chapter
fifteen
“Oh, now, why the long face?” Aliisza purred.
Her hand slipped along Pharaun’s waist, tickling him, but he didn’t move. She smiled and wrapped her arm around him, sliding her hand onto his back and moving closer and closer until her body pressed against his. She was warm—almost hot, and she smelled good. She felt better.
“Your journey is barely beginning,” the alu-fiend whispered into his ear. Her breath was so hot it nearly burned the side of his neck. “I almost envy you the sights you’ll see, the things you’ll experience. You will be in the presence of your goddess soon enough.”
“Will I like what I see?” he asked. “Will the experience be a fulfilling one? Will my goddess speak to me?”
Aliisza stiffened, but just for a second, then she wrapped one leg around him and nestled in. The force of her embrace
turned them slightly in the air. Pharaun glanced down at the ship of chaos and his companions, a hundred feet or more beneath them, oblivious to their presence there.
“Those are all things you’ll have to discover on your own,” she said.
“Then how can you be sure it’ll be something to envy?” he asked, his voice playful but forced, his attention returning to her.
“I envy you the surprises,” she replied with a wink.
“Have you been there?”
“To the Abyss?” she asked. “Not for a long time.”
“The Demonweb Pits?”
The alu-fiend withdrew enough to look him in the eye, smiled, and said, “No, I’ve never been to the Demonweb Pits. Have you?”
Pharaun shook his head. He could answer her but not when she was looking at him. He leaned into her, and she squeezed him tighter.
“I was there twice, I think,” he said into the soft warmth of her long neck.
“You think?”
“It was a long time ago,” Pharaun replied, “and it might have been a dream. There was the last time, when we were all there in astral form, but I thought you might have been there once in the flesh. You’re a demon. You can go there and . . .”
Pharaun stopped talking. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.
“Have you been to Menzoberranzan?” he asked instead.
Aliisza stiffened again and for a little bit longer, and he knew that she had.
“Will there be a city for us to return to?” he asked.
Aliisza shrugged. Pharaun could feel the gesture against his body.
“Answer me,” he pressed.
“Yes,” she said, “or no. It all depends on what you find in the Abyss and how soon Kaanyr and his new friends can break your matron mothers’ backs.”
Pharaun found himself laughing. He was exhausted again. The Lake of Shadows had a way of sapping his strength.
“Honestly, Pharaun,” she said, “you ask me questions as if I’m some sort of fortune teller or oracle . . . or goddess. I don’t know what’ll happen to you and your friends. No one, not even your Spider Queen I think, can predict what will happen from minute to minute in the mad chaos of the Abyss.”
Pharaun looked her in the eye and decided not to say the first few things that came into his mind.
“Have you thought about my coming with you?” Aliisza asked.
“Why would you help me pilot the ship?” he asked her, gently pushing her away. “We enjoy each other, but I can’t imagine you’re asking me to simply trust you. I’ll need an answer.”
Aliisza resisted playfully and flicked the tip of her tongue against his cheek.
“You’re pretty,” she teased.
“Not as pretty as you,” said Pharaun. “Answer me. Why would you help me find Lolth and help Vhok and the duergar lay siege to Menzoberranzan at the same time? You’re the enemy—the consort of the enemy, at least—of the city I call home. One might be tempted to choose sides.”
“Whatever for?” she asked. “When I’m with you, I like you best. When I’m with Kaanyr, he is everything to me. Either way, I’m amused.”
Pharaun found himself laughing again.
“I’ll assume that’s the best answer I’ll ever get from you,” he said, “or any other tanar’ri.”
Aliisza winked at him again.
As Pharaun let his hands explore her exquisite body, he said, “We should begin our lessons. Quenthel and the others are anxious to get underway.”
Aliisza responded to his touch with a sigh, then replied, “As soon as you wish, love. You know how to get there from here?”
“Through the Shadow Deep,” he said.
The alu-fiend nodded and said, “From there to the Plain of Infinite Portals—the gateway to the Abyss. There you’ll need to find precisely the right entrance. The place you seek—the Demonweb Pits—is the sixty-sixth layer. There are guardians there and lost souls and things maybe even you can’t imagine. You might actually like the Abyss, and you might not. Either way, it will change you.”
Pharaun sighed. She was probably right.
He really didn’t want to go.
Who is responsible? Quenthel asked.
Oh, Mistress, Mistress, K’Sothra answered. Of the five vipers in her scourge, K’Sothra was the least intelligent, but Quenthel listened anyway. Mistress, it was you. You are responsible. It’s all your fault.
Quenthel closed her eyes. The skin on her face felt tight, stretched too thin on her skull. Her head hurt. She touched the viper just below its head, and K’Sothra writhed playfully under her touch.
Was it really my fault? the high priestess asked. Could it be?
She drew her finger away from K’Sothra, found the next viper, and cupped her head in two fingers.
I came back when she sent me back, and I served her as best I could, Quenthel sent to all five snakes. I became the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, and the worship of Lolth was never stronger. Isn’t that what she sent me back to do?
There was no answer.
What will become of us all? she asked Zinda.
The black-and-red-speckled snake twitched, flicked her tongue at Quenthel, and said, That is also your responsibility, Mistress. What happens as a result of your having driven Lolth away from us will be washed away if only you can bring her back. If you can attract her good graces again, she will save us all. If not, we will be destroyed.
Quenthel felt herself physically sag under the weight of that. Though she tried hard to muster all her training and natural fortitude, she wasn’t able to sit up straight. What weighed most heavily on her was the feeling that the snakes were right. It was her fault, and she was the only one who could fix it.
When will Lolth answer? Quenthel asked, moving her fingers to Qorra.
The third viper had the most potent poison. Quenthel only let her strike when she wanted to kill, when she wanted to show no mercy at all.
Never, Qorra hissed into the high priestess’s mind. Lolth will never answer. Menzoberranzan, Arach-Tinilith, and your entire civilization are doomed without her, and she’s never coming back.
Quenthel’s head spun. She was sitting on the deck of the ship of chaos but still felt as if she were about to fall over.
That isn’t necessarily true, said Yngoth.
Quenthel had grown more and more dependent on Yngoth’s limitless wisdom. It was his voice that tended to reassure her, and to Quenthel he sounded most like a drow.
Why was I sent back? she asked Yngoth. Is this why? To find her?
When you were sent back, the viper replied, Lolth didn’t need to be found. Haven’t you thought all along that you were sent back to sit at the head of Arach-Tinilith? To hold that post for House Baenre and preserve Lolth’s faith and Lolth’s favorite in the power structure of Menzoberranzan?
I’m not sure now, the Mistress of the Academy admitted.
You were sent back for this, Yngoth said. Of course you were. You were sent back to become Mistress of Arach-Tinilith so that you would be the one they sent to find Lolth when the goddess chose to turn away. You were mea
nt to be the savior of Menzoberranzan and perhaps even the savior of Lolth herself.
Quenthel sagged a little further at that.
How can you be sure? she asked.
I’m not sure, replied Yngoth, but it seems reasonable.
Quenthel sighed.
It was Lolth’s plan all along that I go back there, Quenthel asked, to find her? How will I do that?
Get to the Abyss first, replied Hsiv. The last of her vipers was never shy when it came to offering his mistress advice. Go there first and you will be guided to Lolth by Lolth. You will know what to do.
How do you know? Quenthel asked.
I don’t, Hsiv replied, but do you have any choice?
Quenthel shook her head. She hadn’t had any choice in a very long time.
Valas looked around at the ragged drow who made up the expedition to the Abyss. They didn’t look very good. Aside from Danifae, who had more energy than Valas had ever seen, who seemed transformed by their trip to Sschindylryn, they were tired, ragged, temperamental, and unfocused.
“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 scout 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 outré 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 halfdemon 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 halfdemon’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 wi
th 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.
R. A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Extinction, Annihilation, Resurrection Page 50
