Resurrection

Chapter Fourteen

Gromph stood on the portico outside the temple’s doors and used a divination to analyze Geremis’s personal protections. One after another, Gromph moved gently through the mage’s protective spells: elemental wards, a spell that made the Dyrr wizard’s flesh as hard as stone, a death ward, and … a feedback ward. Gromph raised his eyebrows at that last. The archmage rarely saw feedback wards; the lichdrow must have taught it to Geremis himself.

The feedback ward would turn back on Gromph the effect of any directly offensive spell he cast on the Dyrr wizard. The archmage would have to get rid of it.

Unfortunately, casting a spell on Geremis would cause Gromph to become visible—a foible of the invisibility spell—so he moved off to the side of the doors, amidst shadows that would camouflage him when the magic was terminated. From there, he quietly whispered the words to a dispelling dweomer, targeting only the feedback ward.

When the magic took effect, Gromph felt a tingle over his skin as he became visible. Safely hidden in darkness, a shadow within shadow, Gromph guided his magic against Geremis’s feedback ward.

As delicately as a cutpurse lifting a coin pouch, the archmage assaulted Geremis’s ward.

Gromph’s counterspell met the magic of the Dyrr wizard and oozed over it.

In the span of only two breaths, Gromph’s magic prevailed. Geremis’s ward winked out.

I have you, the archmage thought.

While drow were inherently spell resistant, almost no dark elf in Menzoberranzan could resist the power of Gromph’s spells without augmentation to their natural resistance. He had detected no such augmentation on Geremis. The Dyrr mage was vulnerable.

Geremis raised his bowed head and spared another glance behind him. Though he looked over and past Gromph, suspicion was writ clear on his face. He reached into his pocket to search for something, no doubt a spell component.

Gromph prepared to cast his own spell but cursed when he realized that he would need a pinch of dust to cast it. He didn’t make it a habit to carry mere dust as a component because it was always readily available—at least when he could touch the corporeal world.

With nothing else for it, Gromph called upon the power of the shapechanging spell and transformed himself into the form of a drow male, though not his own form. His flesh hardened, his body grew heavy, and soon he felt his feet on the floor. Sound and smell returned to him. The stink of stale incense wafted through the temple doors. Larikal voiced her prayers to Lolth in a low tone.

Gromph crouched low in the shadows outside the temple’s doors, and Prath’s piwafwi hid him almost as well as his shadow form.

Moving slowly, he removed a small lodestone from his robe, gathered a pinch of rock dust from the temple’s portico, and quietly recited the words to a powerful spell. He infused a bit of additional Weave energy into the casting, to make it more difficult for Geremis to resist.

The Dyrr wizard pulled a clear lens from his pocket and raised it to his eye. He looked at the temple doors, right at Gromph, and the lens fell from his hand.

“M-mistress!” he sputtered, stumbling to his feet and beginning to cast. “We are not alo—”

Gromph finished his spell. A green beam shot from his finger and hit Geremis in the chest.

The mage’s warning died on his lips as the spell engulfed him in a green outline and reduced him to dust. Larikal stood and whirled just in time to see Geremis obliterated. She already had her mace in hand.

To her credit, she did not cry out for aid. Instead, she put her off-hand to the platinum spider holy symbol at her neck and started to cast. The symbol glowed briefly at her touch, as did her eyes. As she chanted her spell, she scanned the doorway with her obviously enhanced vision and fixed her gaze on Gromph.

She saw him. She could not recognize him as the Archmage of Menzoberranzan, of course, but she knew him to be an enemy. She probably thought him a Xorlarrin mage.

With no time to sift through his pockets for the gem he ordinarily would have used as a component, Gromph snatched the ocular from his inner pocket—it was ready to hand—and uttered the words to a spell.

Larikal charged down the aisle, mace at the ready, while continuing to cast a spell that Gromph recognized. It would charge her hand with death-dealing energy. She would have but to touch him with it and he would likely die.

He held his ground and hurried through his own spell.

Larikal finished first. A globe of sizzling black energy formed around her off hand, and she closed on him.

He backstepped away from the doors and finished his own spell just as she lunged through the threshold and reached forward to touch him.

The magic of Gromph’s spell transferred his soul into the gem at the end of the ocular’s chain just as Larikal closed her hand over his wrist.

With his essence in the gem that had become a magic jar not unlike the lichdrow’s phylactery, the death spell could not affect him. His soulless body would appear dead, though, so Larikal would surely believe she’d slain him.

Her guard would be down.

Within the gem, Gromph possessed only one sense—a visceral ability to detect nearby life-forces. He sensed Larikal near him, no doubt bending over his apparently dead body.

The magic of the spell allowed him to attempt, through sheer force of will, to displace a soul in a nearby living body and force it to take his place in the gem. He had taken a risk in casting it, but he needed to get through the wards quickly.

Extending his consciousness, the archmage reached out for Larikal and sought her soul.

He caught her by surprise. He sensed her alarm. She resisted his attempt, but he pressed, and pressed, fought through the resistance, and at last...

Sensation returned to him. He was looking down at the body of a drow male—his transformed body—and in his hand he clutched the ocular, which sparkled softly, alight with Larikal’s soul.

“Thank you, priestess,” he said to the gem and was surprised to hear the feminine lilt in his voice.

The spell allowed only the caster to displace other souls. Larikal could do nothing but stew inside the gem. She would be trapped until Gromph allowed her to escape.

While occupying yet another new form—especially a female one—was disconcerting, Gromph retained all of his mental faculties, including his spellcasting ability. And he had full use of Larikal’s stronger physique. That pleased him. It would assist him when he faced the golem.

He spared a glance around and saw no one. The nearby Dyrr structures appeared empty. No doubt most of the House was occupied with the defense of the walls.

His smile of satisfaction vanished when the spell that had allowed him to change shape expired. His soulless body reverted back to its normal form. He was looking at his own face through Larikal Dyrr’s eyes, staring at the vacant, stolen eyes of a Dyrr son.

Gromph cursed. Prath too would have reverted back to his normal form, or soon would.

Yasraena would be searching for him, if she wasn’t already. He had little time.

Moving quickly, he took the duergar axe from his belt and removed his robe, loaded with his spell components, and his ring of regeneration. He donned the robe, the ring, belted the axe, and cast two spells on his soulless body. The first spell shrank his body to the size of his hand. The second turned it invisible to normal sight, though he could still see it through his magically enhanced vision. Gromph dared not carry his body, which still held the tiny ocular gem, through the warded doorway for fear of triggering the wards with his Baenre flesh. Instead, he hid it off to the side of the door, in a crack in the stone of the portico. He would have to hope that it was overlooked.

He turned and—The amulet on Larikal’s body—on his body—caught his attention. He held it in his hand—it was electrum, with amethysts inset in a spiral. He knew it for what it was—a telepathic amulet.

He took a moment to attune his consciousness to it. He knew he had succeeded when a voice he recognized sounded in his brain: Larikal! Larikal!

Gromph smiled. Larikal had not called out for aid because she had done so telepathically.

Larikal, answer!

Gromph knew he should have said nothing but he could not resist.

Your daughter currently is indisposed, Yasraena, he projected.

He felt consternation through the amulet.

Gromph Baenre? Yasraena asked.

You do not sound pleased to learn of my visit, he replied.

The matron mother’s mental voice leaked something akin to panic. Listen to me, Archmage. I know why you have come. But I have entered into a bargain with Triel. I am to destroy the phylactery myself.

Gromph thought the words a poor lie. But even if they were true, the archmage was unbound by any such bargain. Triel had never mentioned it to him.

But you do not know its location, Matron Mother. And even if you did, I would be concerned that the impulse to see the lichdrow reincorporated would be too strong for even one of your iron will. I will be pleased to destroy it in your name.

With that, Gromph terminated the connection. He knew Yasraena would be coming, so he took a deep breath and stepped across the heavily warded temple threshold. The wards did not trigger. Gromph would never know whether it was something Larikal wore or her very blood, but he did not care. He was in.

From the dome above, Lolth stared down. The center aisle extended toward the apse, toward the black altar, behind which loomed the forbidding body of the spider.

The golem was waiting.

Yasraena rushed through the halls for the scrying chamber, heedless of the indignity of her pace. She dared not communicate through the telepathic amulet for fear that Gromph Baenre would eavesdrop.

In her mind, Esvena’s voice sounded, Matron Mother! We are deceived. The image in the basin is not what it appeared to be. Gromph Baenre—

Is in our house, Yasraena finished for her. She sent her next projection to all of her daughters and sisters, Cease using the amulets immediately. The archmage is in the complex and wears Larikal’s amulet. He can hear me even now.

The connection fell silent, and for the first time since the siege began, real fear took hold in Yasraena. If Gromph got to the phylactery before her, all was lost.

She had to get to him first.

When she reached the scrying chamber, no one dared look at her. The two male wizards stood near the scrying basin, heads bowed. Esvena could not make eye contact.

To Esvena, Yasraena said, “Where is Larikal?”

Esvena fumbled for an answer.

“Your sister!” Yasraena said. “Where was she last searching?”

One of the male wizards in the chamber offered, “Geremis last reported that they were to search the temple, Matron Mother.”

The temple. Yasraena could hardly believe her ears. Had the lichdrow secreted his phylactery within the temple? She cursed him for the arrogant, scheming fool he was.

Yasraena clenched her fists, then her jaw. Her body shook. Anger and fear threatened to overwhelm her.

Through gritted teeth, she said to Esvena, “Go to the walls and retrieve the vrocks and any House mages you can find. Then meet us at the temple. Go, now.”

Esvena streaked from the chamber.

Yasraena looked to the two males still with her and said, “You two, accompany me to the temple. The Archmage of Menzoberranzan awaits us.”

When the shapechange spell expired on Prath, Nauzhror swore aloud. Prath studied his hands, saw them grow larger, and looked wide-eyed across the desk at Nauzhror.

At that moment, the Dyrr wizards had learned of Gromph’s deception.

For a heartbeat—but only a single heartbeat—Nauzhror wrestled with what action he should take. Nauzhror coveted the archmage’s position, but his fear of failing Gromph Baenre outweighed his ambition. If Gromph succeeded and learned that Nauzhror did nothing more after the shapechange spell expired, Nauzhror knew he would suffer. If Gromph failed and died, he knew too that Triel Baenre would investigate herself, and again, Nauzhror would suffer.

In the end, the Master of Sorcere knew that he could do nothing but play his part to the best of his abilities and hope that Gromph succeeded.

To Prath, still sitting in the archmage’s chair, he said, “Get up, boy.”

Prath leaped from the chair as though it was on fire. Nauzhror circled the desk and slid into the chair. With an expertise born of decades of training, he attuned Gromph’s chrysoberyl scrying crystal and caused it to show him the Xorlarrin forces gathered outside of House Agrach Dyrr.

The soldiers and wizards were massed but standing idle.

Nauzhror studied the locale for a time, fixed the image in his mind, and let the scrying crystal go inert.

“What should we do now, Master Nauzhror?” asked Prath. The apprentice’s voice betrayed his nervousness.

Nauzhror replied, “Now, we assist the archmage’s efforts by seeing to it that Yasraena will be faced at the same time with enemies within and without.”

Without further explanation, he spoke a word of power and teleported into the midst of the Xorlarrin army.