Condemnation (War of the Spider Queen #3) - Page 17

Within a day of Seyll's murder, Halisstra began to wonder if she might have been better off going with the Eilistraee priestess and feigning conversion. It might have been a strategy unlikely to reunite her with her comrades, but it would have meant that she would have enjoyed shelter, food, and the opportunity to perhaps regain her equipment, in-stead of an interminable march through the freezing woods. As dawn approached, she could find no better shelter than a small, damp hollow surrounded by drow-high boulders and bare trees. Shivering, she shrugged off her stolen backpack and searched it thoroughly, hoping against hope that she had somehow overlooked some key implement or a scrap of food.

Seyll and her followers had not anticipated a wilderness sojourn of more than a few hours. They carried no more gear than Halisstra would have, had she decided to venture out to a well-known cavern a mile or two from Ched Nasad. They certainly hadn't equipped themselves for the convenience of their captive's escape.

With the crossbow she'd taken from Xarra and thebae'qeshelsongs at her command, she had a fair chance of dropping any game she came across, but in her hours and hours of wandering she'd not seen anything larger than a bird. Even if she did succeed in killing something for her dinner, she had no means to cook it, and Halisstra was beginning to sus-pect that the forest itself conspired against her.

She was reasonably sure that she'd managed to keep heading west after her escape from the heretic. If Seyll hadn't been lying when she said they were near the spot where Halisstra had been captured, the Melarn priestess was no more than one or two nights' march from the small river Pharaun had described in his vision. Since the river ran south to north somewhere in front of her, it seemed a difficult target to miss as long as she kept moving west.

Halisstra tried to keep the sunset and moonset ahead of her, and a little to her left, since they'd be somewhat south of her at this time of year – or so she'd gathered from watching Valas navigate the woods over the past few days. Of course, she had no way of knowing whether to turn upstream or downstream when she did reach Pharaun's river, since she couldn't be sure that she'd struck the stream at the spot the wizard antici-pated. For that matter, she was unlikely to know for certain whether she'd found the right stream at all. She'd already crossed a dozen small brooks in a day and a half, and while she didn't think any of them could prop-erly be called a river, she simply didn't have enough experience of the sur-face world to be sure.

"Of course, that all presumes that I haven't been wandering in circles for hours," Halisstra muttered.

It could be that the most sensible thing to do would be to abandon the notion of searching for the Jaelre, and pick the straightest course out of the forest she could find. Sooner or later, she might find civilization again, and beg, borrow, or steal food and other supplies – or charm a guide who could lead her to the Jaelre.

She closed her eyes, trying to build a mental picture of Cormanthor and the lands around it. She was in the eastern part of the forest, she knew – so was her best course east, toward the rising sun? There was little on that side of the forest except for the human settlement of Harrowdale. if she recalled her geography. Or was she better off turning south? Severalmore dales lay in that direction, so her odds of reaching civilization seemed better that way, even if that meant she would have a longer trek to reach the eaves of the forest. North she ruled out at once, since she was fairly certain that Elventree lay in that direction. Any way she went, she would be turning her back on the Jaelre and her sacred mission, at least for a time.

"This would be easier if the goddess would consent to answer my prayers," she grumbled.

When she realized what she'd said, she couldn't help but glance around and put a hand to her mouth. Lolth did not look kindly on complainers.

She passed a cold, wet, and miserable day hunched down among the rocks of her small hiding place, drifting in and out of Reverie. More than once she wished she'd had the presence of mind to order Feliane to guide her to the Jaelre, or at least give up her cloak and pack before dashing off in a panic. Lord Dessaer's rangers were most likely on her trail, of course, and they would not show her much mercy if she fell into their hands again. Even so, Halisstra was beginning to feel that a quick execution by the surface elves might be preferable to a long and lonely death by starva-tion in the endless forest.

At nightfall she rose, gathered her belongings, and scrambled out of her hiding place. She stood on the forest floor, looking toward the di-rection she reckoned west, then south, and west again. South might offer a better chance of finding a human or surface elf settlement, but she couldn't bring herself to abandon the hope of rejoining her comrades. Better to try one more march west, and if she still hadn't found Pharaun's river by dawn, she'd think about giving up the effort.

"West, then," she said to herself.

She walked for a couple of hours, trying to keep the moon left of her, even though she felt it rather than saw it. The night was cold, and high thin clouds scudded by overhead, driven by a fierce blast of wind that didn't reach down to the shelter of the trees. The woods were cold and still, probably pitch black by a surface dweller's standards, but Halisstra found that the diffuse moonlight flooded the forest like a sea of gleaming silver shadow. She paused to study the sky, trying to gauge whether she was al-lowing the moon's passage to affect her course too much, when she heard the faint sound of rushing water.

Carefully she stole forward, trotting softly through the night, and she emerged at the bank of a wide, shallow brook that splashed over a pebbly bed. It was wider than any she'd seen yet, easily thirty to forty feet, and it ran from her left to her right.

"Is this it?" she breathed.

It seemed large enough, and it was about where she'd expected to find it – a march and a half from the place where she'd been captured. Halis-stra crouched and studied the swift water, thinking. If she made the wrong decision, she might follow the stream into some desolate and unpopulated portion of the woods and die a lonely death of hunger and cold. Then again, her prospects weren't very bright no matter what she did. Halisstra snorted to herself, and followed the stream to her left. What did she have to lose?

She managed another mile or so before the night's walk and the cold air made her hunger too great to be borne any longer, and she resolved to stop and make a midnight meal of whatever supplies she had left. Halis-stra shook her pack off her shoulder and started to look around when an odd whirring sound fluttered through the air. Without even thinking about it, Halisstra threw herself flat on the ground – she knew the sound too well.

Two small quarrels flew past her, one sinking into a nearby tree trunk, the other glancing from her armored sleeve. Halisstra rolled behind the tree and quickly sang a spell of invisibility, hoping to throw off her assail-ants' aim, when she happened to glance again at the bolt. It was small and black, with red fletching; the bolt of a drow hand crossbow.

Several stealthy attackers moved closer through the wood, their pres-ence indicated only by the occasional rustle of leaves on the ground or a low signaling whistle. Halisstra carefully stood, still hiding behind the tree.

In a low voice she called, "Hold your fire. I killed the Eilistraeen priestess who carried these arms. I serve the Spider Queen."

Her voice carried the hint of abae'qeshelsong that gave her words an undeniable sincerity.

Several drow stalked closer, their feet rustling softly in the underbrush. Halisstra caught sight of them, furtive males in green and black who prowled through the moonlit forest like panthers. They peered into the darkness, searching for her, but her spell concealed her well enough.

She set her hand to the hilt of Seyll's sword and shifted slightly to ready her shield in case they found a way to defeat her invisibility.

One of the drow in front of her paused a moment and replied, "We've been looking for you."

"Looking for me?" Halisstra said. "I seek an audience with Tzirik. Can you take me to him?"

The Jaelre warriors halted. Their fingers flashed quickly, signing to each other. After a moment, the warrior who had spoken straightened and lowered his crossbow.

"Your company of spider-kissers came to Minauthkeep three days ago," he said. "You were separated from them?"

Hoping that Quenthel and the others had done nothing to make en-emies of the Jaelre, Halisstra decided to answer honestly.

"Yes," she said.

"Very well, then," the stranger replied. "High Priest Tzirik ordered us to find you, so we'll take you back. Why, and what becomes of you there, is up to him."

Halisstra allowed her invisibility to fade, and nodded. The Jaelre drow fell in around her and set off at a quick pace toward the south, following the stream. She might have had no idea where she was, but the Jaelre seemed to know the woods well enough. In less than an hour, they came to a ruined keep, its white walls gleaming in the moonlight. The stream passed a stone's throw from the fortress.

I had the right stream, Halisstra noted with some surprise.

She'd kept her course for two nights and veered only a couple of miles too far to her right, it seemed. She thought about what would have happened if she'd crossed the stream and continued. The thought made her shiver.

The Jaelre scouts led Halisstra into the ruined keep, past watchful guards who crouched in hidden places and kept an eye on the forest all around. She discovered that the place was in much better repair than it seemed from outside. Her guards escorted her to a modest hall whose only furnishings were a large fire and an array of hunting trophies, mostly sur-face creatures Halisstra did not recognize. She waited for a long time, growing hungrier and thirstier, but eventually a short, solidly built male of middle years appeared, his face covered in a ceremonial black veil.

"Lucky me," he said in a rich voice. "Twice in three days servants of the Spider Queen have called upon my home and asked for me by name. I begin to wonder if Lolth wishes me to reconsider my devotion to the Masked Lord."

"You are Tzirik?" Halisstra asked.

"I am he," the priest said, folding his arms and studying her. "And you must be Halisstra."

"I am Halisstra Melarn, First Daughter of House Melarn, Second House of Ched Nasad. I understand that my companions are here."

"Indeed they are," Tzirik said. He offered a cold smile. "One thing ata time, though. I see you wear the arms of a priestess of Eilistraee. How did you come by them?"

"As I told your warriors, my company was attacked by surface elves some distance away from here five days ago. My companions escaped the attack, but I was captured and taken to a place called Elventree. There, a female who called herself Seyll Auzkovyn called on me in my cell, and sought to indoctrinate me in the ways of Eilistraee."

"A rather simpleminded notion," Tzirik observed. "Continue, please."

"I allowed her to believe I might be swayed," Halisstra said. "She of-fered to take me to a rite they were to hold two nights ago out in the forest. I found an opportunity to escape as we traveled to their ceremony."

She glanced down at the mail and weapons she wore. The naivete of the female still surprised Halisstra. Seyll had not seemed like a stupid drow, not by any stretch of the imagination, and yet she had fatally mis-judged Halisstra.

"In any event," she finished, "I took the liberty of borrowing some things Seyll had no more use for, since the good people of Elventree con-fiscated my own weapons and armor."

"And now you would like to be reunited with your comrades?"

"Provided they're not dead or imprisoned, yes," she replied.

"Nothing like that," said the priest. "They asked me to provide an unusual service for them, so I thought of something they could do for me by way of compensation for my time and trouble. If they succeed, they should return in a day or two. The question is, will you be here to greet them?"

Halisstra narrowed her eyes and remained silent. The high priest paced over by the fire and took a poker from a stand by the hearth. He prodded at the crackling logs.

"The comrades who abandoned you to captivity among the surface folk told me a very unusual story," said the priest. "Doubtless you're think-ing to yourself, 'How can I know how much they told Tzirik?' You can't, of course, so the wisest thing to do would be to tell me everything."

"My companions may not appreciate that when they return," Halis-stra said.

"Your companions will never know you were here if you fail to sat-isfy my curiosity, Mistress Melarn," Tzirik said. He set down the poker, and lowered himself into a seat by the fire. "Now, why don't you start at the beginning?"

Ryld crouched in the thick embrace of a deadly, acidic fog, trying hard not to draw breath despite the fact that he panted for air. His skin burned as if liquid fire had been poured over his body, and ugly welts were already rising wherever his ebon skin was exposed to the air. To stay where he was invited nothing less than a slow, agonizing death, but the vapors clung to his limbs like soft white hands, impeding his every movement. The cursed beholder lurked somewhere in the chamber, but where?

A brilliant bolt of lightning illuminated the white murk, lashing out with a dozen crackling arcs as it plowed through the mist. The weapons master threw himself aside and fell slowly to the floor, cushioned by the clinging mists, as a mighty thunderclap shook the stones of the chamber and rattled his teeth in his head.

"Pharaun!" he shouted. "Where is the damned – ?"

He instantly regretted speaking, as needles of hot pain filled his nose and throat.

"Against the east wall!" the wizard replied from some distance away.

The Master of Sorcere fell at once into another spell, rushing his words as he tried to cast as quickly as possible. Meanwhile the beholder mage droned its horrid spell-song, muttering the black words of half a dozen in-cantations at once. Lightning flashed again, followed by the whining shrieks of conjured missiles arrowing for their targets, and the cries, shouts, and curses of his companions.

Ryld finally reached the floor, where he found himself fetched up against one curving stone wall – the only landmark he could make out in the horrible mist. Without pausing for thought, he scrabbled forward at the best speed he could, hoping to emerge from the acidic fog before it burned the flesh from his face.

Goddess, what a mess! he thought, slashing and cleaving at the thick tendrils of fog with Splitter.

The beholder had been waiting for them to resort to magic to ascend the shaft, and it had scoured the company with every spell at its command.

"The devils are coming up after us!" Jezz shouted from somewhere beyond the burning fog. "Finish this thing quickly so that we can get what we came for and leave!"

Finish it quickly, Ryld thought with a grimace. That's a novel idea.

He surged forward and suddenly found himself free of the deadly, clinging fog. No one else stood nearby, though he could hear his compan-ions battling in the mists behind him.

"Damnation!" he muttered.

Clear of the unnatural fog, it was apparent that the whole floor of the tower had once been a royally appointed suite of rooms. A thick red haze of dust on the floor might have once been a plush carpet, and the walls were finished in patterns of orange and gold tile to form the image of a surface forest with its normally green leaves for some reason rendered in reds, oranges, and yellows. Ryld coughed, his eyes streaming from contact with the noxious fumes. Evidently he'd blundered through an archway into a differ-ent chamber, but another doorway led out of the room on the far side.

"Where in all the screaming hells am I?"

Something screeched in rage ahead, and the room beyond the arch flared brightly with magical fire. Ryld hefted Splitter and dashed into the next room, right into the middle of a fierce skirmish.

Danifae and Jezz battled against a pair of lean, scaly devils almost ten feet tall, horrible fiends with huge wings who fought with razor-sharp scourges and barbed tails that dripped with green venom. Several lesser devils hissed and surged behind the two already in the room, pressing for-ward and looking for a chance to join the fight.

"The devils are upon us!" Jezz cried.

The Jaelre fought with a curved knife in one hand, and a deadly white spell-flame wreathing the other. One of the big devils sprang at Jezz and hammered its iron chains past the Jaelre's defenses, spinning the surface drow to the floor. The creature stooped over the dazed Jaelre and reached for his throat.

Ryld glided forward, feinted high to bring the devil's weapon up to guard its face, and crouched low to take off its leg at the knee. The huge fiend roared in pain and toppled, its wings fluttering awkwardly as black blood spurted from the horrible wound. Ryld moved in close and reversed his grip on Splitter to finish the monster on the ground, but it replied with a flurry of slashing claws and snapping teeth, while lashing its barbed tail at him so quickly that only the stoutness of his dwarven breastplate saved him from being spitted on the wounded devil's sting.

Ryld parried furiously, battling for his life, as yet moredevils – a group composed of man-sized creatures who were armed with knifelike barbs jutting from their scaly bodies – swarmed closer, their fanged faces twisted in hellish glee.

"Dark elves to feast on!" they gloated. "Drow hearts to eat!"

"We've got to get out of here!" Danifae cried. "We can't hold them!"

She whirled her morningstar with skill and strength, dueling the other big devil and a pair of the smaller ones whosnatched at her from her flanks.

"There's no place to go," Ryld snapped. "The beholder's behind us!"

He could feel deadly spells flying in the chamber behind him, the re-verberations of thunderbolts and the soul-searing chill of slaying spells that made his flesh crawl.

This isn't working, he thought. We're split in two, fighting two dan-gerous enemies.

They needed to regroup and focus on one foe or the other, or aban-don the field all together and try again later. Presuming, of course, that the denizens of Myth Drannor allowed them to retreat at all. More than likely, they'd all die here, surrounded and overwhelmed by endless hordes of blood-thirsty demons. Quenthel and Valas were likely dead already.

Enough, Ryld snarled to himself. We didn't come all this way to be defeated here!

He redoubled his attack, stepped inside the big devil's reach, and drove Splitters point through the creature's scaly neck. It flailed violently at him, but it was dying, and its convulsions gouged stone and clawed at the air in-stead of mauling Ryld. The weapons master leaped over the creature's body to engage the smaller barbed devils already moving toward him.

Jezz rejoined the fray, pulling out a scroll from his belt and hurriedly reading off an abjuration that blasted several of the lesser devils back to whatever infernal realm they had crawled out of.

Two more instantly replaced their banished comrades.

"We have to move!" the Jaelre cried. "The beholder is our enemy. The devils are just a distraction!"

Ryld grimaced again. If they tried to flee, they'd be pulled down from behind. Still, he started backing his way toward the door leading to the beholder, praying that the creature was not in a position to see them. He gave ground grudgingly, unwilling to blunder into another fight while one still raged.

To his surprise, one of the devils on the other side of the chamber dropped out of view, and another one shrieked as a serpent-headed scourge sank its fangs into the back of its neck. Struggling through the ranks of the devils, Valas and Quenthel limped into sight. The scout supported the badly injured priestess, warding her side with one of his kukris while she lashed and flailed with her deadly scourge.

Danifae and Ryld took advantage of the devils' momentary disadvan-tage to press home attacks against their immediate foes. Quenthel slumped to one wall, fumbling with Halisstra's healing wand at her side, while Valas drew his second knife and darted into the fray, slashing and stabbing the devils from behind.

"Hurry!" Quenthel gasped. "A pit fiend and a dozen more devils are just behind us."

Ryld cut down another of the barbed devils, while Danifae splattered the brains of a second across the chamber wall with a two-handed blow of her morningstar. In the space of a few moments, the dark elves cleared the room of devils. Jezz produced another scroll and quickly read off a spell, sealing the doorway behind Quenthel and Valas with a crackling sheet of sparking yellow energy.

"That will only hold the creature for a moment," he cautioned.

The Baenre looked around the chamber. The fall in the shaft must have hurt her badly. Blood caked the side of her head, and her eyes didn't seem to want to focus. One arm hung limp at her side, but she held her-self upright.

"Where's the beholder," she asked, "Pharaun, and Jeggred?"

Ryld jerked his head at the archway behind him. Another spell rumbled through the air.

"Back there somewhere," he said. "The beholder – "

He was interrupted by the sudden, sickening awareness of an over-whelming presence approaching Jezz's barrier, something unseen that seemed to shake the very stones of the tower with its footfalls.

"The pit fiend comes," Danifae reported, panting for breath, her eyes wide with alarm.

"Go," Quenthel said, waving them forward with her good arm.

Without another word, the dark elves scrambled for the other exit, plunging into the next room heedless of the spells that thundered and crawled in the space beyond.

Triel Baenre stood on a high bridge of House Baenre, gazing toward Narbondel. The creeping ring of radiance that slowly climbed the mighty stone column marked the passage of time in Menzoberranzan. The glow stood near the pillar's upper end, which meant that the day would soon be done. Not for the first time it struck her as ironic that a race that had been driven from the world of light almost ten thousand years in the past would have the slightest use for marking the passage of days and nights in the manner of the surface folk, when the night was eternaland changeless in the Underdark, but it had proven somewhat useful over the years to re-member the endless march of unseen days in the world above. It helped in dealing with those who had more use for the custom, such as merchants who brought a few of the surface's more exotic and desirable goods down to the City of the Spider Queen.

Not that many of those had visited Menzoberranzan of late. War was hard on commerce.

The other question that came to Triel's mind as she looked out over Narbondel and the city below was somewhat less abstract: Who would be coming in an hour or two to cast the spells that renewed Narbondel's fiery ring? The office of archmage still belonged to her brother Gromph, miss-ing for more than a tenday, but the Masters of Sorcere would not permit the high seat to remain empty for much longer. She'd learned that several of the more ambitious masters already maneuvered for the post. Doubtless Pharaun Mizzrym would have been among them if he had remained in the city, but the errand to Ched Nasad had fortunately removed the hero of the hour from Menzoberranzan at the very moment that he might have put his fame to its best use. She turned her head slightly and spoke over her shoulder to the loyal Baenre guards who stood a respectful distance behind her.

"Send for Nauzhror," she said. "Tell him I desire his counsel on a matter of some importance. He may attend me in the chapel."

Triel made her way to the great temple of Lolth that lay in the center of House Baenre's Great Mound, her attention far from her surroundings as she contemplated the multiplicity of troubles that had descended over the city in the past few months. She was almost grateful to the duergar for providing her with a cause to which she could rally the Council, and through them the dozens of lesser Houses that comprised Menzoberran-zan's strength. A victory in the tunnels south of the city would do much to restore House Baenre's preeminence.

On the other hand, another setback could be disastrous. Even if Baenre remained the wealthiest and most powerful House, the Council might see fit to remove House Baenre as the First House. None of them alone, per-haps not even any two of them together, could hope to defeat House Baenre, but what if all seven of the other Houses on the Council agreed that it was time to pull down the strongest among them?

"Lolth preserve us," Triel muttered, and shivered with true fear.

In terms of numbers of troops, magical might, and sheer wealth, the other Houses had always possessed the wherewithal to destroy House Baenre if they chose to unite against the First House. What they had never possessed was the blessing of the goddess for an act of such impropriety. If the Spider Queen returned her attention to Menzoberranzan and de-stroyed the Second through the Eighth Houses for their presumption the day after they obliterated House Baenre, well, Baenre would hardly be helped by it. Without Lolth's wrath to deter the ambitions of the other great Houses, a unified attack against Baenre seemed more like an inevitability than a possibility.

The trick, mused Triel, is to keep the other Houses from settling thorny issues such as who would be First House after Baenre's fall, and tempt some of the smaller Houses with the places of the larger ones.

If Houses such as Xorlarrin or Agrach Dyrr could be convinced that they would advance with more certainty by supporting Baenre against a conspiracy of Barrison Del'Armgo and Faen Tlabbar than they would by turning against the First House, then House Baenre could withstand almost any threat from its lesser neighbors.

She paused at the door to the chapel, examining the notion with acute distaste. Could she really feel that House Baenre neededallies?The old Matron Baenre had not governed with anyone's consent. She had ruled the city because she was so strong no one could contemplate resisting her will.

Triel scowled and gestured at the chapel guards, who pulled open the doors and bowed before her.

Her sister Sos'Umptu awaited her in the chapel. Sos'Umptu had Quenthel's height, but took after Triel's thoughtful reserve as opposed to the willfulness of Quenthel or her unlamented sister Bladen'Kerst. Sos'Umptu possessed a calculated, deliberate maliciousness that she kept in careful check, never picking a feud she could not win. She briefly low-ered her eyes, the minimal gesture of respect Triel's position demanded, then straightened.

"Any news from the army, eldest sister?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Not as yet. Zal'therra tells me that Mez'Barris has dispatched a small force to go ahead and seize a strategic pass in the path of the duergar army, which seems sensible enough. The rest of the Army of the Black Spider follows as fast as it may."

"It is a difficult situation. I wonder if perhaps you should have led the army in person."

Triel frowned. She was not accustomed to having her actions openly scrutinized by anyone, but if she couldn't survive the criticism of her family, how could she hope to cow the other matrons?

"Given the unusual situation," Triel replied, "I felt it wisest to remain close to the city."

"Perhaps. The problem is simple, of course – if the army is defeated, the blame will naturally attach to you. If the army triumphs, you have made a hero of Mez'Barris Del'Armgo."

"As well as Zal'therra and Andzrel," Triel pointed out. "I admit I have more to lose than to gain, but I will not second-guess myself now."

She studied the chapel, gazing up at the great magical image depict-ing the Queen of Spiders. While Sos'Umptu watched, Triel performed a perfunctory obeisance.

"You have not observed the goddess's rites as closely as you might over the last few tendays," Sos'Umptu said.

The goddess has not observed us for far longer, Triel found herself thinking.

She hurriedly thrust the blasphemous thought from her mind, horri-fied that something so irreverent could ferment in her head. She main-tained her outward calm with the ease of long practice, returning her attention to her sister.

"We are confronted by yet another challenge," Triel said. "The Masters of Sorcere clamor for Gromph's replacement. House Baenre has placed archmages on Sorcere's throne as we liked for many hundreds of years, but this time, I am weighing the value of supporting the candidate of another House for the position. It might be … expedient."

Sos'Umptu's eyes widened by the thickness of a blade, and she said, "You seek my counsel?"

"As Gromph has absented himself, and Quenthel is far away, I find that the children of my formidable mother are in short supply. Very few females – and even fewer males – understand the lessons Mother taught us." Triel snorted in irritation. "Not even all our siblings, for that matter. Bladen'Kerst understood nothing but strength and cruelty, and Vendes was simply murderous. I have need of a sharp mind, a subtle mind, trained by my mother, and it occurs to me that I have allowed you to lurk in this chapel far too long." Triel moved a half-step closer and hardened her ex-pression. "Understand that you advise me at my pleasure, and do not mis-take consideration for indecision. I will brook no questioning of my right to rule."

Sos'Umptu nodded and said, "Very well. I think we should presume that Gromph has been killed. He would not have lightly abandoned his duties, and there are at least two reasons someone might have killed him. Either someone wanted to strike against the archmage himself, or some-one wanted to strike against the leading wizard of House Baenre. If the former, well, whomever becomes archmage next will either be the culprit, or the next target. Why should we hurry to place a Baenr