Ascendancy of the Last зкp-3

by Lisa Smedman

  He waited, using the beats of his pounding heart to mark the time. After twice the amount of time required, he cast a protective spell on himself and opened the door. His study was a shambles. Burning scrolls littered the floor. Everything was dusted with the residue of the poisonous fog he'd conjured. He scanned the room for footprints, but saw none. Nor did he see T'lar, even when he peered through his gem.

  She had vanished as mysteriously as she'd arrived.

  He stood, holding the wound in his side, wondering if she would be back. He doubted she'd make the same mistake twice: the next time they met, she'd kill him, rather than trying to convert him.

  The more he thought about it, the odder the encounter seemed. "Redemption" was something Eilistraee offered. Lolth's priestesses never gave those who had strayed from the web a second chance. Blasphemy was always cause for retribution-the only variation was whether the blasphemer's death was swift or lingering.

  And just who was the Lady Penitent? Was that another of the new titles Lolth had assumed since ending her Silence?

  As he stood, pondering the mystery, he heard footsteps approaching along the hallway. He whirled, and lightning crackled from his fingertips. He stopped short of casting it when he saw Alexa gaping at him. He still held his trueseeing gem and raised it to his eyes to confirm that this was, indeed, his apprentice, before he allowed the lightning to dissipate.

  "Master-you're wounded! Permit me to assist you." She rushed forward, lifting a gold chain from around her neck. Q'arlynd twisted away. "It's just a scratch," he said harshly, anger rising in him as he realized how close he-a master of his own College-had just come to getting killed. "No need for that."

  He waved the healing periapt away. The blood red gem was carved with a stylized spider: symbol of the faith that had created it. Q'arlynd didn't want anything of Lolth's touching him, ever again. "I'll use a healing potion, instead."

  Alexa bowed her head. "As you wish, Master Q'arlynd." Though straight-cut bangs shaded her eyes, Q'arlynd could see her gaze slide sideways, to take in his ruined study, as she replaced the periapt around her neck.

  She lingered, when she should have taken the hint and left.

  "What is it, apprentice?" Q'arlynd snapped.

  "The gorgondy wine has arrived."

  That, at least, was good news.

  Alexa waited, a gleam in her eyes. There was something else she wanted to tell him.

  "And?" Q'arlynd prompted.

  "Master Guldor's dead. Streea'Valsharess Zauviir killed him."

  Q'arlynd cracked a smile. More good news.

  "She slit his throat," Alexa continued. "They sent for a diviner, and he saw the whole thing. She did it with a ceremonial dagger. It was a sacrifice to Lolth."

  Q'arlynd's eyes narrowed as he remembered T'lar's dagger. "Did she offer him a chance to repent, first?"

  Alexa looked puzzled.

  "Never mind." Q'arlynd waved a hand-and winced. "Tell the slaves to fetch me some clean clothes. Something formal. I've got an important meeting to attend."

  *****

  Q'arlynd nodded to the three seated masters and set the decanter on the low table, next to the goblet that already stood there. The decanter's cut-glass contours sparkled, reflecting the glimmer of the blue-white faerie fire that danced across the ceiling of Master Seldszar's scrying room. The wine the decanter held was a rich ruby red. Even with the crystal stopper in place, Q'arlynd could smell its heady bouquet. The fragrance tugged at his mind, causing his thoughts to wander to…

  He shook his head and stepped back from the ankle-high table. "Gorgondy wine," he announced.

  Master Urlryn leaned forward on his cushion to examine the decanter. The golden goblet hanging against his chest swung forward slightly on its mithral chain. He caught it before it could strike the decanter. "I wonder…-If my goblet samples a little, might I be able to alter the vessel's enchantment so that it produces gorgondy wine upon command?"

  Master Seldszar interrupted the study of the spheres orbiting his head just long enough to give Urlryn a cautionary look. "There's only one draught. We'll need it. All of it."

  Urlryn settled back on his cushion, which flattened under his weight. A smile briefly played across his face, causing his jowls to twitch. "A pity. Gorgondy is worth its weight in mithral."

  As the two masters bantered, Q'arlynd circled to the only available cushion. He stepped cautiously to avoid bumping Urlryn's phantasmal guard dog with his foot. He knew where it sat: a sheen of drool marked the pale green chrysolite tiles on the floor. He seated himself across the table from the third master and placed his hands flat against his bent knees, where the others could easily see his fingers. Masters only trusted each other so far. Keeping one's hands visible and unmoving was a sign of good faith.

  The master on the opposite side of the table-Master Masoj-was as lean and wiry as Urlryn was corpulent. Masoj kept the front half of his scalp shaved. The bone white hair capping the back of his head hung in a single braid that touched the floor behind his cushion. Glittering dust covered his face, neck, and hands-and, presumably, the rest of his body under his clothes and boots-a protective abjuration capable of deflecting even the most powerful spells. Q'arlynd imagined it must feel gritty and uncomfortable, especially in the armpits and groin. But perhaps the Master of Abjuration had a spell that would negate that.

  Q'arlynd noted-without looking directly at Masoj's forehead-that it was smooth, without indentation. He wondered if Masoj was one of the two who'd been promised the chance to claim a kiira. Seldszar was playing his pieces close to his chest on that one. Even Q'arlynd didn't know which two masters, besides Seldszar, were descended from Miyeritari stock.

  Seldszar sat with his arms folded. Even though they hid the largest of the eyes embroidered on his piwafwi, the other eyes all seemed to stare vigilantly in every direction at once. Seldszar's own eyes-a strange, pale yellow-remained fixed on the crystal spheres orbiting his head. Clear eyelids swept across his eyes every few heartbeats.

  Though Seldszar never removed his gaze from his crystals, Q'arlynd felt the master's attention shift to him. "Master Q'arlynd," Seldszar said. "Thank you for joining us."

  Q'arlynd sat straighter. Master. He loved the sound of the word. He inclined his head in acknowledgement of Seldszar's formal greeting.

  Masoj shifted slightly, his bony knees creaking. "Let's get to the point, shall we? My vote wasn't enough. You require something else from me before I can claim my prize. What?"

  Ah, Q'arlynd thought. The Master of Abjuration had been promised a kiira. Whether Masoj's bloodline was pure enough for him to claim it, however, remained to be seen.

  "Yes, young Master Q'arlynd," Urlryn said. His voice dropped just enough on the title to imply scorn, without openly stating it. An act, for Masoj's benefit. Urlryn didn't want the Master of Abjuration to know how much hope he'd balanced on the knife's edge of this meeting. Urlryn's College had been greatly weakened by the augmented Faerzress- though not nearly as severely as the College of Divination. He nodded across the table at Seldszar. "Tell us what our combined centuries of study couldn't. How is the Faerzress to be unmade?"

  "It isn't," Q'arlynd answered bluntly. "Sshamath's Faerzress will remain long after we four are dust. What we will do, instead, is remove ourselves from it. Sever the link between drow and Faerzress."

  "All drow?" Urlryn asked-another scripted question.

  Q'arlynd shook his head. He repeated what his ancestors had told him. "Not all. Those who worship the Spider Queen will derive no benefit from our casting."

  He waited. This was the moment of revelation. Seldszar had been able to learn much about Masoj, but not his faith. If the Master of Abjuration worshiped Lolth, these careful negotiations would be for naught.

  " 'Our' casting?" Masoj asked, lifting an eyebrow.

  Q'arlynd touched the lorestone on his forehead. "I'll be present, though not actively participating. The ancestors of House Melarn will be on hand to provide advice, should
you three have any questions."

  We stand ready, they whispered.

  Masoj nodded, but his attention was on the other two masters. "What spell am I to provide?"

  Q'arlynd hid a sigh of relief. Masoj wasn't a spider kisser. "The casting is complex, requiring several participants," he explained. "The Colleges of Masters Seldszar and Urlryn will provide mages to cast the simpler abjurations: those that break enchantments and remove curses. I have also secured a promise of assistance from a priestess capable of evoking a miracle."

  Masoj's eyebrow rose a little farther. He didn't ask which deity the priestess honored-that was easy enough for him to guess, thanks to Guldor's accusations at the Conclave. Q'arlynd wondered how Masoj would react when he actually met Qilue.

  "What we need from you," Q'arlynd continued, "is your expertise in reversing magical imprisonments."

  "Where is the abjuration to be cast?" Masoj asked.

  "We don't know yet."

  Masoj's nostrils flared slightly.

  "But we will in a moment," Seldszar interjected. He nodded at the decanter. "A vision will reveal it presently. That's why I invited each of you here. One of us may recognize something the others do not."

  That wasn't quite true, Q'arlynd reflected. Masoj wasn't nearly as well versed in ancient lore as the other two masters, and he wouldn't be that useful. Letting him observe the vision first hand, however, would give the impression that the others had nothing to hide.

  Masoj folded his arms. "And if I refuse to participate?"

  Seldszar lifted his hands, fingers poised. "Then you'll never learn what it feels like to pluck at the strands of the Weave, and play it like a harp." He mimed playing an instrument, and lifted an eyebrow. The selu'kiira on his forehead turned visible.

  Q'arlynd, watching Masoj, resisted the urge to smile when the other wizard's pupils dilated. Seldszar was not only a master wizard, but a master manipulator. Masoj was reading between the lines, just as Seldszar had hoped. He obviously believed Seldszar had already dabbled in high magic. Judging by the way Masoj's eyes slid sideways to Urlryn, he must have been wondering if the Master of Conjuration and Summoning also had a kiira. Ironically, Masoj didn't once look at Q'arlynd-the only one of the four who actually had worked an arselu'tel'quess spell-not just once, but twice.

  "Well now." Masoj's lips settled in a forced smile. "That should give those web-shrouded bitches pause, should they start thinking about taking out another of the Conclave." One hand flipped upward, its fingers curled: the sign for a dead spider.

  Q'arlynd joined the other masters in polite laughter.

  "That's settled, then." Master Seldszar leaned forward and removed the decanter's stopper. He poured some of the contents into the goblet. He flicked a finger, and one of his crystals left its orbit. It drifted above the center of the table and hung there, spinning slowly in place. He drank down the wine and set the empty goblet back on the table. His pupils narrowed to pinpricks.

  "Where was the spell cast that turned the dark elves into drow?" he intoned, staring intently at the crystal.

  Urlryn, Masoj, and Q'arlynd leaned forward expectantly. In a moment, the gnomish "vision wine" would do its work. Seldszar would tear aside the hazy screen the city's Faerzress had imposed on his divinations and pinpoint the spot where the spell that would set the drow free must be cast.

  Slowly, an image filled the crystal. At first, it was too small to make out. But as Q'arlynd stared at the crystal and concentrated, the vision filled his mind, obliterating the room in which he sat. It was as if he were a bird, looking down upon a clearing in a forest. Tiny figures-surface elves, but too distant to make out their individual features-moved back and forth across the clearing, entering and exiting a round building whose domed roof reflected flashes of sunlight. The dome, he saw as the image drew closer, was constructed of thousands of leaf-shaped shards of pale green glass that had been fitted together like a puzzle. They were held together not by strips of lead, but by the interwoven branches of trees whose trunks buttressed the building's sides.

  An awed female voice whispered from inside the lorestone: One of his temples.

  Q'arlynd's heart quickened. He didn't need to ask which god the temple honored. The ancestor who had spoken had lived at a time when the Seldarine were still worshiped by the dark elves, and had paid homage to this one, in particular. Q'arlynd knew, without needing to ask, which god she was referring to: Corellon Larethian, First of the Seldarine.

  Creator and protector of the elves, she added in a hushed, reverent voice.

  The god who condemned us, another voice said harshly-a male voice, this time. Q'arlynd recognized it as belonging to one of his post-Descent ancestors.

  Q'arlynd had drifted away from the vision while speaking to the ancestors; he saw it anew as a gauzy curtain, overlaying the room. The other three masters stared at the crystal in silence, their eyes squinted against the World Above's harsh glare. All three wore slight frowns. They obviously didn't recognize the building.

  "It's a temple to Corellon Larethian," Q'arlynd told them. "In the forest of…"

  He waited for his ancestor to supply the name, but there was only silence.

  I never worshiped at that temple, the female said. I have no idea where it is situated.

  Nor do I, the male added.

  Like echoes rippling through a cavern, other voices followed: Neither do I. Nor do I. Nor I…

  Q'arlynd felt his cheeks grow warm. He turned slightly to Seldszar. He hated to pressure the more senior master. Yet he had no choice.

  Seldszar, however, didn't acknowledge Q'arlynd's cue. His eyes remained locked on the temple. "If it's Corellon's, that would explain the oak trees," he observed.

  Thirteen of them, the female voice said. One for each branch that supports the Creator.

  Three fewer, after the Fall, the male added. They withered, without Corellon's grace.

  At first, Q'arlynd couldn't understand what they were talking about. Then he remembered what he'd been taught during his short tenure at Eilistraee's shrine in the Misty Forest. Corellon Larethian had, indeed, once ruled thirteen lesser Seldarine. Two betrayed him-Lolth and her son Vhaeraun-and a third allowed herself to be banished from Arvandor, together with her mother and brother, so the drow might one day find redemption: Eilistraee.

  That number grew to eleven, during the time I trod the Underdark, the male voice said. The Black Archer's priests slew several of our House.

  Q'arlynd's ancestor supplied the name of the god who had found favor in Corellon's court: Shevarash the Black Archer, the once-mortal surface elf who had vowed never to rest, smile, or laugh, until the last drow was slain. A slaughter Corellon condoned-despite the fact that its victims included Eilistraee's drow faithful, even though they had rejected the wanton cruelty of their race.

  Q'arlynd snorted. So much for the surface elves' high ideals.

  He realized the other masters were staring at him. They too had withdrawn from the vision. The crystal that had provided the vision left its spot above the table and resumed its orbit around Seldszar's head.

  Q'arlynd cleared his throat. He repeated what his ancestors had just told him. "You'll have noted there were thirteen oak trees supporting the dome," he told the other masters. "A significant number. The vision showed us a temple that was built at a time when Lolth, Vhaeraun, and Eilistraee were still counted among the Seldarine."

  "But that was thirty millennia ago-before the first Crown War!" Urlryn blurted.

  "Indeed." Seldszar wet his dry lips. "The vision tasted of dust."

  "Surely the temple no longer stands," Urlryn continued.

  Masoj waved a bony hand. "As long as the abjuration is cast in the same spot, it won't matter if the temple's fallen."

  "You miss my point," Urlryn said. "Without knowing what the spot currently looks like, we can't teleport to it. Even the most experienced teleportation mage couldn't find it." He nodded in Q'arlynd's direction.

  Q'arlynd inclined his he
ad, proud that the other master was acknowledging his expertise in that field.

  Masoj stared pointedly at Seldszar, "Do you know where the temple stood? Does your lorestone?"

  Seldszar sat quietly a moment, communing with his kiira. "No," he said at last. He stared pointedly at Q'arlynd's kiira.

  "My ancestors…" Q'arlynd swallowed nervously. "They, ah, didn't recognize the forest."

  It would be somewhere in Aryvandaar, the female voice said. Or Keltormir.

  "But it's somewhere in the lands that were once home to ancient Aryvandaar, or Keltormir," he repeated aloud. A memory sprang into his mind. He stared, through the eyes of one of his long-dead ancestors, at a map spread on a table. Kingdoms were labeled, in a flowing hand: Aryvandaar, Illefarn, Miyeritar, Shantel Othreier, Keltormir, Thearnytaar, Eiellur, Syopiir, Orishaar, and Ilythiir. He knew where Miyeritar was-today that portion of the World Above was known as the High Moor. Aryvandaar, he saw, lay just north of it, while Keltormir was well to the south of that.

  Q'arlynd described what he'd just seen.

  "That's hardly very helpful," Masoj said.

  "At least it's better than 'somewhere on the surface,'" Urlryn countered. "That's the best most drow can do, when it comes to ancient geography."

  Q'arlynd stroked his chin, thinking hard, as Masoj and Urlryn traded glares. Something niggled at him. At last he worked out what it was. "There's something that's bothering me," he told them. "Sages date the Descent to just over eleven thousand years ago. Yet Master Seldszar's vision showed us a temple that had to have been built at least thirty thousand years ago. That's a difference of nineteen thousand years."

  Urlryn shrugged. "A mythal could have sustained the temple for that long."

  "That's indeed possible," Q'arlynd agreed. "But if the temple was still standing at the time of the Descent, why didn't my ancestors recognize it? Some of them are dark elves-one of them worshiped Corellon Larethian." He paused. "I think she didn't recognize the temple because it was gone before her time. Smothered by the forest, perhaps. But the site must have remained holy, at least until the time of the Descent. I think that's why the high mages whose magic invoked the Descent chose the spot: because no one, save them, knew where it was."