Storm of the Dead

CHAPTER 14

Close enough, Cavatina signed.

They halted near the front of the crowd. The Crones pressed tightly on all sides. The sphere of voidstone hung only a few paces ahead of them, looming as large as the temple had once been. Waves of negative energy crackled from it, chilling the air. The Faezress underfoot brightened with each pulse. The spirit floated above the voidstone, hands raised, leading the chanting in a mournful moan.

Beside Cavatina, the disguised Karas raised his arms and mouthed in time with the chant. Cavatina did the same. Odd, that it was a Nightshadow she'd wind up making her final stand with. And yet, somehow, appropriate.

She caught Karas's eye and flicked a hand. Now.

"Eilistraee!" Cavatina sang out, letting her disguise fall away.

The nearest Crones spun to face her, their faces twisted with rage.

Beside her, Karas plunged his dagger into a Crone and touched Cavatina's arm. Energy flowed into her, augmenting her prayer.

"By my song, lay these foul abominations forever to rest!" Cavatina sang, even as the Crones leaped at her, their curved fingers raking wounds into her flesh that instantly festered. Beside her, Karas slashed desperately with his dagger, trying to take down as many as he could.

In answer to her prayer, moonlight streaked with shadow erupted from the holy symbol clenched in Cavatina's fist. It spread through the ranks of the Crones in a flood. Several of the closest Crones collapsed as it washed clean the death magic that had animated them. Others-those who hadn't yet embraced undeath-continued their attack. Cavatina went down under their scrabbling hands and lost sight of Karas. But she caught a glimpse of the spirit as the pool of moonlight and shadow she'd summoned struck it. The ghost twisted, wailing, as Eilistraee's holy song tore at its substance.

Then the spell ended.

The spirit remained.

The ghost threw back its head. Its chest swelled. As it exhaled, a ghastly keening began.

"Eilistraee!" Cavatina cried. "Lend me your-"

The keening struck Cavatina like a clapper hitting a bell, sending her body into violent convulsions that choked off her prayer. The Crones, meanwhile, bore down on Cavatina. Their hooked fingers tore open her hand, and her holy symbol fell to the ground. The Crones nearest it reeled away from it, wailing, but others leaped onto Cavatina, knocking her down. Her chin cracked against stone and she tasted blood. Each new laceration was a sharp slash of pain. She struggled to rise but could not. She glanced left, and saw Karas a pace or two away, no longer disguised as a Crone. He lay in a pool of blood, his flesh scored by dozens of wounds. He wasn't moving.

Cavatina felt cold-the chill of the grave. Barely conscious, she strove to choke out her goddess's name through chattering teeth. "Eil… is… tr-"

The ghost loomed before her. "You have lost," she hissed, her whisper somehow carrying clearly above the enraged cries of the Crones. "When we are done with you, not a scrap of your soul will remain." She drew back, cackling. A sweeping gesture took in both Cavatina and Karas-and sphere of voidstone. "Throw them into it."

Echoing their head priestess's laughter, the Crones hoisted Cavatina and Karas into the air. Twice, they nearly dropped Cavatina. She was awash in her own blood, her body almost too slippery to hold. With the last of her strength, Cavatina fought to lift her head, to face her doom bravely. There was no use commending her soul to Eilistraee; in another moment it would all be over. As the Crones bore her to the crumbling lip of stone surrounding the voidstone sphere, Cavatina uttered one final, whispered prayer.

"Eilistraee. Don't let it end like this. Please."

"Now!" the spirit cried.

The Crones swung Cavatina backward, preparing to toss her toward the voidstone sphere. But half of them collapsed, going from undeath to death in a blink. Those who remained-the living-struggled to hold Cavatina aloft, but weren't strong enough. They dropped her and stumbled away, as if they'd given up on killing her.

A skull smashed down into the stone a couple of paces away from Cavatina. Then another. She twisted around and spotted Karas, also lying on the ground. Skulls tumbled from the ceiling above, smashing to pieces all around him.

With the last of her flagging strength, Cavatina forced herself off the ground, one arm raised above her head to fend off the falling skulls. Something had just happened-but what? She looked wearily around, blinking the blood from her eyes.

The spirit was gone.

The Crones milled about, not paying the slightest attention to Cavatina and Karas. A moment earlier, they had been purposeful and grim, but they grew confused confused. They stared at each other, at the corpses of the undead Crones who had fallen, at the silver rings on their own fingers, perplexed looks on their faces. One of them-a Crone who had been holding Cavatina aloft just moments ago-glanced down at Cavatina with a frown, as if trying to remember who she was.

Cavatina struggled to her feet. The possibility occurred to her that whatever had just happened might be the work of Qilue. Had the Crescent Blade claimed a second deity? Was that why the high priestess hadn't answered her summons a short time ago-because she'd been preparing to slay…

She paused, uncertain. What was the name of that goddess again?

Cavatina glanced around at the milling, gray-robed females. She remembered what they called themselves- Crones-and that they served a goddess of death. But try as she might, Cavatina couldn't remember that goddess's name.

A skull slammed into Cavatina's shoulder, nearly knocking her to the ground. She staggered to her holy symbol and fell to her knees beside it. One hand pressing against the miniature sword, she prayed.

"Eilistraee," she said through thickened lips. "Heal me."

Eilistraee's grace flowed into Cavatina. Her wounds closed. She was not as strong as she might be, but at least she could stand. She dragged Karas into the lee of a nearby wall, out of the rain of skulls. Then she swung around to face the voidstone.

The sphere still hung above the ruined temple, but it was no longer expanding. The skulls that struck it vanished, instantly obliterated. The undead legions inside the sphere shouted and pounded against its walls, but could not escape. All the while, the Crones milled about between the fallen undead like club-stunned rothe. Shuffling. Uncertain. A handful of those that still lived were down, knocked to the ground by the rain of falling skulls. For several moments more, the ghastly rain continued. When it at last ended, a dirgelike moan filled the air. The Crones, mourning.

The crowd had thinned enough so that Cavatina could see the bodies of the fallen Protectors and the wizards Daffir and Gilkriz. Leliana lay among them, too, her singing sword beside her.

Cavatina walked to it and picked it up.

As she raised it, the weapon sang out a strident peal. To Eilistraee. To victory.

"Qilue!" she called.

A moment later, the high priestesses's mind touched hers. Cavatina! Where are you?

Swiftly, Cavatina described what had just happened. "Lady Qilue, was it your doing?"

No. I wasn't the one who killed… her.

Cavatina noted the hesitation in Qilue's mental voice. "What happened, then?"

I can't answer that. But now is the moment to strike. We need to deal with the surviving Crones-swiftly-before the effect is undone.

Cavatina glanced around at the milling Crones. Their faces, no longer contorted with the madness of their faith, looked lost, tired, and sad. One of them touched Cavatina's arm and looked pleadingly into her eyes, as if seeking an answer to a question she didn't know how to ask.

Cavatina shrugged her off. "Should we offer them redemption?" she asked Qilue. "There may be some who-"

Qilue's mental voice lashed out like a whip. No. Kill them.

"But-"

Eilistraee demands their deaths. They cannot be redeemed. Kill them.

Cavatina lifted her weapon. That had been an order. And a Darksong Knight did as her high priestess commanded. Cavatina told herself that the Crones had sown the seeds of their own destruction by choosing to worship… whatever evil goddess had just been slain. Cavatina was merely the scythe that fulfilled that grim harvest.

Lips pressed together in a grim line, she swung her weapon. Right, left, cutting down Crones. Easy as reaping wheat.

The remaining Crones didn't even put up a fight. Sword blow by sword blow, they fell.

Cavatina led fully three dozen priestesses-reinforcements from the Promenade-in song. They stood in a wide circle around the shattered ruin that had been Kiaransalee's temple, swords pointed at the voidstone. As they sang, healing energy flowed up their blades and across the space between their metal and the sphere. Brighter even than a full moon, the raw positive energy spun the voidstone around, grinding it down like a pebble in a stream.

Eight Nightshadows worked with the priestesses. They were less skilled in summoning the healing energies of the Prime Material Plane, but they had a role nonetheless. Their chant-whispered from behind their masks-would ensure that after the voidstone had been destroyed, any link with the Negative Energy Plane would be sealed.

Elsewhere on the island, other Protectors chased down the few undead that had survived Kiaransalee's fall. As for those priestesses and Nightshadows who had fallen in the earlier battles, their bodies were even then being carried back to the Moondeep Sea. They would be returned to the Promenade and resurrected, Eilistraee willing. So too would Daffir and Gilkriz, if possible. If not, their bodies would be returned to Sshamath for burial. The same would hold true for Mazeer, once her body was found.

Karas was healed. He stood to Cavatina's immediate right. It no longer galled her to see a Nightshadow participating in one of Eilistraee's sacred rituals. Since her redemption, that anger had dissipated. She understood, then, how a Nightshadow might feel after carrying out an assassination: exactly as Cavatina had felt after Qilue ordered her to kill the remaining Crones.

The voidstone shrank to the size of a boulder, a melon, a fist, a pea. Then, with a boom that was swallowed the instant it sounded, it disappeared. The priestesses lowered their swords and fell silent, and the Nightshadows dropped their hands.

"Lady Qilue," Cavatina called. "It is done. The voidstone is destroyed. But…" She glanced down at her feet and saw that the stone still glowed as brightly as before. "But the Faerzress hasn't diminished."

I can see that.

"It's reached the Promenade?"

It has.

"Lady, should we try to-?"

Nothing more can be done. Return to the Promenade.

And that was it. The entirety of the high priestess's message. No praise for what Cavatina and her expedition had accomplished, no further comment. Just that curt order.

"Is something wrong?" Karas asked.

Cavatina realized she was letting her worry show. "I don't know. Lady Qilue didn't seem…" She closed her mouth, declining to say more. Karas had proven himself, but confiding her fears to him didn't feel appropriate, even though he shared her command. "We're done here. We're to return to the Promenade-promptly. Qilue probably has another mission for us."

"The Masked Lady's will be done," Karas murmured. His eyes, however, didn't match his tone. There was a gleam to them that made Cavatina wary.

He started to turn away, but Cavatina planted herself in his path. "What is it, Karas?" she demanded. "What are you thinking?"

He hesitated. Then shrugged. "Only that Lady Qilue is growing more like a Nightshadow each day. She's playing her sava pieces very close to her chest. I find that… amusing."

Cavatina took a deep breath. Karas was up to his old tricks again. Trying to provoke her into an argument. "I don't," she answered flatly. "But it's the way things are now. We're all going to have to get used to it. Make the best of our new partners and continue the dance as best we can."

Karas's eyebrows rose slightly. "Out of the light, into the shadows-back and forth, as the Masked Lady wills it."

"Yes."

Their eyes met, locked, then, as if at some unspoken command, both turned away.

Q'arlynd strode into the dining hall, surprised that Seldszar had agreed to meet with him at a time that would interrupt the master's supper. Judging by the extra place that had been laid at the table, Seldszar was expecting someone else to join him. Q'arlynd would have to come quickly to the point before that person arrived.

The elder wizard set down his fork and stared up at Q'arlynd through the crystal spheres that orbited his head. If he noted the invisible kiira affixed to Q'arlynd's forehead, he gave no sign. "You wanted to speak to me?"

Q'arlynd bowed. "I wanted to compliment you, Master Seldszar, on solving the problem of the faerie fire."

Master Seldszar frowned. "There is work yet to be done. The Faerzress that has sprung up outside our city presents new challenges."

"Indeed. But at least the effect is no longer increasing. The 'scouting expedition' put an end to that."

"So it did." The frown deepened. "Unfortunately, not before the College of Divination was greatly weakened."

Q'arlynd carefully hid his flinch. He did his best not to think about having abandoned the mission. "Ours wasn't the only college to suffer," he pointed out. "The College of Conjuration and Summoning also faces challenges. Its master is being held responsible for the fact that teleportation in and out of the city is no longer possible."

"That's true. But you didn't come here to tell me what I already know."

Q'arlynd bowed his head in agreement. "I understand you and Master Urlryn are working together on your mutual problem? Trying to find a way to break the link between drow and Faerzress?"

Master Seldszar's eyebrows rose. "You've been making enquiries. Either that or your scrying skills have improved."

"The former," Q'arlynd said. "A source within the College of Conjuration and Summoning."

"My son's consort?"

Q'arlynd smiled.

"You didn't come here to tell me that, either. Please come to the point."

Q'arlynd glanced at the bottle of fungus wine that stood on the massive dining table, wishing he could wet his lips with it. He took a deep breath, instead. "What if I were to tell you I've been speaking with dark elves from the distant past-from the time of ancient Miyeritar? With those who have first-hand knowledge of how the link between dark elves and Faerzress was forged, and who want to see it undone?"

Master Seldszar was no longer even glancing at his spheres. "I'd listen. Very carefully." He gestured at the seat across the table from him. "Sit. Pour yourself some wine."

Q'arlynd did as instructed. He took a polite sip of the wine, then set his goblet down, "You've noted the kiira on my forehead?"

"The moment you walked into the dining hall." Seldszar's eyes glittered. He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "I thank you for recovering it."

Q'arlynd refused to be intimidated.

"It can be worn only by a descendant of House Melarn," he warned Seldszar. "Since the fall of Ched Nasad, there is only one surviving member of that House. Me. If anyone else were to wear this kiira, they'd wind up as Eldrinn did, that time I fetched him home from the High Moor. A drooling idiot." Q'arlynd cocked his head. "Hardly a fit state for the master of a college, wouldn't you say?"

Master Seldszar leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked on Q'arlynd's. "What do you want?"

"I've founded a school. I want it recognized as a college. I want a seat on the Conclave. To achieve that, I'm going to need a nomination from a master. From you."

"And if I refuse?"

Q'arlynd shrugged. "Then I'll speak to Master Urlryn instead."

Seldszar laughed, startling Q'arlynd.

"You wonder what I find so amusing," Seldszar said. "What if I were to tell you I'd already heard this conversation, once before?" He flicked a finger at his spheres. "That it was a little obscured by the sizzle of faerie fire, but that I'd gotten the gist of it, just the same. That I gave my staff of divination to Daffir not because I thought he might need it, but because I knew you'd need it. That I knew there was a selu'kiira waiting within Kraanfhaor's Door that I might claim, myself, once you've shown me how. What would you say then?"

Q'arlynd raised his eyebrows. "I'd say the alliance between our respective colleges appears to be a foregone conclusion."

Master Seldszar smiled and raised his goblet. "Are you still planning on calling yours the College of Ancient Arcana?"

"How did you know that? Did Eldrinn…" Q'arlynd realized what a foolish question that was, and laughed. He clinked his goblet against Seldszar's. "To alliances."