Forgotten Realms - The Lady Penitent - Ascendancy of the Last

by Lisa Smedman

  So far…

  “And yet so near,” he whispered.

  He squared his shoulders. Opened his eyes. “I’ll do it.” He lifted his hands and completed the prayer.

  Beside him, Seldszar smiled. Within the kiira, so did his ancestors.

  “Something’s happening,” Baltak bellowed a moment later. He pointed. “There!”

  “And there! And there, and there!” Zarifar cried.

  Q’arlynd lowered his hands and looked around. A faint green glow that crackled and wavered like Faerzress formed a circle around the spot where they stood. The circle of light broke apart an instant later into several sections, each of which collapsed into a circle itself, then to a point. A sapling sprouted from the center of each, uncurled, and opened glowŹing green leaves.

  Q’arlynd heard Zarifar counting. “… nine, ten, eleven.”

  “The miracle?” Q’arlynd breathed.

  The miracle, his ancestors confirmed.

  Q’arlynd felt something warm and wet strike his head. Drops pattered against the ground, and the dry earth drank them in. The others started as the raindrops struck them. Q’arlynd smiled to himself. They’d probably never felt rain before. Then a drop trickled down Q’arlynd’s face, to his lips. He tasted blood.

  Startled, he wrenched his head back—and saw that the rain was falling only on this spot. Falling, as if being poured, from that terrible wound where the moon had been. He suddenly shivered, worried he’d sung the prayer incorrectly. Done something wrong. Was this the Dark Disaster, all over again? The legends said the sky had wept blood… .

  He heard a pop of in-rushing air—Urlryn, teleporting away. Of the three masters, only Seldszar remained. He stared at Q’arlynd through those dark lenses. “Let him go. This no longer concerns him.”

  Q’arlynd nodded. He watched, fascinated, as the saplings grew tall as the Darkfire Pillars. The trees bent inward, their branches twining together to form a dome overhead.

  “They’re caging us in,” Baltak growled.

  “Should we teleport away?” Alexa asked.

  Eldrinn turned to Seldszar. “Father?”

  The Master of Divination patted the air. Wait.

  Zarifar stared up at the sky. He raised a hand above his head, fingers and thumb curled to form half of the moon-symbol Q’arlynd had just made. “The pattern’s changed,” he said. “Just like the moon.”

  Q’arlynd realized the blood rain had stopped. All that remained were drips, falling from the intertwined oak trees above. He looked up through their branches and saw that Zarifar was right. The moon had returned. It hung in the sky, a slim crescent of white, surrounded by a glittering halo that flickered from blue, to green, to lavender …

  “Just like faerie fire,” Eldrinn breathed.

  The boy stood just to Q’arlynd’s right, but Q’arlynd couldn’t see him. He wondered why Eldrinn had cloaked himself in magical darkness, but realized the final transŹformation had at last come about. He could barely see any of his apprentices. Nor could he see Seldszar clearly, or the oak trees that had regrown in the shape of the temple, nor the forest beyond them. Everything was dim, and dark, and indistinct.

  “What’s happened?” Alexa’s voice asked. “I can’t see you—any of you!”

  “Show yourselves!” Baltak roared.

  Q’arlynd concentrated, and pointed at Baltak, but nothing happened. The faerie fire that should have outlined his apprenŹtice failed to materialize. Instead he used an evocation. A flicker of fire danced above his outstretched palm.

  He stared, wonderingly, at what the wavering light revealed. His skin was no longer black. It had turned brown. And his hair, when he flicked the braid forward over his shoulŹder, wasn’t white any more. It had turned a glossy black.

  He was no longer a drow.

  Judging by the way his apprentices were fumbling about, they’d all been transformed as well. He laughed, realizing now what had drawn him to them, and to Seldszar: They shared a common ancestry.

  “What’s happened?” Baltak shouted. “Tell me!”

  Seldszar’s voice came from the darkness to Q’arlynd’s left. It sounded cool and unruffled. “Our casting was successful. We’ve broken our link with the Faerzress. Just as the ancestors promŹised. We’ve undone the Descent. We’re dark elves again.”

  The two shapes that were Eldrinn and Alexa gasped. The larger shape on Q’arlynd’s left that was Baltak growled softly.

  “Out of the darkness and into the light,” Q’arlynd said. He felt triumph—they’d just reversed the magic of the Descent! Yet he also felt a looming dread. By transforming, they’d also condemned themselves.

  Not condemned, but freed.

  He caught a glimpse of moonlight glinting off glass: the dark lenses Seldszar was wearing. He smiled, realizing they hadn’t been intended to shield his eyes from the light of the World Above. They were magical lenses, like those the surŹface elves needed in order to see when they ventured into the Underdark.

  “You knew this would happen,” Q’arlynd told the other master. “Didn’t you? You saw what was to come, in one of your visions.”

  “Not quite,” Seldszar said with a chuckle. He touched his forehead. “They told me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Q’arlynd cried.

  We did, his ancestors answered. You agreed.

  “Ease yourself, Q’arlynd.” Seldszar said. “All is as was foretold.”

  “But we’re blind!” Eldrinn blurted. “Helpless as surface elves. How can we possibly survive back in Sshamath?”

  “We won’t be returning there,” Seldszar said. “Preparations have been made. The College of Divination is already relocating as we speak; the necessity of fueling our casting with magical items provided an excellent screen for getting out much of our wealth. We’re going to start afresh on the surface, in the City of Hope. The College of Ancient Arcana will do the same. We’ll be welcome, there. The sharn have promised me that.”

  Q’arlynd had no idea who the sharn were—but he had the feeling he was about to find out.

  “What about the others?” Alexa asked. “In Sshamath … and elsewhere? Have all of the drow changed?”

  Not all, the ancestors told Q’arlynd. Only those few without taint. Miyeritari, such as yourselves, and those who follow the dance. By Eilistraee’s grace, they too will have transformed.

  Q’arlynd glanced at his House insignia, then up at the changed moon. “Are you certain about that?”

  Before his ancestors could answer, he heard the whisper of a thrown dagger. He grunted as it slammed into the back of his neck.

  CHAPTER 13

  Halisstra lifted the blood-smeared Crescent Blade so Eilistraee could see it. “Wendonai said you would come. He said you couldn’t bear to lose your high priestess.” She smirked. “He was right.”

  “I came for another reason,” the goddess replied. “To offer you redemption. Your heart aches for it.” She held out a hand. “Reach for it!”

  Swift as a hunting spider, Halisstra struck. The Crescent Blade flashed, and fingertips fell. They patŹtered to the floor beside the decapitated Darksong Knight.

  Eilistraee’s eyes blazed red. A bolt of braided light and shadow burst from her forehead and slammed into Halisstra’s chest, rocking Halisstra back. The pain was intense, but it lasted only a heartbeat. Halisstra shook it off and menaced the other goddess with her weapon.

  Eilistraee, however, didn’t press her attack. She squeezed her hand shut and sang. A nimbus of moonlight played around her fist, and the blood flow halted as her wounds sealed shut. When she opened her hand again, however, the fingers were shorter than they had been.

  Once again, the hand extended. “Come. Rejoin my dance.”

  Halisstra swayed forward—then angrily shook off the enchantment the other goddess had tried to ensnare her with. This time, she told herself, she would be stronger. She wouldn’t kneel, wouldn’t grovel. Not like she had before Lolth.

  “I don’t need your redempti
on,” she snapped. “I’m stronger than you.”

  In one sense, it was true. Though Eilistraee glowed with an unearthly light, Halisstra wasn’t blinded by it. She didn’t wince and fumble about like a mortal drow. And though the high priestess’s body had enlarged when the goddess stepped into it, Halisstra still stood head and shoulders taller. Eilistraee was the weak one, not her. Halisstra was stronger, swifter, and armed with the Crescent Blade. The other goddess was frightened of her. She didn’t dare attack Halisstra.

  “You can’t kill me,” Halisstra taunted. “If you could, you would have done it already.”

  “Are you certain of that?” A glint of blue danced in Eilistraee’s moonstone eyes. She pointed at Halisstra’s chest. “It looks as though Lolth is no longer healing you.”

  Halisstra glanced down. It was true. Black, tarry blood seeped from the wound Eilistraee’s magic had bored—a wound that should have closed by now. That frightened her, more than she cared to admit. If she died, her soul would fly back to the Demonweb Pits. Back to Lolth’s cruel embrace.

  “I don’t need Lolth!” Halisstra shouted. “I’m a demigod!”

  “Then why do you pretend to be Lolth’s champion?” Eilistraee whirled, her hair lifting like a skirt. When it settled again, tiny knots were in it. Inside each, a tiny figure writhed. “That’s what these priestesses thought, wasn’t it? They worŹshiped you as Lolth’s champion, not as a goddess in your own right.” She whirled again, and the knots disappeared. “And now they’ve gone to face Lolth’s wrath.”

  “That’s a lie!” Halisstra screamed. “They worshiped me! Through subservience to me, they’ll be reborn.”

  Eilistraee’s voice was soft and mocking. “If you’re a demiŹgod, then why do you need the Crescent Blade?”

  “To kill you,” Halisstra spat.

  “Why haven’t you used it? What’s staying your hand?” Green-tinted eyes stared at her from behind the mask. “Could it be mercy?”

  “Hardly that!” Halisstra laughed and brought the weapon to her lips. She licked Cavatina’s blood from it, and smiled. “I like to savor my victories. I notice you weren’t able to regenerŹate your fingers. I think I’ll cut you apart, a little at a time. Make you suffer, just like I did.”

  Eilistraee didn’t react to the jibe. “You’re not Lolth’s,” she continued relentlessly. “You never were. You swore an oath to me. By song and sword. You bear my crescent on your knee.”

  “That was another me!” Halisstra snapped. “The mortal I once was.”

  Her knee, however, suddenly stung, as if freshly cut. She glanced down at the faded gray scar—the tiny nick Ryld’s sword had made, when she danced around the blade to fool Eilistraee’s priestesses. Ryld. The lover who had followed her into Eilistraee’s faith, only to die. She shook her head. She hadn’t thought of him in years.

  “Do you remember my song?” Eilistraee asked.

  Voices sang in Halisstra’s memory. Trust in your sisters; lend your voice to their song. By joining the circle, the weak are made strong.

  Had there been voices singing that outside her temple, just a moment ago?

  Halisstra glared at Eilistraee. “Lolth did claim me for a time, but no more. I’m not hers—and I’m not yours. You abandoned me in the Demonweb Pits. You stood and watched as Lolth degraded me, consumed me. You watched and did nothing!” She was surprised at the vehemence that boiled out of her. She hadn’t thought it would still sting. She gripped the Crescent Blade tightly, reminding herself that her mortal life was over. Done. She was Lolth’s plaything no longer. She’d never have to look upon that gloating, Danifae-faced goddess again.

  Until she killed her.

  “Yes,” Eilistraee said, softly as a sigh. “Kill Lolth. That’s what the Crescent Blade was forged to do. That’s what you were destined to do. You faltered, the first time….”

  Halisstra snarled. She didn’t like to be reminded of that.

  “But I’m giving you a second chance,” Eilistraee continued. “A chance to redeem yourself. When Lolth transformed you, she bound you with webs of hatred and guilt. But any web can be broken, if only you are strong enough. Take your revenge on the Spider Queen. Use the disguise she has unwittingly given you. Lolth will never credit you with the strength you truly have.”

  “Strength?” Halisstra shrieked. She rubbed a throbbing temple with a callused hand.

  “Yes, strength. Your penance has tempered you, made you strong as darkfire-forged adamantine. But now that penance is at an end.”

  “My… penance?” Halisstra echoed hollowly. Her thoughts felt thick, snarled in web. How could Eilistraee possibly “end” anything? Lolth had been the one to twist her body, to break her spirit, to name her the Lady Penitent.

  “Your penance began before that,” Eilistraee said softly. “The moment you broke my sacred sword, it began. But now it can end. Rejoin me.”

  Could it? Halisstra wavered. Would Eilistraee truly take her back, after all she had done? Halisstra could feel the power of the goddess who stood before her. It radiated from Eilistraee, filling the chamber. Cleansing it. Turning a place of darkness and death into a place of moonlight and song.

  The tiny spark that had been nickering, flear extinguished, deep inside Halisstra, longed to be fanned back to life. When that happened, her torment could end. She would be forgiven. Redeemed.

  Eilistraee held out her hand. “Come,” she sang. “Take my hand. Accept my mercy. Rejoin the dance.”

  Halisstra leaned close. She lowered the Crescent Blade. Extended her free hand …

  She’s lying.

  The whisper was thin, metallic. It came to Halisstra’s ears like the hum of a tuning fork, as the sword in her hand vibrated.

  That’s not Eilistraee.

  Halisstra gasped. A trick! She saw it. The voice was right: that wasn’t Eilistraee who stood before her. That wasn’t a hand reaching for her, but a spider. Only one goddess could have bored a hole in her chest that would not heal: Lolth. The Spider Queen had tricked her!

  Screaming her rage, she slashed with the Crescent Blade.

  The eyes above the mask widened. “Halisstra!” Eilistraee cried. “N—”

  Steel met flesh and bit deep. The goddess’s neck parted. Her head tumbled from her shoulders and landed with a dull thump. Her body slowly twisted, then suddenly collapsed. Silver blood poured onto the floor from the severed stump of a neck. It covered the stone floor in a glittering silver wave, throwing dancing shadows across the walls, then faded to black.

  Halisstra, panting, stared down at the headless corpse, her spider jaws twitching furiously. “I’m your Lady Penitent no more!” she screamed.

  She felt a tickle on her chest. She glanced down, and saw that a spider had spun a web across the wound in her chest. It completed its web and yanked, drawing the edges shut. The ache that had resided there faded—as did the fainter sting in her knee. She turned her leg, inspecting it. The tiny, crescent-shaped scar was gone.

  She heard a sharp crack. The Crescent Blade suddenly felt lighter in her hand. Its blade struck the floor with a clang that echoed like the tolling of a bell. A wisp of black seeped from the broken hilt, then whispered away.

  Realization at last shoved its way into Halisstra’s web-shrouded mind. It wasn’t Lolth she’d just killed, but Eilistraee. And now that the Crescent Blade was broken—she stared at the hilt in her hand—she never would kill Lolth.

  This had been what the Spider Queen had wanted, all along.

  Halisstra sank to the floor, too stricken to speak.

  Laughter echoed through the chamber, light as the footŹsteps of a running spider.

  Leliana urgently waved the newcomers forward. Encircle the hill! she signed with her free hand. Join the song!

  The priestesses and Nightshadows Laeral had teleported here hurried to comply. They shoved through the jungle underbrush, joining the ring of faithful. Leliana wiped sweat from her brow, nodded at Qilué’s human “sister,” and sang fervently. The ring of moon
light the hymn had brought into being brightened with each added voice. Slowly, relentlessly, it spread inward, as the healing and hallowing energy they evoked grew stronger. The taint of evil boiled away in a heatŹwave shimmer, the stench of rot and sulfur giving way to the clean tang of fresh water and growing leaves. In another moment, the mound itself would be hallowed ground, and the exorcism could begin.

  Laeral hurried to Leliana’s side. “Is your casting nearly complete?”

  Leliana nodded without halting her song. She held up a hand and counted down with her fingers. Five… four …

  The newly arrived priestesses and Nightshadows joined the chorus, strengthening the circle. The spider webs draping the mound burst into silver flame, and burned away. Corpses tumbled out of their cocoons, charred flesh sizzling. The smoke rising from them twisted in the currents of the hallowing, and became the sweet smell of incense.

  Three … two…

  With her singing sword in hand, Leliana watched the openŹing in the side of the hill. Three chambers, Laeral had said: head, cephalothorax, and abdomen. Qilué was in the third.

  One …

  The hymn culminated in a single, sustained note—and ended.

  Leliana strode forward, beckoning the others to follow. They would lend their song to her exorcism. Qilué would be saved—and the traitorous Halisstra killed.

  A branch creaked above. Leliana looked up just in time to see a massive figure hurtling down at her. Nearly twice the size of a drow, it had four arms and a body made of black obsidian. It landed with a thud that shook the ground, and its feet punched holes in the soft soil. A golem!

  Leliana leaped back as the golem slammed its hands together, barely missing her. She turned the leap into a spinŹning attack, slashing with her sword. The golem dodged, but not quickly enough. Pealing a battle cry, the sword slammed into one of its arms. Stone shattered, and the sword vibrated so violently that Leliana nearly dropped it.