“You have evidence of that?” Pharaun asked, his voice quieter, weaker somehow, or maybe just bored.
“She told me,” Danifae replied, still looking at Quenthel.
“It’s true,” the draegloth added.
Quenthel turned on Jeggred, her face tight, her eyes blazing. Still, she looked tiny in front of the hulking creature.
“How would you know, fool?” Quenthel spat. “You weren’t brought here to think.”
“No,” the draegloth answered, not shrinking the slightest in the face of the high priestess’s rage, “I was brought here to act. I was brought here to fight and to kill. How much of that have I done, my dear, dear aunt?”
“As much,” Quenthel replied, her voice coming out almost as a growl, “or as little as I tell you. As I tell you, not Danifae.”
Jeggred loomed over her, the muscles under his gray fur rippling with anticipation.
“Mistress Danifae,” the draegloth said, “is at least trying. She’s acting—”
“Without my direct orders,” Quenthel finished for him.
Danifae was afraid that Jeggred would continue, so she said, “Only on your behalf, Mistress.”
Quenthel lifted an eyebrow and stepped closer to Danifae.
“We talked about that, didn’t we, battle-captive?”
“I am no one’s captive now, Mistress,” Danifae replied, “but still I serve Lolth.”
“By turning my draegloth’s head?” the high priestess said. Danifae felt the skin on her arms and chest tingle. “No,” she said. “Jeggred helped me help you.”
“Help me?” asked the high priestess.
The draegloth turned and skulked away. He found a spot near the bow and sat with his head bent downward. Quenthel was still looking at Danifae as if she expected an answer.
“Mistress,” Danifae said, “I am without a home. You said you would bring me back to Menzoberranzan with you if I served you. That, and a host of other reasons, is precisely why I did what I did.”
“Did I ask?” Quenthel roared. “Did I send you to do this?”
Danifae lifted an eyebrow herself and waited.
Quenthel took a deep breath and turned away from the former battle-captive to stare out at the black water, lost in thought.
“My loyalty is with Lolth,” Danifae said, “and to the House of your birth.”
“House Baenre,” Quenthel said, her voice icy, “has no room for upstarts, traitors, or battle-captives.”
“I think you’ll find, Mistress,” the former servant pressed on, “that I am neither an upstart, a traitor . . . or a battle-captive. It is not I who dances under the gaze of Eilistraee. I am here, and I am ready to serve you, to serve Lolth, to serve ArachTinilith, Menzoberranzan, and the entire dark elf—”
“All right,” Quenthel snarled, “leave it out. I don’t need my arse li—”
“Never, Mist—”
“Silence, child,” the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said. “Interrupt me again and taste venom.”
Danifae got the distinct impression that it was a hollow threat, but she silenced herself just the same. It wasn’t easy for her to do. There was much she burned to say to Quenthel Baenre, but she decided that she would say it to her corpse instead. Besides, the vipers at Quenthel’s command were still dangerous, and all five of them stared at her, their cruel poison glistening on darting tongues.
“Everyone,” Pharaun called from where he sat, his eyes closed. “Now that we’re all here . . . what’s left of us anyway . . . we’ll be on our way.
“As the Mistress ordered,” the mage added.
Danifae took a deep breath and a last look at the dreary Lake of Shadows and said, “We’re ready, Master Pharaun.”
Quenthel turned to look at her, but only out of the corner of her eye. A thrill raced through Danifae at the emotions plain in that look. The Mistress of Arach-Tinilith was terrified.
The ship began to move in response to Pharaun’s will, and the wizard shuddered. Through his connection with the ship he could feel the cold of the water, the heat of his own body and the bodies of his comrades on the deck, and he could feel the lesser demons still being digested in the hellish transdimensional space that was the vessel’s cargo hold. He found it an unusually pleasant mixture of sensations.
Still water rippled and tapped against the bone hull as the ship glided slowly across the surface of the lake. Other than that, nothing changed at first.
The walls are thin here, Aliisza whispered into his consciousness.
They are, he agreed.
The walls she referred to were the barriers between planes. In certain places and at certain times those barriers drew thinner and thinner and often broke all together. The Lake of Shadows was very close to the Plane of Shadows. The barriers between the two planes were especially thin there.
It’s good that you’re starting slowly, Aliisza sent. It won’t take much before we slip into the Sha—
They were there.
It took even Pharaun, who’d had quite a bit of experience in planar travel, by surprise. As they passed from the Lake of Shadows onto the Shadow Fringe Pharaun saw what little color there was drain from the dimly lit cavern.
The movement of the ship was smooth but disturbingly random. The deck rose gently, then fell gently, then rose a little farther, then fell not as far, then rose the same amount, then fell less far. Pharaun couldn’t tell if, on aggregate, they were going up, down, or staying the same. Sometimes they slipped straight to one side or rolled gently to the other. His stomach rolled with the ship, and he felt increasingly nauseous.
Don’t ride it, Aliisza advised. Be it.
Pharaun concentrated on the deck, on the palms of his hands pressing against the warm, living bone. He watched random memories from the devoured souls pass across his consciousness then looked deeper into the ship itself.
Though the vessel lived, it didn’t think. He felt it react to stimulus, riding the cool water of the lake into the freezing water of the Fringe. It knew it had crossed into the Plane of Shadow by feel but had no way to form the word “shadow.” The ship didn’t like the Shadow Fringe, it didn’t fear the Shadow Fringe, and it didn’t hate the Shadow Fringe. All it did was ride the water from one universe to the next at the command of the Master of Sorcere.
Pharaun’s stomach felt fine.
Valas had traveled the Shadow Fringe before and was not impressed. It was a world devoid of color and warmth—two things the scout had little appreciation for anyway. Every turn in the caverns of the real Underdark had a requisite turn in the Shadow, but distance and time was distorted there, less predictable, less tangible.
The scout had been hired to guide the expedition through the Underdark, but they had left the Underdark. They were in a realm more suited to the wizard, on their way to a world only a priestess could appreciate. The time for Valas Hune to step aside was at hand.
Among the trinkets and talismans that adorned his vest was a cameo made of deep green jade that he wore upside down. He looked around, making sure that none of the others were looking at him. They were all too busy standing in awe of the difference in the air and water, obsessed with the feel of the ship moving across the shadow-water, to notice him. Touching the cameo with one finger, the scout whispered a single word and closed his eyes while a wave of dizziness passed through him.
Having sent his message back to his superiors at Bregan D’aerthe—a simple message they would easily interpret along the lines of “I’m no longer needed here”—Valas let go of the cameo and joined the others in marveling at the sometimes subtle, sometimes extreme differences in the world around them.
Bregan D’aerthe would answer in their own time.
Danifae could barely contain herself. The feel of the deck rocking beneath her was thrilling. The draining of color from the world around her was exhilarating. The thought that they were on their way, and that thus far everything she’d planned had come to fruition excited her. The presence of the draegloth next to
her reassured her.
Danifae had never felt better in her life.
“The wizard will avenge him,” Jeggred grumbled in what sufficed for a whisper from the hulking half-demon.
“The wizard will do what is best for the wizard,” Danifae replied.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said the draegloth.
Danifae could hear the frustration in his voice.
“You don’t fear him,” she said. “I know that. Forget the wizard. He won’t put his own life at risk to defend Ryld Argith, who’s dead anyway and no longer of use to anyone. Even now, if he isn’t too busy piloting the ship, he’s coming to the realization that the weapons master had abandoned us all—including him—anyway, so to the Hells with him.”
“And to the Abyss with us,” the draegloth said, “at Pharaun’s mercy.”
“Pharaun has no more mercy than you and I, Jeggred,” said Danifae, “but he has his orders from his archmage and his own reasons for remaining with the expedition. If he puts anything at risk at any time in the Shadow Plane, the Astral, or the Abyss, he dies. Until then, I want you to leave him alone.”
“But—”
“No, Jeggred,” Danifae said, turning to face the draegloth and look him directly in the eyes. In the dull gloom of the Shadow Fringe, his eyes glowed an even more brilliant shade of crimson. “You will not touch him unless I tell you to, and even then only in the way I tell you to.”
“But Mistress . . .”
“Enough,” she said, her voice flat with finality.
There was a moment of silence intruded upon only by the creak of the rigging and the strangely echoing water splashing against the living bone of the ship of chaos.
“As you wish, Mistress,” the draegloth said finally.
Danifae forced herself not to smile.
You will grow accustomed to the motion after a time, Mistress, Yngoth reassured her. Eventually, you won’t notice it at all.
The vipers could speak to her, directly into her mind, but Quenthel didn’t know they could sense what she was feeling. She hadn’t articulated, aloud or telepathically, how uncomfortable she was with the motion of the undulating deck.
It’s the water that’s pushing us up and down, K’Sothra offered.
Quenthel ignored her, choosing instead to look out into the cold gloom of the Shadow Fringe.
“Care, all,” Pharaun said, his voice distant and echoing in the strange environment. “We’ll be crossing into the Shadow Deep. There are dangers there . . . creatures, intelligences . . . keep your arms and legs inside the rail at all times, please. Try not to make eye contact with anything we might pass. Be prepared for any manner of strange effects and all manner of strange creatures.”
Only a wizard, Zinda hissed, could offer such vague and meaningless warnings. Does he expect any of us to jump overboard in the Shadow Deep?
He’s right, Yngoth argued. The Shadow Deep hides many dangers.
“Hold onto something,” the Master of Sorcere advised.
Perhaps the draegloth could keep you from falling, Mistress, Hsiv advised.
Quenthel’s lip curled in a sneer, and she flicked the offending snake under his chin. She looked over at the draegloth. Danifae’s hand absently stroked his mane, and the draegloth stood very close to her.
Quenthel looked away, trying her best to rid her mind of the image. She kneeled on the deck and wrapped her arms around the bone and sinew rail. No sooner had she tightened her grip than the world—or the water—dropped out from under the ship.
They fell, and Quenthel’s stomach lurched up into her throat. Her jaw clenched, and all she could do was hold on, her body tense and ready for the inevitable deadly stop at the bottom of whatever they were falling into.
It took a terribly long time for that to happen. Finally Quenthel began to relax—at least a little—even though they were still falling and she continued to hold on to the rail for dear life. Quenthel gathered her wits enough to survey the rest of the expedition.
The ship’s deck was elongated and twisted, as if it had been pulled at either end by a strong but careless giant. Pharaun seemed twice as far away, Valas twice as close, and Danifae and Jeggred appeared to be hanging upside down. The draegloth held the battle-captive in one arm and the rail in the other.
All around them black shapes flitted in and around the rigging, up and under the hull, and between the falling dark elves. The air was ribboned with black and gray, and there was a dull roar like wind but not wind that all but deafened her. The flying black shapes were either bats or the shadows of bats. In the Shadow Deep, Quenthel knew, the shadows would be the more dangerous of the two.
We’re stopping, Qorra said, and Quenthel knew it to be true.
The sensation of falling had wafted away. It wasn’t that they had slowed in their fall, and they certainly hadn’t hit bottom, they simply weren’t falling anymore.
“Sorry, all,” Pharaun apologized, his voice cheerful and bright. “A bit of a rough transition, that one, but you’ll forgive my general inexperience with the whole piloting a ship of chaos thing, I’m sure.”
Quenthel didn’t forgive but also didn’t bother to say anything. The ship was perfectly still, as if it had come up on solid ground, and the high priestess risked a glance over the rail.
They hadn’t come to rest on the ground, she saw, but had stopped in midair above a rolling landscape of gray cluttered with vaguely translucent silhouettes of trees. The shadowy, batlike things still raced all around them.
“Oh, yes,” Pharaun added suddenly, “and don’t touch the bats.”
Quenthel sighed but never touched a shadow-bat.
Pharaun extended his senses out into the Shadow Deep, using the properties of the ship of chaos in a way that felt natural to one who had become part of the demonic vessel. He did it the same way he would have strained to hear some distant sound.
The Shadow Deep is not unlike your Underdark after all, Aliisza said, and like the Underdark it has its own rules.
Pharaun nodded. He didn’t pretend to understand those rules in any but the simplest way. He’d always been smart enough not to linger in the Shadow Deep.
We won’t linger now, Aliisza said.
She touched his shoulder, and Pharaun took a deep breath. He was reassured by her touch, and not only for her help navigating and piloting the ship. With Ryld dead, he was alone with a group of drow who’d be as happy to see him dead as not. The alu-fiend might be more enemy than friend, but still Pharaun couldn’t help thinking she was the only one he could trust.
Can you feel it? she asked.
Pharaun was momentarily taken aback. He thought she meant—
The gateway, she said. Can you feel it?
There was a lightness in his head and an itch on his right temple that made the ship turn and accelerate. His fingers curled, instinctively gripping the deck.
I feel it, he said. The barrier is thinnest there. The ship will pass through.
Yes, the alu-fiend breathed.
She wrapped an arm around him from behind and pressed into his back. Pharaun’s heart beat a little faster, and the wizard was amused with himself. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her, he could smell her, and he could hear her voice echoing in his skull. He liked it.
At Pharaun’s unspoken command the ship drifted across vast distances in insubstantial leaps. Like shadow walking, the ship slid across the Plane of Shadow faster than it should have, the distance compressing beneath it.
Will we fall again? Pharaun asked Aliisza as they neared the place where the Shadow Deep gave way directly to the endless expanse of the Astral.
No, she said, it will be different.
It was.
The ship was through in an instant. The darkness of the Shadow Deep with its sky of black and deep gray blazed into a blinding light. Pharaun’s eyes clamped shut and were instantly soaked with tears. The ship shuddered. It felt as if the vessel were being battered on its side. Pharaun’s breath caught in his
chest, and there was a hard pressure there, a tightness. Fear?
Don’t be afraid, Aliisza whispered.
Pharaun cringed at the word but had to admit to himself at least that he was afraid.
He blinked his burning eyes open, and his head reeled so he almost fainted. There was such an expanse of nothing on every side of them that he felt too out in the open, too vulnerable, too . . . outside to be anything but tense and jumpy.
The sky around them was gray, but it also held what Pharaun could only describe as the essence of light. There was no sun or any other single source of luminescence. The light was simply there, coming from everywhere at once, saturating everything.
Bright streaks of multicolored luminescence rippled across the backdrop of saturated light—brilliant and chaotic aurorae.
The ship rocked and shuddered, and Pharaun tensed again, fully prepared for the thing to shake itself apart. He held his teeth closed, then closed his eyes, and would have closed his ears if he could.
No, Aliisza advised, don’t close your eyes. Don’t shut yourself off from it.
Pharaun opened his eyes, mentally brushing off the resentment that boiled to the surface. He didn’t like being told what to do, even when he knew he needed it.
She squeezed him tighter and whispered in his ear, “Think it. Think the name of it.”
It? he thought to her.
Again she whispered with her real voice, her lips so close to his ear Pharaun could feel them brushing against the sensitive skin there: “The Abyss.”
The Abyss, he thought. The Abyss.
There it was.
“What is that?” Quenthel asked.
“We’re heading right for it,” the draegloth said.
Pharaun laughed and moved the ship faster toward the disturbance.
That’s it, Aliisza prodded.
They were moving toward a black whirlpool in the sky. It was as big as Sorcere itself, maybe bigger. It was huge. The closer they got to it, the bigger it became, and not only because they were moving closer to it. The thing was actually growing.
“We’re not projections here,” Valas said. “If we fly into that thing . . .”
“We’ll end up where we meant to go,” Pharaun said.
R. A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Extinction, Annihilation, Resurrection Page 58
