Danifae let out a slow breath through her nose and heard the draegloth scuffle on the loose rocks behind her.
“I hate this,” she whispered.
“What?” Jeggred asked.
“The surface.”
Danifae scanned the ground below the ruined temple. Finally she drew from a pouch one of the rings she’d taken from Zinnirit and turned it over in her fingers. The fading light played against its polished surface and picked out a scattering of ruby chips.
Pressing the ring into one of the draegloth’s four hands she said, “Use this ring to return at will to the ship of chaos.”
Jeggred nodded, slipped the ring on, and stood patiently behind her, listening attentively as she explained the proper use of the ring’s magic. Confident that the draegloth understood, Danifae let the minutes drag on—and finally she saw them.
“There they are,” she said.
The draegloth moved closer behind her, and she suppressed a gag when his breath rolled over her. She waited while he searched for them, and when he finally saw them he growled low in his throat.
“They’re together,” he said.
“They lied,” said Danifae. “She didn’t go to Menzoberranzan. She went to the Velarswood—a forest where there’s a temple to . . .” She feigned difficulty in articulating the word. “Eilistraee.”
Jeggred growled again and said, “And the weapons master?”
“He’s made a choice,” she replied.
Jeggred began to growl with every exhale. He was ready to kill. Danifae could smell it on him.
“Take the male,” she whispered to the draegloth. “Just him for now.”
She pushed Jeggred back away from the crack but held him so he wouldn’t leave. Stepping up onto the bottom of the wound in the wall, Danifae drew herself up into the dimming light. She waved a hand over her head to attract her former mistress’s attention.
It took an infuriatingly long time, but eventually Halisstra stopped at the edge of the swamp and pointed up at Danifae. Ryld looked up as well, and Halisstra waved in answer.
Danifae made exaggerated, wide gestures, an unsubtle form of the drow sign language, sending the message: Only you.
Halisstra turned to Ryld, and they conversed. Even from so far away Danifae could tell that Ryld was reluctant to let her go alone. The weapons master might have been a traitor to his city, his goddess, and his race, but he was no fool. Still, Halisstra managed to convince him—or command him—to stay behind. He stood with his arms crossed as Halisstra stepped gingerly into the swamp.
Danifae stepped down from the crack in the wall and took the draegloth by the shoulders.
Doing her best to withstand the half-demon’s foul breath, she said, “Go. Don’t let her see you.”
The draegloth smiled, and a thick, ropy strand of drool dropped from his lower lip. His fangs glimmered in the dim light, and so did his burning red eyes.
Danifae thought he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
chapter
sixteen
The swamplight lynx didn’t smell prey. The scent that filled the great cat’s nostrils was something different. The lynx had never come across anything like it, but whatever it was, it was a predator—the odor of a meat-eater was unmistakable.
Padding softly, silently through the cold, shallow water, the lynx tipped its head up and waved its nose from side to side, honing in on the scent. A charge of energy thrilled through the cat. Its flesh tingled, its fur stood on end—a familiar feeling for the lynx, comforting, foretelling of a kill ahead and food.
The lynx moved from shadow to shadow, still inside the treeline. It caught sight of the competing predator and recognized the shape of a man. Powerful and cunning hunters in their own right, men never respected another predator’s stalking grounds. They ignored the scent markers, the scratches on trees, the most obvious signs. Its eyesight was the least of the cat’s senses even in daylight, and the creature could see and smell only that the intruder was a man. It had no way of discerning the man’s black skin, pointed ears, crimson eyes, and white hair.
The swamplight lynx gathered the Weave energy in its body, bared its fangs, and tightened into a crouch, ready to spring—when another scent all but slammed into its nostrils.
Another predator was approaching. It was bigger, and it smelled bad. It smelled like a scavenger.
The swamplight lynx relaxed but only a little. It watched the man, occasionally scanning the swamp’s edge for the scavenger, and waited.
Ryld was surrounded.
There were noises everywhere. The place Halisstra had called a “swamp” was even more alive than the rest of the World Above, and the weapons master didn’t like it at all. He could see things moving in the darkness around him. There were insects and spiders, all manner of flying creatures, and snakes .. . lots of snakes. The ground under his feet was spongy. He’d felt similar in some of the bigger fungal colonies in the Underdark, but down there it was at least quiet.
The ruined temple rose in black silhouette against the night sky in front of him. He’d watched Halisstra walk toward it through ever deepening water with an increasing certainty that she was walking toward her own demise. Going to meet Danifae was stupid, even if Halisstra had allowed him to come along, and Ryld wasn’t sure why he’d let it happen. Could it be that she simply wished it and he was so accustomed to obeying priestesses that he’d obeyed her?
The weapons master took a deep breath, set his feet close together, and pressed his hands palm to palm in front of his chest. He steadied his breathing and cleared his mind as best he could, surrounded as he was by the unseen dangers of the swamp. He watched tiny yellow lights flicker in the air—some kind of bioluminescent insects moving slowly, sluggish in the cold night air. Pinpoints of light spattered across the black dome of the sky, not painful to look at and actually helping Ryld’s natural darkvision. There was no other light except—
Except for a faint purple glow shimmering in chaotic waves over Ryld himself.
Faerie fire.
Ryld drew Splitter and stepped back, opening his stance, then he turned around once three hundred and sixty degrees looking for anything moving toward him—looking for Danifae. It was a dark elf who had picked him out from the dark background using the magical ability she, like all drow, was born with. Who else could it be?
She must have already killed Halisstra, Ryld thought.
The world exploded in agonizing light, and he could hear something big running at him.
Ryld had been trained to fight when unable to see, and as the foe that blinded him charged, he fell back on that training. The weapons master surprised himself with how well he’d adapted to the way sound traveled on the surface world. He timed Danifae’s charge—and it had to be Danifae—so that when she was no more than three strides from him, he stepped to the side. The echoes were oddly spaced. It almost sounded as if Danifae had four legs.
That aside, Ryld had estimated correctly, and he stepped out of the way of the former battle-captive in time to feel her brush past him in a rush of cold air and an unpleasant, uncharacteristic strong musky smell.
Still blind, Ryld heard her scuffle to a stop in the ankle-deep, wet moss. She turned quickly and Ryld could feel her ready to come at him again.
Ryld heaved Splitter in front of him, again as he was trained to do. The blade never bit into flesh and bone, but the purpose of that attack wasn’t so much to kill as it was to fend off. He had been blinded by some sort of conjured light, which meant that his eyesight would return in time. The first rule of fighting blind was keeping yourself alive until you weren’t blind anymore.
It was exactly what he was supposed to do, but it didn’t work. The moment Splitter passed to his left side, opening up his chest and face, she—it . . . something . . . dived on him. It was definitely not Danifae. It was no drow at all.
The thing that smashed Ryld to the ground was enormous and covered in thick, coarse fur. It had four strong legs ea
ch with a set of long, sharp claws that tugged at his armor but were unable to cut him through his dwarven mithral breastplate.
Ryld smelled hot, rank breath, and a name came to his mind: Jeggred.
Why would the draegloth be there with Danifae? Unless the former battle-captive had brought Quenthel with her, but would they all really waste their time running after him and Halisstra when there was still a goddess to awaken?
Ryld blinked, his sight returning in aching, cramping vibrations in his tired eyes. The claws worried at his armor and came dangerously close to his face as the creature—could it be the draegloth?—shifted in an effort to find some gap in his armor to exploit for the kill. Ryld pushed up with the flat of his blade and both his feet and rolled the heavy creature off him.
When it hit the cold, spongy ground, it wriggled on its side in an effort to get to its feet. The thing growled, and the sound was both higher in pitch and less intelligent than Jeggred’s. Ryld blinked blotches of purple from his eyes and whirled around and up to his feet, Splitter in front of him to guard against the inevitable next pounce.
If it was Jeggred, the draegloth was down on all fours and attacking him only with fangs and one set of claws. Ryld batted away a rake from the thing with the flat of his blade but failed to slice off the paw. It bit at him, but he stepped back, leaning away from the attack so that the creature’s fangs snapped down on thin air.
Ryld blinked again, and his eyesight returned to nearly normal. He wasn’t fighting Danifae or Jeggred but some kind of furred surface animal. Ryld had seen similar animals: cats. The one that was trying to kill him was huge, ten feet from nose to tail. Mottled gray fur rippled over rolling muscles. Its tall, pointed ears twitched and moved independently of each other to track Ryld as it circled him, and the weapons master turned to keep the animal in sight at all times. Steam puffed from its nostrils into the cold air.
Ryld felt a chill run through the undersides of his arms. He had a strange feeling of relief that he was only being hunted— again—by a native surface animal. Danifae hadn’t taken her revenge after all, certainly not with Jeggred as her second. The weapons master briefly entertained the idea that Halisstra was right about her former servant, but the reality of his situation intruded once again.
The animal leaped at him, and Ryld was ready for it. He had Splitter up and to the side and had just tensed his arms in preparation for a downward slice across his chest to dig at the animal’s head when the thing stopped. The animal halted in midair for a heartbeat then fell. It made a sound that was halfway between a growl and a whimper when it hit the ground, already scrambling to regain its feet.
The weapons master hopped back, bringing Splitter quickly in front of him to guard against—
“Jeggred,” Ryld said.
The draegloth held the huge cat by its tail, his eyes glowing red in the darkness. Even as the animal turned on him, Jeggred’s lips pulled back over his teeth in a feral, hate-filled smile.
Halisstra stepped off the stairs onto what she assumed was the highest floor of the slowly crumbling structure and there she saw Danifae. A gasp passed across her parted lips at the sight of her former servant. Danifae had always been beautiful—that was part of what made her such a desirable possession—but though it hardly seemed possible, the girl had grown even more attractive. The ample curves of her strong body made an alluring silhouette in the dark space, and her bright white hair framed her round, beautiful face in a way Halisstra had never seen on her normally pragmatic and simple battle-captive.
“What’s wrong?” Danifae asked, her voice quiet. “Do I look different?”
Halisstra nodded and stepped away from the top of the stairs, careful to keep her back to the wall.
“Yes, you do. Freedom agrees with you, Danifae.”
“Yes, Halisstra,” Danifae replied. Halisstra did not fail to miss the fact that Danifae had called her by name. “Freedom does agree with me,” she continued, “but there is much to discuss and precious little time.”
Halisstra arced an eyebrow and let a hand slip to the hilt of the Crescent Blade.
“You are in danger here,” Danifae warned, her eyes darting to Halisstra’s weapon. “I was careless and was found out.”
Halisstra’s blood went cold, and she said, “Found out?”
“I was gone too long,” said Danifae. “I was questioned by the high priestess and the mage, and they . . . did things to me to make me tell them about you, about Ryld, and all of it. All of it that I know.”
Halisstra tried to take a deep breath but found her chest tight with anxiety.
“Where are they?” Halisstra asked.
“Far away,” replied Danifae, “and well prepared for their journey to the Abyss, but they sent Jeggred back with me.”
Halisstra’s blood ran even colder, and she said, “The draegloth? Why?”
“To kill you both.”
Halisstra looked madly around the ruin and found the crack in the wall she’d earlier seen Danifae standing in. Though it meant turning her back on Danifae, Halisstra ran to the crack and began wildly scanning the dark swamp below for any sign of Ryld. There was a pain in her chest she’d never felt before. She couldn’t see either the weapons master or the draegloth.
“He’s out there, I assure you,” said Danifae.
“So you drew me here?” Halisstra asked, not turning from her fruitless search of the swamp below. “You drew us both into a trap?”
“Yes, I did,” said the former battle-captive, “but I can save you. I can save you, but I can’t save you both.”
“How can you stop a draegloth that has been sent to kill?” Halisstra asked. She scowled, still scanning the swamp. There were spaces where the trees were tall and thick enough to hide the surface all together.
Ryld must have gone in there, Halisstra thought, perhaps lured in by Jeggred.
“I can’t stop a draegloth,” Danifae admitted. “If Jeggred means to kill you both, he will, or Ryld will kill him, or I will kill him. Either way, there will be deaths tonight.”
Halisstra sighed, not sure what to do and afraid that Ryld was already dead.
“I don’t have to stop Jeggred,” Danifae continued, “or kill him. Just go, and leave the rest to Ryld and me. If the weapons master can best the draegloth, fine. If not, I can convince Jeggred that I killed you.”
“Why would he trust you?” asked Halisstra. “He’ll want to see my body . . . or part of it at least. And what of Ryld?”
“Let me get you out of here,” the former battle-captive said. “Get enough distance between yourself and the draegloth while he’s still engaged with the weapons master and we can come to some arrangement. We’ll have time to sort something out.”
Halisstra shook her head and stepped away from the crack in the wall.
“I won’t leave Ryld.”
Halisstra smiled at the finality of her statement and the feeling that went with it.
“I can get you out of here fast,” Danifae said, “and I can move Ryld almost as easily, but it has to be one at a time. Come with me now, and I’ll go back for the weapons master.”
Halisstra studied her former servant’s face and saw nothing. Danifae didn’t seem to be lying, but at the same time she didn’t seem to be telling the truth. It was as if all expression had been sanded from her face. She was blank, impenetrable. That scared Halisstra.
“You’ve trusted me this far, Mistress.”
Halisstra registered the return of the traditional title.
Danifae held out a hand to her former mistress, and said, “Trust me, Halisstra.”
Confused, the First Daughter of House Melarn shook her head.
The former servant said, “The longer we do this, the longer your weapons master fights the draegloth . . . alone.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Halisstra sighed, stepped toward Danifae, and took her hand. Eilistraee had been pushing her along for some time. Halisstra knew that, and she felt pushed again. She tried to re
mind herself of what she’d told Ryld, that Eilistraee was guiding her but no goddess was guiding Danifae.
As the interior of the ruined temple faded in a wave of vertigo and purple light to be replaced by a strange place somewhere that smelled and felt like the Underdark, Halisstra tried so hard to trust in Eilistraee that her head started to hurt. She thought about Ryld and her eyes filled with tears.
The animal turned on Jeggred, and it was all claws and fangs. The swamp creature ripped a deep furrow in Jeggred’s abdomen with its foreclaws. Blood welled up in the wound. Jeggred didn’t flinch or cry out. Only a subtle narrowing of the halfdemon’s blazing red eyes indicated he’d felt the cut at all. The draegloth stepped in, slashing with two of his four sets of claws, but the cat leaped to the side, avoiding the attack, and at the same time stepped in again, forcing Jeggred to defend himself.
The cat was making a good showing of it, and Ryld knew it was the best chance he would have to run. By the time Jeggred managed to dispatch the beast—if he was able to at all—Ryld could be long gone. Even if he could leave Halisstra, wherever he went Jeggred would follow. If the draegloth had been sent to kill him, that’s what he would do.
The cat bit at Jeggred, and the draegloth moved his arm in and allowed the creature to fasten its powerful jaws on his upper right wrist. The fangs dented the draegloth’s skin but didn’t puncture it. Smiling, steam pouring from his nostrils into the cold air, Jeggred drew the claws of both of his left hands along the cat’s flanks. The animal opened its mouth to howl in pain, and the half-demon’s arm came free.
Jeggred let the animal cut him. Four parallel lines of deep red blood traced behind the cat’s raking claws. The animal was trying to hurt the draegloth in any way it could, but it was wounded and desperate and was making rash decisions. On the other hand, Jeggred only appeared feral. He was in control of himself. Ryld could see it in every twitch of the draegloth’s eyes that anticipated the cat’s attacks three or four moves ahead. Though the animal clawed him, Jeggred got in closer and wrapped one of his bigger, stronger arms around the animal’s belly. The draegloth’s claws made a popping sound when they punctured the cat’s flesh, then a ripping sound as they opened its underside in three deep, ragged incisions.
R. A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Extinction, Annihilation, Resurrection Page 51
