War Of The Spider Queen - Condemnation Part 21

He laughed softly, finding humor in some private joke. Tzirik smiled as well, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

"Jezz refers to the ironic fact that we are Menzoberranyr ourselves, or at least were, once upon a time. Almost five hundred years ago the wise and beneficent Matron Baenre ordered our House destroyed for the twin perversions of being governed by males and following the Masked Lord. Many of my kin died screaming in the dungeons of Castle Baenre. Of those who escaped, many more died in the long, hard years of exile in the lonely places of the Underdark. You must understand how ironic it is for a Baenre daughter to place herself in our power. If nothing else comes of whatever business you bring before me, Valas, you will have my grat.i.tude for this." He moved closer and folded his powerful arms. "So, why do you seek me, Baenre?"

Quenthel kept her face impa.s.sive.

"We need you to commune with Vhaeraun," she said, "and ask your G.o.d a few questions on our behalf. We are willing to pay and pay well for your trouble."

Tzirik's eyebrows rose.

"Really? And why would Vhaeraun want me to do this for you?"

"You will, of course, discover what it is that brings us here, and what your G.o.d knows of it."

"I could torture you for a few years and discover as much," the priest said. "Or, for that matter, having agreed to ask the Masked Lord your questions, I might not see fit to share the answers."

"True, perhaps," Quenthel said, "though I think you might find that we are far from helpless, even with our weapons back in our chambers. Before we make a trial of that, let us see if we can reach an agreement of sorts."

"She's bluffing," Jezz remarked. "Why deal with these venomous creatures? Spare your friend if you like, but slay the priestesses at once."

"Patience, young Jezz. There is always time for that later," Tzirik said. He paced away, then looked back to Quenthel. "What is it you wish to learn?"

Quenthel squared her shoulders and met the priest's gaze evenly.

"We wish to know what has become of Lolth," she said. "The G.o.ddess refuses us our spells, and has done so for many months now. Since we do not have access to the magic she normally grants us, we have no way to ask her ourselves."

"Your fickle G.o.ddess is testing you," Tzirik said with a laugh. "She's withholding your spells simply to see how long you remain loyal."

"So we thought at first," Quenthel said, "but it has been nearly four months now, and we can only conclude that it is her will that we should seek the answer for ourselves."

"Why ask a priest of Vhaeraun?" Jezz asked. "Surely the priestesses of a neighboring city could be persuaded to intervene on your behalf."

"They have lost contact with the G.o.ddess, too," Danifae answered. "I came from Ched Nasad, where we had experienced the same silence as the priestesses of Menzoberranzan. We have reason to believe that all the drow cities throughout the Underdark are in the same situation. Lolth is speaking to no one, drow and lesser races alike."

"That would explain the retreat of Maerimydra," Jezz said quietly to Tzirik. "If their priestesses are powerless, they might be too busy with their own difficulties to cause any trouble for us."

"The facts would seem to fit," Tzirik replied. He turned his attention to Pharaun. "What of your vaunted wizards? Could they not summon up demons and devils aplenty and question them as to your G.o.ddess's mysterious silence, or use divination spells of their own?"

"We found that the infernal powers knew little more than we did," Pharaun said. "It seems as if Lolth has barred contact with the neighboring layers of the Abyss, sealing the borders of her realm against other powers." He raised his thumb-bound hands and made a small self-deprecatory gesture. "That is what I surmised from the reports of my colleagues investigating the matter, at any length. I did not do so personally, as the archmage has instructed me not to conjure such beings on pain of a particularly grotesque death."

Tzirik studied the Menzoberranyr, then paced over to consult with Jezz. The two Jaelre spoke together quietly, while the Menzoberranyr waited. Ryld surrept.i.tiously studied the guards nearby, calculating which of them he could disarm in order to provide himself with a weapon if it came to that. He still wore his dwarven breastplate, and felt reasonably confident that he could wrest a halberd away from one of the guards before he was run throughthough it might be a better move to use his belt knife to sever Pharaun's bonds as the first step in any kind of fight.

He was interrupted in his planning when Tzirik and Jezz returned to the company.

"I will intercede with Vhaeraun on your behalf," the high priest of the Jaelre said, "not least because I, too, would like to know what Lolth is up to. However, I think it is fair to expect a service for a service, and as you have approached me and not the other way around, I will seek Vhaeraun's guidance only after you have completed your task."

"Fine," grated Quenthel. "What do you wish us to do?"

"Three days west of here lie the ruins of Myth Drannor, once the capital of the old surface elf realm of Cormanthyr," Tzirik said. "During the course of our exploration of the ruins, we have come to suspect that a book containing secret and powerful lorethe Geildirion of Cimbaris buried in the secret library of a ruined wizard's tower. We have need of the knowledge that is in the Geildirion, for it will help us to master the ancient magical wards our long-lost surface cousins raised about their realm. Unfortunately, demons, devils, and fiends of all kinds plague the city's ruins, and the tower itself is home to an unusually powerful beholder mage. We have sent two expeditions to the tower, but the beholder destroyed or drove off our scouts with ease. I have no wish to throw away the lives of more of my charges, but I would dearly like to possess that book. Since you seem to be the best Menzoberranzan has to offer, perhaps you can succeed where our warriors have so far failed. Bring me the Geildirion, and I will seek Vhaeraun's insight regarding Lolth's silence."

"Done," Quenthel replied. "Provide us a guide to this place, and we will get your book for you."

Jezz laughed softly and said, "You might not be so quick to agree, if you knew how dangerous the beholder really is. You will earn our aid, that is for certain."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

At nightfall, Seyll, accompanied by a young drow woman and a pale elf maiden, came for Halisstra. The priestess of Eilistraee was armed and armored beneath her green cloak, a long sword at her hip. She wore high leather boots, and carried a bundle under one arm.

"It's raining," she said as she entered the cell, "but our senior priestesses say it will be clear later on, when the moon rises. Tonight we will go to honor our G.o.ddess."

Halisstra shifted in her chains and rose.

"I will not honor Eilistraee," she said.

"You need not partic.i.p.ate. I am simply offering you the opportunity to observe and draw your own conclusions. You challenged me to demonstrate that my G.o.ddess is not a cruel or jealous one. I stand ready to offer proof."

"Doubtless you think to ensnare me with some beguiling enchantments," Halisstra said. "Do not think I will be duped so easily."

"No one will attempt to work any magic on you," Seyll replied. She set down her bundle and unwrapped it. Inside was a large leather case, boots, and a cloak not unlike her own. "I have brought your lyre, in the hopes that you might honor us with a song if you feel so inclined."

"I doubt you will take much pleasure in the bae'qeshel songs," Halisstra said.

"We will see," the priestess said. "You've been manacled here for three days, and I'm offering you a chance to get out of your cell."

"Only to be returned here when you're done hectoring me about your G.o.ddess."

"As we discussed before, you need only offer Lord Dessaer an accounting of yourself to be free," Seyll said. She produced a set of keys and dangled them in front of Halisstra. "Xarra and Feliane are here to help me escort you safely to and from the spot of our ceremony tonight, and I'm afraid I must insist on keeping your hands bound."

Halisstra glanced at the other two women. They wore chain mail beneath their cloaks, too, and also carried swords at their hips. She had little wish to watch some meaningless drivel in Eilistraee's name, but Seyll offered her a chance to get out of her cell. At the very worst, Seyll's vigilance would not lapse, and no opportunities for escape would arise, leaving Halisstra no worse for wear. At best, Seyll and her fellow clerics might make a mistake that Halisstra could capitalize on.

In either case, she would at least have an opportunity to spy out some of the town and the surrounding forest, which might come in useful if a chance to escape came up laterand there was always the chance of that.

"Very well," she said.

Seyll unlocked Halisstra's manacles, and helped the Melarn priestess to don the winter clothing and cloak she'd brought. She knotted a strong silver cord around Halisstra's hands, and the small party left the palace dungeons and ascended into a cold, rain-spattered night.

Elventree was not really a town, nor an outpost, nor an encampment, but something in between. Ruined walls of white stone crisscrossed the place, hinting at the old ramparts and broad squares of a good-sized surface town, but most were crumbling with age. Many of the original buildings were nothing more than empty sh.e.l.ls, but a number of them seemed to have been appropriated by the town's current residents, who had covered the old buildings with wooden latticework or permanent tents in order to turn the proud old structures into humble, semi-permanent woodsmen's homes. Great gnarled trees rose from the cracked pavement of ancient courtyards, and many structures actually stood well off the ground in their mighty branches, linked by swaying catwalks of silver rope and white planks. A handful of the town's original buildings still stood more or less intact.

Halisstra saw that she had been imprisoned beneath an old watch-tower. Across the square an elegant palace rose through the trees, illuminated by hundreds of soft lanterns. Lord Dessaer's palace, she surmised. The sound of distant song and laughter drifted through the air.

The priestesses of Eilistraee led Halisstra along an old boulevard that quickly carried them out of the town and into the dark, rainy forest. They marched for quite some time, the silence of the night broken only by soft footfalls on the forest floor and the constant pattering of the rainwhich did indeed slacken noticeably as they went on, giving way to a partial overcast through which stars on occasion appeared.

Halisstra had had about all of the World Above that she cared to endure, but she occupied herself by quietly working at the knots of the rope binding her hands while keeping an eye on her captors, hoping they would relax their vigilance. Xarra, the drow, walked in front, while Feliane marched at the rear. Seyll stayed close by Halisstra at all times, either a little before her or a little behind.

"Where are you taking me?" Halisstra asked as the walk dragged on.

"A place we call the Dancing Stone," Seyll answered. "It is sacred to Eilistraee."

"The forest looks all alike to me," said Halisstra. "How can you tell one part of it from another?"

"We know this trail well," Seyll replied. "In fact, we're not all that far from where we first encountered you and your companions. They abandoned you, and haven't been seen since that night."

Halisstra took a sip from her own flask to hide the smile that flitted across her features. The apostate priestess had made a mistake, and she didn't even realize it. If they weren't far from where she'd been captured, it stood to reason that she could follow the directions of Pharaun's vision from there and have a reasonable chance of locating the Jaelre drow. Regardless of what else she accomplished that night, it had already been worth her while.

They came to a loud, rushing creek, its bed strewn with large boulders. Xarra crossed first, leaping lightly from rock to rock and continuing into the woods on the far side, keeping watch for any danger. Seyll followed, a few steps ahead of Halisstra, her eyes on the uncertain footing beneath her. Halisstra started to follow. The rushing water was loud, even though the creek was shallow and not at all wide. The moon slipped behind the clouds, momentarily darkening the forest floor.

Halisstra scented opportunity.

She quickly hopped two rocks into the stream and halted, as if studying her next step. Instead she pitched her voice low and began a bae'qeshel song, the sound covered by the noisy creek. Seyll continued to pick her way ahead, and behind Halisstra the surface elf Feliane stopped, waiting for her to cross.

It was difficult with her hands bound, even as loosely as they were, but the power of the enchantment was in Halisstra's voice, not her hands. Even as Feliane lost patience and hopped forward to aid her, Halisstra turned around and fixed her red eyes on the pale girl's face.

"Angardh xorr feleal," she hissed. "Dear Feliane, would you draw your sword and free me of these troublesome bonds? I am afraid I will fall."

The charm ensnared the young priestess easily. With a blank expression, she drew her blade.

"Of course," the elf murmured vacantly.

She drew the razor edge carefully through the cords on Halisstra's wrists. Halisstra glanced over her shoulder at Seyll and carefully moved to shield Feliane's work with her body.

"What's wrong?" Seyll called.

"Don't answer," Halisstra whispered to the girl. She kept her hands together and turned carefully to face the priestess. "A moment!" she called. "I'm not certain of this step with my hands bound. The next rock seems slippery.

Seyll glanced at the creek, then retraced her steps, leaping one rock to the next as she came back toward Halisstra and Feliane. Halisstra twisted to look back at Feliane, standing behind her with her sword drawn.

"Dear Feliane," she said sweetly, "may I borrow your sword for a moment?"

The girl frowned slightly, perhaps aware somewhere in the depths of her enchantment-fogged mind that something was not right, but she extended the sword's hilt to Halisstra. Again concealing the movement with her body, Halisstra took the blade in her hand.

"Here," said Seyll. The Eilistraee priestess reached the next boulder and set her feet carefully, extending a hand. "Take my arm, and I will steady you."

Halisstra spun with the quickness of a cat and buried Feliane's sword beneath Seyll's outstretched arm. The priestess gasped in cold shock and crumpled at once, slipping from her perch to fall awkwardly in the icy stream. She slumped down the moss-covered boulder and came to rest leaning against the stone, sitting waist deep in the rushing water.

Halisstra withdrew the sword and turned back to Feliane, who stared at her with dumb amazement.

"Seyll's been hurt, girl," Halisstra snapped. "Quick, run back to Elventree and fetch help! Go!"

The pale elf maiden managed only one jerky nod before she whirled and raced off. Halisstra leaped over Seyll's rock and dashed quickly over the path. Xarra, the younger drow priestess, emerged suddenly from the wooded banks ahead of her, returning to find out what had delayed the others. To her credit, Xarra took in the situation with a single glance. She raised her crossbow and took quick aim.

Halisstra threw herself aside, twisting in midair as she sprang. Xarra's quarrel hissed by her torso so closely she felt it tug at her coat as it flew past.

"You missed your shot, girl," Halisstra snarled.

Xarra dropped her crossbow and reached for her sword. She died before the blade had cleared her scabbard, spitted through the throat. Halisstra straightened and looked down at the body, her heart pounding. The stream sang loudly beside her, and the air smelled of rain and wet leaves.

What next? she wondered.

Her prized mail, mace, and crossbow were in Lord Dessaer's keeping in Elventree, and as much as she wanted to recover her possessions, it didn't seem likely that she would be able to without the a.s.sistance of the Menzoberranyr. Her best move would be to arm herself as well as she could, take what provisions she could from Seyll and Xarra, and strike out in search of the Jaelre. With luck she would find them before Dessaer's rangers found her.

Halisstra thrust the sword through her belt and ventured back out into the stream to see if Seyll was carrying anything of use. She splashed down into the cold stream beside the Eilistraee priestess, gathered her up beneath the arms, and hoisted her back onto the stone slab in order to get a better look at her gear. The armor was clearly magical, as was the shield slung over Seyll's shoulder and the sword at her belt. Halisstra began unfastening the mail, intending to strip it from Seyll's body.

Seyll's eyes fluttered, and she groaned, "Halisstra. ..."

Halisstra recoiled, startled above all else, and somewhat repulsed to find that she was stripping the corpse of someone who was not quite dead yet. She glanced down at the stone and studied a coursing rivulet of blood streaming from Seyll's side to the foaming water of the creek. The priestess's breath sounded wet and shallow, and bright flecks of blood stained her lips.

"I hope you will forgive me, Seyll, but I have need of your arms and armor, and you will be dead in a very short time," Halisstra remarked. "I have decided to decline your gracious invitation to join your observances tonight, as I have pressing business elsewhere in the forest."

"The . . . others?" Seyll gasped.

"Xarra had the decency to die swiftly and without awkward conversation. The surface girl I charmed and sent running off into the forest."

Halisstra unbuckled Seyll's sword belt and dragged it loose, setting it well out of the dying drow's reach. She set to work on the armor fastenings.

"While I admire your determination to save me from myself, Seyll, I can't believe you didn't see this as a likely outcome of your attempt to convert me."

"A risk ... we are all ... prepared to take," Seyll managed. "No one is beyond redemption."

She mumbled something more and reached up to interfere with Halisstra's work, but the Melarn priestess simply batted her hands away.

"A foolish risk, then. Lolth has punished your faithlessness through my hand, apostate," Halisstra said. She pulled off Seyll's boots and undid the leggings of her mail. "Tell me, was it worth it, to follow the path that led you to a cold and pointless death here in this miserable forest?"

To Halisstra's surprise, Seyll smiled, finding some last reservoir of strength.

"Worth it? Upon . . . my soul, yes." She laid her head back and gazed up into Halisstra's face. "I... have hope for you still," she whispered. "Do not. . . concern yourself. . . with me. I ... have been . . . redeemed."

Her eyes closed for the final time, and the wet sound of her breathing halted.

Halisstra paused in her work. She had expected anger, resentment, perhaps even fear or scorn, but forgiveness? What power did the Dark Maiden hold over her worshipers that they could die with a blessing for their enemies on their lips?

Seyll turned away from the Spider Queen, she told herself, and through me the Spider Queen exacted her vengeance. Yet Seyll died with calm a.s.surance, as if she had escaped Lolth finally and completely with the ending of her life.

"The Spider Queen take your soul," she said to the dead priestess, but somehow she doubted that Lolth would.

"A swift march is our surest path to victory," Andzrel Baenre said, addressing the a.s.sembled priestesses.

Nimor stood to one side and watched the Baenre weapons master, one of only a handful of males invited to take counsel with the a.s.sembled females. All of the great Houses, and no less than sixteen of the minor ones, were represented in the hastily mustered Army of the Black Spider, named for the banners under which they marched. Nearly thirty high priestessesat least one from almost every House, and in some cases, several high priestesses from the same Housefilled the great command pavilion provided by the Baenre contingent, watching Andzrel like predatory cats while reclining, sitting, or standing as rank and opportunity dictated. Nimor and the other few males stood, of course. No mere male would be seated while a high priestess remained standing.

"We lead some four thousand drow soldiers and twenty-five hundred slave soldiers into battle. By all reports it would seem that we are evenly matched with the duergar army that marches up from the south, but we do not intend to meet the duergar in a fair fight, of course." The word "fair" sent a wave of chuckles echoing through the tent. Andzrel used a slender baton to direct their attention to a large map inked on rothe-vellum. "We can stop a force significantly stronger than our own by picking the right ground to fight for. The place we will halt the duergar advance is here, at the Pillars of Woe."

"If I decide that your plan has merit, you mean," drawled Mez'Barris Armgo of House Barrison Del'Armgo. "Triel Baenre may trust in your judgment, but I intend to think for myself, boy."