by Lisa Smedman
Some of the columns had inscriptions on them: lines of text chiseled here and there like random graffiti. Cavatina peered closely at these but couldn’t read them. No matter how hard she stared, the writing wouldn’t come into focus. It blurred just enough to render it indecipherable. She tried to trace a line of it with her finger, but couldn’t feel the outline. She might as well have been touching a wisp of shifting smoke.
During her investigation, her body had drifted upward. She was high enough to see that the foundation of the building was carved with an enormous symbol. It took a moment to puzzle it out, as the lines were interrupted where the slab had shattered, and partially obscured by the fallen columns. But eventually she realized it was a triangle with a Y-shape superimposed on it.
She shivered. That ancient symbol hadn’t been used in millennia. It had long since been replaced by the more common eye-within-double-circle. Yet Cavatina, like all of the Promenade’s priestesses, had been taught to recognize it.
The symbol of Ghaunadaur.
Cavatina knew, now, where the portal had delivered her: to a spot far below the Promenade. This was the temple that had lain in ruins for nearly six centuries, ever since Qilué and her childhood companions had defeated the Ancient One’s avatar. They’d driven it from the caverns that became the Promenade, consigning it to a deep shaft that had then been filled in with rubble and sealed with magic.
A shaft that led to the god’s domain.
“By all that dances!” she whispered. “I’m in the Pit!”
A moment later, a burst of bright purple light pulsed from the Y-shaped symbol, banishing shadows from the cracks in the broken stones covering the slab. With it came a sensation: It was as if something wet and slippery had just fouled Cavatina’s skin.
“Eilistraee, protect me!” she sang. “Shield me from the Ancient One!”
Eilistraee’s moonlight shone out from Cavatina’s pores, evaporating the slime, turning it to flakes of shadow that exploded from her body. The purple light was waning now, but even so, Cavatina backed away. Her sword pealed out a warning as something momentarily blocked the fading glow. Blinking away the spots from her eyes, Cavatina saw a tarry black blob atop the foundation slab. The ooze was faster than Cavatina. Before she could withdraw farther, it squeezed upward through cracks in the rubble and brushed against her weapon. She yanked her sword back—in what felt like slow motion—and was relieved to see that the blade was still whole. Though the ooze had “touched” it, the acid had failed to dissolve the metal.
Ignoring her, the ooze continued upward through the gaps in the rubble.
Realizing it was escaping, Cavatina sang a prayer that called down Eilistraee’s wrath. Shadow-streaked moonlight punched down in a shaft all around her, throwing the tarry black ooze into sharp relief. The light should have reduced the ooze to a smoldering puddle. But the creature slithered on as before, as though it hadn’t even noticed the attack.
Cavatina laboriously followed. She readied a second spell, but by the time it was ready, the ooze had flowed beyond the limits of her vision. Normally she would have been able to run twice as fast as an ooze could slither. But with her body rendered ethereal, Cavatina moved with an agonizing lassitude. Her voice was slow and deep, her hymns dirgelike. The heartbeat that pounded in her ears had a lethargic cadence.
Eilistraee’s purpose in guiding her to this place was now clear. That burst of purple light had been a planar breach. A temporary one, brief as a flicker, but it had lasted long enough for one of Ghaunadaur’s minions to squeeze through, into the Prime Material Plane.
Cavatina could guess, now, why Wendonai had tricked Qilué into inscribing a symbol that would draw Ghaunadaur’s drow worshipers to this spot. Through their prayers, the planar breach could be wrenched wide open—something that would allow Ghaunadaur’s avatar to pass through it.
Qilué must have known that a planar breach existed here. On all of Toril, it was the most likely of places for one to occur. What could Wendonai possibly have said to convince her that ushering Ghaunadaur’s worshipers to this spot would pose no danger?
She tried to imagine the arguments he might have posed. Perhaps he’d convinced Qilué that Ghaunadaur’s avatar would be no match for her. She’d defeated it once before, after all. Or perhaps he’d told her that the slime god itself would come through the breach—that armed with the Crescent Blade she stood a chance of killing Ghaunadaur.
That argument, of course, was as thin as rotted cloth. The Crescent Blade’s blessings specifically enabled it to kill by decapitation, and Ghaunadaur was a shapeless mass without a neck or a head. But perhaps Qilué was so deeply in the demon’s thrall that she wouldn’t think of this.
Whatever the demon might be whispering in the high priestess’s ear was a puzzle Cavatina couldn’t solve just now. What she could do, however, was inspect the seals on the Pit to ensure that whatever oozes slipped through the flickering breach weren’t a threat to the Promenade.
Chasing after the black ooze had left Cavatina with no clear sense of which way was up Fortunately, there was a way to figure this out. She chose a direction at random and moved until the rubble ended. Beyond it was a wall of stone that had been fused to a glassy sheen by the outpouring of silver fire Qilué had used to drive Ghaunadaur’s avatar down the Pit. Turning her body so that this wall became “down,” she walked along it.
After what seemed an eternity, her head bumped against what felt like a solid surface: the magical barrier that capped the Pit. It shone with a bright silver glow, blocking her way. The Promenade, she was thankful to see, was still safe from an incursion from below—by material and ethereal creatures alike.
She sang the hymn that would allow a priestess to enter the Promenade, and felt the barrier above her soften just enough to let her pass. She pushed her way up through it, into the cavern above.
Everything looked exactly as it should have. The floor was the usual smooth, raked field of stone chips, and the statue of Eilistraee was intact. Made up of tiny chips of stone, it stood on tiptoe with arms extended overhead, forefingers and thumbs touching. It moved, almost imperceptibly, in a dance that kept time with the passage of the moon through the skies of the World Above.
A Protector stood guard at the bottom of the secret staircase that wound down to this cavern. Slowly, Cavatina moved toward her, and the female’s face gradually came into focus. It was Zindira, one of the priestesses who had accompanied Cavatina on the expedition to the Acropolis of the death goddess, more than a year ago. Cavatina waved a hand in front of Zindira’s face, but the other priestess showed no sign of realizing she was there.
“Zindira!” Cavatina shouted, this time passing her hand back and forth through the Protector’s body. “There’s a planar breach at the bottom of the Pit!”
Zindira shivered. She drew her sword and glanced around.
“Yes!” Cavatina cried. “I’m here. Can you hear me, Zindira?”
A moment later Zindira shrugged and resumed her sentry’s pose. She did, however, continue to grip her softly humming sword. As Cavatina shouted again, the volume of the hum rose slightly. Zindira glanced at the weapon.
Struck by sudden inspiration, Cavatina switched from shouting to singing. The sword hummed in time, harmonizing with her melody. By spacing out her words, she could make the sword’s song wax and wane. She sang a battle hymn—a strident call to action. Though the song was drastically slowed, and without words, Zindira listened carefully to it. She glanced back up the staircase as if debating whether to leave her post, then seemed to change her mind and sang a quiet evocation. “Rylla, it’s Zindira. Something strange is happening at the Mound. My sword is singing a warning.”
Cavatina breathed a sigh of relief. Her warning had been received, if not completely understood. It was the best she could do for now.
Rylla hurried down the stairs a few moments later. Cavatina resumed her song. The battle-mistress listened to the sword, then nodded. She glanced around, then strode over
to the Mound and inspected it.
“Yes!” Cavatina breathed. “That’s exactly what I wanted you to do.” When Rylla sang a trueseeing and stared intently at the statue, Cavatina tried to move to a spot where the battle-mistress could see her, but she was too slow. Rylla’s survey of the room just missed her.
“I see nothing amiss,” the battle-mistress told Zindira. “Resume your post. Be watchful. After that scare with the dretch, we can’t take chances.”
Zindira saluted the battle-mistress and moved back into position at the bottom of the staircase. Rylla departed up the stairs.
Cavatina clenched her jaw in frustration. Unless she could find a way to render herself material once more, she’d never be able to warn the others about what was happening below. She briefly considered following Rylla—trying to make her understand—then decided that she probably wouldn’t have much luck.
She could, however, find out where that ooze had gone.
With her sword balanced on her shoulder, she climbed down through the rubble.
This time, she scrutinized the walls of the shaft more carefully. The stone was smooth for most of its length; the cracks were in the lowest section of the Pit, far below the level of the Promenade. Here, she found numerous places where an ooze or a slime might escape.
She entered the cracked wall and saw a shimmering wall of emerald green light a short distance ahead. At first, she thought it was just a passing ripple of Faerzress, then she realized it was holding steady. Another portal? With rising excitement she moved to it—only to bump into a barrier that felt as solid as stone. It appeared to be a magical ward, capable of keeping ethereal creatures at bay.
The green glow extended far above and below her, and for some distance on either side. Like the stone, it had numerous cracks, wide enough to admit an ooze, but too narrow for Cavatina to pass through. She forced herself against the barrier, hoping it would give way, but it didn’t.
She pressed her eye to one of the cracks and peered inside. She saw a natural stone cavern with cracks in its walls, floor, and ceiling. The black ooze was inside the cave, slithering toward a score of other creatures: slugs, oozes, and slimes of varying hues. They sat, quivering, at the center of the room, as if waiting for something.
Several tunnels led away from the cavern. Cavatina spotted movement inside one of these: a figure walking toward the main cavern with smooth, flowing steps. It turned out to be a naked drow—an exquisitely beautiful male with eyes of a shade Cavatina had never seen before: pale green, like a newly budded leaf. The odd-looking drow moved without hesitation to the oozes, slimes, and slugs. He halted, his arms raised. As Cavatina watched, horrified, the creatures swarmed him, flowing over the drow in layers like quivering blankets. When they parted again, the drow was gone. Not even a smear remained.
“Self-sacrifice,” Cavatina whispered. Had the drow been drugged? Compelled by an enchantment to offer himself to the creatures? Or had he been one of Ghaunadaur’s followers, going willingly into the maws of the slime god’s minions? She’d heard the fanatics sometimes did that. She shook her head in disgust.
Cavatina decided to see where the drow had come from. She made her way around the edge of the cavern to the tunnel he’d just come through. The magical barrier surrounded that tunnel, too. Like the cavern, the tunnel had numerous cracks in it—cracks that extended to the magical barrier. She worked her way around the tunnel, looking for a gap large enough to pass through. There wasn’t one. She expanded her search. The magical barrier, she learned, enclosed an enormous space—an area that might be almost as large as the Promenade itself.
By pressing herself against the shimmering green glow here and there and peering through cracks, Cavatina could see what lay inside the rest of the space. Most of the areas she peered into were natural caverns like the first, but a few were proper rooms, cut from the native stone. One of these held an enormous iron scorpion that turned restlessly, its stinger tail scraping the ceiling of the too-small room.
“A scalander?” Cavatina mused aloud. Was this the one Meryl had babbled about? It had been down here a long time, judging by the accumulated grit on its body and the numerous gouges its stinger had scraped in the ceiling.
Cavatina continued to explore the limits of the magical boundary. Tunnels led away from the central caverns, each surrounded by a tube-like extension of the magical barrier. All dead-ended after a short distance except one: a tunnel that led past what looked like a recent lava flow. Just beyond this point, a staircase slanted upward. It was enclosed by the glowing green barrier too.
Cavatina climbed through the stone beside the staircase, and found herself in an abandoned mine tunnel with a ceiling level with her chest. That told her she was in one of the oldest sections of Undermountain, far below the Promenade: the ancient mithral mine excavated twenty-six centuries ago by the dwarves of Melairbode. Bluish light rippled through the wall and disappeared. Even this deep, there were traces of Faerzress.
The portal that led back to the Hall of Empty Arches lay somewhere within these mine tunnels—though Cavatina doubted it would be much help. Even if she did manage to find it, she doubted it would transport her while she was in ethereal form.
The magical barrier extended only as far as the top of the stairs, which ended in a simple, open arch, just high enough for a dwarf. Inside the arch, the magical barrier was a different color. Instead of green, it glowed with a golden light that shaded to green at its edges. On the other side of this barrier, at the top of the staircase, sat an enormous gray ooze. It pressed itself up against the barrier that filled the arch, attempting—and failing—to force its way out.
Cautiously, Cavatina touched the golden barrier. It blocked her, just as the green glow had. She glanced up and down the mining tunnel, wondering which way to go next. She spotted scuffs in the dust on the floor—someone had crawled away from the staircase—and decided to follow them. She walked along, in solid stone from the waist down but with her head and shoulders inside the tunnel, trusting to Eilistraee to guide her steps.
A short time later, she spotted a second dwarf-sized arch, this one plugged with stone, just like those in the Hall of Empty Arches. Two drow sat next to it, their backs against the wall. Cavatina moved closer, trying to see who they were. She didn’t recognize the male, who turned out to have a horribly scarred face and ruined eyes, but she recognized Leliana at once. The Protector was naked from the waist up. Her chain mail tunic and a warped and blackened sword lay on the floor next to her.
Another puzzle piece from Meryl’s garbled story dropped into place. This was where Leliana had disappeared to. Whatever she’d been doing, she must have hoped to return through that portal to the Hall of Empty Arches—only to find that it wasn’t active.
Leliana looked strained and exhausted. As Cavatina watched, she made the sign of Eilistraee’s moon and prayed. “Aid me, Lady, in my dance. I’ve done battle in your name; the moonlight within me has waned. Turn your face to me, and fill me with your light that I might return safely to my place of sanctuary.”
Cavatina touched her on the shoulder. “Leliana? Can you hear me?”
Leliana paid her no heed. The male, however, turned his head. One hand groped blindly for Leliana and bumped against her arm. His fingers moved swiftly. Lady. I sense something. A creature draws near.
Cavatina blinked in surprise. “Can you hear me?” she asked. If he could, perhaps she could use him to alert the battle-mistress to the planar breach. But the male didn’t respond to Cavatina’s touch on his shoulder. There! he signed, pointing with his other hand.
Not at Cavatina, but at something behind her.
She turned.
“What is it?” Leliana whispered to the male. “I can’t see anything.”
Cavatina could, however. An ooze was flowing out of the wall, not half a dozen paces behind her. It quivered a moment, bulging first this way, then that. Then it moved toward the spot where Leliana and the male sat. Part of its body remained inside the
wall; it was moving through solid stone!
It was ethereal. Just like Cavatina.
She’d heard of such creatures. Able to shift between physical and ethereal form at will, they were deadly opponents. Unless Leliana and her companion moved away from this spot—quickly—the ooze would engulf them. It would slither over them, resume its material form, and consume them, unless Cavatina stopped it.
She smiled. The ooze might just be her passage out of here.
She stepped into its path, sang a hymn that would shield her from its acid, and kneeled, her sword tucked tight against her body. She cringed as the creature touched her shoulder, dribbling acid onto her, but she held fast. The ooze recoiled, then suddenly bulged forward, engulfing her.
And squeezed.
The pain was excruciating. Pressure drove the air from Cavatina’s lungs. Tendrils of ooze forced their way into her ears, pressing against her eardrums until they rang in agony. Still more tendrils slid into her nostrils, plugging them.
Eilistraee, she silently cried. Strengthen me. Lend your might to my sword arm.
She thrust her weapon away from her, driving it into the ooze. Then she twisted in a kneeling pirouette, wrenching her weapon around with her. The singing sword pealed in muffled joy as its blade bisected the ooze from within.
The ooze shrank away in alarm. Cavatina followed, staying within its flesh, and felt a sudden lurch as the creature entered the material plane. At the last moment, she remembered to duck. Even so, her head scraped the ceiling of the mine tunnel.
She’d done it! Passed back into the Prime Material Plane in the belly of the ooze.
Now she needed to carve her way out of it, before it squeezed the life out of her.
Through a gelatinous blanket of flesh, she saw Leliana rise to her knees and grasp her sword, an alarmed look on her face. “Another ooze!” the Protector shouted—her voice muffled to Cavatina’s ears. Then Leliana sang. Her hymn smashed into the ooze, sending shudders through it. Yet the creature continued to squeeze Cavatina, undeterred by the magical assault.
