CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Chenraya Xorlarrin touched the dagger tip to the whimpering genasi’s chest. He was one of the few miners still alive. The torture hadn’t managed to kill him like the others. She’d thought his mind was shattered, but by the way he jerked against the bonds he’d apparently retained enough sense of self-preservation to realize what was in store for him. The culmination of the ritual she’d been murmuring and chanting the last half hour approached. His eyes sought hers above the muffling gag, wide with appeal. As if that would sway her not to sacrifice him.
The imbecile’s soul would be consumed by Lolth. He should be grateful. How many creatures on or beneath Toril could claim such exaltation? The priestesses of House Xorlarrin had been commanded by Matron Mother Zeerith to avoid any communion with Lolth during the next half year. Zeerith, who was rumored to be profaning her body by lying down with a
It was time to inform Lolth that House Xorlarrin was about to grant the goddess a wonderful boon, and more important, that Chenraya was responsible. Lolth wanted her daughters to gather certain things: blueflame items, the remains of powerful wizards once precious to Mystra, and relics of immense power. It was the latter that Chenraya was about to gain for Lolth. But if allowed, Matron Mother Zeerith would claim the glory for herself. Chenraya’s station wouldn’t advance the width of a spider’s shadow. It was a gamble. Lolth
But the Spider Queen sometimes rewarded initiative among her followers. And of all the drow scurrying across Faerun to find the elements or to retake the surface lands Lolth desired, Chenraya judged herself closest to succeeding. She’d finally uncovered the relic!
Chenraya pushed harder on the dagger and chanted the last words of the ritual. The skin of the sacrifice dimpled, then split. Blood welled in the wound, glowing with the power of her arcane working. She drew the dagger up toward the ceiling, and a line of blood followed, more like a web than fluid. She pulled the dagger through the air in a clockwise motion, creating a circle of glowing blood in empty space. When she completed the design, she uttered the final word of her spell and plunged the dagger straight through the sacrifice’s heart. His last sound was a gurgle. The man’s soul energized the annulus. Through it, Chenraya could see a misty expanse and something huge and black. Perhaps a spider the size of a small village? Communion was imminent!
Chenraya realized her mouth was so dry she couldn’t wet her lips. She was more nervous then she’d admitted to herself. She cleared her throat, then said in a hoarse voice, addressing the floating portal, “Lolth, Spider Queen and Queen of the Demonweb Pits, I-”
“WHO?” A voice thundered into Chenraya’s consciousness. It battered aside her defenses, all her layers of ego and experience, and raked her naked soul. It was the Demon Queen Lolth, or actually, the priestess understood, a splinter of the Spider Queen’s divine attention. Chenraya tried and failed again and again to formulate an answer. Chenraya realized she might have just made her very last mistake.
Lord Pashra swept into the cave. His huge frame threw a shadow across the limp body on the altar and across the floating annulus hung in midair. The moment the oni’s shadow bisected the floating circle, it collapsed into a splatter of blood across the dead genasi’s chest. The overwhelming presence pinning Chenraya’s mind like a moth on a placard whispered away in the same instant.
The priestess slumped, catching herself on the edge of the altar.
“Chenraya!” said Pashra. “They’re here! On the island!”
“Who … who’s here?” What was the oni talking about? She was having difficulty focusing. Her mind felt as if it’d barely withstood the impact of a sledgehammer. It hadn’t shattered, but tiny cracks splintered all through it.
“Who do you think? The spies who found us at the warehouse, who ventured into the Demonweb. The white-haired man, the windsoul, and a few others. They threw our greeting force back down the main shaft and sealed it! Only one drider survived the fall.
What should we do?”
The image of the pale-haired man with tattoos the color of gray clouds gave her something to focus on. That one was dangerous. Something about him raised the hairs on her neck like flexing spider legs …
She pushed away from the altar and straightened. Pashra’s intrusion would normally have thrown her into a rage. However, given that the oni’s interruption had probably saved her from the direct attention of a vengeful goddess, Chenraya decided to defer punishment for a later date. For now …
“I’ll prepare an ambush with the full force of my harem and slaves,” she said. “You see about unsealing the main shaft. It’s time for you to carry your weight in this partnership.”
The oni frowned. “Without me, you’d never have known the relic existed, let alone its location.”
She shrugged. “That’s in the past; we’re in the present, dear Pashra. See that you clear our exit. I’ll make certain our troublesome guests find the end they so obviously crave. If my slave-soldiers and harem can’t eliminate them, half the weight of a collapsing island falling on them will.”
Pashra growled but kept his thoughts to himself as he departed.
Chenraya stood in the silence of her cave for a moment, looking at the failed results of her ritual. Then she made a fist and slammed it down on the immobile body.
“All for nothing!” she screamed. If retrieving the relic hidden in this clot of alien landscape wasn’t enough to garner Lolth’s favor, what would be? The priestess smashed the corpse one more time for good measure, then turned to leave.
That’s when she heard a tiny voice in her head. So small at first she thought she imagined it. But when the meaning finally penetrated, fear as cold as the wind off the great glacier chilled her blood.
“I’m watching you, daughter. Do not disappoint.”
Riltana hated being underground. The air was lifeless. It barely stirred itself to her desire, and even then, only with dragging petulance. It smelled faintly of sulfur and … urine? Was that even possible? Probably-who knew how many excavators had been here, relieving themselves in dark corners. Her nose wrinkled. Mine air was bad air, through and through. The stone walls were chipped and ridged with the cuts of picks, shovels, and magical blasts. Every so often they came across a hair-wide seam of silvery mineral. Queen Arathane said it was low-grade arambarium, not worth digging out when higher-grade ore was more easily extractable in other places. Wood spars at irregular intervals marked their progress. Except they’d been down here for what felt like hours already. She’d lost track of time and spars.
“How far now?” she asked.
Demascus shrugged as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Right; she knew better. Well, she hoped she knew better.
Jaul’s head was bent over a sheaf of parchment in his hands, where he was sketching tunnels on a crude map. “We’re close,” he said.
“You said that an hour ago.”
“This time, we are.”
She sighed and bottled up an acid comeback. Probably not the time to risk precipitating violence. The queen already didn’t think the windsoul was a good friend for her niece. Riltana didn’t want to add fuel to that fire by acting out
Instead Riltana rubbed her palms together and pictured a small yellow sphere. The Prisoner’s Stone fell out of glovespace into her hand. She rolled it between her fingers. Its slight weight was reassuring. If worse came to worst, it might allow her to get out of the mine. Its power to break bonds of every other sort had always functioned
