by Lisa Smedman
Q'arlynd was just about to crawl through this when he heard a splash. Not out on the lake, this time, but at the base of the rockfall. He whirled and saw two figures emerging from the water. He sighed in relief as he recognized them as priestesses of Eilistraee.
One was Chizra, the priestess who had taken the dead Protector back to the Promenade. The other was even more familiar to Q'arlynd. It had been nearly two years since he'd seen her last, but he remembered every detail of her lean, muscular body and ice-white hair.
"Leliana," Q'arlynd said as she approached. Belatedly, he remembered to bow. "I hadn't expected to see you-"
"Chizra, watch the lake," Leliana ordered.
Only after the other priestess had turned in that direction, sword in hand, did Leliana acknowledge Q'arlynd. Rather than greet him, she asked a brisk question. "Any sign of the svirfneblin?"
"None at all."
Leliana strode past him to inspect the web. Over her shoulder, she asked, "What kind of spider spun this?"
So it was going to be like that, was it? Q'arlynd opened his mouth to protest to Leliana that he'd done everything he could to protect her daughter's soul. Then he remembered Leliana's skill with truth-compelling prayers. He answered her question, instead.
"It wasn't a spider that spun it, but something demonic. It looked a little like a female draegloth. She came out of the Moondeep and disappeared down the tunnel."
Leliana turned. "Describe her."
Q'arlynd did. When he was done, Leliana looked as though she wanted to spit. She glanced back at the other priestess, who was still keeping an eye on the Moondeep. "That explains the delay in opening the portal. And the water's brackish taste."
Chizra called up from below. "I thought it tasted tainted."
Q'arlynd glanced at the web. "Was it one of Lolth's minions who…"
He didn't bother finishing his question; Leliana wasn't listening. She stared into the distance and spoke Qilue's name. A moment later, she cocked her head, as if listening, then repeated, swiftly and in an urgent tone, what Q'arlynd had just told her, describing the demon-thing.
That done, Leliana listened again. She blinked rapidly, as if surprised by what she heard.
"What is it?" Q'arlynd asked. "Bad news?"
Leliana gave him the strangest look, an odd mix of reluctance and pity. There was something she wanted to tell him-something important. Had the demon-thing somehow marked or tainted him? He resisted the urge to inspect his body, to see if there were visible signs of corruption. "What? Tell me."
Leliana pressed her lips together. "I can't," she said at last. "Qilue's orders. She said it's better if you don't know."
Q'arlynd's eyes narrowed. "It's my body, my soul. If either has been corrupted, then I have a right to-"
"It's nothing like that," Leliana said. "It's something that happened long ago, to someone else. But that's enough said. Let's just leave it at that."
Q'arlynd stared at her. Leliana was trying to tell him something, in an oblique way. He wondered what it might be.
Whatever it was, no hints were forthcoming. Leliana, obviously the senior priestess there, turned to Chizra. "Wait here. Conceal yourself well, and warn me if anything else comes through the portal. The wizard and I will try to catch up with the others."
Q'arlynd took a deep breath. "The wizard" was he? Well so be it. "As you command, Lady," he said, giving Leliana an exaggerated bow. Then he followed her into the tunnel.
*****
"What's wrong, Qilue?"
Laeral touched her sister's arm. A moment ago, they had been conversing together on the balcony of the tower. Then Qilue had abruptly broken off in mid-sentence with a faraway look in her eye-a look Laeral knew well. Her sister had been called by someone. An urgent summons, judging by the crease of Qilue's brow.
Qilue didn't answer. Her lips pursed together as she composed a mental reply. She spoke a name aloud: "Cavatina." More silent communication followed.
The summons must have been urgent, indeed.
Laeral waited patiently for her sister to finish. As she waited, she stared at the buildings below. The City of Hope had been raised nearly three years ago by the same high magic that had scoured away ancient Miyeritar. The walled city was laid out like a wheel within a circular wall. Nine roads led from its central plaza to sentinel towers that stood watch over the High Moor. The tower on whose balcony they stood-an exact replica of Blackstaff Tower in Waterdeep-was one of several wizard's towers that had been raised on the night the city was forged. It was one of the most distinctive. Utterly black, forbiddingly stark, it had neither window nor door. Those who knew the passwords could slip through its walls like ghosts; all others were barred by its powerful wards.
Qilue had come to speak to Laeral about something that was troubling her: some fell magic that was originating from the area of Kiaransalee's chief temple. Laeral was no expert in the Dark Seldarine. She was only part-elf, "sister" to Qilue through the grace of Mystra alone, whereas Qilue was wholly drow. They were as different, each from the other, as day and night, Laeral with fair skin and emerald-green eyes, clad in an elegant gown, Qilue head and shoulders taller, with ankle-length white hair and skin the color of midnight, protected by a warrior-priestess's armor. Yet both were Chosen of Mystra, bound from their birth to serve the goddess of magic.
At last, Qilue turned. "One of our priestesses, missing these past two years, has been found."
Laeral smiled brightly. "Certainly that's good news?"
"I'm not sure," Qilue answered slowly. "I thought that coin had landed, but it seems it has been tossed in the air a second time and is spinning still. Whether it will be aid or betrayal this time is unclear."
Laeral frowned. Qilue could be annoyingly cryptic at times. "I'm not sure I follow you, sister."
"The priestess I spoke of was reclaimed by Lolth. Made unclean. The Spider Queen's webs cling to Halisstra still, causing her to stumble. There were deaths in the Shilmista-deaths that may have been by her hand."
"By 'her,' do you mean Lolth… or this priestess?"
Qilue sighed. "Both. Or perhaps neither-it is too soon to tell. Eilistraee permitted Halisstra to use one of the Moonspring's portals, after all. In any case, Cavatina has been warned."
"I see," Laeral said, even though she didn't. She steered the conversation back to its original course. "You said you wanted my help with that problem of yours-something to do with the Faerzress?"
Qilue nodded. "Faerzress are being augmented throughout the Underdark. Each day, the effect spreads farther and grows stronger. Just this morning, we saw the first glimmerings of it in the Promenade. Eilistraee willing, my priestesses will confirm the cause of it soon-and by sword and song, eliminate it. But should they fail, there will be dire consequences for the drow."
"How so?"
"The drow-alone of all of Toril's many races-will be prevented from casting divinations. Nor will they be able to utilize any spell or prayer to magically convey themselves from place to place. For now, this is impossible only in the Dark Wastes, and simply more difficult the farther afield one ventures from the effect's point of origin. But if the augmentation of Faerzress continues, such magic will be impossible for drow throughout the Underdark."
"Surely that bodes well for your crusade. Won't it be one more reason for your people to come up to the surface?"
"It would-except for one thing," Qilue said, a grim look in her eye. "Hand in hand with the augmentation of the Faerzress comes a second, unforeseen effect. We've noticed it at our settlements on the surface. In recent days, the drow who came up into the light have begun retreating from the World Above, finding excuses to make their way back to the Underdark. I've felt it myself-a subtle, lingering longing that makes me loath to leave the Promenade. These past few days I visited our shrines that lie closer to the source of the effect. The call I felt there to go below was strong. Curious to know more, I allowed it to guide my footsteps and followed it down into the Underdark. I found myself
drawn to a cavern filled with Faerzress. Once there, I pressed myself against its walls, heedless of danger. I was a moth, drawn to a Faerzress flame."
Qilue shivered, despite the sunlight that warmed the tower's dark stone. "If this isn't stopped, we'll all be drawn below. Everything I've worked a lifetime for will be undone."
"Oh, sister," Laeral sighed. "That's terrible. But you said you've sent scouts to snoop around Kiaransalee's temple-the best warriors the Promenade has. Surely they'll put an end to this before it's…" She stopped, not wanting to say the words.
Qilue finished the sentence for her. "Too late?" Her jaw clenched. "Sister, that is my most fervent prayer."
"Tell me how I can help," Laeral said. "What would you have me do? Just name it, and it shall be done."
"I wish I knew," Qilue said. She stared out across the city-not at the city itself, but at the horizon. The High Moor was still flat and featureless, but some color had returned. Here and there were splotches of green and fall-red: young trees that had grown these past three years. That's what she loved about the surface. Its beauty was ever-changing, not frozen like the cold stone of the Underdark.
"I asked Eilistraee the same question myself," Qilue continued. "What would she have me do? The goddess's answer, however, puzzled me. 'It will end where it began,' Eilistraee replied. 'The High Moor.'" She turned to Laeral. "What that prophecy means, I cannot say. I thought you might have some idea, sister."
Laeral stood for several moments, lost in thought. Endings. Beginnings. "The City of Hope is an obvious 'beginning,' " she said. "As for an 'ending,' Faertlemiir, Miyeritar's City of High Magic, once stood here millennia ago, until it was laid waste by the killing storm. But that's surely something you've already thought of."
Qilue nodded.
"I'm sorry, sister. I have no answer for you. But I will think long and hard on it. I'll contact you at once if anything occurs to me."
"Thank you."
"In the meantime," Laeral said, "I'm curious. Is that the Crescent Blade at your hip? Did it really slay a demigod, as the ballads say?"
Instead of smiling, as Laeral had hoped, Qilue's expression grew closed and hard. Her right hand strayed to the hilt. She turned slightly away from Laeral, as if protective of the weapon. As if she half-expected Laeral to take the sword from her.
Then, like clouds rolling away from the sun, Qilue's expression cleared. "It is, indeed." She drew the sword and laid the flat of the blade across her palm, offering it up for Laeral to see.
Laeral noted the break in the blade. "It's been broken. And… mended."
"Yes, praise Eilistraee." Qilue's eyes glittered. "In Lolth's domain, no less. One day, it will slay the Spider Queen."
Laeral nodded. As Qilue' slid the sword back into its scabbard, she noticed something. "Your wrist: there's a cut there."
Once again, the guarded look returned to Qilue's eye. "A scratch, sister. Nothing more."
"Why didn't it heal?" Irritation flared in Qilue's eyes. "It's just a scratch."
Had it been anyone else, Laeral wouldn't have worried. But this was Qilue. Such a tiny wound should have healed in less than the blink of an eye.
But it might not be the best time to pursue the question, she thought.
Qilue was proud-perhaps the proudest of the Seven Sisters-and had chosen a difficult path. And it looked as though the work of bringing the drow 'up into the light' was going to increase in difficulty by a thousandfold, perhaps even become impossible. She had every right to be on edge, to grow irritated when "trivial" matters like the scratch on her wrist were pointed out to her.
Except that a wound that Mystra's silver fire couldn't heal was anything but trivial.
"I'll keep an eye on the High Moor for you, sister," Laeral promised. "Let you know if anything unusual happens here. Any more 'endings' or 'beginnings.' I'll consult my scrying fonts. If I learn anything, I'll let you know immediately." She slipped a hand into the crook of Qilue's arm. "In the meantime, can I offer you food? Or wine?"
"No, thank you, sister. I must return to the Promenade as soon as possible."
Laeral gave her sister's arm a comforting squeeze. "The Faerzress?"
Qilue nodded. "The Faerzress." She plucked Laeral's hand from her arm. "Farewell." Then she teleported away.
Laeral stared for several moments at the spot Qilue had just occupied. Like all drow, Qilue was reluctant to show her emotions. Laeral could tell, however, that her sister was deeply troubled-and not just by the undoing of a lifetime's work. There was more going on; Laeral was certain of it.
But until Qilue confided in her, Laeral could do little to help.
CHAPTER 9
Mazeer lifted the bottle to her lips, inhaled, and swam forward a few more strokes. Her exhaled bubbles flattened against the roof just above her head. A Nightshadow swam immediately ahead of her, his feet fluttering the water. Ahead of him, the passage they were following narrowed to a crack that looked barely wide enough for a drow to squeeze into. The cleric paused there, sculling in place, and stared into the fissure, his face illuminated by the blue-green Faerzress that permeated the nearby stone. Mazeer took another suck on the bottle that trailed by a cord from her wrist, and swam up next to him.
Another dead end? she signed. The Nightshadow shook his head and his mask fluttered back and forth like wave-lapped seaweed. It leads down. His chest rose and fell as he breathed water.
Mazeer sucked another breath from her bottle. Bubbles continued to stream out of it as she lowered it, tickling her arm. This is pointless. We should go back. This place is a labyrinth.
It looks as though the crack widens, about a hundred paces below. What if it's the passage that leads to the Acropolis?
Mazeer peered down the narrow crack. She'd been uneasy about closed-in places ever since the time, as a novice wizard, she'd miscast a teleportation spell and wound up wedged inside one of the college's chimneys. Unable to climb out, unable to refresh her teleportation spell because her spell-book was inside her pack, mashed tight against her back, she'd remained stuck inside the chimney until she was faint with hunger and thirst and her clothes were soiled. Eventually, someone conjuring darkfire in the fireplace below had at last heard her hoarse screams for help.
She'd made a point, after that, of learning a spell that would reduce the size of her body. It helped, a little, to know she could use it to free herself if she did get stuck. Yet as she stared down into that long, narrow fissure the old fear made her shudder. She didn't want the Nightshadow above her, blocking the way out.
You go first, she signed. I'll follow.
The cleric nodded and edged sideways into the gap. He nodded at the wands sheathed at her wrists. Just don't be too long in following. If this leads to a monster's lair, I don't want to be fighting alone.
Mazeer laughed out the breath she'd just drawn from the bottle. 'Monsters' didn't scare her. Back at the college, she'd slain everything the teachers had summoned and thrown at her. Hordes of undead, however, were another matter entirely. Given a choice, she hoped the fissure would deadend in a monster's lair, and that one of the other search teams would have the dubious honor of finding the route to the Acropolis. Daffir had predicted that one of the pairs of searchers would find it, though he'd been woefully short on details. Nor had Khorl been much help in predicting what they might face along the way, despite his haughty pride. So much for the "best" the College of Divination could provide. Eilistraee's priestess had been right, Kiaransalee's followers weren't so crazy that they couldn't cast wards.
The cleric pushed away from the ceiling, forcing his body down the fissure. Mazeer waited until he was about a dozen paces below. She pinched the tiny pouch that hung at her throat, whispered a word that shrank her to half her normal size, and followed. To keep the panic at bay, she kept her head tilted back, her eyes on the opening above. Bubbles streamed up toward it each time she exhaled. Up toward freedom. Each push of her hands sent her farther away from it. Even though she had lots of elbo
w room and plenty of space between her diminished body and the walls of rock on either side, her heart was pounding by the time her foot touched the bottom of the shaft. Loose rock shifted underfoot with a dull clunk.
She tore her eyes away from the exit above and stared ahead. The Nightshadow hovered a few paces away, sculling water. He glared back at her. Quiet!
He'd been right, the passage did widen. The cavern at the bottom of the fissure was at least a dozen paces across. About fifty paces beyond the Nightshadow, the ceiling curved up and out of a flat spot on the water: the exit to an air-filled chamber. A rhythmic noise came from that direction, muffled by the intervening water. It sounded like sticks clattering on stone.
The Nightshadow's eyes glittered. Hear that? He drew a "breath" of water, held it a moment then exhaled. I think we've found it. The water here smells of death. Let's take a look.
Mazeer nodded. The sooner they confirmed it as the passage leading to the Acropolis, the better. Then they could return to the rest of the group.
Mazeer hadn't been keen on setting out to search the maze of water-filled passages with only a Nightshadow as backup. She would have felt better with other conjurers flanking her and the priestesses in the lead, their magical swords between Mazeer and whatever dangers lay ahead. Yet she'd done as Gilkriz ordered.
The Nightshadow touched the phylactery on his arm and motioned for her to follow. Dagger in hand, he swam up toward the surface. Mazeer restored herself to her usual size, and pushed off from her crouched position. Halfway through the cavern, she noticed a spot where the Faerzress was dimmer, as though screened by a gauzy curtain. A kick of her legs sent her in that direction. As she swam closer to it, breathing from her bottle, she saw that the "curtain" was a loose tangle of thick strands of colorless thread, nearly invisible in the water, that made up a loosely woven bag with several large tears in it. She touched it, and the strands felt slightly sticky. Below it, she noticed what looked like a knobby white wand wedged in a crack in the floor. She swam down for a look. It turned out to be a femur, small enough to have come from a child.
