turning his name into an incantation.
'Inthracis! Inthracis! Inthracis!'
Inthracis smiled and let the excitement build.
Even through the tumult Inthracis could hear the roars of the nycaloth sergeants. He pictured the assembly in his mind-row upon row of armed and armored yugoloths-and reveled in their adoration. Yugoloths were mercenaries to their core, and Inthracis had treated his army well over the millennia, rewarding them with glory, souls, treasure, and flesh. He had augmented their loyalty with subtle binding spells, quietly cast. He had built his army with care over the centuries, and its fearsome strength and unswerving loyalty had elevated him nearly to the top of the Blood Rift's hierarchy. He had only to unseat Kexxon the Oinoloth and he would sit atop
Calaas's spire.
Vhaeraun had commanded Inthracis to bring an army to the Ereilir Vor, the Plains of Soulfire,
in Lolth's Demonweb Pits. Inthracis could not muster his entire army without leaving
Corpsehaven unguarded, but he could do the next best thing-bring the Black Horn Regiment, and lead them himself. He would leave Nisviim, his arcanaloth lieutenant, in charge of the fortress until his return. Inthracis knew the bound arcanaloth would not betray him.
Besides, he was certain the Black Horn regiment would be enough-more than enough-to slaughter the three drow priestesses and whomever or whatever might accompany them. And when the three priestesses were dead, Vhaeraun might actually reward him.
'Inthracis! Inthracis!'
The rhythmic beat of weapon hafts on the floor grew louder, faster, building toward a crescendo. Beside Inthracis, snarling and drooling, stood Carnage and Slaughter, his canoloth pets. The rising volume of the chanting agitated the four-legged, houndlike yugoloths-both were dumb but quite powerful, quite loyal-and their long, barbed tongues lolled from the fanged sphincters of their mouths. Their claws dug into the floor, and both uttered low growls.
Inthracis reached up to pat them each on their huge, armored flanks.
'Be at ease,' he said and let arcane power creep into his voice.
The power of his magic eased their tension. The canoloths uttered satisfied murmurs and visibly relaxed.
For the sake of appearances, Inthracis had armored Carnage and Slaughter in their war gear-
spiked plate barding covered the coarse, black fur of their wide backs and broad chests. He had even armored himself, though he would consider it a personal failing to be forced to engage in melee combat.
Still, the troops enjoyed seeing their general outfitted for war.
His light, magic-absorbing mail shirt and helm, both forged in one of Calaas's furnaces from a magic-soaked ore unique to the Blood Rift, glimmered in the light of the anteroom's yellow glowball. His spellblade, Arcane Razor, through which he could cast his spells and cut through the spells of others, hung at his belt from a scabbard made of barbed devil hide. An arsenal of metallic wands and three bone rods hung from a quiver at his thigh.
'Inthracis! Inthracis!'
As it had with the canoloths, the noise agitated the stacked corpses in the walls of
Corpsehaven. Limbs squirmed, wide eyes stared, and flesh oozed. Hands reached from the walls as though to touch him, either out of excitement or perhaps out of a need for reassurance.
Carnage turned his huge head, casually ripped a grasping forearm from the wall, and devoured it, bone and all. Seeing his sibling feasting, Slaughter eyed the wall-corpses to see if another such tidbit might be forthcoming.
None were. Hands and arms retreated into the wall. Eyes stared out in semi-sentient fear.
Inthracis smiled at his pets, even as he ran his plan through his mind. He had been unable to scry any of the three priestesses-he did not know why-and Vhaeraun's avatar had not shown himself again. Still, he dared not disobey the Masked Lord's command.
Inthracis would use a simple spell to show the Black Horn Regiment where it was to go-the fiery, blasted heath of the Plains of Soulfire, in the shadow of Lolth's city and the Infinite Web-
and go they would. Inthracis knew the plains to be uninhabited but for the tortured souls that burned in the sky above them-and perhaps a few of Lolth's eight-legged pets.
'Inthracis! Inthracis!'
The time had come.
Without another word, he threw open the doors and strode forward onto the high balcony that overlooked the assembly hall. The cheer that greeted him from below sent flakes of skin raining from the ceiling, shook the walls of Corpsehaven like one of the Blood Rift's frequent earthquakes.
He looked down on the regiment. Rows of squat, beetle-like mezzoloths looked up at him with their red, compound eyes. They stood on two legs, using the other four to wield their polearms. Plates of armor draped their black carapaces. Their mandibles offered soft clicks. The larger nycaloths moved amongst them, calling for quiet.
Muscles rippled under the green scales of the gargoylish nycaloths as they moved. Huge axes hung from their backs. Four clawed hands erupted from their muscular chests, and their sleek heads sported two horns, limned black, of course.
Inthracis raised his hands, and the multitude fell silent. Only the howl of the wind outside disturbed the moment. In its shriek, Inthracis still heard the echo of Lolth's call, but softer:
'Yor'thae.'
Inthracis ignored it, except to hope that the diminishment of the call indicated the diminishment of Lolth.
He willed a spell to amplify his voice. When he spoke, his softly uttered words sounded as loud and clear in the ears of his troops as if he had stood beside them.
'There are drow priestesses that we must kill,' he said. 'And we must do it under the eyes of the Spider Queen herself.'
A ripple ran through the lines. All knew that something had been happening recently with
Lolth.
Inthracis spoke the words to his spell and called up a towering image of the Ereilir Vor. A
green mist hung over a pockmarked landscape. Pools of caustic fluid bubbled their stink into the air. Glowing souls burned in arcane fire in the sky.
Beyond the plains, Lolth's city loomed, a great, crawling citadel of iron set among the Infinite
Web. Millions of arachnids scurried along its strands.
Another ripple ran through the lines. No doubt some recognized the locale.
'That is where we will do battle,' he called. 'And here is our prey.'
Drawing upon the mental image placed in his mind by Vhaeraun, he spoke aloud the words to another spell and caused an image of the three priestesses to take shape before the regiment.
'All three must die,' he said, 'and an extra twenty-five souls from my cache to those who strike the killing blow.'
A roar answered him and he nodded.
The Black Horn Regiment was ready. If Vhaeraun was right, and one of the three drow priestesses was or was to be Lolth's Yor'thae, then the Spider Queen's Chosen would never reach her goddess's side.
Chapter Eleven
Day was drawing near. The nalfeshnee and chasme flew on. The mountains grew larger and larger in Pharaun's sight. Though perhaps a league away, they stood so tall they looked like a wall of black rock that never ended. He knew that no one could ever go over them. There was only one way through-the Pass of the Soulreaver.
Souls streamed overhead, angling downward and flowing toward the base of the mountains.
The nalfeshnee eyed the glowing souls hungrily as they passed, but his fear of Quenthel kept him from
