Resurrection

Chapter Thirteen

From somewhere behind Pharaun, the bray of a battle horn sounded.

For a moment, the tension between Quenthel and Danifae subsided. Both turned in the direction of the clarion.

At first Pharaun thought it a trick of his eyes, but Quenthel’s words dispelled his misconception.

“Melarn,” Quenthel said, her voice low. The whip serpents hissed and writhed in agitation.

Pharaun spared a glance behind him to see Danifae open her mouth as though to speak, but she said nothing. Shock showed in her expression, but she recovered quickly.

“It appears Lolth has provided a different victim for the sacrifice,” she said.

Pharaun turned back to see Halisstra Melarn, accompanied by another drow female and a female surface elf, charging toward them across the rocky ground. Each wore armor and bore swords. The symbol on Halisstra’s shield drew Pharaun’s eye—an upright silver sword, around which swirled a silver ribbon.

He knew it to be the symbol of Eilistraee. He needed to see nothing else. Somehow, Halisstra had tracked them through the Demonweb Pits. And she had brought two allies with her, presumably also priestesses of the same cursed goddess.

“She bears the symbol of Eilistraee, Mistress,” Pharaun said, even as he called upon the power of his ring and took to the air.

“I am not blind, male,” Quenthel barked.

“She thinks me her ally,” Danifae said to Quenthel and backed off several paces. “I will cause her to doubt.”

With that, Danifae shouted, “Mistress Melarn! To me! We will stop Quenthel Baenre together. In the Lady’s name, to me!”

Quenthel frowned. The heads of her serpent whip alternated between looking at Danifae and looking at Halisstra.

In response to Danifae’s words, Halisstra smiled and whirled a glowing blade above her head.

The other drow priestess sounded her horn again.

Jeggred answered with a roar.

Pharaun was as confused as the serpents. He did not know for certain whether Danifae was manipulating Halisstra or Quenthel or both. Like the pragmatist he was, he decided to err on the side of prudence and treat them all as his enemies.

With his mind made up, he chose his course quickly. Halisstra and Danifae might have been dangerous, but Jeggred was perhaps the most deadly opponent on the field.

Halisstra and the two other priestesses headed toward Quenthel. Jeggred charged in Quenthel’s direction too, but whether to attack his aunt or the priestesses, Pharaun could not be sure.

With a mental command, Pharaun flew the fist of force at Jeggred. The draegloth saw it coming and tried to dodge aside, but the fist caught him full force in the head and chest. The impact knocked the huge draegloth into a headlong tumble, and he lay on the earth unmoving, apparently stunned.

Pharaun grinned. Sometimes his mastery of spellcraft surprised even him.

Danifae shot a glare up at Pharaun and backed farther away from Quenthel.

“Here, Halisstra!” Danifae said brandishing her morningstar.

As the three Eilistraeens charged, they called aloud to their goddess. Their prayers were as much song as chant.

Halisstra finished her prayer, and a black ray shot from her fingertips at Quenthel. The Baenre priestess sidestepped it, and it slammed into the rocks.

The other drow priestess completed her prayer, and a rosy aura surrounded her. The elf priestess targeted Pharaun with her spell. She pointed her finger, and a sphere of light blazed into being around him.

He gasped and threw his forearm over his face. The sudden illumination sent needles of pain into his eyes. Without opening them, he gritted out the words to a counterspell, and the welcome dimness of day in the Demonweb Pits returned.

He opened his eyes and saw only spots for a moment. Tears poured from his eyes, but he blinked them away. When he could again see, he located his magical fist—hovering over the stunned Jeggred—and sent it speeding for the elf priestess.

All three priestesses spread out as they ran. The fist moved to intercept the elf.

The elf aborted her charge and braced her tiny shield for the fist’s impact.

But Pharaun did not cause it to strike her.

At his mental goading, the fist stopped before her, opened its fingers, and made to grab her.

She was fast, and her blade slashed into the conjuration, but the hand was inexorable.

Its huge fingers wrapped her up. Only her head was visible. Before she could scream for aid, Pharaun caused the hand to squeeze.

The elf’s mouth opened in a scream but she had no breath with which to utter it. Instead, she suffered in silence.

Pharaun turned to see Halisstra veer toward Quenthel.

“Aid us, Danifae,” Halisstra shouted.

Danifae said, “Of course, Mistress,” but made no move to help.

The other drow priestess, wielding a long bladed sword in two hands, came at Quenthel from the side opposite that of Halisstra, but she stopped when she glanced back and saw her comrade trapped in Pharaun’s magical fist.

“Feliane!” she shouted.

The drow priestess located Pharaun in the air and sang a spell.

Pharaun flew toward her, drawing his wand of lightning and voicing his own spell.

She finished first.

A sword of magical force formed in the air to Pharaun’s right, flying along beside him. It attacked the moment it appeared, striking at the mage’s head.

He spun away from it, but it doggedly pursued, stabbing and slashing. He rolled in the air, spun, twirled, but the damned thing kept pace with him. Twice the blade managed to penetrate his magical protections and opened the skin of his shoulder, his forearm. He lost the thread of his own spell and cursed aloud.

He spun a series of circles, opened a bit of space between him and the sword, and quickly uttered the words to a counterspell, pitting his magic against the priestess’s.

His prevailed. The sword of force winked out. He touched his shoulder and found the wound to be more bloody than deep.

Pharaun looked down and saw the drow priestess advancing on Quenthel from one side, while Halisstra advanced from the other. The Baenre priestess stood her ground, serpents hissing, whip cracking.

Pharaun pulled a piece of quartz from his piwafwi, formed a dome with his hand, and rattled through the words to a spell that would even the odds.

When he completed the conjuration, a hemisphere of armspan thick, semi-opaque ice materialized out of nothing, taking shape over and around Halisstra, imprisoning her.

He could see the Melarn traitor moving frantically within it, hammering at it with her weapons. It would not hold her long, Pharaun knew, but it would buy Quenthel time.

Seeing the opportunity, Quenthel took it. She charged the other drow priestess and swung her whip in a wide arc.

The priestess of Eilistraee, still surrounded in a rosy hue, did not retreat or hesitate. Instead, she danced and spun between the serpents of Quenthel’s whip, at the same time unleashing a backhand slash that sliced open Quenthel’s armor across the chest. Quenthel, still enlarged from her spell, countered with a shield bash, but the Eilistraeen sidestepped it, and stabbed her blade at Quenthel’s stomach.

The Baenre priestess leaped back to avoid the blow, but the Eilistraeen followed hard after, spinning, whirling, her blade a blur.

“Danifae Yauntyrr!” the Eilistraeen called. “Answer the Lady and aid me.”

But Danifae did not answer, Pharaun saw. She stood apart, seemingly content to watch the conflict, perhaps to await a weakened winner whom she could then finish.

Breathing hard and bleeding, Quenthel swung her whip in a flurry of vicious attacks. A glancing blow knocked the Eilistraeen off balance, and Quenthel managed to put her shield into the Eilistraeen’s chest.

Quenthel’s strength and size sent the Eilistraeen careening, but she somehow managed to turn the stagger into a graceful recovery. She found her feet and raced at the Baenre priestess, her blade stabbing and slashing.

Spinning her whip high, Quenthel lashed at the Eilistraeen. The priestess dodged right, left, ducked, opened a gash in Quenthel’s arm, and—

One of the serpents sank its fangs into the Eilistraeen’s arm. She grunted with pain, and the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith took the opportunity to follow up with another shield bash. The Eilistraeen priestess rolled with the impact, but the strength of the blow drove her back five paces. The wound in her arm was already beginning to blacken.

“It’s over,” Quenthel said.

The high priestess advanced, her whip serpents hissing and whirling.

The Eilistraeen danced backward, still spinning. She reached for her holy symbol and sang a spell.

A beam of silver light flew from her outstretched palm, penetrated Quenthel’s protective spell, and struck Quenthel in the chest. Groaning, the Baenre priestess staggered back.

“Hardly,” answered the Eilistraeen, and she charged Quenthel.

Before the priestess reached her, Quenthel held her whip aloft and demanded, “Speed.”

The whip serpents whirled around and echoed, “Speed.”

The adamantine handle of the whip flashed violet, and the high priestess’s movements became faster. Her whip was a blur in the air.

The Eilistraeen priestess darted in, blade low. Quenthel deftly slipped aside, drove the priestess’s blade into the ground with her whip handle, spun, and lashed the priestess across her back with all five serpent heads.

Grunting, staggering, the Eilistraeen still managed to keep her feet. She whirled aside from a follow-up lash that would have torn her head from her shoulders.

The priestess of Eilistraee began to cast again, but Quenthel was too fast. The whip cracked once more, found flesh through the Eilistraeen’s armor, and her scream of pain ruined her spell.

Pharaun could see that the combat was over. The Eilistraeen was no match for Quenthel Baenre.

Halisstra must have seen it too, through the ice wall. Her muffled shout carried through the barrier: “Uluyara! Danifae, help her!”

But Danifae did nothing, declared her allegiance to no one.

Desperate, the priestess of the Dark Maiden rushed Quenthel, spinning, slashing, and stabbing. Quenthel parried the blows and answered with a shield smash that sent the Eilistraeen reeling.

Moving with her whip-enhanced speed, Quenthel withdrew from an inner pocket of her piwafwi a silvery rod of metal as long as her forearm. She pointed it at the prone Eilistraeen, and it discharged a mass of some kind of sticky, semiliquid substance. The stuff soaked the priestess and quickly hardened. The Eilistraeen struggled against it for a moment but could not move.

Quenthel grinned and walked over to the prone, immobilized priestess.

Pharaun, pleased that things had gone so easily, took a moment to survey the field. Jeggred remained stunned, though one of his hands was spasming. The elf priestess remained immobilized and squeezed in Pharaun’s magical hand. Halisstra was temporarily trapped in a hemisphere of ice, though Pharaun could hear her weapon working at breaking through—and she would soon succeed.

Quenthel belted her whip and took from her robes a small, adamantine knife with a stylized spider hilt.

A sacrificial knife, Pharaun knew.

She maneuvered behind the prone priestess so that Halisstra Melarn would have a clear view.

“I am not afraid,” the immobilized Eilistraeen said, though Pharaun could not tell whether she meant the words for Halisstra or Quenthel.

“Of course you are,” Quenthel said as she raised the blade high.

Halisstra’s blade poked through the ice wall. “No!” she shouted.

Pharaun incanted a quick spell and sent five darts of magical energy from his fingertips and through the small hole Halisstra had opened in the ice. They slammed into the Melarn priestess, and she exclaimed with pain.

Meanwhile, Quenthel offered a quick prayer to Lolth and slit the priestess’s throat open. The Eilistraeen’s blood poured onto the rocky ground of the Demonweb Pits, and she died gurgling.

“No!” shouted Halisstra.

Quenthel rose, smiled at Halisstra, then at Danifae, and called up to Pharaun, “Come, Master Mizzrym. The Pass of the Soulreaver awaits. My sacrifice to the Spider Queen is complete.”

Pharaun caught Danifae absently signing, And mine soon will be.

The mage spared a last look back at the elf priestess, still clutched helplessly in the magical hand. His spell would expire soon. Perhaps she would be dead by then, perhaps not. Pharaun did not care. The Eilistraeens were no match for them.

He flew down to Quenthel’s side. He did not so much as a glance at the sacrificed Eilistraeen.

Together, the two of them strode toward the pass.

Behind him, Halisstra finally chopped a large enough hole through the globe of ice that the rest of the barrier collapsed around her.

Too, Jeggred uttered a soft growl. Apparently, he was returning to sensibility, at least inasmuch as he was ever sensible.

“Turn and face me, Baenre bitch,” Halisstra challenged from behind.

Spellcasting sounded from behind—it was Halisstra. Pharaun listened to the words and nodded—a strike of flame.

Almost absentmindedly, he voiced the words to a counterspell and foiled her casting.

He could imagine Halisstra’s consternation.

“Stop, Baenre!” Halisstra roared her voice desperate, angry. “Face us and let’s see which goddess is the stronger.”

Quenthel ignored her. She and Pharaun reached the very threshold of the Pass of the Soulreaver. The hole in the rock was as black and impenetrable up close as it had been from afar.

Souls entered it and vanished one by one.

Halisstra sped after them, her boots crunching against the rock.

From behind, Quenthel seemed almost in a trance. To Pharaun she said, “The Reaver exists at the sufferance of Lolth. It is bound within and does her bidding.”

Pharaun eyed the tunnel entrance as the souls continued to stream into it.

“What is her bidding?” he asked.

Quenthel did not look at him when she replied, “As it always is, male. To test those she wishes to test. Some souls pass through unchallenged. Some do not.”

She turned to look him in the face, though her eyes remained unfocused.

“I will be tested,” she continued, then nodded back at Danifae. “And if she dares enter, so too will she. As for you and my nephew, the challenge of the pass is not for you. Though I expect the Reaver will take his tithe nevertheless.”

“Mistress, why don’t we simply kill her?” Pharaun asked, meaning Danifae. “And your nephew?”

Quenthel’s eyes were distant, her mind already on the challenge of the pass.

“They no longer matter,” she said.

Before Pharaun could ask anything more, Quenthel stepped into the black hole. The darkness swallowed her utterly. Souls continued to stream around him and enter the pass. They too vanished.

Halisstra was closing, ten strides away, eight.

“Face us, coward!” Halisstra challenged.

Pharaun stood there for a moment, staring into the darkness, undecided. Finally he took a breath and stepped into the Pass of the Soulreaver. He felt a slight resistance as he broached it, as diaphanous as a spiderweb.

Halisstra watched as first Quenthel then Pharaun stepped into the tunnel and vanished. She ground her teeth in anger, clutching the Crescent Blade in a white-knuckled hand.

She halted her charge and stared at the hole in the mountain. She could see nothing beyond the darkness.

Breathing heavily, she exhaled rage and frustration with each breath.

Souls streamed around her, Lolth’s dead.

Quenthel and Pharaun had escaped. Uluyara was dead, sacrificed. Feliane was—Feliane!

She whirled around and saw to her relief that the magical hand had disappeared. Feliane walked a weaving line toward her, cradling her ribs.

Danifae had walked over to Uluyara, and crouched over her, concern in her eyes. She met Halisstra’s gaze.

“I could not save her, Mistress,” she said.

Halisstra could only nod.

“I tried to assist you, Mistress,” Danifae said and walked to Halisstra’s side. “But the wizard twice countered my spells. Next time, I will better serve you.”

Halisstra was too tired to speak.

A scrabbling from her right drew her eye. The draegloth was climbing to his feet. His red eyes burned with anger, and Feliane watched him warily.

The draegloth eyed Danifae then the slight elf, and growled.

Halisstra looked the fell creature in the face and said, “Your mistress has abandoned you for the wizard. She has left you to me. And I’ll have your heart for killing Ryld Argith.”

The draegloth smiled a mouthful of daggers, looked at Halisstra, and said, “My mistress has not abandoned me, heretic.”

Before Halisstra could answer, Danifae slammed the head of her morningstar into Halisstra’s back. Ribs cracked, and flesh punctured. Her breath went out in a whoosh. Blood poured down her back. She stumbled forward and fell.

Halisstra understood it all then.

Danifae had manipulated her, feigned a calling by Eilistraee. Danifae had simply wanted Halisstra to kill Quenthel for her. And Danifae had arranged for the draegloth to kill Ryld.

Halisstra had been blind, seeing what she had wanted to see.

Now she would suffer the consequences.

“Halisstra!” exclaimed Feliane and ran toward her.

Standing over Halisstra, Danifae said, “Jeggred, kill that tiny elf bitch.”

The draegloth roared and charged at Feliane, cutting her off before she reached Halisstra.

Wracked with pain, weighed down by the burden of her own stupidity, Halisstra nevertheless managed to get to her hands and knees. In her mind, a series of words kept repeating, words aimed at Eilistraee:

You could have warned me. You could have warned me.

Halisstra looked up as the draegloth tore into Feliane, his claws slashing and stabbing. Feliane answered with her own blade but Halisstra saw the fear in the small elf’s eyes.

“Don’t,” she tried to say to Danifae, but the word barely made a sound. She had no breath in her lungs.

Danifae again slammed her morningstar into Halisstra’s back. Her armor absorbed much of the blow, but pain still knifed through her, and she fell back to the ground.

Her former battle-captive grabbed Halisstra by her hair and jerked her head back. Halisstra tried to bring the Crescent Blade to bear, but Danifae tore it from her grasp and cast it aside.

“You have something to say, Mistress Melarn?” Danifae hissed into her ear. “No? Then watch,” she commanded.

Halisstra closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Watch!” Danifae ordered and shook her head by the hair.

Halisstra opened her eyes as the draegloth tore a claw across Feliane’s face. The elf staggered back but spun away from the draegloth’s follow up strike. The elf’s blade opened a gash on the half-demon’s stomach, but it did little damage.

Roaring so loud it hurt Halisstra’s ears, the draegloth rushed Feliane. She answered valiantly, but she was too small, too slow, too weak. The draegloth tore a gash in her chest, nearly jerked an arm from its socket, and finally knocked her to the ground.

Feliane lay there, breathing heavily but stunned, unmoving.

Halisstra suddenly remembered Feliane’s words to her atop the tor: I’m afraid.

The draegloth loomed over her. Without preamble, he pinned her arms to the ground and began to feed. Her screams of pain were lost in the half-demon’s hungry snorts.

Halisstra bowed her head. Tears leaked from her eyes, angry tears, tears of regret. She could not find her breath.

Danifae saw them and mocked her. “Tears, Halisstra? For the weakling little elf?”

She slammed her fist into Halisstra’s temple. Sparks exploded in her head. Unconsciousness threatened but did not come.

Danifae kicked Halisstra over onto her back. She lay there on the ground of Lolth’s Demonweb Pits, bleeding, gasping, her former battle-captive standing over her.

Danifae spat on Halisstra’s breastplate, fouling Eilistraee’s holy symbol. Halisstra did not care.

Eilistraee had fouled her own symbol by failing to warn Halisstra. Her priestesses had been no match for the servants of Lolth.

Eilistraee was weak. And Halisstra was foolish to have followed a weak goddess. She looked up at the blurry image of Danifae above her.

“Why?” she mouthed.

Danifae’s mouth curled with contempt. “Why?” She reached under her cloak and withdrew a chunk of amber in which was encased a spider—her holy symbol of Lolth. She held it before Halisstra’s face.

“This is why, Melarn. You were always weak. It’s fitting that you served a weak goddess in the end. I, however, do not.”

Halisstra stared hate at Danifae and managed, “You are still a Houseless battle-captive.”

Danifae sneered, stepped back, and raised her morningstar for a killing blow. When it came, Halisstra summoned all of her strength and rolled aside.

The head of the weapon smashed into the rocks.

Halisstra found her knees and scrabbled after the Crescent Blade. She couldn’t see clearly, and the pain in her ribs sent stabs through her.

The morningstar slammed into Halisstra’s ribs and sent her sprawling to the rock. The pain was nearly unbearable.

Danifae loomed over her again, holding her morningstar high.

Sickening sounds came from behind Halisstra—the draegloth feeding on Feliane, lapping her blood, chewing her flesh.

“Why do you toy so with your food, Jeggred?” Danifae said, smiling. “The Pass of the Soulreaver and the vintage blood of Quenthel Baenre await.”

At that moment, Halisstra wanted death, wanted it more than anything. She closed her eyes and waited for it.

Eilistraee had failed her.

Halisstra had killed them all.

“Good-bye, Halisstra,” Danifae said, and smashed her morningstar down on her former mistress’s face.

Halisstra felt a flash of pain then nothing.

Danifae stared down at the bloody body of her former mistress. She had made her sacrifice, and so she could enter the pass.

“Praise Lolth,” she said, and gave Halisstra a final kick. She looked to Jeggred, who was feeding on the elf priestess’s flesh. The elf’s hand closed, opened. Soft moans escaped her.

Danifae smiled at the pain she must have been enduring.

“Come, Jeggred,” she said. “It is time to follow after your aunt.”

The draegloth looked up from his feast. Blood soaked his muzzle. Shreds of flesh hung from his teeth.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

He rose and loped to her side, obviously reluctant to leave off his still living meal.

“How long before you kill her?” Jeggred asked. “Her and the mage?”

“In due time,” Danifae answered.

Together, they walked into the Pass of the Soulreaver.