War Of The Spider Queen - Condemnation Part 2

Halisstra could feel the creature's spell drawing over her, sapping at her resolve, seeking to subjugate her will to its own. She knew that if she gave in she would go willingly to her death, even lie down helplessly while the lamia devoured her if it asked her to, but the sting of Danifae's slap had reawakened the wellsprings of her will, just enough to fight through the lamia's sweet words.

"We are drow," Halisstra managed to gasp. "Our wills may not be broken by such as you."

The lamia bared its teeth in fierce anger and drew a bronze dagger from its hip, but Halisstra and Danifae backed out of the shadowed alley into the sun.

The dragon's gone, signed Danifae.

Halisstra shook her head and replied, An illusion. We were deceived.

Something was still hovering in the center of the street, a faint flickering phantasm that might have been about the size of the thing they had seen before, and they could hear as if from very far away its hissing protests.

"Illusion," Danifae spat in disgust.

The dragon-wisp gnawed at the corners of their minds, joined by other, more insistent murmuring and shadows. Buildings seemed to shimmer and vanish, replaced by ruins of different appearance. Dark and horrible things slithered through the rubble, closing off retreat. Ghostly drow dressed in resplendent robes appeared, smiling and happy, calling for them to join them in their blissful revels if only they would surrender first.

The lamia padded softly out into the street after them, holding its dagger behind its back.

"You may resist our enticements for a time," she purred, "but eventually we will wear you down." She reached out with her hand again. "Won't you let me smooth away your cares? Won't you let me touch you again? It would be so much easier."

A swift, graceful movement caught Halisstra's eye, and she glanced quickly to her left. Another lamia, this one male, had leaped to a wall top overshadowing their retreat. He was bronzed and handsome, lithe and tawny, and he smiled cruelly down on them.

"Your journey must have been long and tiresome," he said in voice of gold. "Won't you tell me of your travels? I want to hear all about them."

From the dark doorway of the court of justice, a third lamia emerged.

"Yes, indeed, tell us, tell us," the monster crooned. "What finer way to pa.s.s the day, eh? Rest, rest, and let us care for you."

It leaned against a great spear and smiled beatifically at them.

Halisstra and Danifae exchanged a single glance, and fled for their lives.

Gromph Baenre, Archmage of Menzoberranzan, was dissatisfied. Though the slave revolt had been quelled without too much trouble, it disturbed him greatly that so many drow males had made common cause against the matron mothers. Not only that, they had made common cause with slave races to turn against the city. It bespoke desperate fear long suppressed, and something else besideit suggested an unseen enemy who found a way to give that fear a voice and a mission. Drow simply did not cooperate so easily with each other that a coordinated rebellion could take shape secretly and spring full-grown to life.

The watchful lull that blanketed the city in the aftermath of the crushing of the revolt and the illithilich's demise struck Gromph as something malevolent and deceitful.

He stood up from his writing desk and paced across his chamber, thinking. Kyorli, the rat that served as his familiar, eyed him with cool disinterest as it munched on a slice of rothe cheese.

The sight of the rat somehow reminded the archmage that he hadn't heard from Pharaun in a while. The arrogant popinjay had reported that Ched Nasad was in a state of chaos. Perhaps it was time to check in on him.

Gromph stepped through an archway into an open shaft and levitated up to the room that served as his scrying chamber. Of necessity it was somewhat less well warded than other portions of his demesnes, since he required a certain amount of magical transparency in order to cast his mind out into the wide world around his palace. He reached the chamber and sat cross-legged in front of a low table on which rested a great crystal orb.

With a pa.s.s of his aged hands, he muttered the device's activating words and commanded, "Show me Pharaun Mizzrym, the impudent whelp who thinks he can replace me someday."

The last was not strictly necessary, but Gromph found it helpful to give voice to his frustrations before attempting to scry.

The orb grew gray and milky, swirling with fog, then it exploded with unheralded radiance. Gromph swore and averted his eyes. For a moment he believed that Pharaun had devised some new spell to discourage enemies from spying on him, but the Archmage soon recognized the peculiar quality of the brilliance.

Daylight.

Wondering what the Master of Sorcere could possibly be doing on the surface, Gromph shaded his eyes and peered again, looking closer. He saw Pharaun, sitting in the shadow of a crumbling wall as he studied his spellbooks. None of the other dark elves who had accompanied the wizard were in sight, though Gromph could see a nearby archway leading out into a hatefully brilliant courtyard beyond.

The tiny image of Pharaun looked up and frowned. The wizard had sensed Gromph's spying, as any skilled wielder of magic was likely to do. Pharaun made a few silent pa.s.ses with his hands, and the picture faded. Pharaun had cast a spell to block the scrying, though chances were good he had no idea who might be watching him.

"So you think you will elude me so easily?" Gromph said, staring at the grayness.

He steepled his fingers before him and cast a spell of his own, a mental sending to dispatch a message straight to the errant wizard.

Where are you? What transpired in Ched Nasad? What do you intend to do next?

He composed himself to receive Pharaun's replythe spell of sending conveyed the recipient's response within a few minutes. The moments crept by, as Gromph gazed out the high, narrow windows of his scrying chamber, awaiting the younger wizard's response.

He felt the feathery touch of Pharaun's words appearing in his mind: Anauroch. Ched Nasad was destroyed by rebellion and stonefire. Lolth's silence did extend there. We now seek a priest of Vhaeraun in hope of answers.

The contact faded after those twenty-five words. That particular spell didn't permit lengthy conversations, but Pharaun had answered Gromph's questions with uncharacteristic efficiency.

"Ched Nasad destroyed?" breathed Gromph.

That merited immediate investigation. He turned again to his crystal orb and commanded it to show him the City of Shimmering Webs. It took a moment for the mist to clear, and reveal to the Archmage a complete calamity.

Where Ched Nasad had stood, there was nothing but remnant strands of calcified webbing, dripping slowly into a black abyss like molten gla.s.s from a glazier's pipe. Of the city's sinister palaces and wall-climbing castles, virtually nothing remained.

"Lolth protect us," murmured Gromph, sickened at the sight.

He had no particular love for the City of Shimmering Webs, but whatever misfortune had befallen Ched Nasad might visit Menzoberranzan in time. Ched Nasad had been a city nearly as large and as powerful as Menzoberranzan itself, but Gromph could see with his own eyes the completeness of its ruin. If one building in twenty of the city remained, he would have been surprised.

Gromph shifted his...o...b..s vision, searching as best he could for some sign of survivors, but the main cavern was largely deserted. He saw more than a few burned bodies among the smoldering debris, but any drow who'd lived through the burning of the city were clearly sheltering in the nearby caverns. Gromph was unable to bring them into the view of his scrying device, so after a time he decided that the effort was irrelevant and allowed the crystal orb to go dim again. He sat for a long time in silence, gazing absently at the darkened orb.

"Now, do I need to share this with dear Triel?" he asked himself when he finally stirred from his reverie.

He knew something that the matron mothers presumably did not, and that was always the sign of possibility. The trouble was, Gromph had no idea what possible advantage he could derive from h.o.a.rding the knowledge, and the risks of failing to communicate what he had learned were all too clear. Knowing that Lolth's silence extended beyond Menzoberranzan, he might mount a direct challenge to the priestessesif he were inclined to do sobut even if he brought the full strength of Sorcere against the ruling Houses of the city, what would be left if he did succeed? The smoldering wreckage of Ched Nasad seemed a likely result. Most likely the House loyalties among the masters of the wizards' school would cripple any such nonsense from the start.

No, Gromph decided. I am no revolutionary anxious to sweep away the old ordernot yet, anyway.

Besides, the most likely cause of all the trouble was some insidious new snare of Lolth's devising. Gromph wouldn't put it past the Spider Queen to fall completely and inexplicably silent, just to see who might slink out of the shadows in order to take advantage of her priestesses' temporary "weakness." That meant that sooner or later, Lolth would tire of her game and restore her favor to her clerics. When that happened, woe to anyone foolish enough to have shown the shallowness of his allegiance to the established order. No, the wisest thing to do was to pa.s.s along to Triel what he'd learned, and to make sure Matron Baenre didn't h.o.a.rd the knowledge to herself. Pharaun's words indicated in a few quick brushstrokes a very grave danger to Menzoberranzan, and Gromph refused to be remembered as the archmage who allowed his city to be razed.

With a sigh, he stood and dropped silently back down the shaft. He rather hoped Triel was in the middle of something awkward, so that he could savor the petty pleasure of interrupting her with news that could not wait.

"The question is not where we should go next," observed Pharaun with a wry grimace. "The question is how we shall escape Hlaungadath alive." The Master of Sorcere was exhausted. Dust plastered the blood and sweat on his face, and he was so tired he could do no more than collapse into the shadow of a long, crumbling wall. Having long since exhausted any spells useful in battle, he wielded a wand of thin black iron from which he called forth bolts of lightning. Pharaun glanced up at the sky as if to gauge how much more daylight remained, and he quickly winced away. "Will the cursed sun never set?"

"Get up, wizard," said Quenthel. "If we rest, we die."

She, too, trembled with exhaustion, but she stayed on her feet. The long snake-headed whips she carried still coiled and hissed dangerously, covered with gore, but blood trickled from a nasty cut above her left eye, and two furrows of broken and twisted links in her mail shirt showed just how close she'd come to dying under the claws of some hulking monstrosity of gray skin and spiderlike eyes.

"You're more vulnerable to the lamias' powers of suggestion and illusion while you're fatigued," Halisstra said. "Better to die fighting than to fall under the dominion of such a creature."

She was in much the same condition as the others. Since she and Danifae had survived their initial encounter with the monsters, it had been an hours-long running battle through the streets and empty buildings of the ruins. First, a large pride of lamias had tried to overwhelm the party with their beguiling powers, but drow on guard for such magical tricks were no easy prey. Halisstra and the others steeled themselves for a fight against the lion-bodied monsters, but the lamiasdeceitful and cowardly things that they werewithdrew from the battle and instead hurled wave after wave of beguiled thralls at the drow party. Lamias might have lacked for physical courage, but the manticores, asabis, gargoyles, and other a.s.sorted creatures under their control certainly did not.

"Neither option appeals to me," Quenthel growled. She turned slowly, studying the walls and structures around them, seeking escape. "There. I can see the open desert just beyond those buildings. Maybe they'll abandon the chase if we leave the city."

"Unwise, Mistress," said Valas. He crouched by an archway leading into their temporary refuge, watching for the next a.s.sault. "Once we leave the shelter of the walls, they'll know exactly where we are. We'd be visible for miles out in the open, even with our piwafwisthey weren't made to hide us in bright daylight on an open plain. Concealment is our best defense."

Ryld nodded wearily. He stood by another doorway, his greatsword resting on his shoulder.

"They would surround us and drag us down out there," the Master of Melee-Magthere said. "Best to try to keep moving within the ruins, and hope the lamiasah, d.a.m.n. We've got more company."

Rubble shifted somewhere in the maze of crumbling walls beyond their refuge as something large padded closer.

"Watch out for illusions," Halisstra said.

She balanced her mace in her hand and tugged at her shield, making sure it was strapped securely to her arm. Behind her, Danifae crouched, a long dagger in her hand. Halisstra wasn't happy about arming her battle captive, but at the moment they needed all the help they could get, and it was plainly in Danifae's best interests to make sure they didn't all fall prey to the denizens of Hlaungadath.

The lamias tried something new. Against the gap in the wall that Jeggred guarded, the monsters hurled a wave of lizardlike asabis, savage creatures that hissed in anger as they threw themselves against the draegloth with scimitars and falchions clutched in their scaly hands. Three more challenged Valas while a pair of gargoyles streaked over the walls and dropped into the midst of the ruined building behind Ryld, their great black wings raising huge clouds of dust with every beat. The weapons master whirled to face the threat behind him, cursing.

Jeggred howled in rage and leaped to meet the rush of the asabis, batting aside flashing blades and snapping jaws while he tore at the lizard warriors with his great talons. The white-haired demon used his four arms to wreak terrible carnage, but even Jeggred was tiring. Blows he would have eluded with his freakish speed landed awkwardly. He blocked one slashing scimitar badly with his left outer arm, and suffered a long b.l.o.o.d.y cut halfway from elbow to wrist. Another blade scored his torso, starting a stream of red across his white-pelted chest. The draegloth roared in rage and redoubled his efforts.

Ryld slashed at the gargoyles while Halisstra and Quenthel ran to his side. Quenthel lashed at one with her whip. The snake heads wound around the creature's taloned legs and sank fangs into stony flesh, but the gargoyle beat furiously for height and dragged the priestess off her feet and across the dusty structure. Pharaun raised his wand to blast the monsters with deadly lightning, but spun in a half-circle and fell, a crossbow bolt transfixing his right forearm. The wand flew from his hands.

"The rooftops!" the wizard called.

Halisstra backed away from the gargoyles and squinted at the bright sky, searching for more attackers. Tawny blurs crouched atop a high wall perhaps forty or fifty yards distant, a handful of lamias who carried heavy crossbows and watched carefully for opportunities to shoot into the fray, their beautiful faces twisted into evil grins. Even as she watched, one took at shot at Ryld. The bolt whistled past the weapons master's head, smashing a divot from the soft stone wall nearby. Ryld flinched away.

"Someone take care of the snipers!" he snapped, while slashing at the gargoyles.

A second later, two more bolts flew at Ryld. One bounced from his breastplate, but the other caught him on the right side while his arms were raised to wield Splitter. The bolt lodged in the arm-opening of his armor. Ryld staggered back two steps and collapsed in the dust.

Halisstra reached down and s.n.a.t.c.hed up Pharaun's wand.

"Aid Quenthel," she told Danifae.

She leveled the wizard's weapon at the lamias on the high wall. She knew something about using such devicesa talent she wouldn't normally have wished to reveal, but the fight was desperate. She spoke an arcane word, and a bolt of purple lightning shot out at the first lamia, blasting the creature from the wall in a spray of shattered stone. Thunder reverberated in the dusty ruin. She aimed at the next lamia, but the monsters weren't stupid. They abandoned their lofty perches at once, leaping back behind the wall to avoid more lightning.

From the shadow of the back wall, Pharaun returned to the battle, armed with another wand. This one produced a blazing bolt of fire, which he directed against the gargoyles overhead. With shrieks of pain, the monsters flapped off, though the one poisoned by Quenthel's whips didn't get far before its wings folded. It plummeted down among the rooftops some distance away.

Valas dispatched the last of his attackers with a double-handed slash that nearly cut the creature in two, and Jeggred stood amid a virtual heap of asabi bodies, his flanks heaving. The wizard glanced around once, and noticed Ryld on the ground.

"d.a.m.n," he muttered.

He knelt by the weapons master and turned him over. Ryld was dying. Blood streamed from the bolt in his chest, and he fought for each breath, b.l.o.o.d.y spittle streaking his gray lips. The wizard scowled, then looked up at Quenthel.

"Do something," he said. "We need him."

Quenthel folded her arms with a cold frown and said, "Unfortunately, Lolth does not choose to grant me spells of healing at the moment, and I have already expended almost all of the healing magic I brought on our journey. There is little I can do for him."

Halisstra narrowed her eyes, thinking. Again, she didn't like the thought of what she was about to do, but there was a benefit to revealing her secret. If she proved herself useful, the Menzoberranyr would be hesitant to discard her.

Besides, she thought, they likely already know.

"Move aside," she said quietly. "I can help him."

Quenthel and Pharaun looked up suspiciously.

"How?" Quenthel demanded. "Do you mean to say that Lolth has not withdrawn her favor from you?"

"No," Halisstra replied. She knelt by Ryld and examined him. She would have to move quickly. If he died, he would be beyond her a.s.sistance. "Lolth has denied me spells, just as she has Quenthel, and presumably every other priestess of our race. I have some ability to heal by a different means, though."

With that, she began to sing. Her song was a strange keening threnody, something dark and eerie that tugged at the drow admiration for beauty, ambition, and black deeds skillfully done. Halisstra molded the shape of her voice and the ancient words of the song, summoning the magic of her lament as she set her hand on the quarrel and drew it from the wound.

Ryld started, his eyes wide and staring, and blood spurted over Halisstra's handsbut the wound closed into a puckered scar, and the weapons master coughed himself awake.

"What happened?" he groaned.

"What happened, indeed?" Quenthel replied. She eyed Halisstra suspiciously. "Was that what I thought it was?"

Halisstra nodded and stood, wiping blood from her hands.

"It is a tradition in my House that those females who are suited for it may study the arts of the bae'qeshel, the dark minstrels. As you can see, there is power in song, something that few of our kind care to study. I have been trained in the minstrel's lore."

Ryld sat up, looking down at his breastplate and the b.l.o.o.d.y quarrel lying in the dust. He looked up at Halisstra.

"You healed me?" he asked.

Halisstra offered her hand and pulled him to his feet.

"As your friend Pharaun observed, we need you too much to allow you to inconvenience us with your death."

Ryld met her eyes, obviously considering some reply. Grat.i.tude was not an emotion many drow bothered to act upon. The weapons master perhaps wondered what Halisstra might choose to do with his. She spared him any more serious reflections by turning her attention to Pharaun, and handing the iron wand back to him.

"Here," she said. "You dropped this."

Pharaun inclined his head and replied, "I admit I was surprised to see you wield it, but I heard you sing in Ched Nasad. Shame on me for not adding two and two."

"Let me see your arm," Halisstra said.

She sang the song of healing again, and repaired Pharaun's injury.

She would have examined the others and aided them if she could, but Quenthel interrupted her.

"No one else is dying," the high priestess said. "We must move now or our enemies will surely descend on us again. Valas, you lead the way. Head toward the outer walls so that we may make for the open desert if we decide to flee."

"Very well, Mistress Baenre," the scout acquiesced. "It will be as you say."