by Филип Этанс
"May I ask a practical question?"
Only Danifae looked at him. Quenthel was in a world of her own, deep in her own obviously troubled thoughts. The draegloth was pacing, almost pouting if such a thing could be possible from a creature that was half drow, half demon. The wizard was nowhere to be found.
"Where has the wizard gone?" the scour asked.
Danifae pointed upward, and Valas followed her finger to see Pharaun slowly descending from the darkness above.
"Never fear, scout," the wizard said as he finally settled on the deck, "I wouldn't dream of abandoning this great expedition to rescue our mighty civilization from the brink of annihilation. We are nearly ready to begin, though there are a few more things I need to do."
Valas stopped himself from sighing. The never-ending string of delays was wearing on them all—especially when they came with little or no explanation.
"You're keeping us here," the draegloth said, giving voice to what Valas was thinking—and what the others were likely thinking as well. "You don't want to go."
The Master of Sorcere turned on the draegloth and lifted an eyebrow.
"Indeed?" said Pharaun. "Well, in that case perhaps you can attune the third resonant of the Blood Helm to the planar frequency of the Shadow Fringe."
There was a silence while the draegloth looked at him with narrowed eyes.
"No?" Pharaun went on. "I didn't think so. That means you're going to have to let me finish what I need to finish."
The wizard looked around at the rest of them, and Valas shrugged, casually meeting his eyes.
"This is not some mushroom-stem raft," Pharaun said to them all, "splashing about on Donigarten Lake. This vessel, if you haven't noticed, is alive. It is a being of pure chaos. It has a certain intelligence. It has the innate ability to shift between the planar walls from one reality to another. You don't simply paddle something like this. You have to make it a part of you and in turn make yourself a part of it."
He paused for effect then continued, "I am willing to do that—for the good of the expedition and for the pure curiosity of it. It's a unique opportunity to explore some fabulously outre magic. What you must all remember is that if I don't get it right, we could never make it out of this lake. Worse yet, we could find ourselves scuttled in the Shadow Deep or lost forever in the endless Abyss."
The Master of Sorcere looked around as if he was waiting for an argument. None came—even from Jeggred, but he went on anyway, "This time it will be different—the Abyss, the journey there, everything. Last time we were projected across the Astral. We were ghosts there. This time we'll actually be there. If we die in the Abyss, we don't snap back into our bodies. There will be no silver cord. We will be real there, and if we die. ."
Valas wondered why the wizard stopped. Perhaps Pharaun didn't know what would happen if they died there. If you die in your own afterlife, is there an after-afterlife? Thinking about it gave Valas the beginnings of a nagging headache.
"Have any of you ever been to the Abyss before?" Pharaun asked. "Really been there, physically? Even you, Jeggred?"
The draegloth didn't answer, but his smoldering look was enough. None of them had been there, none of them knew—
"I've been there," Quenthel said. The sudden sound of her voice almost startled Valas. "I have been there as a ghost, as a visitor, and as a …
Danifae took a few steps toward Quenthel then sank to her knees on the deck half a dozen paces away from her.
"What as, Mistress?" the battle-captive asked.
"I was killed," the high priestess said, her voice sounding as if it were coming from a great distance. Her vipers grew increasingly agitated as she went on. "My soul went to Lolth. I served the goddess herself for a decade, then she sent me back."
Valas's flesh ran cold, and he found himself stepping slowly away from the high priestess.
"Why?" Pharaun asked, a skeptical look on his face.
The Mistress of Arach-Tinilith turned and gave him a dark, cold stare.
"I think he means," Danifae continued for Pharaun, " why were you sent back?"
"I've never heard anything about this," the Master of Sorcere added.
"It was kept secret," said Quenthel, "for a number of reasons. There were circumstances concerning my death and the one who killed me that might have embarrassed my House. It's not a simple thing, attaining a position like the one I hold. Indeed there is no position like the one I hold … in Menzoberranzan, at least. It was not a position House Baenre was prepared to concede to any other House. For ten years I was simply 'away pursuing studies' or some other excuse alternating between ludicrous and clever. Eventually I returned, then things happened and I was elevated to Mistress of the Academy."
"And now you're on your way back," Danifae said in hushed, heavy tones.
"It's as if someone has a plan for you," said Pharaun.
No one said anything more. Valas walked back to the bags and finished sorting the supplies.
Danifae stood up slowly. Quenthel wasn't looking at her, but it was clear from her body language that the high priestess had finished speaking.
Danifae thought through the revelation quickly but thoroughly.
It didn't matter. It didn't change anything.
She turned, scanning the deck as she did so. The others had gone back to what they were doing. Each of them was undoubtedly going over in his own mind what Quenthel had said. She turned her back to them and stared at Jeggred. When the draegloth finally looked at her, she signaled him in sign language, careful to keep her hands close to her so the others wouldn't see.
It is time, she told him.
The draegloth nodded and glanced meaningfully at the tattered sails of human skin that sagged listlessly in the still air. Danifae nodded and began to ease her way across the deck.
It took them both several minutes to maneuver themselves behind the sail without making it obvious they were hiding.
When they were safely out of sight, Jeggred signed, Where are we going, Mistress?
Danifae smiled and replied, Hunting.
The draegloth's lips twisted into a fierce smile. The half-demon looked hungry.
Danifae stepped closer to him. She could see him stiffen, stand straight—almost at attention. The former battle-captive stepped closer still and wrapped one arm around the half-demon's huge waist. Jeggred's gray fur was warm to the touch and a little bit oily. He was surprisingly soft.
Danifae concentrated on the ring she'd taken from Zinnirit, and in the blink of an eye they were in Sschindylryn.
Jeggred took a deep breath and looked around at the dark interior of the gatehouse.
"Where are we?" he asked.
Danifae took his hand and led him to one of the gates. Not answering his question, she busied herself with the gate itself, activating it first, then tuning the location to the agreed-on meeting place. The portal blazed to life in an almost blinding torrent of violet light. Still holding Jeggred's hand, she stepped through. The draegloth didn't hesitate to follow, and they stepped out into a dimly lit ruin.
Even if Danifae didn't know exactly where they were she would have known they were on the World Above. The lighting was strange, a different color than anything found in the Underdark. The walls were made of mud bricks—very old, crumbling. Vines and moss grew in the cracks between the bricks, twisting in and out of every crevice, crawling up every wall, and matting the floor, eating away at the structure the way plants did on the World Above.
"It smells strange here," Jeggred grumbled. "What is this place?"
Danifae looked around to get her bearings. The dull gray light seeped in through dozens if not hundreds of cracks and holes in the decaying walls. On one side of the room a set of uneven steps led up to a floor above. On the other side was a similar staircase leading down. Danifae started up the stairs to the higher room, and Jeggred followed her.
"This was once a temple to the orcs' foul, grunting pig-god," she explained. "Now it's just another piece of
rotting garbage being eaten away by the World Above. A suitable place to do what we've come here to do, don't you think?"
"What have we come here to do?" asked the draegloth.
Danifae, disappointed but not surprised that the subtlety was lost on the draegloth, replied, "The traitors are coming."
They came out into a more brightly lit room, and both of them had to shade their eyes with their hands. Danifae moved to a wide crack in the ancient wall and looked out onto the World Above. The sun had set, but the light was still difficult to take. In time, though, her eyes began to adjust. Half a dozen yards below her was what surface dwellers called a swamp. It was a place where water covered the ground—in most places at least—but it wasn't a proper lake. The whole area around the temple was choked with alien vegetation. The sounds of the myriad creatures of the World Above were almost deafening. The swamp crawled with life. Beyond the edge of the swamp, miles to the west, was a wide expanse of water: the end of a long river.
Danifae let out a slow breath through her nose and heard the draegloth scuffle on the loose rocks behind her.
"I hate this," she whispered.
"What?" Jeggred asked.
"The surface."
Danifae scanned the ground below the ruined temple. Finally she drew from a pouch one of the rings she'd taken from Zinnirit and turned it over in her fingers. The fading light played against its polished surface and picked out a scattering of ruby chips.
Pressing the ring into one of the draegloth's four hands she said, "Use this ring to return at will to the ship of chaos."
Jeggred nodded, slipped the ring on, and stood patiently behind her, listening attentively as she explained the proper use of the ring's magic. Confident that the draegloth understood, Danifae let the minutes drag on—and finally she saw them.
"There they are," she said.
The draegloth moved closer behind her, and she suppressed a gag when his breath rolled over her. She waited while he searched for them, and when he finally saw them he growled low in his throat.
"They're together," he said.
"They lied," said Danifae. "She didn't go to Menzoberranzan. She went to the Velarswood—a forest where there's a temple to …" She feigned difficulty in articulating the word. "Eilistraee."
Jeggred growled again and said, "And the weapons master?"
"He's made a choice," she replied.
Jeggred began to growl with every exhale. He was ready to kill. Danifae could smell it on him.
"Take the male," she whispered to the draegloth. "Just him for now."
She pushed Jeggred back away from the crack but held him so he wouldn't leave. Stepping up onto the bottom of the wound in the wall, Danifae drew herself up into the dimming light. She waved a hand over her head to attract her former mistress's attention.
It took an infuriatingly long time, but eventually Halisstra stopped at the edge of the swamp and pointed up at Danifae. Ryld looked up as well, and Halisstra waved in answer.
Danifae made exaggerated, wide gestures, an unsubtle form of the drow sign language, sending the message: Only you.
Halisstra turned to Ryld, and they conversed. Even from so far away Danifae could tell that Ryld was reluctant to let her go alone. The weapons master might have been a traitor to his city, his goddess, and his race, but he was no fool. Still, Halisstra managed to convince him—or command him—to stay behind. He stood with his arms crossed as Halisstra stepped gingerly into the swamp.
Danifae stepped down from the crack in the wall and took the draegloth by the shoulders.
Doing her best to withstand the half-demon's foul breath, she said, "Go. Don't let her see you."
The draegloth smiled, and a thick, ropy strand of drool dropped from his lower lip. His fangs glimmered in the dim light, and so did his burning red eyes.
Danifae thought he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
Chapter Sixteen
The swamplight lynx didn't smell prey. The scent that filled the great cat's nostrils was something different. The lynx had never come across anything like it, but whatever it was, it was a predator—the odor of a meat-eater was unmistakable.
Padding softly, silently through the cold, shallow water, the lynx tipped its head up and waved its nose from side to side, honing in on the scent. A charge of energy thrilled through the cat. Its flesh tingled, its fur stood on end—a familiar feeling for the lynx, comforting, foretelling of a kill ahead and food.
The lynx moved from shadow to shadow, still inside the treeline. It caught sight of the competing predator and recognized the shape of a man. Powerful and cunning hunters in their own right, men never respected another predator's stalking grounds. They ignored the scent markers, the scratches on trees, the most obvious signs. Its eyesight was the least of the cat's senses even in daylight, and the creature could see and smell only that the intruder was a man. It had no way of discerning the man's black skin, pointed ears, crimson eyes, and white hair.
The swamplight lynx gathered the Weave energy in its body, bared its fangs, and tightened into a crouch, ready to spring—when another scent all but slammed into its nostrils.
Another predator was approaching. It was bigger, and it smelled bad. It smelled like a scavenger.
The swamplight lynx relaxed but only a little. It watched the man, occasionally scanning the swamp's edge for the scavenger, and waited.
Ryld was surrounded.
There were noises everywhere. The place Halisstra had called a «swamp» was even more alive than the rest of the World Above, and the weapons master didn't like it at all. He could see things moving in the darkness around him. There were insects and spiders, all manner of flying creatures, and snakes. . lots of snakes. The ground under his feet was spongy. He'd felt similar in some of the bigger fungal colonies in the Underdark, but down there it was at least quiet.
The ruined temple rose in black silhouette against the night sky in front of him. He'd watched Halisstra walk toward it through ever deepening water with an increasing certainty that she was walking toward her own demise. Going to meet Danifae was stupid, even if Halisstra had allowed him to come along, and Ryld wasn't sure why he'd let it happen. Could it be that she simply wished it and he was so accustomed to obeying priestesses that he'd obeyed her?
The weapons master took a deep breath, set his feet close together, and pressed his hands palm to palm in front of his chest. He steadied his breathing and cleared his mind as best he could, surrounded as he was by the unseen dangers of the swamp. He watched tiny yellow lights flicker in the air—some kind of bioluminescent insects moving slowly, sluggish in the cold night air. Pinpoints of light spattered across the black dome of the sky, not painful to look at and actually helping Ryld's natural darkvision. There was no other light except—
Except for a faint purple glow shimmering in chaotic waves over Ryld himself.
Faerie fire.
Ryld drew Splitter and stepped back, opening his stance, then he turned around once three hundred and sixty degrees looking for anything moving toward him—looking for Danifae. It was a dark elf who had picked him out from the dark background using the magical ability she, like all drow, was born with. Who else could it be?
She must have already killed Halisstra, Ryld thought.
The world exploded in agonizing light, and he could hear something big running at him.
Ryld had been trained to fight when unable to see, and as the foe that blinded him charged, he fell back on that training. The weapons master surprised himself with how well he'd adapted to the way sound traveled on the surface world. He timed Danifae's charge—and it had to be Danifae—so that when she was no more than three strides from him, he stepped to the side. The echoes were oddly spaced. It almost sounded as if Danifae had four legs.
That aside, Ryld had estimated correctly, and he stepped out of the way of the former battle-captive in time to feel her brush past him in a rush of cold air and an unpleasant, uncharacteristic strong musky smell.
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Still blind, Ryld heard her scuffle to a stop in the ankle-deep, wet moss. She turned quickly and Ryld could feel her ready to come at him again.
Ryld heaved Splitter in front of him, again as he was trained to do. The blade never bit into flesh and bone, but the purpose of that attack wasn't so much to kill as it was to fend off. He had been blinded by some sort of conjured light, which meant that his eyesight would return in time. The first rule of fighting blind was keeping yourself alive until you weren't blind anymore.
It was exactly what he was supposed to do, but it didn't work. The moment Splitter passed to his left side, opening up his chest and face, she—it. . something. . dived on him. It was definitely not Danifae. It was no drow at all.
The thing that smashed Ryld to the ground was enormous and covered in thick, coarse fur. It had four strong legs each with a set of long, sharp claws that tugged at his armor but were unable to cut him through his dwarven mithral breastplate.
Ryld smelled hot, rank breath, and a name came to his mind: Jeggred.
Why would the draegloth be there with Danifae? Unless the former battle-captive had brought Quenthel with her, but would they all really waste their time running after him and Halisstra when there was still a goddess to awaken?
Ryld blinked, his sight returning in aching, cramping vibrations in his tired eyes. The claws worried at his armor and came dangerously close to his face as the creature—could it be the draegloth? — shifted in an effort to find some gap in his armor to exploit for the kill. Ryld pushed up with the flat of his blade and both his feet and rolled the heavy creature off him.
When it hit the cold, spongy ground, it wriggled on its side in an effort to get to its feet. The thing growled, and the sound was both higher in pitch and less intelligent than Jeggred's. Ryld blinked blotches of purple from his eyes and whirled around and up to his feet, Splitter in front of him to guard against the inevitable next pounce.