by Lisa Smedman
She blinked and spat the foul taste out of her mouth. Demon blood dribbled down the blade onto her hand and dripped onto the floor. "That's some sword," she said softly, hefting the Crescent Blade appreciatively.
Who are you?
Cavatina blinked. Was that a voice she'd just heard? Another yochlol, announcing its presence? She whirled in place, the Crescent Blade ready in her hand. The spell that had allowed her to see through the yochlol's magical darkness was still in effect and showed nothing out of the ordinary. She was alone in the cavern.
Alone with the Crescent Blade.
You're not the one.
Cavatina stared at the weapon. "Is…" She paused, feeling foolish. "Is that you talking, sword?" She'd heard of weapons with an intelligence of their own but had never owned one.
The sword-if indeed it was the sword that had spoken- made no reply.
Cavatina heard something stirring deeper in the cavern and suspected it was another yochlol. The place might well have been home to an entire brood of demons. Though she'd like nothing better than to slay them, one by one, Qilue's orders had been strict. Cavatina was to recover the Crescent Blade from the Demonweb Pits and return with it promptly, not linger in Lolth's domain, where it might be damaged or lost. There would be demons aplenty to kill, another day.
Cavatina glanced outside. The hail of spiders had stopped. She stepped out of the cavern, still holding the Crescent Blade. The singing sword would have been a better weapon to be carrying if she encountered more yochlol, but practicality took precedence. The Crescent Blade was too curved to fit in her scabbard. She had to carry it.
She headed back toward the portal, once again using her magical boots to cross the ground in long, graceful leaps. As she did, she peered between the spires of rock, trying to see where Halisstra had gone. She also attempted to send a message to Halisstra, but the sending met with silence. Perhaps Halisstra had already used the portal to return to the Prime Material Plane. Once she was through it, a sending wouldn't necessarily reach her.
Even if Halisstra hadn't reached the portal yet, Cavatina was certain the former priestess could take care of herself. Halisstra had survived, by her own account, for two years in Lolth's domain. She was as adapted to survive there as any demon-her immunity to the acidic rain had proved that.
As Cavatina passed the last of the spires, she saw something in the distance that sent a chill through her: a spider so enormous that she could make out the details of it, even from so far away. Its body was crowned with a drow head, and it reared back on six of its eight legs. The two front legs held weapons that glinted a dull red in the ruddy starlight, a straight steel sword and a thicker knob-headed mace.
By his weapons alone, Cavatina would have recognized him. It was Selvetarm himself, champion of Lolth, and no mere avatar-not at home in the Demonweb Pits-but the demigod himself.
Cavatina whispered a fervent prayer as she drifted to the ground. Her heart pounding furiously, she stood, utterly motionless, as Selvetarm turned. It took all of her willpower not to cringe as the demigod's gaze swept over her. Would Eilistraee hide her from sight? Could she, from a demigod in his own domain? Selvetarm had the power to see the invisible-and would immediately spot Cavatina if he so much as suspected anyone was there. She only started breathing again when the head turned away once more.
Her relief at not being spotted drained away as she realized where Selvetarm was standing almost exactly on the spot where the portal was, and he wasn't moving.
Cavatina had been feeling certain she could defeat anything Lolth could toss at her, but suddenly things had become complicated. To escape the Demonweb Pits, she was going to have to fight her way past a demigod.
You can do it.
Cavatina blinked. Had that been the sword talking-or her own pride?
Her grip tightened on the Crescent Blade. She could do it. The weapon in her hands had been forged for exactly that purpose, to kill deities.
Yes, the sword whispered.
Cavatina smiled grimly and thought, what a hunt this is going to be!
If she succeeded in killing Selvetarm, her name would be praised forevermore from the Promenade to the smallest shrine.
And a demigod's head would be her trophy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Malvag waited impatiently in the cavern. It was difficult to keep from pacing back and forth, though his surroundings helped. It was peaceful there. Dark. Separate. Silent. The only sounds were the thud-thud, thud-thud of his heart and the soft exhalations of his breath. The darkstone crystals that lined the walls created a void of utter blackness around him, drinking in even the darkfire that danced like a shadow across the skin of his right hand, yet the shadows weren't quite enough to calm him.
It was the night of the winter solstice-the longest night of the year-and midnight was rapidly approaching. The moment he'd been waiting for was almost at hand. In just a little while, Urz, Valdar, and Szorak would arrive with their soul-impregnated masks, and the conjuration could begin.
At midnight, according to the astrologers, Toril's shadow would fall fully across the moon, completely eclipsing it. The darkest hour of the longest night of the year would begin with Eilistraee's holiest of symbols completely enshrouded in shadow.
Malvag stared down at a drift disc, no larger than a dinner plate, that floated in the air before him at waist level. On it was a treasure he'd spent the better part of a century searching for, a prayer scroll from ancient Ilythiir. It was made of silver foil, tarnished to a mottled black and crumbling at the edges after ten thousand years of lying in the blasted ruins of an ancient temple. Delicate as a dried leaf, it had deep creases from being crushed flat by the tumbled masonry that had helped to preserve it, yet the words that had been written on it in Old Espruar by the high clerics of vanished Ilythiir could still be discerned.
Malvag moved his index finger above them, silently reading with the aid of the darkfire. When the time came, he and whichever of the Nightshadows had been successful in their soulthefts would read them aloud, activating the scroll's magic.
Malvag savored the irony of what was to come. The scroll had been intended to open a gate between Lolth's domain and Arvandor, so the Spider Queen could mount a second attack on the Seldarine. It had never been used, however-probably because it had been created in the final years of the Fourth Crown War, just before the ssri Tel'Quessir had been transformed into drow and driven below.
Instead it would be used by Lolth's enemies to make their god stronger. After killing Eilistraee, Vhaeraun would secretly assume that goddess's portfolio and add her worshipers to his ranks. All of the drow in the Night Above-male and female-would come under one god.
Strengthened by their worship, Vhaeraun would mount an attack on Lolth herself, and the reign of the Spider Queen would, at long last, be at an end.
The thought sent a thrill through Malvag.
It was tempered by the memory of the demonic creature that had first bound him then revived him. He shuddered. When the demon-thing had attacked him, he'd assumed it had been sent by Lolth, but after it had revived him, he hadn't been so sure. He'd later decided that it must be a thing of Selvetarm, but the Selvetargtlin had denied that, which left him wondering if the creature was Lolth's after all. The Spider Queen could certainly want Malvag to live so that his work could continue and Eilistraee be killed, no doubt about that, but the thought of Lolth meddling in what should have been purely Vhaeraun's vengeance made Malvag uneasy.
He pushed the thought aside. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted, not when so much rested on his shoulders. He would need all of his concentration to invoke the scroll's powers.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, drinking in the invisible energies that rippled back and forth in the enclosed space. The cavern couldn't sustain life for long. The air already smelled slightly stale. For one night, at least, it would suffice, and that one night was all that mattered.
A whisper of air announced the arrival of an
other cleric. Malvag turned and saw Urz, his red eyes glittering above his mask. The other cleric's posture was eager and his close-cropped hair stood on end, as if a shiver had just passed through him. He wore a single, wide-bladed dagger at his hip and a homespun black shirt and trousers with frayed cuffs and worn knees. He looked more like a laborer than an assassin, but that natural camouflage served him well. Urz had won Vhaeraun's favor many times over with his bold attacks on Lolth's clergy.
"Dark deeds," Malvag murmured.
Urz inclined his head, paying Malvag the respect due a higher ranking cleric.
"Were you successful?" Malvag asked.
Urz touched his mask then gave the sign for a job completed. "She put up a good fight, though," he said, "broke two of my ribs and nearly cut off my hand." He turned his right hand over, showing Malvag the fresh gray scar across his wrist just below the older burn mark. Then he waggled his fingers. "Good as new now, praise Vhaeraun, but I had to stab her, sop up the soul and get away quick. The Gray Forest was like an overturned beehive after all the noise she made."
Malvag barely listened to the details. Urz had arrived and his mask held a soul. That was all that mattered.
The Jaelre strode toward the drift disc, his hard-soled boots crunching across the crystal-studded floor. "I'm the first one here?"
"As always. I knew I could count on you."
The two males clasped arms-a form of greeting used by the surface elves. Urz's grip was tight and rough on Malvag's forearms, but Malvag returned it in equal measure before letting go.
Urz's eyes crinkled above his mask. "And the others?"
As if in answer, Valdar appeared in the cavern. The slender-boned male landed with a cat's grace on the crystals, a bloody dagger in one hand. He nodded to the others, pulled a lace-trimmed cloth out of a pocket of his piwafwi, and wiped the blade. His pink eyes held a glint of amusement.
"Sorry to be late. I had a little unfinished business to attend to. It's finished, now."
That said, he slid his dagger into a wrist-sheath. He wore a wrist-crossbow on his other arm, and the ties of his piwafwi were stiff from the ends of a strangle cord. He moved with a grace that would have put a tavern dancer to shame, picking his way with silent footfalls over the crystals on the floor. He took up a position that put him equidistant from both males, close enough that he could step inside the range of a crossbow but far enough apart that he could dance away from a drawn blade.
Malvag's eyes narrowed slightly. Valdar didn't quite trust the others yet, nor did Malvag fully trust him, but mutual trust was essential for the ritual to work.
Valdar cocked his head to the side, silently reading the scroll. Urz stood with his arms folded across his chest, staring across the cavern, waiting placidly. Malvag tapped a foot impatiently as the night lengthened. Midnight approached-the deadline Malvag had set for the others' return-and still Szorak didn't appear. Malvag started to wonder if something had happened to him. Four clerics-and four souls-would make the ritual that much more certain and would ensure that the gate opened, but it looked as though Szorak had failed them. Or perhaps-a darker thought that Malvag allowed to alight in his mind only briefly-it had been Szorak's blood on Valdar's blade. Fewer to reap the rewards.
Malvag shrugged off that thought. As long as the three could work together, it didn't matter.
"It's nearly midnight," he told the others. "We must begin."
He turned the drift disc so that the scroll faced him, and indicated where the others should stand, Urz on his right, Valdar on his left. Urz moved readily into the indicated spot, and Valdar eased in sideways.
"I will commune with Vhaeraun," he told them. "At my signal, we'll begin to read. It's important that each of you not get ahead of the others or lag behind. We-"
A startled shout filled the cavern. A drow male appeared in mid-air, arms and legs flailing as he fell. He'd materialized about a dozen paces above the cavern floor, and only just managed to check his fall in time. Levitating, he twisted awkwardly in place, his feet scrabbling against the bumpy crystal floor. Then he stood, smoothing his clothes.
"Szorak!" Urz called. "You're just in time. We were about to begin without you."
"My apologies," the newcomer said from behind his mask. "I must have miscalculated the teleport. I forgot how big this place is." He glanced around then nodded to himself. "Perfect for tonight's dark deeds."
Malvag frowned. Szorak seemed… different, somehow. It took Malvag a moment to put a dagger point on it. The voice. It was lower, huskier, and at the same time somehow tight with tension. And Szorak's body language was off. He leaned slightly forward, a posture that caused the lower half of his mask to hang away from his lips and chin, as if he was loath to touch it.
As if overhearing Malvag's thoughts, Szorak reached under his mask and rubbed his throat. "The bitch managed to cast a spell," he said, "one that transferred her injuries to me." He gave a croaking laugh. "I nearly wound up strangling myself."
Urz chuckled.
"Clumsy," Valdar breathed under his mask.
Malvag frowned. "I've never heard of such a spell."
"Nor had I." Szorak shrugged. "It must be something new the priestesses have come up with." His hand dropped away from his throat. "But I trapped a soul, nonetheless."
It was an odd turn of phrase. Trapped a soul. Not "stole." Something was wrong. Malvag didn't want to sow mistrust-Valdar was already twitchy enough-but he had a growing suspicion that "Szorak" was not who he claimed to be. He moved his hand at his side, where only Szorak could see it. I know who you are.
Szorak stiffened. For a space of several heartbeats, there was silence. Then he exhaled. "You know my secret," he said. "You know about my sister. It's true. Seyll was a priestess of Eilistraee, but I assure you, Malvag, that I am not."
Valdar gave a dark chuckle. "Not a priestess?" His eyes ranged up and down Szorak's body. "That's pretty clear."
Szorak gave Valdar a level look. "If you think I've disguised myself, cast a divination that pierces glamors." He gestured at his body. "What you see is what I am."
Urz glanced back and forth between Szorak and Malvag. One hand was raised, fingers twitching slightly, as if ready to cast a spell. He was clearly only waiting for Malvag's command to strike. "His sister's a priestess?"
"A dead priestess," Szorak said. He chuckled. "Killed years ago by a priestess of Lolth who was masquerading as a petitioner, but I assure you that I'm no spider kisser." He spread his arms. "Go ahead. Inspect me."
Malvag took him up on the offer and whispered two prayers in quick succession. They revealed that the mask did indeed contain a trapped soul-one that glowed with the irritating silver sheen of good. Szorak's own aura, in contrast, was a dull brown.
Malvag relaxed. He'd been wrong. It was Szorak. He'd very nearly let his suspicions ruin everything. He touched Urz's arm.
"No need for that," he told the other cleric. Then he turned back to Szorak. "Take your place," he instructed. "We've already wasted too much time. We should begin."
Szorak moved toward the drift disc. He hesitated for a moment then stood next to Urz.
Malvag gestured, and the drift disc moved to a position where all could read it. His previous darkfire spell had ended some time ago, so he whispered the prayer again, causing the flames that only those with darkvision could detect to dance once more about his fingertips.
"When I lower my finger to the page," he instructed, "begin to read."
That said, he enshrouded his head in magical darkness, stilled his breathing, and made the sign of the mask. He prayed, his fingers signing in time with his words. "Masked Lord, God of Night, Shadow of my Soul. Hear me on this, the longest of nights. Your Nightshadows stand ready to open a gate to Eilistraee's domain. Masked Lord, are you ready? Should we proceed?"
The communion came, as it always did, on softly creeping feet. One moment there was nothing, then came a whisper from behind, as faint as breath. Malvag felt a presence slip softly into his awar
eness. He sensed, rather than truly saw, a pair of eyes peering over his shoulder. The eyes were black, flecked with silver. They matched the weapons that swished through Malvag's awareness in streaks of utter black and gleaming silver-the long sword Night Shadow and the short sword Silverflash. A cloak swirled as the god spun, leaving streaks of starlight. Vhaeraun took several moments to answer-his eyes kept darting about-but at last the word came, cutting the air like a hissing blade.
"Yes."
Malvag smiled. A thrill raced through him. The hairs on his arms shivered erect as he opened his eyes, dispelled the magical darkness, and started to lower his finger to the scroll. He heard the clerics on either side of him take a breath as they prepared to read aloud.
But from his right came an intensely bright flash of light. An explosive boom filled the cavern as a jagged lightning bolt erupted from Urz's chest and forked toward Malvag and Valdar. It slammed into Malvag's own chest, sending waves of pain crackling through his body and filling his nostrils with the stench of seared flesh. As both he and Valdar reeled, gasping, Szorak ripped off Urz's mask. He slapped Urz on the back with his other hand and shouted. As the mask fluttered away, Urz went rigid and toppled to the floor with a loud crash. Szorak danced back, shaking a wand out of his sleeve and catching it deftly in his hand.
"Traitor!" Malvag gasped.
Szorak pointed the wand at the scroll. Raging with fury, Malvag threw himself at Szorak. His fist closed around the wand even as it went off. Chunks of ice blasted into the floor, sending shards of crystals flying.
"Faer'ghinn!" Malvag croaked through cracked and bleeding lips.
The wand became an inert stick.
Something whizzed past Malvag's ear-a bolt from Valdar's wrist-crossbow. It glanced off Szorak's shoulder, deflected by an invisible barrier. So close had it come to striking Malvag that a terrible thought flashed through his mind. Was Valdar in league with Szorak? Were the pair of them trying to steal the scroll? No, that blast of ice from the wand would have destroyed it.