against it, but the sword proved stronger. It sprang out of the sheath.

  "Abyss take me!" Qilue swore-an oath she hadn't used since her childhood.

  The demon chuckled. Perhaps it will.

  Qilue stalked on through the cavern. She could have sheathed the sword if she'd tried harder, but she needed Wendonai to think he was in control-and that she feared the weapon would fall apart, were he not within it. That wouldn't happen, of course. Eilistraee's blessings would sustain it, just as they always had.

  Her statue was just ahead, tucked into an alcove in the Cavern of Song. Carved from black marble, it showed a youthful Qilue with singing sword held high, exulting in the defeat of Ghaunadaur's avatar. The statue looked heavy and immovable-a false impression. In fact, it concealed the winding staircase that led down to the sealed Pit.

  Qilue strode up to the halfling Protector who guarded it and stared down at her. "Is Battle-mistress Rylla below?"

  Brindell shook her head.

  "Has she passed this way recently?"

  "No, Lady. Not since I took up station here."

  "Where is she?" Silver fire crackled through Qilue's hair as her irritation flared.

  Brindell took a step back. "Lady Qilue. What's wrong? Is the Promenade under attack?"

  "What are you talking about?" Qilue spat. She'd never realized, until just this moment, how ridiculous the halfling looked, with her ink-stained face and mop of copper-colored hair.

  Brindell pointed a pudgy finger at the Crescent Blade. "There's blood on your sword, Lady Qilue."

  "There is?" Qilue lifted the weapon. A thin line of red trickled down the blade. The cut on her wrist must have been bleeding; the bracer that served as sheath for her silver dagger must have rubbed it open again. "It's nothing. Just a scratch." She glared down at Brindell. "Hold your post. Contact me-immediately-if you see Rylla."

  Brindell gulped. "Yes, Lady."

  Qilue strode away. She realized she'd been sharp with Brindell, but it was all part of the act. And it was drawing Wendonai in. She could feel it.

  In recent months, she'd stepped up the tempo. Sometimes she "forgot," until it was almost too late, to drink the holy water that held Wendonai at bay. This gave the balor the illusion he was gradually wearing down her defenses, one cloven-hoofed step at a time. Two steps forward, one back. One step forward, two back. All part of the dance that would lead him exactly where she wanted him.

  A dangerous gamble-one that might cost her the Promenade. But a necessary one, if the dhaerrow were to be led back into the light.

  The Crescent Blade would be the key.

  Ironically, Wendonai had given her the idea, when he'd derided her crusade as "futile." For each drow redeemed and brought up into Eilistraee's light, he'd gloated, a dozen were born with his taint. For every step Qilue led the drow forward, Wendonai yanked them twelve steps back.

  The balor's taint ran constant and deep in the drow, in every one with even a drop of Ilythiiri blood in their veins. The only way they could be led out of this dark pall was through redemption-and redemption was something that took courage and strength. The very taint they needed to struggle against and overcome was what seduced most drow into choosing a less morally challenging, more "rewarding" path. They wound up, like flies, caught in Lolth's vast web. Even if they somehow managed to escape or avoid this, more often than not it was only through seeking out alliances with other, even more loathsome deities, like Ghaunadaur.

  Qilue had experienced this taint, herself. After her failure to attune the Crescent Blade and drive the evil from it, the cut on her wrist had allowed the demon to slowly worm its way into her. She had been on the verge of purging his taint-a simple matter of releasing Mystra's silver fire within her body, rather than without-when she'd realized something. If she could somehow draw all of Wendonai's taint into herself she would, in the process, remove it from every drow on Toril. Then she could burn herself clean in one blinding flash of silver fire. She could set the drow free to choose a better path-to be led into Eilistraee's dance.

  Qilue herself would likely be consumed in the process, her very soul reduced to ash by the incineration of so much evil, so much guilt, so much hatred. But the Crescent Blade would remain. Someone else-Cavatina, most likely-would carry on Eilistraee's work. Be named high priestess in Qilue's stead, take up the Crescent Blade, and kill Lolth.

  Qilue sighed. She had the lancet she needed for the blooding that was to come: the Crescent Blade. She even knew the one place, on all of Toril, where it could be done; Eilistraee had revealed its location to her. But she wasn't quite ready, yet, to set her plan in motion. There always seemed to be something else that needed doing first. Q'arlynd, for example, was on the verge of attempting his casting, and would soon require her assistance. And within the Promenade itself, there were a dozen other things to tend to.

  Like finding Rylla, and silencing her.

  Perhaps, Qilue decided, she could flush the battle-mistress out. An "attack" by Ghaunadaur's cultists should do just that.

  She sang the word that would make her symbol visible. A second song dispelled the locks she'd placed on the doors of the chamber that held the glyph-inscribed portal. Then she sent out a silent message to her spies. It is time to begin the dance. Are you ready?

  Their answers came like a spatter of rain, the words overlapping each other. Some of the Nightshadows sounded eager, others tense. Two didn't answer at all. Perhaps they were dead. She prayed their souls had found their way to the Masked Lady's domain. Karas assured her he would be able to bring his group through. Qilue smiled. That should bring Rylla running.

  Begin, then, she replied. And may Eilistraee guide your steps.

  That done, Qilue turned down the corridor that would take her to the river-the corridor that wound past the Moonspring Portal. The Protector guarding the magical pool saluted as she passed.

  "Have you seen Rylla?" Qilue asked.

  "No, Lady."

  She's lying.

  Qilue whirled. "Liar! She used the portal, didn't she?"

  The Protector's face paled to gray. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

  Qilue felt the blood drain from her own face. She hadn't meant to say that aloud. "My apologies, priestess. I was answering a sending from someone else."

  It wasn't much of an excuse, but it seemed to satisfy the Protector, who nodded and stiffly resumed her post.

  Qilue kneeled and sang a scrying, passing her hand over the pool. She smiled as it revealed Rylla. Qilue's smile vanished abruptly as she recognized the chamber Rylla was standing in. The battle-mistress hadn't used the Moonspring Portal, after all. She was still within the Promenade-in the last place Qilue had expected to find her: the chamber that contained the trap for Ghaunadaur's cultists!

  E
ven as Qilue watched, the battle-mistress dispelled the symbol Horaldin had inscribed. Now she began a prayer-one that would seal the portal Qilue had so painstakingly created!

  "No!" Qilue cried. She couldn't let that happen. Not now, with the first wave of Ghaunadaur's minions about to come through.

  She sang a hymn that instantly conveyed her to the chamber along a beam of moonlight. Her boots slipped as she landed; the floor was ankle-deep in water. Rylla whirled, her prayer interrupted. "Qilue!" Is it you? she sent.

  It would have been a clever ploy-had Wendonai not been able to listen in on Qilue's private conversations.

  She thinks I'm controlling you.

  You're not.

  Not yet.

  Be silent! Qilue shook her head. Rylla. She needed to concentrate on the battle-mistress. "Of course it's me. What are you doing?" Rylla hadn't tried to banish Wendonai yet. Perhaps she didn't know.

  "Making sure everything's sealed up tight-as you ordered. There's a portal in this room that shouldn't be here." She began her prayer anew.

  "Stop that!" Qilue cried. She sang a note into the shout that fused Rylla's fingers together, preventing her from completing the gesture that would seal the portal. "I created that portal. It leads to a trap. One that's about to be sprung. Go and find Horaldin-I need him to recast his enchantment! Now!"

  Rylla turned. She was terrified-Qilue could smell the other female's fear-and her voice quavered. "Horaldin's dead."

  She's lying. Trying to confuse you.

  "What?" Qilue rubbed her wrist. "No, he's not. I just spoke to him." In fact, she'd just placed a geas on him: one that would compel him not to communicate with anyone-not by speech, nor spell, nor written word-until she gave him leave. She'd sealed the geas by drawing a line across his throat. The instant he tried to speak, he'd be wracked by a fit of violent coughing.

  Coughing blood.

  Qilue blinked, startled. Where had that thought come from?

  "You cut his throat," Rylla said. "Decapitated him." She glanced, pointedly, at the Crescent Blade.

  Qilue's eyes were drawn to the sword. To the blood on it.

  She's trying to trick you. That's your blood. Your cut is leaking again.

  Qilue lifted her arm.

  Rylla tensed, her fused fingers gripping her holy symbol.

  Qilue yanked her bracer up. She stared at the cut on her wrist. No-not a cut. A scar. Old and gray.

  It wasn't her blood on the blade.

  You had to do it. You had no choice. He would have ruined everything!

  "He would have ruined everything," Qilue whispered. Her head was pounding. She felt a slight pressure against her calves and realized the water in the room was rising. Was the river overflowing? She glanced over her shoulder. No, the door behind her was shut. The water inside the chamber was expanding. And swiftly. As it topped her boots and spilled inside them, she felt sensation return to her feet. She hadn't realized, until this moment, that they'd been numb, nearly dead. They'd felt heavy, lumpish, hard…

  The water rose to Qilue's knees. Her legs tingled.

  Rylla moved closer, her feet swishing in the water. The battle-mistress's eyes locked on Qilue's. "Fight it," she whispered. "Pray. Drive Wendonai out." She sang out a word that filled the air with moonlight and lunged forward, slamming into Qilue, who toppled backward into the water.

  She's trying to drown you! Wendonai howled.

  Qilue nearly laughed at such an obvious lie. The water tasted pure and sweet on her lips. Rylla's song, pealing out from above, landed like sparkling drops of rain upon the water's surface. Qilue felt the battle-mistress's hands around her wrist and realized Rylla was trying to force the Crescent Blade down, into the water.

  Into the healing, holy water.

  No! Wendonai shouted. That will destroy it! You'll never kill Lolth!

  His hand-Qilue's hand-punched up. The sword hilt slammed into Rylla's nose, knocking her backward and ripping her hands away from Qilue's wrist. Qilue felt her body leap up and shout a word that instantly burned the water from her skin. A familiar, heavy deadness returned and her thoughts slowed. It felt as if each were forcing its way through thick, stinking mud. From the waist down, however, her body was still within the holy water-and still her own. She threw herself to her knees, and suddenly the water was level with her mouth. She gulped it down, and felt its holiness force the demon out of her. Back into the Crescent Blade.

  Drink your fill, Wendonai gloated from the sword, which she held just above the surface. I've built up a resistance to it. I'll be back inside you the moment you surface.

  Another lie? Qilue suspected so, but she couldn't be certain of anything. Not any more. How long had the demon been warping her perceptions? What other crimes against her faith had he used her to commit? She ducked lower, submerging her head, but holding the Crescent Blade above the surface.

  Inside the holy water, she was safe. She tried to decide what to do. One swift tug, and the Crescent Blade would be underwater with her. That would banish Wendonai. But it would also banish her one chance to eradicate his taint from the drow.

  Yet she could see that this idea had been a seed planted by Wendonai. The irony was that it was possible. There was indeed a prayer that Qilue could use to draw all of Wendonai's taint inside her. And once his taint was within her, Mystra's silver fire would indeed destroy it. But the flaw in this plan-the flaw Wendonai had blinded her to, until now-was that with so much of his taint inside her, Qilue would lose control. Permanently. The demon would rule her body, as completely as Lolth ruled the Demonweb Pits. Any silver fire she did manage to summon would be twisted to an evil purpose.

  Qilue stared at her battle-mistress through the water. Rylla floated nearby, face down, blood drooling from her broken nose. No longer breathing. Later, once she'd decided what to do next, Qilue would revive her. For the moment, she was just thankful Wendonai hadn't been able to swing the Crescent Blade. If it had severed Rylla's neck, her soul would have been destroyed.

  Just as Horaldin's had been.

  Qilue prayed that the Crescent Blade hadn't completely severed the druid's neck, that his soul had survived to join Rillifane under the great oak.

  Qilue! Wendonai bellowed. I know you can hear me. What will you do now? Banish me, and abandon any hope of saving your race?

  What indeed? Mystra's silver fire flickered in and out of Qilue's nostrils. Though her head was submerged in water, her long tresses spreading like seaweed across the surface above, she felt no need to breathe. She had all the time in the world to consider the question-unless, of course, someone opened one of the doors to this chamber, letting the holy water spill out.

  Her spies, for example. The first group of Ghaunadaur's cultists would be arriving in the Promenade any moment, and heading this way.

  She flicked a hand, resetting the locks.

  She briefly considered telling the Nightshadows to abandon the plan, destroy their ambers, and flee Ghaunadaur's temples-then decided against it. Too much effort had been spent in putting them in place.

  She considered her options. Had she inscribed an insanity symbol on the ruined temple-or was this another of Wendonai's tricks? She decided that it really didn't matter. If a symbol was in place, and the fanatics could be coerced into entering the portal, they would be turned into raving madmen who wouldn't even remember what a temple to their god looked like, let alone what to do with it. And if the symbol didn't exist, the fanatics would gain no benefit from a visit to the bottom of the Pit. If they somehow found their way back from the Ethereal Plane, they wouldn't have learned anything new about the Promenade. The planar breach had existed for centuries, sputtering on like a guttering candle, ever since Ghaunadaur had been driven through it.

  Even if the worst happened-if the fanatics, despite being ethereal, found a way to open the breach enough for an avatar to come through, it wouldn't matter. The seals at the top of the Pit would ensure that the Ancient One's avatar didn't escape.

  As she sat
, thinking, the water surrounding her began to vibrate: the result of an alarm, close by, its clamor shrill enough to pass through stone. The timing was too close to be a coincidence. Karas must have brought his group through.

  Confirmation came as three different priestesses shouted Qilue's name at once, urgently reporting they'd spotted fanatics approaching the Promenade, from the far side of the bridge. That they were going to engage them until reinforcements arrived.

  Qilue gave a mental command in reply, ordering them to allow the fanatics to cross the bridge, and not to engage them, but instead to set up defensive positions at least fifty paces back from the western side of the bridge. She wondered if they would heed her-how many of her priestesses, besides Cavatina, Leliana, and Rylla, now knew about Wendonai, and would be suspicious of her commands.

  Karas, she sent, where are you?

  Far side of the bridge.

  There's bad news. The portal is still in place, but the enchantment glyph has been dispelled. You're going to have to talk your fanatics into entering the trap-but not quite yet. The doors of the room are still sealed. I need a few moments more before I can unlock them. You'll have to stall, once you're across the bridge. Can you manage that?

  I'll try.

  Qilue nodded. It was all she could ask of anyone. She sent a mental command to the rest of her spies. Nightshadows-the plan is postponed. Remain in position, and do not bring the cultists through until I contact you.

  She broke contact, not bothering to wait for their acknowledgements. It was time to do something she should have done, long ago: destroy the Crescent Blade.

  She started to draw the sword under the water, ignoring Wendonai's screams of protest, his wild promises, his shouts that he wouldn't die, that he'd have his vengeance-that even if he couldn't personally revenge himself, then Lolth certainly would, since her powers were equal to-

  Qilue abruptly halted, the blade only halfway submerged.

  There was a way to purge Wendonai's taint from the drow, she realized. She didn't have to be the one who called down silver fire-it could be directed into her body from without. Any of her sisters could provide the lethal blast that would incinerate the demon's taint.