Ascendancy of the Last зкp-3

by Lisa Smedman

  "Not only that. I'll let you remember it afterward."

  Q'arlynd's eyebrows rose.

  Flinderspeld smiled. "Your ancestors have promised me they'll erase your memory of the pools, if you try to tell anyone where they are. I'm not sure if I believe them, but I'm willing to gamble that you'll keep your mouth shut, once the spell you hope to cast at the ruined temple is complete."

  "My ancestors told you… what I'm planning?"

  Flinderspeld's smile widened to a grin. "You'll have to trust me to keep quiet about that."

  Q'arlynd nodded to himself. Flinderspeld was better at striking a bargain than he'd thought. No wonder he was prospering. "Well played."

  "For anyone else, the answer would have been no. But you weren't all that bad, as drow go. You did set me free, regardless of what your motive was at the time. I owe you one, for that."

  Q'arlynd smiled-a genuine smile of friendship, not the false one he'd practiced in the mirror before coming here. He clasped Flinderspeld's arms and said a word he never thought he'd utter, except in jest. "Friends?"

  Flinderspeld returned the arm clasp and spoke in Low Drow. "Allies."

  Q'arlynd's eyebrows lifted.

  Flinderspeld burst into laugher. "Friends."

  *****

  T'lar rolled a spike-spider back and forth between her palms, savoring the harsh pricks as its needles drove into her flesh. The metal throwing ball wasn't loaded, and its needles held no poison. She did it for the sensation alone. Each jab, each welling of blood was a penance for letting her target slip away. She'd learned that he'd departed for the World Above, but hadn't been able to find out where, or why.

  In another moment, however, that little problem would be rectified.

  She stood, together with the new high priestess, next to a black iron barrel hoop that hung from a chain by the ceiling. Inside the hoop, a spider descended on a thread of silk. The high priestess coaxed it in the direction she wanted with a morsel of raw meat, her free hand slowly guiding the hoop. The metal grated softly against the chain as it turned. She caught the spider and deftly moved it to the side, adhering the strand to the hoop. The final strand in place, she transferred the spider to her shoulder, and inspected its handiwork. Within the hoop was a five-pointed star, made entirely from web.

  "We can begin."

  T'lar nodded. She slipped the spike-spider into her belt pouch and wiped her bloody palms against the thighs of her skin-tight tunic. "Summon him."

  The high priestess flicked the iron hoop, setting it spinning. Then she picked up a candle. She held it a moment near her face and invoked Lolth's name. As she did so, the flickering light illuminated her elaborately coiffed hair, obsidian blood-drop earrings, and silver crown. Only a short time ago, that crown had graced the head of Laele Zauviir, but the Spider Queen's temple in Sshamath had a new high priestess, now. Streea'Valsharess Zolond was much stronger than Zauviir had been-ready to grasp power in her own two hands, instead of licking up the crumbs the Conclave offered.

  Streea'Valsharess Zolond touched the candle to the web inside the hoop. The strands of spider silk ignited. Sustained by magic, they continued to burn. "Lords of the Abyss, hear my command," she intoned. "In Lolth's name, send forth the demon Glizn."

  A puff of yellow smoke erupted out of the center of the spinning hoop, filling the chamber with an acrid stench. Smoke drifted toward the spider carvings adorning the ceiling. A stationary figure appeared within the hoop, held by the burning web while the hoop spun around it: a tiny demon, barely twice the length of T'lar's hand, with batlike wings. It looked like a quasit, except that its skin was black and dry, instead of oily green. Instead of the usual horns, it had stiff white tufts of hair growing from its scalp. The demon's red eyes were too large for its face, and their expression was one T'lar was used to seeing on the faces of her targets. Fear. Deep inside those eyes, someone screamed.

  The high priestess laughed. "What lovely irony! Whatever happened, quasit, to flip things inside out?"

  T'lar glanced sideways at the high priestess.

  Streea'Valsharess Zolond gestured at the demon, and chuckled. "Until recently, one of Q'arlynd Melarn's apprentices wore this demon."

  "And now the quasit wears him?"

  "So it would seem." She chuckled. "I'd been wondering why we hadn't heard from Glizn. I assumed it was because 'Piri' had been found out by his master, and slunk away."

  The demon tugged, but failed to free its wings from the burning web. It shifted into centipede form, then into a squat toad, but still wasn't able to escape. At last it let out a thin squeak. "Why have you summoned me?"

  "Where is Q'arlynd Melarn?" the high priestess said.

  "I don't know!" the quasit squeaked. Fear oozed from it like a bad smell. "I haven't seen him since my lord called me back to the Abyss. So you might as well unbind me, and send me back, since I can't help you to-"

  The demon's voice suddenly deepened. Words jerked from the tiny mouth. "I… can… find…"

  The quasit snapped its jaw shut, biting its own tongue.

  The high priestess studied the bound demon, her head cocked to one side. "Piri? Was that you who answered just now?"

  The demon's face contorted from one emotion to the next: fear, anger, determination. A hiss escaped its lips. It might have been a yes.

  "How can you find him?" T'lar demanded. "Tell me."

  The demon's jaws creaked open. Shut. Open again. "Scry-" the deeper voice said. Then the mouth snapped shut. One hand jerked. A finger twitched.

  The high priestess pointed at a tiny copper band on the quasit's finger. "How will you scry him? With that ring?"

  The quasit's head jerked sharply: a nod.

  The high priestess reached for it.

  "No! Only… I… can…"

  The high priestess scoffed. Her fingers closed around the ring.

  T'lar caught her arm. "Leave it."

  The high priestess glared at her.

  T'lar pointed out the obvious. "If it were possible for either of us to use the ring, the apprentice wouldn't have told us about it." She stepped closer and pinched the demon's tiny chin. The quasit tried to bite her, but she held it fast. "Stop that!" she ordered. "Let Piri speak."

  The demon winced.

  T'lar curled her lip. Quasits were such pitiful excuses for demons. She drew her dagger-the one with the spider pommel that she'd taken as a trophy of Nafay's kill-and held it where the demon could see it. "What would you like in return for telling us, Piri? Release?"

  Tears welled in the overlarge red eyes.

  "Then fight the demon. Scry your master. Tell me where he is. If I believe what you tell me, I'll skin you free and send your soul to Lolth."

  The demon's expression suddenly changed. The quasit spoke in its own shrill-pitched voice. "Oh no!" it squeaked. "That will hurt!"

  The priestess laughed. "Only for a moment, demon. And think on this: if T'lar uses that pretty little dagger of hers properly, being parted from your skin will only temporarily kill you. As long as you die here, you'll re-manifest in the Abyss." She gestured at his body. "Free of that annoying wizard, I might add."

  The quasit met the high priestess's eyes briefly, then let out a heavy, sulfurous sigh. "Fine," it said petulantly. "I'll let him do it." Its eyes slid sideways to T'lar. "But she has to swear by the Spider Queen, that she'll send me back clean. No skin."

  T'lar smiled. "I swear it, by Lolth's dark webs."

  The demon nodded. It tightened its ring hand into a fist, closed its eyes, and puckered its forehead into a frown of concentration.

  The two drow waited. The silence stretched-long enough for the spider on the high priestess's shoulders to scuttle to the ground and spin a trap-web in one corner of the room. At last the quasit's eyes fluttered open. A high-pitched, tittering laugh burst from its lips.

  "He saw him, he saw him, he saw him!" the quasit squeaked. "He was talking to a svirfneblin."

  T'lar leaned closer. "Where was he?"

&nb
sp; The quasit giggled. "Don't know."

  Anger hissed from T'lar's lips.

  "But he heard where he's going! The 'Fountains of Memory' he said."

  T'lar glanced at the high priestess. Streea'Valsharess Zolond shrugged. It seemed she hadn't heard of the place either.

  The quasit's head twisted so it could see T'lar. "You have what you wanted. Skin the wizard off me. Send me back to the Abyss."

  "Not yet."

  "But you swore-"

  "Not until Q'arlynd Melarn is dead. Until then, you're staying right where you are."

  "Noooo!" the quasit howled.

  The hoop had almost slowed to a stop. T'lar reached out and gave it a nudge that sent it spinning again. "Yes."

  *****

  Halisstra strode through the jungle, following the priestess. She'd slain the first priestess who had disturbed the penance ritual-the one who'd come bleating about the strange song the night twist tree was singing. The second priestess had been smarter. She'd taken the time to decipher the song, and reported it to her superior, rather than interrupting Halisstra. The superior, in turn, had waited until the ritual was over. Her eyes had widened in startled alarm when Halisstra sprang off the throne and caught her by the throat.

  "Wendonai?" Halisstra shouted. "Here?"

  Unfortunately, the priestess couldn't answer. Halisstra had crushed her throat. The other faithful had balked at that, but a soothing song had drawn them back into Halisstra's web, once more eager and grateful to serve her.

  The priestess who had deciphered the song pointed ahead through the jungle at a black, leafless tree growing out of the remains of a tumbled building. A mournful sound poured out of it, the sound of weeping and pleading. The sound of weakness.

  "Closer," Halisstra ordered.

  The priestess didn't hesitate. Despite the danger the tree's song posed, she strode forward. After three steps, she crumpled to her knees, screaming. A moment later, the night twist's magical attack washed over Halisstra. A phantasm loomed in her mind: the image of Lolth in hybrid form, a spider with Danifae's face. You will never escape me, Lolth leered. You are not a demigod, but a mortal-and you are mine. The illusionary Lolth loomed over Halisstra, her bloated abdomen pulsing. Web oozed from her spinnerets. I will bind and break you, just as I did before. Your weakness will betray y-

  Halisstra sang out a loud, clear note that shattered the illusion like glass. A second song stilled the priestess's screams. The smaller female scurried to Halisstra's side, trembling, as Halisstra listened to the night twist's song.

  The priestess had been correct. The tree was singing Wendonai's name.

  Halisstra looked around. Moonlight, as bright as a hundred torches, illuminated the jungle. Just beyond the night twist was a clearing littered with tumbled masonry. A glint caught Halisstra's eye-a faint light, like moonlight gleaming on metal. She walked toward it. Vines, animated by the night twist's mournful song, twined around her legs, but Halisstra was too strong for them. She continued to the clearing, tearing them like fragile spider webs.

  The clearing looked empty. Yet the glint beckoned. Halisstra sang a melody that would reveal the invisible: nothing happened. She edged closer to the glint, alert for any sign of the demon. Wendonai could kill with the flick of a finger. Her memories of him crushing the life from her were still vivid. That time, Lolth's magic had restored her. But Halisstra was no longer the Spider Queen's pet plaything. If Wendonai broke her body a second time, Halisstra might die. Her soul would flutter back to Lolth, and the torment would begin anew.

  No, she told herself sternly. That wouldn't happen. She was a demigod now. A mortal who had been raised to godhood by the worship of her faithful. Just like Sheverash, she'd been tempered by pain and suffering, and her soul had been hammered to the hardness of steel. She'd been reborn. She was free of Lolth, and the Spider Queen could no longer claim her.

  Even so, she moved cautiously.

  The glint hovered above a block of weathered stone. A faint odor wafted from it: the smell of diseased flesh. As Halisstra leaned closer, one of the spider legs protruding from her chest brushed against something. There was an invisible creature here!

  She sprang back from the block of stone, her spider legs drumming nervously against her chest. Then she remembered her priestess was watching. She moved forward again, and patted the invisible creature with her hands. It was more or less drow-shaped, and unmoving-frozen in a crouch and covered in a gritty dust that transferred onto Halisstra's hands and sparkled in the moonlight. She patted the air above the invisible creature, where the gleam was, and hissed as something sharp sliced her hand. A more careful probing revealed a cool, flat surface: a curved sword blade, grooved with an inscription. Halfway down the blade, she felt a seam where the blade had been repaired.

  Halisstra's lips parted in silent surprise. No! It couldn't be!

  "Show me," she hissed. "I command it!"

  She felt something twist, deep within her mind. By force of will, she clawed away the magical blinders that covered her eyes. The illusion of emptiness fell away, and the invisible creature was revealed. That was the Crescent Blade she'd felt-in the hands of a demon, no less!

  Or… was it a demon?

  The female had black skin and white hair long enough to reach the block of stone she squatted on. Her face, like Halisstra's, looked vaguely drow. Her body was as loathsome as Halisstra's own: hunchbacked, spotted with fungus-sized boils, and with grossly elongated limbs. The fingers gripping the Crescent Blade ended in clawlike nails, and her eyes were solid white. She was unmoving, utterly unresponsive to Halisstra's touch; When Halisstra tried scoring her flesh with a claw, nothing happened. She didn't flinch, didn't blink. Just kept staring at something silver that lay on the stone in front of her.

  When she realized what it was, Halisstra gasped aloud. One of Eilistraee's holy symbols! The other half of the holy symbol lay on the ground, a pace or two away. The blade had snapped in two-in exactly the same spot as the Crescent Blade had broken, all those years ago, when Halisstra had repudiated Eilistraee.

  A shiver coursed through her. She stared at the demonlike female. Was this another priestess who had renounced her faith? Another of those who had tried to return to Lolth's sticky embrace, only to be forced into an agonizing penance?

  If so, what was she doing here, so close to Halisstra's temple? What did it mean? Had Lolth placed this fallen priestess here? Had Wendonai?

  Halisstra snarled. There was no room in her temple for a second Lady Penitent. Halisstra wasn't going to share her fawning faithful with anyone. She wrapped her spider legs around the demon-drow and tried to yank her from the block of stone, but the female didn't budge. It was as if her feet were glued in place. No matter. Halisstra leaned in close and bit. Instead of sinking into yielding flesh, however, her fangs scritched away. The surface of the demon-drow's neck was hard and as slippery as ice. No matter how hard Halisstra bit down, she couldn't sink her teeth into that flesh. She sang a dispelling and tried again, but the ensorcelment proved too strong to break.

  She sat back on her haunches, thinking. The female had to be under some sort of magical protection.

  Lolth's?

  Behind Halisstra, the night twist continued its mournful song. Wendonai, it wailed. A hot, salty wind coursed through its branches, twisting them against one another. Black bark creaked, and the song shifted. It wasn't the balor's name the night twist was singing, but something else entirely: a message, stabbing at Halisstra's heart.

  We… don't… die…

  "Yes, we do," Halisstra snarled. She understood, now, why the priestess had come here: to kill her. She must be a demon hunter, a Darksong Knight like Cavatina. Maybe this was Cavatina. Halisstra's laugh skittered at the edge of sanity. "You're not going to use the Crescent Blade on me!" She grabbed the female's hands and tried to unbend her fingers. She would have the Crescent Blade-she must! Yet the fingers didn't move. Nor could they be clawed away; Halisstra's nails skidded harmlessly off them
. She placed a foot on the female's wrists, grabbed the sword's crossguard, and tried to lever the Crescent Blade out of the fallen priestess's hands. She strained until her muscles ached and sweat ran down her temples.

  "Let… go… of… it!"

  The priestess refused.

  "Abyss take you!" Halisstra snarled as she let go.

  A movement in the jungle caught her eye. She whirled, the spider jaws in her cheeks gnashing. The priestess who'd led her here! Halisstra had forgotten her. The spying, sneaking wretch had seen it all: Halisstra's humiliation, her anger… her fear.

  Halisstra leaped to the spot where the priestess crouched, swept her up, and spun her around. Webs flew from Halisstra's hands.

  The priestess didn't resist. "Queen of Spiders, I commend unto you my soul," she droned. "May I prove as worthy in death as I did in life."

  "Have you learned nothing?" Halisstra screamed, outraged. "It isn't Lolth you serve, but the Lady Penitent!"

  The priestess's voice grew muffled under the layers of web. "May I sing Lolth's praises through all eternity. May I dance upon her webs like a spider. May my soul return to her-"

  "Stop it!" Halisstra shrieked. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" She flipped the web-bound priestess and caught her by the feet. Then she swung her through the air like a club. Flesh met steel with a dull thwack. The priestess's head sailed away, parted from her body by the Crescent Blade.

  There. That shut her up.

  Halisstra hurled the body into the jungle. The night twist's vines eagerly caught it and drew it to the trunk. Halisstra sneered. Plenty more, where that priestess came from. "Return to Lolth," she taunted. "If you still can."

  She turned back to the priestess who held the Crescent Blade-a little too quickly, still blinded by her rage. The female's body rocked slightly, then toppled to one side.

  Halisstra started. She leaped on the fallen priestess and grabbed the Crescent Blade. But tug as she might, the priestess still clung to it.