Storm of the Dead зкp-2

by Lisa Smedman

  The others shouldered their packs and secured their weapons. Leliana, however, drew Karas aside. "What if Cavatina returns?" she asked. "Someone should wait for her, tell her what's happening."

  Karas gave her a level stare. "Didn't you hear what the moonrat said? The demon took Cavatina. Wherever she's vanished to, not even Qilue can contact her."

  "She's a Darksong Knight. She can take care of herself. And that wasn't a demon."

  "Oh? What was it, then?"

  "It was-" Leliana halted abruptly. There was something she didn't want the others to know.

  "Your devotion to your superiors is commendable," Karas said. He pretended to give her request serious consideration. "Very well, then. If you think it's that important, send one of your priestesses back to the spot where Cavatina disappeared."

  Leliana turned to the wizard who stood next to her-an odd choice, Karas thought. "Q'arlynd, I think you should go."

  The wizard gave a start. "Me?" He glanced at the young wizard who was nominally in charge of the diviners. "I can't. Eldrinn may need me to-"

  Before he could finish, Gilkriz chuckled. "To what? Hold his hand in case he stumbles into a mine shaft and falls?"

  The other conjurer added a bark of laughter.

  Eldrinn stiffened. "I can take care of myself, Q'arlynd. And you'd do well to remember that Master Seldszar placed me in charge of our college's contingent." He folded his arms across his chest. His expression, however, wasn't angry at all. Instead the boy looked… desperate, Karas thought.

  Q'arlynd pretended to applaud. "Well done, Eldrinn! You'll convince them you're a mere apprentice, yet." He winked at Gilkriz while pointing at Eldrinn. "A word to the wise: don't turn your back on this one. He's already fooled you once."

  This time, it was the diviners who laughed.

  Karas followed the exchange out of habit; one never knew when a tidbit of information could become useful. However amusing the interplay between the mages, it was irrelevant. What mattered was that Karas accomplish the task the Masked Lord had set for them: putting a stop to whatever the Crones were doing. Not because the effects it had on divination-as far as the Nightshadows were concerned, anything that prevented others from spying on them was a good thing. No, it had to be stopped because the augmented Faerzress was luring the drow below. That was where, ultimately, they belonged-in the Underdark-but in order for the Masked Lord's plans to be fulfilled, the Nightshadows needed more time on the surface. They weren't yet strong enough to overthrow Lolth's matriarchies.

  "Enough banter." He nodded down at the strongbox. "Let's get moving, before the Crones start to wonder where their voidstone is."

  *****

  Cavatina expected to die. That didn't bother her. She had served Eilistraee long and well, and her soul would certainly join the goddess's dance for all eternity. But for the first time in decades as a Darksong Knight, she had failed. She, a slayer of a demigod, lay at the mercies of a demon. She was trussed up and helpless as a newborn babe, her holy symbol well out of arm's reach, lying in the dust where Wendonai had kicked it. That burned at her pride like a hot coal, impossible to ignore.

  She stared up at the balor with a glare fierce enough that it should have withered him where he stood. "Go on," she gritted. "Get it over with. Kill me."

  Wendonai chuckled. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he taunted, oily black smoke puffing from his mouth as he spoke. He slid his sword into the sheath on his back, extinguishing its flame. Then he squatted beside her, arms resting on his knees, wings folded. The slash in his midriff still gaped; that it had not healed told Cavatina she was within the Abyss-the only plane where a demon could be permanently destroyed. Wendonai didn't seem to be bothered by the entrails dangling from his wound, however, or the black blood that soaked the tangle of hair at his groin and dribbled onto the hard-packed earth below. He was too busy gloating.

  Cavatina resolved to do one thing before the demon killed her. At the very least, she would alert the high priestess to Halisstra's treachery. She pretended to cough. It hid the name she urgently whispered: "Qilue."

  "She can't hear you," the demon hissed. "Not unless I will it."

  "Qilue!" Cavatina shouted. Her voice sounded strange. As if it were echoing back at her.

  Qilue didn't answer.

  Wendonai laughed.

  Despite the residual heat of the whip that bound her, Cavatina felt a shiver slide down her spine. Qilue should have heard her name, even from the depths of the Abyss.

  The high priestess's silence was more frightening than any demon.

  Behind Wendonai, Halisstra groaned and flopped over onto her stomach. Unlike the demon, she was healing. Slowly, she drew her knees up under herself and used her arms to lever herself into a kneeling position. Turning her head slightly, she glanced sidelong at Cavatina through her tangle of hair. One hand twitched out words. I thought you would kill him. That's why I brought you here.

  Cavatina didn't believe a word of it. Had Halisstra intended that Wendonai be slain, she would have warned Cavatina in advance-or at least hinted at it. No, Halisstra was truly in Lolth's thrall. The Lady Penitent had thrown away her final chance at redemption.

  Halisstra was still signing: a single word that ended with the curved finger that turned it into a question. Attack? Her glance flicked to the demon.

  Cavatina almost laughed. A little late for that. She was bound with magical rope whose heat was agony against her skin, a constant reminder of her humiliating plight. Even so, Cavatina nodded, disguising the gesture as a simple lifting of the head to glance down at her bound wrists. If Halisstra did attack the demon, it just might give Cavatina the moment she needed to roll across the ground to her holy symbol and grab it. Halisstra slowly rose…

  The demon turned in her direction. "Down," he thundered.

  Halisstra collapsed, whimpering.

  Cavatina threw herself into a roll, but the demon grabbed her shoulder, halting her. He slammed her onto her back. The weight of his hand on her chest was like a boulder.

  "For a Darksong Knight, you're not very smart," he told her.

  Cavatina's eyes widened. She hadn't told him she was a Darksong Knight.

  The balor smiled. "Oh yes, I can hear your thoughts. Both yours-and Halisstra's."

  Was that so? Cavatina envisioned carving the demon into pieces. Slowly.

  The balor laughed. "Halisstra bores me. You, on the other hand, I find amusing." He ran a lazy claw down Cavatina's naked body.

  Cavatina knew he expected her to shudder under his touch. She kept her eyes on his, steeling herself, not allowing her flesh to so much as twitch.

  "You don't frighten me," she said.

  "I can see that." The demon lowered his blunt muzzle to her chest and sniffed. When he rose again, he was smiling. "Halisstra betrayed you. She delivered you into my hands. Tell me, priestess of Eilistraee, what will you do to her if you survive this?"

  "The Lady of the Dance is infinitely merciful," Cavatina answered. "If Halisstra is truly repentant-"

  "But she's not," Wendonai said. "You and I both know it. Remember, I can hear your thoughts. A moment ago, you hoped to reach your holy symbol. Just before that, you fantasized about spitting Halisstra with your sword. You would strangle her with your own two hands and commit her soul to the Abyss forever-if only she could be killed."

  Halisstra, still cringing behind the demon, whimpered.

  Cavatina said nothing. It was true. In its essence, if not in the exact details.

  "Yes," the demon hissed through a jagged row of fangs. "It is, isn't it? There's a dark side to you, Cavatina, lurking just below the surface. One you work hard to suppress. A hardness. An inflexibility, born of pride."

  Cavatina said nothing. She had every reason to be proud. Except, she thought ruefully, at this moment.

  The demon leaned closer. "You cleave to the rules of your faith, but it's difficult for you, at times. Your temper sometimes… slips out. You enjoy the hunt, the kill. A little too mu
ch."

  "I do as Eilistraee bids."

  "Yes, but I can sense something that underlies this. The thing that drove you into demon hunting in the first place. An anger." The demon cocked his head. "Born of jealousy, perhaps? What could you, a Darksong Knight-the oh-so-proud slayer of Selvetarm-possibly be jealous of?"

  Cavatina said nothing. She focused on her hatred of demons, of this demon in particular. She pushed everything else out of her mind. Shoved it into a dark corner, where Wendonai couldn't possibly find it.

  "Oh, is that it?" Wendonai exclaimed, the mock surprise out of place on his bestial, leering face. "All this… just because you weren't redeemed?"

  Behind him, Halisstra sat up. She leaned forward expectantly, staring at Cavatina.

  "I am a priestess of Eilistraee," Cavatina said slowly. "I took the sword oath, just like any other priestess-"

  "Not just like them," Wendonai said smoothly. "They were redeemed. You… merely took the oath."

  Cavatina bristled. The demon was playing with her, yanking out her deepest fears and tossing them at her feet. She didn't have to take this. "I had no other patron deity before taking up Eilistraee's sword. I was born into the faith. Unlike the others, I didn't need to be redeemed. I had nothing to atone for."

  "Luckily for you," Wendonai purred. "For, unlike the other priestesses, you could never, ever, have been redeemed." He leaned closer, the wound in his abdomen dribbling blood. "And do you know why?"

  Cavatina said nothing.

  "You're different from the other priestesses-in a way that's much more fundamental than where you were born and what deities they were taught to praise before they turned to Eilistraee's faith." He sniffed. "I can smell it on you."

  Behind him, Halisstra's eyes widened.

  Cavatina could see that what the demon had just said meant something to Halisstra. But Cavatina couldn't allow herself to become distracted by that. Not just then.

  She glared up at Wendonai. "Your tricks won't work on me, demon."

  "Tricks?" He chuckled, puffing the stench of sulfur into her face. "No trick, this. You…" he took a long, slow sniff of her body, moving his blunted muzzle from ankles to neck, lingering here and there, "… bear my taint."

  Cavatina laughed. "Of course I do." She lifted a shoulder and used it to rub at the smear of tar Wendonai had left on her face earlier, with his tongue. "But a little holy water will take care of that."

  "Very amusing," the demon replied. "But that wasn't what I was referring to." He rocked back on his heels. A fresh gout of blood slurped from his wound, and the bulging entrails shifted. With grimy fingers, he prodded them back inside the wound. Absently, as if it were a mere inconvenience. "How familiar are you with the history of your race?"

  That took Cavatina by surprise. "What are you talking about?"

  "The dark elves. Do you know how it was that they became dhaerow?"

  He'd used the old word for it. The one that meant "traitor" in the language of the surface elves.

  "You mean the Descent?"

  Wendonai nodded.

  "High magic, worked by the mages and clerics of the elves of Keltormir, Aryvandaar, and other elven enclaves, against the dark elves of ancient Ilythiir and their allies."

  "Yes, but why?"

  Cavatina knew her history well. She'd taught it to novices many times when explaining why the drow were meant to return to the surface realms. "It was in retaliation for the destruction of Shantel Othreier-which the Ilythiiri attacked only because the empire had laid waste to Miyeritar. The Dark Disaster was brutal, and it had to be answered in kind."

  Wendonai's eyes gleamed. "Spoken like a true drow!" he exclaimed. "But there is a portion of the story you don't know, the reason Corellon Larethian consented to driving the dark elves below. The Ilythiiri, you see, were becoming a little too powerful. They had a divine ally. Lolth."

  Cavatina snorted. "The Ilythiiri's worship of the Spider Queen is well documented, demon. Tell me something I don't already know."

  Wendonai gave her a sly smile. "I was hoping you'd ask me to do that. Let me tell you this, then, priestess. Did you know who Lolth sent among the Ilythiiri to corrupt them?"

  Cavatina didn't, but she could guess.

  "You are correct. Me. Slowly, over millennia, both before and after the Descent, I had my way with the Ilythiiri. It was…" he ran a black, sore-crusted tongue over his lips. "… delicious. And with each succeeding generation, with each new squalling dhaerow babe born in the thirteen millennia between then and now, my taint spread."

  Cavatina could see where the demon was headed. Wendonai was trying to convince her that she bore his taint, that it was the source of all of her faults. But it wasn't. The odd angry outburst and a little-inflexibility, as he'd called it-didn't add up to demonic taint.

  "Oh, doesn't it?" Wendonai said. "In your case, unfortunately for you, it does. I can smell it on you, remember?"

  Halisstra had been listening intently the whole time, and as if she'd forgotten whom she was addressing, she said. "But you couldn't smell it on me."

  "No," Wendonai said flatly over his shoulder. "I couldn't. You're Miyeritari. Not a drop of Ilythiiri blood in you. Do you know what that makes you?"

  Hope flickered tentatively to life in Halisstra's eyes. Wendonai crushed it with a word: "Weak."

  He laughed-great, gobbling fits of mirth. Halisstra visibly crumpled under the onslaught.

  Cavatina, for her part, had to agree with the demon. Halisstra was weak. If she hadn't-

  "Yes," Wendonai breathed, his attention suddenly riveted on Cavatina. "That's right. If she hadn't been so weak, it wouldn't have come to… this." He plucked at the bonds around her wrists, lifting her hands slightly, then letting them fall. "But you're not weak, Cavatina. You're strong. Demonic blood flows in your veins. Embrace it."

  Cavatina shook her head, refusing to believe. The demon was lying. Twisting things around and trying to trick her.

  "Eilistraee," she whispered. "Help me to see the light."

  Wendonai shook his massive, horned head. "You just don't give up, do you?" He feigned a sigh. "But think about this. Why is it that only some dhaerow can be redeemed? You've seen as much, with your own two eyes."

  He paused, and Cavatina could feel filthy mental fingers sifting through her mind. She tried to shove them out, but couldn't.

  "That Nightshadow in Cormanthor, for example," Wendonai continued. "The one Halisstra cocooned in her web. You offered him a chance at redemption, and he just wouldn't take it."

  No, he wouldn't, Cavatina thought. And no matter what you say, I won't apologize for sending him to his god.

  "And there's the irony," Wendonai continued as if she'd spoken aloud. "Had you let him live, the pair of you might have been worshiping side by side today." He tapped a claw against his chin, as if thinking. "Then again, perhaps not. Perhaps that male was a descendant of the Ilythiiri, after all. That would explain his reluctance to convert. My taint has spread far and wide, after all. There were so few Miyeritari, after the Dark Disaster, and so very many Ilythiiri." He smiled. "Which explains all of the difficulties Eilistraee has faced in acquiring converts, these past few millennia. Why so few petitioners have come forward, despite the long and tireless efforts of her priestesses. It's so hard, these days, to find someone who can truly repent. To find a dhaerow who doesn't bear my taint."

  "Lies," Cavatina gritted.

  "Are they?" Wendonai breathed. "Look deep into your own soul, Cavatina. Can you honestly say you are without malice, without anger? Where does your unquenchable thirst for vengeance come from? You sublimate it by hunting demons. But if there were no demons to slay, would you turn your anger on your fellow drow? Can you truthfully say you haven't done so already? That fellow in the forest of Cormanthor, for one. The other Nightshadows-the ones who are now part of the faith. You hate them because they've truly embraced Eilistraee. Because they're something you can never be. Redeemed. Pure. Without taint."

  Cavatina sque
ezed her fists so tight that fingernails dug into her palms. Her body was knotted tighter than the whip ends that bound her. It isn't true, she thought. None of it. She was a priestess of Eilistraee. A Darksong Knight. As good, as loyal, as pure as any one of them.

  "Then why," Wendonai breathed into her ear, "has your goddess turned her face from you? Where is the miracle you were just praying for?"

  Cavatina squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears. A miracle would come. It had to. Eilistraee would answer. Yet a tiny voice, deep within, whimpered that she wouldn't. That Wendonai was right. That a seed of taint lay deep in Cavatina's core, waiting to spread its tendrils through her like a weed. She'd succumbed to it, that time in the Darkwatch, when she'd hacked the dog to pieces. She'd shoved the evil back, forced it back into dormancy, but it lingered there still. Waiting to sprout up anew. And because of it, Eilistraee had abandoned her, just as she'd abandoned Halisstra. For all Cavatina's attempts to conform to the tenets of her faith, she would never be worthy of Eilistraee.

  "That's right," the demon panted, his breath hot in her ear. "You can never be redeemed. Never."

  Tears squeezed from Cavatina's closed eyes and trickled down her salt-encrusted cheeks. "I can never be-"

  Suddenly, she realized the flaw in the demon's logic. If descendants of the Miyeritari were free of demonic taint, they didn't need to be redeemed. Yet redemption existed. The ritual had to have been created for a reason, and the ritual itself gave the answer. Redemption required the penitent to look deep into herself, to confront the evil that lay within her very soul. To pry that evil-that taint-out of the darkness that enshrouded it and expose it to Eilistraee's merciful light and-

  Yes, daughter. Yes!

  Cavatina couldn't have said, in that moment, if it was the single voice of Eilistraee herself speaking or a chorus of voices. Thousands of souls, speaking with one heart. Priestess and lay worshiper, female and male, Dark Maiden and…

  Nightshadow.

  Cavatina blinked. If a Nightshadow could be among the redeemed, why couldn't she?

  Yes, the voice said again.