Ascendancy of the Last зкp-3

by Lisa Smedman

  As he drew near the Hall of Empty Arches he slipped and fell, wrenching an ankle. He lurched to his feet-and nearly screamed at the pain. He started a restorative prayer, but before he could complete it, an eyestalk poked around the corner. Ghaunadaur's avatar, closing in! A moment more, and it would catch him.

  Suddenly, Naxil had an inspiration. The ring: it was gold! Maybe it would activate one of the ancient portals. He staggered into the Hall of Empty Arches, between the first two partition walls. He slapped his hand against the first arch: nothing. Stupid-that was the portal he and Leliana had returned through, the one that led from the mine tunnels to here. And the next portal was even less of an option. It led, he'd heard, to an infinite maze that would forever trap anyone foolish enough to use it.

  Suddenly, he realized what he needed to do. He understood why the Masked Lady had helped him to escape being sacrificed in the Pit. She needed him-as bait. His frenzied run was the dance that would lead Ghaunadaur's avatar into a trap. Naxil would die, but his reward would be to dance at the side of his deity forevermore.

  "Masked Lady!" he cried. "Lend me strength!"

  He staggered to the arch and reached out to touch it. Yet even as his fingertips touched stone, a tentacle smacked into his back and coiled around his torso. Naxil grunted in pain as barbs drove into his chest and back. The avatar tried to draw him away from the arch, but the pull of the portal was stronger. It wrenched Naxil inside, tugging the tentacle in with him.

  For the space of a heartbeat, Naxil thought this desperate ploy hadn't worked. He dangled above a stone floor at the crossroads of half a dozen corridors, the taut tentacle preventing him from falling. Then the rest of Ghaunadaur's sluglike body slid through the portal. The avatar landed on Naxil, flattening him under a rippling wave of slimy flesh.

  Despite the crushing weight that drove the air from his lungs, Naxil felt an immense sense of pride. He'd done it: lured Ghaunadaur's avatar away from the Promenade.

  Masked Lady, he silently sang. I commend my soul to you. My dance is done.

  He died with his mask pressed against his face, hiding his smile, as the avatar slithered off into the endless maze.

  *****

  Q'arlynd glanced around. He'd teleported to the place Flinderspeld had described: a wide ledge, high on the side of a mountain. Glancing down at the forest spread out below like a distant green carpet, he could see why this place was so little known. A faint trail led up the lower slopes of the mountain. Q'arlynd spotted two figures walking along it, far below. The trail, however, stopped well below the bluff. From that point, it would take a riding lizard or a levitation spell to reach this spot.

  A breeze blew mist onto his skin, and he shivered. The sky was overcast, heavy with dark gray clouds. Thunder grumbled in the distance. He turned away from the view to observe the outermost of the "fountains." Just as Flinderspeld had described, a stream of water flowed up the mountainside, arcing over the lip of the bluff to land, splashing, in the pool.

  From there, the water arced up and out of the pool, into a fissure in the bluff. From within the V-shaped cleft, Q'arlynd could hear the patter of the stream of water falling on the second pool. From there, Flinderspeld had said, the stream arced to the third pool, and then to the fourth and final of the Fountains of Memory: the one that looked deepest into the past.

  Flinderspeld had originally wanted to accompany Q'arlynd here, but later decided against it. The temptation to use the pools himself, he'd explained, would be too strong. "Even the good memories will hurt," Flinderspeld had said.

  Q'arlynd understood. Like Flinderspeld, he came from a city that now lay in ruin. Looking back in time to a Ched Nasad that was whole, to a life irretrievably gone would be… painful.

  Yet for different reasons. Unlike Flinderspeld, Q'arlynd had no desire to return to the city of his childhood, even in reminiscence. Q'arlynd hadn't loved Ched Nasad; he'd loathed it. His memories of House Melarn's haughty, scheming matron mother-the female who'd birthed him-were brutal. Her capricious cruelty and callous disregard for her children had set the tone for Q'arlynd's siblings, a backstabbing brood of self-serving malcontents.

  Within the kiira, Q'arlynd's ancestors stirred. Was there no one in your family that you cared for?

  Q'arlynd laughed. "Tellik," he answered. And it was true. Q'arlynd had been close to his younger brother, for a time. As close as any two drow could be. Yet Q'arlynd had cast Tellik aside as quickly as a worn piwafwi, in order to avoid being killed alongside him after Matron Melarn learned that Tellik had taken up Vhaeraun's mask.

  What about the others? his ancestors asked. Was there no one who showed mercy, when you needed it?

  Q'arlynd started to answer no, then realized that wasn't quite right. "Halisstra," he answered at last. He touched the bump on his nose, remembering the time she'd secretly healed him. If not for that, he would have been dead decades ago.

  Despite that act of kindness, Q'arlynd had continued to regard his sister as little more than a means of achieving his own goals. Only in recent years had he learned that people were more than mere playing pieces to be shoved about by those who were stronger and more cunning. Now he wondered what had become of Halisstra.

  Four years ago, Cavatina had reported to Qilue that Halisstra had been left behind in the Demonweb Pits, after helping the Darksong Knight to slay Selvetarm. Had Halisstra died there? The questions T'lar had asked seemed to indicate that she had. T'lar had said Halisstra "angered" the Lady Penitent-Lolth, obviously-and had been killed for it. Strangely, the assassin didn't seem to understand why Lolth might have done this. T'lar obviously didn't know Halisstra's role in helping to slay the Spider Queen's champion.

  Now Q'arlynd found himself pondering exactly how Halisstra had died. Guilt nibbled at him. He'd done nothing to aid in the search for Halisstra, just left it up to Qilue and her priestesses. He glanced down at the bracer he still wore on his wrist-at the symbol of House Melarn on his House insignia. The dancing stick figure also stood for Eilistraee. Would Q'arlynd meet his sister once more, in Eilistraee's domain, when he finally died? Or would Eilistraee fault him for abandoning Halisstra, just as he'd abandoned Tellik?

  He shook his head to clear these distracting thoughts. He had important business here: locating Corellon's ancient temple. This was no time to be brooding about the past. Yet he might never have another chance to visit the Fountains of Memory. He glanced again at the first pool. Certainly one little peek to satisfy his curiosity wouldn't hurt. It might even be good practice. It would also help lay to rest the niggling doubt that Flinderspeld might have tricked him, and sent him to the wrong spot, despite all that had passed between them.

  Mistrust was a habit that was hard to shake.

  Q'arlynd kneeled beside the pool, his knees sinking into the moss that cushioned the stone. He did as Flinderspeld had instructed, picking one of the tiny blue flowers that speckled the ground and tossing it into the pool. "Show me," he said, concentrating on the rippling waters. "Show me how Halisstra was killed by L-" He paused, reconsidering. With divinations, it was best to get the language precisely right. What was the title T'lar had used? Ah yes. "Show me how Halisstra was killed by the Lady Penitent."

  Though he could still hear the fountain tinkling, the surface of the pool stilled and became as flat as glass. An image appeared on its mirrorlike surface: Halisstra, dressed in armor, kneeling with two other females before a throne on which sat a massive black widow spider. Seven identical spiders crouched behind the throne, watching. The room's crazily slanting walls and floor were constructed of iron. Cobwebs filled the gloomy corners.

  "Lolth's iron fortress," Q'arlynd whispered, his voice tight.

  He recognized the female to Halisstra's left at once: the pout-lipped, scheming Danifae, battle-captive to Halisstra. The female on the other side of Halisstra also looked familiar. At first, Q'arlynd couldn't place her. Then he remembered who she was: Quenthel Baenre, the high priestess from Menzoberranzan. The presence of Danifae an
d Quenthel in the vision could mean just one thing: the pool was showing Q'arlynd something that had happened seven years ago, during Lolth's Silence.

  "That's too early," he said aloud. He reached for another flower, intending to try again, but his hand halted as he saw what happened next. In the vision, Lolth lunged from her throne to bite Danifae. The battle-captive screamed as her head and shoulders disappeared into Lolth's mouth. Danifae's legs spasmed, then stilled as the goddess consumed her.

  For a brief moment, no one moved. Then the other seven spiders crept forward menacingly. Q'arlynd expected them to attack Quenthel or Halisstra, but instead they surrounded the spider that had eaten Danifae. They grasped it-and began to tear the body apart. Yochlols hurried into view and hastened the process, ripping chunks from the spider's quivering body. All the while, Halisstra and Quenthel remained kneeling. Halisstra, Q'arlynd saw, had her eyes tightly shut. Her lips moved. Q'arlynd wondered if she were whispering Eilistraee's name. His sister held a sword in her hand-a straight-bladed sword. It should have been the Crescent Blade, according to what Leliana had told him. Halisstra, she'd said, had taken the Crescent Blade into the Demonweb Pits to kill Lolth, during the Silence.

  Was that indeed the Crescent Blade, disguised by a glamor? If so, why hadn't Halisstra used it, instead of kneeling meekly before Lolth's throne? Had she lost her nerve, once in the goddess's presence? That was easy to understand. Even viewing the Spider Queen at a distance-and removed in time-sent a hollow chill through Q'arlynd.

  The spiders and yochlols finished their grim task and stepped back. Within the remains of the spider they'd torn to pieces, a form stirred. Then it rose, revealing itself to be a spider with Danifae's face.

  Was this the Lady Penitent? Was it Lolth, reborn?

  The Danifae-headed spider turned to Quenthel and spoke to her, but the patter of the fountain obscured the words. Quenthel's face twisted with fury, but she bowed her head. Then she stood, turned, and departed.

  That left only Halisstra. She looked up at the Danifae-headed spider, said something, and tossed her sword to one side. She threw herself face-first on the floor. The Danifae-headed spider leaned over her, smiled, and sank her teeth into Halisstra's neck.

  "No!" Q'arlynd cried, despite himself. He watched, fists balled, as the seven lesser spiders lurched forward and sank their fangs into his sister. When each had left a bloody puncture, the Danifae-headed spider lifted Halisstra's limp body and twirled it round, spinning her into a cocoon. Q'arlynd, looking on, told himself that this couldn't be Halisstra's death he was watching. His sister had lived beyond the events he was viewing. She'd led Cavatina into the Demonweb Pits, three years after these events. She'd survived this.

  Q'arlynd wondered if he would have been strong enough to do the same.

  The Danifae-headed spider dropped the cocoon to the floor. For several long moments, nothing happened. Then something poked at the cocoon from within, and tore it open. Q'arlynd leaned forward, cheering his sister on as she defiantly tore at the sticky silken threads. "That's it, Halisstra," he urged. "Tear free. You can-"

  The words died in a croak as he saw what emerged from the tattered remnants of the cocoon. It wasn't Halisstra in there, but a demonlike monster. The creature was twice the size Halisstra had been, with a hideously deformed face, spider jaws emerging from bulges on its cheeks, and eight spindly spider legs protruding from its chest.

  Q'arlynd reeled back from the pool in alarm as the creature turned in his direction. He caught only a momentary glance of its face, but it was enough. The demon-thing that had emerged from the cocoon was indeed Halisstra, transformed.

  "No," he whispered. Yet there was no denying it. The creature he saw in the pool was the "monster" he'd seen emerging from the Moondeep Sea, during the expedition to the Acropolis of the death goddess. That had been only two years ago-after his sister had helped Cavatina kill Selvetarm. Had the Darksong Knight seen what Halisstra had become? Why hadn't she told Q'arlynd this?

  He shook his head. T'lar had gotten it wrong. Halisstra hadn't been killed by the Lady Penitent. She'd been transformed into something… demonic.

  "Eilistraee," he whispered in a choked voice. "How could you have let this happen to one of your faithful?"

  He backed away, unwilling to see more. He felt rough stone against his back and realized he was inside the cleft in the rock. A spray of water arced past his shoulder, into the second of the Fountains of Memory. Mist from the spray struck his face, and trickled down his cheeks like tears.

  He wiped them away. His sister was lost, beyond redemption. There was nothing he could do for her now. He needed to focus on the future, not the past.

  He turned away from the terrible vision, and entered the cleft in the rock.

  *****

  T'lar swung gracefully up onto the ledge. She was exhausted from her long climb. Her arms and legs shook, but she didn't let that blunt her caution. She lifted the dark-lensed glasses that protected her eyes from the World Above's harsh light, and looked cautiously around. Half a cycle had passed since she'd spotted her target on this ledge-the sun had set, and the moon had risen since then-but Q'arlynd might still be here. She couldn't rely on invisibility alone to hide her. Not from a wizard.

  Taking care not to give her presence away by knocking a loose stone, she moved to one side of the cleft in the bluff. She slid her spider-pommeled dagger out of its sheath. She wouldn't make the mistake of using the spike-spiders on Q'arlynd, this time; he was obviously immune to their poison. The same couldn't be said, however, of the svirfneblin wine merchant she'd left dead on the trail below.

  She hummed the bae'qeshel tune that would ensure her invisibility was sustained, and eased into the cleft in the rock. Moments later, she cursed as she realized her target was no longer there. She'd been so close to catching him! Had he teleported away while she was climbing the bluff?

  Thunder grumbled overhead. Rain pattered down. The drops blended with the sweat on T'lar's forehead and shaved scalp, and trickled down her body. She tasted salt on her lips. She squatted beside the innermost of the pools within the cleft. The stream that fed it was obviously magical; water didn't flow up a cliff and arc from one pool to the next of its own accord. She eyed it thirstily. Was the water's magic harmful or beneficial-or simply decorative? Would drinking from the pool kill her, or simply quench her thirst?

  The innermost pool was about three paces wide and no more than a couple of handspans deep. She could easily make out the bottom of it. There didn't seem to be any fissures or gaps in the stone floor, yet the water flowed into the pool, but didn't go anywhere. It simply… disappeared.

  Just a moment. Was that a flash of something, between the pattering raindrops? As she leaned closer, a palm-sized portion of the pool stilled. It was like looking through a tiny window: she caught a glimpse of a tree branch, then a mosaic made of oddly shaped pieces of green glass, then the back of a head with white hair and pointed ears. As the figure turned, T'lar recognized his face. Q'arlynd.

  She smiled. So that was what this place was: a portal.

  She curled her fingers into a spider and kissed them. "Lolth be praised," she said. The hunt hadn't ended; it had just changed direction.

  She stepped into the pool and was teleported away.

  CHAPTER 12

  Laeral stared into her scrying mirror, her hands on either side of the gilded frame. "Where is Cavatina?" she asked anxiously. "Show me!"

  She could see the Darksong Knight, but only dimly. Cavatina's body wavered within the mirror, indistinct and ghostly. Her hair was wild, her expression anguished. She wore armor, but carried no weapon, while the tunic beneath her chain mail was stained and torn. Blood from a scalp wound had dried on her forehead. She moved, apparently aimlessly, through an utterly featureless, solid-gray landscape.

  Laeral's hands tightened on the frame. Was Cavatina dead? A spirit wandering the Fugue Plain? If so, why hadn't her goddess claimed her?

  The landscape behind Cavatina s
uddenly shifted, as if she'd just stepped out of shadow into light. She walked along a street now, her legs embedded in solid stone from the knee down. The corner of a building loomed ahead of her. She passed through it and continued on. All around her, the indistinct blurs of people hurried through the street, as none noticed her. A wall-mounted brazier, filled with glowing worms, threw shadows but cast no light on Cavatina. Its light passed, unimpeded, through the Darksong Knight.

  "She's ethereal," Laeral breathed. "But… Where?"

  Cavatina startled, and looked wildly around. She glanced up at something that was outside the mirror's field of view. She "walked" upward, her body now parallel with the street below, to a metal cage that hung by a chain from a stout beam that spanned the street. A minotaur was inside the cage, gripping the iron bars. His face twisted with rage, and he repeatedly butted the inside of the cage with his massive horns.

  Laeral recognized the landmark at once. Cavatina was in Skullport!

  A short time later, Laeral stood outside the Deepfires Inn, wearing the disguise she habitually assumed while visiting Skullport: a plain, hooded cloak interwoven with protective dweomers and keep-watch magic. She'd teleported to Waterdeep, passed through the portal linking her former home with a cavern near Skullport, and hurried as quickly as she could through the Underdark city's streets.

  She worried that she wouldn't make it in time-that Cavatina would already be gone. As she approached the Deepfires Inn, she pulled a pinch of grave dust from a pocket, tossed it ahead of her, and spoke a divination. It revealed a man in shabby clothes, lurking outside the inn's door. He started as he noticed Laeral looking at him, then slunk away through the foul-smelling muck that mired the street. Laeral swept her hand up, directing her spell at the minotaur's cage-and sighed in relief as Cavatina became visible. The Darksong Knight "stood" in mid-air beside the cage, peering into it intently and shouting at the minotaur, who shouted back at her. The words they hurled at each other were inaudible, as the spell revealed things to the eyes only.