by Lisa Smedman
Passersby craned their heads to look up at the spectacle. One nudged another with an elbow. Laeral picked out the words "Eilistraee" and "priestess" in his whispered comment. Ignoring them, Laeral spoke an incantation and made a twisting gesture. Cavatina's body visibly solidified, and her shouts became audible as she was wrenched, fully, into the material world. As she tumbled,. Laeral snapped out a word and pointed. Cavatina jerked to a halt a pace above the ground, and slowly drifted downward.
She landed, and began writhing violently. Her fists pounded the paving stones, and her body twisted this way and that, as if she were dodging blows from an unseen opponent. "The symbol of slime!" she shouted. "Sacrifice the dance to make the eye stop! It's looking at you! We can't allow it to come or it's lost the…"
Laeral started. Cavatina was raving like a madwoman.
Behind her, she heard a chuckle and a derisive comment. "… what they deserved. We won't have to worry about the Promenade no more. It's-"
She whirled and glared at the speaker: a drow who, judging by the heavy manacles he carried in one hand, was a slaver. "What did you just say? What's happened to the Promenade?"
The drow laughed. "Ask your friend." He mocked her with a bow and strode away.
Laeral was tempted to send a bolt from her wand sizzling through him, but there were more urgent matters to deal with. She rushed to Cavatina's side and tried to help the Darksong Knight to her feet, but Cavatina screamed and jerked away. Laeral pulled a pouch from her pocket, tipped out the preserved snake's tongue it held, and clenched it in her fist. She touched her hand to her lips. "I can help you," she told the Darksong Knight in a soothing voice. "Please follow me."
Calmed by magic, Cavatina followed Laeral through Skullport's garbage-strewn streets. She mumbled as she walked. The odd word was intelligible-"slime" and "gate" and "battle"-but Laeral could make no sense of what Cavatina was muttering. It was clear, however, that some calamity had overtaken the Promenade. When Cavatina suddenly shouted the name "Ghaunadaur!" Laeral knew what had happened: another attack by the Ancient One's fanatics. Of all the times Qilue might have chosen to draw Wendonai's taint into herself, this must surely be the worst.
Yet another indication that the time hadn't been of Qilue's choosing.
Laeral's destination was just ahead: the Sisters Three Waxworks. Kaitlyn and her sisters were friends of Laeral's, devotees of Chauntea who posed as simple candle makers. They kept a stock of healing potions on hand, and were adept at restorative spells. Whatever madness afflicted Cavatina, they'd be able to cure it. Laeral opened the door of the shop and coaxed the Darksong Knight inside. "Enter," she said, touching the fist that held the snake tongue to her lips as she spoke. "You'll find peace, here."
Cavatina stumbled into the candlelit shop. Laeral closed the door on the gaggle of Skullport residents who'd tagged along after them, mocking the Darksong Knight by imitating her frenzied, uncoordinated motions. "Kaitlyn," Laeral said to the woman behind the counter as she bolted the door shut. "My friend needs your help. She-"
Cavatina screamed and flattened herself against a wall, knocking over a display of scented candles. An instant later, her terror switched to rage. She hurled herself at a candle that guttered on the counter. "The ooze!" she screamed. Her fists pounded into the soft purple candle, splattering molten wax across the counter. "We have to stop the temple before the glow fills the river with the slime of the death and staunch the flow of blood!"
Kaitlyn had been arranging a display of candles on a shelf when Laeral and Cavatina entered. The brown-haired woman's mouth dropped open in surprise as Cavatina attacked her merchandise, but she sprang quickly into action. She whirled to grab a corked vial from a shelf behind her. "Hold spell!" she shouted. "While her mouth is open, if possible."
Laeral barked an enchantment that rendered Cavatina rigid, her mouth gaping in mid-shout. When the Darksong Knight toppled, Laeral caught her and eased her statue-stiff body to the ground. Kaitlyn uncorked the vial and poured the potion into Cavatina's mouth. "Quickly now," she said. "Dispel the hold, or she'll choke."
Laeral did. She took a quick pace back as Cavatina's body slackened, but the expected outburst didn't come. Instead of raving and nailing, Cavatina held her head in her hands. "I failed," she said in an anguished voice. "The Promenade is lost."
Laeral kneeled beside Cavatina and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What's happened? Tell me."
As Cavatina spoke, Laeral's heart sank. The Promenade, fallen to Ghaunadaur's fanatics? His avatar, released from the Pit? "Oh, Qilue," she said softly. "It's worse even than you thought, sister."
Cavatina wrenched around to stare at Laeral. "Where is she? Where's Qilue?"
"In trouble," Laeral said. "She needs your help." As concisely as she could, she told the Darksong Knight what Qilue had done to herself. Cavatina's face paled at the news, but as she continued listening, she climbed to her feet and took a deep breath.
"We're going to need Qilue to rally the priestesses and retake the Promenade," Cavatina said, her voice firmer now. She reached for her scabbard, realized it was empty, and looked around the shop. "Where am I? Is there a sword to be had?"
Laeral glanced at Kaitlyn. The shopkeeper started to shake her head, then shrugged. "There's my sword of mercy. Hardly a suitable weapon for slaying a demon. It's ensorcelled so that it will not kill."
Cavatina held out a hand. "I'll take it."
Laeral nodded to herself. With Qilue's body housing the demon, they needed something that could subdue, rather than kill. She pulled a gem from her belt pouch. "This should pay for the sword," she told Kaitlyn. She pressed the gem into the shopkeeper's hands.
Kaitlyn glanced down at it. "Too much," she said. Then she smiled. "But I'll keep it on deposit. Return the sword to me when you're done."
She pulled the weapon from behind the counter. To Laeral's surprise, the sword was made of wood. Judging by the way Cavatina hefted it, however, the weapon seemed to have the weight of a normal sword. Its magic shaped it exactly to the Darksong Knight's scabbard as she sheathed it.
Laeral caught Kaitlyn's eye. "Not a word of what you just heard. To anyone."
Kaitlyn touched one of the clumps of fragrant herbs that hung from the rafters. "I swear it, by the Mother."
Laeral glanced outside, through a slit in the window shutter. The crowd that had followed them to the shop lingered, talking with animated gestures. "We'll use the other exit, if you don't mind, Kaitlyn."
The shopkeeper moved aside the curtain that separated the front and rear of her shop. "This way."
She led them down a hidden staircase, through a short tunnel, and up a ladder that led to the back room of a nearby shop. Laeral and Cavatina exited, and hurried through the streets to the portal that would return them to Waterdeep. On the way, they conferred in hushed voices about what was to be done.
The first thing to do, they agreed, would be to force Wendonai back into the Crescent Blade. That would require an exorcism. "It will have to be a powerful one," Cavatina said. "We'll need as many priestesses as we can gather. We'll remove Qilue to hallowed ground-to the Dancing Dell in the Ardeep Forest. We'll channel the power of the Ladystone."
Laeral nodded. "But what of the binding? How can we remove Qilue from the throne?"
"Describe again what you saw in the vision."
Laeral did.
Cavatina shook her head. "I don't think Wendonai was bound. If he had been, he wouldn't have been able to break the octogram with his hoof."
"Then why did the demon submit?"
"Because Lolth ordered him to. She hoped he'd seed my ancestors with his taint. The coronal didn't summon him. Lolth sent him."
"But that would mean…" Laeral felt the blood drain from her cheeks.
Cavatina completed her thought. "That it wasn't a binding rooting Qilue to the throne, but something else: Lolth's invisible webs." She shuddered, and glanced at Laeral. "Which goddess do you honor?"
"Mystra."
"Pray to her," Cavatina said grimly. "Pray that it isn't too late-that Lolth hasn't already claimed Qilue."
*****
Q'arlynd paced across the cavern where the teleportation circle was being drawn, fighting off the urge to clench his fists in frustration. "Qilue," he whispered. "Can you hear me? It's nearly time for the casting!"
Behind him, mages from the school of divination streamed into the cavern, carrying boxes filled with the enchanted items necessary to fuel the spells. The items were all from the vaults of Seldszar's College, as attempting to persuade the highly suspicious Urlryn and Masoj to contribute would have strained their already fragile alliance to the breaking point.
Eldrinn supervised the placement of these valuables, while Alexa scribed the teleportation circle that would convey Q'arlynd and the other three masters to the ancient temple. She'd been forced to draw it well away from the city, in this damp cavern, in order to be clear of the Faerzress. The cool, bare walls with their trickles of water would have been soothing, in other circumstances.
"Qilue!" Q'arlynd hissed again. "It's time! Where are you?"
"Is something wrong?" a voice behind him asked.
Q'arlynd spun. Seldszar sat cross-legged on a drift-disc, dark lenses shielding his eyes in preparation for his imminent journey to the World Above. Lying to him would serve no purpose. For all Q'arlynd knew, the Master of Divination was already reading his thoughts. "I can't reach Lady Qilue," Q'arlynd admitted. "She promised she'd participate-that she would come the instant she received my summons. But-"
"Does she realize the importance of what we're about to do?"
"Yes. Of course. It will be of enormous benefit to her faith. If the Faerzress no longer draws the drow below, her followers will have an easier time convincing them to come to the surface."
Out of the darkness, and into the moonlight.
Q'arlynd startled. Had he just said that aloud? He cleared his throat. "Could we put the casting off for a little while? Until we've located her?"
Seldszar shook his head. "Too much is at stake. By now, spies from the other Colleges will have noticed the shifting of so many magical items. They're bound to either make a grab for them or attack our Colleges while we're away. To delay would give them time to marshal their forces-and it might cost us the other masters' support." His head shifted slightly as he scrutinized one of the crystals orbiting his head. "Speaking of which, Masters Masoj and Urlryn will be here momentarily."
"I see. This cycle, then."
"Immediately-if not sooner." Seldszar glanced briefly at Q'arlynd. "Where is Lady Qilue mostly likely to be?"
"In the Promenade."
"Describe it. And describe her."
"If she's in the temple, you won't be able to scry her," Q'arlynd told him. "The Promenade is warded against…" His voice trailed off as he saw the look Seldszar was giving him over the top of those dark lenses.
He did as Seldszar asked. When he'd finished, Seldszar chanted a divination, and sat in silence for several moments. His lips parted, as if in surprise. Then a muscle in his jaw clenched.
"Were you able to see the Promenade?"
"I was. There were no priestesses there. Every cavern I scried was awash in oozes."
Q'arlynd felt a profound sorrow. To his surprise, hearing at arm's length that the Promenade had been lost struck even deeper than watching, first-hand, the violent demise of Ched Nasad, the city of his birth. "But surely it… Qilue…"
"Is neither within her temple, nor anywhere else I can divine. She's gone."
The certainty with which Seldszar said this worried Q'arlynd. He grasped at threads. "There's another shrine, in the Misty Forest. I know the priestess who presides there. I saved her life, once. Lady Rowaan may know what's become of Qilue. Even if she doesn't, she may be able to provide someone of equal stature."
"Go then. Don't waste time."
Q'arlynd bowed. He concentrated on the burl trees that housed the priestesses, spoke a word, and teleported. An instant later, he stood in a forest beside a massive tree. A thought sent him levitating to the nearest burl. As he rose, he saw its door was slightly open. Suddenly wary, he cast a protective spell. A flick of his fingers eased the door open from afar. He peered in and saw there was no one inside. The room within the hollowed-out burl looked as though it had recently been occupied, though: clothes hung from pegs, and the remains of a meal stood on the table, next to a half-full goblet. Wind blew through the branches above, making them creak and groan.
"Lady Rowaan?" he called. "Is anyone here?" He drifted upward, and knocked on the next door. It didn't open. He tried again at another door: again, no response. He descended and stood in thought a moment, before hurrying through the forest to the shrine itself.
The dozen sword-shaped columns of black obsidian were just as he remembered them. There was no blood on the circular platform of white stone, nor any other sign of struggle. Q'arlynd, however, couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. He touched one of the sword-columns. The polished stone felt cool under his fingertips. Shouldn't there have been a priestess here, guarding the shrine?
He felt the kiira tickling his memories. You took your sword oath here.
"Yes." Q'arlynd didn't have time for reminiscences. He hurried on through the forest, hoping to hear the sound of singing above the sighing branches. It was night, and the moon was up. Perhaps the priestesses were dancing in the glade.
They weren't.
The mist that had given the forest its name swirled around his ankles like flowing water, reminding him there was one place yet to look. The sacred pool, he thought. There was always someone standing guard there. That priestess would know where Rowaan and the others had gone.
As he headed to the pool, the wind shifted. It carried a new smell to his nostrils: a stench like sour vomit. Cautiously, he approached the sacred pool. His eyes widened as he saw the tangle of toppled and rotting trees that surrounded it. The mist above the pool was a sickly greenish yellow. A bubble rose from the depths of the pool and ruptured, splattering the bushes next to Q'arlynd. Leaves sizzled, turned black, and dribbled away.
"By all that's unholy," he swore. He suddenly remembered that each of the sacred pools was connected, via portals, with the Promenade's Moonspring Portal. Had all of Eilistraee's shrines fallen?
A gurgling sound warned that the pool was about to erupt again. Q'arlynd backed hurriedly away.
What now, he agonized.
Are you the last?
"The last what?"
The last of Eilistraee's faithful.
"Impossible!" he told the kiira. "The priestesses must be around… somewhere." The emptiness of the forest, however, cried otherwise. Had Rowaan and her priestesses rushed to defend the Promenade, only to be consumed by oozes? For all he knew, the faithful at each of the shrines could have suffered the same fate: all plunging blindly into their sacred pools in an attempt to reach the Promenade, only to be consumed by the oozes that fouled them.
It must be you, then. You will be the one to call down the miracle.
"Me?" Q'arlynd laughed aloud. "I'm a wizard, not a cleric."
You belong to Eilistraee.
Q'arlynd didn't like the sound of that. It sounded too much like slavery.
We will guide you through the ritual.
"Why not take over my body and evoke the miracle yourselves?"
The prayer must be directed by the will of a living worshiper-a conduit to the goddess.
Q'arlynd nervously stroked his chin. He didn't want to think of what might follow, were he to let the other masters down. "What if I can't do it? What if it doesn't work?"
If your heart is filled with light and your cause is true, we shall not fail.
Q'arlynd frowned slightly. Those words sounded familiar-like the text of some half-forgotten spell. He glanced down at the dancing-figure glyph on his House insignia. Was he Eilistraee's? He'd spoken her sword oath for convenience's sake, but much had happened since then. He'd changed.
He glanced around the empty forest, wishing a priestess would materialize. Any priestess.
He started as a voice spoke to him. Seldszar's voice, clear and distinct, as if the Master of Divination were standing by his side. "The others are here. We're ready to teleport. Have you found a replacement?"
Q'arlynd squared his shoulders. "I have."
*****
"Are you certain she's inside?" Laeral breathed.
Cavatina tensed. She wished Qilue had taught her human "sister" the art of silent speech. "I'm not certain of anything," she whispered back. "But the trail of corruption led this way."
Laeral would have to take Cavatina's word for it. Skilled in woodland lore the mage might be, but she lacked the training to detect the subtle signs of a demon's passage: a wilted leaf, a strand of web twisting in the rot-scented breeze, the scuff of a claw on bark. Cavatina had followed the trail through the jungle to this spot. Just ahead, through a thick screen of trees and vines, she could see a blur of white-the tangle of spiderwebs that draped a hill in the jungle. It reminded Cavatina of a trap spider's lair. From somewhere within came a sound like a harp. The notes were jumbled and shrill, and the tempo kept changing, as if the player were uncertain of the melody, rushing through some parts and struggling with others.
"Keep watch," Cavatina whispered. "While I pray."
Laeral cast a spell, and Cavatina felt a protective screen of magical energy crackle to life around them. She touched the holy symbol at her throat and hummed. "Eilistraee," she. implored in a voice no louder than a breath, "hear my prayer. Guide my footsteps through the dance that is to come, and answer my song. Is Lady Qilue within the ruin ahead?"