'Seyll. .' Halisstra whispered.
The priestess looked her in the eyes one last time, and though it seemed to cause her a considerable amount of pain to do so, she smiled as she faded from sight.
Halisstra felt her body sag even as she was infused with an energy and confidence unlike anything she'd felt before.
'She's gone,' Uluyara whispered.
'She didn't abandon only Arvandor,' Feliane said, her eyes wide with horror. 'She let the power of Lolth pass into her.'
'To protect me,' Halisstra whispered.
'It killed her,' Feliane said. 'She didn't choose the Astral, she chose oblivion.'
'The thing that I most feared myself,' said Halisstra. 'It was oblivion that drove me to Eilistraee.'
'She sacrificed herself,' Uluyara said.
'For me?' asked Halisstra.
'And for Eilistraee,' Feliane said.
Halisstra's mind reeled, but her eyes cleared of tears, and blood began to flow in her tired muscles. She felt alert, refreshed, even as she was overwhelmed.
'She sacrificed herself,' Halisstra repeated, 'so I could. .'
'So you could serve Eilistraee,' Uluyara finished for her. 'So you could wield the Crescent Blade.'
Halisstra put a hand on the hilt of the weapon that could kill a goddess and said, 'I hesitated, but I hope not for too long.'
'She's awake,' Feliane warned, 'or resurrected. She'll fight back.'
Halisstra thought about that. She tried to imagine facing Lolth herself in battle, and for the life of her she couldn't.
'We'll follow the souls to Lolth,' Halisstra said, moving in that direction even before she finished speaking.
Feliane and Uluyara fell in behind her.
Chapter Twenty-six
'No,' Pharaun muttered, 'this way. .?'
He turned left when the corridor forked. He had cast a number of divinations and was doing his damnedest to follow them all.
'None of your spells are working,' Quenthel asked, 'are they?'
Pharaun didn't bother looking at her but continued along the corridor hoping he would stumble on something that might get them on the right track.
'I'm getting. . contradictory information,' he shot back, 'but at least I'm doing something. You said you've been here before—why aren't you taking us right to her?'
Quenthel didn't answer, and they shared a look that served as an agreement not to continue bickering.
'It's as if the farther we go into this spider fortress, the stranger our surroundings become,' Danifae said. 'There were no right angles anywhere when we first walked in, but now there are. They seemed to appear the moment I got comfortable wandering the corridors without them. Still, we have seen nothing alive, haven't been harried by a single guardian, and for all intents and purposes we have the run of the place. What does it mean?'
'That Lolth wanted us to come,' Quenthel replied, shooting a contemptuous glance at Danifae.
Pharaun and Valas exchanged a look that told each other they'd reached very different conclusions.
The wizard paused in a section of corridor that had widened out to well over twenty feet. The ceiling was low, the darkness comfortably dense, and the smell of rot fortunately not as overwhelming as it had been most of the time. He cast another spell and concentrated on his surroundings, searching for signs of life. He could sense dead spots through which his magic couldn't penetrate—walls perhaps lined with lead or some other particularly dense substance. Still, far at the edge of the limits of his perception, Pharaun could make out signs of life.
'A light wash,' he whispered to himself, 'but it's there.'
'What?' Quenthel asked. 'What's there?'
The wizard opened his eyes and smiled at Quenthel.
'There is something alive in here with us after all,' he said, 'but the sign is strange—diffuse and distant as if the creature is either very far away, only barely alive, cloaked in magic that protects it from divination, or some combination of those things. I can't get a. . Mistress?'
Quenthel dropped to her knees, and Pharaun instinctively backed away. The air was charged, and the Master of Sorcere's skin tingled, but whatever was happening had a much more profound effect on the two females.
Quenthel dropped to her hands, her face coming dangerous inches from smashing into the cold, rusted steel of the ruined spider fortress. Her muscles jerked and spasmed, and her face was twisted into either a rictus of agonized pain or a grin of some kind of feral pleasure— Pharaun couldn't tell which.
Danifae fell to the floor as well, but she was facing up. Her back arched, and soon she was touching the floor only from one tiny spot on her head and the tips of her toes. Pharaun couldn't help admiring the curve of her body, marred as it was by the same petty wounds—cuts, abrasions, welts, and bruises—that they'd all accumulated along the way. Not sure he wasn't seeing only what he wanted to see, Pharaun thought Danifae's expression was one of total pleasure, complete physical abandon.
Next it was Jeggred's turn to fall. The draegloth dropped to one knee, his three remaining hands reaching out to grab blindly at the walls. He ripped jagged rents in one steel partition. Brown dust covered his fur, clinging to it in clumps until it looked like the half-demon was rusting the same as the spider fortress. Jeggred screamed so loudly Pharaun had to clamp his hands over his ears.
Even as the draegloth's scream faded into panting—desperate gasps for air—Pharaun looked at Valas. The scout seemed entirely unaffected, and Pharaun himself felt no burning desire to writhe around on the floor.
'Whatever it is,' Pharaun said to the scout, 'it only seems to be affecting the—'
He thought at first that he was going to say 'the females,' then he realized that it was affecting the priestesses and the one creature among them born of Lolth's peculiar hell.
It ended as abruptly as it began.
Jeggred, who had been the one least affected by the sudden rapture, was the first to stand and begin to brush himself off. His face—normally difficult to read—gave Pharaun nothing.
'What happened?' the wizard asked, but the draegloth ignored him. 'Jeggred?'
Quenthel sat back on her haunches and held her hands up to her face. Her eyes scoured her rust-dusted hands as if searching for something.
Danifae took longer to recover, rolling into a fetal position on the unforgiving rusted steel floor and making a noise Pharaun at first thought was crying.
'Mistress?' Valas asked, crouching to get to Quenthel's eye level but not stepping any closer than the half dozen paces that already separated them.
Quenthel didn't speak, didn't even give any indication that she had heard Valas. Pharaun didn't bother asking what happened. He was beginning to understand what he'd witnessed.
Quenthel began to speak.
At first she moved her lips in a mute pantomime, then she whispered at the edge of hearing, then she chanted a litany in an ancient tongue not even Pharaun recognized.
She continued for a minute or so then stopped. Pharaun's eyes played over her, and he watched as all the cuts and bruises, scrapes and welts faded away, leaving her skin a perfect, almost glowing black. She even seemed to gain back some of the weight she'd lost. Her hair appeared cleaner, softer, and even her piwafwiand armor shone with renewed life.
Quenthel Baenre stood and looked down at Danifae, who had uncurled herself to sit with her back to the wall, smiling as she whispered a prayer of her own that sealed her cuts, made her bruises disappear, and brought the twinkle back into her big, expressive eyes. A tear traced a path down one of her perfect ebony cheeks, and she
