[i:3sdtkshw]Author's notes:
A long time ago I posted a snippet from the Dark Flower, the 'saga' of my ALFA player-character's life. I promised to reprint other parts as well. Now, the Dark Flower saga is 3 books long and comprises about 60 chapters now. For the folks here, I doubt the interest would be that high in the entire story. So, I have taken a few chapters out - these are the chapters where the major turning points in Sheyreiza and Inthara's life were; Sheyreiza Auvryndar being my character and Inthara Despana being Zakharra's character. Its also worth noting that for much our time, Vendrin was our DM (though not for the early, Eilistraee focused parts).
Here then are the relevant excerpts that led Sheyreiza and Inthara to convert from Lolth to Eilistraee. After that, I will include exerpts from the period in which Sheyreiza's faith in Eilistraee was wrecked and she turned back to Lolth - a turn which eventually cost Inthara her life.
As I've not included the first 9 chapters, I will set the scene: Sheyreiza Auvryndar (drow priestess of Lolth), Inthara Despana (drow sorceress, openly worshipping Lolth but secretly praying to Eilistraee), Amenia (drow fighter and bodyguard to Sheyreiza, worshipper of Lolth) have been captured on the surface and imprisoned in Battlehammer Hall. King Bruenor has been pondering the fate of the three drow, and while inclined to kill them, his hand has been stayed by his vassal, Jain'n, an elf and friend to the king. Jain'n believes the three can be turned to Eilistraee, and so convinces King Bruenor to turn the three drow over to Jain'n's community, the elves of Lonelywood. This chapter begins with the release of the drow women into the custody of the elves. [/i:3sdtkshw]
*******************************************************
[b:3sdtkshw]Dark Flower, Book I
Chapter 10, Light[/b:3sdtkshw]
******
As the sun set on Icewind Dale, a line of cloaked figures emerged from the entrance of Battlehammer Hall. Quickly and surely they worked their way down the snowy slope that led to the Hall’s entrance. The cloaked figures were taller than the dwarves of Battlehammer Hall, but not nearly as stout. They moved with a grace and beauty unknown to the folk of Moradinn. They were elves.
Sheyreiza Auvryndar walked some distance behind the leader of the line, Jain’n. Sheyreiza watched Jain’n move through the snowy fields and she did her best to walk in his footprints though his gait was different than hers. Behind her walked Inthara Despana and Amenia. Mixed in with them was the surface elf Kalina, whom Sheyreiza believed to be a sun elf like Jain’n. Another surface elf, Vraja, also moved with the group at the rear. Sheyreiza believed him a moon elf.
They had finally been released from the dungeons of the Battlehammer clan. Sheyreiza could hardly believe it. Why had they been spared? The dwarves of Battle Home were the avowed enemies of the Ilythiir. True, they were really enemies of Menzoberranzan, and Sheyreiza, Inthara and Amenia were all from Ched Nasad, but Sheyreiza had hardly expected the dwarves to understand or appreciate the subtle difference.
No, it was not the dwarves who set them free it was Jain’n. Jain’n and his unexplainable, incomprehensible ‘love.’ Jain’n was willing to sacrifice everything to save Sheyreiza, even his own life. Why? Guilt? Lust? ‘Love?’ Sheyreiza was not sure now.
What Sheyreiza was sure about was that she cared for Jain’n in a way she had never cared for another person. She was sure it was similar to what she [i:3sdtkshw]might[/i:3sdtkshw] have come to feel for her own son had he not been taken from her. The feeling was so strong, so powerful, so all consuming it tore at her chest and caused her physical pain. She did not understand it in the slightest. She also could not deny it.
Though she felt very strongly for Jain’n, she felt no love for his gods and goddesses. Corellon was still the Betrayer to Sheyreiza, and Eilistraee was still just a name, a bodiless concept whose presence she had never felt, seen or heard. Who was this Eilistraee anyway? Sheyreiza knew the Dark Maiden was Lolth’s daughter by Corellon, but so what? What did Eilistraee want? The death of her mother? That would be typically Ilythiir. In what way was this Maiden different than any other ungrateful, murderous, ambitious, Ilythiir daughter? Despite all of Jain’n’s honeyed words, Eilistraee still meant nothing to Sheyreiza. No, that was not quite right. Eilistraee’s very name was a curse, a heresy, a blasphemy, and an affront to Lolth, the Spider Queen. Sheyreiza wished nothing to do with the treacherous Dark Maiden.
Jain’n, however, wished the opposite, and now, he was leading Sheyreiza into his domain…..
***
Sheyreiza stood before a glowing column of light that seemed to flow up from the ground and into the nothing of the night sky. The column was surrounded by three large stones, uncarved, yet clearly set there for a purpose. Jain’n told Sheyreiza that the light was a ‘Faerie Trod,’ a magical pathway. All she had to do was speak the password and it would transport her into Lonelywood, the magical realm of Jain’n’s elves. Sheyreiza did not like the light. She did not like the stones. She did not like the idea of trusting her life to some elven magic. She did, however, love Jain’n, at least to the extent that she could understand love.
With a last look at the sun-elf she seemed to care so much about, Sheyreiza stepped into the trod and spoke the password.
There was a flash of light, bright, yet not painful as most bright lights were. Then, darkness, trees and snow. Something green, sparkly and fast moved by, and then another. Sheyreiza watched and she saw small glowing figures before her. They looked like surface elves with wings, glowing with a magical light but only the height of her fore arm or so. She had heard of them, but had never expected to see them. Pixies. Real Pixies.
The diminutive flying fey swarmed about Sheyreiza, looking at her from all angles. Sheyreiza simply stood there, stunned, expecting at any moment to be killed or at least grievously harmed by these mythical creatures. The pixies were beautiful, but terribly frightening to Sheyreiza. She had long heard tales of what such faerie creatures would do to Ilythiir who fell into their grasp. The tortures they might inflict could last for years and Sheyreiza’s only hope would be death or insanity.
The pixies did not attack however, they only watched. Amenia walked out of the wood.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Asked Shey’s former bodyguard. A light danced in Amenia’s eye and she was clearly enchanted by the magical forest and its denizens.
Sheyreiza looked at Amenia, as stunned by her as by the pixies themselves. Where was the killer Sheyreiza knew? Where was the Amenia whose only desire was to kill as many of the noble class as she could before being killed herself? Where was the animal whose eyes lit up whenever Sheyreiza talked of murder?
Inthara too was entranced, walking quickly about the magical clearing, talking excitedly. Was this the same Inthara who would have traded the lives and souls of every man, woman and child in Skullport for a sliver of magical knowledge? The Inthara Sheyreiza saw now was running around in the snow ogling the pixies and chattering away like nothing Sheyreiza had ever seen. No one, not even weanlings, acted so carefree, so openly unguarded and joyously.
The other elves, including Jain’n followed.
“What is this place?” Sheyreiza asked Jain’n.
The sun elf smiled. “This is the Heart of Lonelywood.” Jain’n saw the expression on Sheyreiza’s face and answered it without prompting. “You are safe here.”
“If you say so.” She replied.
Jain’n smiled again. “I do.”
Sheyreiza turned her attention back to the pixies. Two in particular had taken an interest in Shey. The danced and flew in front of her, and Sheyreiza was not sure if she was being courted or mocked or both. Jain’n watched, happily, as Sheyreiza extended a hand to the pixies and they flew around it. Elsewhere in the meadow Inthara was all but dancing among the fey while Amenia marveled at the stags and boars that walked the field. For Sheyreiza, it was all unreal however. She could not stop watching the pixies and their little wings. What manner of spell and sorcery was this? Why did the elves bring her here? Why did [i:3sdtkshw]Jain’n[/i:3sdtkshw] bring her here? To be given to the spirits of their wood? Sacrificed to their primitive and treacherous gods? Or simply to be shown what she had never seen and could never have hoped to have seen?
For what seemed like a lifetime Sheyreiza marveled at the pixies and their sylvan winter wonderland. She walked, slowly, around the trod, followed by the two pixies that seemed to have adopted her, for weal or woe. She looked at the boar, the woods, the snow, the trod itself and all the other pixies gathered in the meadow. She heard Jain’n saying that this gathering of pixies was highly unusual but she did not respond. Sheyreiza was lost in her own senses as she walked in a place she had only heard of, a place that should have been a nightmare for her: A place that might become a nightmare for her at any moment.
Jain’n’s voice broke her trance. “The pixies want us to come to the stone.”
Sheyreiza nodded and followed the glowing line of tiny fey. They walked a short distance through the woods until Sheyreiza came upon a sight that sent her blood running cold. A circle, outlined in stones, with a great central rock, was laid out before her. She recognized it. It was an unholy circle of some Seldarine goddess or god. A place anathema to everything Sheyreiza had ever held dear, sacred or true. A place women like her only saw at the end of their lives because the only way they would see it was as sacrifices.
She turned on Jain’n, her eyes narrowed. “What is this place?” She asked, though she knew full well. She wanted to hear it from him. Shey had had enough deception and enough sweet words. It seemed this then was what Jain’n had in mind all along: a sacrificial ritual to his primitive, treacherous god. And why not? Was Sheyreiza not a priestess of the Spider Queen? What better sacrifice could be offered to the Betrayer Corellon than one of the daughters of Lolth?
“It is a shrine to the Seldarine, to all the gods of the Seldarine, but it is special to Eilistraee.” Jain’n smiled as he spoke, his voice calm, almost soothing. He explained that it was an ancient place and that the stone was old almost beyond reckoning. “You once told me you had questions for Eilistraee, yes?”
Sheyreiza’s eyes had narrowed and now looked for all the world like two knives, one red, and one blue. “Xas.” She answered in drow. “I have questions for your goddess, your Dark Maiden.”
Jain’n’s smile did not falter. “Then ask. Go to the stone and ask. This is where we pray. This is the holiest place in my realm. This [i:3sdtkshw]is[/i:3sdtkshw] the heart of Lonelywood.”
Sheyreiza’s pace quickened. Was he serious? Did he really want her to step into this unholy circle willingly? To address his gods? She would be struck down in a heartbeat. Of course, that seemed to be the point. She was being offered to his gods. Perhaps that was how the darthiir did it; they got their victims to walk to the sacrificial altar, to present themselves to the gods.
So be it.
Sheyreiza knew there was no escaping the meadow if Jain’n did not want it. There was no hope of fighting her way out. Even if Amenia and Inthara had not been completely enchanted and fought beside her, they were still outnumbered more than two to one, and none of the three of them were armed, while Jain’n and all his elves were bedecked with armor and weapons. There was little choice.
But there was some choice. She could choose how she would enter the circle. She could choose how she would face the treacherous gods of the Seldarine. Sheyreiza could choose how she would face death.
The drow priestess held the gaze of the sun elf lord. She stared into his amber eyes with her own red and blue orbs, searching for a glimpse into his soul. She saw little that she could recognize, or at least little she could understand.
Turning from him, Sheyreiza looked upon the stone at the center of the circle. It was easily twelve feet high and sat in the center of this profane site like some horrid, implacable monster, secure in its power and insatiable in its appetite. It wanted Sheyreiza, she could feel it, could feel it summoning her. It wanted to consumer her. The evil of the Seldarine was at its peak here. Never before had Sheyreiza stood on the edge of a nightmare such as this. Circles and stones like this were the stuff of legends and myth among the Ilythiiri. Some dark elves had seen their like, on raids and bloodings, but to stand next to such a circle, unarmed, all but alone, and in the power of the darthiir? Had any real priestess tread this path and lived?
Sheyreiza closed her eyes and began to disrobe. She let the green silk that Jain’n brought her fall to the snow. She stepped out of the slippers he had given her and shed her cloak as well. From her neck, she lifted the necklace with its warming stone, and dropped it into the snow. Finally, she took the flower from her hair, the one Jain’n had given her. She handed it to him now.
“I will go before your gods naked, as I am,” Sheyreiza said, “not as some one else wants me to be.” Sheyreiza looked into Jain’n’s eyes again. “I think you will know what to do with the flower when this is over.”
Jain’n still smiled but Shey was sure she saw the slightest shadow pass across his face. Her reaction was not what he had guessed it would be, or at least not what he hoped it would be. “I will.” He replied.
Sheyreiza had already turned from him, her body now naked of all clothing, all adornment but her tattoos, and those were of spiders and webs. She looked at her companions, Inthara and Amenia. She did not smile, she did not speak, she just looked.
Without another word Sheyreiza walked down the wood logs set in the earth around the stone and into the unholy circle. She could feel the pull of the stone. It wanted her to come. So she did.
As she approached the stone Sheyreiza felt her heart race, her face flush and her head grow light. She felt out of touch with her world, her reality, and now she knew she ventured into something she literally could not have imagined. She reached out and touched the giant, monster-stone before her, the stone that called to her soul, beckoning her forward, in all likelihood to be destroyed and damned.
Around Sheyreiza, the other elves moved into the circle and kneeled in praying positions. They watched Shey closely. Though clothed in nothing more substantial than moonlight, the drow priestess seemed unaffected by the cold. Behind her, the other two drow followed into the circle and Inthara began to undress.
Sheyreiza looked at the stone and her eyes followed its bulk from bottom to top and there, at the top, she could see the moon in the sky above. The moon. Was that not one of the Dark Maiden’s symbols? Sheyreiza took a deep breath. It was time to face whatever it was the darthiir and their miserable gods had in store for her. Sheyreiza was determined, however, to face their wrath with pride, as a priestess of Lolth, as a noble Ilythiiri female. She would face whatever came fearlessly, and with no further hesitation. She stared at the night sky and then her voice broke the eerie silence of Lonelywood’s night.
“Do you see me Eilistraee?” Sheyreiza called out at the moon. “Do you hear me? Do you hear me calling you?” Sheyreiza’s voice began to rise. “I have questions for you Dark Maiden, and your followers have told me to come here and ask you myself, so I here I am. Will you answer me? Will you answer my questions Dark Maiden? Do you hear me? DO YOU?” Sheyreiza was screaming now, her questions directed to the gibbous moon above.
A figure the size of a giant appeared at the edge of a circle. It was a drow female, perhaps twenty feet tall, of incomparable beauty. Her skin was a dark as the darkest night sky and her silver hair glittered with the radiance of the moon itself. Her radiant locks fell to her ankles and swirled about her feet. Indeed, it looked as if she was really supported by her the light that was her hair, gliding across the snow on her glowing tresses. Flowers appeared in the snow at her feet.
Sheyreiza knew that Eilistraee had come. The goddess [i:3sdtkshw]had[/i:3sdtkshw] heard her and had come. Sheyreiza also knew fear, for she also in seeing Eilistraee, in feeling her, in coming into her presence, Sheyreiza knew something else: Sheyreiza had come to know that Eilistraee [i:3sdtkshw]was[/i:3sdtkshw] good.
The goddess’ mere appearance, mere aura was enough to answer all of Sheyreiza’s questions about the Dark Maiden’s heart. Here, then, was goddess who truly loved the Ilythiiri. Here then was a goddess who was as light as her mother was dark. This goddess knew love and she lived it. Sheyreiza saw herself reflected next to the love, the power, the glory that was the Dark Maiden and she fell to her knees. What was Sheyreiza next to this? She was nothing but a misguided, petty, insignificant evil that did not deserve Eilistraee’s mercy.
All around Sheyreiza elves fell to the ground in worship to the Dark Maiden. They muttered prayers of thanks and happiness and joy. Smiles of warmth, relief, understanding and love were on every face. Even Inthara and Amenia seemed overwhelmed with joy at the sight of the Dark Maiden, but not Sheyreiza. As Shey fell to her knees in the snow she fell crying. This being of light, this being of goodness and love was going to destroy Shey for her evil and Shey knew she deserved it. Hopeless, crying, Shey lowered her head into the snow and awaited judgment.
The goddess moved slowly, easily, gracefully, around the circle. She addressed Jain’n first but Sheyreiza, in her hopelessness, did not hear what the goddess said. Next, the goddess addressed Amenia. Sheyreiza looked up from where she kneeled in the snow, freezing, crying and waiting. Amenia was smiling now, a look of happiness and contentment on her face the likes of which Sheyreiza had never seen.
The avatar of the goddess touched Amenia on the head and spoke. “I have a gift for you child. If you care for the beasts of my forest, I shall give to you Vraja to serve as your protector and guide.”
Amenia nodded, still smiling. “Thank you.” Was all the drowess could say.
Behind Sheyreiza, Inthara had begun crying as well. As she cried she began to beg. She begged for acceptance, she begged to repent of her evil and she begged for the Dark Maiden’s love. Mostly, she begged to be forgiven.
A stab of pain shot through Sheyreiza’s soul. Forgiveness? For what? Yes, they had done evil, Sheyreiza could see that now. Never had she seen or felt what ‘good’ really was and now that she had, she knew she had done evil, but, what was her alternative? Was she not born to it?
Inthara continued to cry and beg and the goddess came to her. “You are forgiven child.” The goddess said. “And I have a gift for you as well.” The goddess reached out and touched the bracelet Inthara wore and it crumbled to dust in the snow. The bracelet had been the chain by which Inthara had been bound by the House Wizard of Qu’ellar Despana. That binding had ruled Inthara’s life for more years than Shey knew, and it was that binding that had given Shey power over Inthara. Sheyreiza had promised to have the binding broken, setting Inthara free, if Inthara served her. Now, with but a touch, the goddess had freed Inthara. Such power, such mercy, but why had the goddess not done that before? Why did Inthara have to suffer so until now? First through the manipulation of the Despana House Wizard and later through Sheyreiza. Inthara had been used for most of her life, perhaps all of it. Why [i:3sdtkshw]now[/i:3sdtkshw] was she set free? Where had Eilistraee been before?
“I give you Sirril to watch over and protect you.” The goddess decreed to Inthara.
Sheyreiza knew she was next. She knew that in the next few moments, the goddess would come and look into her soul and judge her. But who was this goddess to judge Sheyreiza? Sheyreiza had done things, evil things, but where was Eilistraee then? What now gave this Dark Maiden the right to judge Sheyreiza?
The priestess began to shake and she cried harder as the goddess approached. Sheyreiza could sense Eilistraee behind her. Shey shook and trembled and bit her lip, tears streaming from her eyes but even as her fear grew so too did her anger grow. It came over her then, washing across her like the tide across the beach coming in waves, each wave gaining further and further up the shore. She put her hands out and pushed off the ground and forced herself to stand on legs that seemed to have no bones left. With a supreme effort of will, Sheyreiza stood erect and turned to face the goddess.
Eilistraee stood before her, in all her magnificence and Sheyreiza’s eyes widened. This was not real. This was a moment out of time. There was no preparing for coming face to face with such a thing as righteous goddess who would now judge you. Sheyreiza trembled and fought against her fear and her anger and her urge to simply fall to the ground in obedience. She focused on Inthara, on Inthara’s begging for forgiveness and on Inthara’s bracelet. Sheyreiza blinked as she stared at the silent divinity before her. This was not real. There was no point in giving into to any worldly emotion for this moment was a moment out of this world.
Sheyreiza stammered incomprehensibly. Tears poured from her eyes as never before. Seeing Eilistraee, seeing this goodly goddess of the Ilythiir before her opened the door in Sheyreiza’s soul completely and out poured all the emotions behind that door and the one which overwhelmed all the others was grief.
Sheyreiza forced herself to look up at the goddess’ face and into her eyes. She would not be judged kneeling. She would not be cowed.
“Where have you been?” Sheyreiza asked softly, her trembling voice almost breaking with heartache. “Where have you been all these years, all these centuries, all these millennia?” Her voice rose and she was crying harder now, if possible, barely able to stammer out her questions, but the grief poured out as freely as the tears. “We needed you. We have needed you so much. Your mother needed you and she needs you still! Where were you? Why weren’t you there for us? All these years and where were you? We have had no hope for so long. We are born into a world so cold you cannot even imagine it and we fight and die there and for what? WHAT? Why?" Sheyreiza was screaming now, her voice barely comprehensible as one hundred and twenty years of pain, fear, anger, mistrust, grief and hatred poured out. "Why does it have to be that way? I plot my mother’s death, and my sisters plot to kill me. Why? Why do we have to live in a world so evil? Where have you been? Why didn’t you help us? What did we do? What did [i:3sdtkshw]I[/i:3sdtkshw] do? I was not there in Arvandor with Araushnee and Corellon. I was not there when Miyeritar was destroyed. What did I do to deserve such a life? What did any of us do? Why was I born to live and die in the dark? Why was I born in world beneath the world? [i:3sdtkshw]Why can’t I walk in Arvandor[/i:3sdtkshw]? Why are we so cursed and why, if you are so good, which I can see that you are, why haven’t you helped us? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?”
It has been said many times by many people that the eyes are the windows of the soul. Into the eyes of the goddess Sheyreiza gazed, screaming out her frustration, screaming out her pain, screaming out her questions.
The goddess answered.
Eilistraee opened up the windows to her soul and as Sheyreiza looked into those divine orbs she saw: She [i:3sdtkshw]saw[/i:3sdtkshw] where Eilistraee had been for the last 10,000 years of the Ilythiir struggle; she [i:3sdtkshw]saw[/i:3sdtkshw] what Eilistraee had been doing for the 10,000 years of the Ilythiir struggle. Eilistraee showed Sheyreiza her own pain, her own frustration, her own struggle. Sheyreiza felt the agony of the Melarn priestess who carried the Crescent Blade for the Dark Maiden as she was devoured; she felt the heartache of Qilue Veladorn who lost her loved ones in the service of Eilistraee; she felt every sacrifice, every loss, every hurt and every struggle the Dark Maiden had endured during her eons of struggle with her dark mother.
Sheyreiza screamed aloud and though her audible scream was incomprehensible, in her mind, she begged Eilistraee to stop. She begged to not see or feel anything more. It was too much, simply too much. Though only seconds passed, Sheyreiza felt as if she was passing through unendurable anguish for centuries.
She knew where Eilistraee had been. She knew what Eilistraee had done. And she knew what Eilistraee and her followers had suffered on behalf of the Ilythiiri.
Sheyreiza [i:3sdtkshw]knew[/i:3sdtkshw] but knowing was too much. Sheyreiza’s eyes rolled back in her head as her soul screamed for mercy from the vision. The naked priestess passed out into the welcome oblivion of unconciousness. She fell into the arms of the goddess, who was now no taller than a human, and all was silent in the circle again.
Sheyreiza’s questions had been answered.
Spider and Moon, Flower and Butterfly
Moderators: Shir'le E. Illios, Bhaern Quel
Author's note. This next chapter takes place several years after Sheyreiza's conversion to Eilistraee. During that time Sheyreiza and Jain'n had a child, a daughter named Shein'n. Jain'n and Sheyreiza's relationship was a very stormy one, however, as Jain'n often put duty before family while Sheyreiza was unwilling to give up her independance or accept the "rule" of a male. As this chapter opens, however, Jain'n and Sheyreiza are at a high-point in their relationship - but nothing lasts forever. This is also, perhaps, the pinnacle of Sheyreiza's 'goodness' but it is also the moment when her new faith in Eilistraee began to crack. And that crack would lead to the ultimate downfall of both Sheyreiza and Inthara...
*************
[b:3tx11qoh]The Dark Flower, Book II
Prologue[/b:3tx11qoh]
Far above the Spine of the World, in the frozen wastes known as Icewind Dale, the spring sun had reached the peak of its rather short east-to-west arc. Even at its peak, the sun seemed to barely clear the southern horizon. Such were the days of the far north.
The day was bright, however, despite the low sun. Light glared off the brilliantly white snow that covered the ground and trees. A person not used to such glare would quickly find theirs eyes itching and watering uncontrollably. In the far north, even light was dangerous.
As the sun peaked, something substantially more dangerous than snow-blindness moved through a canyon; an ogre. The beast stood nearly ten feet tall, or would have had it stood up straight. Its gnarled, twisted, muscled body seemed perpetually locked into a grotesque hunch-back. The ogre did not seem hampered by its condition, however. Snow crunched as the ogre trotted. Prey had been sighted, and what tasty prey it was; a female elf, with skin as black as night and hair as white as snow. The ogre had heard of such elves before, and had heard tales of their near-mystical lethality. One look at the she-elf told the ogre all those legends were wrong. It was nothing more than a mere slip of an elf. One good blow from the ogre’s club and he would be putting her on a spit over fire. He was already salivating when his trot broke into a run and his real charge began.
The prey, a lithe, beautiful dark-elf not much more than half the ogre’s height and fraction of its weight, turned from the path she was walking and stepped towards the charging ogre. In one hand she bore a shield, in the other a sword. Both bore the moon-symbol of Eilistraee, the Dark Maiden of the drow. The symbol was also evident upon the chest of the gleaming mithril plate armor the drowess wore. Though resplendent in silver armor, shield and sword, the ogre was not afraid. The battle seemed far from fair. The ogre easily outweighed the elven woman by 300 or more pounds. The beast's forearms were thicker than the woman’s thighs. His club was as tall as the elf and seemed capable of crushing her beautiful silver armor and shield like a child might crush a bug. Still, the woman did not flee.
With only a few yards left between them the ogre let out a cry and raised its club as it came on. The woman side-stepped right and raised her shield. The ogre adjusted and swung down aiming at the shield. He did not bother trying to get his club past the woman’s defense. He would simply crush it. No matter what that shield was made of, her arm would never withstand a direct blow.
The club came down in long arc and struck the ground. A snow cloud blossomed from where the ogre had slammed its weapon down. The ogre blinked. The she-elf had spun away from the strike. His club had not even glanced her. The ogre saw the she-elf step towards him. He raised his club. The ogre saw a flash of sun-light on steel and felt something rip along his ribs. She had slashed him! Now he was mad. Now he was not going to be nice. Now he would find someway to make her pay. He would not be merciful and kill her nicely before cooking her. He would find a way to make this she-elf suffer.
Club raised, the ogre pivoted and struck at the diminutive elf again. The woman side-stepped and the strike glanced off her shield. She stepped in quickly and put the tip of her blade through the ogre’s thigh.
Now he was really mad. He did not know how, but somehow he would find a way to cook and eat the she-elf while she was still alive. She would feel pain. She had no right to hurt him like this and she would suffer for her audacity. The ogre raised the club and gripped it with both hands. From the corner of his eyes, the ogre saw another flash of light, but this one was sun-light on gold, not silver. The ogre began to spin but it was too late.
From the ogre’s flank a gold-armored elf with matching golden hair and bronze skin leaped into the fray without a sound. The man led with a round shield but he held a long, shining sword high. As his leap reached its zenith, he thrust out the sword and its tip slid into the side of the ogre. The man finished his leap by kicking off the ogre’s thigh and landed with elven grace in the snow.
The ogre staggered backwards, coughing up blood, its eyes wild and full of panic. It tried to swing its club but its strength failed. The beast fell backwards into the snow. It coughed again, blood from its pierced lungs forming frothy pink foam at its mouth.
The dark elf woman walked calmly up to the stricken beast and slashed its throat open. A moment later, the ogre lay motionless, its red steaming blood melting the snow around its cooling body.
“Is that the last of them, love?” Sheyreiza asked.
Jain’n gave the dark woods a brief look. “Yes, Flower. The last of them between here and the road anyway.”
Sheyreiza nodded, and looked down the valley. The two elves had left a trail of carnage along their path, slaying the local ogres as they found them. She wiped the blood off of her sword on the grotesque body laying at her feet. She said a brief prayer to Eilistraee, and then nodded to Jain’n.
“Well, we have seen what has become of Sunderhelm now.” Jain said. “It seems the old entrance has completely collapsed into the ground. Shall we patrol the ruins of Bryn Shander?”
Sheyreiza nodded slightly. “Xas. Yes.” She paused and looked back through the dark woods and the valley. At the other end, where they had just come from, lay the entrance to Sunderhelm. Or at least, that was where it had been. Now, there was just a hole in the ground into which the streams coming down from the mountains emptied. Sheyreiza had stood at the edge of the crevasse, peering into the darkness. She could tell by the smell the crevasse ran deep and connected to the upperdark. She had also smelled sulphur and while she knew that often meant diabolic involvement, she was not sure yet what it signified here. The smell of the dark coming from the hole and the knowledge that it led back to the underdark, tugged at Sheyreiza’s soul. That hole, that chasm, led to her world. It was not her home anymore, but it was her birthplace, and it still held a power over her that she could not deny.
She turned back to face Jain’n. “Alright Love, let us go.” She watched him for a moment. Jain’n, Lord of Lonelywood, was the quintessential sun elf. Tall for a Tel’Quessir, with silken golden hair and flawless bronzed skin, Jain’n looked like a portrait of an elf from ancient times. And that was not too far from the truth as Sheyreiza well knew. While Jain’n looked every inch like a prototypical sun elf, he was not. Indeed, there were some that might argue he was not even truly an elf. Sheyreiza forced that thought from her mind. There was no need to dwell on it again. He was what he was. After more than five years as his mate, she was still struggling to accept his true nature and what it meant for their relationship. Now was not the time for introspection, however. They were on patrol. It was time for caution and action.
The two elves, one fair and dressed in gold, the other dark, and dressed in silver, made their way through the snows. For the last few years they often patrolled together like this. They ranged south past Bryn Shander, west to the village ruins there, and back again. They fought with the orcs of Stormhold, the gnolls of the Talona plague druids, the winter wolves of the north, and anything else which might harm the people’s of the Ten Towns. When not patrolling, Jain’n and Sheyreiza were mates. They were the Lord and Lady of Lonelywood. Together they had one child, Shein’n, who had been deemed Jain’n’s heir. Shein’n was destined to be the lion of the north, but in the meantime, her parents, Jain’n and Sheyreiza, had to keep the north free. Too many powers seemed interested in this remote, barren wasteland. Thayan wizards, Talona plague druids, gnoll raiders, frost giant marauders, orc brigands, human barbarians and duergar murderers all threatened the sparsely populated dale. Above all of them, the great white wyrm Xurshin sat in his mountain lair, slowly deciding which faction to destroy, which to support and which to ignore.
Against this seemingly unstoppable tide of evil stood the warband of Lonelywood. Like a rock standing strong against the surf, they were often surrounded, cutoff from safety and occasionally overwhelmed. Still, they held. Time and time again they had repulsed invading gnolls, orcs, frost giants and worse. Many of the plague druids and at least one Thayan wizard had fallen beneath their blades. Though the fighting had dragged on for the last three years, the war was far from over. Currently, there was a lull, but such lulls only heralded the coming another offensive.
Jain’n led and Sheyreiza trailed as they walked through the valleys and hills to Bryn Shander. Once a thriving town of humans, the place had been destroyed by the Thayans and Talonites. They had sealed the gates, supposedly against the plague that terrorized the North, and once sealed, the wizards set about slaying and animating all the unfortunate humans in the town. The human’s thick walls, designed to defend them, became their prison as they were subjected to the horrors of the wizards’ necromancy. Sheyreiza knew what they had gone through. Her house in Ched Nasad was the foremost user of undead in all of the city, and more than once had they simply ‘assimilated’ an enemy by reducing them to undead slaves. The fear, the panic, the shear horror of such an operation was beyond the kin of most surface folk, and for good reason. Such evil was both the product and cause of insanity. One could not perpetrate or suffer such evil and remain unchanged.
The ruined gates of Bryn Shander came into view and Sheyreiza notched an arrow. Her red and blue eyes scanned the snows head of her for tracks. No longer was Bryn Shander a necropolis; its red wizard masters had left and now it was a staging ground for the seven foot tall fanged monstrosities called gnolls. Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes and studied the macabre landscape ahead of her. The buildings and walls of Bryn Shander had fallen into heaps for the most part. With the snowfall, they sat like great, squat, white monsters. Here and there a timber broke through the snow cover like a shoot, or a spike. Between the snow covered mounds two poles had been planted in the ground and decorated with Skulls. Gnoll sign.
Something moved.
Sheyreiza raised her bow but what she saw was not gnoll, it was drow. A drow female. Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed to slits and she drew the arrow back. She did not recognize this woman and any drow not recognized was suspect.
“Vendui’” the woman said, showing open and empty hands.
“Vendui’.” Sheyreiza replied.
Jain’n spared Sheyreiza a glance and nod and silently moved to the stranger’s flank.
“Who are you?” Sheyreiza asked.
The woman smiled tentatively. “I am Naraje, and I seek Lonelywood.”
Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed to red and blue slits. “Why?”
The woman watched Jain’n move to her side, but made no move of her own to protect herself. “I have heard there is a circle of Ilythiiri there who worship the Dark Maiden.”
Sheyreiza nodded just slightly. “Yes, that is so.” Sheyreiza kept her arrow drawn. “And you have the fortune of encountering now the priestess of that circle.”
The woman smiled broadly. “Well met then.”
The smile caught Sheyreiza off guard. Though she was used to seeing Inthara smile, a grin on a drow face seemed entirely out of place. The drow rarely took enough pleasure in anything to actually smile. Except maybe victory and torture.
Sheyreiza lowered her bow. Jain’n stood close enough to the woman to draw his sword and strike quickly should the need arise.
“I am Sheyreiza Auvryndar then, Yathrin d’Eilistraee, and Lady of Lonelywood.” Jain’n smiled as Sheyreiza spoke. Sheyreiza knew he very much enjoyed hearing her describe herself as the Lady of Lonelywood. That title was infinitely more palatable to him and the others than her previous one; Princess of Qu’ellar Auvryndar and Yathrin d’Lolth.
Sheyreiza walked towards the stranger and drew her sword. “Do not be alarmed.” Sheyreiza said, though she knew any of her race would be and rightly so. A few feet from the woman, Sheyreiza stopped and began drawing in the snow with the tip of her sword. She drew a spider in a web, a mask and a skull.
“Here then are the symbols of the Spider Queen, the Masked Lord, and the Revenancer.” Sheyreiza looked the woman in the eye and leveled her sword. “Defile them please.”
The woman smiled. “Very well. But stand back.”
Sheyreiza raised an eyebrow, but complied, moving back several paces.
The woman broke into an incantation, her voice rising and falling as if in song but it was no melody she worked, it was the weave. A flash of fire engulfed the ground where Sheyreiza had drawn the unholy symbols, vaporizing the snow and obliterating the marks. Sheyreiza felt a flash of heat on her face and was blinded for a moment. When she could see again, there was naught left where she had put the symbols but scorched ground and an enormous cloud of steaming rising into the air.
Sheyreiza smiled. “Good. Come with us, we will take you to Lonelywood.” Sheyreiza nodded to Jain’n who gestured to the woman to walk down the road.
Naraje looked at the ruined gates behind her. “We will not be going through Bryn Shander then?”
Jain’n shook his head. “No. We will not enter gnoll territory with an untested stranger. We will return to Lonelywood and bring you before the Maiden. If you pass her test, you will be accepted into the woods. If not, you will be sacrificed to Shevaresh.”
Sheyreiza froze. She felt as if an icy hand had reached straight into her chest and grabbed her heart. Sacrificed to Shevaresh? What was he talking about? She knew the penalty for being found false by the Maiden was death, but she had never heard about sacrificing anyone to the Black Archer.
Sheyreiza looked sharply at Jain’n. “If she lies to us, then yes, she may be put to death, but there will be no sacrifice to Shevaresh.”
Jain’n gestured to Naraje to start walking. “Yes there will be.” He replied. “It is our way.”
Sheyreiza blinked. “I have lived in the wood for five years, and never have I heard of such a thing.”
“It is our way. It is your way. You accepted it.” Jain’n’s features stiffened.
Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed. “I never accepted any such thing. Nor would I. I will perform no such ritual to the Black Archer.”
Jain’n got Naraje walking and followed her closely, hand on sword hilt. “Then we will do it without you. This is not the place to debate this.”
Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed to slits again as she watched Jain’n march Naraje down the road. She would not worship the Black Archer, nor could she allow a sacrifice in his name. Jain’n, however, had adopted his stone face, the personality he used when he wanted to get his own way. Reason seldom worked with him. Indeed, in such a state, nothing really worked with him. Nevertheless, Sheyreiza could not be party to such evil. She over took the pair and led the way back towards Lonelywood.
***
The journey back to the wood was long and tense. No one spoke. Sheyreiza and Jain’n did not look at each other, they watched only Naraje. Naraje watched the two of them and grew increasingly nervous.
Once in the village, Sheyreiza led Naraje to the little stone guest cottage on the far side of the settlement. Sheyreiza opened the heavy wooden door. “You may stay here for now, until we decide to bring you to the sacred circle.”
Naraje smiled. “Thank y—“
Jain’n cut her off. “No. We go to the circle now. She will be tested at once.”
Sheyreiza scowled at her mate. “I would like to speak to you about that first. Naraje can wait here while we talk.”
“There is no need for talk.” Jain’n waved a hand dismissively. “We will do it the way it has always been done.”
“I will not partake in any such ceremony!” Sheyreiza growled.
“Then don’t. Stay here.” Jain’n said coldly. “You, come.” He said to Naraje.
“Wait.” Sheyreiza put out a hand to stop Naraje from going. “We need to talk.”
“Perhaps I should just go.” Naraje offered.
“You are not going anywhere.” Jain’n hissed.
Sheyreiza began to speak but Naraje began another arcane incantation. She disappeared from sight. Jain’n’s eyes flew open and he drew his sword. Snow crunched and Sheyreiza realized Naraje was fleeing. Jain’n saw the invisible woman’s footsteps in the snow and ran after her.
“Let her go!” Sheyreiza yelled. Jain’n did not heed her.
Sheyreiza walked towards the faerie trod. Whether he caught Naraje or not, Jain’n would have to return here. Sheyreiza intended to confront him when he did. Quietly, Sheyreiza spoke the words to her own incantations, though these were divine rather than arcane. As much as she loved Jain’n, she could not allow him to sacrifice anyone to the Black Archer.
Shevaresh, the Black Archer, was quite possibly Lolth’s greatest triumph. Shevaresh had been a mortal elf whose loved ones were slain in the drow raid of the Elven Court some 6,000 years ago. Shevaresh then dedicated his life to killing all the drow, no matter what their goddess or god. Ultimately, he wished to kill Lolth herself. Shevaresh ascended to godhood, but he did so with a black heart; a heart filled not with love of elf-kind but filled with hate of drow-kind. He was god of elves who kill elves. He brought only death, not life or love. In so doing, he caused the elven races even more pain. He had succumbed to Lolth’s will. He did not follow her command, but he followed her path; the path of selfish hate. The pain of every elf that suffers, be it a sun elf or drow, is felt by the father of the elves, Corellon. That Shevaresh was driven by Lolth to dedicate his life and his godhood to slaying other elves was a triumph of unmatched proportion. Forever would Shevaresh’s arrows serve to keep the races of elves apart; forever would Shevaresh’s hate infect the hearts of otherwise good elves; forever would Shevaresh’s attempted genocide ensure the drow sought the protection of Lolth; forever would Shevaresh’s killing cause pain to Corellon.
Sheyreiza had lived above and below the world. She had served drow Matrons, and mated with sun elf lords. If she had learned anything, it was that violence begets violence. The only path towards reconciliation of the elven races was a peaceful path, a path of salvation not killing. Shevaresh was one of the greatest obstacles in that path. Accordingly, Sheyreiza would not, indeed, [i:3tx11qoh]could not[/i:3tx11qoh], be party to any ritual in his name. Nor could she knowingly allow such to take place.
***
Jain’n returned minutes later. Naraje was in his arms, somewhat limp. Sheyreiza could tell even at a distance that Jain’n had broken her fingers. He also had an arm around her throat to choke off her air should she try to speak. What had she seen in this man? He was little different than the drow she had left behind in Ched Nasad. He had his own rules and his own tests, and those he encountered would either follow those rules and pass those tests or be sacrificed to a god whose heart was filled with nothing but hate. The differences between Jain’n and a priestess of Lolth were merely superficial it seemed. Well, with one glaring exception: a priestess of Lolth did not purport to be ‘good.’ It seemed hypocrisy was an evil even the Spider Queen’s faithful did not engage, leaving that for their surface cousins like Jain’n.
Sheyreiza stepped into his path. “Hold.” She said flatly. In one hand she held her rapier, the one Vraja had borne before his death. In her other hand she held her shield. She did not want to fight Jain’n, but she could not stand by while he committed such evil.
He did not stop. He did not even acknowledge her. He simply walked past her and stepped into the faerie trod. Sheyreiza spit in anger and turned to follow.
On the other side of the faeire trod, deep in the woods, Sheyreiza ran to the circle. Jain’n would take the woman there, without fail. Sure enough, they were there.
Sheyreiza yelled across the circle. “Let her go.”
Jain’n scowled. “Get out.” His voice was a snarl. “Get out of the woods.”
“No.” Sheyreiza said. She saw in Jain’n the beastial, hypocritical side of him she had come to despise. It was the side she knew was there all along, but did not want to consciously admit knowing of. Jain’n had extended to her rulership of the woods. He had promised they would be equals, but now that she disagreed with him, it appeared the bargain was off. Apparently, she was only his ‘equal’ and ‘co-ruler’ so long as she did what he wanted.
And she was not surprised. She supposed she knew all along he would be like this. Her love for him, for who she thought he was, or at least who she thought he could be, hand blinded her. A few times, in their tiny tent near the ruined tower, Jain’n had seemed a good lover, a good partner, a good man. She knew though, there was this side of him. The side that did not know right from wrong, good from evil, lie from truth. This was the side that did whatever the ancestors wanted. This was the side of him that truly ruled his life. This was the side of him that truly reflected who he was, and what he was.
When Sheyreiza and Jain’n had started the process of bonding, Jain’n had shared his memories with her. Sheyreiza had seen Jain’n Vyshaan, son of Emperor Gilvaas Vyshaan. She knew all too well of the horror and treachery the insane Gilvaas had visited upon elf-kind. The Vyshaan had been the ones who had gathered all the High Priests and Archmages together to curse the Ilythiiri, naming them drow and driving them underground. Afterwards, Gilvaas, afraid that the elven nations might realize it was really the Vyshaan, not the Ilythiiri, behind the Crown Wars, would do the same to his people. Rather than let that happen, Gilvaas had set about purging the elven nations of their high priests and archmages. One after another fell to Gilvaas’ assassins and accusations. He literally decapitated the arcane and divine power of the elven peoples.
The other elven nations saw the fiendish side of Emperor Gilvaas too late. By the time they realized Gilvaas was the murderer he was, their priests and wizards were already dead.
It was not another Elven nation that stopped Gilvaas, it was Jain’n, Gilvaas’ son. Jain’n was a young captain, and heir to the Vyshaan dynasty. Unlike his father, however, Jain’n was not insanely evil. He was just weak. For most of his life, Jain’n turned a blind eye to what his father was doing and the true nature of the Emperor. Finally, Jain’n could not lie to himself any longer, and he slew his own father, ending the line of Vyshaan emperors.
The other elven nations had convened, and with the guidance of the Seldarine, the Vyshaan dynasty of the Aryvandaar Empire were adjudged the culprits of the Crown Wars. Their spirits were cursed and they were barred from the fields of Arvandor. Those still living were thrown down, and the empire fell. The Vyshaan dynasty ceased to exist.
Almost.
The spirits of the Vyshaan lived on. In a purgatory of their own making, they schemed and plotted and sought to force open the gates of Arvandor and achieve the reward they believed they deserved. Corellon had shown the cursed spirits the key to the gates of Arvandor, but to get that key, the spirits needed an agent in the mortal realm. They chose Jain’n. His spirit was sent back in a fashion Sheyreiza could only understand in the broadest theory. She referred to him as a ‘spirit golem’; a construct like a golem but made not of flesh, iron, stone or clay, but of spirits.
And so, he was a slave to his ancestors. Unlike most golems, Jain’n had consciousness, and a consciousness implied free will. Sheyreiza had no luck convincing Jain’n of the existence of that free will, however. He considered himself a tool of his ancestors, and so long as he believed that, he was.
Ironically, Jain’n had set Sheyreiza free of similar bonds. Once Sheyreiza thought herself bound to the will of the Spider Queen for all eternity by virtue of her race and birth. It was Jain’n that showed her she could choose to follow another path. It was Jain’n who showed her she was not entangled in the webs of Lolth, but in chains formed of her own fears and weakness. Sheyreiza achieved freedom the moment she simply realized she was free to choose her path. True, Lolth was a goddess and could inflict terrible punishments upon Sheyreiza, perhaps even kill her, but no goddess, no god, no power at all could make Sheyreiza think a certain way or believe in any dogma she did not [i:3tx11qoh]choose[/i:3tx11qoh] to follow.
Sadly, Sheyreiza had been unable to free Jain’n from his own bonds. The ancestors held as tight a grip on him now as they ever did. Jain’n would tell her he was a part of them, that they created him. So what? He could choose not to do their bidding. Yes, they might recall his spirit, or force it out of the flesh golem, but his soul would be free. Jain’n did not listen. He did not want to listen. He wanted to serve the ancestors. Why? Sheyreiza believed it was guilt. Guilt for not having stopped Gilvaas earlier; guilt for having killed his own father; guilt for having been a part of the most shameful thing to ever happen to the elven peoples. That guilt formed the chain that kept Jain’n’s soul bound to the Vyshaan ancestors. The ancestors used that chain to manipulate him, and through him, others such as Sheyreiza. They had used her like a brood mare to bear the child who was the key to their salvation. The ancestors cared nothing for others; all they cared about was their release from purgatory, and they were willing to use, discard or destroy anyone they needed to in order to accomplish that goal. Sheyreiza found it hard to contemplate that this was truly the way Corellon wanted the Vyshaan to atone for their crimes, but the gates of Arvandor were his to open, not hers.
Now Jain’n stood before her prepared to cast Sheyreiza, his mate, from their home to maintain his right to sacrifice a life to a god whose black heart was filled with nothing but hate.
“Get out!” He spat again. “You betray your duty to the land.” Jain’n spat. “You betray the Seldarine.”
“I betray nothing, I do what is right.” Sheyreiza responded. “I will not allow a sacrifice to the Black Archer.”
“You are to leave the wood.” Jain’n commanded.
The two lovers eyed each other across the snowy circle for a moment. Naraje, with her broken fingers, shivered in the snow at Jain’n feet. Her eyes darted back and forth from Sheyreiza to Jain’n. For a moment, the circle was still. There was no sound but the three elves breathing.
Sheyreiza moved first. She cast a spell of holding on Jain’n but the enchantment failed. Jain’n charged, his sword slipping from its sheath and arcing towards Sheyreiza. She slipped the attack and cast a second spell of holding, but this one also failed. Jain’n’s sword arced at her again and again she danced away from it. She had no more spells of holding. Nothing else she had would stop Jain’n without killing him and she did not want to kill him. He pressed his attack and his sword finally found Sheyreiza. Blood flowed. The wound was not bad, but it was a wound. Sheyreiza quaffed a vial of healing potion and Jain’n used the opportunity to strike again. More blood flowed and Sheyreiza quaffed another vial. This time when Jain’n came in on her she slipped his attack. Though her sword was in hand, she had not yet swung and did not want to. She had no desire to kill Jain’n, but she had to stop him.
Jain’n, however, clearly wished to kill Sheyreiza. He attacked again, his sword moving expertly and quickly. Sheyreiza fell back under the furious assault, using her footwork and shield to slip his swings. She still had not attacked, but she realized she could not dance forever. If she did not stop him, eventually he would kill her. She was going to have to strike, whether she wanted to or not. She was going to have to kill him, or try anyway. She could not stand by and let him send souls to the afterlife in the name of Shevaresh.
A silver glow encapsulated Naraje. Sheyreiza brought her sword up, preparing to strike for the first time, but she found her movements slowing. Jain’n too, was moving slower. Warmth filled Sheyreiza’s body and soul, as if a powerful healing spell had been cast upon her. She stopped her movement, and so did Jain’n. Naraje was standing now, her fingers unbroken, her hair a beautiful mass of silver light. Eilistraee was here, possessing Naraje.
Sheyreiza felt the Maiden in her head. Eilistraee spoke to her mind. [i:3tx11qoh]Shevaresh is my brother. You must honor his pact with the Lord of Lonelywood. This pact was made long ago. It is a pact between the ancestors and the Black Archer and long has it stood.[/i:3tx11qoh]
Sheyreiza growled. Her answer was audible, simple and clear.
No.
The goddess left Sheyreiza’s mind but her warmth lingered on in Sheyreiza’s body. Eilistraee had not abandoned her, but there would be no further conversation. Naraje was gone. Simply gone.
Something pulled at Sheyreiza from the inside. She grunted. It pulled more. She gasped. It pulled again. She screamed.
She realized she was losing her connection the land and to the ancestors. They were withdrawing from her soul and body. Sheyreiza could not say she was unhappy about that; she had never wanted them inside her. She knew what it meant, however, She was no longer the Lady of Lonelywood. Indeed, she knew she would be banished.
Without another word Sheyreiza turned and walked away from the circle. Jain’n was speaking to her, talking about duty and the ancestors and telling her to get out of the woods or some such thing. She ignored him. She had things to do. She had to go to the tower and tell the others she was leaving. She had to see Shein’n.
Shein’n. Sheyreiza’s daughter by Jain’n. For a moment, Sheyreiza thought about taking Shein’n with her into exile, but dismissed the thought. Shein’n was truly Jain’n’s child not hers. Jain’n and the ancestors had seen to that when they had defiled Sheyreiza’s body with their touch against her wishes, awakening Shein’n’s spirit in the womb. Since then, Shein’n had been a Vyshaan, not an Auvryndar. So be it. She was still Sheyreiza’s daughter and Sheyreiza was still her mother. Sheyreiza had raised Shein’n. Perhaps she would not now live here, but Sheyreiza would explain to Shein’n why.
At Ellewyn’s tower, the home of the warband, Sheyreiza made her good byes. The rest of the warband was stunned, and none more so than Inthara. The sorceress begged to come with Sheyreiza, but that was impractical. Inthara had little baby Vraja to raise and could not leave him like Sheyreiza could leave Shein’n. Inthara knew Sheyreiza was right. Shein’n was not in the tower, however.
Sheyreiza found her daughter with Jain’n in the northern barrens of the wood, where the ancestors were buried. There was perhaps, no place in the entire surface world Sheyreiza loathed as much as this stretch of unholy ground. Here were buried the Vyshaan Emperors and their families; the greatest criminals of the elven races of all time. Not even the dynasties of the Ilythiiri empire before its fall had wreaked as much pain and sorrow on the elves of Abeir-Toril as the sun elves buried here. And not only did their bodies reside here, so too did their spirits live in this frozen, desolate place. Barred from both Arvandor and the Demonweb, the spirits of the Vyshaan had been trapped between the living and dead, heaven and hell, for millennia. Here, in the barrens, their spirits roamed like banshees or specters, toying with the living in their unceasing effort to be released from their private torments and achieve the paradise of Arvandor.
Jain’n stood atop the greatest of the burial mounds, just above the hidden doorway that Sheyreiza knew led to the most sacred catacombs. Sheyreiza’s own ancestor, a drow woman known as Xukulth, lay there beside the other dead royals. Xukulth had been a consort of the first Vyshaan Emperor and was often the voice of the ancestors when they sought to manipulate Sheyreiza. Inthara, Nylo and some others of the warband had followed Sheyreiza out into the graveyard. Inthara was still crying, with Nylo trying to comfort her.
“I would like to see Shein’n before I go.” Sheyreiza said calmly.
“No.” Jain’n replied, though it was not his voice, it was one of the ancestors.
“Yes.” Sheyreiza said, her voice growing deeper. “Shein’n is my daughter and I [i:3tx11qoh]will[/i:3tx11qoh] speak with her before I go.”
The ancestors began speaking through Jain’n again, arguing about what to do. Some suggested removing Sheyreiza from the woods, others suggested killing her. Inthara pleaded with the ancestors, and berated them. The drow sorceress loved Sheyreiza and often chafed at how Sheyreiza had been treated by the spirits. Now she begged for them to let Sheyreiza see Shein’n. Nylo tried to console Inthara, but the tears and pleas would not stop.
Sheyreiza ignored the ancestor’s conversation for the most part. She was through with their posturing and she had enough of their self-serving plots. All she wanted was to say good-bye to Shein’n and then go. The ancestors could have Jain’n. They were who he really loved anyway. No matter they did, no matter how they acted, no matter what they asked, Jain’n’s first loyalty was to these abominable, cursed spirits. He was as much their slave and tool as any subject of the Spider Queen, and like the Spider Queen’s tools, he would use and even kill other people at his masters’ command. He was, in a word, weak. Sheyreiza wondered what she had seen in him.
The illusion of strength, perhaps? The illusion of love? Jain’n had seemed willing to lay down his life to save Sheyreiza. Perhaps he had been. Only now did Sheyreiza realize why. Jain’n did not save Sheyreiza because he loved her; he saved Sheyreiza because the ancestors and Eilistraee told him to. The ancestors needed a brood mare to bear Jain’n’s child. For them, the child was the key to the gates of Arvandor. No child, no release from their millennia of torment. A child, even one whose spirit is awoken long before it is birthed, still needs a mother. The ancestors and Eilistraee had chosen Sheyreiza. So, Jain’n had ‘chosen’ Sheyreiza. It was as simple as that. He ‘loved’ her because he was told too. When that ‘love’ was no longer convenient, or necessary, he was told to discard it and so he did.
Sheyreiza shook her head. How sad this was. The very person who helped set her free of her mental slavery could not see his own chains. So be it. Sheyreiza had tried for years, but to no avail. Now, she was weary and she just wanted to go.
“Let me see Shein’n. I am through with the rest of you, but I will say good bye to my daughter.”
Jain’n’s body shook his head. “No. Remove her.”
Sheyreiza sighed. Then Jain’n was gone. Shein’n was gone. Inthara, Nylo, the others, the burial mound, all gone. Sheyreiza blinked and looked around. She was no longer in the northern barrens of the woods. She was at the overlook, on the edge of the woods. She [i:3tx11qoh]had[/i:3tx11qoh] been removed. She knew the password to the faerie trods would be changed before she could reach them. She was cut off from the interior of the woods. She was cut off from Shein’n.
She screamed and fell to her knees in the snow. For the second time in her life, the servants of some malicious power had taken a child from her. First, it had been her Matron Mother, Shyntlara, taking Sheyreiza’s baby boy away from her and giving the child to another priestess in the house to raise. Now, it was Jain’n and the ancestors taking Shein’n away from Sheyreiza.
The kneeling priestess began to sob. How could Eilistraee let this happen? How could Eilistraee allow a mother to be separated so horribly from her child? How could Eilistraee sanction a sacrifice in the name of hate? How could Eilistraee punish Sheyreiza like this for doing nothing other than what was good and right?
Sheyreiza tried to scream again but it came out as guttural growl, like a great hunting cat roaring in the forest. She began to mumble proverbs of Eilistraeen dogma, trying to achieve some level of calm, trying to make sense of this injustice.
She wanted to kill Jain’n, to defile the ancestors’ tombs and burn Lonelywood to the ground but she knew that was wrong. What would Eilistraee say?
[i:3tx11qoh]Return rudeness with kindness.[/i:3tx11qoh]
That was the Dark Maiden’s dogma.
[i:3tx11qoh]Return rudeness with kindness.[/i:3tx11qoh]
Sheyreiza began to chant under her breath. “Return rudeness with kindness.” She pictured her friends, now lost to her on the other side of the faeire trods and her voice grew louder. “Return rudeness with kindness.” She pictured the stone-cold look on Jain’n’s face as had struck at her, trying to kill her for the crime of refusing to sacrifice a living being. “Return rudeness with kindness.” She pictured Shein’n looking at her from Jain’n’s arms, the confusion and terror obvious in her eyes and she chanted louder still. “Return rudeness with kindness.” She pictured the clear, innocent eyes of a child she had lost long ago and they merged with the child who had been lost to her only moments ago and her chant turned into yell. “RETURN RUDENESS WITH …” She bit her lip to keep from finishing and blood seeped from her lip. Her hands clenched and more blood dripped from her palms. Her body shook with rage and pain. Her eyes clenched and tears flowed down her dark cheeks. A growl started in her chest and emanated from her, rolling through her body like an earthquake.
The rumbling passed. The shaking stopped. Sheyreiza’s eyes opened upon Lonelywood, stretched out below the overlook. No more tears flowed. Her hands relaxed. There was no expression on her face. She shook a drop of blood from her fist into the snow, and followed it with a sanguine spit.
She spoke her chant again, evenly, calmly, coldly.
“Return rudeness with vengeance.”
Sheyreiza Auvryndar, former Lady of Lonelywood, stood and walked away from the place she had called home for more than five years. The sun would drop below the horizon soon and with it would go what little heat the north had to offer. The night would bring naught but freezing death. Sheyreiza had to head south and find shelter. From there, she would make her way even further south to Luskan, and then on to Waterdeep. No matter what she felt about Lonelywood, Sheyreiza had another task at hand. She had to bring the remains of a fallen drowess called Sadei to a priestess of greater power than Sheyreiza. Sheyreiza had heard of only one other temple to the Dark Maiden, and that was the Promenade of Eilistraee. The Promenade was said to lie beneath Waterdeep, near Skullport. Sheyreiza had no desire to return to the port of shadows, but she had to fulfill her quest to see Sadei’s remains delivered. Lonelywood would wait.
Sheyreiza readied her bow, adjusted her armor and set out. She had a long way to walk.
*************
[b:3tx11qoh]The Dark Flower, Book II
Prologue[/b:3tx11qoh]
Far above the Spine of the World, in the frozen wastes known as Icewind Dale, the spring sun had reached the peak of its rather short east-to-west arc. Even at its peak, the sun seemed to barely clear the southern horizon. Such were the days of the far north.
The day was bright, however, despite the low sun. Light glared off the brilliantly white snow that covered the ground and trees. A person not used to such glare would quickly find theirs eyes itching and watering uncontrollably. In the far north, even light was dangerous.
As the sun peaked, something substantially more dangerous than snow-blindness moved through a canyon; an ogre. The beast stood nearly ten feet tall, or would have had it stood up straight. Its gnarled, twisted, muscled body seemed perpetually locked into a grotesque hunch-back. The ogre did not seem hampered by its condition, however. Snow crunched as the ogre trotted. Prey had been sighted, and what tasty prey it was; a female elf, with skin as black as night and hair as white as snow. The ogre had heard of such elves before, and had heard tales of their near-mystical lethality. One look at the she-elf told the ogre all those legends were wrong. It was nothing more than a mere slip of an elf. One good blow from the ogre’s club and he would be putting her on a spit over fire. He was already salivating when his trot broke into a run and his real charge began.
The prey, a lithe, beautiful dark-elf not much more than half the ogre’s height and fraction of its weight, turned from the path she was walking and stepped towards the charging ogre. In one hand she bore a shield, in the other a sword. Both bore the moon-symbol of Eilistraee, the Dark Maiden of the drow. The symbol was also evident upon the chest of the gleaming mithril plate armor the drowess wore. Though resplendent in silver armor, shield and sword, the ogre was not afraid. The battle seemed far from fair. The ogre easily outweighed the elven woman by 300 or more pounds. The beast's forearms were thicker than the woman’s thighs. His club was as tall as the elf and seemed capable of crushing her beautiful silver armor and shield like a child might crush a bug. Still, the woman did not flee.
With only a few yards left between them the ogre let out a cry and raised its club as it came on. The woman side-stepped right and raised her shield. The ogre adjusted and swung down aiming at the shield. He did not bother trying to get his club past the woman’s defense. He would simply crush it. No matter what that shield was made of, her arm would never withstand a direct blow.
The club came down in long arc and struck the ground. A snow cloud blossomed from where the ogre had slammed its weapon down. The ogre blinked. The she-elf had spun away from the strike. His club had not even glanced her. The ogre saw the she-elf step towards him. He raised his club. The ogre saw a flash of sun-light on steel and felt something rip along his ribs. She had slashed him! Now he was mad. Now he was not going to be nice. Now he would find someway to make her pay. He would not be merciful and kill her nicely before cooking her. He would find a way to make this she-elf suffer.
Club raised, the ogre pivoted and struck at the diminutive elf again. The woman side-stepped and the strike glanced off her shield. She stepped in quickly and put the tip of her blade through the ogre’s thigh.
Now he was really mad. He did not know how, but somehow he would find a way to cook and eat the she-elf while she was still alive. She would feel pain. She had no right to hurt him like this and she would suffer for her audacity. The ogre raised the club and gripped it with both hands. From the corner of his eyes, the ogre saw another flash of light, but this one was sun-light on gold, not silver. The ogre began to spin but it was too late.
From the ogre’s flank a gold-armored elf with matching golden hair and bronze skin leaped into the fray without a sound. The man led with a round shield but he held a long, shining sword high. As his leap reached its zenith, he thrust out the sword and its tip slid into the side of the ogre. The man finished his leap by kicking off the ogre’s thigh and landed with elven grace in the snow.
The ogre staggered backwards, coughing up blood, its eyes wild and full of panic. It tried to swing its club but its strength failed. The beast fell backwards into the snow. It coughed again, blood from its pierced lungs forming frothy pink foam at its mouth.
The dark elf woman walked calmly up to the stricken beast and slashed its throat open. A moment later, the ogre lay motionless, its red steaming blood melting the snow around its cooling body.
“Is that the last of them, love?” Sheyreiza asked.
Jain’n gave the dark woods a brief look. “Yes, Flower. The last of them between here and the road anyway.”
Sheyreiza nodded, and looked down the valley. The two elves had left a trail of carnage along their path, slaying the local ogres as they found them. She wiped the blood off of her sword on the grotesque body laying at her feet. She said a brief prayer to Eilistraee, and then nodded to Jain’n.
“Well, we have seen what has become of Sunderhelm now.” Jain said. “It seems the old entrance has completely collapsed into the ground. Shall we patrol the ruins of Bryn Shander?”
Sheyreiza nodded slightly. “Xas. Yes.” She paused and looked back through the dark woods and the valley. At the other end, where they had just come from, lay the entrance to Sunderhelm. Or at least, that was where it had been. Now, there was just a hole in the ground into which the streams coming down from the mountains emptied. Sheyreiza had stood at the edge of the crevasse, peering into the darkness. She could tell by the smell the crevasse ran deep and connected to the upperdark. She had also smelled sulphur and while she knew that often meant diabolic involvement, she was not sure yet what it signified here. The smell of the dark coming from the hole and the knowledge that it led back to the underdark, tugged at Sheyreiza’s soul. That hole, that chasm, led to her world. It was not her home anymore, but it was her birthplace, and it still held a power over her that she could not deny.
She turned back to face Jain’n. “Alright Love, let us go.” She watched him for a moment. Jain’n, Lord of Lonelywood, was the quintessential sun elf. Tall for a Tel’Quessir, with silken golden hair and flawless bronzed skin, Jain’n looked like a portrait of an elf from ancient times. And that was not too far from the truth as Sheyreiza well knew. While Jain’n looked every inch like a prototypical sun elf, he was not. Indeed, there were some that might argue he was not even truly an elf. Sheyreiza forced that thought from her mind. There was no need to dwell on it again. He was what he was. After more than five years as his mate, she was still struggling to accept his true nature and what it meant for their relationship. Now was not the time for introspection, however. They were on patrol. It was time for caution and action.
The two elves, one fair and dressed in gold, the other dark, and dressed in silver, made their way through the snows. For the last few years they often patrolled together like this. They ranged south past Bryn Shander, west to the village ruins there, and back again. They fought with the orcs of Stormhold, the gnolls of the Talona plague druids, the winter wolves of the north, and anything else which might harm the people’s of the Ten Towns. When not patrolling, Jain’n and Sheyreiza were mates. They were the Lord and Lady of Lonelywood. Together they had one child, Shein’n, who had been deemed Jain’n’s heir. Shein’n was destined to be the lion of the north, but in the meantime, her parents, Jain’n and Sheyreiza, had to keep the north free. Too many powers seemed interested in this remote, barren wasteland. Thayan wizards, Talona plague druids, gnoll raiders, frost giant marauders, orc brigands, human barbarians and duergar murderers all threatened the sparsely populated dale. Above all of them, the great white wyrm Xurshin sat in his mountain lair, slowly deciding which faction to destroy, which to support and which to ignore.
Against this seemingly unstoppable tide of evil stood the warband of Lonelywood. Like a rock standing strong against the surf, they were often surrounded, cutoff from safety and occasionally overwhelmed. Still, they held. Time and time again they had repulsed invading gnolls, orcs, frost giants and worse. Many of the plague druids and at least one Thayan wizard had fallen beneath their blades. Though the fighting had dragged on for the last three years, the war was far from over. Currently, there was a lull, but such lulls only heralded the coming another offensive.
Jain’n led and Sheyreiza trailed as they walked through the valleys and hills to Bryn Shander. Once a thriving town of humans, the place had been destroyed by the Thayans and Talonites. They had sealed the gates, supposedly against the plague that terrorized the North, and once sealed, the wizards set about slaying and animating all the unfortunate humans in the town. The human’s thick walls, designed to defend them, became their prison as they were subjected to the horrors of the wizards’ necromancy. Sheyreiza knew what they had gone through. Her house in Ched Nasad was the foremost user of undead in all of the city, and more than once had they simply ‘assimilated’ an enemy by reducing them to undead slaves. The fear, the panic, the shear horror of such an operation was beyond the kin of most surface folk, and for good reason. Such evil was both the product and cause of insanity. One could not perpetrate or suffer such evil and remain unchanged.
The ruined gates of Bryn Shander came into view and Sheyreiza notched an arrow. Her red and blue eyes scanned the snows head of her for tracks. No longer was Bryn Shander a necropolis; its red wizard masters had left and now it was a staging ground for the seven foot tall fanged monstrosities called gnolls. Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes and studied the macabre landscape ahead of her. The buildings and walls of Bryn Shander had fallen into heaps for the most part. With the snowfall, they sat like great, squat, white monsters. Here and there a timber broke through the snow cover like a shoot, or a spike. Between the snow covered mounds two poles had been planted in the ground and decorated with Skulls. Gnoll sign.
Something moved.
Sheyreiza raised her bow but what she saw was not gnoll, it was drow. A drow female. Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed to slits and she drew the arrow back. She did not recognize this woman and any drow not recognized was suspect.
“Vendui’” the woman said, showing open and empty hands.
“Vendui’.” Sheyreiza replied.
Jain’n spared Sheyreiza a glance and nod and silently moved to the stranger’s flank.
“Who are you?” Sheyreiza asked.
The woman smiled tentatively. “I am Naraje, and I seek Lonelywood.”
Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed to red and blue slits. “Why?”
The woman watched Jain’n move to her side, but made no move of her own to protect herself. “I have heard there is a circle of Ilythiiri there who worship the Dark Maiden.”
Sheyreiza nodded just slightly. “Yes, that is so.” Sheyreiza kept her arrow drawn. “And you have the fortune of encountering now the priestess of that circle.”
The woman smiled broadly. “Well met then.”
The smile caught Sheyreiza off guard. Though she was used to seeing Inthara smile, a grin on a drow face seemed entirely out of place. The drow rarely took enough pleasure in anything to actually smile. Except maybe victory and torture.
Sheyreiza lowered her bow. Jain’n stood close enough to the woman to draw his sword and strike quickly should the need arise.
“I am Sheyreiza Auvryndar then, Yathrin d’Eilistraee, and Lady of Lonelywood.” Jain’n smiled as Sheyreiza spoke. Sheyreiza knew he very much enjoyed hearing her describe herself as the Lady of Lonelywood. That title was infinitely more palatable to him and the others than her previous one; Princess of Qu’ellar Auvryndar and Yathrin d’Lolth.
Sheyreiza walked towards the stranger and drew her sword. “Do not be alarmed.” Sheyreiza said, though she knew any of her race would be and rightly so. A few feet from the woman, Sheyreiza stopped and began drawing in the snow with the tip of her sword. She drew a spider in a web, a mask and a skull.
“Here then are the symbols of the Spider Queen, the Masked Lord, and the Revenancer.” Sheyreiza looked the woman in the eye and leveled her sword. “Defile them please.”
The woman smiled. “Very well. But stand back.”
Sheyreiza raised an eyebrow, but complied, moving back several paces.
The woman broke into an incantation, her voice rising and falling as if in song but it was no melody she worked, it was the weave. A flash of fire engulfed the ground where Sheyreiza had drawn the unholy symbols, vaporizing the snow and obliterating the marks. Sheyreiza felt a flash of heat on her face and was blinded for a moment. When she could see again, there was naught left where she had put the symbols but scorched ground and an enormous cloud of steaming rising into the air.
Sheyreiza smiled. “Good. Come with us, we will take you to Lonelywood.” Sheyreiza nodded to Jain’n who gestured to the woman to walk down the road.
Naraje looked at the ruined gates behind her. “We will not be going through Bryn Shander then?”
Jain’n shook his head. “No. We will not enter gnoll territory with an untested stranger. We will return to Lonelywood and bring you before the Maiden. If you pass her test, you will be accepted into the woods. If not, you will be sacrificed to Shevaresh.”
Sheyreiza froze. She felt as if an icy hand had reached straight into her chest and grabbed her heart. Sacrificed to Shevaresh? What was he talking about? She knew the penalty for being found false by the Maiden was death, but she had never heard about sacrificing anyone to the Black Archer.
Sheyreiza looked sharply at Jain’n. “If she lies to us, then yes, she may be put to death, but there will be no sacrifice to Shevaresh.”
Jain’n gestured to Naraje to start walking. “Yes there will be.” He replied. “It is our way.”
Sheyreiza blinked. “I have lived in the wood for five years, and never have I heard of such a thing.”
“It is our way. It is your way. You accepted it.” Jain’n’s features stiffened.
Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed. “I never accepted any such thing. Nor would I. I will perform no such ritual to the Black Archer.”
Jain’n got Naraje walking and followed her closely, hand on sword hilt. “Then we will do it without you. This is not the place to debate this.”
Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed to slits again as she watched Jain’n march Naraje down the road. She would not worship the Black Archer, nor could she allow a sacrifice in his name. Jain’n, however, had adopted his stone face, the personality he used when he wanted to get his own way. Reason seldom worked with him. Indeed, in such a state, nothing really worked with him. Nevertheless, Sheyreiza could not be party to such evil. She over took the pair and led the way back towards Lonelywood.
***
The journey back to the wood was long and tense. No one spoke. Sheyreiza and Jain’n did not look at each other, they watched only Naraje. Naraje watched the two of them and grew increasingly nervous.
Once in the village, Sheyreiza led Naraje to the little stone guest cottage on the far side of the settlement. Sheyreiza opened the heavy wooden door. “You may stay here for now, until we decide to bring you to the sacred circle.”
Naraje smiled. “Thank y—“
Jain’n cut her off. “No. We go to the circle now. She will be tested at once.”
Sheyreiza scowled at her mate. “I would like to speak to you about that first. Naraje can wait here while we talk.”
“There is no need for talk.” Jain’n waved a hand dismissively. “We will do it the way it has always been done.”
“I will not partake in any such ceremony!” Sheyreiza growled.
“Then don’t. Stay here.” Jain’n said coldly. “You, come.” He said to Naraje.
“Wait.” Sheyreiza put out a hand to stop Naraje from going. “We need to talk.”
“Perhaps I should just go.” Naraje offered.
“You are not going anywhere.” Jain’n hissed.
Sheyreiza began to speak but Naraje began another arcane incantation. She disappeared from sight. Jain’n’s eyes flew open and he drew his sword. Snow crunched and Sheyreiza realized Naraje was fleeing. Jain’n saw the invisible woman’s footsteps in the snow and ran after her.
“Let her go!” Sheyreiza yelled. Jain’n did not heed her.
Sheyreiza walked towards the faerie trod. Whether he caught Naraje or not, Jain’n would have to return here. Sheyreiza intended to confront him when he did. Quietly, Sheyreiza spoke the words to her own incantations, though these were divine rather than arcane. As much as she loved Jain’n, she could not allow him to sacrifice anyone to the Black Archer.
Shevaresh, the Black Archer, was quite possibly Lolth’s greatest triumph. Shevaresh had been a mortal elf whose loved ones were slain in the drow raid of the Elven Court some 6,000 years ago. Shevaresh then dedicated his life to killing all the drow, no matter what their goddess or god. Ultimately, he wished to kill Lolth herself. Shevaresh ascended to godhood, but he did so with a black heart; a heart filled not with love of elf-kind but filled with hate of drow-kind. He was god of elves who kill elves. He brought only death, not life or love. In so doing, he caused the elven races even more pain. He had succumbed to Lolth’s will. He did not follow her command, but he followed her path; the path of selfish hate. The pain of every elf that suffers, be it a sun elf or drow, is felt by the father of the elves, Corellon. That Shevaresh was driven by Lolth to dedicate his life and his godhood to slaying other elves was a triumph of unmatched proportion. Forever would Shevaresh’s arrows serve to keep the races of elves apart; forever would Shevaresh’s hate infect the hearts of otherwise good elves; forever would Shevaresh’s attempted genocide ensure the drow sought the protection of Lolth; forever would Shevaresh’s killing cause pain to Corellon.
Sheyreiza had lived above and below the world. She had served drow Matrons, and mated with sun elf lords. If she had learned anything, it was that violence begets violence. The only path towards reconciliation of the elven races was a peaceful path, a path of salvation not killing. Shevaresh was one of the greatest obstacles in that path. Accordingly, Sheyreiza would not, indeed, [i:3tx11qoh]could not[/i:3tx11qoh], be party to any ritual in his name. Nor could she knowingly allow such to take place.
***
Jain’n returned minutes later. Naraje was in his arms, somewhat limp. Sheyreiza could tell even at a distance that Jain’n had broken her fingers. He also had an arm around her throat to choke off her air should she try to speak. What had she seen in this man? He was little different than the drow she had left behind in Ched Nasad. He had his own rules and his own tests, and those he encountered would either follow those rules and pass those tests or be sacrificed to a god whose heart was filled with nothing but hate. The differences between Jain’n and a priestess of Lolth were merely superficial it seemed. Well, with one glaring exception: a priestess of Lolth did not purport to be ‘good.’ It seemed hypocrisy was an evil even the Spider Queen’s faithful did not engage, leaving that for their surface cousins like Jain’n.
Sheyreiza stepped into his path. “Hold.” She said flatly. In one hand she held her rapier, the one Vraja had borne before his death. In her other hand she held her shield. She did not want to fight Jain’n, but she could not stand by while he committed such evil.
He did not stop. He did not even acknowledge her. He simply walked past her and stepped into the faerie trod. Sheyreiza spit in anger and turned to follow.
On the other side of the faeire trod, deep in the woods, Sheyreiza ran to the circle. Jain’n would take the woman there, without fail. Sure enough, they were there.
Sheyreiza yelled across the circle. “Let her go.”
Jain’n scowled. “Get out.” His voice was a snarl. “Get out of the woods.”
“No.” Sheyreiza said. She saw in Jain’n the beastial, hypocritical side of him she had come to despise. It was the side she knew was there all along, but did not want to consciously admit knowing of. Jain’n had extended to her rulership of the woods. He had promised they would be equals, but now that she disagreed with him, it appeared the bargain was off. Apparently, she was only his ‘equal’ and ‘co-ruler’ so long as she did what he wanted.
And she was not surprised. She supposed she knew all along he would be like this. Her love for him, for who she thought he was, or at least who she thought he could be, hand blinded her. A few times, in their tiny tent near the ruined tower, Jain’n had seemed a good lover, a good partner, a good man. She knew though, there was this side of him. The side that did not know right from wrong, good from evil, lie from truth. This was the side that did whatever the ancestors wanted. This was the side of him that truly ruled his life. This was the side of him that truly reflected who he was, and what he was.
When Sheyreiza and Jain’n had started the process of bonding, Jain’n had shared his memories with her. Sheyreiza had seen Jain’n Vyshaan, son of Emperor Gilvaas Vyshaan. She knew all too well of the horror and treachery the insane Gilvaas had visited upon elf-kind. The Vyshaan had been the ones who had gathered all the High Priests and Archmages together to curse the Ilythiiri, naming them drow and driving them underground. Afterwards, Gilvaas, afraid that the elven nations might realize it was really the Vyshaan, not the Ilythiiri, behind the Crown Wars, would do the same to his people. Rather than let that happen, Gilvaas had set about purging the elven nations of their high priests and archmages. One after another fell to Gilvaas’ assassins and accusations. He literally decapitated the arcane and divine power of the elven peoples.
The other elven nations saw the fiendish side of Emperor Gilvaas too late. By the time they realized Gilvaas was the murderer he was, their priests and wizards were already dead.
It was not another Elven nation that stopped Gilvaas, it was Jain’n, Gilvaas’ son. Jain’n was a young captain, and heir to the Vyshaan dynasty. Unlike his father, however, Jain’n was not insanely evil. He was just weak. For most of his life, Jain’n turned a blind eye to what his father was doing and the true nature of the Emperor. Finally, Jain’n could not lie to himself any longer, and he slew his own father, ending the line of Vyshaan emperors.
The other elven nations had convened, and with the guidance of the Seldarine, the Vyshaan dynasty of the Aryvandaar Empire were adjudged the culprits of the Crown Wars. Their spirits were cursed and they were barred from the fields of Arvandor. Those still living were thrown down, and the empire fell. The Vyshaan dynasty ceased to exist.
Almost.
The spirits of the Vyshaan lived on. In a purgatory of their own making, they schemed and plotted and sought to force open the gates of Arvandor and achieve the reward they believed they deserved. Corellon had shown the cursed spirits the key to the gates of Arvandor, but to get that key, the spirits needed an agent in the mortal realm. They chose Jain’n. His spirit was sent back in a fashion Sheyreiza could only understand in the broadest theory. She referred to him as a ‘spirit golem’; a construct like a golem but made not of flesh, iron, stone or clay, but of spirits.
And so, he was a slave to his ancestors. Unlike most golems, Jain’n had consciousness, and a consciousness implied free will. Sheyreiza had no luck convincing Jain’n of the existence of that free will, however. He considered himself a tool of his ancestors, and so long as he believed that, he was.
Ironically, Jain’n had set Sheyreiza free of similar bonds. Once Sheyreiza thought herself bound to the will of the Spider Queen for all eternity by virtue of her race and birth. It was Jain’n that showed her she could choose to follow another path. It was Jain’n who showed her she was not entangled in the webs of Lolth, but in chains formed of her own fears and weakness. Sheyreiza achieved freedom the moment she simply realized she was free to choose her path. True, Lolth was a goddess and could inflict terrible punishments upon Sheyreiza, perhaps even kill her, but no goddess, no god, no power at all could make Sheyreiza think a certain way or believe in any dogma she did not [i:3tx11qoh]choose[/i:3tx11qoh] to follow.
Sadly, Sheyreiza had been unable to free Jain’n from his own bonds. The ancestors held as tight a grip on him now as they ever did. Jain’n would tell her he was a part of them, that they created him. So what? He could choose not to do their bidding. Yes, they might recall his spirit, or force it out of the flesh golem, but his soul would be free. Jain’n did not listen. He did not want to listen. He wanted to serve the ancestors. Why? Sheyreiza believed it was guilt. Guilt for not having stopped Gilvaas earlier; guilt for having killed his own father; guilt for having been a part of the most shameful thing to ever happen to the elven peoples. That guilt formed the chain that kept Jain’n’s soul bound to the Vyshaan ancestors. The ancestors used that chain to manipulate him, and through him, others such as Sheyreiza. They had used her like a brood mare to bear the child who was the key to their salvation. The ancestors cared nothing for others; all they cared about was their release from purgatory, and they were willing to use, discard or destroy anyone they needed to in order to accomplish that goal. Sheyreiza found it hard to contemplate that this was truly the way Corellon wanted the Vyshaan to atone for their crimes, but the gates of Arvandor were his to open, not hers.
Now Jain’n stood before her prepared to cast Sheyreiza, his mate, from their home to maintain his right to sacrifice a life to a god whose black heart was filled with nothing but hate.
“Get out!” He spat again. “You betray your duty to the land.” Jain’n spat. “You betray the Seldarine.”
“I betray nothing, I do what is right.” Sheyreiza responded. “I will not allow a sacrifice to the Black Archer.”
“You are to leave the wood.” Jain’n commanded.
The two lovers eyed each other across the snowy circle for a moment. Naraje, with her broken fingers, shivered in the snow at Jain’n feet. Her eyes darted back and forth from Sheyreiza to Jain’n. For a moment, the circle was still. There was no sound but the three elves breathing.
Sheyreiza moved first. She cast a spell of holding on Jain’n but the enchantment failed. Jain’n charged, his sword slipping from its sheath and arcing towards Sheyreiza. She slipped the attack and cast a second spell of holding, but this one also failed. Jain’n’s sword arced at her again and again she danced away from it. She had no more spells of holding. Nothing else she had would stop Jain’n without killing him and she did not want to kill him. He pressed his attack and his sword finally found Sheyreiza. Blood flowed. The wound was not bad, but it was a wound. Sheyreiza quaffed a vial of healing potion and Jain’n used the opportunity to strike again. More blood flowed and Sheyreiza quaffed another vial. This time when Jain’n came in on her she slipped his attack. Though her sword was in hand, she had not yet swung and did not want to. She had no desire to kill Jain’n, but she had to stop him.
Jain’n, however, clearly wished to kill Sheyreiza. He attacked again, his sword moving expertly and quickly. Sheyreiza fell back under the furious assault, using her footwork and shield to slip his swings. She still had not attacked, but she realized she could not dance forever. If she did not stop him, eventually he would kill her. She was going to have to strike, whether she wanted to or not. She was going to have to kill him, or try anyway. She could not stand by and let him send souls to the afterlife in the name of Shevaresh.
A silver glow encapsulated Naraje. Sheyreiza brought her sword up, preparing to strike for the first time, but she found her movements slowing. Jain’n too, was moving slower. Warmth filled Sheyreiza’s body and soul, as if a powerful healing spell had been cast upon her. She stopped her movement, and so did Jain’n. Naraje was standing now, her fingers unbroken, her hair a beautiful mass of silver light. Eilistraee was here, possessing Naraje.
Sheyreiza felt the Maiden in her head. Eilistraee spoke to her mind. [i:3tx11qoh]Shevaresh is my brother. You must honor his pact with the Lord of Lonelywood. This pact was made long ago. It is a pact between the ancestors and the Black Archer and long has it stood.[/i:3tx11qoh]
Sheyreiza growled. Her answer was audible, simple and clear.
No.
The goddess left Sheyreiza’s mind but her warmth lingered on in Sheyreiza’s body. Eilistraee had not abandoned her, but there would be no further conversation. Naraje was gone. Simply gone.
Something pulled at Sheyreiza from the inside. She grunted. It pulled more. She gasped. It pulled again. She screamed.
She realized she was losing her connection the land and to the ancestors. They were withdrawing from her soul and body. Sheyreiza could not say she was unhappy about that; she had never wanted them inside her. She knew what it meant, however, She was no longer the Lady of Lonelywood. Indeed, she knew she would be banished.
Without another word Sheyreiza turned and walked away from the circle. Jain’n was speaking to her, talking about duty and the ancestors and telling her to get out of the woods or some such thing. She ignored him. She had things to do. She had to go to the tower and tell the others she was leaving. She had to see Shein’n.
Shein’n. Sheyreiza’s daughter by Jain’n. For a moment, Sheyreiza thought about taking Shein’n with her into exile, but dismissed the thought. Shein’n was truly Jain’n’s child not hers. Jain’n and the ancestors had seen to that when they had defiled Sheyreiza’s body with their touch against her wishes, awakening Shein’n’s spirit in the womb. Since then, Shein’n had been a Vyshaan, not an Auvryndar. So be it. She was still Sheyreiza’s daughter and Sheyreiza was still her mother. Sheyreiza had raised Shein’n. Perhaps she would not now live here, but Sheyreiza would explain to Shein’n why.
At Ellewyn’s tower, the home of the warband, Sheyreiza made her good byes. The rest of the warband was stunned, and none more so than Inthara. The sorceress begged to come with Sheyreiza, but that was impractical. Inthara had little baby Vraja to raise and could not leave him like Sheyreiza could leave Shein’n. Inthara knew Sheyreiza was right. Shein’n was not in the tower, however.
Sheyreiza found her daughter with Jain’n in the northern barrens of the wood, where the ancestors were buried. There was perhaps, no place in the entire surface world Sheyreiza loathed as much as this stretch of unholy ground. Here were buried the Vyshaan Emperors and their families; the greatest criminals of the elven races of all time. Not even the dynasties of the Ilythiiri empire before its fall had wreaked as much pain and sorrow on the elves of Abeir-Toril as the sun elves buried here. And not only did their bodies reside here, so too did their spirits live in this frozen, desolate place. Barred from both Arvandor and the Demonweb, the spirits of the Vyshaan had been trapped between the living and dead, heaven and hell, for millennia. Here, in the barrens, their spirits roamed like banshees or specters, toying with the living in their unceasing effort to be released from their private torments and achieve the paradise of Arvandor.
Jain’n stood atop the greatest of the burial mounds, just above the hidden doorway that Sheyreiza knew led to the most sacred catacombs. Sheyreiza’s own ancestor, a drow woman known as Xukulth, lay there beside the other dead royals. Xukulth had been a consort of the first Vyshaan Emperor and was often the voice of the ancestors when they sought to manipulate Sheyreiza. Inthara, Nylo and some others of the warband had followed Sheyreiza out into the graveyard. Inthara was still crying, with Nylo trying to comfort her.
“I would like to see Shein’n before I go.” Sheyreiza said calmly.
“No.” Jain’n replied, though it was not his voice, it was one of the ancestors.
“Yes.” Sheyreiza said, her voice growing deeper. “Shein’n is my daughter and I [i:3tx11qoh]will[/i:3tx11qoh] speak with her before I go.”
The ancestors began speaking through Jain’n again, arguing about what to do. Some suggested removing Sheyreiza from the woods, others suggested killing her. Inthara pleaded with the ancestors, and berated them. The drow sorceress loved Sheyreiza and often chafed at how Sheyreiza had been treated by the spirits. Now she begged for them to let Sheyreiza see Shein’n. Nylo tried to console Inthara, but the tears and pleas would not stop.
Sheyreiza ignored the ancestor’s conversation for the most part. She was through with their posturing and she had enough of their self-serving plots. All she wanted was to say good-bye to Shein’n and then go. The ancestors could have Jain’n. They were who he really loved anyway. No matter they did, no matter how they acted, no matter what they asked, Jain’n’s first loyalty was to these abominable, cursed spirits. He was as much their slave and tool as any subject of the Spider Queen, and like the Spider Queen’s tools, he would use and even kill other people at his masters’ command. He was, in a word, weak. Sheyreiza wondered what she had seen in him.
The illusion of strength, perhaps? The illusion of love? Jain’n had seemed willing to lay down his life to save Sheyreiza. Perhaps he had been. Only now did Sheyreiza realize why. Jain’n did not save Sheyreiza because he loved her; he saved Sheyreiza because the ancestors and Eilistraee told him to. The ancestors needed a brood mare to bear Jain’n’s child. For them, the child was the key to the gates of Arvandor. No child, no release from their millennia of torment. A child, even one whose spirit is awoken long before it is birthed, still needs a mother. The ancestors and Eilistraee had chosen Sheyreiza. So, Jain’n had ‘chosen’ Sheyreiza. It was as simple as that. He ‘loved’ her because he was told too. When that ‘love’ was no longer convenient, or necessary, he was told to discard it and so he did.
Sheyreiza shook her head. How sad this was. The very person who helped set her free of her mental slavery could not see his own chains. So be it. Sheyreiza had tried for years, but to no avail. Now, she was weary and she just wanted to go.
“Let me see Shein’n. I am through with the rest of you, but I will say good bye to my daughter.”
Jain’n’s body shook his head. “No. Remove her.”
Sheyreiza sighed. Then Jain’n was gone. Shein’n was gone. Inthara, Nylo, the others, the burial mound, all gone. Sheyreiza blinked and looked around. She was no longer in the northern barrens of the woods. She was at the overlook, on the edge of the woods. She [i:3tx11qoh]had[/i:3tx11qoh] been removed. She knew the password to the faerie trods would be changed before she could reach them. She was cut off from the interior of the woods. She was cut off from Shein’n.
She screamed and fell to her knees in the snow. For the second time in her life, the servants of some malicious power had taken a child from her. First, it had been her Matron Mother, Shyntlara, taking Sheyreiza’s baby boy away from her and giving the child to another priestess in the house to raise. Now, it was Jain’n and the ancestors taking Shein’n away from Sheyreiza.
The kneeling priestess began to sob. How could Eilistraee let this happen? How could Eilistraee allow a mother to be separated so horribly from her child? How could Eilistraee sanction a sacrifice in the name of hate? How could Eilistraee punish Sheyreiza like this for doing nothing other than what was good and right?
Sheyreiza tried to scream again but it came out as guttural growl, like a great hunting cat roaring in the forest. She began to mumble proverbs of Eilistraeen dogma, trying to achieve some level of calm, trying to make sense of this injustice.
She wanted to kill Jain’n, to defile the ancestors’ tombs and burn Lonelywood to the ground but she knew that was wrong. What would Eilistraee say?
[i:3tx11qoh]Return rudeness with kindness.[/i:3tx11qoh]
That was the Dark Maiden’s dogma.
[i:3tx11qoh]Return rudeness with kindness.[/i:3tx11qoh]
Sheyreiza began to chant under her breath. “Return rudeness with kindness.” She pictured her friends, now lost to her on the other side of the faeire trods and her voice grew louder. “Return rudeness with kindness.” She pictured the stone-cold look on Jain’n’s face as had struck at her, trying to kill her for the crime of refusing to sacrifice a living being. “Return rudeness with kindness.” She pictured Shein’n looking at her from Jain’n’s arms, the confusion and terror obvious in her eyes and she chanted louder still. “Return rudeness with kindness.” She pictured the clear, innocent eyes of a child she had lost long ago and they merged with the child who had been lost to her only moments ago and her chant turned into yell. “RETURN RUDENESS WITH …” She bit her lip to keep from finishing and blood seeped from her lip. Her hands clenched and more blood dripped from her palms. Her body shook with rage and pain. Her eyes clenched and tears flowed down her dark cheeks. A growl started in her chest and emanated from her, rolling through her body like an earthquake.
The rumbling passed. The shaking stopped. Sheyreiza’s eyes opened upon Lonelywood, stretched out below the overlook. No more tears flowed. Her hands relaxed. There was no expression on her face. She shook a drop of blood from her fist into the snow, and followed it with a sanguine spit.
She spoke her chant again, evenly, calmly, coldly.
“Return rudeness with vengeance.”
Sheyreiza Auvryndar, former Lady of Lonelywood, stood and walked away from the place she had called home for more than five years. The sun would drop below the horizon soon and with it would go what little heat the north had to offer. The night would bring naught but freezing death. Sheyreiza had to head south and find shelter. From there, she would make her way even further south to Luskan, and then on to Waterdeep. No matter what she felt about Lonelywood, Sheyreiza had another task at hand. She had to bring the remains of a fallen drowess called Sadei to a priestess of greater power than Sheyreiza. Sheyreiza had heard of only one other temple to the Dark Maiden, and that was the Promenade of Eilistraee. The Promenade was said to lie beneath Waterdeep, near Skullport. Sheyreiza had no desire to return to the port of shadows, but she had to fulfill her quest to see Sadei’s remains delivered. Lonelywood would wait.
Sheyreiza readied her bow, adjusted her armor and set out. She had a long way to walk.
[i:37jj00ek]Author’s note: The following takes place two years after Sheyreiza left Lonelywood. During those two years Sheyreiza came to live at the Promenade of Eilistraee near Skullport. A year later, Inthara joined her there. By the time this chapter opens, Sheyreiza is the third highest ranking priestess in the Promenade behind Qilue Veladorn and Iljrene. The Qilue Veladorn you will read about in the story below is not, however, much like the Qilue you read about in WotC’s novels – this Qilue was played by a talented ALFA DM, but not in the way one would think Qilue would normally be played. This created a lot of tension – tension that would eventually split the player-characters and the Promenade itself, as you will see.
The scene starts in the priestess dormitories of the Promenade; A year earlier, a sword-dancer named Arzit’el had been lost in Undermountain. “Tel” (as Arzit’el was known) had been a good friend and companion of Sheyreiza and Inthara. Sheyreiza had, for a year, been trying to organize a rescue effort. Even though Tel was believed dead, Sheyreiza wanted to recover her remains so that Qilue could resurrect Tel. Qilue had delayed, however, and a year later, Tel’s soul and life remained unrecovered...[/i:37jj00ek]
*******************
[b:37jj00ek]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 3. The Beginning of the End.[/b:37jj00ek]
A shrill yell pierced Sheyreza’s reverie. She tried to ignore it, but it was followed by more yells, footfalls and the sound of slamming doors. Pushing back her connection to the greater world of elf-kind, she forced herself to full conciousness. More yelling could be heard. Sheyreza stood quickly, threw a quiver over shoulder, stuck her sheathed sword through her belt sash, and grabbed her bow. She did not need to don her armor as she had been wearing it. Recent intrusions into the dormitories had left her feeling exposed even in her own chambers, so she frequently reveried in her armor unless Gryndal or Inthara was watching over her. There was also the matter of the Iron Ring.
Not long after the enemy drow had come and foiled Sheyreza’s plans to recover Tel’s remains, the Promenade had entertained another unexpected guest. Merrian Thorn, the Halfling sneak Sheyreza believed responsible for at least one of the recent incursions, had simply appeared near the great statue of Eilistraee. When Sheyreza confronted the Halfling, Merrian told the drow priestess that she had managed to steal Tel’s remains from Undermountain. The Halfling was willing to trade the remains, but wanted two things: first, she wanted the Chosen to stop patrolling the underdark; second, she wanted the Chosen to give up all their anti-slavery activity. It was clear to Sheyreza that Merrian had appeared at the behest of the Iron Ring. Though the terms of the offer were ridiculous, Sheyreza promised to pass the offer along to Qilue.
Qilue had listened to the offer but had made no decision yet. A ten-day had passed as Qilue, Iljrene and Sheyreza debated how best to respond to this latest move from their long time enemies. Obviously they could not agree to such a proposal; to stop patrolling the underdark around the Promenade would leave the Chosen blind. An enemy would be able to amass just outside the gates and erect any sort of siege device or blockade they wished. Giving up their anti-slavery activities was also out of the question; the slavers might as well have asked for the Chosen to give up worshipping Eilistraee. Freeing people from slavery, whether it be the metal shackles of the Iron Ring or the mental shackles of Lolth, was the very purpose of the Chosen.
In the meantime, Sheyreza was acutely aware that Merrian’s masters might not have much patience. Soon, they might very well send Merrian back to deliver a different kind of message, this one written in blood. Accordingly, Sheyreza did her best to be prepared at all times, even within her own chambers.
Sheyreza trotted through the dormitories, but saw no one. As she passed through the entryway, she heard raised voices coming from outside. She opened the main portal and looked out. Across the cavern a great wall of light blazed from the front of the temple and a mass of warriors and acolyte priestesses had gathered there. Sheyreza scanned the cavern briefly for signs of enemy. Seeing none, she slipped out of the dormitories, locked the door behind her, and then made her way up to the gathering.
Sheyreza addressed the first acolyte she came upon. “What is the meaning of this?” She recognized the acolyte's face but could not remember her name immediately.
“Qilue and Iljrene gave orders to prepare for battle and defend the temple. Then they went inside. After that, the wall of light you see at the doors appeared.” The acolyte was dressed for battle. Beneath her blue piwafi and hood Sheyreza could see the tell-tale glint of chainmail. Behind the armored acolyte a wall like sheet of brilliant blue-white light streamed from the steps immediately infront of the temple door towards the ceiling of the cavern. Its intensity made Sheyreza squint.
Sheyreza looked away from the light to the young priestess. “What are they doing in there?”
The acolyte shook her head. “They did not tell us.”
Sheyreza frowned. “Make way.” The company of warriors and acolytes parted and Sheyreza walked up the steps of the temple. She reached out to the light-enshrouded door. As she pushed on the doors an irresistible force threw her from the steps and pitched her back towards the edge of the mound upon which the temple was built. Only Sheyreza’s drow-born dexterity kept her from tumbling down the hill.
She steadied herself and stared at the portal wide eyed. Embarassed, afraid and angry, she yelled at the acolyte. “Why did you not warn me of that?”
The young priestess, whose face already bore the signs of fear, betrayed her confusion. “I, we…we did not know. None of us have tried the door.”
The look on the young priestess’s face and the tremble in her voice told Sheryeza the acolyte was not lying. In that fear Sheyreza recognized the girl and remembered her name. Talice. Talice had been the temple maid the cycle that an unseen intruder had unlocked the door to Sheyreza’s chamber and left a dagger planted through a rose inside of it. Sheyreza had lashed out at the girl, sharply rebuking her for failing to stop the intruder. Expecting a mere acolyte, a priestess in training, to stop such skilled sneaks was unrealistic, but like now, Sheyreza had been embarrassed, scared and angry.
Sheyreza found the senior acolyte in the group, a promising young priestess named Hivarra. Though also an acolyte like Talice, being more senior, Hivarra attended to the temple and Qilue herself. Sheyreza thought her likely to make a good priestess someday and it seemed likely that the girl would soon be tested. “Do you have patrols out?” Sheyreza inquired.
Hivarra shook her head. “No yathrin. I was told to gather everyone here.” The acolyte's voice betrayed a slight tremble but she was managing her anxiety well.
“Alright." Sheyreza pointed west. "Place two warriors at each entrance to the Cavern of Song. Take two more warriors and have them start patrolling the grounds between here and the entrances.” Sheyreza looked out on the cavern. “We need some advance warning. If we do not have patrols and pickets out, we are blind. The enemy can move upon us and catch us all standing on the steps unprepared. The patrols and pickets will give us the advance warning we need.”
Hivarra nodded. “I will have to post them from the reserves at the Hall of Healing.”
Sheyreza looked at their current position. One line of warriors flanked each side of the temple, while another line stood guard at the bottom of the temple-mound where the slope was walkable. Two more lines of warriors and acolytes were on the steps of the temple itself. Sheyreza could use those on the steps to reinforce the three outer lines as needed. This force should be enough. “Fine, post them from the reserves.”
Hivarra sent out the order.
A flash of light erupted from the door of the temple. A rumble followed. More lights flowed from the temple and a great commotion could be heard from within. The ground shook and the chosen along the temple mound did their best to keep their footing. Another blinding flash of light accompanied by what sounded like thunder followed. Sheyreza shielded her eyes from the brilliant flare but it was gone an instant after appearing. In its wake, Sheyreza could see a tiny crack running up along the foundation stones of the temple. From the crack came a soft red light.
“Off the steps!” Sheyreza yelled, her sword tip pointing at the glowing break in the stone. The two ranks of protectors and acolytes on the steps of the temple surged off the stones at once. Sheyreza watched the temple for a moment but nothing else happened. She surveyed the guards. All had turned to stare at the glowing building. Sheyreza pointed her sword at the two flanking lines and the line below the temple-mound. “Keep your eyes on the cavern!” Embarrassed and fearful, the warriors turned back to face their respective watches. [i:37jj00ek]What if the threat comes from within the temple?[/i:37jj00ek] Sheyreza thought. “One warrior in each line," she called out, "is to keep watch on the temple.” Hastily, the sergeant of each line complied and directed one his warriors to keep watch on the cracked and glowing edifice.
Across the cavern an orange light blossomed momentarily, silhoutteing the intervening buildings. A second later, yells and shouts could be heard in the distance.
“That’s the hall of healing.” Hivarra exclaimed.
Sheyreza nodded. “I am going over there.” She turned and looked Hivarra in the eye. “You are in command until I return or the temple opens.” Sheyreza readied her bow and jogged down the hill. She walked caustiously across the cavern, her eyes scanning back and forth. The Cavern of Song was large and it was filled with many buildings, some ruined, some rebuilt. If enemies had gained the entrances, they would not lack for concealment. Though in a hurry, Sheyreza would cross warily.
Outside the Hall of Healing Sheyreza found a number of Protectors helping children and other non-combatants. Many were burned. Though they had clearly been attacked, no one was certain what had happened. Sheyreza questioned the Protector captain in charge, a seasoned veteran male named Durdyn. Though details were scarce, it appeared an unseen mage had unleashed a fireball or perhaps several, on some of the Promenade’s civilians and their homes. When the Protectors stationed at the Hall advanced to find the mage, they were shot at by a very accurate, very stealthy archer. The enemy bowman fell back, but did so slow enough to cover the retreat of the mage with well placed bow-shots. The engagement had left many wounded, but none dead. Sheyreza entered the Hall of Healing and helped with the injured. There were perhaps half a dozen that desperately needed her attention. She took the healing kits from her pouch and set to work binding wounds and dressing burns. Around her, several acolytes did the same.
A flash of dull orange light spilled in to the hall through the main door. The flash was followed by a low rumble. In the distance there was yelling and shouting, then the unmistakable sound of metal on metal. Sheyreza put her head down and focused on finishing the dressing she was working on. When she was done, she wiped the blood off of her fingers, grabbed her bow and made for the door.
Durdyn was there, sword in hand. “It came from over the temple,” he said pointing beyond the near buildings, “and there is noise of battle.”
Sheyreza looked around the Hall. There were more than a dozen wounded and another dozen or so who had come attending them. To guard all of these there were only a handful of Protectors. She wanted to reinforce the temple, but she could not afford to strip the Hall of its defenses, at least not without sacrificing the wounded. “Send a scout to see what is happening.”
Durdyn quickly did as he was ordered. Sheyreza returned to the Hall and used the last of her bandages to help the burn victims.
A few minutes later she heard Durdyn yelling from the door. “It’s an attack! Driders and spiders attack the temple!”
Sheyreza quickly formed a squad of half a dozen warriors from the available Protectors. Bow in hand she led them to the temple to reinforce the guards there. She left Durdyn with orders to round up all Protectors not currently at the temple or the Hall and add them to the Hall’s guard force.
As Sheyreza’s squad made its way through the buildings fire could be seen near the base of the great statue of Eilistraee. As they got closer it became clear the fire was a dozen or so burning bodies. At first Sheyreza could not tell who the dead were, friend or foe. As she got closer she could see that most of the corpses were temple defenders. Scattered amongst the dead Protectors were a handful of drider bodies and giant spider carcasses. Though many were dead, the defenses had not fallen; a ragged line of bloodied Protectors stood guard along the temple-mound. There were more than a dozen of them, but far less than when Sheyreza had left only an hour before. Sheyreza and her squad of reinforcements made their way past the smouldering corpses and up the temple mound.
As she gained the crest Sheyreza could see the single glowing red crack in the temple’s stone had multiplied into many such cracks. Deep red light glowed from within, as if the cracking stones led to the abyss itself. Gryndal, Inthara, Talice and Hivarra were among the defenders still standing on the mound.
“It is good to see you back … with others …” Hivarra said, looking to Sheyreza’s squad.
“Flower!” Inthara rushed over, her lithe black body covered in gore, sweat and dirt. The beautiful sorceress had been bloodied, but she was smiling.
Sheyreza waved her warriors into position along the flank of the temple and looked to Inthara. “What news?”
“We were attacked by spiders. Driders too.” Inthara pointed at the half-drow, half-spider bodies and spider carcasses near the base of the statue below. “We killed those and chased the others off.”
Gryndal spoke in a low voice. “The cavern has a strange evil to it. Illusionary perhaps.” He looked around the cavern. “I heard the sounds of hissing and saw shadows dancing about.”
“Xas,” Inthara added, “we heard a hissing and slithering.”
Gryndal looked at Sheyreza. “And then they were gone.”
Inthara nodded. “Whatever it was, retreated. For now.”
Sheyreza looked at Inthara and realized that much of the blood was from injuries, not enemies. “You are wounded Buttefly.” She glanced up at the temple. “As is the stone.”
“Xas. I touched the temple.” Inthara looked over to the north cluster of buildings where Kestal lived in Tel’s house. “And was attacked by Kestal's guardian.”
Singing softly, Sheyreza cast a minor healing on Inthara and the blooded sorceress’s wounds closed. Inthara sighed and smiled. “[i:37jj00ek]Bella'dos[/i:37jj00ek] Flower.”
“Xas... still nothing from inside?” Gryndal asked.
Hivarra shook her head. “Nothing. All sounds have ceased, only the glow remains.”
A puzzled look crossed Sheyreza’s face. “Kestal's guardian?”
“Xas.” Inthara replied. “After the driders and spiders attacked, I thought that she might be in danger. I, well me and Gryndal, went to her house, Outside of it we found a spider and killed it. I thought that there might be someone after her. I knocked and a woman answered.
I thought that she might..”
Inthara was interrupted by the soft hiss of Gryndal’s crossbow letting loose a bolt. Sheyreza spun to see a spider the size of a riding lizard coming across the cavern floor below the temple-mound.
Inthara unleashed the magic of her wand and a sparkling ray of blue-white light struck the on coming creature. “Spread out!” the sorceress yelled to the protectors who were rushing the spider in a tight mass of bodies. Though large, the spider was quickly slain.
Sheyreza and Inthara got the protectors back in line while Gryndal kept watch from the bluff with his crossbow.
A shudder passed through Sheyreza and she noticed Gryndal and Inthara cringing and shivering at the same moment. Inthara rubbed her arms as if cold. Suddenly, a sharp point of pain stabbed through Sheyreza’s chest and her mind’s eye glimpsed a dagger cutting downward. Sheyreza winced and clutched at her chest with her free hand.
“What was that feeling?” Inthara was looking around the protectors and others gathered on the temple-mound for signs they felt it too.
“I am not sure.” Sheyreza replied through clenched teeth.
Inthara’s voice fell to a whisper. “Is it hurting?” Inthara knew all too well about Sheyreza’s chest wound, the one that had killed her so many years ago. From time to time, Intharta knew, the wound ached again. Usually those aches were premonitions of danger. Sheyreza’s brush with mortality and the abyss had left her more sensitive to the approach of evil.
Still clutching her chest, Sheyreza nodded. “Fall back in line with the protectors.
Gryndal looked to the two women. “You feel that too?”
“I felt something.......wrong.” Inthara replied.
The Protectors and acolytes spread out along the temple-mound, sharp drow eyes searching the recesses and dark places of the cavern for any sign of the enemy or the enemy’s point of entry. Over the next two hours the defenders’ lines came under sporadic attacks by more giant spiders. The spiders came singly or in pairs and fought to the death. They came from a different direction each time and tested a different line of the defense. Every attack was repulsed but each left more defenders wounded. Two Protectors fell beneath the fangs and claws of the giant arachnids never to rise again. Some of the critically injured were removed to the Hall of Healing. Sheyreza knew the temple’s defenders were more than a match for these petty assaults, but she also knew these attacks were just probes. The enemy was using its expendable spiders to scout the Chosen’s positions and test their defenses. Sheyreza walked the lines but tried to keep herself out of the action. She did not want to reveal her power nor did she want to expend that power before the real assaults began.
As the hours dragged on, Gryndal asked Sheyreza, the only full priestess among the defenders, to sing to the Goddess. Sheyreza realized she had been so intent on watching the physical defenses she had neglected the spiritual ones. Without hesitation, she closed her eyes and lifted her voice. Inthara joined as well and a chorus later the acolytes picked up the song. One by one the deeper, bass voices of the Protectors crept into the melody while the women sang. As the defenders began to sing as one, the Cavern of Song became just that, and the music of Eilistraee reverberated through the underdark in defiance of the enemy.
The soft sound of an arrow slicing through the throat of one of the Protectors brought an end to the singing. A black clad archer had snuck into the cavern near the great statue and began loosing a deadly rain of arrows upon the defender’s line. Gryndal was the first to return fire and Inthara quickly joined in, but neither was able to hit the slippery foe. The line of Protectors, led by Sheyreza, stopped their singing and charged. Gryndal and Inthara followed, pausing just long enough to fire their crossbows again, but again, they were unable to hit the rapidly moving enemy.
The black clad archer dodged back through the buildings to the west. The Protectors spread out and pursued. Gryndal, in his light leathers, quickly out paced the other pursuers.
Sheyreza saw danger. The black clad archer was simply trying to draw them out to kill them more easily. “Gryndal!” she yelled. Gryndal slowed and looked back. “Beware traps.” If Sheyreza had been in her enemy’s position, she would send just such a scout forward to draw out a few attackers. Those foolish enough to follow recklessly would find themselves amidst a field of traps. As the traps were set off, Sheyreza would launch an ambush. [i:37jj00ek]They are trying to draw us out,[/i:37jj00ek] she signed to Gryndal in the drow silent language,[i:37jj00ek]fall back.[/i:37jj00ek]
An arrow whistled out of the gloom and struck Gryndal in the shoulder spinning him around a half turn. He staggered back into a ruined doorway for cover. Wincing, gritting his teeth, he pulled at the embedded missile to free it from his flesh. One never new what drow might put on an arrow head. Another arrow shot from the darkness, this one striking Inthara who fell to the ground groaning.
“Get back!” Gryndal yelled from the doorway. Sheyreza knelt beside Inthara and cast a healing prayer upon her, closing the wound as fast as the enemy had opened it. Gryndal was moving out of the doorway now, yelling at the two females. “Come on.”
Sheyreza turned, drew her bow, notched an arrow, and let loose the shaft at a black clad figure moving through the old buildings. The shot went wide. She loosed another arrow and this one too failed to find its mark. The black clad figure let loose an arrow of his own that grazed Sheyreza’s armor.
Sheyreza raised her defensive spells, drew her sword and rushed the black clad archer. The enemy bowman ran. She chased him to the mouth of the Cavern of Song where the enclave of the Promenade gave way to the passages of the Underdark. She did not dare follow any further. It was a basic tactic of scouts to draw out enemy into traps and she had no intention of falling for the same tactic she had used on others a hundred times before. Near the Cavern entrance Sheyreza saw two dead protectors. Presumably the pickets she had ordered Hivarra to place earlier. The enemy had apparently disposed of them without a sound. Sheyreza could not see the north entrance from where she was, but she had to presume those pickets had been similarly slain, and probably the patrol as well.
She returned to where Inthara had fallen and found the sorceress leaning against a pillar, shivering. Though she trembled as if cold, sweat glistened on Inthara’s skin.
Sheyreza narrowed her eyes. [i:37jj00ek]Poison. It had to be poison. [/i:37jj00ek] Inthara needed treatment. That meant getting back to the other defenders. The problem was that Sheyreza, Gryndal and Inthara were now near the south entrance to the cavern of song. If the enemy had infiltrated in through the north entrance as well, they would be able to ambush Inthara as she made her way back. Indeed, the enemy could cut off the three of them entirely from the other defenders who had already fallen back to the temple mound.
“Alright, retreat to the two gazebos.” Sheyreza pointed at the two structures that lay half way across the cavern between where they now stood and the main defensive line at the temple. “We cannot watch both entrances from here.” From the two gazebos one could see the only paths large enough to move a significant force into the Cavern of Song. There were a few smaller paths, both north and south in the cavern, but those paths wound through tightly congested buildings. If the enemy tried to move an army through there, they would quickly find themselves bottlenecked and trapped. Sheyreza did not think she would be so lucky as to have an enemy that foolish.
At the gazebos, Sheyreza waved Inthara on towards the temple mound and the sorceress staggered off. Sheyreza turned and crouched, watching the two approaches which led from the north and south cavern entrances to the temple. A few yards away, Gyrndal moved into an alcove along the side of a dilapidated building and folded himself into shadow, his crossbow loaded and cocked. Sheyreza spared him only the briefest of looks. She did not want to give his position away. She sighed. She would be the bait. She crouched down between the two gazebos. She held her bow in one hand, an arrow notched to the bowstring in the other. A good archer, like the one that had harried them only minutes ago, would aim for the weak spots of her armor like the armpits and the neck. Accordingly, she held her arms in close and kept her head tucked down as far as she could. Then she waited.
Sweat rolled down her skin inside her helmet and she could hear herself breathing. Her knees began to ache from crouching, but she dared not stand for fear of exposing weak spots in her armor and she dared not kneel for fear of being caught completely flatfooted. Long, painful minutes passed. Her red and blue eyes swept over the ruins before her again and again, looking for any hint of the enemy, any shadow, any reflection, any movement; anything at all. Sheyreza began to lose track of the time. Minutes turned into an hour, maybe more. Had a watch passed yet? Surely not. Half a watch? Perhaps. She shifted her position from time to time, always staying in the open but always trying to deny an enemy archer a clean shot at a weak point in her armor. There were some archers and some arrows that might be able to punch through enchanted mithral plate head on, but not many. It was a risk Sheyreza would have to take.
Noise came from behind the crouching priestess. She turned, peering across the great open cavern towards the temple-mound through the narrow slit in her helmet. She saw a familiar blue-white beam of arcane energy streak across the dark. Inthara was in combat. Sheyreza rose out of her crouch and ran towards the temple with Gryndal right beside her.
Sheyreza saw the enemy as she drew close. The temple-mound was under attack by wraith spiders, undead arachnids the size of riding lizards like the giant spiders that had attacked earlier. Instantly, Sheyreza and Gryndal were loosing arrows and bolts. Protectors from the temple-mound descended from their lines as well, flanking the giant sickly gray and white arachnids. As the warriors joined in the fight, Sheyreza switched to her sword and charged into the fray. The first spider did not last long under her blade, but another scuttled into the melee. Sheyreza turned her blade on that one and it too perished quickly. As Sheyreza and the protectors were slaying the attacking spiders, Inthara collapsed near the base of the temple-mound’s southern flank. Gryndal, seeing the fight well in hand, rushed to the stricken woman’s side.
Looking her over, he put a hand to her skin and frowned. Sheyreza looked up from the carcass of the undead spider she had just destroyed to see Gryndal tending Inthara. “She is sweating, feverish. Was she poisoned?” Gryndal’s normally hard face was contorted with concern and his voice trembled betraying his fear for Inthara.
Once all the wraith spiders were destroyed, Sheyreza ordered the Protectors and Acolytes to reform their defensive lines infront of the temple steps. Then she examined Inthara’s arrow wound. The bleeding had stopped, but the skin around the wound was inflamed. Angry red lines streaked across Inthara’s black skin. She was cold and clammy to the touch, and shivering uncontrollably. The wound and the poison were much worse than Sheyreza had initially thought. She had some skill at healing, but there was nothing she could do for Inthara at this point. Inthara would have to ride out the poison’s effects and until she did, the sorceress was all but useless.
A small glowing ball of fire streaking from the north cluster of buildings caught Sheyreza’s eye. Before she could shout a warning, the small fiery ball arrived amidst the two lines of Protectors and Acolytes that had just reformed on the temple’s steps. It exploded with a glaring white flash into an inferno of yellow and orange flames . The fireball was the largest, brightest and hottest Sheyreza had ever seen. It completely engulfed the two ranks of defenders. Many fell instantly, while a few more hardy but less fortunate souls staggered through the flames, their bodies turned into living torches. They screamed as they stumbled, their arms waving about in the flames. It was over in a few seconds. Even the toughest of the immolated defenders was quickly overcome.
For a long moment Sheyreza just stared at the carnage. More than a dozen bodies lay burning on and around the temple steps. Everyone who had survived the spider attacks and the black clad archer was dead. Hivarra, Talice and the others had been incinerated by a single, fiery spell.
Sheyreza gripped her bow, notched an arrow and jogged into the midst of the burning bodies, looking for both survivors and the attacker. She had little hope of finding any alive who had stood in that ball of flame, but she had to try. Gryndal joined her, his face a tortured scowl as he searched through the burning bodies for any signs of life. The smell was almost overpowering as the flames peeled skin and flesh from bone. A quick survey told Sheyreza and Gryndal what they had feared; none of the defenders had lived.
Sheyreza had seen many people die. Indeed, she had killed many people herself, far more than now lay dead infront of the temple. For a drow raised in the chaotic society of Ched Nasad, violent deaths were a common sight. She knew instinctively there was no time for grief, remorse or guilt. There was only time for action. The fireball had done its work, but the battle was not over. It was still kill or be killed.
She pointed with her sword towards the cluster of buildings near the fountain. “It came from the north.” Gryndal nodded grimly. He was Menzoberranyr and was no stranger to violent death either. The last few years, he had lived through the deaths of almost his entire family, most recently his brother Dorgazz and sister Laele. He understood as well as any of the Promenade’s warriors that there was a time to grieve, and a time to fight. This was the time to fight.
The two drow trotted off the temple mound, bows in hand. They had fought side by side long enough now that they did not even need the drow sign language. They simply moved together, searching through the buildings and ruins, each covering the other in turn. They found no sign of the fireball’s caster, only the dead carcasses of the giant spiders that had been slain earlier when the temple defenders had first been attacked.
As they returned to the temple, Sheyreza saw an acolyte priestess standing atop the mound staring at the bodies buring before the steps. The shock and horror of the scene was all too apparent on her face. Not all of the Promenade’s drow had grown up in such close proximity to death as Sheyreza, Gryndal and Inthara. Many had come from enclaves where Lolth was but a distant enemy, and families were not just political organizations one murdered their way through to achieve more station.
“All dead.” The girl said, her eyes wide in disbelief.
Sheyreza knew from leading the Lonelywood elves that such horror as now faced them could paralyze an unprepared mind. The best cure was to keep the mind preoccupied, and that meant keeping it busy so Sheyreza gave the frightened acolyte an order.
“If there are more reinforcements, have them fall back to the temple.” Sheyreza kept her voice stern, calm, and authoritative. The acolyte looked up, tearing her eyes away from the corpses of her friends. What was her name? How could Sheyreza not remember? Why was she having such trouble with names? The Chosen were not that numerous. “When you get them here, keep them spread out.”
The acolyte nodded. “I'll go get whatever is left. It will be some time.” The acolyte spared the burning bodies one last look, and then ran off towards the Hall of Healing. Only then did the girl’s name come to Sheyreza. Akordia. Akordia Glannath. She was young, a Promenade native, born here to parents who had followed Qilue centuries ago from the city of Buirandyn. Buiyrandyn had, even before Qilue’s birth, thrown off the shackles of Lolth’s tyranny to become a free city. The free city did not last, however. Years later it was destroyed by an Illithid attack, but that was after Qilue had come to the Cavern of Song.
Gryndal began muttering in a low, feral growl. “Whoever did this will pay dearly.”
Sheyreza knew anger could cloud one’s battle skills as easily as fear, and the cure was the same. Stay busy. Do not allow the mind to wander. “Gryndal,” Sheyreza said pointing to Inthara, who was still sweating and shivering. “Carry her to the Dorms. There is nothing I can do for the poison right now. There is a healing kit in my trunk. Or at least, there may be. If you retrieve it, maybe I can help her.” It was actually too late for the healing kit to help Inthara as far as Sheyreza could tell, but the task would keep Gryndal busy and let him regain his focus. He was, at the moment, the only warrior Sheyreza had available to defend the temple until Akordia returned, hopefully with Durdyn and his men. Sheyreza could not afford to have Gryndal getting himself killed because his anger led him to do something foolish, like pursue the black clad archer again.
The scowling warrior slung his crossbow and lifted Inthara over his shoulder as carefully and gently as he could. Gryndal glanced over at Sheyreza, an unspoken question in his eyes. [i:37jj00ek]What was Sheyreza going to do?[/i:37jj00ek]
The priestess answered his look. “I am going to guard the temple.” Gryndal nodded and then turned away silently, heading down the flank of the temple-mound towards the clerical dormitories.
Sheyreza watched Gryndal go, covering his move with her bow. No enemies appeared. After Gryndal and Inthara were inside the dormitory, Sheyreza walked back to the temple steps. The bodies of the incinerated defenders were smouldering now. A few still burned, but most of the flames had died down to glowing embers as most everthing that could burn had been burned. The stench was hideous but Sheyreza was not unfamiliar with it. She pinched a bit of strong smelling fungus from her healing kit and rubbed it beneath her nostrils to keep the smell of the dead out of her head. Then she crouched down amidst the bodies and waited. She could see across the cavern well enough, despite all the smoke from the fires, both atop and below the temple-mound. Like many populated caverns in the underdark, the Cavern of Song had portals to the elemental plane of air along its ceiling allowing for air to flow in, and smoke to flow out. The portals were small and specially crafted, like all such portals, to allow only non-living matter to pass. Similar portals to the elemental plane of water were often used to irrigate otherwise dry sections of the underdark. Such was the life of those who lived in a world without skies or rain, and the Promenade had never known either.
Thus Sheyreza was immediately alarmed when she heard a rapid, high pitched tapping noise sounding very much like a rain storm. She squinted into the dark of the cavern, pearing beyond the drifting smoke, glowing bodies and faerie-lit statue of Eilistraee. She could hear the storm approaching but she saw nothing. It sounded as if a wall of rain was headed towards her, almost like a winter torrent along the Sword Coast of the surface.
The floor beyond the great statue began to undulate, as if it the very stone was boiling. Sheyreza’s eyes narrowed to mere slits and her heart began to race. What deviltry was this? What horror did the enemy now seek to visit upon the temple, upon her? The roiling floor crept closer and finally, by the faerie light of the great statue Sheyreza could see it was not the floor moving, it was a veritable tide of spiders. A swarm of giant arachnids scuttled from the darkness towards the temple and Sheyreza. She could see they were no ordinary giant spiders either; they were sword spiders. The rapid, rain-like tapping noise was the strike of dozens and dozens of long, hard, sword-like legs upon the stones.
Sword spiders were common guardians and servants amongst Lolth’s followers. The Eyes of the Spider academy in Ched Nasad where priestesses like Sheyreza were schooled used specially trained sword spiders as roving patrollers. The beasts could fight with up to four of their blade-like legs at once, challenging even the fastest drow swordsman’s parries. If they got close enough, they also had fangs, and those fangs were poisonous. Typically, a sword spider would seek to pin an opponent with thrusts of its sword like legs, then bite the prey and inject its poison. The spider could then back off, using its flurry of blade-legs to keep attackers at bay. Once the prey succumbed to the poison, the spider could advance again in safety and feast.
Quickly Sheyreza loosed an arrow at the surging enemy before her, then another and another. Wounded spiders screeched at they were struck but the arachnid tide rolled on. Sheyreza kept firing but she realized she could not target individuals. The spiders were climbing over and under each other in phrenetic, chaotic charge. Each arrow was finding a different monster and her fusillade was not even slowing them down. Arrow after arrow left her bow. The monstrous spiders reached the base of the temple-mound and began climbing. Sheyreza looked right and left but there was no sign of either the reinforcements from the Hall of Healing or the return of Gryndal or Inthara from the clerical dormitories. If she stood her ground, Sheyreza would stand alone against the tide of spiders. As fast as she could she slung her bow and drew her sword. Her left arm slipped into her mithral clawshield and she backed away from the edge of the mound towards the steps. The spiders kept coming. They came through the smouldering bodies without pausing. Sheyreza watched the tide, trying to focus on one enemy so her blows would count when they came, but the tide was too numerous, too chaotic.
Standing alone on the steps of the Promenade’s temple, Sheyreza lifted her sword. She screamed her goddess’s name, and then the tide of sword spiders rolled over her.
The scene starts in the priestess dormitories of the Promenade; A year earlier, a sword-dancer named Arzit’el had been lost in Undermountain. “Tel” (as Arzit’el was known) had been a good friend and companion of Sheyreiza and Inthara. Sheyreiza had, for a year, been trying to organize a rescue effort. Even though Tel was believed dead, Sheyreiza wanted to recover her remains so that Qilue could resurrect Tel. Qilue had delayed, however, and a year later, Tel’s soul and life remained unrecovered...[/i:37jj00ek]
*******************
[b:37jj00ek]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 3. The Beginning of the End.[/b:37jj00ek]
A shrill yell pierced Sheyreza’s reverie. She tried to ignore it, but it was followed by more yells, footfalls and the sound of slamming doors. Pushing back her connection to the greater world of elf-kind, she forced herself to full conciousness. More yelling could be heard. Sheyreza stood quickly, threw a quiver over shoulder, stuck her sheathed sword through her belt sash, and grabbed her bow. She did not need to don her armor as she had been wearing it. Recent intrusions into the dormitories had left her feeling exposed even in her own chambers, so she frequently reveried in her armor unless Gryndal or Inthara was watching over her. There was also the matter of the Iron Ring.
Not long after the enemy drow had come and foiled Sheyreza’s plans to recover Tel’s remains, the Promenade had entertained another unexpected guest. Merrian Thorn, the Halfling sneak Sheyreza believed responsible for at least one of the recent incursions, had simply appeared near the great statue of Eilistraee. When Sheyreza confronted the Halfling, Merrian told the drow priestess that she had managed to steal Tel’s remains from Undermountain. The Halfling was willing to trade the remains, but wanted two things: first, she wanted the Chosen to stop patrolling the underdark; second, she wanted the Chosen to give up all their anti-slavery activity. It was clear to Sheyreza that Merrian had appeared at the behest of the Iron Ring. Though the terms of the offer were ridiculous, Sheyreza promised to pass the offer along to Qilue.
Qilue had listened to the offer but had made no decision yet. A ten-day had passed as Qilue, Iljrene and Sheyreza debated how best to respond to this latest move from their long time enemies. Obviously they could not agree to such a proposal; to stop patrolling the underdark around the Promenade would leave the Chosen blind. An enemy would be able to amass just outside the gates and erect any sort of siege device or blockade they wished. Giving up their anti-slavery activities was also out of the question; the slavers might as well have asked for the Chosen to give up worshipping Eilistraee. Freeing people from slavery, whether it be the metal shackles of the Iron Ring or the mental shackles of Lolth, was the very purpose of the Chosen.
In the meantime, Sheyreza was acutely aware that Merrian’s masters might not have much patience. Soon, they might very well send Merrian back to deliver a different kind of message, this one written in blood. Accordingly, Sheyreza did her best to be prepared at all times, even within her own chambers.
Sheyreza trotted through the dormitories, but saw no one. As she passed through the entryway, she heard raised voices coming from outside. She opened the main portal and looked out. Across the cavern a great wall of light blazed from the front of the temple and a mass of warriors and acolyte priestesses had gathered there. Sheyreza scanned the cavern briefly for signs of enemy. Seeing none, she slipped out of the dormitories, locked the door behind her, and then made her way up to the gathering.
Sheyreza addressed the first acolyte she came upon. “What is the meaning of this?” She recognized the acolyte's face but could not remember her name immediately.
“Qilue and Iljrene gave orders to prepare for battle and defend the temple. Then they went inside. After that, the wall of light you see at the doors appeared.” The acolyte was dressed for battle. Beneath her blue piwafi and hood Sheyreza could see the tell-tale glint of chainmail. Behind the armored acolyte a wall like sheet of brilliant blue-white light streamed from the steps immediately infront of the temple door towards the ceiling of the cavern. Its intensity made Sheyreza squint.
Sheyreza looked away from the light to the young priestess. “What are they doing in there?”
The acolyte shook her head. “They did not tell us.”
Sheyreza frowned. “Make way.” The company of warriors and acolytes parted and Sheyreza walked up the steps of the temple. She reached out to the light-enshrouded door. As she pushed on the doors an irresistible force threw her from the steps and pitched her back towards the edge of the mound upon which the temple was built. Only Sheyreza’s drow-born dexterity kept her from tumbling down the hill.
She steadied herself and stared at the portal wide eyed. Embarassed, afraid and angry, she yelled at the acolyte. “Why did you not warn me of that?”
The young priestess, whose face already bore the signs of fear, betrayed her confusion. “I, we…we did not know. None of us have tried the door.”
The look on the young priestess’s face and the tremble in her voice told Sheryeza the acolyte was not lying. In that fear Sheyreza recognized the girl and remembered her name. Talice. Talice had been the temple maid the cycle that an unseen intruder had unlocked the door to Sheyreza’s chamber and left a dagger planted through a rose inside of it. Sheyreza had lashed out at the girl, sharply rebuking her for failing to stop the intruder. Expecting a mere acolyte, a priestess in training, to stop such skilled sneaks was unrealistic, but like now, Sheyreza had been embarrassed, scared and angry.
Sheyreza found the senior acolyte in the group, a promising young priestess named Hivarra. Though also an acolyte like Talice, being more senior, Hivarra attended to the temple and Qilue herself. Sheyreza thought her likely to make a good priestess someday and it seemed likely that the girl would soon be tested. “Do you have patrols out?” Sheyreza inquired.
Hivarra shook her head. “No yathrin. I was told to gather everyone here.” The acolyte's voice betrayed a slight tremble but she was managing her anxiety well.
“Alright." Sheyreza pointed west. "Place two warriors at each entrance to the Cavern of Song. Take two more warriors and have them start patrolling the grounds between here and the entrances.” Sheyreza looked out on the cavern. “We need some advance warning. If we do not have patrols and pickets out, we are blind. The enemy can move upon us and catch us all standing on the steps unprepared. The patrols and pickets will give us the advance warning we need.”
Hivarra nodded. “I will have to post them from the reserves at the Hall of Healing.”
Sheyreza looked at their current position. One line of warriors flanked each side of the temple, while another line stood guard at the bottom of the temple-mound where the slope was walkable. Two more lines of warriors and acolytes were on the steps of the temple itself. Sheyreza could use those on the steps to reinforce the three outer lines as needed. This force should be enough. “Fine, post them from the reserves.”
Hivarra sent out the order.
A flash of light erupted from the door of the temple. A rumble followed. More lights flowed from the temple and a great commotion could be heard from within. The ground shook and the chosen along the temple mound did their best to keep their footing. Another blinding flash of light accompanied by what sounded like thunder followed. Sheyreza shielded her eyes from the brilliant flare but it was gone an instant after appearing. In its wake, Sheyreza could see a tiny crack running up along the foundation stones of the temple. From the crack came a soft red light.
“Off the steps!” Sheyreza yelled, her sword tip pointing at the glowing break in the stone. The two ranks of protectors and acolytes on the steps of the temple surged off the stones at once. Sheyreza watched the temple for a moment but nothing else happened. She surveyed the guards. All had turned to stare at the glowing building. Sheyreza pointed her sword at the two flanking lines and the line below the temple-mound. “Keep your eyes on the cavern!” Embarrassed and fearful, the warriors turned back to face their respective watches. [i:37jj00ek]What if the threat comes from within the temple?[/i:37jj00ek] Sheyreza thought. “One warrior in each line," she called out, "is to keep watch on the temple.” Hastily, the sergeant of each line complied and directed one his warriors to keep watch on the cracked and glowing edifice.
Across the cavern an orange light blossomed momentarily, silhoutteing the intervening buildings. A second later, yells and shouts could be heard in the distance.
“That’s the hall of healing.” Hivarra exclaimed.
Sheyreza nodded. “I am going over there.” She turned and looked Hivarra in the eye. “You are in command until I return or the temple opens.” Sheyreza readied her bow and jogged down the hill. She walked caustiously across the cavern, her eyes scanning back and forth. The Cavern of Song was large and it was filled with many buildings, some ruined, some rebuilt. If enemies had gained the entrances, they would not lack for concealment. Though in a hurry, Sheyreza would cross warily.
Outside the Hall of Healing Sheyreza found a number of Protectors helping children and other non-combatants. Many were burned. Though they had clearly been attacked, no one was certain what had happened. Sheyreza questioned the Protector captain in charge, a seasoned veteran male named Durdyn. Though details were scarce, it appeared an unseen mage had unleashed a fireball or perhaps several, on some of the Promenade’s civilians and their homes. When the Protectors stationed at the Hall advanced to find the mage, they were shot at by a very accurate, very stealthy archer. The enemy bowman fell back, but did so slow enough to cover the retreat of the mage with well placed bow-shots. The engagement had left many wounded, but none dead. Sheyreza entered the Hall of Healing and helped with the injured. There were perhaps half a dozen that desperately needed her attention. She took the healing kits from her pouch and set to work binding wounds and dressing burns. Around her, several acolytes did the same.
A flash of dull orange light spilled in to the hall through the main door. The flash was followed by a low rumble. In the distance there was yelling and shouting, then the unmistakable sound of metal on metal. Sheyreza put her head down and focused on finishing the dressing she was working on. When she was done, she wiped the blood off of her fingers, grabbed her bow and made for the door.
Durdyn was there, sword in hand. “It came from over the temple,” he said pointing beyond the near buildings, “and there is noise of battle.”
Sheyreza looked around the Hall. There were more than a dozen wounded and another dozen or so who had come attending them. To guard all of these there were only a handful of Protectors. She wanted to reinforce the temple, but she could not afford to strip the Hall of its defenses, at least not without sacrificing the wounded. “Send a scout to see what is happening.”
Durdyn quickly did as he was ordered. Sheyreza returned to the Hall and used the last of her bandages to help the burn victims.
A few minutes later she heard Durdyn yelling from the door. “It’s an attack! Driders and spiders attack the temple!”
Sheyreza quickly formed a squad of half a dozen warriors from the available Protectors. Bow in hand she led them to the temple to reinforce the guards there. She left Durdyn with orders to round up all Protectors not currently at the temple or the Hall and add them to the Hall’s guard force.
As Sheyreza’s squad made its way through the buildings fire could be seen near the base of the great statue of Eilistraee. As they got closer it became clear the fire was a dozen or so burning bodies. At first Sheyreza could not tell who the dead were, friend or foe. As she got closer she could see that most of the corpses were temple defenders. Scattered amongst the dead Protectors were a handful of drider bodies and giant spider carcasses. Though many were dead, the defenses had not fallen; a ragged line of bloodied Protectors stood guard along the temple-mound. There were more than a dozen of them, but far less than when Sheyreza had left only an hour before. Sheyreza and her squad of reinforcements made their way past the smouldering corpses and up the temple mound.
As she gained the crest Sheyreza could see the single glowing red crack in the temple’s stone had multiplied into many such cracks. Deep red light glowed from within, as if the cracking stones led to the abyss itself. Gryndal, Inthara, Talice and Hivarra were among the defenders still standing on the mound.
“It is good to see you back … with others …” Hivarra said, looking to Sheyreza’s squad.
“Flower!” Inthara rushed over, her lithe black body covered in gore, sweat and dirt. The beautiful sorceress had been bloodied, but she was smiling.
Sheyreza waved her warriors into position along the flank of the temple and looked to Inthara. “What news?”
“We were attacked by spiders. Driders too.” Inthara pointed at the half-drow, half-spider bodies and spider carcasses near the base of the statue below. “We killed those and chased the others off.”
Gryndal spoke in a low voice. “The cavern has a strange evil to it. Illusionary perhaps.” He looked around the cavern. “I heard the sounds of hissing and saw shadows dancing about.”
“Xas,” Inthara added, “we heard a hissing and slithering.”
Gryndal looked at Sheyreza. “And then they were gone.”
Inthara nodded. “Whatever it was, retreated. For now.”
Sheyreza looked at Inthara and realized that much of the blood was from injuries, not enemies. “You are wounded Buttefly.” She glanced up at the temple. “As is the stone.”
“Xas. I touched the temple.” Inthara looked over to the north cluster of buildings where Kestal lived in Tel’s house. “And was attacked by Kestal's guardian.”
Singing softly, Sheyreza cast a minor healing on Inthara and the blooded sorceress’s wounds closed. Inthara sighed and smiled. “[i:37jj00ek]Bella'dos[/i:37jj00ek] Flower.”
“Xas... still nothing from inside?” Gryndal asked.
Hivarra shook her head. “Nothing. All sounds have ceased, only the glow remains.”
A puzzled look crossed Sheyreza’s face. “Kestal's guardian?”
“Xas.” Inthara replied. “After the driders and spiders attacked, I thought that she might be in danger. I, well me and Gryndal, went to her house, Outside of it we found a spider and killed it. I thought that there might be someone after her. I knocked and a woman answered.
I thought that she might..”
Inthara was interrupted by the soft hiss of Gryndal’s crossbow letting loose a bolt. Sheyreza spun to see a spider the size of a riding lizard coming across the cavern floor below the temple-mound.
Inthara unleashed the magic of her wand and a sparkling ray of blue-white light struck the on coming creature. “Spread out!” the sorceress yelled to the protectors who were rushing the spider in a tight mass of bodies. Though large, the spider was quickly slain.
Sheyreza and Inthara got the protectors back in line while Gryndal kept watch from the bluff with his crossbow.
A shudder passed through Sheyreza and she noticed Gryndal and Inthara cringing and shivering at the same moment. Inthara rubbed her arms as if cold. Suddenly, a sharp point of pain stabbed through Sheyreza’s chest and her mind’s eye glimpsed a dagger cutting downward. Sheyreza winced and clutched at her chest with her free hand.
“What was that feeling?” Inthara was looking around the protectors and others gathered on the temple-mound for signs they felt it too.
“I am not sure.” Sheyreza replied through clenched teeth.
Inthara’s voice fell to a whisper. “Is it hurting?” Inthara knew all too well about Sheyreza’s chest wound, the one that had killed her so many years ago. From time to time, Intharta knew, the wound ached again. Usually those aches were premonitions of danger. Sheyreza’s brush with mortality and the abyss had left her more sensitive to the approach of evil.
Still clutching her chest, Sheyreza nodded. “Fall back in line with the protectors.
Gryndal looked to the two women. “You feel that too?”
“I felt something.......wrong.” Inthara replied.
The Protectors and acolytes spread out along the temple-mound, sharp drow eyes searching the recesses and dark places of the cavern for any sign of the enemy or the enemy’s point of entry. Over the next two hours the defenders’ lines came under sporadic attacks by more giant spiders. The spiders came singly or in pairs and fought to the death. They came from a different direction each time and tested a different line of the defense. Every attack was repulsed but each left more defenders wounded. Two Protectors fell beneath the fangs and claws of the giant arachnids never to rise again. Some of the critically injured were removed to the Hall of Healing. Sheyreza knew the temple’s defenders were more than a match for these petty assaults, but she also knew these attacks were just probes. The enemy was using its expendable spiders to scout the Chosen’s positions and test their defenses. Sheyreza walked the lines but tried to keep herself out of the action. She did not want to reveal her power nor did she want to expend that power before the real assaults began.
As the hours dragged on, Gryndal asked Sheyreza, the only full priestess among the defenders, to sing to the Goddess. Sheyreza realized she had been so intent on watching the physical defenses she had neglected the spiritual ones. Without hesitation, she closed her eyes and lifted her voice. Inthara joined as well and a chorus later the acolytes picked up the song. One by one the deeper, bass voices of the Protectors crept into the melody while the women sang. As the defenders began to sing as one, the Cavern of Song became just that, and the music of Eilistraee reverberated through the underdark in defiance of the enemy.
The soft sound of an arrow slicing through the throat of one of the Protectors brought an end to the singing. A black clad archer had snuck into the cavern near the great statue and began loosing a deadly rain of arrows upon the defender’s line. Gryndal was the first to return fire and Inthara quickly joined in, but neither was able to hit the slippery foe. The line of Protectors, led by Sheyreza, stopped their singing and charged. Gryndal and Inthara followed, pausing just long enough to fire their crossbows again, but again, they were unable to hit the rapidly moving enemy.
The black clad archer dodged back through the buildings to the west. The Protectors spread out and pursued. Gryndal, in his light leathers, quickly out paced the other pursuers.
Sheyreza saw danger. The black clad archer was simply trying to draw them out to kill them more easily. “Gryndal!” she yelled. Gryndal slowed and looked back. “Beware traps.” If Sheyreza had been in her enemy’s position, she would send just such a scout forward to draw out a few attackers. Those foolish enough to follow recklessly would find themselves amidst a field of traps. As the traps were set off, Sheyreza would launch an ambush. [i:37jj00ek]They are trying to draw us out,[/i:37jj00ek] she signed to Gryndal in the drow silent language,[i:37jj00ek]fall back.[/i:37jj00ek]
An arrow whistled out of the gloom and struck Gryndal in the shoulder spinning him around a half turn. He staggered back into a ruined doorway for cover. Wincing, gritting his teeth, he pulled at the embedded missile to free it from his flesh. One never new what drow might put on an arrow head. Another arrow shot from the darkness, this one striking Inthara who fell to the ground groaning.
“Get back!” Gryndal yelled from the doorway. Sheyreza knelt beside Inthara and cast a healing prayer upon her, closing the wound as fast as the enemy had opened it. Gryndal was moving out of the doorway now, yelling at the two females. “Come on.”
Sheyreza turned, drew her bow, notched an arrow, and let loose the shaft at a black clad figure moving through the old buildings. The shot went wide. She loosed another arrow and this one too failed to find its mark. The black clad figure let loose an arrow of his own that grazed Sheyreza’s armor.
Sheyreza raised her defensive spells, drew her sword and rushed the black clad archer. The enemy bowman ran. She chased him to the mouth of the Cavern of Song where the enclave of the Promenade gave way to the passages of the Underdark. She did not dare follow any further. It was a basic tactic of scouts to draw out enemy into traps and she had no intention of falling for the same tactic she had used on others a hundred times before. Near the Cavern entrance Sheyreza saw two dead protectors. Presumably the pickets she had ordered Hivarra to place earlier. The enemy had apparently disposed of them without a sound. Sheyreza could not see the north entrance from where she was, but she had to presume those pickets had been similarly slain, and probably the patrol as well.
She returned to where Inthara had fallen and found the sorceress leaning against a pillar, shivering. Though she trembled as if cold, sweat glistened on Inthara’s skin.
Sheyreza narrowed her eyes. [i:37jj00ek]Poison. It had to be poison. [/i:37jj00ek] Inthara needed treatment. That meant getting back to the other defenders. The problem was that Sheyreza, Gryndal and Inthara were now near the south entrance to the cavern of song. If the enemy had infiltrated in through the north entrance as well, they would be able to ambush Inthara as she made her way back. Indeed, the enemy could cut off the three of them entirely from the other defenders who had already fallen back to the temple mound.
“Alright, retreat to the two gazebos.” Sheyreza pointed at the two structures that lay half way across the cavern between where they now stood and the main defensive line at the temple. “We cannot watch both entrances from here.” From the two gazebos one could see the only paths large enough to move a significant force into the Cavern of Song. There were a few smaller paths, both north and south in the cavern, but those paths wound through tightly congested buildings. If the enemy tried to move an army through there, they would quickly find themselves bottlenecked and trapped. Sheyreza did not think she would be so lucky as to have an enemy that foolish.
At the gazebos, Sheyreza waved Inthara on towards the temple mound and the sorceress staggered off. Sheyreza turned and crouched, watching the two approaches which led from the north and south cavern entrances to the temple. A few yards away, Gyrndal moved into an alcove along the side of a dilapidated building and folded himself into shadow, his crossbow loaded and cocked. Sheyreza spared him only the briefest of looks. She did not want to give his position away. She sighed. She would be the bait. She crouched down between the two gazebos. She held her bow in one hand, an arrow notched to the bowstring in the other. A good archer, like the one that had harried them only minutes ago, would aim for the weak spots of her armor like the armpits and the neck. Accordingly, she held her arms in close and kept her head tucked down as far as she could. Then she waited.
Sweat rolled down her skin inside her helmet and she could hear herself breathing. Her knees began to ache from crouching, but she dared not stand for fear of exposing weak spots in her armor and she dared not kneel for fear of being caught completely flatfooted. Long, painful minutes passed. Her red and blue eyes swept over the ruins before her again and again, looking for any hint of the enemy, any shadow, any reflection, any movement; anything at all. Sheyreza began to lose track of the time. Minutes turned into an hour, maybe more. Had a watch passed yet? Surely not. Half a watch? Perhaps. She shifted her position from time to time, always staying in the open but always trying to deny an enemy archer a clean shot at a weak point in her armor. There were some archers and some arrows that might be able to punch through enchanted mithral plate head on, but not many. It was a risk Sheyreza would have to take.
Noise came from behind the crouching priestess. She turned, peering across the great open cavern towards the temple-mound through the narrow slit in her helmet. She saw a familiar blue-white beam of arcane energy streak across the dark. Inthara was in combat. Sheyreza rose out of her crouch and ran towards the temple with Gryndal right beside her.
Sheyreza saw the enemy as she drew close. The temple-mound was under attack by wraith spiders, undead arachnids the size of riding lizards like the giant spiders that had attacked earlier. Instantly, Sheyreza and Gryndal were loosing arrows and bolts. Protectors from the temple-mound descended from their lines as well, flanking the giant sickly gray and white arachnids. As the warriors joined in the fight, Sheyreza switched to her sword and charged into the fray. The first spider did not last long under her blade, but another scuttled into the melee. Sheyreza turned her blade on that one and it too perished quickly. As Sheyreza and the protectors were slaying the attacking spiders, Inthara collapsed near the base of the temple-mound’s southern flank. Gryndal, seeing the fight well in hand, rushed to the stricken woman’s side.
Looking her over, he put a hand to her skin and frowned. Sheyreza looked up from the carcass of the undead spider she had just destroyed to see Gryndal tending Inthara. “She is sweating, feverish. Was she poisoned?” Gryndal’s normally hard face was contorted with concern and his voice trembled betraying his fear for Inthara.
Once all the wraith spiders were destroyed, Sheyreza ordered the Protectors and Acolytes to reform their defensive lines infront of the temple steps. Then she examined Inthara’s arrow wound. The bleeding had stopped, but the skin around the wound was inflamed. Angry red lines streaked across Inthara’s black skin. She was cold and clammy to the touch, and shivering uncontrollably. The wound and the poison were much worse than Sheyreza had initially thought. She had some skill at healing, but there was nothing she could do for Inthara at this point. Inthara would have to ride out the poison’s effects and until she did, the sorceress was all but useless.
A small glowing ball of fire streaking from the north cluster of buildings caught Sheyreza’s eye. Before she could shout a warning, the small fiery ball arrived amidst the two lines of Protectors and Acolytes that had just reformed on the temple’s steps. It exploded with a glaring white flash into an inferno of yellow and orange flames . The fireball was the largest, brightest and hottest Sheyreza had ever seen. It completely engulfed the two ranks of defenders. Many fell instantly, while a few more hardy but less fortunate souls staggered through the flames, their bodies turned into living torches. They screamed as they stumbled, their arms waving about in the flames. It was over in a few seconds. Even the toughest of the immolated defenders was quickly overcome.
For a long moment Sheyreza just stared at the carnage. More than a dozen bodies lay burning on and around the temple steps. Everyone who had survived the spider attacks and the black clad archer was dead. Hivarra, Talice and the others had been incinerated by a single, fiery spell.
Sheyreza gripped her bow, notched an arrow and jogged into the midst of the burning bodies, looking for both survivors and the attacker. She had little hope of finding any alive who had stood in that ball of flame, but she had to try. Gryndal joined her, his face a tortured scowl as he searched through the burning bodies for any signs of life. The smell was almost overpowering as the flames peeled skin and flesh from bone. A quick survey told Sheyreza and Gryndal what they had feared; none of the defenders had lived.
Sheyreza had seen many people die. Indeed, she had killed many people herself, far more than now lay dead infront of the temple. For a drow raised in the chaotic society of Ched Nasad, violent deaths were a common sight. She knew instinctively there was no time for grief, remorse or guilt. There was only time for action. The fireball had done its work, but the battle was not over. It was still kill or be killed.
She pointed with her sword towards the cluster of buildings near the fountain. “It came from the north.” Gryndal nodded grimly. He was Menzoberranyr and was no stranger to violent death either. The last few years, he had lived through the deaths of almost his entire family, most recently his brother Dorgazz and sister Laele. He understood as well as any of the Promenade’s warriors that there was a time to grieve, and a time to fight. This was the time to fight.
The two drow trotted off the temple mound, bows in hand. They had fought side by side long enough now that they did not even need the drow sign language. They simply moved together, searching through the buildings and ruins, each covering the other in turn. They found no sign of the fireball’s caster, only the dead carcasses of the giant spiders that had been slain earlier when the temple defenders had first been attacked.
As they returned to the temple, Sheyreza saw an acolyte priestess standing atop the mound staring at the bodies buring before the steps. The shock and horror of the scene was all too apparent on her face. Not all of the Promenade’s drow had grown up in such close proximity to death as Sheyreza, Gryndal and Inthara. Many had come from enclaves where Lolth was but a distant enemy, and families were not just political organizations one murdered their way through to achieve more station.
“All dead.” The girl said, her eyes wide in disbelief.
Sheyreza knew from leading the Lonelywood elves that such horror as now faced them could paralyze an unprepared mind. The best cure was to keep the mind preoccupied, and that meant keeping it busy so Sheyreza gave the frightened acolyte an order.
“If there are more reinforcements, have them fall back to the temple.” Sheyreza kept her voice stern, calm, and authoritative. The acolyte looked up, tearing her eyes away from the corpses of her friends. What was her name? How could Sheyreza not remember? Why was she having such trouble with names? The Chosen were not that numerous. “When you get them here, keep them spread out.”
The acolyte nodded. “I'll go get whatever is left. It will be some time.” The acolyte spared the burning bodies one last look, and then ran off towards the Hall of Healing. Only then did the girl’s name come to Sheyreza. Akordia. Akordia Glannath. She was young, a Promenade native, born here to parents who had followed Qilue centuries ago from the city of Buirandyn. Buiyrandyn had, even before Qilue’s birth, thrown off the shackles of Lolth’s tyranny to become a free city. The free city did not last, however. Years later it was destroyed by an Illithid attack, but that was after Qilue had come to the Cavern of Song.
Gryndal began muttering in a low, feral growl. “Whoever did this will pay dearly.”
Sheyreza knew anger could cloud one’s battle skills as easily as fear, and the cure was the same. Stay busy. Do not allow the mind to wander. “Gryndal,” Sheyreza said pointing to Inthara, who was still sweating and shivering. “Carry her to the Dorms. There is nothing I can do for the poison right now. There is a healing kit in my trunk. Or at least, there may be. If you retrieve it, maybe I can help her.” It was actually too late for the healing kit to help Inthara as far as Sheyreza could tell, but the task would keep Gryndal busy and let him regain his focus. He was, at the moment, the only warrior Sheyreza had available to defend the temple until Akordia returned, hopefully with Durdyn and his men. Sheyreza could not afford to have Gryndal getting himself killed because his anger led him to do something foolish, like pursue the black clad archer again.
The scowling warrior slung his crossbow and lifted Inthara over his shoulder as carefully and gently as he could. Gryndal glanced over at Sheyreza, an unspoken question in his eyes. [i:37jj00ek]What was Sheyreza going to do?[/i:37jj00ek]
The priestess answered his look. “I am going to guard the temple.” Gryndal nodded and then turned away silently, heading down the flank of the temple-mound towards the clerical dormitories.
Sheyreza watched Gryndal go, covering his move with her bow. No enemies appeared. After Gryndal and Inthara were inside the dormitory, Sheyreza walked back to the temple steps. The bodies of the incinerated defenders were smouldering now. A few still burned, but most of the flames had died down to glowing embers as most everthing that could burn had been burned. The stench was hideous but Sheyreza was not unfamiliar with it. She pinched a bit of strong smelling fungus from her healing kit and rubbed it beneath her nostrils to keep the smell of the dead out of her head. Then she crouched down amidst the bodies and waited. She could see across the cavern well enough, despite all the smoke from the fires, both atop and below the temple-mound. Like many populated caverns in the underdark, the Cavern of Song had portals to the elemental plane of air along its ceiling allowing for air to flow in, and smoke to flow out. The portals were small and specially crafted, like all such portals, to allow only non-living matter to pass. Similar portals to the elemental plane of water were often used to irrigate otherwise dry sections of the underdark. Such was the life of those who lived in a world without skies or rain, and the Promenade had never known either.
Thus Sheyreza was immediately alarmed when she heard a rapid, high pitched tapping noise sounding very much like a rain storm. She squinted into the dark of the cavern, pearing beyond the drifting smoke, glowing bodies and faerie-lit statue of Eilistraee. She could hear the storm approaching but she saw nothing. It sounded as if a wall of rain was headed towards her, almost like a winter torrent along the Sword Coast of the surface.
The floor beyond the great statue began to undulate, as if it the very stone was boiling. Sheyreza’s eyes narrowed to mere slits and her heart began to race. What deviltry was this? What horror did the enemy now seek to visit upon the temple, upon her? The roiling floor crept closer and finally, by the faerie light of the great statue Sheyreza could see it was not the floor moving, it was a veritable tide of spiders. A swarm of giant arachnids scuttled from the darkness towards the temple and Sheyreza. She could see they were no ordinary giant spiders either; they were sword spiders. The rapid, rain-like tapping noise was the strike of dozens and dozens of long, hard, sword-like legs upon the stones.
Sword spiders were common guardians and servants amongst Lolth’s followers. The Eyes of the Spider academy in Ched Nasad where priestesses like Sheyreza were schooled used specially trained sword spiders as roving patrollers. The beasts could fight with up to four of their blade-like legs at once, challenging even the fastest drow swordsman’s parries. If they got close enough, they also had fangs, and those fangs were poisonous. Typically, a sword spider would seek to pin an opponent with thrusts of its sword like legs, then bite the prey and inject its poison. The spider could then back off, using its flurry of blade-legs to keep attackers at bay. Once the prey succumbed to the poison, the spider could advance again in safety and feast.
Quickly Sheyreza loosed an arrow at the surging enemy before her, then another and another. Wounded spiders screeched at they were struck but the arachnid tide rolled on. Sheyreza kept firing but she realized she could not target individuals. The spiders were climbing over and under each other in phrenetic, chaotic charge. Each arrow was finding a different monster and her fusillade was not even slowing them down. Arrow after arrow left her bow. The monstrous spiders reached the base of the temple-mound and began climbing. Sheyreza looked right and left but there was no sign of either the reinforcements from the Hall of Healing or the return of Gryndal or Inthara from the clerical dormitories. If she stood her ground, Sheyreza would stand alone against the tide of spiders. As fast as she could she slung her bow and drew her sword. Her left arm slipped into her mithral clawshield and she backed away from the edge of the mound towards the steps. The spiders kept coming. They came through the smouldering bodies without pausing. Sheyreza watched the tide, trying to focus on one enemy so her blows would count when they came, but the tide was too numerous, too chaotic.
Standing alone on the steps of the Promenade’s temple, Sheyreza lifted her sword. She screamed her goddess’s name, and then the tide of sword spiders rolled over her.
[b:3ucthzip]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 4, Against the Darkness[/b:3ucthzip]
Sheyreza Auvryndar fought madly amidst a swarm of sword spiders on the steps of the temple. She stood alone against the onrushing arachnids like a rock against the waves of a rising tide. Her long black blade thrust into the attackers and was answered by flailing sword-like legs from all directions. The slashing attacks of the sword spiders could not tear the mithril plates of Sheyreza’s armor but the blows did not go unfelt. The lithe priestess was buffeted about, barely able to stay on her feet and keep hold of her sword. She screamed the words to a prayer barely able to hear herself over the screeching arachnids all around. The adamantine blade of her sword, [i:3ucthzip]Lil Jurson d’Lolathanon[/i:3ucthzip], the Wrath of the Dark Flower, burst into violet and mauve flames. Unable to swing and slash with the weapon under the press of the spiders, Shey thrust the weapon at her enemies. Each thrust elicited black ichor and anguished arachnid screams, but the swarm would not be so easily defeated. Blow after blow pummeled her armor, helm and shield. Though imbued by spell with divine strength and endurance, Sheyreza was being pushed aside. The sheer weight of numbers and the chaotic ferocity of the assault forced the besieged drowess from the steps.
Almost growling, Sheyreza started another prayer to her goddess, this one to bolster her protections against the maddening cascade of sword-legs that fell upon her like a torrential rain. One of the sword spiders choose that moment to leap forward, thrusting with its long, sharp legs. One deadly appendage slipped under the skirt of the priestess’s armor and into her soft flesh. Sheyreza’s prayer spell was lost as she screamed in pain. The spider took advantage of the moment and climbed over her. In flash it sunk its fangs into the gap between her armor plates at the armpit.
Desperately, Sheyreza spun and twisted her body. The sword spider slipped off and she slashed at it, her long flaming blade cutting through one of the arachnid’s legs. Other spiders quickly crawled over their wounded comrade and resumed pummeling Sheyreza. The priestess fell back under the relentless, phrenetic assault, slashing wildly at the blade-legs all around her. Long ago, Sheyreza had seen Shyntlara, her Matron Mother, raise a wall of magically conjured blades that whirled about, tearing apart all who might dare cross the line of the enchanted barrier. Now Sheyreza felt as if she faced the same threat, only the barrier of blades she faced moved with her as she danced.
As she fought, pain spread like fire through Sheyreza’s arm and shoulder. Her sword seemed heavier, her armor seemed more confining and her feet seemed leaden. Her breath started coming in ragged gasps. The spider’s fangs had managed to deposit their venomous payload and she had been poisoned! Sheyreza winced as she tried to fend off the furious assault that was pushing her back, away from the temple doors. Fear overcame her resolve and she withdrew from the tide of flailing, screeching spiders. The deadly swarm tried to pursue but Sheyreza made herself invisible. Quickly, she quaffed healing potions from the vials she stored in her sash. As she drank the magical elixirs she felt pain turn to itching as her wounds began to close. The pain of the poison remained, however, and she had no potion to cure it. She would simply have to bear whatever effects the venom might bring.
Having lost contact with their now invisible prey, the sword spiders turned on the temple itself. With their blade-legs they hammered on the great double doors. Arcs of energy from the temple’s barrier of light answered the blows. Sword spiders were burned in place or blasted from the temple-mound altogether, but the swarm did not relent. Furiously they attacked the door and its glowing barrier.
Sheyreza watched for a moment, fascinated. The temple was defending itself. Had the Chosen’s defense been a foolish vanity? Why had they sacrificed so many lives defending a barrier that could defend itself? Then Sheyreza noticed that with each arc of energy the barrier let loose, the barrier as a whole dimmed. Apparently its ability to defend itself was a finite resource. Given enough spiders or other attackers, the barrier would eventually fade to nothing and that, Sheyreza presumed, would signal the end of its defensive and protective abilities. She realized now that the barrier’s energy was a [i:3ucthzip]last[/i:3ucthzip] line of defense. If it should fall, the temple would be open to attackers.
The pain in her arms grew and Sheyreza knew the poison was weakening her. Her sword arm felt stiff, her armor tight and she realized she was swelling up. She could not simply stand by and watch the temple fall, however. Though the barrier seemed perfectly capable of killing sword spiders, it had become obvious the barrier would not last forever. Sheyreza picked up her sword again, struggling with the weight, and rushed into flank the attacking monsters.
In just moments the arachnid tide, which had seemed unstoppable, was broken. The few sorely wounded spiders left alive fled west across the Cavern of Song into the dark like a receding wave. Once again Sheyreza stood alone on the steps of the temple, though now she stood amidst not just the smouldering bodies of her fellow Chosen, but amongst the remains of the sword spider swarm. All about her giant arachnids lay still, their once deadly legs curled up in death, their bodies smoking from where the temple’s energy had burned them or dripping black ichor from where Sheryeza’s blade had found its mark. The swarm had been defeated.
Sheyreza examined the barrier. It had lost some of its brilliance, but it was still glowing. Though familiar with spellcraft, Sheyreza could not determine to what extent the barrier had been damaged. She would have to trust in Qilue’s magic. All things considered, there were far worse things to trust in.
A lone figure walked out of the darkness to the west. Sheyreza could see it was a male drow, but she did not recognize him. He carried a staff, so it was easy to presume he was a wizard of some sort. Given that he was walking openly towards the temple-mound, it was also easy to presume he had come to parlay. Though Sheyreza was not a true student of Savva, like most drow raised in her world, her mind was prone to quickly analyzing situations and possible courses of action and reaction. It would then, just as quickly, act upon that analysis. At the moment, Sheyreza could not imagine what there might be to parlay about with this male. The enemy clearly wanted into the temple and they were not likely to settle for anything less. This meant the only thing they might offer the temple defenders is a chance to escape. Abandoning the temple was simply not an option however.
The lone male smirked as he approached Sheyreza. “Stand aside or die.” He opened his mouth to say something more, but Sheyreza had, like a good savva player, already thought out all the possible moves, countermoves and scenarios. She had determined there was nothing to be gained from talking to this man so she answered him with a blow from her sword.
The blade slashed the man across the face. Only the male’s protective spells saved his life, reducing what would have been a fatal blow to a simple wound. Eyes wide with shock, he quickly intoned a spell and a ray of arcane energy fired from his hands but he missed Sheyreza’s dancing form. The nimble priestess pressed her attack and the mage began running. He stopped long enough to cast a spell and Sheyreza felt a wave of magical energy pass over her. Like all drow, she had been born with a natural resistance to spells, and now that resistance saved her. The magical energy passed her by without harm. She swung on the mage again and he ran.
Still weak from the poison, Sheyreza could not keep up with the unarmored mage. With some distance between them, he turned and cast another spell. Again magical energy washed over Sheyreza and again it passed her by harmlessly. She smiled as she ran at the male, her sword swinging into him. His defensive spells saved him, but both of them knew those spells would not last forever. A spray of magic missles leapt from the wizard’s hands and struck the priestess but they passed through her without effect. Sheyreza smiled and attacked.
“Bitch!” The mage snarled as he turned to flee from her blade.
The poison kept Sheyreza from keeping up the chase. She paused to down a potion of speed and then resumed her pursuit. The mage had run past the two gazebos and had reached the cluster of buildings on the western side of the cavern. There, he turned south and ran down a narrow street. Sheyreza followed.
Turning the corner she saw the mage standing a few yards away casting yet another spell. A small ball of fire appeared in his hands and then shot towards her. It was the same kind of fiery ball whose explosion had claimed the lives of so many of the temple’s defenders. Sheyreza’s eyes went wide. There was nowhere on the narrow street to hide and no way she could out run the spell. Instinctively, one hand slid to her sash and palmed a healing vial. With a growl she grit her teeth and charged headlong into the approaching ball of fire.
The flaming spark of arcane energy struck her and blossomed into a raging inferno. The blast easily encompassed the building fronts on either side of the street and set them alight. For a moment it seemed as if the mage had called down the sun itself onto the streets of the Promenade and Sheyreza was lost in its fire.
***
The mage allowed himself a smile. That dancing, moon-worshipping bitch might slough off his other, lesser spells, but there was no way she would simply walk through the hell he now wrought. As a student of the metamagic arts, the mage knew how to empower a spell to make it deadlier, larger, and simply more powerful. The fireball that had consumed the ranks of Chosen upon the temple-mound had been such an empowered spell, and so too was the blast the mage now unleashed upon Sheyreza. If it was good enough to kill a dozen, it was good enough to kill one.
His smile was short lived. As the white hot flare of the fireball faded from yellow to orange he could see the silhouette of a figure running out of the flames. Eyes wide, the mage watched in disbelief as the slender, seemingly delicate, drowess emerged from his spell-wrought inferno with her sword in hand. The words to another spell were already forming on his lips and his fingers moved in sequence, but fear now gripped his black heart. The bitch, with her wild, mismatched red and blue eyes was still coming despite receiving half his arsenal of evocations.
A spray of magic missles fired from the mage’s hand and struck the charging priestess to no avail. Her sword came down and the mage took the blow hard, nearly coming off his feet. He knew the only things saving him were his protective spells which made his skin as hard as stone and resistant to the darkfire on her blade. Still, each blow hurt and he this one drew blood. How? Her blows were not that strong but they wounded him none the less. He had no time to ponder the mystery. The blade-slinging bitch was all over him.
He backpedaled and cast another spell, this one summoning forth a ray of fire. It struck the prietess but failed to penetrate the spell wards [i:3ucthzip]she[/i:3ucthzip] had in place. Her sword came down upon the mage again and he realized he was growing short on spells and his protections were weakening. Someone else, or something else, would have to kill this stupid whore. The mage turned and fled, Sheyreza’s sword at his back. He was deep into the passages outside the Cavern of Song before he realized she was no longer chasing him.
Yes, that stupid whore had to die, but he might have to leave that pleasure for the [i:3ucthzip]Yathtallar[/i:3ucthzip], the high priestess, as much as that galled him. The thought of what his mistress had in store for the Promenade made him smile and gave him some comfort. How he would love to see that stupid moon-loving whore’s face when she saw the Yathtallar’s surprise. That alone would alleviate some of the injury his pride had just suffered. Of course, if that whore could be taken alive, then he could alleviate [i:3ucthzip]all[/i:3ucthzip] the indignity she had caused him to suffer, and then some. With a barely audible chuckle, the mage walked back to where his mistress was waiting for him. Perhaps he could, indeed, arrange to have that bitch taken alive. The thought pleased him to end.
***
Sheyreza staggered into an empty doorway and quaffed another healing potion. Between the magic elixirs and her own divine spells she had been able to heal the burns the mage had inflicted. None of the healing, however, alleviated the weakness she was suffering as a result of the sword spider’s poison. She cast another spell, this one calling for more divine strength. It worked to a small extent. Though not as strong as she was when healthy, she was strong enough to move normally under the weight of her armor. She stayed still, waiting, her ears straining for any noise that might betray the return of the mage or of his allies. Minutes passed and she heard nothing but the soft crackle of flames from down the street.
Resting in the door allowed her to catch her breath if not her strength. Her throat burned with thirst. When was the last time she had any water? Before she entered reverie? That must have been twelve hours ago at least. Since then she had fought in battle, run through fire and was now choking on the smoke of the fires lit by the mage’s spells. She remembered she had food in her satchel. One hand slipped into the soft leather bag and felt around for her rations. Her fingers found something springy and tough; a strip of dried rothe meat. She pulled it out and began gnawing on it desperately. She had almost no saliva making swallowing difficult and painful. Still, the meat restored some of her energy.
Waiting in this dark doorway forever was not an option, however, as much as she might like it to be. Simply hoping the enemy would pass her by was foolish to say the least. The temple might be the enemy’s focus now, but as soon as it fell, all those remaining would be hunted down and slain or enslaved shortly thereafter. It was time to make her way back.
Slowly, she leaned out of the doorway and peered down the ruined avenue. Bright orange flames licked up the sides of building fronts near where the mage’s fireball had exploded. Thick, sooty smoke decorated by tiny glowing embers rose from the fires and blocked out sight of the cavern roof. Sheyreza knew the portals to the plane of elemental air would eventually allow the smoke to escape, but for the moment, it was choking her down here in the street. She coughed and spit out a mass of blackened flem spreckled with red blood. There was no sign of the enemy in either direction. She faded back into the doorway and cast another protective spell. Raising her sword she then sang out a prayer to Eilistraee to ask the Goddess’ blessing and she felt a bit of the Lady’s power surge through her.
Bolstered with the favor of her goddess, Sheyreza emerged from the shadows and made her way past the burning section of street. From there, she headed towards the two gazebos. She watched every window, every door, every ruined wall and every shadow along the way. Though she had driven them off, both the mage and the black clad archer had escaped her sword. Either could be hiding along her path, and both were deadly. If they were together and found her alone she doubted she would last very long at all.
No spell or arrow interrupted her movement past the burning buildings and down the otherwise abandoned streets. At the gazebos she turned to look back on the approaches she and Gryndal had watched earlier. Poisoned and alone, Sheyreza did not linger as she had when Gryndal was by her side. Cautiously, she made her way across the Cavern of Song.
To the east Sheyreza could see movement atop the temple-mound. Her sight was partially obscured by the smoke rising from burning bodies and the glow of the great statue of Eilistraee. She moved faster now and tried to discern who was standing before the temple. Had Akordia returned with reinforcements?
A bulbuous, eight-legged, black shape topped by the torso and head of a drow appeared through the sooty haze answering Sheyreza’s question. These were not reinforcements, these were driders and they were undoubtedly tools of the enemy. They had slipped into the cavern through the north entrance while Sheyreza had lingered near the south one. Three of the half-drow, half-spider centaur like creatures stood before the glowing doors of temple. All of them faced the cracked and besieged edifice. From her vantage point below the temple-mound, Sheyreza could not tell precisely what they were doing but she could guess just the same; they were trying to breach the barrier. Sheyreza broke into a trot as she headed for the base of the mound. There was little left in her arsenal but the same twist of fate that allowed the driders to slip past Sheyreza unseen was also allowing her to catch the monsters by surprise. With her off hand, Sheyreza pulled her holy symbol out from under her breast plate. She had a little surprise for these abominations.
She came up behind the center drider and struck at its spinnerets with her sword. The black blade bit through the spider-creature’s carapace with a sickening crunch and foul ichor flowed from the wound. The wound was not a large or deep as Sheyreza would have liked and the spinneret did not look as damaged as she would have hoped. Despite her spells, she was still weak from the poison.
Silken webbing fired from the creature’s spinneret. Sheyreza had not disabled it. She was prepared though and dodged easily, letting the stream of sticky webbing pass over her shoulder. She struck again at the monster but it spun away, its eight hairy legs moving with obscene speed and dexterity. The drow head atop its elf-like torso let loose a stream of heavily accented curses, catching the attention of the other two driders. Seeing an immediate threat they left off their attack on the barrier and descended to attack Sheyreza.
Perfect. She held forth her holy symbol and called down the strength of her goddess to strike these horrors like a hammer. As the mishappen monstrosities rushed towards their diminuitive prey, they did not realize they were rushing right into the area of her spell. A bolt of divine light, sound and force struck the temple-mound from the ceiling above. One drider managed to quickly scuttle aside but the other two were caught in the blast. Sheyreza could see the drider on her left staggering, blood flowing from its nose and ears, its eyes dialated and wandering. The center monster immediately before her was bleeding from its ears as well, but its eyes were focused and filled with murder. It came at Sheyreza with a longsword, slashing wildly. Sheyreza turned the creature’s blade out and struck back cutting a gash along its elf-like abdomen. To her right, the creature that had dodged her blast conjured a spell and let loose a blast of arcane energy. There was no time to figure out what the creature was casting, so Sheyreza just dodged.
The wounded drider before her began scuttling sideways, angling for another attack. Sheyreza had taken the creature’s measure now. It was big, fast and strong, but it was not skilled. She shifted her feet, feinted left then ran up the slope to the right. Just as she made the crest of the mound she jumped, spun half left and brough her sword around in an arc. The blow took the drider’s head off and its decapitated corpse rolled down the mound, its grotesque spider legs curling up beneath its disgusting body.
Sheyreza’s attack had left her open, however. The second drider rushed her and she found herself fighting desperately. Suddenly a bolt passed through the creature’s neck. It staggered for a moment, a look of utter shock and disbelief crossing its face. Both elf-hands reached up to the wound but there was nothing it could do to stop the bleeding. The wound was fatal. Couging up black blood, it fell amidst the smouldering bodies before the temple steps. As it fell, Sheyreza saw Gryndal standing behind it, crossbow in hand, smiling. His nimble fingers were already loading another bolt. His eyes met Sheyreza’s for a moment, and then looked to her left with a slight nod.
The third drider was just now recovering from her spell. It summoned a torrent of magic missles but Sheyreza resisted them and set upon the beast with her sword while Gryndal fired crossbow bolts into the drider’s bulbuous belly. The monster scuttled backwards trying again and again to bring down its attackers with magic. Sheyreza, using no finesse at all, simply hacked the horrid abomination to pieces and sent its ruined, bolt-riddled corpse sliding down the blood slickened slope.
Gryndal and Sheyreza stood before the temple’s steps, weapons in hand, and looked for more enemies. There was nothing but the smouldering bodies laying all about the temple and the distant fires in the ruined buildings. Shereza pulled a rag out from her satchel and wiped the black drider ichor from her blade.
Gryndal looked back at the temple, but Sheyreza was more worried about her sister. “How is Butterfly?”
“She is resting.”
Sheyreza could see the concern and confusion on Gryndal’s face. “Gryndal...each wave attacks the barrier.” She pointed to the glowing wall that enshrouded the temple doors. It was still dazzling, but its power had clearly diminished since the driders attacked it. “We must not let them bring it down.”
Gryndal’s brow furrowed. “But there was fighting inside.”
“If there is anyone in the Promenade that can handle themselves, its Qilue and Iljrene.” Sheyreza looked the temple over. Glowing red cracks covered its once smooth stone surfaces like some sort of abyssal marbling. Clearly the temple was under great strain, and just as clearly, Qilue had done everything she could to see to it the temple was not breached. “I do not think we need to get in there. I think we just need to defend the temple.”
Something on the ground near where the driders had been slain caught Sheyreza’s attention. It was a partially burned scroll. Carefully she picked it up and examined it. Though the exact spell was unfamiliar to her, the nature of the spell was clear.
“They are each equipped with dispelling scrolls.” She announced. “But they are more powerful than I can master, or possibly just alien to me.” She looked out at the cavern. If more came, how long could they hold? Her strength, physical, mental and spiritual, was nearly drained. “I do not have many spells left. We must do the best we can to hold out.”
Gryndal said nothing. He simply held his crossbow at the ready and scanned for the enemy across the smoke filled cavern. What else was there to do? Sheyreza sheathed her sword and readied her own bow. Her right shoulder was still swelling from the poison and felt ready to burst from her armor. She bit back the pain and forced herself to move the arm around in circles. A bow was useless if she did not have two working arms.
From the north a line of figures emerged from the smoky gloom, snaking their way between smouldering drow corpses and curled up drider bodies. Sheyreza saw Akordia at their lead. Reinforcements had finally come. A line of a dozen protectors and acolytes scaled the slope of the temple-mound to reach its two remaining defenders.
Sheryeza looked to the new arrivals and waved her hand across the crest of the ridge. “Spread out. There is a mage fond of fireballs out there. I chased him off, but I was unable to finish him.” She knew she should have offered something more uplifting, but simple directions to save their lives would be more useful. And Sheyreza was just too tired to try and inspire them.
Akordia approached her. “This is all we can spare.”
[i:3ucthzip]What a ridiculous sentiment.[/i:3ucthzip] Sheyreza thought. “All we can spare? If the temple falls, we all fall.”
The young, pretty acolyte blinked at Sheyreza’s rebuke but kept her composure and held her ground. “The rest of the caverns have been atatcked. Just enough to keep the rest of the garrison at the other points.”
“Without the temple and its High Priestess, the rest of the garrison will get mopped up.” Sheyreza felt as though she was talking to a child. Could this girl not see the reality of the situation?
“We cant just abandon everyone else! Everyone we can is being moved to the Hall of Healing.” The strain of the battle was audible in Akordia’s voice as it rose. Sheyreza knew this was not a situation the young acolyte had been trained for. She was clearly doing the best she could under difficult circumstances. Unfortunately, she was a kind soul with a good heart and her thoughts, even her battle plans, were tempered with mercy. Akordia would spread the remaining warriors about in an effort to save everyone, and in so doing, save no one. The prudent thing to do would be to mass the remaining warriors for a defense of the temple. Yes, the wounded would be left defenseless, but if the temple and Qilue fell, everyone would die anyway.
Of course, sacrificing the wounded to save those who could be saved required a sense of purpose, a ruthless determination to survive, and a cold heart. Sheyreza could do it, but she could clearly see that Akordia could not.
And perhaps that was for the best.
Death was ultimately inevitable. Had Sheyreza not been taught that how she died was everybit as important as how she lived? Though she served Lady Silverhair now, not the Spider Queen, did Eilistraee care any less about how Sheyreza chose to meet her doom? Was it not better to go to the afterlife in pursuit of those ideals your goddess held dear rather than to sacrifice everything necessary to scratch out another day in this life? What was the point of that? Death [i:3ucthzip]was[/i:3ucthzip] inevitable. Scratch out one more day in this life, and in one more day death will be coming for you. Eventually, everyone had to take that next step. Best to do it in the manner your goddess wished.
Sheyreza looked away from Akordia. “If the temple falls, everyone else will be killed shortly thereafter, but yes, consolidate all the others in one place and guard them as well as you can.” She looked back to Akordia and smiled slightly. They would not leave the wounded unguarded.
The acolyte’s voice was small now, weary. “All the civilians,” she paused and looked out on the burning buildings to the west. “It’s hard, they’re attacking them specifically.”
The enemy knew the folk of the Promenade well. Attack the civilians of Menzoberranzan or Ched Nasad, and all you do is waste time and energy. Attack the civilians here, and you force the defenders to spread themselves out too thin. More importantly, you also break their hearts and maybe their morale.
She pointed to the west. “Evacuate all the homes, move everyone to one place that can be defended.”
Akordia headed west with one of the protectors, traveling quickly to deliver Sheyreza’s orders. All the wounded, all the civilians, all the guests, everyone, would be gathered in the Hall of Healing save for those who defended the temple. These would be their two strong points; the Hall of Healing in the northwest part of the cavern, and the temple-mound in the east. Sheyreza was well aware that the two positions were too far apart to easily support each other but there was no option. The wounded and the children could not be easily moved and there was no better place for them to go anyway. Indeed, perhaps the distance between the Hall of Healing and the temple would actually work to their advantage by keeping the wounded and civilians out of the line of attack.
Sheyreza knew they could not hold out against this enemy forever. While the temple was now defended by a dozen protectors and acolytes, more than three times that number had already fallen in battle. The enemy, on the other hand, had lost mostly spiders. A few driders had been killed as well, but not one enemy drow had fallen beneath the Chosen’s blades yet. The enemy was not through with them, and Sheyreza knew the worst was yet to come. Though they could not hold out forever, perhaps, Maiden willing, they would be able to hold out long enough for Qilue to finish doing whatever it was she was doing inside the temple and then join the fight. With Qilue behind them, the Chosen could face almost any enemy.
If Qilue did not return soon, however, they were not going to last. Half a day had passed, maybe more. Another 12 hours like this and Sheyreza doubted anyone would be left standing to guard the doors. Another whole day like this and Sheyreza [i:3ucthzip]knew[/i:3ucthzip] there would be no one left standing. Qilue had to return soon, or the Promenade was going to fall.
Chapter 4, Against the Darkness[/b:3ucthzip]
Sheyreza Auvryndar fought madly amidst a swarm of sword spiders on the steps of the temple. She stood alone against the onrushing arachnids like a rock against the waves of a rising tide. Her long black blade thrust into the attackers and was answered by flailing sword-like legs from all directions. The slashing attacks of the sword spiders could not tear the mithril plates of Sheyreza’s armor but the blows did not go unfelt. The lithe priestess was buffeted about, barely able to stay on her feet and keep hold of her sword. She screamed the words to a prayer barely able to hear herself over the screeching arachnids all around. The adamantine blade of her sword, [i:3ucthzip]Lil Jurson d’Lolathanon[/i:3ucthzip], the Wrath of the Dark Flower, burst into violet and mauve flames. Unable to swing and slash with the weapon under the press of the spiders, Shey thrust the weapon at her enemies. Each thrust elicited black ichor and anguished arachnid screams, but the swarm would not be so easily defeated. Blow after blow pummeled her armor, helm and shield. Though imbued by spell with divine strength and endurance, Sheyreza was being pushed aside. The sheer weight of numbers and the chaotic ferocity of the assault forced the besieged drowess from the steps.
Almost growling, Sheyreza started another prayer to her goddess, this one to bolster her protections against the maddening cascade of sword-legs that fell upon her like a torrential rain. One of the sword spiders choose that moment to leap forward, thrusting with its long, sharp legs. One deadly appendage slipped under the skirt of the priestess’s armor and into her soft flesh. Sheyreza’s prayer spell was lost as she screamed in pain. The spider took advantage of the moment and climbed over her. In flash it sunk its fangs into the gap between her armor plates at the armpit.
Desperately, Sheyreza spun and twisted her body. The sword spider slipped off and she slashed at it, her long flaming blade cutting through one of the arachnid’s legs. Other spiders quickly crawled over their wounded comrade and resumed pummeling Sheyreza. The priestess fell back under the relentless, phrenetic assault, slashing wildly at the blade-legs all around her. Long ago, Sheyreza had seen Shyntlara, her Matron Mother, raise a wall of magically conjured blades that whirled about, tearing apart all who might dare cross the line of the enchanted barrier. Now Sheyreza felt as if she faced the same threat, only the barrier of blades she faced moved with her as she danced.
As she fought, pain spread like fire through Sheyreza’s arm and shoulder. Her sword seemed heavier, her armor seemed more confining and her feet seemed leaden. Her breath started coming in ragged gasps. The spider’s fangs had managed to deposit their venomous payload and she had been poisoned! Sheyreza winced as she tried to fend off the furious assault that was pushing her back, away from the temple doors. Fear overcame her resolve and she withdrew from the tide of flailing, screeching spiders. The deadly swarm tried to pursue but Sheyreza made herself invisible. Quickly, she quaffed healing potions from the vials she stored in her sash. As she drank the magical elixirs she felt pain turn to itching as her wounds began to close. The pain of the poison remained, however, and she had no potion to cure it. She would simply have to bear whatever effects the venom might bring.
Having lost contact with their now invisible prey, the sword spiders turned on the temple itself. With their blade-legs they hammered on the great double doors. Arcs of energy from the temple’s barrier of light answered the blows. Sword spiders were burned in place or blasted from the temple-mound altogether, but the swarm did not relent. Furiously they attacked the door and its glowing barrier.
Sheyreza watched for a moment, fascinated. The temple was defending itself. Had the Chosen’s defense been a foolish vanity? Why had they sacrificed so many lives defending a barrier that could defend itself? Then Sheyreza noticed that with each arc of energy the barrier let loose, the barrier as a whole dimmed. Apparently its ability to defend itself was a finite resource. Given enough spiders or other attackers, the barrier would eventually fade to nothing and that, Sheyreza presumed, would signal the end of its defensive and protective abilities. She realized now that the barrier’s energy was a [i:3ucthzip]last[/i:3ucthzip] line of defense. If it should fall, the temple would be open to attackers.
The pain in her arms grew and Sheyreza knew the poison was weakening her. Her sword arm felt stiff, her armor tight and she realized she was swelling up. She could not simply stand by and watch the temple fall, however. Though the barrier seemed perfectly capable of killing sword spiders, it had become obvious the barrier would not last forever. Sheyreza picked up her sword again, struggling with the weight, and rushed into flank the attacking monsters.
In just moments the arachnid tide, which had seemed unstoppable, was broken. The few sorely wounded spiders left alive fled west across the Cavern of Song into the dark like a receding wave. Once again Sheyreza stood alone on the steps of the temple, though now she stood amidst not just the smouldering bodies of her fellow Chosen, but amongst the remains of the sword spider swarm. All about her giant arachnids lay still, their once deadly legs curled up in death, their bodies smoking from where the temple’s energy had burned them or dripping black ichor from where Sheryeza’s blade had found its mark. The swarm had been defeated.
Sheyreza examined the barrier. It had lost some of its brilliance, but it was still glowing. Though familiar with spellcraft, Sheyreza could not determine to what extent the barrier had been damaged. She would have to trust in Qilue’s magic. All things considered, there were far worse things to trust in.
A lone figure walked out of the darkness to the west. Sheyreza could see it was a male drow, but she did not recognize him. He carried a staff, so it was easy to presume he was a wizard of some sort. Given that he was walking openly towards the temple-mound, it was also easy to presume he had come to parlay. Though Sheyreza was not a true student of Savva, like most drow raised in her world, her mind was prone to quickly analyzing situations and possible courses of action and reaction. It would then, just as quickly, act upon that analysis. At the moment, Sheyreza could not imagine what there might be to parlay about with this male. The enemy clearly wanted into the temple and they were not likely to settle for anything less. This meant the only thing they might offer the temple defenders is a chance to escape. Abandoning the temple was simply not an option however.
The lone male smirked as he approached Sheyreza. “Stand aside or die.” He opened his mouth to say something more, but Sheyreza had, like a good savva player, already thought out all the possible moves, countermoves and scenarios. She had determined there was nothing to be gained from talking to this man so she answered him with a blow from her sword.
The blade slashed the man across the face. Only the male’s protective spells saved his life, reducing what would have been a fatal blow to a simple wound. Eyes wide with shock, he quickly intoned a spell and a ray of arcane energy fired from his hands but he missed Sheyreza’s dancing form. The nimble priestess pressed her attack and the mage began running. He stopped long enough to cast a spell and Sheyreza felt a wave of magical energy pass over her. Like all drow, she had been born with a natural resistance to spells, and now that resistance saved her. The magical energy passed her by without harm. She swung on the mage again and he ran.
Still weak from the poison, Sheyreza could not keep up with the unarmored mage. With some distance between them, he turned and cast another spell. Again magical energy washed over Sheyreza and again it passed her by harmlessly. She smiled as she ran at the male, her sword swinging into him. His defensive spells saved him, but both of them knew those spells would not last forever. A spray of magic missles leapt from the wizard’s hands and struck the priestess but they passed through her without effect. Sheyreza smiled and attacked.
“Bitch!” The mage snarled as he turned to flee from her blade.
The poison kept Sheyreza from keeping up the chase. She paused to down a potion of speed and then resumed her pursuit. The mage had run past the two gazebos and had reached the cluster of buildings on the western side of the cavern. There, he turned south and ran down a narrow street. Sheyreza followed.
Turning the corner she saw the mage standing a few yards away casting yet another spell. A small ball of fire appeared in his hands and then shot towards her. It was the same kind of fiery ball whose explosion had claimed the lives of so many of the temple’s defenders. Sheyreza’s eyes went wide. There was nowhere on the narrow street to hide and no way she could out run the spell. Instinctively, one hand slid to her sash and palmed a healing vial. With a growl she grit her teeth and charged headlong into the approaching ball of fire.
The flaming spark of arcane energy struck her and blossomed into a raging inferno. The blast easily encompassed the building fronts on either side of the street and set them alight. For a moment it seemed as if the mage had called down the sun itself onto the streets of the Promenade and Sheyreza was lost in its fire.
***
The mage allowed himself a smile. That dancing, moon-worshipping bitch might slough off his other, lesser spells, but there was no way she would simply walk through the hell he now wrought. As a student of the metamagic arts, the mage knew how to empower a spell to make it deadlier, larger, and simply more powerful. The fireball that had consumed the ranks of Chosen upon the temple-mound had been such an empowered spell, and so too was the blast the mage now unleashed upon Sheyreza. If it was good enough to kill a dozen, it was good enough to kill one.
His smile was short lived. As the white hot flare of the fireball faded from yellow to orange he could see the silhouette of a figure running out of the flames. Eyes wide, the mage watched in disbelief as the slender, seemingly delicate, drowess emerged from his spell-wrought inferno with her sword in hand. The words to another spell were already forming on his lips and his fingers moved in sequence, but fear now gripped his black heart. The bitch, with her wild, mismatched red and blue eyes was still coming despite receiving half his arsenal of evocations.
A spray of magic missles fired from the mage’s hand and struck the charging priestess to no avail. Her sword came down and the mage took the blow hard, nearly coming off his feet. He knew the only things saving him were his protective spells which made his skin as hard as stone and resistant to the darkfire on her blade. Still, each blow hurt and he this one drew blood. How? Her blows were not that strong but they wounded him none the less. He had no time to ponder the mystery. The blade-slinging bitch was all over him.
He backpedaled and cast another spell, this one summoning forth a ray of fire. It struck the prietess but failed to penetrate the spell wards [i:3ucthzip]she[/i:3ucthzip] had in place. Her sword came down upon the mage again and he realized he was growing short on spells and his protections were weakening. Someone else, or something else, would have to kill this stupid whore. The mage turned and fled, Sheyreza’s sword at his back. He was deep into the passages outside the Cavern of Song before he realized she was no longer chasing him.
Yes, that stupid whore had to die, but he might have to leave that pleasure for the [i:3ucthzip]Yathtallar[/i:3ucthzip], the high priestess, as much as that galled him. The thought of what his mistress had in store for the Promenade made him smile and gave him some comfort. How he would love to see that stupid moon-loving whore’s face when she saw the Yathtallar’s surprise. That alone would alleviate some of the injury his pride had just suffered. Of course, if that whore could be taken alive, then he could alleviate [i:3ucthzip]all[/i:3ucthzip] the indignity she had caused him to suffer, and then some. With a barely audible chuckle, the mage walked back to where his mistress was waiting for him. Perhaps he could, indeed, arrange to have that bitch taken alive. The thought pleased him to end.
***
Sheyreza staggered into an empty doorway and quaffed another healing potion. Between the magic elixirs and her own divine spells she had been able to heal the burns the mage had inflicted. None of the healing, however, alleviated the weakness she was suffering as a result of the sword spider’s poison. She cast another spell, this one calling for more divine strength. It worked to a small extent. Though not as strong as she was when healthy, she was strong enough to move normally under the weight of her armor. She stayed still, waiting, her ears straining for any noise that might betray the return of the mage or of his allies. Minutes passed and she heard nothing but the soft crackle of flames from down the street.
Resting in the door allowed her to catch her breath if not her strength. Her throat burned with thirst. When was the last time she had any water? Before she entered reverie? That must have been twelve hours ago at least. Since then she had fought in battle, run through fire and was now choking on the smoke of the fires lit by the mage’s spells. She remembered she had food in her satchel. One hand slipped into the soft leather bag and felt around for her rations. Her fingers found something springy and tough; a strip of dried rothe meat. She pulled it out and began gnawing on it desperately. She had almost no saliva making swallowing difficult and painful. Still, the meat restored some of her energy.
Waiting in this dark doorway forever was not an option, however, as much as she might like it to be. Simply hoping the enemy would pass her by was foolish to say the least. The temple might be the enemy’s focus now, but as soon as it fell, all those remaining would be hunted down and slain or enslaved shortly thereafter. It was time to make her way back.
Slowly, she leaned out of the doorway and peered down the ruined avenue. Bright orange flames licked up the sides of building fronts near where the mage’s fireball had exploded. Thick, sooty smoke decorated by tiny glowing embers rose from the fires and blocked out sight of the cavern roof. Sheyreza knew the portals to the plane of elemental air would eventually allow the smoke to escape, but for the moment, it was choking her down here in the street. She coughed and spit out a mass of blackened flem spreckled with red blood. There was no sign of the enemy in either direction. She faded back into the doorway and cast another protective spell. Raising her sword she then sang out a prayer to Eilistraee to ask the Goddess’ blessing and she felt a bit of the Lady’s power surge through her.
Bolstered with the favor of her goddess, Sheyreza emerged from the shadows and made her way past the burning section of street. From there, she headed towards the two gazebos. She watched every window, every door, every ruined wall and every shadow along the way. Though she had driven them off, both the mage and the black clad archer had escaped her sword. Either could be hiding along her path, and both were deadly. If they were together and found her alone she doubted she would last very long at all.
No spell or arrow interrupted her movement past the burning buildings and down the otherwise abandoned streets. At the gazebos she turned to look back on the approaches she and Gryndal had watched earlier. Poisoned and alone, Sheyreza did not linger as she had when Gryndal was by her side. Cautiously, she made her way across the Cavern of Song.
To the east Sheyreza could see movement atop the temple-mound. Her sight was partially obscured by the smoke rising from burning bodies and the glow of the great statue of Eilistraee. She moved faster now and tried to discern who was standing before the temple. Had Akordia returned with reinforcements?
A bulbuous, eight-legged, black shape topped by the torso and head of a drow appeared through the sooty haze answering Sheyreza’s question. These were not reinforcements, these were driders and they were undoubtedly tools of the enemy. They had slipped into the cavern through the north entrance while Sheyreza had lingered near the south one. Three of the half-drow, half-spider centaur like creatures stood before the glowing doors of temple. All of them faced the cracked and besieged edifice. From her vantage point below the temple-mound, Sheyreza could not tell precisely what they were doing but she could guess just the same; they were trying to breach the barrier. Sheyreza broke into a trot as she headed for the base of the mound. There was little left in her arsenal but the same twist of fate that allowed the driders to slip past Sheyreza unseen was also allowing her to catch the monsters by surprise. With her off hand, Sheyreza pulled her holy symbol out from under her breast plate. She had a little surprise for these abominations.
She came up behind the center drider and struck at its spinnerets with her sword. The black blade bit through the spider-creature’s carapace with a sickening crunch and foul ichor flowed from the wound. The wound was not a large or deep as Sheyreza would have liked and the spinneret did not look as damaged as she would have hoped. Despite her spells, she was still weak from the poison.
Silken webbing fired from the creature’s spinneret. Sheyreza had not disabled it. She was prepared though and dodged easily, letting the stream of sticky webbing pass over her shoulder. She struck again at the monster but it spun away, its eight hairy legs moving with obscene speed and dexterity. The drow head atop its elf-like torso let loose a stream of heavily accented curses, catching the attention of the other two driders. Seeing an immediate threat they left off their attack on the barrier and descended to attack Sheyreza.
Perfect. She held forth her holy symbol and called down the strength of her goddess to strike these horrors like a hammer. As the mishappen monstrosities rushed towards their diminuitive prey, they did not realize they were rushing right into the area of her spell. A bolt of divine light, sound and force struck the temple-mound from the ceiling above. One drider managed to quickly scuttle aside but the other two were caught in the blast. Sheyreza could see the drider on her left staggering, blood flowing from its nose and ears, its eyes dialated and wandering. The center monster immediately before her was bleeding from its ears as well, but its eyes were focused and filled with murder. It came at Sheyreza with a longsword, slashing wildly. Sheyreza turned the creature’s blade out and struck back cutting a gash along its elf-like abdomen. To her right, the creature that had dodged her blast conjured a spell and let loose a blast of arcane energy. There was no time to figure out what the creature was casting, so Sheyreza just dodged.
The wounded drider before her began scuttling sideways, angling for another attack. Sheyreza had taken the creature’s measure now. It was big, fast and strong, but it was not skilled. She shifted her feet, feinted left then ran up the slope to the right. Just as she made the crest of the mound she jumped, spun half left and brough her sword around in an arc. The blow took the drider’s head off and its decapitated corpse rolled down the mound, its grotesque spider legs curling up beneath its disgusting body.
Sheyreza’s attack had left her open, however. The second drider rushed her and she found herself fighting desperately. Suddenly a bolt passed through the creature’s neck. It staggered for a moment, a look of utter shock and disbelief crossing its face. Both elf-hands reached up to the wound but there was nothing it could do to stop the bleeding. The wound was fatal. Couging up black blood, it fell amidst the smouldering bodies before the temple steps. As it fell, Sheyreza saw Gryndal standing behind it, crossbow in hand, smiling. His nimble fingers were already loading another bolt. His eyes met Sheyreza’s for a moment, and then looked to her left with a slight nod.
The third drider was just now recovering from her spell. It summoned a torrent of magic missles but Sheyreza resisted them and set upon the beast with her sword while Gryndal fired crossbow bolts into the drider’s bulbuous belly. The monster scuttled backwards trying again and again to bring down its attackers with magic. Sheyreza, using no finesse at all, simply hacked the horrid abomination to pieces and sent its ruined, bolt-riddled corpse sliding down the blood slickened slope.
Gryndal and Sheyreza stood before the temple’s steps, weapons in hand, and looked for more enemies. There was nothing but the smouldering bodies laying all about the temple and the distant fires in the ruined buildings. Shereza pulled a rag out from her satchel and wiped the black drider ichor from her blade.
Gryndal looked back at the temple, but Sheyreza was more worried about her sister. “How is Butterfly?”
“She is resting.”
Sheyreza could see the concern and confusion on Gryndal’s face. “Gryndal...each wave attacks the barrier.” She pointed to the glowing wall that enshrouded the temple doors. It was still dazzling, but its power had clearly diminished since the driders attacked it. “We must not let them bring it down.”
Gryndal’s brow furrowed. “But there was fighting inside.”
“If there is anyone in the Promenade that can handle themselves, its Qilue and Iljrene.” Sheyreza looked the temple over. Glowing red cracks covered its once smooth stone surfaces like some sort of abyssal marbling. Clearly the temple was under great strain, and just as clearly, Qilue had done everything she could to see to it the temple was not breached. “I do not think we need to get in there. I think we just need to defend the temple.”
Something on the ground near where the driders had been slain caught Sheyreza’s attention. It was a partially burned scroll. Carefully she picked it up and examined it. Though the exact spell was unfamiliar to her, the nature of the spell was clear.
“They are each equipped with dispelling scrolls.” She announced. “But they are more powerful than I can master, or possibly just alien to me.” She looked out at the cavern. If more came, how long could they hold? Her strength, physical, mental and spiritual, was nearly drained. “I do not have many spells left. We must do the best we can to hold out.”
Gryndal said nothing. He simply held his crossbow at the ready and scanned for the enemy across the smoke filled cavern. What else was there to do? Sheyreza sheathed her sword and readied her own bow. Her right shoulder was still swelling from the poison and felt ready to burst from her armor. She bit back the pain and forced herself to move the arm around in circles. A bow was useless if she did not have two working arms.
From the north a line of figures emerged from the smoky gloom, snaking their way between smouldering drow corpses and curled up drider bodies. Sheyreza saw Akordia at their lead. Reinforcements had finally come. A line of a dozen protectors and acolytes scaled the slope of the temple-mound to reach its two remaining defenders.
Sheryeza looked to the new arrivals and waved her hand across the crest of the ridge. “Spread out. There is a mage fond of fireballs out there. I chased him off, but I was unable to finish him.” She knew she should have offered something more uplifting, but simple directions to save their lives would be more useful. And Sheyreza was just too tired to try and inspire them.
Akordia approached her. “This is all we can spare.”
[i:3ucthzip]What a ridiculous sentiment.[/i:3ucthzip] Sheyreza thought. “All we can spare? If the temple falls, we all fall.”
The young, pretty acolyte blinked at Sheyreza’s rebuke but kept her composure and held her ground. “The rest of the caverns have been atatcked. Just enough to keep the rest of the garrison at the other points.”
“Without the temple and its High Priestess, the rest of the garrison will get mopped up.” Sheyreza felt as though she was talking to a child. Could this girl not see the reality of the situation?
“We cant just abandon everyone else! Everyone we can is being moved to the Hall of Healing.” The strain of the battle was audible in Akordia’s voice as it rose. Sheyreza knew this was not a situation the young acolyte had been trained for. She was clearly doing the best she could under difficult circumstances. Unfortunately, she was a kind soul with a good heart and her thoughts, even her battle plans, were tempered with mercy. Akordia would spread the remaining warriors about in an effort to save everyone, and in so doing, save no one. The prudent thing to do would be to mass the remaining warriors for a defense of the temple. Yes, the wounded would be left defenseless, but if the temple and Qilue fell, everyone would die anyway.
Of course, sacrificing the wounded to save those who could be saved required a sense of purpose, a ruthless determination to survive, and a cold heart. Sheyreza could do it, but she could clearly see that Akordia could not.
And perhaps that was for the best.
Death was ultimately inevitable. Had Sheyreza not been taught that how she died was everybit as important as how she lived? Though she served Lady Silverhair now, not the Spider Queen, did Eilistraee care any less about how Sheyreza chose to meet her doom? Was it not better to go to the afterlife in pursuit of those ideals your goddess held dear rather than to sacrifice everything necessary to scratch out another day in this life? What was the point of that? Death [i:3ucthzip]was[/i:3ucthzip] inevitable. Scratch out one more day in this life, and in one more day death will be coming for you. Eventually, everyone had to take that next step. Best to do it in the manner your goddess wished.
Sheyreza looked away from Akordia. “If the temple falls, everyone else will be killed shortly thereafter, but yes, consolidate all the others in one place and guard them as well as you can.” She looked back to Akordia and smiled slightly. They would not leave the wounded unguarded.
The acolyte’s voice was small now, weary. “All the civilians,” she paused and looked out on the burning buildings to the west. “It’s hard, they’re attacking them specifically.”
The enemy knew the folk of the Promenade well. Attack the civilians of Menzoberranzan or Ched Nasad, and all you do is waste time and energy. Attack the civilians here, and you force the defenders to spread themselves out too thin. More importantly, you also break their hearts and maybe their morale.
She pointed to the west. “Evacuate all the homes, move everyone to one place that can be defended.”
Akordia headed west with one of the protectors, traveling quickly to deliver Sheyreza’s orders. All the wounded, all the civilians, all the guests, everyone, would be gathered in the Hall of Healing save for those who defended the temple. These would be their two strong points; the Hall of Healing in the northwest part of the cavern, and the temple-mound in the east. Sheyreza was well aware that the two positions were too far apart to easily support each other but there was no option. The wounded and the children could not be easily moved and there was no better place for them to go anyway. Indeed, perhaps the distance between the Hall of Healing and the temple would actually work to their advantage by keeping the wounded and civilians out of the line of attack.
Sheyreza knew they could not hold out against this enemy forever. While the temple was now defended by a dozen protectors and acolytes, more than three times that number had already fallen in battle. The enemy, on the other hand, had lost mostly spiders. A few driders had been killed as well, but not one enemy drow had fallen beneath the Chosen’s blades yet. The enemy was not through with them, and Sheyreza knew the worst was yet to come. Though they could not hold out forever, perhaps, Maiden willing, they would be able to hold out long enough for Qilue to finish doing whatever it was she was doing inside the temple and then join the fight. With Qilue behind them, the Chosen could face almost any enemy.
If Qilue did not return soon, however, they were not going to last. Half a day had passed, maybe more. Another 12 hours like this and Sheyreza doubted anyone would be left standing to guard the doors. Another whole day like this and Sheyreza [i:3ucthzip]knew[/i:3ucthzip] there would be no one left standing. Qilue had to return soon, or the Promenade was going to fall.
[b:2laie6v5]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 5, End of the Chosen.[/b:2laie6v5]
Hours passed since the driders were destroyed. Inthara had returned, the poison in her veins having run its course for the most part. Shortly after her return, the enemy attacked again, another wave of giant spiders swarming out of the darkness. These were not sword spiders, but giant black beasts who threw webs at the Chosen. More than one defender was stuck fast, including Gryndal who had to set aside his crossbow to cut his way free. Unlike the sword-spider swarm, Sheyreza did not have to face the spiders alone this time. Dodging the webs as best they could, she and the others had hurled arrow, bolt and spell into the arachnids as they charged. Only a couple of spiders made it as close as the great statue of Eilistraee and they were destroyed by the charge of the Protectors. The attack left a few of the Chosen wounded but none seriously. The attack was not without cost to the defenders, however. Inthara and Akordia both had to expend spells to heal the wounded. For her part, Sheyreza had expended almost all her remaining arrows; by the time the protectors slew the last of the spiders, she had but three shafts left.
Sheyreza set Inthara to studying to the slowly diminishing barrier, but her study was interrupted. The slippery, black clad archer returned and slew one of the Protectors along the slope. Gryndal engaged the archer in a brief duel of bolt and arrow, but the enemy was quickly driven off as Sheyreza led a few Protectors down the mound seeking to engage their bow armed foe in melee. The defenders did not press their pursuit. They stopped short of the western buildings, some of which were still burning. Leaving the scout to flee they fell back and reformed atop the ridge. Gryndal resumed his post standing out upon the promontory keeping watch with sharp eyes and a quick crossbow.
Bloodied and weary, the defenders did not get much rest. Not long after the scout had attacked, another wave of spiders rushed the temple-mound. These spiders were much smaller. About the size of a broad brimmed hat, they were tiny compared to the monstrosities the defenders had been fighting up until now. There were many of them, however, and Sheyreza knew they were poisonous. The swarm assaulted the north flank of the temple’s defense and the Protectors there fought back furiously. Akordia and Inthara supported them, smashing the spiders with sword and spell.
The north flank held. The tiny monstrous spiders were destroyed to the last. More healing spells were expended. Worse yet, the last vials of poison antidote brought by Akordia from the Hall of Healing had to be distributed and used. Though the attack claimed no lives, like the waves before it, it weakened the Chosen by eating through their resources.
With their wounds mostly healed, the remaining Promenade defenders spread out along the ridge of the temple-mound as far a part as practical. There were not many of them; nine protectors and a couple of acolytes including Akordia. Gryndal stood near the defensive line along the promontory over looking the western slope of the mound, while Inthara and Sheyreza talked near the steps of the temple. All of them were covered in soot from the fires, ichor from the spiders, and blood from their own wounds, none more so than Sheyreza herself.
Gryndal raised his crossbow to a firing position. Sheyreza looked to where he was aiming and saw a woman walking through the field of dead spiders and smouldering drow corpses that surrounded the great statue near the base of the mound. The woman appeared to be alone. She looked like a drow but she was too tall. Indeed, she appeared to be as tall as an adult human male though she was far more slender and far more beautiful. Her hair was long and silken, and cascaded about her naked shoulders like the white waters of wild cataract flowing over the dark wet granite of a mountain. The woman’s obsidian skin was flawless, her eyes perfectly shaped and her strut perfectly seductive. She was also completely naked.
“Demon.” Sheyreza said flatly to Inthara and Akordia. There was no doubt in Sheyreza’s mind. This woman was a succubus, a demon, a tan’ari. A succubus was a demon of pleasure and temptation, however, not a warrior. This creature was not being sent here to fight but to talk or perhaps seduce. Quickly, Sheyreza muttered an incantation to protect herself from any magical influences over her mind. As the demon approached Sheyreza walked down the slope to meet it. She stopped shy of the approaching woman and did not attack.
“Aren’t you the smart one?” The beautiful woman asked, her every word a challenge, an insult and an invitation.
For a moment Sheyreza simply gazed upon the succubus. Sheyreza could guess what she looked like after twelve hours of battle and it was certainly not as beautiful a sight as the succubus standing before her. Sheyreza’s normally luminescent white hair was matted and stained with blood, sweat and ichor. Her skin was covered in a thick sheet of grime and grit. Red lines of magically healed wounds crossed her silken skin. Dehydration and fatigue had left her face sunken and weary looking. The creature before her, however, seemed untouched by anything but primping brushes, make up and the gentle caress of the lightest breeze which gave just the right amount of lift to her hair. Though this creature was yet another tool of the enemy, Sheyreza’s first thought was not one of defense or attack or even of negotiation. It was simple jealousy. [i:2laie6v5]Why can’t I look like that?[/i:2laie6v5] Sheyreza hated her and loved her at the same time. She had known as she walked down the slope that a parlay with this creature was as pointless as a parlay with the mage earlier but she could not bring herself to simply attack something so beautiful. Evil or not, the succubus was gorgeous to behold and Sheyreza, like most elves, had a very strong, innate appreciation for beauty.
Sheyreza closed her eyes and shook her head for moment. She had to focus on the problem at hand not her petty vanity or her love of all things beautiful. Contorting her face into a snear and twisting her tongue into a veritable knot, Sheyreza addressed in the demon in its native abyssal tongue. “What do you want demon?”
Next to Sheyreza, Inthara slowly drew her wand. On the promontory above, Gryndal aimed his crossbow. Behind Sheyreza on the slope the remaining Protectors and acolytes stood ready.
The succubus smiled faintly. “Abandon the temple lass, or you die along with everyone.”
Even her voice was beautiful. Sheyreza really did not want to destroy her. It was like defiling a fantastic work of art. Unfortunately, there was just nothing to be gained from talking.
Sheyreza took a half step back with her left foot as if to turn away, gripped her sword sheath with her left hand, and then in one smooth motion drew the blade and struck.
The sword hit the demon-woman and sent her reeling but did not draw blood. Gryndal fired a heartbeat later and a heart beat after that, Sheyreza struck again.
The remainder of the Chosen joined in the attack and the succubus retreated from the furious assault. Her exquisite face registered her surprise and anger. Though caught off guard and struck by bolt, arrow, sword and spell, she seemed unwounded. Quickly, the demon manifested her wings and took to the air. In her abyssal tongue, the demon began spell casting. Sheyreza switched to her bow and let fly her last three shafts, but to no avail. The demon’s otherworldly flesh was virtually unscathed despite the best efforts of the Chosen. Sheyreza knew some of her spells would have affected the tan’nari, but Sheyreza’s spells were all expended. As the last of her arrows left her hand, she switched back to her sword and took cover behind a stone pillar.
All around the Chosen were running, yelling, looking for someway to harm the flying demon. Gryndal put bolt after bolt into her, but with no effect. Inthara’s wand fared little better.
From above the demon snickered at the scurrying drow. “I said my peace. Your weapons are nothing.” Her only answer was more arrows and a splash of arcane acid from Inthara’s spell repotoire. The succubus sighed and it was like silk on smooth skin. “I did my best.” She said. Below, still taking cover behind a stone pillar, Sheyreza also sighed. Even in the midst of battle the demonic creature was seductive. Sheyreza thought it simply was not fair.
The succubus disappeared.
Sheyreza looked around for the creature, but she knew the demoness was most likely already reporting to her mistress or master. At the academy, Sheyreza had learned that most tan’nari could teleport at will.
The protectors regrouped upon the temple-mound and spread out once again. Seeing a demon in service to the enemy had awoken yet another fear in the pits of their stomachs; the fear of otherworldly enemies no ordinary weapon could harm. The only way Sheyreza could overcome such a defense was with a spell but she had no such spell left. She needed to pray and rest but she did not want to leave the defenders without their leader. Of course she was not going to be of much use to them exhausted, dehydrated, and devoid of spells.
Gryndal assured her he would keep watch. If anything happened, he would get her. Sheyreza took one more walk around the ridge perimeter. The defenders were bloodied, but they were not as fatigued as she was. All but Gryndal and Inthara had come as reinforcements from the Hall of Healing. Though they had seen some action at the Hall, they had not borne the brunt of the early fighting.
Satisfied that the defenses were as good as they were going to get, Sheyreza walked around to the sheltered rear of the temple. There was a fountain there. She pulled off her helmet and knelt before the small basin. With both hands she began to splash water on her face and then she simply bent down and began drinking. There was nothing dignified or graceful about it, but the cool water tasted like the finest wine to a throat that had known only fire, smoke and screams for a day. Her thirst sated, she found a small nook along the side of the temple and wedged herself into it. It felt good to sit. With all the pain in her arm and shoulder from the spider’s poison, she had not noticed the burning ache in her leg muscles. How many times had she run up and down the steep temple-mound slopes? She could not even begin to count. She fished around in her satchel, pulled out another strip of meat and ate it.
Afterwards she began her prayers. Normally there would be a dance and an evensong but now she could not afford the time nor did she want to attract that much attention. Though it was not her goddess’s way, Sheyreza prayed quietly, her songs reduced to a barely audible whisper. It would have to do. Somewhere out there that black clad archer was waiting to put another arrow in another throat and if Sheyreza lifted her voice in song she was fairly certain it would be her throat he would aim at.
When her prayers were finished, Sheyreza closed her eyes and leaned back into the nook where she was sitting. She knew she should rejoin the others but she was so tired. She wanted to rest. Reverie would come so easily at this moment. [i:2laie6v5]Gryndal was there, he could watch the line, Inthara too, and Akordia.[/i:2laie6v5] Sheyreza did not need much convincing to talk herself into it. Her dark eye lids fluttered a bit and she slipped into reverie.
Sometime later she came back to reality. Her legs were cramped. There was kink in her neck and she was terribly cold. She had foolishy rested while laying on the stone foundation of the temple, and that stone was cold and sucked the warmth out of her. Shivering, she stood and extricated herself from the niche. On the other side of the building she found all was more or less how she left it. Gryndal stood watch on the promontory, the Protectors stood or crouched among the dead, and Inthara, Akordia and the other acolyte spoke in quiet tones on the steps.
Sheyreza pulled her helmet on and walked the perimeter again. There had been no further attacks but like the previous lulls Sheyreza was certain this pause would come to a violent end only too soon.
As if on cue a sudden viscious chill raced through her; a terrible, deep almost primal fear hit her in the stomach. All she could think about was a spider, a horrible creature that reared itself before her eyes. Suddenly, she felt as if she was being stretched thin, as if this reality was warping. The only other time she had ever felt such a feeling was when her spirit had left this plane with Qilue’s in search of Inthara’s soul.
A sharp pain struck Sheyreza’s chest and she clutched at her breast where the old would have been but for her polymorphing long ago. In her mind’s eye she saw the flash of a spider shaped dagger. Then, for a split second she felt something cold, something terrible, something overwhelmingly powerful and horribly familiar pass through her.
By now Inthara had noticed Sheyreza’s distress and rushed to her side.
The feeling passed. Sheyreza blinked, smiled slightly, took a deep breath and looked down at the glowing cracks running through the temple.
Out in the cavern, beyond the burning bodies and the great statue, a sinister red glow flickered to life and then died out. Someone was casting spells out there, very powerful spells. Summoning spells.
On the temple-mound Sheyreza cast her own spells. She raised every protective spell in her repotoire and then she began laying enchantments on her blade. Once again the black sword was wreathed in dark fire.
A crack formed just beyond the statue of Eilistraee and and a malevolent red light glowed from deep within it. It was not unlike the cracks which ran across every face of the temple, only it was much, much larger.
Something dark appeared in the red glow, something long and slender. It landed upon the edge of crack. Another long, slender black object unfolded from the red glow and joined the first.
Inthara pointed towards the hellish rift. “It comes!”
Sheyreza slid her arm into her mithral clawshield. “Yes, she does.”
Inthara looked back upon the armored priestess. “She?”
“Mother watches.”
Inthara narrowed her eyes but there was no time to press Sheyreza for a less enigmatic answer. Whatever was coming was coming now. It was probably for the best. Had Inthara pressed Sheyreza for an answer the priestess would have had to explain that she knew Lolth was watching the battle, for a moment ago, Sheyreza had felt the Spider Queen’s presence pass through her.
From the top of the temple-mound the defenders watched one dark leg after another appear along the glowing red chasm that had opened up in the cavern below. An enormous black bulk followed the long spindly legs. All at once the creature pulled itself free of the crack from which it issued. The crack sealed up as the beast exited, disappearing as if it had never been there; the summoning was complete.
The summoned beast looked like a spider the size of a house. It stood over ten feet high and at least twenty feet from claw to claw across its legs and body. It was not simply a gargantuan spider, however. Sheyreza recognized its misshapen body, its oversized fangs and the cruel hooks along its eight horrid legs. This was a [i:2laie6v5]bebilith[/i:2laie6v5], a fiendish spider from Lolth’s menagerie in the Demonweb pits and one of her most powerful servitors. Summoning such a creature was an awesome display of power on a level equal to that which Sheyreza’s mother, Matron Shyntlara of Qu’ellar Auvryndar, might have been able to accomplish.
The end had come. Sheyreza could not defeat such a creature even if she had not had to battle her way through wave after wave of the enemy’s attacks for an entire day first. This creature was simply beyond her. And it was far beyond those who stood with her, whether they knew it or not. No wonder Lolth was watching; she wanted to see how Sheyreza died; perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of hate. Sheyreza did not know, but she was flattered that the Dark Mother would take such an interest in her demise.
Gryndal was already loosing bolts at it. Blue-white beams of magic fired from Inthara’s rod. Along the ridge the Protectors formed up into a defensive line, drawing their swords, raising their shields and preparing to melee.
Sheyreza knew it was pointless. The creature would kill all who stood in its way. Only Qilue could have stopped this demon and she had not returned in time. The defenders would fall. Now Sheyreza faced a choice. She could stand her ground and fight and in so doing be slain, or she could flee. The south flank of the mound was congested with Protectors and acolytes preparing for the defense but the north flank was clear. She could run down that slope, circle behind the beast and make for the exits. Hopefully who ever summoned the demonic spider would be too busy guiding this final assault to bother with a single fleeing priestess.
But then what? Flee into the dark alone? Where would Sheyreza go? What would she do? What would be the point of scratching to live one more day of this life with naught but death to look forward to tomorrow?
No. She would not flee. There was no point to it. This, it seemed, was Eilistraee’s test of how her Chosen faced death. As far as Sheyreza could tell, both the Spider Queen and her daughter were watching to see how their children lived, fought and died. Sheyreza would not run.
The bebilith answered the bolts and spells with webs. Great streams of sticky silk issued from its spinnerets arcing through the cavern at the defenders. Up on the promontory overlooking the west slope, Gryndal dodged the stream of webs and continued to loose bolts at the monster below him. Inthara likewise dodged the monster’s attacks while blazing away with her magic wand. Disheartingly, neither bolt nor spell seemed to affect the web-slinging demon.
The Protectors and acolytes formed up and charged into melee with the beast. Sheyreza joined them. They rushed upon the demon-spider’s legs and began hacking away at the hairy, misshapen appendages. The bebilith spun, leaving off its web-slinging, and brought its fore-legs into the attack. A long, grotesque, spindly leg with a wickedly hooked claw at the end slashed through the air and tore the throat from a Protector. The mortally wounded man fell back clutching at his wound. A second leg knocked another Protector down, while a third eviscerated him.
Sheyreza slashed the beast with all the power she had. The effects of the sword spider poison had diminished and she had augmented her natural strength with a prayer to Eilistraee. Her enchanted blade refused to bite the stone-hard flesh of the abyssal arachnid however, even with her divinely-enhanced strength. Each blow she landed failed to cut through the demon’s black carapace. Sheyreza gritted her teeth and struck again and again as did the other Chosen. None of their weapons seemed to be harming the beast. Despite the ineffectiveness of their weapons none of the Chosen ran. This was their home and they had nothing if it was lost. Better to die in its defense than slink away into the underdark only to be slain later and die as a coward.
A splash of foul, burning black ichor struck Sheyreza’s cheek. She stepped back from the demon’s flailing legs and touched a hand to the evil smelling stuff. It was spider ichor, no doubt. Sheyreza looked up at the beast before her and saw a series of burns along its legs and belly. Burns that were oozing ichor. [i:2laie6v5]Wounds.[/i:2laie6v5] Sheyreza danced in, dodging the slashing hooks of the bebilith legs and planted a solid blow upon its carapace. Were the blow landed a burn appeared. A moment later, black ichor oozed from the wound. What the adamantine edge and magical enchancement could not accomplish Eilistraee’s blessing could. While the blade would not cut the beast, the blade’s divine blessing was wounding it. Sheyreza remembered the first lesson about evaluating enemies she had learned at Ched Nasad’s patrol school; [i:2laie6v5]If you can make it bleed, you can kill it.[/i:2laie6v5]
The beast was not invinicible. It could fall. She could kill it. She [i:2laie6v5]would[/i:2laie6v5] kill it.
The bebilith struck again and again, shifting between its legs, striking down those too slow to avoid its slashing hooks. Sheyreza kept moving. Using her claw shield she slipped attack after attack and kept up her assault on the demon-spider. More Protectors fell. One of the acolytes bent to heal a fallen warrior and was herself struck down by the horrid arachnid. Another Protector jumped in to save the fallen cleric. The beast lashed out at him and the Protector stopped the blow with his shield but the demon-spider would not be so easily stopped. The beast brought more of its arsenal to bear. The valiant warrior parried and defended as fast as he could but he could not keep pace with four attacking legs. Slipping past the man’s guard the demon-spider planted one hook in his torso and another in his shoulder. Then the bebilith simply pulled the screaming man apart.
Sheyreza was alone in the melee now. All the Protectors and acolytes who had charged down the slope had been killed or incapacitated. The spider-beast turned its full attention to her and Sheyreza found her self being pushed back. She danced and parried, slipping blows and slashes. There was no sword craft rhythym she knew that could keep pace with this beast, however. Every blow she slipped and every strike she blocked left her open from another angle. The demon-beast took full advantage of the situation. Its wicked hooks found Sheyreza’s body and began trying her armor. The enchanted mithral held. She slashed back, each blow she landed burning the demon further. A screeching, high pitched, unnatural wail issued from its fanged mouth. More blows fell about Sheyreza and panic began to set in. While there had been other Protectors and acolytes to take some of the creature’s attention, Sheyreza had been able to keep up her assault, but now, as the lone object of the creature’s wrath, Sheyreza was unable to hold her ground. Sheyreza needed someone or something to distract the demon-spider and keep at least some of its legs busy. Quickly she began intoning the words to a summoning spell. If allies were what she needed, she would bring them herself.
The bebilith took the opportunity to pounce upon the spellcasting priestess. Its hooks had time and time again failed to tear through her enchanted mithral plate so now it was the armor itself that was attacked. Sheyreza felt a leg sweep up behind her. Another pushed her back. The world spun as she lost her feet and found herself rolling beneath the demon-spider, carried by its legs. A hook slipped into a gap on her armor and then another. She felt the beast pulling at her so hard it seemed as though she would be quartered. She screamed and lost her spell. Though the mithral plates were stronger than the bebilith’s claws, the spider silk ties that held them together were not. A sharp hook sliced through the silken strands and another pulled the armor plates free of the writhing priestess clutched in the demon-spider’s claws. Bit by bit, it stripped her until Sheyreza fell from its black claws wearing nothing but her thigh high enchanted boots.
Stunned, Sheyreza rolled out from under the beast and ran. A long leg slashed at her but she parried it with her shield. She had no armor left, but at least she had her shield. Naken but for her boots, she scampered up the temple-mound where Inthara and Gryndal continued to loose bolts and spells at the rampaging beast.
As she fled she saw Akordia on the slope. The young acolyte had not charged with the others, having frozen with terror. Now, seeing Sheyreza flee caused something to change in Akordia. She gripped her sword tightly and charged down the incline towards the on rushing beast. Sheyreza tried to scream a warning but no words came out of her mouth; she was too hoarse, too dry, too scared on her own. The quickly hooked the acolyte’s sword with one leg, pushed the girl down with a second leg, and then gutted her with two others. Sheyreza stared in horror. Akordia lay, still alive, beneath the bloody hooks of the creature. The young girl was dying. Her eyes rolled in her head and came to rest on Sheyreza. There was nothing the older priestess could do, nothing she could say, no spell she could cast or song she could sing. Akordia was going to die. And so too was the Promenade.
The demon scuttled forward over Akordia’s ruined form and Sheyreza charged to meet it screaming Eilistraee’s name. She did not care that she was naked, she did not care that this was insane. All that mattered was the dance now and if this was to be her final dance, she was not going to run from it, she would run into it. Her sword began to hum and Sheyreza’s first blow burned a bloody, smoking wound right through the bebilith’s black carapace. The creature brought four of its horrid hooked legs to bear and Sheyreza spun away, then leapt back in on the attack. Spider and priestess danced now, slashing and dodging, maneuvering and feinting. Wicked hooks found Sheyreza’s naked skin but her skill kept the beast from inflicting more than superficial lacerations.
They dueled like champions of their gods; the spider beast a creature of the abyssal pits and the physical incarnation of Selvetarm’s wrath on the Prime material, its many legs slashing and tearing like the many arms of Lolth’s champion. Against the spider beast was pitten the naked priestess of Eilistraee, Sheyreza, dancing with her sword in defense of hope and light. Red drow blood and black abyssal ichor mixed on the floor of the Cavern of Song as the two fought. Sheyreza’s wounds mounted, but so too did the creature’s burns. It’s wailing grew louder and more frenetic. Sheyreza knew the beast was learning pain and fear. Desperately, the creature tore at Sheyreza’s claw-shield, the last protection she carried. She slipped the creature’s hooks, however, and launched a riposte leaving another oozing burn upon the beast. It wailed again and Sheyreza could clearly see it was injured. She smiled. There was a chance.
The bebilith was far from defeated however. It kept after Sheyreza with its wickedly hooked legs, tearing and stomping. Sheyreza was forced back and gradually pushed up the slope. She gave ground reluctantly at first, but then realized the spider-demon’s aggressive assault was gradually giving her a high-ground advantage. If she actually got to the crest of the temple-mound she might be able to strike at the beast’s head. Mindful of the creature’s claws and reach, Sheyreza began to work more back steps into her rhythm. Steadily the dueling pair made their way up the slope of the ridge. From above, bolts of electricity, streams of acid and fast flying crossbow bolts descended upon the demon’s back. Inthara and Gryndal had not fled or given up. Though their attacks seemed futile, the pair was determined to fight to the last.
Sheyreza called upon the power of Eilistraee and her long black blade erupted with darkfire. Seeing the dancing priestess pause, the spider-demon made its move. It came in fast and high, and then fell upon her. Sheyreza watched its legs but her defenses could not be everywhere at once. The creature’s pedipalps reached out and took hold of her claw shield. A long, multi-segmented leg struck Sheyreza as the pedipalps pulled and the slender priestess lost her grip on her last piece of defense. The shield went tumbling down the slope.
Blade burning, Sheyreza leapt into attack. The beast fell back under her assault and then scuttled sideways, circling to reach the high ground with her. Sheyreza saw its move but was helpless to stop the enormous creature. Within a moment the two enemies were atop the ridge together. Sheyreza’s advantage was lost and now she no longer had her shield. The beast came forward, claws reaching out. Sheyreza struck at the legs, burning the steel-hard appendages with each swing. Though she was hurting the demon, she was only hurting it a little with each blow. The bebilith’s attacks, however, were far deadlier. Sheyreza danced away and found herself being pushed back towards the promontory where Gryndal had been standing. The crossbow armed scout saw what was happening and cleared off the bluff before the bebilith closed the trap but Sheyreza was unable to escape. With her back to a cliff, she fought desperately against the monster but she had little defense against its tearing hooks. She risked another spell, this one to call upon Eilistraee’s power to defend her. The spider was too quick. It rushed again and this time took its body over the diminuitive priestess. Sheyreza tried to stab the beast in the belly but felt something strike her from behind. Two points of pain erupted in her back, just below the neck and shoulder.
Sheyreza blinked and staggered, her spell and her attack forgotten. The creature pulled off of her and retreated. Sheyreza struggled to bring her blade up but her arms would not respond. Her vision got blurry. She stumbled and she realized that the bebilith, like the sword spider, had poisoned her. The enormous creature sat a few yards away, watching Sheyreza. It did not attack and when she staggered towards it, the beast scuttled sideways or backwards. It was waiting; waiting for the poison to do its work.
Eyes watering, chest heaving, the naked priestess desperately struggled to raise her blade and press the attack. She had to slay the beast before the poison slew her. The effort was in vain. She could not get her sword up and she could not run to catch the beast. She was all but helpless.
The spider-demon came forward with its two front legs held high as if to strike down upon Sheyreza’s head. With the last of her strength she lifed her sword to parry and tried to slip away but a third leg came slashing in at her from the side; the front two legs had been a feint. The third leg’s hook came from low to high and found Sheyreza’s unarmored body. It tore through the soft skin and hard muscle of her upper thigh, skipped off her pelvic bone and then ripped across her abdomen.
Sheyreza fell. She hit the ground and rolled across the cold stone until she hit something soft and warm. Another body. It was over. She felt pain, but not as much as she would have thought. The beast had nearly eviscerated her. Perhaps it had, she could not really tell. Regardless, she had no strength to get up. The demon had won. Sheyreza coughed and spit up blood. She could not see the beast anymore but she knew it was still fighting. She could hear the distinct twang of Gryndal’s crossbow, the soft hiss of Inthara’s rod and spells, and the cries of the two as they fought desperately against the demon. Sheyreza wished she could help them. Slowly Sheyreza raised a hand and tried to push herself up but there was too much pain and not enough strength in her body.
The sounds of fighting began to fade into the background. Sheyreza could see what had stopped her roll from continuing down the hill. It was the burned body of one of the temple defenders. Sheyreza was lying face to face with it. The body’s skin had been burned away but the eyes remained, staring out at the world, dead and lidless. They were lavender. Though her mind was clouded with pain, fear and poison, Sheyreza recognized those lavender eyes. They were Hivarra’s. How long ago did Sheyreza last see Hivarra alive? Twelve hours ago? A day? A lifetime. Now it seemed as though Sheyreza would join her in death upon the temple mound. Sheyreza stared into Hivarra’s dead eyes and found company there. It was a small comfort to be sure, but staring into Hivarra’s eyes made Sheyreza feel less alone.
Death did not come for Sheyreza, however. She lay there for minutes staring into Hivarra’s lifeless eyes but the light did not fade from Sheyreza’s red and blue orbs. As the minutes passed Sheyreza realized the battle was still on. Tearing herself away from her resting place beside the dead, Sheyreza crawled down the slope amidst the bodies and gore to find her lost armor and equipment, dragging a trail of blood from her wounds behind her. At the base of the slope she found what she was looking for; her ruined sash. Above her, Gryndal and Inthara were still fighting the beast with their spells and bolts, alternating between attacks so as not to let the creature fall upon either one of them.
Sheyreza dug a bloody hand into her torn sash and pulled out a vial of healing potion. She drank it and then retrieved and drank another. Strengthened by the healing magics, she picked up her armor with one hand and her sword with the other and ran for the south slope of the ridge. There she pulled the remaining healing potions from her sash. One by one she drank every vial she had until even the great wound that ran from her thigh across her stomach was closed.
Gryndal ran down the south slope and kneeled next to her. His quivers were almost empty, sweat poured down his brow.
“I cannot harm it.” He said simply.
A nod was the only response Sheyreza had the strength or time to give. Hastily she pulled on her breast plate and secured it as well as she could with the torn spider-silk ties. Slipping her hand into her dented claw shield, she noticed the shield’s claws had actually been torn free of the bracer altogether. That creature was [i:2laie6v5]strong[/i:2laie6v5].
On the mound the bebilith had finally cornered Inthara near the steps of the temple. Once it had her within reach of its legs it made short work of the beautiful sorceress, knocking her down and clubbing her over the head. She fell, senseless, and rolled down the slope until, like Sheyreza, her fall was stopped by a dead body. The great arachnid did not bother to finish Inthara off, however. Instead, it turned its attention upon the glowing barrier and the temple doors. The huge, horrible beast reared back on its hind legs and let its forelegs crash into the door and barrier.
On the south side of the temple-mound, Sheyreza and Gryndal had climbed back to the top of the ridge and now trotted towards the abyssal spawn. A moan reached Sheyreza’s ears. Searching the wreckage of corpses infront of the temple, she found Inthara, horribly wounded, but alive. Sheyreza gave her the last of her healing spells and the sorceress rose.
The three surviving drow now turned to face their enemy. The bebilith was assaulting the temple, oblivious to any other threat. Sheyreza’s bloody, grimy hand returned to her ruined sash one last time and pulled out a potion Jain’n had given her years ago. A protective potion of great worth, it made the flesh as hard as stone. Sheyreza had saved this vial for a desperate day and never in her life had there been a more desperate day. She quaffed the potion and felt her skin tighten until it was like living rock. Snarling a curse upon the demon, she strode forward to enter battle one last time.
A blinding flash of light and a deafening crack of thunder stopped Sheyreza cold. When the drow could see again, the bebilith was laying still, reduced to a smouldering corpse like the bodies of the chosen strewn infront of the temple.
The barrier had been victorious, but the victory had been a costly one; the barrier was now so dim it was hard to see. Virtually all of its energy had been expended to kill the injured bebilith. Sheyreza knew it would not withstand any concerted attack now. There was nothing standing between the enemy and the temple; nothing except Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal.
It took a few moments for the reality of the situation to set in. Sheyreza had been fully prepared to die. Indeed, she had thought her death at the claws of the bebilith was an inevitable occurrence. That it did not come to pass was not an eventuality she was not prepared for. She staggered a bit and sat down. All around her lay the bodies of the Chosen. Some were burned by the mage’s fireball, other slain by spiders, and still more torn to pieces by the demon. None remained save for Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal.
Inthara was walking amidst the carnage, looking from body to body. “Are there any left alive?”
“ Qilue?” Gryndal yelled at the temple. “Iljrene?” No answer issued from the cracked stone.
Sheyreza took a deep breath and stood. “Gryndal, take a walk around the hillock. See if any live.”
The surviving scout nodded and began walking, checking the fallen for signs of life as he went.
“Collect potions and scrolls, if they have them.” Sheyreza called out. She looked to her own supplies. She did not have a single potion left or a single arrow. Her armor was torn and battered, her shield dented and damaged. All her spells had been expended and her body and mind were fatigued to the point of breaking. If they could find some potions, scrolls, or anything else among the dead, it might make the difference between life and death in the next fight.
Gryndal pointed out across the cavern. “Someone approaches.”
A female drow dressed in black armor and the regalia of a High Priestess of Selvetarm walked towards the temple mound. She was flanked on either side by sword wielding, black armored males. The priestess stepped down hard upon the throat of one of the Chosen who had fallen in battle with the bebilith. She grinned as the dying man emitted a wet bloody gargle. Looking up at the temple-mound, she addressed the three remaining defenders.
“I didnt think you would make me come here myself to rip down the bloody wall.” Her voice held more amusement than frustration.
Sheyreza kept her face impassive. “Speak quickly.” She adjusted her grip on her sword. She knew the high priestess was more than a match for all of them, but showing weakness would not help. Indeed, she had been taught long ago that when weak, one should project strength. “It was foolish of you to come.”
The high priestess smiled. “Its done. You’ve lost.”
Inthara tapped her magic rod in her hand defiantly. “We still stand.”
Sheyreza nodded. “Qilue lives.”
The high priestess snorted. “Not for long. I'll finish her myself.”
“I doubt it.” Sheyreza retorted. It was a lie of course. If Qilue was plane traveling and her body lay inside the temple helpless, then there was nothing the Chosen of Eilistraee could do to stop this bitch from killing her. Of course, the high priestess did not have to know that.
“Then where is she?” The high priestess asked in challenge, her eyes narrowing. “Cowering inside on a fools errand?”
Sheyreza stalled for time and played aloof. “Perhaps. It is not your business.”
“Oh but it is.” The high priestess’s voice dropped low. “Stand aside or you'll be shoved aside at sword point.”
Sheyreza knew she was almost out of time. She had kept the high priestess talking as long as she could, but now the bitch was making ultimatums. Sheyreza had almost nothing left to defend with; no spell, no potion, little strength and few defenders. She did have her wits however.
Stepping to the edge of the temple-mound, Sheyreza stood as erect as possible and glared down upon the high priestess and her body guards with all the arrogance and authority she had ever learned back in Ched Nasad.
“You do not have the power to command.” Sheyreza’s voice was imperious now. She immitated the voice, the tone and the manner of her Matron Mother, Shyntlara, a woman who’s every breath, word and act demanded obeyance. “Your god is a servant of the Mother. And you are subject to the commands of the priestesses of Lolth.”
The high priestess narrowed her eyes suspiciously and studied Sheyreza for a moment. “It is irrelevant.” She said finally, though the tenor of her voice made it clear that she was not entirely convinced it was entirely irrelevant.
Sheyreza capitalized on the hesitation. She reached up and undid the hastily tied knots that held her sundered breast plate. Dropping her armor, she revealed the intricate web and spider tattooing that crossed her body and limbs. She kicked her armor aside and stood a top the ride crest, feet spread wide, shoulders squared, head held high, like Matron Shyntlara standing before an assembly of the Qu’ellar. “As a [i:2laie6v5]Yathrin d'Lolth[/i:2laie6v5], a priestess of the Spider Queen, I command you to leave...[i:2laie6v5]servant[/i:2laie6v5].”
“Do you?” The high priestess laughed softly and motioned her guards forward. “Who said anything about Mother?”
Sheyreza changed from the language of the drow to the abyssal tongue of demons and growled out words so foul mortals should never have been taught their meaning. “Do not defy the Mother, fool. Your god is a mere servant of my goddess. Defy Lolth’s priestess at your soul’s peril.” Sheyreza brought her sword up, her weakened, poisoned muscles burning with the weight of the weapon. “Go any further, and you are in defiance of the Spider Queen herself.”
The males paused and looked back at their high priestess but she did not relent. Sheyreza knew now that the priestess probably did believe she was a Yathrin d’Lolth but the high priestess had come too far to give up. She was not going to let any stand in her way, not even a priestess of the Spider Queen. Sheyreza raised her blade with all the strength she could muster and fell upon the bodyguards as they came up the slope.
The fight was mercifully short. The bodyguards were fresh, well equipped and very experienced. In contrast, the temple defenders were fatigued and wounded. Even with the high ground, they did not last long. Gryndal fell first, then Sheyreza. Inthara, never a melee fighter, stayed until the bitter end but was quickly brought low. The bodyguards did not slay them outright however. From the bottom of the temple-mound the high priestess ordered her warriors to take at least the females alive so that they could be sacrificed to Selvetarm. When the fight was over and the temple defenders lay subdued at the feet of the Selvetarm warriors, the high priestess ascended the ridge and walked up to the temple steps.
Smiling, she turned to her body guards. “Hold their heads up so they can see their temple fall.” Her voice was a perfect mixture of malice and triumph. The black clad woman began to chant. Sheyreza felt a strong hand pull her hair and she was jerked up roughly. She could see the high priestess casting before the temple. Sheyreza tried to move but the warrior holding her head had his knee in her naked back and his knife at her throat. Sheyreza reached for her dagger, but could not get a grip on it. She did not even have the strength to kill herself. She was captured. It seemed that her premonitions about being sacrificed were going to come true.
The high priestess paused from her chanting and looked into Sheyreza’s eyes. “Watch and see everything you love fall. It was inevitable. Did she truly think she could challange a god?” Sheyreza supposed the high priestess meant Qilue challenging Selvetarm in some way, but she supposed she would never really know now.
Turning back to the doors, the high priestess resumed her chanting. At the zenith of her casting a loud crack sounded throughout the cavern and the doors of the temple swung open.
The high priestess laughed. “Now to seal them all off!” Sheyreza had suspected that Qilue and Iljrene had been plane traveling. It seemed the Selvetarm high priestess’s goal was to see the duo never came back.
Light poured from the temple’s interior as the heavy stone doors swung open. A voice came from within the light. “You are too late.” The voice was melodius and beautiful. It reminded Sheyreza of the clearest of notes played upon the best crafted harp imaginable by a player of unparalleled skill. It was as clean, crisp and refreshing as a running brook. “We have returned.” It announced.
The high priestess let out a string of curses in mixed drow and abyssal. She back stepped away from the doors, quickly signing to her bodyguards.
A being stepped forth from the temple, tall, radiant, with golden skin, silver hair and great feathered wings as white as snow. “And now it’s finished.” Sheyreza had never seen a solar before but she had heard and read enough about them to recognize one.
The high priestess snarled out another curse and battle was joined. This fight too, was mercifully short, but this time it was the high priestess and her bodyguards who fell. The solar stood over their corpses, bloody sword in hand and looked upon Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal. With but a touch it healed each of them in turn.
“They are waiting for you inside.” It said.
Sheyreza stared at the solar, her eyes a bit narrow, her head tilted to one side. She ran a gritty, bloody hand through her matted hair. “Are they?” Sheyreza decided they could wait. They had made her wait after all. It seemed only fair. No, that was not true. Fair was not a word to be used this day. Fair did not exist in the Promenade. It was not fair that more than a dozen of the Chosen like Hivarra had been incinerated by a fireball. It was not fair that a dozen more, like Akordia, had been eviscerated or torn asunder by a demonic spider almost as large as the temple they had defended. Sheyreza looked down upon the body of the Selvetarm high priestess. It was not even fair that this high priestess had her victory stolen from her.
Had she not waged a great battle? She had defeated all that the Promenade had without sacrificing a single drow of her own. Perhaps that was her undoing. Sheyreza knew that Lolth had watched the battle. Perhaps the Spider Queen was upset at the way this high priestess used the sacred spiders as fodder. Perhaps she was upset when the high priestess chose to defy Sheyreza’s bluff, knowing that had Sheyreza really been a priestess of Lolth, this woman would have defied the Dark Mother. Despite all her brilliance and power the high priestess had been betrayed by fortune at the moment of her greatest victory. Was that, then the fate in store for all who served a goddess or god such as she? Would that be Sheyreza’s fate someday?
Sheyreza studied the dead priestess’s face. She was beautiful, just as many drow women were. What had she overcome to be a high priestess? How many had she killed? How many times had she dodged death? What had she sacrificed to make it this far? And how unjust was it that, on the verge of destroying the Promenade and Qilue in their entirety, she had her victory stolen? Such was the irony worked into the web of fate Lolth spun for every drow. The Spider Queen was nothing if not fickle and capricious. Hope, victory, success; these were prizes to dangle before mortals to make their defeat all the more bitter.
It mattered not to Sheyreza that she was the beneficiary of Lolth’s ironic nature this day. Had the high priestess’s web of fate not been imbued with Lolth’s special touch, Sheyreza would likely find herself on an altar to Selvetarm soon, her heart being cut from her body.
This angered Sheyreza rather than comforted her. She made a decision. She would see that the high priestess and her guards were treated with all the respect and dignity they deserved. The gods might play with mortals capriciously but Sheyreza would not. This woman had accomplished much in her life, even if it was evil. She deserved some respect. Sheyreza would see she got it. The high priestess’s body would be washed, dressed and set upon a funeral pyre as was the custom for high priestesses in Ched Nasad. Her bodyguards would be treated similarly. In life they were enemies, but in death, they were kin. Their very mortality made all drow family and separated them from the goddesses and gods who used up mortal lives for their own struggles.
The solar looked upon Sheyreza and motioned to the temple. “Shall we?”
Inside the temple was in ruins. The four people who stood upon the dais looked as though they had been through battle just as Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal had. Sheyreza recognized Qilue, Iljrene, and Ithlyn, the half-drow leader of the Promenade’s scouts, immediately. The fourth person was a surface elf male. His face was familiar though Sheyreza was having a hard time placing him.
“The enemy outside appear to be defeated.” Sheyreza offered wearily. “But, there are none left save for those you see here, and a few wounded at the Hall of Healing.”
The surface elf male casually tossed a ring in the air. “I do hope it was worth it.”
The voice jarred Sheyreza’s memory; it was Aravilar Amalith, the wizard who had been sent to Lonelywood to atone for his crimes under Jain’n’s supervision. “I recognize you Necromancer.”
Aravilar snorted like a petulant child. “I recognize [i:2laie6v5]you[/i:2laie6v5], priestess of Lolth.”
“Priestess of Lolth?” Sheyreza asked, stepping forward. “When last we met, you were the one doing penance for transgressing against the gods of the Elves. Or have you forgotten your time in the North so easily?”
“No, I’ll never forget.” The elf shrugged. “If you’re going by former titles so am I.”
Former titles? Had he heard Sheyreza’s bluff out on the steps? “Oh? You were able to listen to what occurred outside but unable to help? I find it odd you could hear my conversation with the high priestess but were unable to do anything about it.” Sheyreza looked the elf up and down, contemptuously. “But then, trading words with you is not why I am here.”
Aravilar sighed and looked to the Qilue. “I dont need this. Qilue, the payment is done. I'm going home to my son. Give my regards to Storm.” The elf turned to look directly at Shey and held up a diamond ring. Sheyreza recognized it instantly. It was the ring the silver dragon Jhessra had given to Sheyreza long ago. The ring was incredibly valuable and conferred upon its wearer immunity to death magic, negative energy and disease. When the Promenade had first come under attack from the Xanathar and the Slimelord, Sheyreza had given the ring to Qilue voluntarily. She knew the ring would fetch a price so large that the Chosen would be able to afford all the defenses Qilue kept saying they could not pay to erect. To Sheyreza, the sacrifice of one person’s security for the safety of the community seemed a fair trade, but no defenses had ever been erected despite her sacrifice of the ring.
“One soul for another.” Aravilar said.
Sheyreza did not understand what the elf’s words meant, but she understood why he was showing her the ring. It was his now, apparently part of his ‘payment.’ Until now, for all Sheyreza knew, Qilue had done nothing with the ring. Now it was in the hands of Aravilar Amalith, a surface elf sorcerer who had once sold humans to a lich. Sheyreza was disgusted.
The mage did not wait for Sheyreza to express or act upon her disgust. He quickly intoned the words to a spell of teleportation and vanished from sight. A neat trick, Sheyreza thought, given that the underdark’s faerzess zones and earth nodes usually prevented teleportation.
“That was Aravilar.” Inthara said to Gryndal.
“And who is he?” Asked the scout.
“A powerful mage.”
Sheyreza ignored Inthara and Gryndal and walked up to the dais. “[i:2laie6v5]Yathtallar[/i:2laie6v5], I am afraid I do not understand what is going on here.”
“Neither do I.” Agreed Gryndal.
“What is he doing with the ring?” Sheyreza asked with a cracked voice born of a throat that had seen too much yelling and too much smoke in the last day. She turned and looked upon the ruined temple and the smouldering bodies which lay outside the doors. “And what is this all about?” She turned back to Qilue. “If I may ask.” Her tone left no doubt she felt entitled to ask. It was not a question, but a challenge.
“I gave it to him,” Qilue explained, “for the vaults back in his home. I can hardly think og a safer place.”
“And where is his home?” Anger was creeping into Sheyreza’s cracked voice now.
“The Isle. Evermeet. Whatever you prefer. It was payment of a sort. The aftermath of our journey.”
“I see.” Though it was clear from Sheyreza’s body language she did [i:2laie6v5]not[/i:2laie6v5] see. “And, all of this? Where did you go, [i:2laie6v5]if I may ask?[/i:2laie6v5]”
Qilue’s voice was as tired as Sheyreza’s was angry. “The abyss and back, to retrieve a friend.” The high priestess held up a small gem. “The attacks were a side effect of the gates.”
The three surviving defenders of the temple could not conceal their shock at the callousness of Qilue’s statement.
“A [i:2laie6v5]side effect[/i:2laie6v5]?” Sheyreza asked incredulously. “Your people are [i:2laie6v5]dead[/i:2laie6v5] high priestess!”
Inthara scowled. “That side effect nearly destroyed the temple.”
Qilue sighed heavily. “I know. Don’t you think we know?”
Sheyreza leaned back on her heels, her voice dropping to the ice cold tenor she had not used since interrogating heretics as a priestess of Lolth. “I do not know what you know. I do not know what to make of any of this.”
The high priestess offered a faint smile. “Yet we were successful, even if the cost was great, perhaps too great.”
Sheyreza’s voice remained cold. “And what were you successful in doing?”
Qilue looked puzzled at her question. “Why, we saved Tel, and a number of others whose souls were trapped in the pits. All we could.”
Gryndal was nodding but Sheyreza was not so easily mollified. “Enough souls to trade for all the Chosen?” She wiped blood from her face.
“Perhaps it was a foolish quest.” Qilue offered. “Yet we undertook it, and it is done.”
Sheyreza looked around. “And where is Tel?”
“She is here.” Qilue held up the gem again.
Sheyreza gazed upon the jewel with undisguised contempt. “So was it worth it? The Chosen are destroyed.”
“You are not.” Qilue’s soft eyes looked upon Sheyreza’s bloody, naked form. “You are my sister.”
The naked priestess shook her head and looked away. “I am one of the few you have left then. I would question your fitness to rule these people but they are all dead so it does not really matter now.” Sheyreza looked back into Qilue’s eyes. “I cannot believe you once cautioned me about risking war in my quest to save Tel. What war could I have started that would have killed more of the Chosen than this?”
“It seems our roles have been reversed. It is done and we did what you wanted for so long, at a cost we could not have known.”
Sheyreza’s face contorted with anger. “Don't you DARE blame this on me. At least have the courage to take responsibility for your actions. [i:2laie6v5]You[/i:2laie6v5] decided to go to the abyss without telling us. [i:2laie6v5]You[/i:2laie6v5] put the chosen in this position. [i:2laie6v5]You[/i:2laie6v5] left us outside to fight the bebilith and the agents of the enemy. [i:2laie6v5]You[/i:2laie6v5]...you were the leader. What befalls the people is the leader's responsibility.”
Qilue shook her head. “I'm not blaiming anyone, merely making a observation. Do you truly think we left them, and you, knowing exactly what would come? We had hoped to avoid a major battle, obviously there was miscalculation.”
Inthara looked out towards the cavern. “The Promenade is now severely weakened. Almost all of its defenders are dead.” Her voice was low, sad.
“Then it is time to rebuild.” Qilue stated.
“Is it?” Sheyreza asked, the venom in her voice giving way to fatique and resignation.
As Sheyreza’s voice tired, Qilue’s strengthened. “What else can we do? Give up? No.”
“Most of the people I have met in the last year and a half are dead.” Sheyreza replied.
“Yes I know. Do you think that means nothing to me?” Qilue sighed and looked down, the strength falling from her voice with grief.
“I do not know,” Sheyreza looked upon the high priestess, her eyes searching, “and that makes me sad.”
Tears welled up in Qilue’s eyes and she wiped at them. “Then what do you think it does to me?”
Sheyreza ignored the high priestess’s tears. Her sympathy for Qilue had died with the Chosen. Her voice went cold again, dutiful. “All the non-combatants were moved to the Hall of Healing. What defenders remain aside from us are there guarding them, though we have not checked upon them to see if they are still alive. There are no guards outside, none left to patrol. And we are expended. I've no spells left, no potions, no arrows and little strength.” Sheyreza did not tell Qilue about the bebilith’s poison that was flowing through her veins. She wanted no help or aid from the high priestess now; the rest of the Chosen had not received it, so Sheyreza would not take it.
Qilue listened to Sheyreza’s report and nodded her head. She dried her tears and held her head up high. “Regardless, there is something I must ask of you.”
“Something you must ask?” Sheyreza looked at Qilue. The high priestess was beautiful, amazingly so, but at this moment, Sheyreza hated her more than she hated the dead priestess of Selvetarm outside. If she could have, she would have killed Qilue right then for daring to ask more. Had not enough been given? Sheyreza did not attack Qilue, naturally, she simply regarded her for a long moment. “Of course. You are the High Priestess. Ask.”
Qilue held up the jewel. “Take this gem and this hand to the Sisters-Three. They will do the rest.”
Sheyreza gazed upon Qilue in disbelief. All this and Qilue was not going to bring Tel back herself? What a travesty this was. Did she not have the power? Sheyreza knew Qilue had brought back Sadei and had helped Sheyreza bring back Inthara. Why now did she need help from those three sister-witches to bring back Tel? Had the abyss drained Qilue that much? Or was this not really even Qilue? Had the high priestess been replaced by a doppelganger? Possessed?
No, she doubted it. The high priestess could not have passed into and through the abyss in the company of Iljrene, Ithlyn and Aravilar if she had been replaced.
Sheyreza walked up and took the gem and the decayed hand silently. Without another word she turned and walked out of the temple. She gazed upon the smoking ruin that was the Promenade of Eilistraee. Everywhere the eye could see laid the bodies of those that had fallen in defense of the temple and the enclave, scattered among the wrecked corpses of uncounted numbers of spiders. By Sheyreza’s best guess, and least four dozen Protectors and Acolytes had died in the battle. Three quarters of the Promenade’s adult population was slain. Of its defenders, only a handful at the Hall of Healing remained, along with the three who survived the siege of the temple.
The statue of Eilistraee gleamed before Sheyreza and the priestess stared out upon the stone representation of her goddess. [i:2laie6v5]Is this what it means to follow you, Lady? Is this how your faithful are rewarded? Is Qilue truly your Chosen one?[/i:2laie6v5] Sheyreza shook her head and silently walked away.
Chapter 5, End of the Chosen.[/b:2laie6v5]
Hours passed since the driders were destroyed. Inthara had returned, the poison in her veins having run its course for the most part. Shortly after her return, the enemy attacked again, another wave of giant spiders swarming out of the darkness. These were not sword spiders, but giant black beasts who threw webs at the Chosen. More than one defender was stuck fast, including Gryndal who had to set aside his crossbow to cut his way free. Unlike the sword-spider swarm, Sheyreza did not have to face the spiders alone this time. Dodging the webs as best they could, she and the others had hurled arrow, bolt and spell into the arachnids as they charged. Only a couple of spiders made it as close as the great statue of Eilistraee and they were destroyed by the charge of the Protectors. The attack left a few of the Chosen wounded but none seriously. The attack was not without cost to the defenders, however. Inthara and Akordia both had to expend spells to heal the wounded. For her part, Sheyreza had expended almost all her remaining arrows; by the time the protectors slew the last of the spiders, she had but three shafts left.
Sheyreza set Inthara to studying to the slowly diminishing barrier, but her study was interrupted. The slippery, black clad archer returned and slew one of the Protectors along the slope. Gryndal engaged the archer in a brief duel of bolt and arrow, but the enemy was quickly driven off as Sheyreza led a few Protectors down the mound seeking to engage their bow armed foe in melee. The defenders did not press their pursuit. They stopped short of the western buildings, some of which were still burning. Leaving the scout to flee they fell back and reformed atop the ridge. Gryndal resumed his post standing out upon the promontory keeping watch with sharp eyes and a quick crossbow.
Bloodied and weary, the defenders did not get much rest. Not long after the scout had attacked, another wave of spiders rushed the temple-mound. These spiders were much smaller. About the size of a broad brimmed hat, they were tiny compared to the monstrosities the defenders had been fighting up until now. There were many of them, however, and Sheyreza knew they were poisonous. The swarm assaulted the north flank of the temple’s defense and the Protectors there fought back furiously. Akordia and Inthara supported them, smashing the spiders with sword and spell.
The north flank held. The tiny monstrous spiders were destroyed to the last. More healing spells were expended. Worse yet, the last vials of poison antidote brought by Akordia from the Hall of Healing had to be distributed and used. Though the attack claimed no lives, like the waves before it, it weakened the Chosen by eating through their resources.
With their wounds mostly healed, the remaining Promenade defenders spread out along the ridge of the temple-mound as far a part as practical. There were not many of them; nine protectors and a couple of acolytes including Akordia. Gryndal stood near the defensive line along the promontory over looking the western slope of the mound, while Inthara and Sheyreza talked near the steps of the temple. All of them were covered in soot from the fires, ichor from the spiders, and blood from their own wounds, none more so than Sheyreza herself.
Gryndal raised his crossbow to a firing position. Sheyreza looked to where he was aiming and saw a woman walking through the field of dead spiders and smouldering drow corpses that surrounded the great statue near the base of the mound. The woman appeared to be alone. She looked like a drow but she was too tall. Indeed, she appeared to be as tall as an adult human male though she was far more slender and far more beautiful. Her hair was long and silken, and cascaded about her naked shoulders like the white waters of wild cataract flowing over the dark wet granite of a mountain. The woman’s obsidian skin was flawless, her eyes perfectly shaped and her strut perfectly seductive. She was also completely naked.
“Demon.” Sheyreza said flatly to Inthara and Akordia. There was no doubt in Sheyreza’s mind. This woman was a succubus, a demon, a tan’ari. A succubus was a demon of pleasure and temptation, however, not a warrior. This creature was not being sent here to fight but to talk or perhaps seduce. Quickly, Sheyreza muttered an incantation to protect herself from any magical influences over her mind. As the demon approached Sheyreza walked down the slope to meet it. She stopped shy of the approaching woman and did not attack.
“Aren’t you the smart one?” The beautiful woman asked, her every word a challenge, an insult and an invitation.
For a moment Sheyreza simply gazed upon the succubus. Sheyreza could guess what she looked like after twelve hours of battle and it was certainly not as beautiful a sight as the succubus standing before her. Sheyreza’s normally luminescent white hair was matted and stained with blood, sweat and ichor. Her skin was covered in a thick sheet of grime and grit. Red lines of magically healed wounds crossed her silken skin. Dehydration and fatigue had left her face sunken and weary looking. The creature before her, however, seemed untouched by anything but primping brushes, make up and the gentle caress of the lightest breeze which gave just the right amount of lift to her hair. Though this creature was yet another tool of the enemy, Sheyreza’s first thought was not one of defense or attack or even of negotiation. It was simple jealousy. [i:2laie6v5]Why can’t I look like that?[/i:2laie6v5] Sheyreza hated her and loved her at the same time. She had known as she walked down the slope that a parlay with this creature was as pointless as a parlay with the mage earlier but she could not bring herself to simply attack something so beautiful. Evil or not, the succubus was gorgeous to behold and Sheyreza, like most elves, had a very strong, innate appreciation for beauty.
Sheyreza closed her eyes and shook her head for moment. She had to focus on the problem at hand not her petty vanity or her love of all things beautiful. Contorting her face into a snear and twisting her tongue into a veritable knot, Sheyreza addressed in the demon in its native abyssal tongue. “What do you want demon?”
Next to Sheyreza, Inthara slowly drew her wand. On the promontory above, Gryndal aimed his crossbow. Behind Sheyreza on the slope the remaining Protectors and acolytes stood ready.
The succubus smiled faintly. “Abandon the temple lass, or you die along with everyone.”
Even her voice was beautiful. Sheyreza really did not want to destroy her. It was like defiling a fantastic work of art. Unfortunately, there was just nothing to be gained from talking.
Sheyreza took a half step back with her left foot as if to turn away, gripped her sword sheath with her left hand, and then in one smooth motion drew the blade and struck.
The sword hit the demon-woman and sent her reeling but did not draw blood. Gryndal fired a heartbeat later and a heart beat after that, Sheyreza struck again.
The remainder of the Chosen joined in the attack and the succubus retreated from the furious assault. Her exquisite face registered her surprise and anger. Though caught off guard and struck by bolt, arrow, sword and spell, she seemed unwounded. Quickly, the demon manifested her wings and took to the air. In her abyssal tongue, the demon began spell casting. Sheyreza switched to her bow and let fly her last three shafts, but to no avail. The demon’s otherworldly flesh was virtually unscathed despite the best efforts of the Chosen. Sheyreza knew some of her spells would have affected the tan’nari, but Sheyreza’s spells were all expended. As the last of her arrows left her hand, she switched back to her sword and took cover behind a stone pillar.
All around the Chosen were running, yelling, looking for someway to harm the flying demon. Gryndal put bolt after bolt into her, but with no effect. Inthara’s wand fared little better.
From above the demon snickered at the scurrying drow. “I said my peace. Your weapons are nothing.” Her only answer was more arrows and a splash of arcane acid from Inthara’s spell repotoire. The succubus sighed and it was like silk on smooth skin. “I did my best.” She said. Below, still taking cover behind a stone pillar, Sheyreza also sighed. Even in the midst of battle the demonic creature was seductive. Sheyreza thought it simply was not fair.
The succubus disappeared.
Sheyreza looked around for the creature, but she knew the demoness was most likely already reporting to her mistress or master. At the academy, Sheyreza had learned that most tan’nari could teleport at will.
The protectors regrouped upon the temple-mound and spread out once again. Seeing a demon in service to the enemy had awoken yet another fear in the pits of their stomachs; the fear of otherworldly enemies no ordinary weapon could harm. The only way Sheyreza could overcome such a defense was with a spell but she had no such spell left. She needed to pray and rest but she did not want to leave the defenders without their leader. Of course she was not going to be of much use to them exhausted, dehydrated, and devoid of spells.
Gryndal assured her he would keep watch. If anything happened, he would get her. Sheyreza took one more walk around the ridge perimeter. The defenders were bloodied, but they were not as fatigued as she was. All but Gryndal and Inthara had come as reinforcements from the Hall of Healing. Though they had seen some action at the Hall, they had not borne the brunt of the early fighting.
Satisfied that the defenses were as good as they were going to get, Sheyreza walked around to the sheltered rear of the temple. There was a fountain there. She pulled off her helmet and knelt before the small basin. With both hands she began to splash water on her face and then she simply bent down and began drinking. There was nothing dignified or graceful about it, but the cool water tasted like the finest wine to a throat that had known only fire, smoke and screams for a day. Her thirst sated, she found a small nook along the side of the temple and wedged herself into it. It felt good to sit. With all the pain in her arm and shoulder from the spider’s poison, she had not noticed the burning ache in her leg muscles. How many times had she run up and down the steep temple-mound slopes? She could not even begin to count. She fished around in her satchel, pulled out another strip of meat and ate it.
Afterwards she began her prayers. Normally there would be a dance and an evensong but now she could not afford the time nor did she want to attract that much attention. Though it was not her goddess’s way, Sheyreza prayed quietly, her songs reduced to a barely audible whisper. It would have to do. Somewhere out there that black clad archer was waiting to put another arrow in another throat and if Sheyreza lifted her voice in song she was fairly certain it would be her throat he would aim at.
When her prayers were finished, Sheyreza closed her eyes and leaned back into the nook where she was sitting. She knew she should rejoin the others but she was so tired. She wanted to rest. Reverie would come so easily at this moment. [i:2laie6v5]Gryndal was there, he could watch the line, Inthara too, and Akordia.[/i:2laie6v5] Sheyreza did not need much convincing to talk herself into it. Her dark eye lids fluttered a bit and she slipped into reverie.
Sometime later she came back to reality. Her legs were cramped. There was kink in her neck and she was terribly cold. She had foolishy rested while laying on the stone foundation of the temple, and that stone was cold and sucked the warmth out of her. Shivering, she stood and extricated herself from the niche. On the other side of the building she found all was more or less how she left it. Gryndal stood watch on the promontory, the Protectors stood or crouched among the dead, and Inthara, Akordia and the other acolyte spoke in quiet tones on the steps.
Sheyreza pulled her helmet on and walked the perimeter again. There had been no further attacks but like the previous lulls Sheyreza was certain this pause would come to a violent end only too soon.
As if on cue a sudden viscious chill raced through her; a terrible, deep almost primal fear hit her in the stomach. All she could think about was a spider, a horrible creature that reared itself before her eyes. Suddenly, she felt as if she was being stretched thin, as if this reality was warping. The only other time she had ever felt such a feeling was when her spirit had left this plane with Qilue’s in search of Inthara’s soul.
A sharp pain struck Sheyreza’s chest and she clutched at her breast where the old would have been but for her polymorphing long ago. In her mind’s eye she saw the flash of a spider shaped dagger. Then, for a split second she felt something cold, something terrible, something overwhelmingly powerful and horribly familiar pass through her.
By now Inthara had noticed Sheyreza’s distress and rushed to her side.
The feeling passed. Sheyreza blinked, smiled slightly, took a deep breath and looked down at the glowing cracks running through the temple.
Out in the cavern, beyond the burning bodies and the great statue, a sinister red glow flickered to life and then died out. Someone was casting spells out there, very powerful spells. Summoning spells.
On the temple-mound Sheyreza cast her own spells. She raised every protective spell in her repotoire and then she began laying enchantments on her blade. Once again the black sword was wreathed in dark fire.
A crack formed just beyond the statue of Eilistraee and and a malevolent red light glowed from deep within it. It was not unlike the cracks which ran across every face of the temple, only it was much, much larger.
Something dark appeared in the red glow, something long and slender. It landed upon the edge of crack. Another long, slender black object unfolded from the red glow and joined the first.
Inthara pointed towards the hellish rift. “It comes!”
Sheyreza slid her arm into her mithral clawshield. “Yes, she does.”
Inthara looked back upon the armored priestess. “She?”
“Mother watches.”
Inthara narrowed her eyes but there was no time to press Sheyreza for a less enigmatic answer. Whatever was coming was coming now. It was probably for the best. Had Inthara pressed Sheyreza for an answer the priestess would have had to explain that she knew Lolth was watching the battle, for a moment ago, Sheyreza had felt the Spider Queen’s presence pass through her.
From the top of the temple-mound the defenders watched one dark leg after another appear along the glowing red chasm that had opened up in the cavern below. An enormous black bulk followed the long spindly legs. All at once the creature pulled itself free of the crack from which it issued. The crack sealed up as the beast exited, disappearing as if it had never been there; the summoning was complete.
The summoned beast looked like a spider the size of a house. It stood over ten feet high and at least twenty feet from claw to claw across its legs and body. It was not simply a gargantuan spider, however. Sheyreza recognized its misshapen body, its oversized fangs and the cruel hooks along its eight horrid legs. This was a [i:2laie6v5]bebilith[/i:2laie6v5], a fiendish spider from Lolth’s menagerie in the Demonweb pits and one of her most powerful servitors. Summoning such a creature was an awesome display of power on a level equal to that which Sheyreza’s mother, Matron Shyntlara of Qu’ellar Auvryndar, might have been able to accomplish.
The end had come. Sheyreza could not defeat such a creature even if she had not had to battle her way through wave after wave of the enemy’s attacks for an entire day first. This creature was simply beyond her. And it was far beyond those who stood with her, whether they knew it or not. No wonder Lolth was watching; she wanted to see how Sheyreza died; perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of hate. Sheyreza did not know, but she was flattered that the Dark Mother would take such an interest in her demise.
Gryndal was already loosing bolts at it. Blue-white beams of magic fired from Inthara’s rod. Along the ridge the Protectors formed up into a defensive line, drawing their swords, raising their shields and preparing to melee.
Sheyreza knew it was pointless. The creature would kill all who stood in its way. Only Qilue could have stopped this demon and she had not returned in time. The defenders would fall. Now Sheyreza faced a choice. She could stand her ground and fight and in so doing be slain, or she could flee. The south flank of the mound was congested with Protectors and acolytes preparing for the defense but the north flank was clear. She could run down that slope, circle behind the beast and make for the exits. Hopefully who ever summoned the demonic spider would be too busy guiding this final assault to bother with a single fleeing priestess.
But then what? Flee into the dark alone? Where would Sheyreza go? What would she do? What would be the point of scratching to live one more day of this life with naught but death to look forward to tomorrow?
No. She would not flee. There was no point to it. This, it seemed, was Eilistraee’s test of how her Chosen faced death. As far as Sheyreza could tell, both the Spider Queen and her daughter were watching to see how their children lived, fought and died. Sheyreza would not run.
The bebilith answered the bolts and spells with webs. Great streams of sticky silk issued from its spinnerets arcing through the cavern at the defenders. Up on the promontory overlooking the west slope, Gryndal dodged the stream of webs and continued to loose bolts at the monster below him. Inthara likewise dodged the monster’s attacks while blazing away with her magic wand. Disheartingly, neither bolt nor spell seemed to affect the web-slinging demon.
The Protectors and acolytes formed up and charged into melee with the beast. Sheyreza joined them. They rushed upon the demon-spider’s legs and began hacking away at the hairy, misshapen appendages. The bebilith spun, leaving off its web-slinging, and brought its fore-legs into the attack. A long, grotesque, spindly leg with a wickedly hooked claw at the end slashed through the air and tore the throat from a Protector. The mortally wounded man fell back clutching at his wound. A second leg knocked another Protector down, while a third eviscerated him.
Sheyreza slashed the beast with all the power she had. The effects of the sword spider poison had diminished and she had augmented her natural strength with a prayer to Eilistraee. Her enchanted blade refused to bite the stone-hard flesh of the abyssal arachnid however, even with her divinely-enhanced strength. Each blow she landed failed to cut through the demon’s black carapace. Sheyreza gritted her teeth and struck again and again as did the other Chosen. None of their weapons seemed to be harming the beast. Despite the ineffectiveness of their weapons none of the Chosen ran. This was their home and they had nothing if it was lost. Better to die in its defense than slink away into the underdark only to be slain later and die as a coward.
A splash of foul, burning black ichor struck Sheyreza’s cheek. She stepped back from the demon’s flailing legs and touched a hand to the evil smelling stuff. It was spider ichor, no doubt. Sheyreza looked up at the beast before her and saw a series of burns along its legs and belly. Burns that were oozing ichor. [i:2laie6v5]Wounds.[/i:2laie6v5] Sheyreza danced in, dodging the slashing hooks of the bebilith legs and planted a solid blow upon its carapace. Were the blow landed a burn appeared. A moment later, black ichor oozed from the wound. What the adamantine edge and magical enchancement could not accomplish Eilistraee’s blessing could. While the blade would not cut the beast, the blade’s divine blessing was wounding it. Sheyreza remembered the first lesson about evaluating enemies she had learned at Ched Nasad’s patrol school; [i:2laie6v5]If you can make it bleed, you can kill it.[/i:2laie6v5]
The beast was not invinicible. It could fall. She could kill it. She [i:2laie6v5]would[/i:2laie6v5] kill it.
The bebilith struck again and again, shifting between its legs, striking down those too slow to avoid its slashing hooks. Sheyreza kept moving. Using her claw shield she slipped attack after attack and kept up her assault on the demon-spider. More Protectors fell. One of the acolytes bent to heal a fallen warrior and was herself struck down by the horrid arachnid. Another Protector jumped in to save the fallen cleric. The beast lashed out at him and the Protector stopped the blow with his shield but the demon-spider would not be so easily stopped. The beast brought more of its arsenal to bear. The valiant warrior parried and defended as fast as he could but he could not keep pace with four attacking legs. Slipping past the man’s guard the demon-spider planted one hook in his torso and another in his shoulder. Then the bebilith simply pulled the screaming man apart.
Sheyreza was alone in the melee now. All the Protectors and acolytes who had charged down the slope had been killed or incapacitated. The spider-beast turned its full attention to her and Sheyreza found her self being pushed back. She danced and parried, slipping blows and slashes. There was no sword craft rhythym she knew that could keep pace with this beast, however. Every blow she slipped and every strike she blocked left her open from another angle. The demon-beast took full advantage of the situation. Its wicked hooks found Sheyreza’s body and began trying her armor. The enchanted mithral held. She slashed back, each blow she landed burning the demon further. A screeching, high pitched, unnatural wail issued from its fanged mouth. More blows fell about Sheyreza and panic began to set in. While there had been other Protectors and acolytes to take some of the creature’s attention, Sheyreza had been able to keep up her assault, but now, as the lone object of the creature’s wrath, Sheyreza was unable to hold her ground. Sheyreza needed someone or something to distract the demon-spider and keep at least some of its legs busy. Quickly she began intoning the words to a summoning spell. If allies were what she needed, she would bring them herself.
The bebilith took the opportunity to pounce upon the spellcasting priestess. Its hooks had time and time again failed to tear through her enchanted mithral plate so now it was the armor itself that was attacked. Sheyreza felt a leg sweep up behind her. Another pushed her back. The world spun as she lost her feet and found herself rolling beneath the demon-spider, carried by its legs. A hook slipped into a gap on her armor and then another. She felt the beast pulling at her so hard it seemed as though she would be quartered. She screamed and lost her spell. Though the mithral plates were stronger than the bebilith’s claws, the spider silk ties that held them together were not. A sharp hook sliced through the silken strands and another pulled the armor plates free of the writhing priestess clutched in the demon-spider’s claws. Bit by bit, it stripped her until Sheyreza fell from its black claws wearing nothing but her thigh high enchanted boots.
Stunned, Sheyreza rolled out from under the beast and ran. A long leg slashed at her but she parried it with her shield. She had no armor left, but at least she had her shield. Naken but for her boots, she scampered up the temple-mound where Inthara and Gryndal continued to loose bolts and spells at the rampaging beast.
As she fled she saw Akordia on the slope. The young acolyte had not charged with the others, having frozen with terror. Now, seeing Sheyreza flee caused something to change in Akordia. She gripped her sword tightly and charged down the incline towards the on rushing beast. Sheyreza tried to scream a warning but no words came out of her mouth; she was too hoarse, too dry, too scared on her own. The quickly hooked the acolyte’s sword with one leg, pushed the girl down with a second leg, and then gutted her with two others. Sheyreza stared in horror. Akordia lay, still alive, beneath the bloody hooks of the creature. The young girl was dying. Her eyes rolled in her head and came to rest on Sheyreza. There was nothing the older priestess could do, nothing she could say, no spell she could cast or song she could sing. Akordia was going to die. And so too was the Promenade.
The demon scuttled forward over Akordia’s ruined form and Sheyreza charged to meet it screaming Eilistraee’s name. She did not care that she was naked, she did not care that this was insane. All that mattered was the dance now and if this was to be her final dance, she was not going to run from it, she would run into it. Her sword began to hum and Sheyreza’s first blow burned a bloody, smoking wound right through the bebilith’s black carapace. The creature brought four of its horrid hooked legs to bear and Sheyreza spun away, then leapt back in on the attack. Spider and priestess danced now, slashing and dodging, maneuvering and feinting. Wicked hooks found Sheyreza’s naked skin but her skill kept the beast from inflicting more than superficial lacerations.
They dueled like champions of their gods; the spider beast a creature of the abyssal pits and the physical incarnation of Selvetarm’s wrath on the Prime material, its many legs slashing and tearing like the many arms of Lolth’s champion. Against the spider beast was pitten the naked priestess of Eilistraee, Sheyreza, dancing with her sword in defense of hope and light. Red drow blood and black abyssal ichor mixed on the floor of the Cavern of Song as the two fought. Sheyreza’s wounds mounted, but so too did the creature’s burns. It’s wailing grew louder and more frenetic. Sheyreza knew the beast was learning pain and fear. Desperately, the creature tore at Sheyreza’s claw-shield, the last protection she carried. She slipped the creature’s hooks, however, and launched a riposte leaving another oozing burn upon the beast. It wailed again and Sheyreza could clearly see it was injured. She smiled. There was a chance.
The bebilith was far from defeated however. It kept after Sheyreza with its wickedly hooked legs, tearing and stomping. Sheyreza was forced back and gradually pushed up the slope. She gave ground reluctantly at first, but then realized the spider-demon’s aggressive assault was gradually giving her a high-ground advantage. If she actually got to the crest of the temple-mound she might be able to strike at the beast’s head. Mindful of the creature’s claws and reach, Sheyreza began to work more back steps into her rhythm. Steadily the dueling pair made their way up the slope of the ridge. From above, bolts of electricity, streams of acid and fast flying crossbow bolts descended upon the demon’s back. Inthara and Gryndal had not fled or given up. Though their attacks seemed futile, the pair was determined to fight to the last.
Sheyreza called upon the power of Eilistraee and her long black blade erupted with darkfire. Seeing the dancing priestess pause, the spider-demon made its move. It came in fast and high, and then fell upon her. Sheyreza watched its legs but her defenses could not be everywhere at once. The creature’s pedipalps reached out and took hold of her claw shield. A long, multi-segmented leg struck Sheyreza as the pedipalps pulled and the slender priestess lost her grip on her last piece of defense. The shield went tumbling down the slope.
Blade burning, Sheyreza leapt into attack. The beast fell back under her assault and then scuttled sideways, circling to reach the high ground with her. Sheyreza saw its move but was helpless to stop the enormous creature. Within a moment the two enemies were atop the ridge together. Sheyreza’s advantage was lost and now she no longer had her shield. The beast came forward, claws reaching out. Sheyreza struck at the legs, burning the steel-hard appendages with each swing. Though she was hurting the demon, she was only hurting it a little with each blow. The bebilith’s attacks, however, were far deadlier. Sheyreza danced away and found herself being pushed back towards the promontory where Gryndal had been standing. The crossbow armed scout saw what was happening and cleared off the bluff before the bebilith closed the trap but Sheyreza was unable to escape. With her back to a cliff, she fought desperately against the monster but she had little defense against its tearing hooks. She risked another spell, this one to call upon Eilistraee’s power to defend her. The spider was too quick. It rushed again and this time took its body over the diminuitive priestess. Sheyreza tried to stab the beast in the belly but felt something strike her from behind. Two points of pain erupted in her back, just below the neck and shoulder.
Sheyreza blinked and staggered, her spell and her attack forgotten. The creature pulled off of her and retreated. Sheyreza struggled to bring her blade up but her arms would not respond. Her vision got blurry. She stumbled and she realized that the bebilith, like the sword spider, had poisoned her. The enormous creature sat a few yards away, watching Sheyreza. It did not attack and when she staggered towards it, the beast scuttled sideways or backwards. It was waiting; waiting for the poison to do its work.
Eyes watering, chest heaving, the naked priestess desperately struggled to raise her blade and press the attack. She had to slay the beast before the poison slew her. The effort was in vain. She could not get her sword up and she could not run to catch the beast. She was all but helpless.
The spider-demon came forward with its two front legs held high as if to strike down upon Sheyreza’s head. With the last of her strength she lifed her sword to parry and tried to slip away but a third leg came slashing in at her from the side; the front two legs had been a feint. The third leg’s hook came from low to high and found Sheyreza’s unarmored body. It tore through the soft skin and hard muscle of her upper thigh, skipped off her pelvic bone and then ripped across her abdomen.
Sheyreza fell. She hit the ground and rolled across the cold stone until she hit something soft and warm. Another body. It was over. She felt pain, but not as much as she would have thought. The beast had nearly eviscerated her. Perhaps it had, she could not really tell. Regardless, she had no strength to get up. The demon had won. Sheyreza coughed and spit up blood. She could not see the beast anymore but she knew it was still fighting. She could hear the distinct twang of Gryndal’s crossbow, the soft hiss of Inthara’s rod and spells, and the cries of the two as they fought desperately against the demon. Sheyreza wished she could help them. Slowly Sheyreza raised a hand and tried to push herself up but there was too much pain and not enough strength in her body.
The sounds of fighting began to fade into the background. Sheyreza could see what had stopped her roll from continuing down the hill. It was the burned body of one of the temple defenders. Sheyreza was lying face to face with it. The body’s skin had been burned away but the eyes remained, staring out at the world, dead and lidless. They were lavender. Though her mind was clouded with pain, fear and poison, Sheyreza recognized those lavender eyes. They were Hivarra’s. How long ago did Sheyreza last see Hivarra alive? Twelve hours ago? A day? A lifetime. Now it seemed as though Sheyreza would join her in death upon the temple mound. Sheyreza stared into Hivarra’s dead eyes and found company there. It was a small comfort to be sure, but staring into Hivarra’s eyes made Sheyreza feel less alone.
Death did not come for Sheyreza, however. She lay there for minutes staring into Hivarra’s lifeless eyes but the light did not fade from Sheyreza’s red and blue orbs. As the minutes passed Sheyreza realized the battle was still on. Tearing herself away from her resting place beside the dead, Sheyreza crawled down the slope amidst the bodies and gore to find her lost armor and equipment, dragging a trail of blood from her wounds behind her. At the base of the slope she found what she was looking for; her ruined sash. Above her, Gryndal and Inthara were still fighting the beast with their spells and bolts, alternating between attacks so as not to let the creature fall upon either one of them.
Sheyreza dug a bloody hand into her torn sash and pulled out a vial of healing potion. She drank it and then retrieved and drank another. Strengthened by the healing magics, she picked up her armor with one hand and her sword with the other and ran for the south slope of the ridge. There she pulled the remaining healing potions from her sash. One by one she drank every vial she had until even the great wound that ran from her thigh across her stomach was closed.
Gryndal ran down the south slope and kneeled next to her. His quivers were almost empty, sweat poured down his brow.
“I cannot harm it.” He said simply.
A nod was the only response Sheyreza had the strength or time to give. Hastily she pulled on her breast plate and secured it as well as she could with the torn spider-silk ties. Slipping her hand into her dented claw shield, she noticed the shield’s claws had actually been torn free of the bracer altogether. That creature was [i:2laie6v5]strong[/i:2laie6v5].
On the mound the bebilith had finally cornered Inthara near the steps of the temple. Once it had her within reach of its legs it made short work of the beautiful sorceress, knocking her down and clubbing her over the head. She fell, senseless, and rolled down the slope until, like Sheyreza, her fall was stopped by a dead body. The great arachnid did not bother to finish Inthara off, however. Instead, it turned its attention upon the glowing barrier and the temple doors. The huge, horrible beast reared back on its hind legs and let its forelegs crash into the door and barrier.
On the south side of the temple-mound, Sheyreza and Gryndal had climbed back to the top of the ridge and now trotted towards the abyssal spawn. A moan reached Sheyreza’s ears. Searching the wreckage of corpses infront of the temple, she found Inthara, horribly wounded, but alive. Sheyreza gave her the last of her healing spells and the sorceress rose.
The three surviving drow now turned to face their enemy. The bebilith was assaulting the temple, oblivious to any other threat. Sheyreza’s bloody, grimy hand returned to her ruined sash one last time and pulled out a potion Jain’n had given her years ago. A protective potion of great worth, it made the flesh as hard as stone. Sheyreza had saved this vial for a desperate day and never in her life had there been a more desperate day. She quaffed the potion and felt her skin tighten until it was like living rock. Snarling a curse upon the demon, she strode forward to enter battle one last time.
A blinding flash of light and a deafening crack of thunder stopped Sheyreza cold. When the drow could see again, the bebilith was laying still, reduced to a smouldering corpse like the bodies of the chosen strewn infront of the temple.
The barrier had been victorious, but the victory had been a costly one; the barrier was now so dim it was hard to see. Virtually all of its energy had been expended to kill the injured bebilith. Sheyreza knew it would not withstand any concerted attack now. There was nothing standing between the enemy and the temple; nothing except Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal.
It took a few moments for the reality of the situation to set in. Sheyreza had been fully prepared to die. Indeed, she had thought her death at the claws of the bebilith was an inevitable occurrence. That it did not come to pass was not an eventuality she was not prepared for. She staggered a bit and sat down. All around her lay the bodies of the Chosen. Some were burned by the mage’s fireball, other slain by spiders, and still more torn to pieces by the demon. None remained save for Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal.
Inthara was walking amidst the carnage, looking from body to body. “Are there any left alive?”
“ Qilue?” Gryndal yelled at the temple. “Iljrene?” No answer issued from the cracked stone.
Sheyreza took a deep breath and stood. “Gryndal, take a walk around the hillock. See if any live.”
The surviving scout nodded and began walking, checking the fallen for signs of life as he went.
“Collect potions and scrolls, if they have them.” Sheyreza called out. She looked to her own supplies. She did not have a single potion left or a single arrow. Her armor was torn and battered, her shield dented and damaged. All her spells had been expended and her body and mind were fatigued to the point of breaking. If they could find some potions, scrolls, or anything else among the dead, it might make the difference between life and death in the next fight.
Gryndal pointed out across the cavern. “Someone approaches.”
A female drow dressed in black armor and the regalia of a High Priestess of Selvetarm walked towards the temple mound. She was flanked on either side by sword wielding, black armored males. The priestess stepped down hard upon the throat of one of the Chosen who had fallen in battle with the bebilith. She grinned as the dying man emitted a wet bloody gargle. Looking up at the temple-mound, she addressed the three remaining defenders.
“I didnt think you would make me come here myself to rip down the bloody wall.” Her voice held more amusement than frustration.
Sheyreza kept her face impassive. “Speak quickly.” She adjusted her grip on her sword. She knew the high priestess was more than a match for all of them, but showing weakness would not help. Indeed, she had been taught long ago that when weak, one should project strength. “It was foolish of you to come.”
The high priestess smiled. “Its done. You’ve lost.”
Inthara tapped her magic rod in her hand defiantly. “We still stand.”
Sheyreza nodded. “Qilue lives.”
The high priestess snorted. “Not for long. I'll finish her myself.”
“I doubt it.” Sheyreza retorted. It was a lie of course. If Qilue was plane traveling and her body lay inside the temple helpless, then there was nothing the Chosen of Eilistraee could do to stop this bitch from killing her. Of course, the high priestess did not have to know that.
“Then where is she?” The high priestess asked in challenge, her eyes narrowing. “Cowering inside on a fools errand?”
Sheyreza stalled for time and played aloof. “Perhaps. It is not your business.”
“Oh but it is.” The high priestess’s voice dropped low. “Stand aside or you'll be shoved aside at sword point.”
Sheyreza knew she was almost out of time. She had kept the high priestess talking as long as she could, but now the bitch was making ultimatums. Sheyreza had almost nothing left to defend with; no spell, no potion, little strength and few defenders. She did have her wits however.
Stepping to the edge of the temple-mound, Sheyreza stood as erect as possible and glared down upon the high priestess and her body guards with all the arrogance and authority she had ever learned back in Ched Nasad.
“You do not have the power to command.” Sheyreza’s voice was imperious now. She immitated the voice, the tone and the manner of her Matron Mother, Shyntlara, a woman who’s every breath, word and act demanded obeyance. “Your god is a servant of the Mother. And you are subject to the commands of the priestesses of Lolth.”
The high priestess narrowed her eyes suspiciously and studied Sheyreza for a moment. “It is irrelevant.” She said finally, though the tenor of her voice made it clear that she was not entirely convinced it was entirely irrelevant.
Sheyreza capitalized on the hesitation. She reached up and undid the hastily tied knots that held her sundered breast plate. Dropping her armor, she revealed the intricate web and spider tattooing that crossed her body and limbs. She kicked her armor aside and stood a top the ride crest, feet spread wide, shoulders squared, head held high, like Matron Shyntlara standing before an assembly of the Qu’ellar. “As a [i:2laie6v5]Yathrin d'Lolth[/i:2laie6v5], a priestess of the Spider Queen, I command you to leave...[i:2laie6v5]servant[/i:2laie6v5].”
“Do you?” The high priestess laughed softly and motioned her guards forward. “Who said anything about Mother?”
Sheyreza changed from the language of the drow to the abyssal tongue of demons and growled out words so foul mortals should never have been taught their meaning. “Do not defy the Mother, fool. Your god is a mere servant of my goddess. Defy Lolth’s priestess at your soul’s peril.” Sheyreza brought her sword up, her weakened, poisoned muscles burning with the weight of the weapon. “Go any further, and you are in defiance of the Spider Queen herself.”
The males paused and looked back at their high priestess but she did not relent. Sheyreza knew now that the priestess probably did believe she was a Yathrin d’Lolth but the high priestess had come too far to give up. She was not going to let any stand in her way, not even a priestess of the Spider Queen. Sheyreza raised her blade with all the strength she could muster and fell upon the bodyguards as they came up the slope.
The fight was mercifully short. The bodyguards were fresh, well equipped and very experienced. In contrast, the temple defenders were fatigued and wounded. Even with the high ground, they did not last long. Gryndal fell first, then Sheyreza. Inthara, never a melee fighter, stayed until the bitter end but was quickly brought low. The bodyguards did not slay them outright however. From the bottom of the temple-mound the high priestess ordered her warriors to take at least the females alive so that they could be sacrificed to Selvetarm. When the fight was over and the temple defenders lay subdued at the feet of the Selvetarm warriors, the high priestess ascended the ridge and walked up to the temple steps.
Smiling, she turned to her body guards. “Hold their heads up so they can see their temple fall.” Her voice was a perfect mixture of malice and triumph. The black clad woman began to chant. Sheyreza felt a strong hand pull her hair and she was jerked up roughly. She could see the high priestess casting before the temple. Sheyreza tried to move but the warrior holding her head had his knee in her naked back and his knife at her throat. Sheyreza reached for her dagger, but could not get a grip on it. She did not even have the strength to kill herself. She was captured. It seemed that her premonitions about being sacrificed were going to come true.
The high priestess paused from her chanting and looked into Sheyreza’s eyes. “Watch and see everything you love fall. It was inevitable. Did she truly think she could challange a god?” Sheyreza supposed the high priestess meant Qilue challenging Selvetarm in some way, but she supposed she would never really know now.
Turning back to the doors, the high priestess resumed her chanting. At the zenith of her casting a loud crack sounded throughout the cavern and the doors of the temple swung open.
The high priestess laughed. “Now to seal them all off!” Sheyreza had suspected that Qilue and Iljrene had been plane traveling. It seemed the Selvetarm high priestess’s goal was to see the duo never came back.
Light poured from the temple’s interior as the heavy stone doors swung open. A voice came from within the light. “You are too late.” The voice was melodius and beautiful. It reminded Sheyreza of the clearest of notes played upon the best crafted harp imaginable by a player of unparalleled skill. It was as clean, crisp and refreshing as a running brook. “We have returned.” It announced.
The high priestess let out a string of curses in mixed drow and abyssal. She back stepped away from the doors, quickly signing to her bodyguards.
A being stepped forth from the temple, tall, radiant, with golden skin, silver hair and great feathered wings as white as snow. “And now it’s finished.” Sheyreza had never seen a solar before but she had heard and read enough about them to recognize one.
The high priestess snarled out another curse and battle was joined. This fight too, was mercifully short, but this time it was the high priestess and her bodyguards who fell. The solar stood over their corpses, bloody sword in hand and looked upon Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal. With but a touch it healed each of them in turn.
“They are waiting for you inside.” It said.
Sheyreza stared at the solar, her eyes a bit narrow, her head tilted to one side. She ran a gritty, bloody hand through her matted hair. “Are they?” Sheyreza decided they could wait. They had made her wait after all. It seemed only fair. No, that was not true. Fair was not a word to be used this day. Fair did not exist in the Promenade. It was not fair that more than a dozen of the Chosen like Hivarra had been incinerated by a fireball. It was not fair that a dozen more, like Akordia, had been eviscerated or torn asunder by a demonic spider almost as large as the temple they had defended. Sheyreza looked down upon the body of the Selvetarm high priestess. It was not even fair that this high priestess had her victory stolen from her.
Had she not waged a great battle? She had defeated all that the Promenade had without sacrificing a single drow of her own. Perhaps that was her undoing. Sheyreza knew that Lolth had watched the battle. Perhaps the Spider Queen was upset at the way this high priestess used the sacred spiders as fodder. Perhaps she was upset when the high priestess chose to defy Sheyreza’s bluff, knowing that had Sheyreza really been a priestess of Lolth, this woman would have defied the Dark Mother. Despite all her brilliance and power the high priestess had been betrayed by fortune at the moment of her greatest victory. Was that, then the fate in store for all who served a goddess or god such as she? Would that be Sheyreza’s fate someday?
Sheyreza studied the dead priestess’s face. She was beautiful, just as many drow women were. What had she overcome to be a high priestess? How many had she killed? How many times had she dodged death? What had she sacrificed to make it this far? And how unjust was it that, on the verge of destroying the Promenade and Qilue in their entirety, she had her victory stolen? Such was the irony worked into the web of fate Lolth spun for every drow. The Spider Queen was nothing if not fickle and capricious. Hope, victory, success; these were prizes to dangle before mortals to make their defeat all the more bitter.
It mattered not to Sheyreza that she was the beneficiary of Lolth’s ironic nature this day. Had the high priestess’s web of fate not been imbued with Lolth’s special touch, Sheyreza would likely find herself on an altar to Selvetarm soon, her heart being cut from her body.
This angered Sheyreza rather than comforted her. She made a decision. She would see that the high priestess and her guards were treated with all the respect and dignity they deserved. The gods might play with mortals capriciously but Sheyreza would not. This woman had accomplished much in her life, even if it was evil. She deserved some respect. Sheyreza would see she got it. The high priestess’s body would be washed, dressed and set upon a funeral pyre as was the custom for high priestesses in Ched Nasad. Her bodyguards would be treated similarly. In life they were enemies, but in death, they were kin. Their very mortality made all drow family and separated them from the goddesses and gods who used up mortal lives for their own struggles.
The solar looked upon Sheyreza and motioned to the temple. “Shall we?”
Inside the temple was in ruins. The four people who stood upon the dais looked as though they had been through battle just as Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal had. Sheyreza recognized Qilue, Iljrene, and Ithlyn, the half-drow leader of the Promenade’s scouts, immediately. The fourth person was a surface elf male. His face was familiar though Sheyreza was having a hard time placing him.
“The enemy outside appear to be defeated.” Sheyreza offered wearily. “But, there are none left save for those you see here, and a few wounded at the Hall of Healing.”
The surface elf male casually tossed a ring in the air. “I do hope it was worth it.”
The voice jarred Sheyreza’s memory; it was Aravilar Amalith, the wizard who had been sent to Lonelywood to atone for his crimes under Jain’n’s supervision. “I recognize you Necromancer.”
Aravilar snorted like a petulant child. “I recognize [i:2laie6v5]you[/i:2laie6v5], priestess of Lolth.”
“Priestess of Lolth?” Sheyreza asked, stepping forward. “When last we met, you were the one doing penance for transgressing against the gods of the Elves. Or have you forgotten your time in the North so easily?”
“No, I’ll never forget.” The elf shrugged. “If you’re going by former titles so am I.”
Former titles? Had he heard Sheyreza’s bluff out on the steps? “Oh? You were able to listen to what occurred outside but unable to help? I find it odd you could hear my conversation with the high priestess but were unable to do anything about it.” Sheyreza looked the elf up and down, contemptuously. “But then, trading words with you is not why I am here.”
Aravilar sighed and looked to the Qilue. “I dont need this. Qilue, the payment is done. I'm going home to my son. Give my regards to Storm.” The elf turned to look directly at Shey and held up a diamond ring. Sheyreza recognized it instantly. It was the ring the silver dragon Jhessra had given to Sheyreza long ago. The ring was incredibly valuable and conferred upon its wearer immunity to death magic, negative energy and disease. When the Promenade had first come under attack from the Xanathar and the Slimelord, Sheyreza had given the ring to Qilue voluntarily. She knew the ring would fetch a price so large that the Chosen would be able to afford all the defenses Qilue kept saying they could not pay to erect. To Sheyreza, the sacrifice of one person’s security for the safety of the community seemed a fair trade, but no defenses had ever been erected despite her sacrifice of the ring.
“One soul for another.” Aravilar said.
Sheyreza did not understand what the elf’s words meant, but she understood why he was showing her the ring. It was his now, apparently part of his ‘payment.’ Until now, for all Sheyreza knew, Qilue had done nothing with the ring. Now it was in the hands of Aravilar Amalith, a surface elf sorcerer who had once sold humans to a lich. Sheyreza was disgusted.
The mage did not wait for Sheyreza to express or act upon her disgust. He quickly intoned the words to a spell of teleportation and vanished from sight. A neat trick, Sheyreza thought, given that the underdark’s faerzess zones and earth nodes usually prevented teleportation.
“That was Aravilar.” Inthara said to Gryndal.
“And who is he?” Asked the scout.
“A powerful mage.”
Sheyreza ignored Inthara and Gryndal and walked up to the dais. “[i:2laie6v5]Yathtallar[/i:2laie6v5], I am afraid I do not understand what is going on here.”
“Neither do I.” Agreed Gryndal.
“What is he doing with the ring?” Sheyreza asked with a cracked voice born of a throat that had seen too much yelling and too much smoke in the last day. She turned and looked upon the ruined temple and the smouldering bodies which lay outside the doors. “And what is this all about?” She turned back to Qilue. “If I may ask.” Her tone left no doubt she felt entitled to ask. It was not a question, but a challenge.
“I gave it to him,” Qilue explained, “for the vaults back in his home. I can hardly think og a safer place.”
“And where is his home?” Anger was creeping into Sheyreza’s cracked voice now.
“The Isle. Evermeet. Whatever you prefer. It was payment of a sort. The aftermath of our journey.”
“I see.” Though it was clear from Sheyreza’s body language she did [i:2laie6v5]not[/i:2laie6v5] see. “And, all of this? Where did you go, [i:2laie6v5]if I may ask?[/i:2laie6v5]”
Qilue’s voice was as tired as Sheyreza’s was angry. “The abyss and back, to retrieve a friend.” The high priestess held up a small gem. “The attacks were a side effect of the gates.”
The three surviving defenders of the temple could not conceal their shock at the callousness of Qilue’s statement.
“A [i:2laie6v5]side effect[/i:2laie6v5]?” Sheyreza asked incredulously. “Your people are [i:2laie6v5]dead[/i:2laie6v5] high priestess!”
Inthara scowled. “That side effect nearly destroyed the temple.”
Qilue sighed heavily. “I know. Don’t you think we know?”
Sheyreza leaned back on her heels, her voice dropping to the ice cold tenor she had not used since interrogating heretics as a priestess of Lolth. “I do not know what you know. I do not know what to make of any of this.”
The high priestess offered a faint smile. “Yet we were successful, even if the cost was great, perhaps too great.”
Sheyreza’s voice remained cold. “And what were you successful in doing?”
Qilue looked puzzled at her question. “Why, we saved Tel, and a number of others whose souls were trapped in the pits. All we could.”
Gryndal was nodding but Sheyreza was not so easily mollified. “Enough souls to trade for all the Chosen?” She wiped blood from her face.
“Perhaps it was a foolish quest.” Qilue offered. “Yet we undertook it, and it is done.”
Sheyreza looked around. “And where is Tel?”
“She is here.” Qilue held up the gem again.
Sheyreza gazed upon the jewel with undisguised contempt. “So was it worth it? The Chosen are destroyed.”
“You are not.” Qilue’s soft eyes looked upon Sheyreza’s bloody, naked form. “You are my sister.”
The naked priestess shook her head and looked away. “I am one of the few you have left then. I would question your fitness to rule these people but they are all dead so it does not really matter now.” Sheyreza looked back into Qilue’s eyes. “I cannot believe you once cautioned me about risking war in my quest to save Tel. What war could I have started that would have killed more of the Chosen than this?”
“It seems our roles have been reversed. It is done and we did what you wanted for so long, at a cost we could not have known.”
Sheyreza’s face contorted with anger. “Don't you DARE blame this on me. At least have the courage to take responsibility for your actions. [i:2laie6v5]You[/i:2laie6v5] decided to go to the abyss without telling us. [i:2laie6v5]You[/i:2laie6v5] put the chosen in this position. [i:2laie6v5]You[/i:2laie6v5] left us outside to fight the bebilith and the agents of the enemy. [i:2laie6v5]You[/i:2laie6v5]...you were the leader. What befalls the people is the leader's responsibility.”
Qilue shook her head. “I'm not blaiming anyone, merely making a observation. Do you truly think we left them, and you, knowing exactly what would come? We had hoped to avoid a major battle, obviously there was miscalculation.”
Inthara looked out towards the cavern. “The Promenade is now severely weakened. Almost all of its defenders are dead.” Her voice was low, sad.
“Then it is time to rebuild.” Qilue stated.
“Is it?” Sheyreza asked, the venom in her voice giving way to fatique and resignation.
As Sheyreza’s voice tired, Qilue’s strengthened. “What else can we do? Give up? No.”
“Most of the people I have met in the last year and a half are dead.” Sheyreza replied.
“Yes I know. Do you think that means nothing to me?” Qilue sighed and looked down, the strength falling from her voice with grief.
“I do not know,” Sheyreza looked upon the high priestess, her eyes searching, “and that makes me sad.”
Tears welled up in Qilue’s eyes and she wiped at them. “Then what do you think it does to me?”
Sheyreza ignored the high priestess’s tears. Her sympathy for Qilue had died with the Chosen. Her voice went cold again, dutiful. “All the non-combatants were moved to the Hall of Healing. What defenders remain aside from us are there guarding them, though we have not checked upon them to see if they are still alive. There are no guards outside, none left to patrol. And we are expended. I've no spells left, no potions, no arrows and little strength.” Sheyreza did not tell Qilue about the bebilith’s poison that was flowing through her veins. She wanted no help or aid from the high priestess now; the rest of the Chosen had not received it, so Sheyreza would not take it.
Qilue listened to Sheyreza’s report and nodded her head. She dried her tears and held her head up high. “Regardless, there is something I must ask of you.”
“Something you must ask?” Sheyreza looked at Qilue. The high priestess was beautiful, amazingly so, but at this moment, Sheyreza hated her more than she hated the dead priestess of Selvetarm outside. If she could have, she would have killed Qilue right then for daring to ask more. Had not enough been given? Sheyreza did not attack Qilue, naturally, she simply regarded her for a long moment. “Of course. You are the High Priestess. Ask.”
Qilue held up the jewel. “Take this gem and this hand to the Sisters-Three. They will do the rest.”
Sheyreza gazed upon Qilue in disbelief. All this and Qilue was not going to bring Tel back herself? What a travesty this was. Did she not have the power? Sheyreza knew Qilue had brought back Sadei and had helped Sheyreza bring back Inthara. Why now did she need help from those three sister-witches to bring back Tel? Had the abyss drained Qilue that much? Or was this not really even Qilue? Had the high priestess been replaced by a doppelganger? Possessed?
No, she doubted it. The high priestess could not have passed into and through the abyss in the company of Iljrene, Ithlyn and Aravilar if she had been replaced.
Sheyreza walked up and took the gem and the decayed hand silently. Without another word she turned and walked out of the temple. She gazed upon the smoking ruin that was the Promenade of Eilistraee. Everywhere the eye could see laid the bodies of those that had fallen in defense of the temple and the enclave, scattered among the wrecked corpses of uncounted numbers of spiders. By Sheyreza’s best guess, and least four dozen Protectors and Acolytes had died in the battle. Three quarters of the Promenade’s adult population was slain. Of its defenders, only a handful at the Hall of Healing remained, along with the three who survived the siege of the temple.
The statue of Eilistraee gleamed before Sheyreza and the priestess stared out upon the stone representation of her goddess. [i:2laie6v5]Is this what it means to follow you, Lady? Is this how your faithful are rewarded? Is Qilue truly your Chosen one?[/i:2laie6v5] Sheyreza shook her head and silently walked away.
[i:1s8idlk4]Author’s Note: The next chapter picks up about a year after the disastrous siege of the Promenade. Sheyreiza, Inthara and Gryndal stayed a the Promenade for most of that year to help rebuild, but all three had lost faith in Qilue. As a result, they eventually left; Gryndal went to the Eilistraee enclave near Silverymoon called the Mouth of Song, while Sheyreiza and Inthara traveled far to the east, to the Pirate Isles, where they met Hignar, a High Priest of Moradinn and a king amongst the dwarves. Hignar was traveling the breadth of Faerun to gather allies to fight the Shades who were about to invade the Silver Marches. Sheyreiza had first met Hignar in the dungeons of the Battlehammer clan when he came to interrogate her. Now, facing the dark shadow of the Shade invasion, Hignar called upon Sheyreiza to gain her help in exploring the possibility of finding drow allies for the coming fight. Sheyreiza and Inthara agreed to help him, and so they and their other allies set out for Silvery Moon to meet with Lady Alustriel herself. [/i:1s8idlk4]
**************
[b:1s8idlk4]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 12 - The Last Dance.[/b:1s8idlk4]
The journey from the Dragon Isle in the midst of the Sea of Fallen Stars to the outskirts of Silverymoon took far less time than the journey from Waterdeep to Immurk’s Hold though the journeys were roughly the same distance as the dragon flies. Indeed, the journey to Silverymoon took less than time than a stroll down the beaches of Grogsong. Hignar used his most powerful divine spells to transport himself, Nikie Stitch, Inthara and Sheyreiza instantly to a mountain pass just outside the so called ‘Gem of the North.’ He explained that the pass was as close as the wards of the city would allow them to teleport. From the pass it was but a short walk to the gates. Sheyreiza did not expect much, having been less than impressed with Waterdeep, Immurk’s Hold, and the other human cities she had seen but Silverymoon was different. The delicate, beautiful hand of elven artistry was evident everywhere, though the city was certainly as human as it was elven. The beauty gave Sheyreiza little comfort though; in the polished armor of the city’s knights and the white marble of its stately edifices Sheyreiza saw only the reflection of the light that would soon be lost to her.
The folk of Silverymoon did not attack Sheyreiza and Inthara, but they did not greet them with open arms either. Spellguards and knights approached and challenged, while common citizens scowled and scurried aside. The first human who regarded with Sheyreiza with curiosity and treated her with some measure of decorum rather than fear and hatred was a cartographer. Sheyreiza purchased maps of the city and neighboring region from him as he explained his curious nature often overcame his instinctual fear. Sheyreiza was grateful for the respite from the prejudice of the other surfacers but she knew the cartographer would have been better served in life to allow his instincts to check his curiosity.
After reporting to the powers that be, Hignar guided Inthara and Sheyreiza on a tour of the city’s libraries, stores and other sights including the fabled Moonbridge. Even Sheyreiza, normally reluctant to express any sense of awe, had to admit the Moonbridge was impressive. Though less spectacular to the naked eye, to a warrior or trained spellcaster, the sight of many golems marching through the streets including some made entirely of mithral was even more impressive. Hignar, Inthara and Sheyreiza followed one such patrol of enchanted constructs as they pounded their way down the streets cracking cobblestones as they went. The golems were led by a Silverymoon Spellguard, who brought them to one of the city gates. The Spellguard explained to Hignar they were placing the golems as traps for the coming shadovar. Sheyreiza was impressed by the wealth and magic it took to make so many golems, but she was not hopeful regarding their power to stop the shade army. While golems were certainly immune to most magic, they were also incapable of catching and killing a powerful arcanist. The golems would help stand against the mundane armies of the shades, but it was not the mundane armies of the shades that worried Sheyreiza. It was their damn spellcasters.
The trio passed through the city gate and Hignar led them to Winter Edge, a settlement that had been destroyed by the Shades. Shrouded in an unnatural darkness, the place was in complete ruins with barely a stone left standing. There were no bodies or skeletons visible, leading Sheyreiza to assume the Shades were animating the fallen and enslaving the captured. She expected nothing less. Hignar retrieved a misshapen lump of rock that had once been a carefully chiseled brick from the stronghold. He showed it to Sheyreiza as evidence of the power of the shades. A single spell had leveled the settlement – a single spell so powerful it melted stone across the entire village. A shadow interrupted their investigation. Hignar killed it quickly and the trio withdrew only to come under fire from a flying arcanist. Dwarven constitution and drow reflexes kept the trio alive as they fled the dark ruins and its watchers.
Upon their return to Silverymoon an agent of the Queen approached and bid them to the palace to see Alustriel herself. The time had come to see what the surfacers were really about. Hignar led the two drow women through the wide, sterile streets to the palace, past the guards in their gleaming armor and through the narrow gates in the stone walls. All took notice of the two drow entering, but no one challenged them or their dwarven chaperone. In the palace they were greeted by Alustriel’s courtiers and ushered into a throne room of sorts. At the far end of the room Sheyreiza could see a crowd gathered. Hignar began speaking but Sheyreiza ignored him. Hignar might be a high priest, perhaps even a king amongst dwarves, but the real power was there in the midst of the crowd; a human woman, regally dressed, casually carrying on conversation with a masked man in black, a bald man in red and a drow woman whose red eyes set afire at the sight of Sheyreiza approaching. Sheyreiza had no doubt who this human woman was; the de facto ruler of the Silvermarches, the Queen of Courtly Love, the High Lady Alustriel.
Sheyreiza approached without fear. She had been in the presence of a goddesses Chosen before, namely Qilue Veladorn, and Sheyreiza was not impressed. Though outwardly the radiantly beautiful, six foot tall, silver haired Qilue appeared like nothing short of a goddess, years of familiarity had bred only contempt in Sheyreiza’s heart for the Chosen of Eilistraee. Sheyreiza hoped Alustriel would prove less disappointing but she was prepared to find another flawed jewel of a matriarch. It was the drow woman who met Sheyreiza’s gaze first, however, and Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed in response. No one had mentioned Alustriel already having drow allies. Though as keen of sight as any drow, Sheyreiza could not discern any visible sign of affiliation on the black clad drow. Whom did this woman worship? Eilistraee? Vhaerun? Certainly not Lolth? If so, Sheyreiza’s value was far less than she had thought and this situation would not easily be turned to her advantage.
Conversation halted as Sheyreiza approached. Hignar and Inthara followed behind her but let Sheyreiza approach first. Alustriel turned from the masked man in black and looked upon Sheyreiza with a smile. “Welcome.” Said the High Lady warmly.
Sheyreiza bowed her head in respect. “[i:1s8idlk4]Malla Ilharess[/i:1s8idlk4],” she said in her native drow language. “Honored Matriarch,” she offered as a translation. It was not precisely accurate, but it was the most respectful title Sheyreiza could give to Alustriel in drow. A shape moved behind the crowd and Sheyreiza saw an illithid, a mind-flayer, moving amongst Alustriel’s courtiers and attendants.
“Before we continue,” Alustriel said, hands extended, “I would like to ensure these conditions are agreeable, and introduce the others here.” She turned to the bald man in the crimson robes who looked out periodically with suspicious eyes from a down cast face. “This is Edwin Odesseiron, representative of the Red Wizards.” The human male muttered something but Sheyreiza ignored him.
Alustriel turned to another human male standing rigidly in a confident juxtaposition to the hunched, muttering red wizard beside him. “Tearn Hornblade, this city's leader.” Turning to the drow woman, Alustriel held out her hand. “Priestess Do'ana of Eilistraee.” She gestured next to the masked man in black. “Manshoon, of the Zhentarim.” Sheyreiza had not only heard of the Zhentarim, she had heard of Manshoon. Was he not one of their highest leaders? Perhaps their founder? Her human-lore was not what it had been when she had been a student at Zhennu Orbb and she found herself unable to place this Manshoon precisely. Nevertheless, she felt it likely he was someone of importance and power amongst the humans. There were others in attendance but they went without introduction. Sheyreiza assumed them to be the courtiers, bodyguards or servants of the leaders who had been named. Finally, Alustriel turned to the Illithid. “I have also asked Shz'ratilk to observe and ensure that only the truth is spoken here.” She said gesturing to the tentacle faced monstrosity. “Is this acceptable?”
It most certainly was not acceptable to Sheyreiza. It seemed her worst fears about the quality of Alustriel were about to be confirmed. For a moment Sheyreiza wondered if this negotiation would fall apart if she protested. She had to proceed carefully here. “You entrust the truth to a Priest of Madness?” Sheyreiza asked Alustriel incredulously.
“He is an ally.” The high lady responded neutrally. “He has provided us with weapons and intelligence regarding the Shadovar.”
Hignar spoke up. “We've met. He's an ally.”
Sheyreiza eyed the illithid and a moment later she felt his thoughts in her head. [i:1s8idlk4]Greetings[/i:1s8idlk4], the creature said through its telepathy.
[i:1s8idlk4]Get out of my head, Priest of Madness, and stay out[/i:1s8idlk4], Sheyreiza answered angrily. She no longer cared if the negotiation would fall apart. She would not treat with anyone under such conditions; she would never willingly give a priest of madness access to her mind. She turned to Alustriel. “He is in my head, and I do not like that.
Inthara nodded. “Xas.”
Alustriel addressed the tall, slender illithid. “You will only read surface thoughts. Lies or truth, that is all.
The illithid responded audibly. “Yesss.”
Sheyreiza was not so easily appeased, however. The drow of the Underdark had a long and bitter history with the illithid. “It was one such advisor and ally as he who betrayed Menzoberranzan's Matron Baenre to her death, more or less.”
A frown crossed Hignar’s face. “I thought she 'as still 'live?”
Alustriel tilted her head slightly. “If you find it necessary, I will send him on his way.”
“I would prefer it, Honored Lady.” Sheyreiza said evenly.
“Then you may go,” Alustriel said to Shz'ratilk, “remember what we discussed.”
Sheyreiza watched the illithid leave, her eyes literally burning with hate and mistrust. There were few creatures she despised as much as illithid. ‘[i:1s8idlk4]Remember what we discussed[/i:1s8idlk4]’? Alustriel had allowed her pet to be dismissed too easily. Sheyreiza had little doubt that the illithid would be stationed in a nearby room with orders to read the minds of those negotiating with the High Lady. While Manshoon and this red wizard might have known that and might have taken suitable precautions, Hignar had given Sheyreiza no such warning. Accordingly, she had little but her own ferocity with which to keep the probing psyche of the illithid at bay. Still, Alustriel had acceded to her wishes publicly even if she was likely keeping the illithid near. Sheyreiza would have to give public respect to the public acquiescence. Turning to the High Lady, Sheyreiza bowed her head. “[i:1s8idlk4]Bela'dos Malla Ilharess.[/i:1s8idlk4] Thank you honored lady.”
“I do not trust him myself,” Alustriel said openly, “but so far we seem to be on the same side. And as you are aware by your presence here, any allies we can get are welcome.”
“So I see.” Sheyreiza responded curtly. She looked to the others. “I have met Red Wizards and Zhentarim in the past, but only in battle.”
“Monkeys,” muttered the red wizard Odesseiron, his eyes darting away from the others as if scanning the floor for something lost.
Alustriel gestured to the others around her. “These have agreed to assist us. It is mutually beneficial, of course, but allies nevertheless.”
“If the ruins I had seen did not impress upon me the desperate nature of this fight, this tableau before my eyes has done so.” Sheyreiza said truthfully. Only true desperation could have brought such forces together in any semblance of cooperation.
Alustriel nodded. “So you have seen Winter Edge?”
“I have.” Sheyreiza replied.
Hignar held up the melted stone he had taken. “What's left of it.”
“Then I need not relate so many details on our foe.” Alustriel said grimly. “May I ask where you two are from, originally?”
Sheyreiza though it odd that the High Lady did not already know. Was she not a chosen of Mystra? Had not Hignar informed her of all they had said? Perhaps the dwarf was as curt with her as he was with them. “We are from Ched Nasad by birth.” Sheyreiza answered. Inthara nodded but kept silent. “Though the body I wear now is from Menzoberranzan, except for the eye.” She gestured to her sapphire orb. “That is from elsewhere.”
Alustriel nodded but her face was anything but agreeable. “Menzoberranzan I have more experience with.” Said the High Lady.
Sheyreiza restrained a smile. “None pleasant I would assume.”
“No.” Alustriel admitted. “They have tried to kill me on numerous occasions, most recently during their last invasion.”
“Mithrial Hall.” Inthara muttered.
“I was with the detachments at Mithril Hall.” Alustriel said defiantly. “They stopped trying to strike us here in Silverymoon many years ago.”
“I see.” Sheyreiza said, again restraining a smile. The High Lady’s ego was apparently of a size commensurate with her position if she had taken to regarding the attack on Mithril Hall as an attempt on [i:1s8idlk4]her[/i:1s8idlk4] life. Such was the ego of Matriarchs everywhere it seemed.
Alustriel continued. “My experience with them is that they are very intelligent, among their other attributes. I believe the success of this venture hinges on that. They must be made to realize that, for all of our history, we will make much better neighbors than the Shadovar. And I believe that is why they would fight. Is that accurate?”
“Maybe learned 'here lesson 'bout Mithril Hall likewise.” Hignar grumbled.
Sheyreiza could no longer restrain her smile and a grin split her delicate face. “They [i:1s8idlk4]are[/i:1s8idlk4] intelligent and Mithril Hall was lost to them because the Spider Queen wanted their matrons dead more than she wanted the dwarves dead.” She considered Alustriel’s last question for a moment. “Is that accurate? Yes and no. I believe I can convince them of the very real nature of the threat.”
“And now you see why I need your advice.” Alustriel said. “Please continue.”
There was never much doubt in Sheyreiza’s mind as to why Alustriel needed her advice; only doubt as to the veracity of the need. Until Sheyreiza had seen Winter Edge and then this gathering of leaders from the Silvermarches, the Zhentarim and the Red Wizards, Sheyreiza had still thought this might be a ruse to draw out the armies of Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan to destroy them. Now she believed in the threat of the Shades and in the desperation of those who stood in their dark path. “I think I stand a fair chance of getting them to contribute to the fight.” Sheyreiza said confidently. “You will not get a great outpouring of their strength, but I believe I can bring a force worth considering.” Even a few hundred drow, if properly used, could be devastating. “Menzoberranzan has recovered from Mithril Hall, or so my adopted family has told me, and they still have mercenaries; perhaps the best in all Faerun.”
Alustriel knew immediately of whom Sheyreiza spoke. “Bregan D'aerthe, yes?”
“Among some, xas.” Inthara answered.
Sheyreiza nodded. “Xas, Bregan D'arthe.” She confirmed. “Also, Ched Nasad is and has been for many centuries larger and stronger than Menzoberranzan, though Ched's mercenaries are not as famous.” Sheyreiza paused for a moment and looked amongst the gathered courtiers. The red wizard was muttering something about Jarlaxle of Bregan D’Arthe being a bastard monkey. Sheyreiza was impressed the Red Wizard knew of the mercenary leader but the red wizard’s insistence at referring to drow as monkey’s was comical at best. Racial derision from a human was beneath pathetic and there was no point in returning insult for insult when Sheyreiza could wait just a few short decades and watch the human either wither and die or sell his soul into undeath in some misguided attempt to cling to this world. If there was a monkey in the room, it was him, and he was just too stupid to know it. Sheyreiza felt no need to educate him on his place in the order of things; time would do that soon enough. Sheyreiza just smiled at the bald wizard, winked, then addressed Alustriel. “They will not come for 'goodness' or even to save you. They will come to save themselves, and for Shadovar slaves.”
“Indeed.” Alustriel responded. “From what I have been told by those who have allied with the drow before, as long as they benefit, they will be loyal to the alliance.”
“We are usually pragmatic,” Sheyreiza said, nodding in agreement. She omitted, however, to mention that what the drow view as benefits might not be what the surfacers would think. The ultimate benefit for the drow of Ched Nasad or Menzoberranzan was the favor of Lolth, and if betraying the surfacers meant gaining or keeping the favor of Lolth, the drow would do it in a heartbeat even though such betrayal might be tactically or economically unsound. The surfacers were not mindful enough of the gods. Hignar’s willingness to be raised from the dead by a Yathtallar of Lolth proved that if nothing else. The faith of these people was as pale as their skin. It was not surprising then, that they would see ‘benefit’ in terms of only strategy, such as defeating the shades, and economics, such as gaining slaves, while missing the most important third leg of this most unstable tripod – the favor of the Spider Queen.
“And the mercenaries, I assume, will be loyal as long as they are paid, yes?” Alustriel inquired.
Sheyreiza shrugged slightly. “The mercenaries, Bregan D'Arthe will be loyal to coin, unless the Baenre, the Spider Queen or circumstances dictate otherwise.”
This caught Hignar’s attention. “What kinda circumstance?” Asked the gruff dwarf.
Sheyreiza thought it best to be truthful here, or at least as truthful as she could be; all that she knew of Bregan D’Arthe was second hand, so it was all just compiled rumor and innuendo. Still, there were some stories that sounded and felt true. “When Lolth abandoned Matron Baenre in the fight for Mithral Hall, Jaraxle and his mercenaries abandoned the field.” Or so Sheyreiza had heard. It sounded likely, so she repeated it as if it was fact. It would be best for the surfacers if they did not place too much trust in any of the drow, even the mercenaries. “In short, when circumstances indicate defeat is inevitable, Jarlaxle will be the first to withdraw.”
“What of the other mercenaries?” Alustriel asked. “The same?”
“Those of Ched? Less competent, more loyal.” Sheyreiza answered. Again, she did not know if it was really true, but it was her best guess. These surfacers kept probing her for the boundaries of drow ‘trust’ and in so doing, convinced her they did not really know their subterranean cousins as much as Sheyreiza would have thought. Like children, they needed instruction. “All drow loyalty is a thing of circumstance.” She told them.
“Indeed, so if we are to do this, we must ensure they continue to benefit.” Alustriel stated.
“That would be wise.” Sheyreiza replied, though she knew it would be impossible for the surfacers to ensure anything of the sort. The Spider Queen would see to that. Sheyreiza saw no point to mentioning that yet though.
“However, we must ensure they do not benefit too much.” The High Lady added.
Sheyreiza smiled. “Wiser still.” And it was, if Alustriel really understood what it meant. Of course, the High Lady did not evidence any understanding of what really motivated the drow of Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad despite having waged a shadow war with them for decades. Sheyreiza could try to explain it, but the human obsession with coin and temporal power would never let her see the truth; the drow would do what the Spider Queen wanted, no matter what the economic or strategic results were.
“How do you plan to acquire this alliance?” Alustriel asked.
Sheyreiza was relieved to get on with the details of the plan. “I will approach one house I have a connection to in each city. Faen Tlabbar in Menzoberranzan, where this body is the body of a Princess. Auvryndar in Ched Nasad, where this soul is the soul of a Princess. I will offer to the Matrons of those two houses my trade contacts here on the surface and present to them samples of things available here. Perfumes, woods, spices...”
Alustriel interrupted. “No weapons or magic of any sort.”
Sheyreiza had to contain a derisive snort. “We make better weapons, and for the most part, better magic.” She smiled. “Though your mythal is impressive.”
The High Lady nodded. “I simply wanted to be clear. Nothing that would benefit them in war against us later.”
The most valuable thing the drow stood to gain was knowledge. No sword, no scroll, no wand could compete in value with simply learning the surface realm’s layout, strengths and weaknesses. [i:1s8idlk4]Can you not see that, ‘High Lady’? Do you not realize what you are getting into?[/i:1s8idlk4] Sheyreiza set those thoughts aside and continued laying out her plan. “With the Matron's greed enticed, I will use the respective matrons to call a meeting of their ruling councils. I will present the threat and the opportunity. No matter how much they hate you, and they do, they will see the logic even if they do not want to heed it. So, I present the other opportunity - the chance to take many Shadovar slaves without worrying about war with you.” Alustriel nodded as Sheyreiza continued. “There are also other benefits, such as the opportunity to send Houses or forces the matrons do not like on [i:1s8idlk4]streega[/i:1s8idlk4] – suicide - missions.”
“Politics, as always.” Alustriel noted astutely.
“With a vengeance.” Sheyreiza added. She held up her hands. “That is the basic plan.”
“How many soldiers do you think could be gotten, realistically?” The High Lady asked.
Inthara put a hand on Sheyreiza’s shoulder and tapped as Sheyreiza gave some consideration to Alustriel’s question. It was a question Sheyreiza had been asking herself for days now and she was still not sure how the matron’s would respond. “To start with, while they are still considering the threat? A battalion from each city, which is 500 to a 1000. Plus mercenaries, which for Bregan D'arthe means 100 maybe a 150. For Ched, mercenaries, more, but of less quality.” She paused and then remembered the obvious. “Oh, and slave troops perhaps double that number.” The drow did not use drow as fodder when there were other creatures available to serve that purpose. Like the folk of the Silvermarches, Zhentarim and Red Wizards.
Inthara’s tapping came together to form message. [i:1s8idlk4]Who is the man standing behind everyone?[/i:1s8idlk4] Sheyreiza did not know and for the moment did not care. She ignored Inthara’s tapping.
“An effective force.” Alustriel mused.
“Yes,” Sheyreiza agreed, “in the dark, very effective. Open field, in daylight, less so.”
“I fear there will be little daylight during these battles.” Alustriel said despondently.
“Bad for you, good for us.” Sheyreiza replied.
“Bad for all of us.” Alustriel corrected. “They are much stronger in the dark. But, there is little we can do about that.” Sheyreiza had to admit the High Lady was probably right. It would have been better to meet the Shades in daylight even if that meant the drow would fight at a handicap; the handicap to the Shades would be far worse.
Hignar was not so despondent. “Makin' Shades 'fraid o'there own shadows has appeal.” Sheyreiza thought she saw a grin trying to come out of hiding beneath the beard of the usually grumpy dwarf. It appealed to her as well. The Shades were to be respected, that was true, but the drow had been mastering the dark for 10,000 years – millennia before ancient Netheril ever rose. Perhaps they could teach the Shadows a thing or two.
They discussed scouts, spies and reinforcements further but the basic plan seemed acceptable to Alustriel and the allies present. “I will need to discuss this with the others, once King Battlehammer arrives.” Alustriel said.
This caught Sheyreiza’s attention. She had thought Alustriel’s power unchecked and undisputed here. Perhaps this was not so? Or perhaps Alustriel did not like the plan as much as she had led on. Sheyreiza knew what this alliance would cost and she was not going to take one more step in furtherance of forging it unless she was sure the surfacers truly wanted it. “Ah, so, you are not sure if you wish this alliance then?” Sheyreiza asked.
“I believe it will benefit, but I am beholden to my other cities as well.” Alustriel said.
The answer disappointed Sheyreiza. If Alustriel did not have the authority to treat with Sheyreiza, who did? Had surfacers never heard of rulers with authority? Inthara was still tapping to Sheyreiza, inquiring as to the man at the back. Sheyreiza knew only one thing could catch Inthara’s attention so sharply and that was a dragon. The sorceress must suspect the man was a dragon in human form. Though paranoid, Inthara’s instinct was often very good when it came to dragons. Sheyreiza did not recognize the man but she marked his appearance. [i:1s8idlk4]I do not know who the man is.[/i:1s8idlk4] Sheyreiza told Inthara in the drow sign language.
Alustriel continued to speak. “King Warcrown, Helm Dwarf-Friend, High Captain Haskar, and King Battlehammer must also agree.”
“I find it hard to believe they will,” Sheyreiza said through an ironic smile, “though, I would have found it hard to believe all these people could occupy this hall peacefully.”
“How long do you think this would take, ideally?” Alustriel asked, concern creeping into her voice.
“A while.” Sheyreiza answered simply. “I have certain preparations I have to make,” she elaborated, “then I have to travel to Chen Nasad and Menzoberranzan.”
The high lady began to pace as she considered Sheyreiza’s answer. “The Shadovar attack shortly.”
[i:1s8idlk4]Then, lady, do not waste time[/i:1s8idlk4], Sheyreiza thought, [i:1s8idlk4]make a decision.[/i:1s8idlk4] Inthara kept tapping messages to Sheyreiza but Sheyreiza ignored the sorceress. Inthara’s concern about dragons and the man in back was simply not as important as the negotiation with Alustriel.
The High Lady stopped pacing and looked to Sheyreiza. “Then I agree to this plan. I will convince the rest, and if not, the Shadovar will convince them.”
There it was then. Agreement. An offer had been extended, a plan proposed, and now, the highest authority the sufacers knew agreed to the terms. An accord was nigh, but Sheyreiza had to be sure of Alustriel. On Sheyreiza’s end the price of this accord was not one that could be recouped if the other side had a change of heart. This was no compact to enter in lightly, no merchant’s contract whose breach would be settled in coin or trade goods. This was a solemn pact whose very enactment would cost at least one soul and probably several not too mention all the lives that would be lost in its formation. Though the terms of this accord would likely never be written on any parchment, paper or stone, the covenants would be spelled out in blood and sealed by the dooms of its signers. Sheyreiza looked Alustriel in the eye and stepped forward to stand toe to toe with the High Lady. Armed bodyguards reached for sword hilts but no blades or blood was yet drawn. The hall was silent.
Sheyreiza held the Queen’s gaze as the guards held their positions and Alustriel held her tongue. Around the two women the others looked on. Sheyreiza broke the silence at last. “Do I have your word upon your faith in this?” Sheyreiza’s voice was little more than hiss. “This alliance will claim my soul, Mistress of Silverymoon.”
“How so?” Alustriel asked, her brows turning to a concerned frown.
Blue and red eyes narrowed to mere slits as Sheyreiza answered. “I cannot go back to Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan as a priestess of [i:1s8idlk4]Eilistraee.[/i:1s8idlk4]” She glanced briefly at the drow priestess behind Alustriel, then back to the high lady.
The Queen understood Sheyreiza immediately. “You are willing to do this?” She asked. “I will not ask it of you if it is not entirely your decision.”
Sheyreiza was glad for the Queen’s recognition and concern. It showed she understood the gravity of Sheyreiza’s situation, of the cost this accord would exact. Sheryeiza was resolute however, so long as her would be allies were. “I am willing to do this.” She looked away. “I have my reasons.” And she did. Long had she felt Lolth in her heart, long had the darkness sought to envelop her. Once, she had believed herself truly free of the Spider Queen, but time and circumstance had undermined that belief: Jain’n’s betrayal; Qilue’s weakness; Sadei’s death; and above all, the failure of Eilistraee to show Sheyreiza any real hope for the drow people. Sheyreiza never doubted the good in Eilistraee’s divine heart, but she had come to believe that for all her goodness, Eilistraee was not to be the savior of the drow – Lolth was their mother, and only Lolth could keep them from being exterminated by their enemies. Evil, insane, and cruel, Lolth was, nonetheless, strong. Strong enough to keep the Seldarine, the fairy elves, the duergar, the illithid, the eye-tyrants, the orcs, the dragons, the aboleth, the humans and all other enemies at bay for ten millennia. Eilistraee could not even keep a handful of her followers in the Promenade alive for a few centuries.
Alustriel turned to the masked man in black. “Our alliance has been faithful and productive, has it not, Manshoon?”
“You have held your end of our bargain to the letter.” He replied without emotion.
The High Lady looked back at Sheyreiza. “If the drow honor this agreement, we shall as well. You have my word. If they turn on us, we will defend ourselves, but that is all.”
Sheyreiza bowed her head in gratitude. “Of course. [i:1s8idlk4]Bela'dos malla Ilharess[/i:1s8idlk4].” She closed her eyes tightly, then nodded ever so slightly. They had an accord. Sheyreiza opened her eyes and stared at Alustriel. “You are not what I expected.” She said with a faint smile.
“Neither are you.” The Queen responded. “I apologize for the rudeness you have encountered here, and will continue to encounter. We are not bad people, we are just wary.”
“It is alright,” Sheyreiza said sadly, “we earned it.” The people’s natural wariness was something that Alustriel should foster, not subvert. When the Shades were gone, the folk of the surface would be better served by fear of the drow than by trusting in them. The others discussed accommodations but Sheyreiza’s mind was on the future. She might lose her soul over this but she had not lost it yet. There was still good she could do before slipping back into darkness’ embrace. She looked to Higgy and Alustriel. “Something to keep in mind.” She said, interrupting them. “No matter what I do for you. No matter what they do to help. In the end, should we survive this war, we will still be drow. And I will not be who I am now. Do not forget.”
Behind Sheyreiza, Inthara covered her face with her hands and fought back tears. Slowly Alustriel nodded. “I will not.” The Queen said. “These are alliances of convenience. Perhaps the seeds of something greater, some day, but not now.”
“May we survive so long as to be enemies again.” Sheyreiza said. She smiled once more, bitter sweetly and bowed. Alustriel gave Sheyreiza and Inthara papers identifying them as allies of Silverymoon, though she cautioned Sheyreiza that when she returned the mythal would not allow her to enter the city. There was some discussion of the other allies in the works, Sembians and dragons, and then the group broke up.
Outside, Inthara squinted in the light of a street lamp that blazed brilliantly overhead against the dark night sky. Sheyreiza, Hignar and Nikie followed the sorceress out of the palace and into Silverymoon’s streets. Snow fell slowly and silently about the foursome.
“So... 'hat went well, aye?” Hignar asked, his voice carrying a note of cheerful hope.
“Yes.” Sheyreiza said softly, all hope for cheer long since having fled.
“Seemed to.” Nikie agreed.
Hignar nodded. “Nikie 'nd I will get her supplies soon 'nd be back, then you three 'r ready to go.”
“I will not be taking Butterfly with me.” Sheyreiza announced as she looked up into the night sky.
The dwarf was obviously puzzled. “Hmmm?”
[i:1s8idlk4]Was it so hard for him to see? Even a thick-headed dwarf should have seen this coming,[/i:1s8idlk4] Sheyreiza thought. “If I do, the Matron's will ask for her heart.” Sheyreiza looked down at the frowning dwarf. “And I will have to give it to them.” She said matter-of-factly.
“Xas.” Inthara agreed. She knew this was coming, even if she had said nothing until now. “A test.”
“They won't ask fer Nikie's, aye?” Hignar asked.
Sheyreiza smiled softly. Hignar’s concern for his friend was touching and it warmed against the cold snow and the even colder future. Whatever she might believe about Hignar, she believed he was loyal to his friends, even if not to his god. “No.” She answered. “Nikie is neither a heretic nor an apostate. She is just human. [i:1s8idlk4]Iblith[/i:1s8idlk4] to them. They will not care who she worships.”
“Nor is she dear to Shey.” Inthara said. And there it was. The truth. The Spider Queen would not tolerate anyone in Sheyreiza’s heart save for the Spider Queen. Anyone Sheyreiza held dear Sheyreiza would have to sacrifice if at all possible. For their sake, she had to leave them all behind; Inthara, Shein’n, Vraja, Gryndal, everyone she actually cared about.
The gruff dwarf looked to Sheyreiza with sad eyes. “When this 's all done, I hope ye come back to yer current faith.”
“I will not want to.” Sheyreiza replied. His concern was genuine, she could feel it, but there was little she could do to give him hope. She knew she was Lolth’s, even now, and once she gave herself back to the Dark Mother fully there would be no leaving her again. Not even in death. “Hignar, in the days ahead I am likely going to do things that you will not like. When this is all said and done, no matter what happens, do not think too ill of me.”
The grey haired dwarf nodded slowly. “I know a sacrifice o'one's soul.”
Sheyreiza looked back up at the snow falling out of the night sky. It was beautiful. She found it every bit as wondrous as she had the first time she had seen a snowfall at night near the village of Tervale more than a decade ago. Her first night on the surface. Her first encounter with wild humans. [i:1s8idlk4]Her first death.[/i:1s8idlk4] “The first time I died, it was night and it was snowing.” She looked down to the snow at her feet, remembering those that had fallen before that fateful night so long ago; each falling like snowflakes, one by one, to be subsumed in the cold white winterscape of the north. Silently, Sheyreiza walked away from the others into the dark of Silverymoon’s streets.
Hignar looked up into the sky and then at the form of the drow priestess as she faded into the darkness. “So's the second time.” He said quietly.
Inthara made her goodbyes to Hignar and Nikie and followed Sheyreiza into the streets. The human and the dwarf watched in silence until they could no longer see the drow women.
“Time to go, Nikie.” Hignar said. They had to secure the Sembian alliance and gather Nikie’s supplies which would be used to bribed the Matrons. There was much work to be done.
“Aye.” The black clad woman said, still staring into the darkness.
“The deadline waits fer no one.” The dwarf grumbled with a frown. He spared a last look down the darkened lane where the drow had walked. “Damn this war for the souls its cost.” He shook his head angrily and began his casting.
***
Sheyreiza stood naked on the grassy lawn of one of Silverymoon’s parks. The green blades of grass were disappearing under the falling snow but Sheyreiza could feel them beneath her feet. She held only her sword, and she wore naught but her warming stone from Lonelywood and her symbol of Eilistraee. Behind Sheyreiza, Inthara stood watching in silence.
“I want to dance one last time sister.” Sheyreiza said her voice but a hoarse whisper.
Inthara stripped off her robes and joined Sheyreiza, naked save for her own blade and holy symbol. In unison they raised their swords to the moon above. False dawn had come and morning was near but the moon was still visible between the dark grey clouds that hid most of the deep blue sky. Sheyreiza sang a short prayer song asking for Eilistraee’s blessing and Inthara joined in harmony. The prayer done, the women lowered their swords. Sheyreiza took a deep breath. The song she was about sing she had never sung aloud before though she had sung it to Eilistraee a thousand times at least. It was her Flame Song. There were three periods of song in a normal day at the Promenade of Eilistraee; the Grand Chorus, the central ceremony for the temple during which all available would gather to sing to the Goddess; the Call of Eilistraee, a haunting melody sung by a senior priestess to call the faithful back to the caverns after a cycle of work in which others would join as the left off their chores and traveled back; and the Flame Songs. A Flame Song was performed by an individual priestesses when the priestess was moved to do so, dancing around a candle or other flame. The Flame Song was personal, taking any form desired, and ended when the flame died. At the Promenade, it was considered the height of rudeness for a priestess to deliberately interrupt the Flame Song of another, though trespassing outsiders and nonbelievers were usually forgiven for their ignorance. Priestesses usually tried to find an alcove or passage where they could be alone to make their Flame Song. A visitor to the Promenade visiting at the right time might hear the eerily beautiful echoes of half-a-dozen or more of these solos at once, drifting down various passages and in side caverns and rooms.
Sheyreiza’s Flame Song had always had words but she had never sung them. For her three years in the promenade she performed her Flame Song silently, singing to Lady Silverhair in her mind, the only outward expression of her melody the dance she would perform around a candle. She had always expected the Flame Song to be her death song, and so she saved the words for her Final Dance. The time had come. Tonight, now, here on this snow covered lawn in this strange, surface city, she was going to dance her Final Dance. There would be no light from above however, as there was when the old priestesses went to their Final Dance. Eilistraee would not be coming for Sheyreiza to make her young again, to lift her up into the sky on divine wings as she danced for the last time in her ascent to the green fields of Arvandor. No, when this Final Dance was done, Sheyreiza would still be in this world. It was not Eilistraee that was coming for her, it was Lolth. There would be no peaceful, beautiful ending for Sheyreiza. Her path was darker now. Her path would be violent; her death, bloody and ugly.
Sheyreiza began to hum the tune. She had no candle so she brought to light divine darkfire on her blade. Inthara, an experienced dancer in her own right, accompanied Sheyreiza. In the drow societies of Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad it was forbidden to dance while armed. In addition to all the unintentional mishaps that might occur, the potential for assassination was too great. Amongst the followers of Lady Eilistraee, however, there was no such restriction. Sheyreiza and Inthara danced with their swords, Inthara’s naked blade glittering under the magical lamplights of the city and reflecting the fire engulfing Sheyreiza’s weapon. Sheyreiza broke into song and Inthara followed in harmony. The sorceress did not know Sheyreiza’s Flame Song but she could follow nonetheless. Their elven voices held sadness and grief that human voices simply could not capture. The drow words lifted across the streets and shutters opened as the residents sought to see what creatures could produce a tune of such profound loss, resolve and melancholy. There in the streets before them danced two exquisitely beautiful drow, exotic in their otherworldly form, frightening in their deadly dance, heartbreaking in their alien song.
As the sky lightened the tune grew faster and the dancing more frenetic. The women’s blades slashed and turned as their bodies gyrated, swayed, leapt and spun. Though they moved closely they moved without hesitation, their razor sharp blades slipping past their silken skin time and time again by a hair’s breadth but never less. For all its apparent violence, it was a bloodless, beautiful dance of love not hate. The song rose to a crescendo and Sheyreiza rose with it. Had this been an ancient priestess’s final dance, this is when Eilistraee might have lifted her up in a beam of silvery radiance and taken her to the green lands of Arvandor, but this was no such moment. Sheyreiza leapt but no divinity caught her, no goddess lifted her up, no salvation was forthcoming. She came to the ground, flaming sword sweeping down from on high like some bloody solar descending from the heavens with righteous wrath, but as she landed, the darkfire of blade was extinguished, the moon was lost to the light of dawn, and the green grass beneath her feet was no longer visible beneath its cold blanket of snow. Sheyreiza’s Final Dance was over.
Inthara’s dance had come to an end as well. Sheyreiza did not look at her but spoke as the two women kneeled, exhausted, on the snowy field. “I love you.” She said simply. “I should have told you that more often.” Tears welled up in Sheyreiza’s eyes.
“I love you too, my Heart.” Inthara said, her voice beginning to break. “Our time is at an end. Goddess, I'll miss you my Heart.”
“And I will miss you.” Sheyreiza said softly. “You have been my conscience and heart for many years.”
Inthara wiped tears from her eyes. “Always remember me, please.” Inthara began weeping.
“I will never forget you.” Sheyreiza said, comforting her. The two women hugged on the snow covered lawn. “And you, please, remember me when I was...better. Our good years in Lonelywood.”
Inthara sniffled and nodded. “For the time we have left, can you just hold me? Please?”
“Yes.” Sheyreiza took Inthara in her arms and held her as she cried. She watched the sun climb from the horizon into the cloudy, gray sky and wondered how many more sunrises she might see, if any. In the east, a darkness was coming for the folk of the Silvermarches, but a different darkness was coming for Sheyreiza. One she could not escape or defeat, but one she had to embrace. Soon.
**************
[b:1s8idlk4]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 12 - The Last Dance.[/b:1s8idlk4]
The journey from the Dragon Isle in the midst of the Sea of Fallen Stars to the outskirts of Silverymoon took far less time than the journey from Waterdeep to Immurk’s Hold though the journeys were roughly the same distance as the dragon flies. Indeed, the journey to Silverymoon took less than time than a stroll down the beaches of Grogsong. Hignar used his most powerful divine spells to transport himself, Nikie Stitch, Inthara and Sheyreiza instantly to a mountain pass just outside the so called ‘Gem of the North.’ He explained that the pass was as close as the wards of the city would allow them to teleport. From the pass it was but a short walk to the gates. Sheyreiza did not expect much, having been less than impressed with Waterdeep, Immurk’s Hold, and the other human cities she had seen but Silverymoon was different. The delicate, beautiful hand of elven artistry was evident everywhere, though the city was certainly as human as it was elven. The beauty gave Sheyreiza little comfort though; in the polished armor of the city’s knights and the white marble of its stately edifices Sheyreiza saw only the reflection of the light that would soon be lost to her.
The folk of Silverymoon did not attack Sheyreiza and Inthara, but they did not greet them with open arms either. Spellguards and knights approached and challenged, while common citizens scowled and scurried aside. The first human who regarded with Sheyreiza with curiosity and treated her with some measure of decorum rather than fear and hatred was a cartographer. Sheyreiza purchased maps of the city and neighboring region from him as he explained his curious nature often overcame his instinctual fear. Sheyreiza was grateful for the respite from the prejudice of the other surfacers but she knew the cartographer would have been better served in life to allow his instincts to check his curiosity.
After reporting to the powers that be, Hignar guided Inthara and Sheyreiza on a tour of the city’s libraries, stores and other sights including the fabled Moonbridge. Even Sheyreiza, normally reluctant to express any sense of awe, had to admit the Moonbridge was impressive. Though less spectacular to the naked eye, to a warrior or trained spellcaster, the sight of many golems marching through the streets including some made entirely of mithral was even more impressive. Hignar, Inthara and Sheyreiza followed one such patrol of enchanted constructs as they pounded their way down the streets cracking cobblestones as they went. The golems were led by a Silverymoon Spellguard, who brought them to one of the city gates. The Spellguard explained to Hignar they were placing the golems as traps for the coming shadovar. Sheyreiza was impressed by the wealth and magic it took to make so many golems, but she was not hopeful regarding their power to stop the shade army. While golems were certainly immune to most magic, they were also incapable of catching and killing a powerful arcanist. The golems would help stand against the mundane armies of the shades, but it was not the mundane armies of the shades that worried Sheyreiza. It was their damn spellcasters.
The trio passed through the city gate and Hignar led them to Winter Edge, a settlement that had been destroyed by the Shades. Shrouded in an unnatural darkness, the place was in complete ruins with barely a stone left standing. There were no bodies or skeletons visible, leading Sheyreiza to assume the Shades were animating the fallen and enslaving the captured. She expected nothing less. Hignar retrieved a misshapen lump of rock that had once been a carefully chiseled brick from the stronghold. He showed it to Sheyreiza as evidence of the power of the shades. A single spell had leveled the settlement – a single spell so powerful it melted stone across the entire village. A shadow interrupted their investigation. Hignar killed it quickly and the trio withdrew only to come under fire from a flying arcanist. Dwarven constitution and drow reflexes kept the trio alive as they fled the dark ruins and its watchers.
Upon their return to Silverymoon an agent of the Queen approached and bid them to the palace to see Alustriel herself. The time had come to see what the surfacers were really about. Hignar led the two drow women through the wide, sterile streets to the palace, past the guards in their gleaming armor and through the narrow gates in the stone walls. All took notice of the two drow entering, but no one challenged them or their dwarven chaperone. In the palace they were greeted by Alustriel’s courtiers and ushered into a throne room of sorts. At the far end of the room Sheyreiza could see a crowd gathered. Hignar began speaking but Sheyreiza ignored him. Hignar might be a high priest, perhaps even a king amongst dwarves, but the real power was there in the midst of the crowd; a human woman, regally dressed, casually carrying on conversation with a masked man in black, a bald man in red and a drow woman whose red eyes set afire at the sight of Sheyreiza approaching. Sheyreiza had no doubt who this human woman was; the de facto ruler of the Silvermarches, the Queen of Courtly Love, the High Lady Alustriel.
Sheyreiza approached without fear. She had been in the presence of a goddesses Chosen before, namely Qilue Veladorn, and Sheyreiza was not impressed. Though outwardly the radiantly beautiful, six foot tall, silver haired Qilue appeared like nothing short of a goddess, years of familiarity had bred only contempt in Sheyreiza’s heart for the Chosen of Eilistraee. Sheyreiza hoped Alustriel would prove less disappointing but she was prepared to find another flawed jewel of a matriarch. It was the drow woman who met Sheyreiza’s gaze first, however, and Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed in response. No one had mentioned Alustriel already having drow allies. Though as keen of sight as any drow, Sheyreiza could not discern any visible sign of affiliation on the black clad drow. Whom did this woman worship? Eilistraee? Vhaerun? Certainly not Lolth? If so, Sheyreiza’s value was far less than she had thought and this situation would not easily be turned to her advantage.
Conversation halted as Sheyreiza approached. Hignar and Inthara followed behind her but let Sheyreiza approach first. Alustriel turned from the masked man in black and looked upon Sheyreiza with a smile. “Welcome.” Said the High Lady warmly.
Sheyreiza bowed her head in respect. “[i:1s8idlk4]Malla Ilharess[/i:1s8idlk4],” she said in her native drow language. “Honored Matriarch,” she offered as a translation. It was not precisely accurate, but it was the most respectful title Sheyreiza could give to Alustriel in drow. A shape moved behind the crowd and Sheyreiza saw an illithid, a mind-flayer, moving amongst Alustriel’s courtiers and attendants.
“Before we continue,” Alustriel said, hands extended, “I would like to ensure these conditions are agreeable, and introduce the others here.” She turned to the bald man in the crimson robes who looked out periodically with suspicious eyes from a down cast face. “This is Edwin Odesseiron, representative of the Red Wizards.” The human male muttered something but Sheyreiza ignored him.
Alustriel turned to another human male standing rigidly in a confident juxtaposition to the hunched, muttering red wizard beside him. “Tearn Hornblade, this city's leader.” Turning to the drow woman, Alustriel held out her hand. “Priestess Do'ana of Eilistraee.” She gestured next to the masked man in black. “Manshoon, of the Zhentarim.” Sheyreiza had not only heard of the Zhentarim, she had heard of Manshoon. Was he not one of their highest leaders? Perhaps their founder? Her human-lore was not what it had been when she had been a student at Zhennu Orbb and she found herself unable to place this Manshoon precisely. Nevertheless, she felt it likely he was someone of importance and power amongst the humans. There were others in attendance but they went without introduction. Sheyreiza assumed them to be the courtiers, bodyguards or servants of the leaders who had been named. Finally, Alustriel turned to the Illithid. “I have also asked Shz'ratilk to observe and ensure that only the truth is spoken here.” She said gesturing to the tentacle faced monstrosity. “Is this acceptable?”
It most certainly was not acceptable to Sheyreiza. It seemed her worst fears about the quality of Alustriel were about to be confirmed. For a moment Sheyreiza wondered if this negotiation would fall apart if she protested. She had to proceed carefully here. “You entrust the truth to a Priest of Madness?” Sheyreiza asked Alustriel incredulously.
“He is an ally.” The high lady responded neutrally. “He has provided us with weapons and intelligence regarding the Shadovar.”
Hignar spoke up. “We've met. He's an ally.”
Sheyreiza eyed the illithid and a moment later she felt his thoughts in her head. [i:1s8idlk4]Greetings[/i:1s8idlk4], the creature said through its telepathy.
[i:1s8idlk4]Get out of my head, Priest of Madness, and stay out[/i:1s8idlk4], Sheyreiza answered angrily. She no longer cared if the negotiation would fall apart. She would not treat with anyone under such conditions; she would never willingly give a priest of madness access to her mind. She turned to Alustriel. “He is in my head, and I do not like that.
Inthara nodded. “Xas.”
Alustriel addressed the tall, slender illithid. “You will only read surface thoughts. Lies or truth, that is all.
The illithid responded audibly. “Yesss.”
Sheyreiza was not so easily appeased, however. The drow of the Underdark had a long and bitter history with the illithid. “It was one such advisor and ally as he who betrayed Menzoberranzan's Matron Baenre to her death, more or less.”
A frown crossed Hignar’s face. “I thought she 'as still 'live?”
Alustriel tilted her head slightly. “If you find it necessary, I will send him on his way.”
“I would prefer it, Honored Lady.” Sheyreiza said evenly.
“Then you may go,” Alustriel said to Shz'ratilk, “remember what we discussed.”
Sheyreiza watched the illithid leave, her eyes literally burning with hate and mistrust. There were few creatures she despised as much as illithid. ‘[i:1s8idlk4]Remember what we discussed[/i:1s8idlk4]’? Alustriel had allowed her pet to be dismissed too easily. Sheyreiza had little doubt that the illithid would be stationed in a nearby room with orders to read the minds of those negotiating with the High Lady. While Manshoon and this red wizard might have known that and might have taken suitable precautions, Hignar had given Sheyreiza no such warning. Accordingly, she had little but her own ferocity with which to keep the probing psyche of the illithid at bay. Still, Alustriel had acceded to her wishes publicly even if she was likely keeping the illithid near. Sheyreiza would have to give public respect to the public acquiescence. Turning to the High Lady, Sheyreiza bowed her head. “[i:1s8idlk4]Bela'dos Malla Ilharess.[/i:1s8idlk4] Thank you honored lady.”
“I do not trust him myself,” Alustriel said openly, “but so far we seem to be on the same side. And as you are aware by your presence here, any allies we can get are welcome.”
“So I see.” Sheyreiza responded curtly. She looked to the others. “I have met Red Wizards and Zhentarim in the past, but only in battle.”
“Monkeys,” muttered the red wizard Odesseiron, his eyes darting away from the others as if scanning the floor for something lost.
Alustriel gestured to the others around her. “These have agreed to assist us. It is mutually beneficial, of course, but allies nevertheless.”
“If the ruins I had seen did not impress upon me the desperate nature of this fight, this tableau before my eyes has done so.” Sheyreiza said truthfully. Only true desperation could have brought such forces together in any semblance of cooperation.
Alustriel nodded. “So you have seen Winter Edge?”
“I have.” Sheyreiza replied.
Hignar held up the melted stone he had taken. “What's left of it.”
“Then I need not relate so many details on our foe.” Alustriel said grimly. “May I ask where you two are from, originally?”
Sheyreiza though it odd that the High Lady did not already know. Was she not a chosen of Mystra? Had not Hignar informed her of all they had said? Perhaps the dwarf was as curt with her as he was with them. “We are from Ched Nasad by birth.” Sheyreiza answered. Inthara nodded but kept silent. “Though the body I wear now is from Menzoberranzan, except for the eye.” She gestured to her sapphire orb. “That is from elsewhere.”
Alustriel nodded but her face was anything but agreeable. “Menzoberranzan I have more experience with.” Said the High Lady.
Sheyreiza restrained a smile. “None pleasant I would assume.”
“No.” Alustriel admitted. “They have tried to kill me on numerous occasions, most recently during their last invasion.”
“Mithrial Hall.” Inthara muttered.
“I was with the detachments at Mithril Hall.” Alustriel said defiantly. “They stopped trying to strike us here in Silverymoon many years ago.”
“I see.” Sheyreiza said, again restraining a smile. The High Lady’s ego was apparently of a size commensurate with her position if she had taken to regarding the attack on Mithril Hall as an attempt on [i:1s8idlk4]her[/i:1s8idlk4] life. Such was the ego of Matriarchs everywhere it seemed.
Alustriel continued. “My experience with them is that they are very intelligent, among their other attributes. I believe the success of this venture hinges on that. They must be made to realize that, for all of our history, we will make much better neighbors than the Shadovar. And I believe that is why they would fight. Is that accurate?”
“Maybe learned 'here lesson 'bout Mithril Hall likewise.” Hignar grumbled.
Sheyreiza could no longer restrain her smile and a grin split her delicate face. “They [i:1s8idlk4]are[/i:1s8idlk4] intelligent and Mithril Hall was lost to them because the Spider Queen wanted their matrons dead more than she wanted the dwarves dead.” She considered Alustriel’s last question for a moment. “Is that accurate? Yes and no. I believe I can convince them of the very real nature of the threat.”
“And now you see why I need your advice.” Alustriel said. “Please continue.”
There was never much doubt in Sheyreiza’s mind as to why Alustriel needed her advice; only doubt as to the veracity of the need. Until Sheyreiza had seen Winter Edge and then this gathering of leaders from the Silvermarches, the Zhentarim and the Red Wizards, Sheyreiza had still thought this might be a ruse to draw out the armies of Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan to destroy them. Now she believed in the threat of the Shades and in the desperation of those who stood in their dark path. “I think I stand a fair chance of getting them to contribute to the fight.” Sheyreiza said confidently. “You will not get a great outpouring of their strength, but I believe I can bring a force worth considering.” Even a few hundred drow, if properly used, could be devastating. “Menzoberranzan has recovered from Mithril Hall, or so my adopted family has told me, and they still have mercenaries; perhaps the best in all Faerun.”
Alustriel knew immediately of whom Sheyreiza spoke. “Bregan D'aerthe, yes?”
“Among some, xas.” Inthara answered.
Sheyreiza nodded. “Xas, Bregan D'arthe.” She confirmed. “Also, Ched Nasad is and has been for many centuries larger and stronger than Menzoberranzan, though Ched's mercenaries are not as famous.” Sheyreiza paused for a moment and looked amongst the gathered courtiers. The red wizard was muttering something about Jarlaxle of Bregan D’Arthe being a bastard monkey. Sheyreiza was impressed the Red Wizard knew of the mercenary leader but the red wizard’s insistence at referring to drow as monkey’s was comical at best. Racial derision from a human was beneath pathetic and there was no point in returning insult for insult when Sheyreiza could wait just a few short decades and watch the human either wither and die or sell his soul into undeath in some misguided attempt to cling to this world. If there was a monkey in the room, it was him, and he was just too stupid to know it. Sheyreiza felt no need to educate him on his place in the order of things; time would do that soon enough. Sheyreiza just smiled at the bald wizard, winked, then addressed Alustriel. “They will not come for 'goodness' or even to save you. They will come to save themselves, and for Shadovar slaves.”
“Indeed.” Alustriel responded. “From what I have been told by those who have allied with the drow before, as long as they benefit, they will be loyal to the alliance.”
“We are usually pragmatic,” Sheyreiza said, nodding in agreement. She omitted, however, to mention that what the drow view as benefits might not be what the surfacers would think. The ultimate benefit for the drow of Ched Nasad or Menzoberranzan was the favor of Lolth, and if betraying the surfacers meant gaining or keeping the favor of Lolth, the drow would do it in a heartbeat even though such betrayal might be tactically or economically unsound. The surfacers were not mindful enough of the gods. Hignar’s willingness to be raised from the dead by a Yathtallar of Lolth proved that if nothing else. The faith of these people was as pale as their skin. It was not surprising then, that they would see ‘benefit’ in terms of only strategy, such as defeating the shades, and economics, such as gaining slaves, while missing the most important third leg of this most unstable tripod – the favor of the Spider Queen.
“And the mercenaries, I assume, will be loyal as long as they are paid, yes?” Alustriel inquired.
Sheyreiza shrugged slightly. “The mercenaries, Bregan D'Arthe will be loyal to coin, unless the Baenre, the Spider Queen or circumstances dictate otherwise.”
This caught Hignar’s attention. “What kinda circumstance?” Asked the gruff dwarf.
Sheyreiza thought it best to be truthful here, or at least as truthful as she could be; all that she knew of Bregan D’Arthe was second hand, so it was all just compiled rumor and innuendo. Still, there were some stories that sounded and felt true. “When Lolth abandoned Matron Baenre in the fight for Mithral Hall, Jaraxle and his mercenaries abandoned the field.” Or so Sheyreiza had heard. It sounded likely, so she repeated it as if it was fact. It would be best for the surfacers if they did not place too much trust in any of the drow, even the mercenaries. “In short, when circumstances indicate defeat is inevitable, Jarlaxle will be the first to withdraw.”
“What of the other mercenaries?” Alustriel asked. “The same?”
“Those of Ched? Less competent, more loyal.” Sheyreiza answered. Again, she did not know if it was really true, but it was her best guess. These surfacers kept probing her for the boundaries of drow ‘trust’ and in so doing, convinced her they did not really know their subterranean cousins as much as Sheyreiza would have thought. Like children, they needed instruction. “All drow loyalty is a thing of circumstance.” She told them.
“Indeed, so if we are to do this, we must ensure they continue to benefit.” Alustriel stated.
“That would be wise.” Sheyreiza replied, though she knew it would be impossible for the surfacers to ensure anything of the sort. The Spider Queen would see to that. Sheyreiza saw no point to mentioning that yet though.
“However, we must ensure they do not benefit too much.” The High Lady added.
Sheyreiza smiled. “Wiser still.” And it was, if Alustriel really understood what it meant. Of course, the High Lady did not evidence any understanding of what really motivated the drow of Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad despite having waged a shadow war with them for decades. Sheyreiza could try to explain it, but the human obsession with coin and temporal power would never let her see the truth; the drow would do what the Spider Queen wanted, no matter what the economic or strategic results were.
“How do you plan to acquire this alliance?” Alustriel asked.
Sheyreiza was relieved to get on with the details of the plan. “I will approach one house I have a connection to in each city. Faen Tlabbar in Menzoberranzan, where this body is the body of a Princess. Auvryndar in Ched Nasad, where this soul is the soul of a Princess. I will offer to the Matrons of those two houses my trade contacts here on the surface and present to them samples of things available here. Perfumes, woods, spices...”
Alustriel interrupted. “No weapons or magic of any sort.”
Sheyreiza had to contain a derisive snort. “We make better weapons, and for the most part, better magic.” She smiled. “Though your mythal is impressive.”
The High Lady nodded. “I simply wanted to be clear. Nothing that would benefit them in war against us later.”
The most valuable thing the drow stood to gain was knowledge. No sword, no scroll, no wand could compete in value with simply learning the surface realm’s layout, strengths and weaknesses. [i:1s8idlk4]Can you not see that, ‘High Lady’? Do you not realize what you are getting into?[/i:1s8idlk4] Sheyreiza set those thoughts aside and continued laying out her plan. “With the Matron's greed enticed, I will use the respective matrons to call a meeting of their ruling councils. I will present the threat and the opportunity. No matter how much they hate you, and they do, they will see the logic even if they do not want to heed it. So, I present the other opportunity - the chance to take many Shadovar slaves without worrying about war with you.” Alustriel nodded as Sheyreiza continued. “There are also other benefits, such as the opportunity to send Houses or forces the matrons do not like on [i:1s8idlk4]streega[/i:1s8idlk4] – suicide - missions.”
“Politics, as always.” Alustriel noted astutely.
“With a vengeance.” Sheyreiza added. She held up her hands. “That is the basic plan.”
“How many soldiers do you think could be gotten, realistically?” The High Lady asked.
Inthara put a hand on Sheyreiza’s shoulder and tapped as Sheyreiza gave some consideration to Alustriel’s question. It was a question Sheyreiza had been asking herself for days now and she was still not sure how the matron’s would respond. “To start with, while they are still considering the threat? A battalion from each city, which is 500 to a 1000. Plus mercenaries, which for Bregan D'arthe means 100 maybe a 150. For Ched, mercenaries, more, but of less quality.” She paused and then remembered the obvious. “Oh, and slave troops perhaps double that number.” The drow did not use drow as fodder when there were other creatures available to serve that purpose. Like the folk of the Silvermarches, Zhentarim and Red Wizards.
Inthara’s tapping came together to form message. [i:1s8idlk4]Who is the man standing behind everyone?[/i:1s8idlk4] Sheyreiza did not know and for the moment did not care. She ignored Inthara’s tapping.
“An effective force.” Alustriel mused.
“Yes,” Sheyreiza agreed, “in the dark, very effective. Open field, in daylight, less so.”
“I fear there will be little daylight during these battles.” Alustriel said despondently.
“Bad for you, good for us.” Sheyreiza replied.
“Bad for all of us.” Alustriel corrected. “They are much stronger in the dark. But, there is little we can do about that.” Sheyreiza had to admit the High Lady was probably right. It would have been better to meet the Shades in daylight even if that meant the drow would fight at a handicap; the handicap to the Shades would be far worse.
Hignar was not so despondent. “Makin' Shades 'fraid o'there own shadows has appeal.” Sheyreiza thought she saw a grin trying to come out of hiding beneath the beard of the usually grumpy dwarf. It appealed to her as well. The Shades were to be respected, that was true, but the drow had been mastering the dark for 10,000 years – millennia before ancient Netheril ever rose. Perhaps they could teach the Shadows a thing or two.
They discussed scouts, spies and reinforcements further but the basic plan seemed acceptable to Alustriel and the allies present. “I will need to discuss this with the others, once King Battlehammer arrives.” Alustriel said.
This caught Sheyreiza’s attention. She had thought Alustriel’s power unchecked and undisputed here. Perhaps this was not so? Or perhaps Alustriel did not like the plan as much as she had led on. Sheyreiza knew what this alliance would cost and she was not going to take one more step in furtherance of forging it unless she was sure the surfacers truly wanted it. “Ah, so, you are not sure if you wish this alliance then?” Sheyreiza asked.
“I believe it will benefit, but I am beholden to my other cities as well.” Alustriel said.
The answer disappointed Sheyreiza. If Alustriel did not have the authority to treat with Sheyreiza, who did? Had surfacers never heard of rulers with authority? Inthara was still tapping to Sheyreiza, inquiring as to the man at the back. Sheyreiza knew only one thing could catch Inthara’s attention so sharply and that was a dragon. The sorceress must suspect the man was a dragon in human form. Though paranoid, Inthara’s instinct was often very good when it came to dragons. Sheyreiza did not recognize the man but she marked his appearance. [i:1s8idlk4]I do not know who the man is.[/i:1s8idlk4] Sheyreiza told Inthara in the drow sign language.
Alustriel continued to speak. “King Warcrown, Helm Dwarf-Friend, High Captain Haskar, and King Battlehammer must also agree.”
“I find it hard to believe they will,” Sheyreiza said through an ironic smile, “though, I would have found it hard to believe all these people could occupy this hall peacefully.”
“How long do you think this would take, ideally?” Alustriel asked, concern creeping into her voice.
“A while.” Sheyreiza answered simply. “I have certain preparations I have to make,” she elaborated, “then I have to travel to Chen Nasad and Menzoberranzan.”
The high lady began to pace as she considered Sheyreiza’s answer. “The Shadovar attack shortly.”
[i:1s8idlk4]Then, lady, do not waste time[/i:1s8idlk4], Sheyreiza thought, [i:1s8idlk4]make a decision.[/i:1s8idlk4] Inthara kept tapping messages to Sheyreiza but Sheyreiza ignored the sorceress. Inthara’s concern about dragons and the man in back was simply not as important as the negotiation with Alustriel.
The High Lady stopped pacing and looked to Sheyreiza. “Then I agree to this plan. I will convince the rest, and if not, the Shadovar will convince them.”
There it was then. Agreement. An offer had been extended, a plan proposed, and now, the highest authority the sufacers knew agreed to the terms. An accord was nigh, but Sheyreiza had to be sure of Alustriel. On Sheyreiza’s end the price of this accord was not one that could be recouped if the other side had a change of heart. This was no compact to enter in lightly, no merchant’s contract whose breach would be settled in coin or trade goods. This was a solemn pact whose very enactment would cost at least one soul and probably several not too mention all the lives that would be lost in its formation. Though the terms of this accord would likely never be written on any parchment, paper or stone, the covenants would be spelled out in blood and sealed by the dooms of its signers. Sheyreiza looked Alustriel in the eye and stepped forward to stand toe to toe with the High Lady. Armed bodyguards reached for sword hilts but no blades or blood was yet drawn. The hall was silent.
Sheyreiza held the Queen’s gaze as the guards held their positions and Alustriel held her tongue. Around the two women the others looked on. Sheyreiza broke the silence at last. “Do I have your word upon your faith in this?” Sheyreiza’s voice was little more than hiss. “This alliance will claim my soul, Mistress of Silverymoon.”
“How so?” Alustriel asked, her brows turning to a concerned frown.
Blue and red eyes narrowed to mere slits as Sheyreiza answered. “I cannot go back to Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan as a priestess of [i:1s8idlk4]Eilistraee.[/i:1s8idlk4]” She glanced briefly at the drow priestess behind Alustriel, then back to the high lady.
The Queen understood Sheyreiza immediately. “You are willing to do this?” She asked. “I will not ask it of you if it is not entirely your decision.”
Sheyreiza was glad for the Queen’s recognition and concern. It showed she understood the gravity of Sheyreiza’s situation, of the cost this accord would exact. Sheryeiza was resolute however, so long as her would be allies were. “I am willing to do this.” She looked away. “I have my reasons.” And she did. Long had she felt Lolth in her heart, long had the darkness sought to envelop her. Once, she had believed herself truly free of the Spider Queen, but time and circumstance had undermined that belief: Jain’n’s betrayal; Qilue’s weakness; Sadei’s death; and above all, the failure of Eilistraee to show Sheyreiza any real hope for the drow people. Sheyreiza never doubted the good in Eilistraee’s divine heart, but she had come to believe that for all her goodness, Eilistraee was not to be the savior of the drow – Lolth was their mother, and only Lolth could keep them from being exterminated by their enemies. Evil, insane, and cruel, Lolth was, nonetheless, strong. Strong enough to keep the Seldarine, the fairy elves, the duergar, the illithid, the eye-tyrants, the orcs, the dragons, the aboleth, the humans and all other enemies at bay for ten millennia. Eilistraee could not even keep a handful of her followers in the Promenade alive for a few centuries.
Alustriel turned to the masked man in black. “Our alliance has been faithful and productive, has it not, Manshoon?”
“You have held your end of our bargain to the letter.” He replied without emotion.
The High Lady looked back at Sheyreiza. “If the drow honor this agreement, we shall as well. You have my word. If they turn on us, we will defend ourselves, but that is all.”
Sheyreiza bowed her head in gratitude. “Of course. [i:1s8idlk4]Bela'dos malla Ilharess[/i:1s8idlk4].” She closed her eyes tightly, then nodded ever so slightly. They had an accord. Sheyreiza opened her eyes and stared at Alustriel. “You are not what I expected.” She said with a faint smile.
“Neither are you.” The Queen responded. “I apologize for the rudeness you have encountered here, and will continue to encounter. We are not bad people, we are just wary.”
“It is alright,” Sheyreiza said sadly, “we earned it.” The people’s natural wariness was something that Alustriel should foster, not subvert. When the Shades were gone, the folk of the surface would be better served by fear of the drow than by trusting in them. The others discussed accommodations but Sheyreiza’s mind was on the future. She might lose her soul over this but she had not lost it yet. There was still good she could do before slipping back into darkness’ embrace. She looked to Higgy and Alustriel. “Something to keep in mind.” She said, interrupting them. “No matter what I do for you. No matter what they do to help. In the end, should we survive this war, we will still be drow. And I will not be who I am now. Do not forget.”
Behind Sheyreiza, Inthara covered her face with her hands and fought back tears. Slowly Alustriel nodded. “I will not.” The Queen said. “These are alliances of convenience. Perhaps the seeds of something greater, some day, but not now.”
“May we survive so long as to be enemies again.” Sheyreiza said. She smiled once more, bitter sweetly and bowed. Alustriel gave Sheyreiza and Inthara papers identifying them as allies of Silverymoon, though she cautioned Sheyreiza that when she returned the mythal would not allow her to enter the city. There was some discussion of the other allies in the works, Sembians and dragons, and then the group broke up.
Outside, Inthara squinted in the light of a street lamp that blazed brilliantly overhead against the dark night sky. Sheyreiza, Hignar and Nikie followed the sorceress out of the palace and into Silverymoon’s streets. Snow fell slowly and silently about the foursome.
“So... 'hat went well, aye?” Hignar asked, his voice carrying a note of cheerful hope.
“Yes.” Sheyreiza said softly, all hope for cheer long since having fled.
“Seemed to.” Nikie agreed.
Hignar nodded. “Nikie 'nd I will get her supplies soon 'nd be back, then you three 'r ready to go.”
“I will not be taking Butterfly with me.” Sheyreiza announced as she looked up into the night sky.
The dwarf was obviously puzzled. “Hmmm?”
[i:1s8idlk4]Was it so hard for him to see? Even a thick-headed dwarf should have seen this coming,[/i:1s8idlk4] Sheyreiza thought. “If I do, the Matron's will ask for her heart.” Sheyreiza looked down at the frowning dwarf. “And I will have to give it to them.” She said matter-of-factly.
“Xas.” Inthara agreed. She knew this was coming, even if she had said nothing until now. “A test.”
“They won't ask fer Nikie's, aye?” Hignar asked.
Sheyreiza smiled softly. Hignar’s concern for his friend was touching and it warmed against the cold snow and the even colder future. Whatever she might believe about Hignar, she believed he was loyal to his friends, even if not to his god. “No.” She answered. “Nikie is neither a heretic nor an apostate. She is just human. [i:1s8idlk4]Iblith[/i:1s8idlk4] to them. They will not care who she worships.”
“Nor is she dear to Shey.” Inthara said. And there it was. The truth. The Spider Queen would not tolerate anyone in Sheyreiza’s heart save for the Spider Queen. Anyone Sheyreiza held dear Sheyreiza would have to sacrifice if at all possible. For their sake, she had to leave them all behind; Inthara, Shein’n, Vraja, Gryndal, everyone she actually cared about.
The gruff dwarf looked to Sheyreiza with sad eyes. “When this 's all done, I hope ye come back to yer current faith.”
“I will not want to.” Sheyreiza replied. His concern was genuine, she could feel it, but there was little she could do to give him hope. She knew she was Lolth’s, even now, and once she gave herself back to the Dark Mother fully there would be no leaving her again. Not even in death. “Hignar, in the days ahead I am likely going to do things that you will not like. When this is all said and done, no matter what happens, do not think too ill of me.”
The grey haired dwarf nodded slowly. “I know a sacrifice o'one's soul.”
Sheyreiza looked back up at the snow falling out of the night sky. It was beautiful. She found it every bit as wondrous as she had the first time she had seen a snowfall at night near the village of Tervale more than a decade ago. Her first night on the surface. Her first encounter with wild humans. [i:1s8idlk4]Her first death.[/i:1s8idlk4] “The first time I died, it was night and it was snowing.” She looked down to the snow at her feet, remembering those that had fallen before that fateful night so long ago; each falling like snowflakes, one by one, to be subsumed in the cold white winterscape of the north. Silently, Sheyreiza walked away from the others into the dark of Silverymoon’s streets.
Hignar looked up into the sky and then at the form of the drow priestess as she faded into the darkness. “So's the second time.” He said quietly.
Inthara made her goodbyes to Hignar and Nikie and followed Sheyreiza into the streets. The human and the dwarf watched in silence until they could no longer see the drow women.
“Time to go, Nikie.” Hignar said. They had to secure the Sembian alliance and gather Nikie’s supplies which would be used to bribed the Matrons. There was much work to be done.
“Aye.” The black clad woman said, still staring into the darkness.
“The deadline waits fer no one.” The dwarf grumbled with a frown. He spared a last look down the darkened lane where the drow had walked. “Damn this war for the souls its cost.” He shook his head angrily and began his casting.
***
Sheyreiza stood naked on the grassy lawn of one of Silverymoon’s parks. The green blades of grass were disappearing under the falling snow but Sheyreiza could feel them beneath her feet. She held only her sword, and she wore naught but her warming stone from Lonelywood and her symbol of Eilistraee. Behind Sheyreiza, Inthara stood watching in silence.
“I want to dance one last time sister.” Sheyreiza said her voice but a hoarse whisper.
Inthara stripped off her robes and joined Sheyreiza, naked save for her own blade and holy symbol. In unison they raised their swords to the moon above. False dawn had come and morning was near but the moon was still visible between the dark grey clouds that hid most of the deep blue sky. Sheyreiza sang a short prayer song asking for Eilistraee’s blessing and Inthara joined in harmony. The prayer done, the women lowered their swords. Sheyreiza took a deep breath. The song she was about sing she had never sung aloud before though she had sung it to Eilistraee a thousand times at least. It was her Flame Song. There were three periods of song in a normal day at the Promenade of Eilistraee; the Grand Chorus, the central ceremony for the temple during which all available would gather to sing to the Goddess; the Call of Eilistraee, a haunting melody sung by a senior priestess to call the faithful back to the caverns after a cycle of work in which others would join as the left off their chores and traveled back; and the Flame Songs. A Flame Song was performed by an individual priestesses when the priestess was moved to do so, dancing around a candle or other flame. The Flame Song was personal, taking any form desired, and ended when the flame died. At the Promenade, it was considered the height of rudeness for a priestess to deliberately interrupt the Flame Song of another, though trespassing outsiders and nonbelievers were usually forgiven for their ignorance. Priestesses usually tried to find an alcove or passage where they could be alone to make their Flame Song. A visitor to the Promenade visiting at the right time might hear the eerily beautiful echoes of half-a-dozen or more of these solos at once, drifting down various passages and in side caverns and rooms.
Sheyreiza’s Flame Song had always had words but she had never sung them. For her three years in the promenade she performed her Flame Song silently, singing to Lady Silverhair in her mind, the only outward expression of her melody the dance she would perform around a candle. She had always expected the Flame Song to be her death song, and so she saved the words for her Final Dance. The time had come. Tonight, now, here on this snow covered lawn in this strange, surface city, she was going to dance her Final Dance. There would be no light from above however, as there was when the old priestesses went to their Final Dance. Eilistraee would not be coming for Sheyreiza to make her young again, to lift her up into the sky on divine wings as she danced for the last time in her ascent to the green fields of Arvandor. No, when this Final Dance was done, Sheyreiza would still be in this world. It was not Eilistraee that was coming for her, it was Lolth. There would be no peaceful, beautiful ending for Sheyreiza. Her path was darker now. Her path would be violent; her death, bloody and ugly.
Sheyreiza began to hum the tune. She had no candle so she brought to light divine darkfire on her blade. Inthara, an experienced dancer in her own right, accompanied Sheyreiza. In the drow societies of Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad it was forbidden to dance while armed. In addition to all the unintentional mishaps that might occur, the potential for assassination was too great. Amongst the followers of Lady Eilistraee, however, there was no such restriction. Sheyreiza and Inthara danced with their swords, Inthara’s naked blade glittering under the magical lamplights of the city and reflecting the fire engulfing Sheyreiza’s weapon. Sheyreiza broke into song and Inthara followed in harmony. The sorceress did not know Sheyreiza’s Flame Song but she could follow nonetheless. Their elven voices held sadness and grief that human voices simply could not capture. The drow words lifted across the streets and shutters opened as the residents sought to see what creatures could produce a tune of such profound loss, resolve and melancholy. There in the streets before them danced two exquisitely beautiful drow, exotic in their otherworldly form, frightening in their deadly dance, heartbreaking in their alien song.
As the sky lightened the tune grew faster and the dancing more frenetic. The women’s blades slashed and turned as their bodies gyrated, swayed, leapt and spun. Though they moved closely they moved without hesitation, their razor sharp blades slipping past their silken skin time and time again by a hair’s breadth but never less. For all its apparent violence, it was a bloodless, beautiful dance of love not hate. The song rose to a crescendo and Sheyreiza rose with it. Had this been an ancient priestess’s final dance, this is when Eilistraee might have lifted her up in a beam of silvery radiance and taken her to the green lands of Arvandor, but this was no such moment. Sheyreiza leapt but no divinity caught her, no goddess lifted her up, no salvation was forthcoming. She came to the ground, flaming sword sweeping down from on high like some bloody solar descending from the heavens with righteous wrath, but as she landed, the darkfire of blade was extinguished, the moon was lost to the light of dawn, and the green grass beneath her feet was no longer visible beneath its cold blanket of snow. Sheyreiza’s Final Dance was over.
Inthara’s dance had come to an end as well. Sheyreiza did not look at her but spoke as the two women kneeled, exhausted, on the snowy field. “I love you.” She said simply. “I should have told you that more often.” Tears welled up in Sheyreiza’s eyes.
“I love you too, my Heart.” Inthara said, her voice beginning to break. “Our time is at an end. Goddess, I'll miss you my Heart.”
“And I will miss you.” Sheyreiza said softly. “You have been my conscience and heart for many years.”
Inthara wiped tears from her eyes. “Always remember me, please.” Inthara began weeping.
“I will never forget you.” Sheyreiza said, comforting her. The two women hugged on the snow covered lawn. “And you, please, remember me when I was...better. Our good years in Lonelywood.”
Inthara sniffled and nodded. “For the time we have left, can you just hold me? Please?”
“Yes.” Sheyreiza took Inthara in her arms and held her as she cried. She watched the sun climb from the horizon into the cloudy, gray sky and wondered how many more sunrises she might see, if any. In the east, a darkness was coming for the folk of the Silvermarches, but a different darkness was coming for Sheyreiza. One she could not escape or defeat, but one she had to embrace. Soon.
[b:f30h6t9r]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 13. The Spider's Web.
Part 1 - Tears and Blood.[/b:f30h6t9r]
Sheyreiza sat with Inthara in the little Silverymoon park where they had danced Sheyreiza’s final dance. The day had passed slowly, which Sheyreiza found odd. As she felt this was her last real day of this life she had expected it to pass by quickly, like the taste of something delicious on the tongue that never lasts quite long enough. Shortly, after the sun set, she would seek out the Spider Queen. If Lolth would take her back, then Sheyreiza would embrace the darkness again. As she was contemplating this burden upon her soul, Sheyreiza became conscious of a weight around her neck. Her symbol of Eilistraee still hung from its silver chain. She pulled off the necklace and handed it to Inthara who sat glumly on the grass beside her.
“Give that to the faithful you find, if you cannot use it yourself.” Sheyreiza said.
Inthara took her own holy symbol off and slipped Sheyreiza’s around her neck.
Sheyreiza began laying out her armor on the grass of the park. “I have a little bit of work to do.” She announced. Sheyreiza explained she needed to paint over the colors on her armor as well as her personal heraldry and the engraved hymnals to Eilistraee. The beautiful priestess was nearly naked now, wearing nothing but her glossy boots, a warming stone from Lonelywood on a necklace and an adamantine belly chain. A Silverymoon spellguard who patrolled this gate area stopped in his tracks and openly gawked at the mostly nude drowess. Sheyreiza paid him no attention. She set out several pots of red and black lacquer in wet grass. The snow from the night before had melted in the sun and the park field was green again. Still, the air was cold and if not for Sheyreiza’s enchanted warming stone, she would not have lasted long without clothing. Brush in hand she began painting the armor laid out before her.
Inthara watched curiously. “Are those your house colors?” She asked.
Sheyreiza shook her head. “Tanor'thal, and a few others.” Sheyreiza reached back into one of her satchels and pulled out a house symbol of Tanor’thal holding it up for Inthara to see. “The colors for Auvryndar are white and black. For Faen Tlabbar, purple and black.” She put the Tanor’thal symbol with its ominous house rune and spider motif around her neck. Drow house runes were unlike other runes; most runes, like those of dwarves, were carved with chisel and hammer and as a result, consisted of simple, blocky straight lines of uniform width. Drow runes were etched with magic and so their form was infinitely mutable. Though curved and fluid like Elvish alphabet of Espruar, drow house runes were clearly alien, ominous and evil. Looking at a drow house rune was like looking at a decaying body in the wilds or perhaps at the engorged member of a male animal about to rape a female; certainly it was natural, but it was also obscene and disturbing. Even those unfamiliar with the drow or their writing found drow house runes uncomfortable to look at.
As Inthara watched, Sheyreiza layered red lacquer over the blue mithral. The breast plate’s engraving, a thorny rose entwined about a long sword before a crescent-moon, would have to be changed when she could arrange it. No time for that now. She dipped her brush in a paint pot and returned to painting.
Inthara pulled what looked to be a folded piece of whitish gray cloth from her own bag. “I don’t know how long you will or can keep this, but I would like you to carry it as long as you can.” She laid it out on the grass next to Sheyreiza. The cloth was actually a spider web, perhaps 10 inches in diameter, with a flower embroidered in the middle and a tiny butterfly next to it. Strands of webbing bound the flower and the butterfly together loosely.
The embroidered webbing was so clearly a labor of love and heartbreak Sheyreiza did not know what to say. She could feel, even taste, Inthara’s pain, but there was little she could do to ease it. Accepting this gift graciously was one thing she could do though. Sheyreiza reached for the white web but stopped short of touching it. Her hands were dripping with red paint. She looked like she had just been in battle. No, that was not quite right. She looked like she had just committed murder. “I have paint all over my hands.” She said to explain her hesitation. Carefully, she rubbed her hands on the grass to wipe of the blood red lacquer. With her hands somewhat cleaner she took up the embroidered webbing and admired it.
Inthara looked resigned if not content. “It is all I can give you right now. I only hope that The Spider Queen will find it pleasing and let you hold onto it.” The sorceress said sadly.
“When the sun sinks I will begin praying to Her.” Sheyreiza said folding the webbing carefully and placing it in her satchel. The two women sat in silence for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. What could they do?
A female elven voice broke the silence but it was not Sheyreiza’s or Inthara’s. “Good day cousins.” Sheyreiza looked up to see a female fairy elf, most likely a moon-elf by her color. The woman’s sunken posture and dirty clothes marked her clearly as a road-weary traveler who had not yet paused for rest, but there was something more in her eye; a weariness not born of exertion or lack of sleep, but of some deeper malaise.
Weary or not, Sheyreiza did not trust this woman and her greeting made the drow priestess suspicious. “Hello…cousin.” Sheyreiza replied in the dialect of surface elves but her last word was clearly a challenge. Sheyreiza looked about warily, scanning the streets for other elves or anything out of place, but always keeping the elf woman in the corner of her vision.
“Greetings, cousin.” Inthara echoed, also in the surface dialect.
The weary elf woman looked between the two drow. “Is any one of you, by chance, Sheyreiza?”
“That would be I.” Sheyreiza said, her eyes narrowing instinctually. “Who might you be?”
“Well met,” the stranger said, “I am Isaniel. I have been seeking you for a while, I bring news.” The woman shifted her weight. “Jain'n, Lord of Lonelywood, is dead, murdered by a hin.”
“What?” Sheyreiza replied incredulously, her eyes narrowing further. The priestess had heard the stranger’s words, but she did not believe them to be true. There were few creatures in all Faerun as adept at survival as Jain’n. “You have seen the body?”
The woman nodded. “Yes. I have seen the murder.”
Sheyreiza could sense no deception in the woman’s words, only fatigue. Now the malaise that plagued the stranger’s vacant stare was becoming apparent. This woman must have been close to Jain’n.
“Who rules Lonelywood?” Inthara asked quickly.
“Lonelywood is dead.” Isaniel replied, her voice flat and lifeless.
“Who is this 'hin' who killed Jain'n?” Asked Sheyreiza.
A bit of life, perhaps a bit of hate or maybe fear or perhaps both, appeared in Isaniel’s eyes. “Amy Woodwalker.”
Amy Woodwalker. Willow. Tottspiel’s lover. Why would the hin kill Jain’n? Did he offend her? Was she hired to do it? She had been Sheyreiza and Inthara’s guide when they had left Skullport headed for Immurk’s Hold. There had been many opportunities along the way for the hin to betray them to their death yet she had not done so. It seemed whatever motivated Amy to kill Jain’n was limited to him alone, and did not carry over to the others associated with Lonelywood. “Where was he killed?” Sheyreiza inquired.
Isaniel spoke quietly, without passion or even emotion, and told them all she knew about the murder, Amy’s arrest and the state of affairs in Waterdeep. It became clear that Isaniel had joined Jain’n’s warband sometime after Sheyreiza had left and was an elf of Lonelywood now. Inthara seized on that information and immediately asked about the children, Shein’n, Tia and little Vraja.
“In Evereska.” Isaniel replied. The children were fine she assured them.
Sheyreiza asked Isaniel to bring Shein’n to her. “We have been separated from our children because of Jain'n for a long time.” Sheyreiza explained with anger creeping into her voice.
“Of course. I know.” Isaniel said flatly.
Inthara looked at Sheyreiza sharply and spoke to her in the drow dialect. “Sheyreiza, you cannot bring her here.” The sorceress reached out, took Sheyreiza’s hand in hers, and began to tap. [i:f30h6t9r]You cannot take her with you.[/i:f30h6t9r] Inthara said in the drow code. [i:f30h6t9r]She would be the price that you would have to pay to return to Her.[/i:f30h6t9r]
Instantly Sheyreiza knew Inthara was right. What had she been thinking? If Shein’n was in reach, the Spider Queen would want her heart. In the distance, a flash of lightening lit the gloomy, cloud filled skies of the east even as the sun began to set in the west. A moment later the dull, bass roar of thunder rolled through the park. As if on cue, the temperature began to drop as the sun sank towards the horizon.
“Isaniel.” Sheyreiza said gravely, “I want you to listen to me closely. You are [i:f30h6t9r]not[/i:f30h6t9r] to bring my daughter to me. You are not to allow my daughter near me.”
“Alright.” Isaniel agreed slowly. “As you wish.”
Sheyreiza looked at her sorceress companion. “My daughter and Inthara's son should be given to Inthara.” She turned her gaze back to meet Isaniel’s. “Inthara will not be following me any longer. She will be a good parent for them.” The sorceress looked quickly to Sheyreiza, as if surprised but then nodded in resignation.
Thunder rolled through the streets again, louder this time, though there was no flash of lightening preceding it. All three women looked up to the sky.
“This is no weather.” Isaniel said ominously.
Sheyreiza knew in her heart the fairy elf was right. This was the beginning. For weal or woe, Sheyreiza was going to have the Spider Queen’s attention this night. In the distant west, the sun was dipping below the horizon. The darkness was drawing nigh.
“Isaniel,” Sheyreiza spoke quickly, “after tonight, if we meet again, you had best look to your life for I will not be the woman I am now.”
Isaniel looked down from the sky at the priestess. “Alright.” She replied, her voice heavy and tired.
Sheyreiza could feel divine energy crackling in the air. As the light of the setting sun set the western sky alight in the colors of fire Sheyreiza knew she had but a few short, precious minutes left of reason and love. She looked as hard into Isaniel’s eyes as she could. “Do me this one boon. Keep my daughter away from me.”
Isaniel nodded. “I will,” she promised with a bit more life in her voice. The thunder, the sun set and the desperate resolution in Sheyreiza’s eyes gave a sense of import to this moment that even the weary soul of Isaniel could not help but feel. “I have to depart now,” Isaniel said, looking back up at the storm clouds gathering. “Thank you for listening.”
“Fare thee well Isaniel of Lonelywood.” Sheyreiza replied as warmly as she could.
The woman looked back as she turned away. “Farewell,” she said in elven, “may Corellon watch over you.”
“He will not.” Sheyreiza said simply.
Isaniel smiled sadly and walked away. Sheyreiza waited for the fairy elf to disappear down the darkening streets of Silverymoon before turning to Inthara. “The thunder is a sign.” She said. “I know not if it is for me.” But she did know. She knew it was a sign for her. She knew the Spider Queen was waiting out there somewhere for the sun to set and for Sheyreiza to return to her.
“That thunder,” Inthara said, shivering, “Flower, my Heart, I'm afraid.”
There was no comfort Sheyreiza could offer her companion now. “You should be.” The priestess told her honestly. “Inthara, it is time you and I parted ways for the night I think.” The time had come.
“When you are ready to leave, to go into the Underdark, I have a final gift.” Inthara said, trying to hold back tears.
“I will see you again before I leave for the Underdark.” Sheyreiza assured her. She did not know if it was true, but if all went according to plan, it would be. That was the best that Sheyreiza could hope for and it was what she had to believe was possible.
“Go with the Maiden and Lolth, my Heart.” Inthara said, her words encouraging but her voice breaking with grief. “Good bye.” The sorceress began to weep softly. She picked up her book and satchel. “I should get inside.” Sheyreiza said nothing she just nodded and watched Inthara go.
Another roll of thunder, louder than the previous two, shook the streets. The local spellguard assigned to patrol the gate near the small park stopped beside Sheyreiza and looked to the sky. “’Tis a bad sign.” He said.
[i:f30h6t9r]You have no idea how bad.[/i:f30h6t9r] Sheyreiza thought. [i:f30h6t9r]And I envy you your ignorance.[/i:f30h6t9r]
***
Inside the barracks Inthara stripped off all her clothes, raised her sword, and began to dance slowly. She sang softly as she moved, channeling her sorrow into the song.
***
Outside, on the darkening western horizon, the last rays of the sunset glowed against the black clouds like embers in a dying fire. Sheyreiza was dressed and equipped now. Hastily applied red lacquer dripped across the plates of her once exquisite armor like blood spilt in battle. In her right hand she carried her long, black sword and on her left arm she wore her shield-bracer adorned with its two bebilith fangs. She turned her back on the fiery red glow in the western sky and looked into the dark of the east.
***
Across the avenue from the park where Sheyreiza stood, the cartographer Silin Klendry watched from behind the half closed shutters of a second floor window. Silin had met Sheyreiza when she came into his shop and purchased maps two days earlier. The appearance of a drow in his store, an actual living dark elf, had made his heart skip a beat but he trusted in the wards of Silverymoon’s mythal. If the dark elf’s heart was foul, the ward would have scared her off. Even if she somehow got passed the wards of the mythal, there were always the Spellguards and Knights. If she was here, she was undoubtedly supposed to be here. Her presence had captured his attention immediately, however. Something was going on. Something big. Something important. Something larger than his shop, his maps or even his life.
Silin knew Silverymoon and the people of the north now faced a threat like they had never faced before in his lifetime. The Shades threatened all the people’s of the world; human, dwarf, elf, hin. All faced extermination or enslavement. Knights marshaled and armies gathered. Spellguards walked patrols of golems through the streets. Great siege machines were built atop the walls, towers and fighting platforms of the city. Refugees from the east, where the coming shadow had already darkened the skies, filled the parks, temples and inns of the city. Still, it was the appearance of the drow that had given this desperate situation a sense of its place in history for Silin.
He had been awakened early this morning, before dawn, by the sound of a song so sad, so filled with grief it caused him to weep though he could not understand a single word. Looking out his bedroom window he had seen the two drow women, naked save for their swords, holy symbols and flowing white hair, dancing upon the snowy grass of the park across the avenue from his shop. Their dance was like nothing he had ever seen, their song like nothing he had ever heard. How many humans had ever seen such a thing? How many residents of Silverymoon had ever, in the history of the city, been in the right place at the right time to see two dark fey dancing through such a ritual and singing such an otherworldly song of lament? This was the stuff of fairy tales, legends, myths and midnight campfire stories, not the stuff of real life. The dancing of the dark ladies of Eilistraee was for the ribald tales of tavern bards sung to titillate their drunken patrons and tease coins from their purses; it was not something you saw outside your window.
Only one of the dark ladies stood in the park below him now. He could see her adorned as for battle, sword in hand. She stood staring at the east gate, oblivious to Silin. Her armor looked as if bathed in blood and she was terrible and beautiful, fierce and tragic, all at once. Silin did not know whether to love her, fear her or both. A song, elven, high and pure, reached his ears and Silin realized the other drowess must be singing nearby. Her song was even sadder than the one the night before. Again he could not understand a single word and he was glad. He was sure a clear understanding of a song this powerfully sad would strike him dead from grief if just as surely as a clear view of a nymph's beauty would strike him dead from awe. The fey, especially these dark fey of which so much evil was whispered, were simply beyond the ken of normal men. The drowess below him began walking toward the east gate. The Knights let her pass and she slipped through into the darkness beyond the walls.
Silin did not know her name. He did not know where she came from or where she was going. He did not know why her companion sang a song of lament while she walked east towards the threatening shadow. He did not know why the city's knights treated these dark fey as friend not foe.
What Silin knew was that he was a common man who, though threatened by imminent destruction at the hands of the Shades, was on the edge of greatness. Not his own greatness, but a greatness of moment. The myths and legends of future ages were being forged right before his eyes. He stood in the path of history and the souls of heroes were standing all around him. He could not touch them; that drowess would never know his name or remember him, but he would not forget her no matter how much or how little time he had remaining. This, he realized, was what it meant to be a part of history and fable. In years to come people would sing about this war, if there were people left to sing at all, and some might sing of these women or of their dwarven chaperone from the west. They would sing of brave Lady Alustriel, her chivalrous knights and powerful spellguard. They would sing of the allies who came from near and far; from the dwarven halls and the towers of the Zhentarim; from the Sword coast and from the Sembian coast. And here, in his second floor bedroom, Silin watched it unfold.
A sense of the greater universe gripped him. He felt the long emptiness of eternity and his own insignificance but he also felt something else; a sense of purpose. He was witness to the great events of his time that would become the legends and myth of tomorrow. Should he not give testimony to those events? Should he not preserve, as best he was able, all that he saw of these most momentous times? As others sacrificed comfort, life and soul to stop the shadow and save all that was good in this world, should he not do what little he could to create a record of their sacrifices?
As the gates closed behind the departing drowess Silin moved back from the window and closed the shutters against the cold night air. He picked up a candle and left his bedroom clad only in his night shirt and night cap. He walked downstairs to his work room where his drafting table was. The drafting table was large; over six feet long and four feet wide. Stacks of books and notes decorated the sides surrounding a plethora of unfinished maps in the center like mountain peaks around an alpine lake. Silin stared at the unruly pile for a moment. If he could survey the land, take notes upon it, and then reduce it to a map which others could understand, trust and use, could he not do the same for the events of history?
He did not know, but he knew he had to try. Holding his candle high with one hand, Silin’s free arm swept his drafting table clear of its clutter. Books and papers scattered across the floor. He reached into a drawer and pulled out an unused book, a pot of ink, and a quill. He set the candle down, took a seat, picked up the quill and began recording everything he had seen and experienced of the war. He might not be a great leader, a brave warrior or a dark and mysterious fey, but he could record their deeds. Outside, Inthara’s song continued. Though intent of purpose now, Silin was only human and the drow sorceress' song made him weep. Tears mixed with ink as he wrote. It was not inappropriate he thought, as history was often written in tears.
Tears …. and blood.
Chapter 13. The Spider's Web.
Part 1 - Tears and Blood.[/b:f30h6t9r]
Sheyreiza sat with Inthara in the little Silverymoon park where they had danced Sheyreiza’s final dance. The day had passed slowly, which Sheyreiza found odd. As she felt this was her last real day of this life she had expected it to pass by quickly, like the taste of something delicious on the tongue that never lasts quite long enough. Shortly, after the sun set, she would seek out the Spider Queen. If Lolth would take her back, then Sheyreiza would embrace the darkness again. As she was contemplating this burden upon her soul, Sheyreiza became conscious of a weight around her neck. Her symbol of Eilistraee still hung from its silver chain. She pulled off the necklace and handed it to Inthara who sat glumly on the grass beside her.
“Give that to the faithful you find, if you cannot use it yourself.” Sheyreiza said.
Inthara took her own holy symbol off and slipped Sheyreiza’s around her neck.
Sheyreiza began laying out her armor on the grass of the park. “I have a little bit of work to do.” She announced. Sheyreiza explained she needed to paint over the colors on her armor as well as her personal heraldry and the engraved hymnals to Eilistraee. The beautiful priestess was nearly naked now, wearing nothing but her glossy boots, a warming stone from Lonelywood on a necklace and an adamantine belly chain. A Silverymoon spellguard who patrolled this gate area stopped in his tracks and openly gawked at the mostly nude drowess. Sheyreiza paid him no attention. She set out several pots of red and black lacquer in wet grass. The snow from the night before had melted in the sun and the park field was green again. Still, the air was cold and if not for Sheyreiza’s enchanted warming stone, she would not have lasted long without clothing. Brush in hand she began painting the armor laid out before her.
Inthara watched curiously. “Are those your house colors?” She asked.
Sheyreiza shook her head. “Tanor'thal, and a few others.” Sheyreiza reached back into one of her satchels and pulled out a house symbol of Tanor’thal holding it up for Inthara to see. “The colors for Auvryndar are white and black. For Faen Tlabbar, purple and black.” She put the Tanor’thal symbol with its ominous house rune and spider motif around her neck. Drow house runes were unlike other runes; most runes, like those of dwarves, were carved with chisel and hammer and as a result, consisted of simple, blocky straight lines of uniform width. Drow runes were etched with magic and so their form was infinitely mutable. Though curved and fluid like Elvish alphabet of Espruar, drow house runes were clearly alien, ominous and evil. Looking at a drow house rune was like looking at a decaying body in the wilds or perhaps at the engorged member of a male animal about to rape a female; certainly it was natural, but it was also obscene and disturbing. Even those unfamiliar with the drow or their writing found drow house runes uncomfortable to look at.
As Inthara watched, Sheyreiza layered red lacquer over the blue mithral. The breast plate’s engraving, a thorny rose entwined about a long sword before a crescent-moon, would have to be changed when she could arrange it. No time for that now. She dipped her brush in a paint pot and returned to painting.
Inthara pulled what looked to be a folded piece of whitish gray cloth from her own bag. “I don’t know how long you will or can keep this, but I would like you to carry it as long as you can.” She laid it out on the grass next to Sheyreiza. The cloth was actually a spider web, perhaps 10 inches in diameter, with a flower embroidered in the middle and a tiny butterfly next to it. Strands of webbing bound the flower and the butterfly together loosely.
The embroidered webbing was so clearly a labor of love and heartbreak Sheyreiza did not know what to say. She could feel, even taste, Inthara’s pain, but there was little she could do to ease it. Accepting this gift graciously was one thing she could do though. Sheyreiza reached for the white web but stopped short of touching it. Her hands were dripping with red paint. She looked like she had just been in battle. No, that was not quite right. She looked like she had just committed murder. “I have paint all over my hands.” She said to explain her hesitation. Carefully, she rubbed her hands on the grass to wipe of the blood red lacquer. With her hands somewhat cleaner she took up the embroidered webbing and admired it.
Inthara looked resigned if not content. “It is all I can give you right now. I only hope that The Spider Queen will find it pleasing and let you hold onto it.” The sorceress said sadly.
“When the sun sinks I will begin praying to Her.” Sheyreiza said folding the webbing carefully and placing it in her satchel. The two women sat in silence for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. What could they do?
A female elven voice broke the silence but it was not Sheyreiza’s or Inthara’s. “Good day cousins.” Sheyreiza looked up to see a female fairy elf, most likely a moon-elf by her color. The woman’s sunken posture and dirty clothes marked her clearly as a road-weary traveler who had not yet paused for rest, but there was something more in her eye; a weariness not born of exertion or lack of sleep, but of some deeper malaise.
Weary or not, Sheyreiza did not trust this woman and her greeting made the drow priestess suspicious. “Hello…cousin.” Sheyreiza replied in the dialect of surface elves but her last word was clearly a challenge. Sheyreiza looked about warily, scanning the streets for other elves or anything out of place, but always keeping the elf woman in the corner of her vision.
“Greetings, cousin.” Inthara echoed, also in the surface dialect.
The weary elf woman looked between the two drow. “Is any one of you, by chance, Sheyreiza?”
“That would be I.” Sheyreiza said, her eyes narrowing instinctually. “Who might you be?”
“Well met,” the stranger said, “I am Isaniel. I have been seeking you for a while, I bring news.” The woman shifted her weight. “Jain'n, Lord of Lonelywood, is dead, murdered by a hin.”
“What?” Sheyreiza replied incredulously, her eyes narrowing further. The priestess had heard the stranger’s words, but she did not believe them to be true. There were few creatures in all Faerun as adept at survival as Jain’n. “You have seen the body?”
The woman nodded. “Yes. I have seen the murder.”
Sheyreiza could sense no deception in the woman’s words, only fatigue. Now the malaise that plagued the stranger’s vacant stare was becoming apparent. This woman must have been close to Jain’n.
“Who rules Lonelywood?” Inthara asked quickly.
“Lonelywood is dead.” Isaniel replied, her voice flat and lifeless.
“Who is this 'hin' who killed Jain'n?” Asked Sheyreiza.
A bit of life, perhaps a bit of hate or maybe fear or perhaps both, appeared in Isaniel’s eyes. “Amy Woodwalker.”
Amy Woodwalker. Willow. Tottspiel’s lover. Why would the hin kill Jain’n? Did he offend her? Was she hired to do it? She had been Sheyreiza and Inthara’s guide when they had left Skullport headed for Immurk’s Hold. There had been many opportunities along the way for the hin to betray them to their death yet she had not done so. It seemed whatever motivated Amy to kill Jain’n was limited to him alone, and did not carry over to the others associated with Lonelywood. “Where was he killed?” Sheyreiza inquired.
Isaniel spoke quietly, without passion or even emotion, and told them all she knew about the murder, Amy’s arrest and the state of affairs in Waterdeep. It became clear that Isaniel had joined Jain’n’s warband sometime after Sheyreiza had left and was an elf of Lonelywood now. Inthara seized on that information and immediately asked about the children, Shein’n, Tia and little Vraja.
“In Evereska.” Isaniel replied. The children were fine she assured them.
Sheyreiza asked Isaniel to bring Shein’n to her. “We have been separated from our children because of Jain'n for a long time.” Sheyreiza explained with anger creeping into her voice.
“Of course. I know.” Isaniel said flatly.
Inthara looked at Sheyreiza sharply and spoke to her in the drow dialect. “Sheyreiza, you cannot bring her here.” The sorceress reached out, took Sheyreiza’s hand in hers, and began to tap. [i:f30h6t9r]You cannot take her with you.[/i:f30h6t9r] Inthara said in the drow code. [i:f30h6t9r]She would be the price that you would have to pay to return to Her.[/i:f30h6t9r]
Instantly Sheyreiza knew Inthara was right. What had she been thinking? If Shein’n was in reach, the Spider Queen would want her heart. In the distance, a flash of lightening lit the gloomy, cloud filled skies of the east even as the sun began to set in the west. A moment later the dull, bass roar of thunder rolled through the park. As if on cue, the temperature began to drop as the sun sank towards the horizon.
“Isaniel.” Sheyreiza said gravely, “I want you to listen to me closely. You are [i:f30h6t9r]not[/i:f30h6t9r] to bring my daughter to me. You are not to allow my daughter near me.”
“Alright.” Isaniel agreed slowly. “As you wish.”
Sheyreiza looked at her sorceress companion. “My daughter and Inthara's son should be given to Inthara.” She turned her gaze back to meet Isaniel’s. “Inthara will not be following me any longer. She will be a good parent for them.” The sorceress looked quickly to Sheyreiza, as if surprised but then nodded in resignation.
Thunder rolled through the streets again, louder this time, though there was no flash of lightening preceding it. All three women looked up to the sky.
“This is no weather.” Isaniel said ominously.
Sheyreiza knew in her heart the fairy elf was right. This was the beginning. For weal or woe, Sheyreiza was going to have the Spider Queen’s attention this night. In the distant west, the sun was dipping below the horizon. The darkness was drawing nigh.
“Isaniel,” Sheyreiza spoke quickly, “after tonight, if we meet again, you had best look to your life for I will not be the woman I am now.”
Isaniel looked down from the sky at the priestess. “Alright.” She replied, her voice heavy and tired.
Sheyreiza could feel divine energy crackling in the air. As the light of the setting sun set the western sky alight in the colors of fire Sheyreiza knew she had but a few short, precious minutes left of reason and love. She looked as hard into Isaniel’s eyes as she could. “Do me this one boon. Keep my daughter away from me.”
Isaniel nodded. “I will,” she promised with a bit more life in her voice. The thunder, the sun set and the desperate resolution in Sheyreiza’s eyes gave a sense of import to this moment that even the weary soul of Isaniel could not help but feel. “I have to depart now,” Isaniel said, looking back up at the storm clouds gathering. “Thank you for listening.”
“Fare thee well Isaniel of Lonelywood.” Sheyreiza replied as warmly as she could.
The woman looked back as she turned away. “Farewell,” she said in elven, “may Corellon watch over you.”
“He will not.” Sheyreiza said simply.
Isaniel smiled sadly and walked away. Sheyreiza waited for the fairy elf to disappear down the darkening streets of Silverymoon before turning to Inthara. “The thunder is a sign.” She said. “I know not if it is for me.” But she did know. She knew it was a sign for her. She knew the Spider Queen was waiting out there somewhere for the sun to set and for Sheyreiza to return to her.
“That thunder,” Inthara said, shivering, “Flower, my Heart, I'm afraid.”
There was no comfort Sheyreiza could offer her companion now. “You should be.” The priestess told her honestly. “Inthara, it is time you and I parted ways for the night I think.” The time had come.
“When you are ready to leave, to go into the Underdark, I have a final gift.” Inthara said, trying to hold back tears.
“I will see you again before I leave for the Underdark.” Sheyreiza assured her. She did not know if it was true, but if all went according to plan, it would be. That was the best that Sheyreiza could hope for and it was what she had to believe was possible.
“Go with the Maiden and Lolth, my Heart.” Inthara said, her words encouraging but her voice breaking with grief. “Good bye.” The sorceress began to weep softly. She picked up her book and satchel. “I should get inside.” Sheyreiza said nothing she just nodded and watched Inthara go.
Another roll of thunder, louder than the previous two, shook the streets. The local spellguard assigned to patrol the gate near the small park stopped beside Sheyreiza and looked to the sky. “’Tis a bad sign.” He said.
[i:f30h6t9r]You have no idea how bad.[/i:f30h6t9r] Sheyreiza thought. [i:f30h6t9r]And I envy you your ignorance.[/i:f30h6t9r]
***
Inside the barracks Inthara stripped off all her clothes, raised her sword, and began to dance slowly. She sang softly as she moved, channeling her sorrow into the song.
***
Outside, on the darkening western horizon, the last rays of the sunset glowed against the black clouds like embers in a dying fire. Sheyreiza was dressed and equipped now. Hastily applied red lacquer dripped across the plates of her once exquisite armor like blood spilt in battle. In her right hand she carried her long, black sword and on her left arm she wore her shield-bracer adorned with its two bebilith fangs. She turned her back on the fiery red glow in the western sky and looked into the dark of the east.
***
Across the avenue from the park where Sheyreiza stood, the cartographer Silin Klendry watched from behind the half closed shutters of a second floor window. Silin had met Sheyreiza when she came into his shop and purchased maps two days earlier. The appearance of a drow in his store, an actual living dark elf, had made his heart skip a beat but he trusted in the wards of Silverymoon’s mythal. If the dark elf’s heart was foul, the ward would have scared her off. Even if she somehow got passed the wards of the mythal, there were always the Spellguards and Knights. If she was here, she was undoubtedly supposed to be here. Her presence had captured his attention immediately, however. Something was going on. Something big. Something important. Something larger than his shop, his maps or even his life.
Silin knew Silverymoon and the people of the north now faced a threat like they had never faced before in his lifetime. The Shades threatened all the people’s of the world; human, dwarf, elf, hin. All faced extermination or enslavement. Knights marshaled and armies gathered. Spellguards walked patrols of golems through the streets. Great siege machines were built atop the walls, towers and fighting platforms of the city. Refugees from the east, where the coming shadow had already darkened the skies, filled the parks, temples and inns of the city. Still, it was the appearance of the drow that had given this desperate situation a sense of its place in history for Silin.
He had been awakened early this morning, before dawn, by the sound of a song so sad, so filled with grief it caused him to weep though he could not understand a single word. Looking out his bedroom window he had seen the two drow women, naked save for their swords, holy symbols and flowing white hair, dancing upon the snowy grass of the park across the avenue from his shop. Their dance was like nothing he had ever seen, their song like nothing he had ever heard. How many humans had ever seen such a thing? How many residents of Silverymoon had ever, in the history of the city, been in the right place at the right time to see two dark fey dancing through such a ritual and singing such an otherworldly song of lament? This was the stuff of fairy tales, legends, myths and midnight campfire stories, not the stuff of real life. The dancing of the dark ladies of Eilistraee was for the ribald tales of tavern bards sung to titillate their drunken patrons and tease coins from their purses; it was not something you saw outside your window.
Only one of the dark ladies stood in the park below him now. He could see her adorned as for battle, sword in hand. She stood staring at the east gate, oblivious to Silin. Her armor looked as if bathed in blood and she was terrible and beautiful, fierce and tragic, all at once. Silin did not know whether to love her, fear her or both. A song, elven, high and pure, reached his ears and Silin realized the other drowess must be singing nearby. Her song was even sadder than the one the night before. Again he could not understand a single word and he was glad. He was sure a clear understanding of a song this powerfully sad would strike him dead from grief if just as surely as a clear view of a nymph's beauty would strike him dead from awe. The fey, especially these dark fey of which so much evil was whispered, were simply beyond the ken of normal men. The drowess below him began walking toward the east gate. The Knights let her pass and she slipped through into the darkness beyond the walls.
Silin did not know her name. He did not know where she came from or where she was going. He did not know why her companion sang a song of lament while she walked east towards the threatening shadow. He did not know why the city's knights treated these dark fey as friend not foe.
What Silin knew was that he was a common man who, though threatened by imminent destruction at the hands of the Shades, was on the edge of greatness. Not his own greatness, but a greatness of moment. The myths and legends of future ages were being forged right before his eyes. He stood in the path of history and the souls of heroes were standing all around him. He could not touch them; that drowess would never know his name or remember him, but he would not forget her no matter how much or how little time he had remaining. This, he realized, was what it meant to be a part of history and fable. In years to come people would sing about this war, if there were people left to sing at all, and some might sing of these women or of their dwarven chaperone from the west. They would sing of brave Lady Alustriel, her chivalrous knights and powerful spellguard. They would sing of the allies who came from near and far; from the dwarven halls and the towers of the Zhentarim; from the Sword coast and from the Sembian coast. And here, in his second floor bedroom, Silin watched it unfold.
A sense of the greater universe gripped him. He felt the long emptiness of eternity and his own insignificance but he also felt something else; a sense of purpose. He was witness to the great events of his time that would become the legends and myth of tomorrow. Should he not give testimony to those events? Should he not preserve, as best he was able, all that he saw of these most momentous times? As others sacrificed comfort, life and soul to stop the shadow and save all that was good in this world, should he not do what little he could to create a record of their sacrifices?
As the gates closed behind the departing drowess Silin moved back from the window and closed the shutters against the cold night air. He picked up a candle and left his bedroom clad only in his night shirt and night cap. He walked downstairs to his work room where his drafting table was. The drafting table was large; over six feet long and four feet wide. Stacks of books and notes decorated the sides surrounding a plethora of unfinished maps in the center like mountain peaks around an alpine lake. Silin stared at the unruly pile for a moment. If he could survey the land, take notes upon it, and then reduce it to a map which others could understand, trust and use, could he not do the same for the events of history?
He did not know, but he knew he had to try. Holding his candle high with one hand, Silin’s free arm swept his drafting table clear of its clutter. Books and papers scattered across the floor. He reached into a drawer and pulled out an unused book, a pot of ink, and a quill. He set the candle down, took a seat, picked up the quill and began recording everything he had seen and experienced of the war. He might not be a great leader, a brave warrior or a dark and mysterious fey, but he could record their deeds. Outside, Inthara’s song continued. Though intent of purpose now, Silin was only human and the drow sorceress' song made him weep. Tears mixed with ink as he wrote. It was not inappropriate he thought, as history was often written in tears.
Tears …. and blood.
[b:u0tnu6lw]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 13. The Spider's Web
Part 2 - Into the Darkness[/b:u0tnu6lw]
Sheyreiza walked alone into the darkeneing east. She followed the road into the mountains to the pass where Hignar had teleported them just a few days earlier. There was no temple to Lolth near Silverymoon and though there might be an entrance to the Underdark somewhere near, Sheyreiza did not know where to find it. Her only guide was the coming darkness of night so Sheyreiza had walked into it. She walked until the sun was gone from the west and no light remained in the sky save for the twinkling of stars shining here and there through the clouds above. Satisfied that night had fallen, Sheyreiza left the road and walked up into the rocky terrain of the pass. There she found a large, rectangular stone with a nearly flat, horizontal top-face. This would be her improvised altar. From deep within one of her satchels she drew a sacrificial dagger of Lolth’s clergy. It had belonged to the Tanor’thal priestess she and Ariz’tel had killed near the Promenade. Sheyreiza had saved it all these years in case she had ever needed to infiltrate the Tanor’thal. She drew the dagger from its sheath and set about carving a spider upon the rock altar before her. It was said that Lolth could see through the eyes of any spider, even those that were simply drawn. Once the spider and its many eyes were carved, she etched the holy symbol of Lolth in the center of the rock’s top-face; a stylized form of Lolth herself in the guise of a female drider-like demon amidst a web. Her carving was crude given her tools and haste, but when she was done she was able to recognize both designs well enough.
From this point on there was to be no hesitation, no remorse, no half-measures and no second thoughts. To go back to Lolth meant going back to her body and soul. Whatever Lolth asked, Sheyreiza would do. Whatever Lolth demanded, Sheyreiza would give. Once this began, everything would be a test and Sheyreiza had to pass every time. Failure meant death, damnation, and the loss of any chance of her people coming to the aid of the Silvermarches to defeat the Shades. Whatever had to be done, would be done. Whatever had to be endured, would be endured. Whatever had to be sacrificed, would be sacrificed. This was Sheyreiza’s pledge to herself.
Steeled for what was to come, Sheyreiza looked skyward and raised the dagger aloft. “Mother of Darkness.” She said. “I have come to return to you.” She took a deep breath. “Lolth!” She yelled. “LOLTH!” She screamed. “Test me! TEST ME!”
A chill of fear swept through Sheyreiza. What if Lolth was not listening? What if she simply did not care? What if all of Sheyreiza’s noble resolve and sacrifice were but the self-indulgent daydreams of an insignificant person whose destiny was no greater than anyone else’s? What if Lolth did not answer? A cold laugh, more frigid than any arctic wind that ever sailed across the snows of Bremen’s run, echoed through Sheyreiza’s mind. [i:u0tnu6lw]Oh, you will be tested, daughter.[/i:u0tnu6lw] It said. [i:u0tnu6lw]You will be.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
The fear of insignificance was instantly lost, blasted into oblivion by the sudden realization that she had, in fact, garnered the attention of the Spider Queen. The fear of knowing the Spider Queen’s eyes were upon her was paralyzing. This was not some malign spirit of Jain’n’s Vyshaan ancestors who could be bandied with and defied. This was not the good hearted Eillistraee, who, though divine, radiated mercy and compassion. This was not the light of Corellon, the father of the elves, who smiled upon his children from Arvandor far above.
This was the cold, remorseless, cruel stare of Lolth, the Spider Queen, the Dark Mother of the Drow and the Weaver of their destinies. This was the gaze of the creature that was once Araushnee and who had thrown down Corellon and had nearly taken Arvandor itself. Sheyreiza’s struggles with Jain’n and Lonelywood were but the palest imitations of that titanic battle and now Sheyreiza felt as though she were but the palest imitation of the Spider Queen imaginable, withering under the gaze of the original. She froze.
To her left a beam of light appeared perhaps 10 yards away. She could find no source for the light. It was bright but pale having a silver or possibly even bluish cast. It looked like moon light though no moon was visible through the clouds above. Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes and watched the light for a moment, unsure of what to do. A beam of cold white light like moonlight was not a usual manifestation of the Spider Queen or her servants, it was the manifestation of Eillistraee, Lady Silverhair. Sheyreiza turned to face the light but she did not step towards it or move away from her make shift altar. There was warmth coming from the pale light now and Sheyreiza became certain this was not a sign from Lolth; this was a sign from Eilistraee. What was Lady Silverhair doing sending her this beam of the moon’s radiance?
She did not have to wait long for the answer. The light spoke to her in a beautiful, soft feminine voice. She did not know if the voice was real or just in her mind, but she could understand it just the same. She did not know if it was Eilistraee herself or one of her servants, but the intent was made clear enough. [i:u0tnu6lw]Do not walk into darkness my child. Do not walk into evil. Step into the light Sheyreiza, and return to
goodness.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
Her heart raced and her eyes narrowed. Was this really Eilistraee or her servants come to save Sheyreiza? Or was this a test of Lolth? Both? It did not matter. Sheyreiza knew what she had to do.
“No.” She said with a hiss. “I will not. I have followed your Chosen and I will follow her no more.”
[i:u0tnu6lw]Is she not entitled to make mistakes…like you?[/i:u0tnu6lw]
A stab of pain shot through Sheyreiza’s chest as she realized her own hypocrisy in condemning Qilue. Had she not made many mistakes herself, all the while trying to do what she believed in? Why then should Qilue be damned for being less than perfect? Were not all mortals less than perfect, Sheyreiza included? With an act of will Sheyreiza forced these thoughts back and quashed the pain building in her chest. [i:u0tnu6lw]Yes, I made mistakes,[/i:u0tnu6lw] Sheyreiza thought, [i:u0tnu6lw]and I [/i:u0tnu6lw]will[i:u0tnu6lw] be damned for them. So be it.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
“It does not matter. She is weak.” Sheyreiza said, her every word an act of defiance.
[i:u0tnu6lw]No child, it is you who will be weak if you give in to the darkness. It takes strength to choose good. Come into the light. Be strong - choose to be good.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
Sheyreiza nearly wept. The power of the voice’s words cut through her mental defenses like the sharpest arrow. These were her secret fears. Was she not weak for going back to Lolth? Was she not less than perfect in faith and deed? Had she not failed time and again?
She closed her eyes against the light and grit her teeth. An audible growl came from deep inside her. The voice was tearing her apart but she held fast to her commitment. “No.” She snarled. “No. You are good Lady Silverhair, this I know,” she admitted, “but you are not our savior. You will not save our people. You are good, but [i:u0tnu6lw]you[/i:u0tnu6lw] are weak. It is your mother’s strength we need now. Only she can help us survive.”
[i:u0tnu6lw] Darkness cannot defeat darkness. Evil cannot win. Evil is not stronger because it will always turn in upon itself.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
“No.” Sheyreiza replied simply. She tried to push the light away from her by force of will, to shut her mind against the penetrating voice of Eilistraee’s manifestation. She growled as she struggled pushing and pushing. Slowly, gradually, she felt progress. The light was leaving, but in that moment she realized that what was leaving her was Eilistraee’s grace; she was pushing away her connection to the Goddess. She felt Lady Silverhair’s grace leave her body but it was not quite gone. It was in her eye now, in the sapphire that had replaced her long lost left orb. Into that strange gem had passed all the gifts that being a member of Eilistraee’s clergy bestowed – her divine spells, her power to destroy undead and lycanthropes, her power to walk unseen amongst the creatures of the wild. [i:u0tnu6lw]How strange[/i:u0tnu6lw], Sheyreiza thought. What now?
Something tickled her leg and she looked down. A stout bodied, thick legged, green-furred spider the size of an outstretched hand was climbing up her body. In place of its pedipalps it had grotesquely oversized mandibles. The horrid creature climbed onto her face but she did not move or even flinch. This was a sacred creature of Lolth’s, and even if it was here to poison her to death, she would not defend herself against it. Everything this night was a test and Sheyreiza had committed herself, body and soul, to passing that test. The spider looked into Sheyreiza’s eyes with a merciless, alien gaze and Sheyreiza knew fear. Still, she did not waver. With no warning, the spider’s oversized mandible bit into Sheyreiza’s left eye socket. She staggered backwards but uttered no scream and raised no defense. The fiendish arachnid tore the sapphire orb from her face leaving a bloody, gaping wound behind. It scuttled down her body and deposited the orb on a rock.
Sheyreiza knew instinctually that if she picked up the orb and put it back in her eye she would take Eilistraee’s grace back into her. She could return to the light. Eilistraee would still have her, she had but to choose good. Without hesitating Sheyreiza raised a high heeled boot and stomped on the sapphire as hard she could. The impossible happened – the abyssal star sapphire shattered like glass.
[i:u0tnu6lw]Good bye, child.[/i:u0tnu6lw] The voice of the light whispered as the pale moonlight faded into darkness.
The spider stared up at Sheyreiza until it caught her attention again. The moment she looked at it the creature scuttled off. Sheyreiza followed. She wanted to stop and bandage her bleeding eye socket but she dared not lose track of her arachnid guide, if such was what it was. They walked for miles and the rocky mountain pass gave way to forest. With but a single eye to follow the scurrying spider and watch out for danger Sheyreiza quickly lost track of which direction they were traveling. In short order she knew she was lost with no idea of which was the city or the mountain pass was. The forest grew darker as they traveled. The trees here were larger and more gnarled than those at the edge of the mountain pass. A sense of great age filled these woods. It made Sheryeiza uncomfortable. This was not a place for her. The spider led on, however and Sheyreiza followed.
Ahead the spider darted into a particularly dense cluster of old trees whose hoary trunks rose up from a veritable nest of snaking roots at their base. The trees were so close together their branches were intertwined in countless places along their length. Sheyreiza cautiously climbed through the nest of roots and the lowest branches. As she entered she became aware of a soft glow emanating from deep inside the arboreal cluster. Its light must have been damped to the rest of the woods by the surrounding trees as she had seen no sign of such a light as she approached. Sheyreiza moved towards the cluster’s center. There, on the ground, in a cramped clearing between the trees was a small campfire burning in shallow hole. Sheyreiza almost took a step into the clearing when she suddenly saw three sleeping people sitting in a triangle around the campfire. She had almost missed them entirely; enchanted cloaks draped over the resting trio blended into the surrounding terrain so well they were nearly invisible. Sheyreiza knew at once these were fairy elves. No wonder she felt uneasy here. The spider had led her into the woods of her mortal enemies. This test was as clear as the test of the sapphire orb. The elves did not move though and Sheyreiza realized they were all in reverie.
Crouching just outside the clearing, Sheyreiza evaluated them. There was one adult female, one adult male and one child. The child was perhaps 10 or 11 years old but Sheyreiza could not determine its gender from casual observation. It was no matter. Quietly, she sheathed her long sword, set down her claw-shield and drew her sacrificial dagger. Her steps muffled by the magic in her boots, she padded softly over to the adult female. [i:u0tnu6lw]Always take the most dangerous opponent first.[/i:u0tnu6lw] She had been taught. [i:u0tnu6lw]And if you have no way of judging how dangerous your opponents are, take the senior female first.[/i:u0tnu6lw] Sheyreiza crouched behind the resting elf woman. With a fluid grace humans could only envy Sheyreiza placed her left hand over the woman’s mouth, jerked her head back and used the serrated edge of her blade to cut through her throat. As she did, Sheyreiza pulled the woman backwards stretching her out of her seated position, rolled her to the side and then sat atop her. While she cut the woman’s throat she kept her eyes on the man. If he stirred from reverie she would have to act fast. The woman beneath her jerked and kicked but Sheyreiza’s armored bulk kept the struggling woman’s body pinned to the ground and her arms pinned to her side. The struggles did not last long but Sheyreiza did not stop cutting when the woman stopped moving; she kept sawing until she felt her knife hit bone. Sheyreiza had been taught many ways to kill someone silently and this was amongst the crudest, but it was also amongst the most effective. Once satisfied the woman was dead Sheyreiza stood and padded silently over to the man. She knelt behind him and executed the same maneuver. The man was stronger and so his struggles were more violent, but his will to live was weaker and the struggles ended faster. When he was dead Sheyreiza approached the child. Boy or girl, innocent or not, it had to die but a death like its parents had suffered would be too merciful. Sheyreiza had killed the adults quickly and efficiently because she was afraid of waking one and having a real fight on her hands. Who knew what the adults were capable of? The child, however, would present no such danger.
Knowing Lolth would not want the child to go in a quick and relatively painless manner Sheyreiza decided to do what she could to inflict a bit more terror on her victim. The bloody drowess knelt before the resting child. She reached out with one hand and shook the elf’s shoulder. Quickly the child emerged from reverie. It blinked its eyes and looked at Sheyreiza. The drow priestess was a bloody mess and her one empty eye socket showed clearly in her otherwise beautiful face. It was a sight so horrible, so perfectly cut from the nightmares of the fairy elves that the child could not help but scream. Sheyreiza smiled. That scream, that fear – that was what Lolth wanted. The child screamed for its parents but the scream fell only on the ears of Sheyreiza, the green spider and perhaps Lolth.
“Your parents are dead child.” Sheyreiza said in the surface elf dialect. She pointed to the two lifeless bodies, their bloody, ruined throats all too visible in the flickering fire light. “And so are you.” The child screamed again, stood and turned as if to run but Sheyreiza caught it by its hair. She yanked back the child’s head and cut its throat. A bright crimson stream of hot blood sprayed into the air. Satisfied it was a mortal wound, Sheyreiza cut no further. Instead, she spun the child around to look upon its two dead parents. In the few moments it had left, she wanted the child to understand as much as possible what had happened. The child screamed again and flailed at Sheyreiza but it was in vain. Its blood continued to flow and gradually its beautiful golden eyes rolled up into its head. When the child was dead Sheyreiza examined it. It had been a girl. Lolth would be happy; the sacrifice of females was more valuable than males.
Though the three were now dead this scene was not yet finished. Sheyreiza prowled around the cluster of trees searching the dark forest with her keen eyes. Nothing moved. Her sharp ears heard nothing stir. She went back into the clearing at the center of the cluster. Near the campfire was a small pile of deadwood the elves had set near the flames to dry. Sheyreiza picked up the largest piece, sat down, and began carving the symbol of Lolth on it. When she was done, she proceeded to cut the hearts from the bodies of the dead elves. This was no easy task but Sheyreiza had been taught how to do it long ago. Sheyreiza’s lifelong respect for the dead had led her to learn the skill well; when she took a heart she did what she could to minimize the damage to the body. Though Sheyreiza hated these surface elves, she saw no point in defiling their corpses any further than absolutely necessary. Unless of course, Lolth wished it, in which case Sheyreiza would do whatever the Spider Queen wanted and she would do it with a vengeance.
Half an hour later, Sheyreiza had harvested all three hearts. She knelt before the fire pit and placed them to her side on one of the dead person’s cloaks. Across the fire pit she placed the log she had carved with the symbol of Lolth.
“Great Goddess, Mother of Darkness, hear me!” She called in the twisted words of the abyssal fiends. Raising her bloody knife towards the sky she chanted the prayer of sacrifice. At the climax of the prayer, she placed the three hearts on her carved log in the fire. The three bloody organs sizzled but did not alight. Sheyreiza knew how dense a heart was and how difficult it was to burn. This small fire would never be hot enough and Sheyreiza could not afford to gather more wood and make a bigger one. Suddenly the three hearts burst into blue flames so intense Sheryeiza could barely stand to look at them. This was Lolth’s fire. The Goddess had heard her prayer and accepted her sacrifice. Sheyreiza felt the strength of the Goddess fill her. It was a feeling akin to channeling the Goddess’ power in a divine spell. Her body shuddered with pleasure, her cheeks flushed, her eyes fluttered and a sensual warmth filled her thighs and nether regions. She nearly came.
Something tickled her thigh, distracting her from the pleasurable sensation of the Goddess’ power. She looked down and saw a spider running across her legs, then another. From the tree branch above her a spider dropped to the forest floor next to her. The spiders scuttled towards the bodies of the three elves. More spiders emerged from the tangled roots of the surrounding trees and more began to descend from the branches above. Some dangled on webs, others simply dropped to the ground with a soft plop. Dozens were entering the small clearing now, some as large as Sheyreiza hand, some as small as the tip of her littlest finger. All scuttled towards the bodies.
More followed. The dozens became hundreds. The hundreds became thousands. So many arachnids were dropping from the trees above it sounded like a rainstorm; so many streamed from the tangled roots around the clearing it seemed as if the forest floor was alive. The thousands became tens of thousands, perhaps more. The swarm was beyond all counting or even estimating. They crawled over Sheyreiza and around her. She sat still, just watching. The Goddess was here, or one of her servants was, and all of this was beyond Sheyreiza’s power. The spiders swarmed over the elven bodies and began eating them. Their ferocity was unlike anything Sheyreiza had ever seen from a swarm of small spiders. In a few moments, the bodies were lost from sight completely as the tide of arachnids washed over them. More spiders followed. A few were larger than her outstretched hand. Many had mandibles of unusual size. As they joined in the feeding frenzy Sheyreiza heard a cacophony of crunching and snapping. They were eating the bones.
A few minutes later and the frenzy was over. The spiders retreated, the tide receding back into the dark of the night. Sheyreiza watched in awe. There was almost nothing left of the three elves she had murdered save for their ruined cloaks and a few bits of bloody clothing here and there. A jeweled comb, with bits of blood-matted hair stuck to it marked the spot where the woman’s head had been. A silver buckle with bits of bloody leather still attached to it marked where the man’s torso had been.
“Malla tlu Lolth.” Sheyreiza said. [i:u0tnu6lw]Honor to Lolth.[/i:u0tnu6lw] The goddess’ swarm and her fire were clear signs that Sheyreiza had passed this test. Sheyreiza doubted this would be the last test, however. Surely more would follow. As if reading her mind, a single spider reappeared in the clearing; the green furred spider with the oversized mandibles. It stared at Sheryeiza for a moment and then exited the clearing. Sheyreiza stood and followed. As she left she kicked the carved log into the fire pit and made sure it burned. She did not want to leave any unnecessary signs of her passing or of the Goddess’ involvement. The hearts were gone, completely incinerated by Lolth’s flame and the bodies were utterly devoured. In the flickering light of the campfire, Sheyreiza caught a glimpse of her hands and armor. She was covered in blood. Gore from the three elves, both from the throat cutting and the heart extractions, dripped from her armor. Her hands were slick with it. Holding them up to the fire light she was reminded of her hands earlier in the day when they had been awash with red paint. She smiled, knelt down in the clearing, and wiped off as much blood as she could. She knew this blood would be on her soul, for all eternity; this had not been killing in an act of war or self defense – this had been murder. And she had a strong suspicion the killing had just begun.
***
Inthara Despana danced naked around her sword in the empty barracks room where she was being housed. She had been singing her song of grief and lament for Sheyreiza for hours now; she was treating this night as the night of Sheyreiza’s death and she was mourning her Heart. Inthara knew she had to let Sheyreiza go but it simply was not that easy. Inthara loved Sheyreiza. She loved her whether Sheyreiza followed Eilistraee, Lolth, or anyone or no one. The love was unconditional it seemed.
Exhausted, she stopped dancing and knelt by her sword, tears running down her face. “Dark Maiden, Eilistraee, one of Yours goes to sacrifice herself for the good of others.” Inthara said her voice a whisper. “Do not look unkindly upon Flower, but love her as she deserves. She is My Heart, my soul.” The tears came freely now and Inthara felt her heart breaking. She could no longer hold back her feelings or hide them behind the songs of lament that she knew. Inthara pleaded with the Goddesses. “Sheyreiza Auvryndar, Flower. She goes back to the darkness willingly to help against the war that comes. Maiden, you are kindness and love. I have felt your power and for a brief time, was Your Yathrin. I only wish to be happy and see those I love happy. Please, I beg you; watch over her and our children. She has given Shein'n to me to care for because of what her goddess, the Spider Queen would do, would demand her to do. The same reason she does not want me to follow her into the Underdark. We must get the alliance with the Ilythiiri of the Underdark and for that a Yathrin of Lolth must go…” Inthara stopped as her grief over came her. She pressed her hands to her face and wept bitterly. Wiping her eyes, she struggled to go on with her prayer. “Please watch over her where ever she goes.”
The sorceress stood, drew her sword from the ground and sheathed it. She pulled her symbol of Eilistraee off and set it and the sword upon the bunk next to her. Gently, she wrapped the two up in a blanket, covering them. She stepped back from the bed, turned away from it and knelt on the rough wooden floor. She wiped her eyes again and bowed her head. She took a deep breath. She knew what she was about to do was heresy, but she was desperate. The world was desperate.
“Lolth,” Inthara whispered. “Dark Mother. Queen of all the Drow, I have rarely prayed to You. I now have reason to do so; for another. One who will be Yours again seeks Your favor. She is strong and proud. A fine leader and beautiful. She will do you proud. Sheyreiza Auvyrndar is her name. She is worthy of You. I ask You, even though I am not following You to grant her this favor. I know what You ask of Your priestesses; absolute loyalty above all else. I ask You to do this to aid the survival of the world. Your children, the Ilythiiri are needed to defeat an enemy that has the power to control all, including the Underdark. The enemy has powers that grant them control over the shadows themselves and they do not tolerate rivals, above or below. If Your children aid the surfacers, they will get slaves, wealth, and the trust of the surfacers. They will also bring a magic that is unknown to most on the surface into Your web. You glory in the chaos of life, of battle and conflict. This war will spread chaos and destruction over all of the north of Faerun. The Ilythiiri will strike from below and behind, in the ways You have taught them. For millennia, You have guided them and made them strong. The Ilythiiri culture is the strongest and most powerful, in wealth, magic and glory, of any in the Underdark. I am and always will be an Ilythiiri. A daughter of a proud heritage.”
Inthara paused, took a breath and swallowed hard. She knew that Lolth would not want to hear this next part, but she had to say it. She also knew that by revealing her feelings, she might well doom herself to the altar. “Dark Mother, I love Sheyreiza. A love You consider as weak, yet I will follow her anywhere for it. To Sheyreiza Auvryndar, I pledge my loyalty and heart, forever and for all time. For her, I will swear the Oath. Spider Queen, You are might in the Underdark and Matron of the Ilythiiri gods. Aiding us in this will show all your might and glory. Yours will be a triumph on the battlefield. You will spread chaos amongst your enemies. Please, aid us. A soul is coming to You, willingly. Take her as your Yathrin.”
Her prayer completed, Inthara stood and scrubbed her red-rimmed teary eyes. She splashed water on her face from the wash bowl and set about dressing. She unwrapped the blanket concealing the sword and holy symbol. The symbol was the one Sheyreiza had given to her. “Eilistraee, this symbol will go to a yathrin that will honor you, as Sheyreiza wished. Please forgive her.”
Grief overcame Inthara again and she fell on the bed weeping. “Forgive me, Mother.” She whispered between tears.
A cold voice answered her whisper. It was neither female nor male, it simply was. “Forgiveness is for the weak.”
“Forgiveness is a chance for redemption.” Inthara answered.
“Redemption is non-existent.” The voice countered.
“It is a second chance.”
“One you will never take.” The genderless voice said coldly.
Inthara looked up from her tears, an expression of fierce defiance upon her face. “For My Heart I would risk my very soul.”
“Your soul is hardly yours.” The voice replied. The image of a half demon fucking Inthara appeared in her mind.
“He did not take it or give what was promised. The symbol can and will fade if
I wish.” Inthara snapped, forcing the image from her head.
“But you do not wish it.” The cold voice said smugly.
“A promise not fulfilled is a promise broken and void.” Inthara retorted angrily. I wish to have more children.” She looked around the room but saw no one. “Who are you to speak to me so?”
Her answer was a cold laugh that chilled her to the bone. “Do you not know me my [i:u0tnu6lw]seriso[/i:u0tnu6lw]?” The presence receded as it laughed and it was gone.
[i:u0tnu6lw]Seriso.[/i:u0tnu6lw] Lover. Only one person had ever called her that; Hartex Claddath. Hartex had been the elder boy of Qu’ellar Claddath. He was an assassin and warrior who had served with and for Sheyreiza in Skullport many years earlier. But the voice could not have been his. Hartex was dead. Inthara had been there when he fell paralyzed by the spells of the Skulls while a burning warehouse collapsed around him. He could not be alive could he? And how could he speak to Inthara? How would he have found her? And if he knew where Inthara was and had heard her prayers, that meant that he would be able to find the person who had left him in that burning building to die; Sheyreiza.
***
For many miles Sheyreiza followed the strange green spider. It moved quickly, scuttling along the forest floor, rarely in a straight line. Sheyreiza’s instinct was to move slower, more cautiously, but the spider would not slow down and she knew she could not afford to lose sight of it. It led her deep into woods she knew were the home of darthiir. She could feel their presence. At times she thought she could even smell them, though that may have been a trick of her mind. While the spider’s path was anything but direct, Sheyreiza was eventually able to determine that they traveled north for the most part. Gradually, the fairy elf taint passed from the woods. Larger and larger spider webs appeared between the trees, their beautiful, intricate strands draping between the gnarled old trunks of the forest. Eventually the spider led Sheyreiza to a pit of sorts. Perhaps a hundred yards across in either direction, its steep, grassy slope descended twenty feet or more down to a hole that led into darkness. Old, decaying tree trunks lay like along the slope like ladders from a quarry. Sheyreiza surmised they must have fallen as the hole’s sides collapsed little by little over the years. The green spider climbed up into a tree beside her and spoke in a voice heard only in her mind.
[i:u0tnu6lw]Ahead you will find a band of heretics. You will slay them, except for the leader. The leader you will capture and take to Mantol Derith where you will put him upon the altar there and give his heart to Lolth.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
A band of heretics? She would be outnumbered then. It did not matter. That was what Lolth called upon her to do, so that is what she would do. “It will be done.” She said aloud. She did not equivocate ; there was no point to it. She would either succeed, die in the attempt, or fail. And failure would mean death so truly the only alternatives were success or death.
The spider dropped from its perch and scuttled down the slope. Without pausing, it disappeared into the darkness of the hole. Sheyreiza followed. Cool, dank air greeted Sheyreiza. Her eyes opened up and her natural darkvision took over. She found herself in a steeply descending cavern that smelled of guano. The spider was scurrying forward so she followed quickly. Only years and years of scrambling through the passages of the Underdark between the stalagmites and rock formations allowed her to keep pace. The descent leveled off and the smell of guano receded. They were passed the entry areas where the bats would gather. Now they were in the cavern proper.
A terrible grinding sound came from the passage in front of Sheyreiza. She raised her shield and peered down the passage. The rocks were moving. For a split second she thought it was a cave-in, but then she realized the rocks were moving [i:u0tnu6lw]upwards[/i:u0tnu6lw]. They piled atop one another until a vaguely humanoid form was achieved. A featureless head, a body, two arms and two stubby legs, all comprised of rock held together by clay. It was, if she was not mistaken, an earth elemental. It was also huge.
Sheyreiza went into a fighting crouch. Keeping an eye on the earthen beast, she examined the lay of the passage. This thing would be far stronger than she and capable of bending even her enchanted plate if it landed a direct blow. She would have to move fast and keep from getting cornered.
The elemental did not attack straight away, however. It moved to bar Sheyreiza’s passage. A mouth appeared in the otherwise featureless rock that served as its head. “Sheyreiza Auvryndar.” It said, its voice the rumbling, crumbling bass of a rock-slide. “I have a message for you.”
“Oh?” Sheyreiza replied. She could not keep the surprise from out of her voice. Still, she kept on her toes with shield up and sword ready. “What message? From whom?”
The giant rock monster lumbered back and forth but did not advance. Its tongue-less mouth opened and spoke again. “Turn back Sheyreiza Auvryndar. It is not too late. You may yet be saved. You need not take this path.”
Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes. “Consider your message delivered and your duty done then.”
Surprisingly, the rock monster settled down and dissembled. Clay crumbled and rocks tumbled and in a few moments, there was naught but a mound of loose earth and stone where just seconds before had stood an enchanted creature. Sheryeiza advanced on the inanimate pile of clay and rock cautiously. With one foot, she reached out and kicked a stone. It began to meld into the rocky floor of the passage. All of the stones did. In a few seconds they were gone, melding magically into the sandstone passage. In their wake a symbol formed upon the ground; the hammer of Moradin. It glowed for a few moments and then faded into legible runes: [i:u0tnu6lw] A soul is a precious thing to waste, do not let yours be taken.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
“You waste your time, God of Dwarves.” Sheyreiza said aloud. “But your effort and concern are noted.” There was no reply and Sheyreiza was happy about that. The green spider reappeared and scurried down the now open passage beyond where the elemental had stood. Again, Sheyreiza followed.
Her arachnid guide took her on a long journey. Hours passed. Her feet ached and her body grew tired. Her attention started to drift and that, she knew, would be fatal in the Underdark. She redoubled her efforts to focus. More hours passed and still they moved. Through passages narrow and wide, shallow and tall, clear and congested. Sheyreiza drank what water she had as they went and periodically dug through her satchel for bits of her rations. Still, the spider led on and still she followed, pushing herself to the limit. She would not fail. Time lost all meaning. She trailed the spider now like an animal, not like a drow. Her senses became attuned to the Underdark and to following her arachnid guide. Though walking nearly in a stupor from exhaustion, she kept walking. Periodically she would lose sight of the spider and her heart would race, waking her up from her trance-like state. She would scramble about the passages, moving too quickly and too loudly until she found her guide again. Then she would sink back into her trance-like tracking.
The sharp sound of metal on metal woke Sheryeiza from her stupor. [i:u0tnu6lw]The heretics are just ahead.[/i:u0tnu6lw] Said the spider in her mind.
Sheyreiza nodded. Up ahead she could see a stream flowing through the Underdark. There was a ford ahead as well, comprised of stones that stuck up through the fast flowing dark waters. The sharp sound of metal on metal rang out again and Sheyreiza was able to pin point the sound as coming from just beyond the ford. As she attuned her ears to the cavern she could hear voices now, male and female, speaking in drow. They were too far away to understand. Sheyreiza knew that caverns did odd things with sound, so she knew she could not reliably judge the distance of the heretics by their voices. Quietly she crept forward, sword in hand. At the streams edge, she bent down. With one hand, she cupped some of the ice cold water and splashed it on her face. She cupped more water and brought it to her lips.
She was awake now and her mind moving again. There were several of them, at the least, and only one of her. She would need an advantage. Her divine spells were gone, pushed into her sapphire orb and crushed under her boot. She reached down and touched one of her rings while whispering a command word. The power of the ring made her invisible. Magically concealed against ordinary sight, she moved across the ford to stalk her prey.
There were five of them; four males and a female. Two of the males were sparring with each other. One used a sword and buckler while the other used two blades, one long and one short. The two-sword user fought with a style that seemed familiar to Sheyreiza but she could not place it. To the side, sitting amongst some rocks, were a male and female. They cheered on the two sparring males, though with more blood lust than good nature. Beyond them, the last male kept guard on the passage that presumably led deeper into the depths. The heretics were more concerned with what lay below in the Underdark than what might descend from the surface. There was some wisdom in that, but it would have been wiser still to assume threats would come from either direction. As the proverb said: [i:u0tnu6lw]He who watches his back meets death from the front.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
Sheyreiza listened to the banter and watched the sparring long enough to determine that the man with the two swords was the leader of this little war band. Like all elves and drow, his age was nearly impossible to determine by his appearance. Whatever age he was, however, he had led a hard life. Tiny scars criss-crossed his face here and there betraying signs of violent encounters and not always victorious ones. Scars or not, he was still standing. Sheyreiza would treat him with as much caution as she dared. Still invisible, she moved behind the male and female spectators. From the fetishes and trinkets hanging on her cloak, belt and tunic, Sheyreiza surmised the female spectator was a mage. [i:u0tnu6lw]Attack the most dangerous first.[/i:u0tnu6lw] With no priest evident, that meant the apparent wizard.
Sheyreiza brought her long sword up and struck down against the woman’s neck. Flesh gave way to adamantine and Sheyreiza felt her blade strike bone. She struck again to be sure and the woman fell in a bloody spray. The attack dissipated Sheyreiza’s magical concealment. The heretic closest to her was a drow, and true to his blood he did not hesitate. His sword was out and sweeping toward Sheyreiza in an instant. The blow was wide and long in coming. Sheyreiza batted it aside with her fang-shield, stepped in and swung her blade into the hapless heretic. The man staggered under her blow. Sheyreiza danced around him, keeping his stumbliing, bleeding form between her and the other unwounded heretics. She slashed again and the wounded man fell for good. The male who had been serving as a sentry came next but his skill was no better than the man who had just fallen. Sheyreiza dispatched him quickly, uttering a quick prayer of thanks to Lolth that the heretics were not as well trained as they might be.
The leader with two swords came on the attack after the sentry fell. His sparring partner tried to join in the attack but Sheyreiza kept dancing so as to keep one of her attackers on the far side of the other. Two-swords rushed in and Sheyreiza recognized his attack routine. Using her knowledge, she slipped the man’s blades and charged past him. His sparring partner did not expect Sheyreiza to simply slip past so easily and he was caught off guard. It proved a fatal mistake – Sheyreiza put down the sparring partner quickly and permanently. Two-swords pivoted and came at Sheyreiza again as his sparing partner fell into the cold dark stream clutching a ruined throat. Sheyreiza flipped her sword a quarter turn in her hand and a got a new grip on it. As two-swords came in swinging, she parried his attack and then backhanded him with the flat of her blade. He staggered, but came back again. She parried with the blade this time and backhanded him with her fang-shield. He staggered backwards further, but regained his footing and charged in on the attack relentlessly. This time Sheyreiza used her footwork to slip his assault and she landed a blow from the flat of her blade squarely on his jaw. The scar-faced drow stumbled sideways on rubber legs and collapsed.
Keeping her sword at the ready in case of deception, Sheyreiza knelt by the scar-faced man and examined him. He was alive, but unconscious and probably would not remain alive for much longer. Though she had hit him with the flat of her blade, that blade carried an enchantment strong enough to burn through bebilith carapace. On the scar-faced man, it left a huge burn along the left side of his face where it had struck him. Scorched skin peeled back revealing angry red tissue. Blisters formed around the edges of the open wound and Sheyreiza could see he needed aid. Unfortunately, she had no healing powers now that she had lost Eilistraee’s grace. She reached into her satchel and drew out a vial of healing potion. She rolled scar-face over and poured it into his mouth. When that one was down, she repeated the process. Between the two potions, the wound on the side of his face closed, though she suspected it would leave another scar he could add to his collection.
The man was still unconscious though, so Sheyreiza took the opportunity to strip him. He seemed familiar. Something about his eyes and his movements and the way he fought. Even his relentless determination seemed familiar. She searched his bags and found a black silk mask; the sign of Vhaerun. If she had any doubts as to these being heretics, the doubts past. Searching his pockets she found a medallion on a chain. She pulled it out and her jaw dropped open in shock.
It was a Qu’ellar Auvryndar house symbol. She had not seen one since she had been captured and thrown in the dungeons of Battlehammer Hall. The dwarves had taken her entire collection of house symbols, amassed from the drow she had killed, and melted them down. Her own Qu’ellar Auvryndar symbol had gone into their fires. A thought crossed through her mind. She narrowed her eyes and looked closely at the scar faced man laying unconscious before her. She rolled him over to get a better look at him. The face, with its plethora of tiny scars and its freshly healed burn wound was unfamiliar. Or was it? She tried to imagine a boy she once knew, a baby, and tried to imagine what he would look like if grown. This could not be him, could it?
She splashed water on the man’s face and eventually he woke. He was nearly naked now, his armor and clothing stripped from him.
“Bitch.” He said, spitting in her direction. Sheyreiza ignored him and looked into his eyes. That was what she had found familiar. Perhaps she knew his fighting style but it was his eyes that were truly familiar.
“What is your name?” She asked.
“Go to the pits.” He responded defiantly.
“I am looking for someone. You may be him. If so, I am not here to kill you. What is your name?” Sheyreiza asked again.
The man regarded her for a moment and then looked around. He seemed to count the bodies. “Ulost. Ulost Claddath.” He grimaced as he looked up her ruined left eye-socket.
Sheyreiza frowned and ignored his unease at her wound. “What is your [i:u0tnu6lw]real[/i:u0tnu6lw] name?” She asked, letting a bit of menace creep into her voice. He repeated his first answer. She leveled her sword. “Too bad, that is not who I am looking for.”
“Tanias.” He said quickly.
Sheyreiza’s heart skipped a beat but she tried not to betray her excitement. “What is your surname?”
“I do not have one.”
She held up the Auvryndar house symbol. “Where did you get this?”
He smirked. “Fine. I am Tanias Auvryndar, what of it? I don’t care if you kill me - you can still go to the pits you spider-kissing whore.”
Sheyreiza took a long look at the scar-faced man. Calling him a man was perhaps pushing it; boy might be more appropriate. She knew Tanias Auvryndar would be no more than 34 or 35 years old now – adult in body but still young in mind. She knew his age because Tanias Auvryndar was her son, the babe she had born so long ago in Qu’ellar Auvryndar. This was the child who Matron Shyntlara had given to Sheyreiza’s older sister to be raised. This was the child whose memory haunted Sheryeiza for the rest of her days. It was his eyes she thought of all those years ago in Lonelywood when she was wrestling with her faith; innocent, new born eyes that had looked upon Sheyreiza like no other eyes ever had before - with love and trust. She had failed to return that love and she had betrayed that trust. She allowed her sister to raise the child and in that world, that meant allowing her sister to beat and cajole the child into submission, to subject him to Lolth’s will and to the domination of Her clergy; to cast him out into a cold, heartless society where a child’s love for its mother was ruthlessly exorcised with the lash of a whip, and where a mother’s love for her child had to be left in the dung heap with her afterbirth lest the Goddess demand the child be put upon the altar.
Somewhere along the line, however, Tanias had broken free of his family’s grip and the grip of their tyrannical Goddess, just as Sheyreiza herself had once done. She wondered if his heresy and escape were inspired by her or if he had ever even heard of her.
She stood and sheathed her sword. “I am not here to kill you Tanias.” She said plainly. “I am here to save you, to help you.”
The boy frowned. “Sure you are. Like you saved and helped them.” He said, gesturing to the dead bodies around him.
“They could not be saved,” she replied, “but you can be. You are special.”
The boy’s mouth opened but no protest came out. Her flattery caught him off guard, as it was meant to. Vanity was ever the weakness of the drow. “You are one of those moon-worshippers aren’t you?”
Sheyreiza smiled. “Yes, I am.” She lied. “And I know you can be saved. I have seen it.”
“Seen it?” He asked incredulously. “How?”
“The Goddess herself directed me to you.” That was not a lie so much as an incomplete statement. A goddess [i:u0tnu6lw]had[/i:u0tnu6lw] guided her to him, just not Eilistraee.
“Why you? Are you the Goddess’ chosen savior of all drow-kind?” He asked sarcastically.
Sheyreiza looked him dead in the eye and spoke softly. “No. I am your mother.”
The boy narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“I am your mother.” She repeated.
“Liar!” He barked out. “My mother is a spider-kissing bitch who never cared for one moment about me.”
Sheyreiza kneeled down before him. “I [i:u0tnu6lw]was[/i:u0tnu6lw] a spider-kissing bitch. But you are wrong about the rest. I did care for you. I was just too weak to do anything about it. For that I am sorry.” The speech came naturally to Sheyreiza. She had practiced it for years while she lived in Lonelywood, fantasizing that one day she would be able to find her boy, save him from the cold grasp of whatever heartless deity he followed and then bring him into the light and love of Eilistraee. Now she had found him, but circumstances were somewhat different. It was not to the light and love of Eilistraee she was going to take him. He did not know that, however. Not yet. “I was weak, and scared, and selfish. I did whatever I thought I had to survive. I was wrong. I am sorry.”
The boy snarled. “You are not my mother! My mother is not a simpering, moon-worshipping weakling who makes pitiful apologies!”
“I am neither weak nor pitiful now, but I do make you an apology.” She stood. “There was good in me, even if I was weak. Thanks to others I was given the chance to see that good grow, to nurture it and break free of the Spider Queen. In gratitude to my rescuers and Lady Silverhair, I have come to give you the same chance. I have come to give you hope. I have come to give you love.” The lies came ever easier as Sheyreiza spoke. Had she never ventured to the surface, had she never worshipped Eilistraee or loved Jain’n, never would she have been able to understand love, trust and affection so well; never would she have been able to spin such a beautiful and inviting web of lies.
“Who is my father then?” The boy snapped petulantly.
Sheyreiza drew in a deep breath. That was one secret she had never revealed to anyone, not even the father. Now seemed like the time, however. “Hartex Claddath. Your father was Hartex Claddath.”
“What?” The boy exclaimed. “That’s impossible! It cannot be.” The boy scrambled to his feet and backed away from her. “He never said anything to me. He never said a thing. And he would have! He would have!”
[i:u0tnu6lw]The boy knew Hartex?[/i:u0tnu6lw] Sheyreiza could barely restrain her own shock. It explained the familiarity of Tanias’ fighting style. Clearly Hartex had trained him, at least somewhat. Though she could scarcely believe the two had met, Sheyreiza knew why Hartex would never have told Tanias he was Tanias’ father. “He never said anything to you because he did not know.”
Tanias blanched. He knew she was telling the truth. “Why?”
“I was keeping it a secret. Secrets have power, but that power is lost upon revelation.” She shrugged. “I had planned on telling him, but I ran out of time.”
“Ran out of time?” Tanias growled. “You mean you left him to die in a burning warehouse don’t you?” Sheyreiza looked up sharply. “Yes, bitch, I know how he died. You left him for dead in Skullport. A burning warehouse collapsed upon him and he took the fall for your crime, isn’t that so?”
Tanias was well informed. It seemed he had gotten around in his few years. Sheyreiza simply nodded. “Yes, that is so.” She admitted. “But that was a long time ago, when I was still a spider-kisser and before I came to the surface. Before I came to know Lady Silverhair. Before I changed.”
Tanias stared at her awhile. Gradually, his body relaxed and he leaned back against the rocky wall of the passage. “And now what?”
“And now we travel.” She pointed into the passage beyond which led deeper into the Underdark. “Gather rations and water, but nothing else. We’ve a long journey ahead.”
Tanias shook his head. “That passage leads further into the Underdark. I thought you moon-worshippers lived on the surface.”
“The greatest temple to Lady Silverhair in all the world is [i:u0tnu6lw]beneath[/i:u0tnu6lw] the surface. It is called the Promenade of Eilistraee and it is in the caverns near Skullport.”
The boy scoffed. “Skullport? Do you know how far that is from here? We will never make it, you and I.”
“Yes we will.” Sheyreiza assured him. “We are not walking all the way. Transportation by boat has been arranged. We simply have to make it to Mantol Derith, near the Darklake. From there, we ride.”
“Mantol Derith is full of spider-kissers.” He spat.
Sheyreiza nodded. “Yes, it is, so you had best do what I say and play along, or they will not only get a moon-worshipper for their altar they will also get a worshipper of the Masked Lord.” Tanias frowned, but set about collecting the water and rations as instructed.
Chapter 13. The Spider's Web
Part 2 - Into the Darkness[/b:u0tnu6lw]
Sheyreiza walked alone into the darkeneing east. She followed the road into the mountains to the pass where Hignar had teleported them just a few days earlier. There was no temple to Lolth near Silverymoon and though there might be an entrance to the Underdark somewhere near, Sheyreiza did not know where to find it. Her only guide was the coming darkness of night so Sheyreiza had walked into it. She walked until the sun was gone from the west and no light remained in the sky save for the twinkling of stars shining here and there through the clouds above. Satisfied that night had fallen, Sheyreiza left the road and walked up into the rocky terrain of the pass. There she found a large, rectangular stone with a nearly flat, horizontal top-face. This would be her improvised altar. From deep within one of her satchels she drew a sacrificial dagger of Lolth’s clergy. It had belonged to the Tanor’thal priestess she and Ariz’tel had killed near the Promenade. Sheyreiza had saved it all these years in case she had ever needed to infiltrate the Tanor’thal. She drew the dagger from its sheath and set about carving a spider upon the rock altar before her. It was said that Lolth could see through the eyes of any spider, even those that were simply drawn. Once the spider and its many eyes were carved, she etched the holy symbol of Lolth in the center of the rock’s top-face; a stylized form of Lolth herself in the guise of a female drider-like demon amidst a web. Her carving was crude given her tools and haste, but when she was done she was able to recognize both designs well enough.
From this point on there was to be no hesitation, no remorse, no half-measures and no second thoughts. To go back to Lolth meant going back to her body and soul. Whatever Lolth asked, Sheyreiza would do. Whatever Lolth demanded, Sheyreiza would give. Once this began, everything would be a test and Sheyreiza had to pass every time. Failure meant death, damnation, and the loss of any chance of her people coming to the aid of the Silvermarches to defeat the Shades. Whatever had to be done, would be done. Whatever had to be endured, would be endured. Whatever had to be sacrificed, would be sacrificed. This was Sheyreiza’s pledge to herself.
Steeled for what was to come, Sheyreiza looked skyward and raised the dagger aloft. “Mother of Darkness.” She said. “I have come to return to you.” She took a deep breath. “Lolth!” She yelled. “LOLTH!” She screamed. “Test me! TEST ME!”
A chill of fear swept through Sheyreiza. What if Lolth was not listening? What if she simply did not care? What if all of Sheyreiza’s noble resolve and sacrifice were but the self-indulgent daydreams of an insignificant person whose destiny was no greater than anyone else’s? What if Lolth did not answer? A cold laugh, more frigid than any arctic wind that ever sailed across the snows of Bremen’s run, echoed through Sheyreiza’s mind. [i:u0tnu6lw]Oh, you will be tested, daughter.[/i:u0tnu6lw] It said. [i:u0tnu6lw]You will be.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
The fear of insignificance was instantly lost, blasted into oblivion by the sudden realization that she had, in fact, garnered the attention of the Spider Queen. The fear of knowing the Spider Queen’s eyes were upon her was paralyzing. This was not some malign spirit of Jain’n’s Vyshaan ancestors who could be bandied with and defied. This was not the good hearted Eillistraee, who, though divine, radiated mercy and compassion. This was not the light of Corellon, the father of the elves, who smiled upon his children from Arvandor far above.
This was the cold, remorseless, cruel stare of Lolth, the Spider Queen, the Dark Mother of the Drow and the Weaver of their destinies. This was the gaze of the creature that was once Araushnee and who had thrown down Corellon and had nearly taken Arvandor itself. Sheyreiza’s struggles with Jain’n and Lonelywood were but the palest imitations of that titanic battle and now Sheyreiza felt as though she were but the palest imitation of the Spider Queen imaginable, withering under the gaze of the original. She froze.
To her left a beam of light appeared perhaps 10 yards away. She could find no source for the light. It was bright but pale having a silver or possibly even bluish cast. It looked like moon light though no moon was visible through the clouds above. Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes and watched the light for a moment, unsure of what to do. A beam of cold white light like moonlight was not a usual manifestation of the Spider Queen or her servants, it was the manifestation of Eillistraee, Lady Silverhair. Sheyreiza turned to face the light but she did not step towards it or move away from her make shift altar. There was warmth coming from the pale light now and Sheyreiza became certain this was not a sign from Lolth; this was a sign from Eilistraee. What was Lady Silverhair doing sending her this beam of the moon’s radiance?
She did not have to wait long for the answer. The light spoke to her in a beautiful, soft feminine voice. She did not know if the voice was real or just in her mind, but she could understand it just the same. She did not know if it was Eilistraee herself or one of her servants, but the intent was made clear enough. [i:u0tnu6lw]Do not walk into darkness my child. Do not walk into evil. Step into the light Sheyreiza, and return to
goodness.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
Her heart raced and her eyes narrowed. Was this really Eilistraee or her servants come to save Sheyreiza? Or was this a test of Lolth? Both? It did not matter. Sheyreiza knew what she had to do.
“No.” She said with a hiss. “I will not. I have followed your Chosen and I will follow her no more.”
[i:u0tnu6lw]Is she not entitled to make mistakes…like you?[/i:u0tnu6lw]
A stab of pain shot through Sheyreiza’s chest as she realized her own hypocrisy in condemning Qilue. Had she not made many mistakes herself, all the while trying to do what she believed in? Why then should Qilue be damned for being less than perfect? Were not all mortals less than perfect, Sheyreiza included? With an act of will Sheyreiza forced these thoughts back and quashed the pain building in her chest. [i:u0tnu6lw]Yes, I made mistakes,[/i:u0tnu6lw] Sheyreiza thought, [i:u0tnu6lw]and I [/i:u0tnu6lw]will[i:u0tnu6lw] be damned for them. So be it.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
“It does not matter. She is weak.” Sheyreiza said, her every word an act of defiance.
[i:u0tnu6lw]No child, it is you who will be weak if you give in to the darkness. It takes strength to choose good. Come into the light. Be strong - choose to be good.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
Sheyreiza nearly wept. The power of the voice’s words cut through her mental defenses like the sharpest arrow. These were her secret fears. Was she not weak for going back to Lolth? Was she not less than perfect in faith and deed? Had she not failed time and again?
She closed her eyes against the light and grit her teeth. An audible growl came from deep inside her. The voice was tearing her apart but she held fast to her commitment. “No.” She snarled. “No. You are good Lady Silverhair, this I know,” she admitted, “but you are not our savior. You will not save our people. You are good, but [i:u0tnu6lw]you[/i:u0tnu6lw] are weak. It is your mother’s strength we need now. Only she can help us survive.”
[i:u0tnu6lw] Darkness cannot defeat darkness. Evil cannot win. Evil is not stronger because it will always turn in upon itself.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
“No.” Sheyreiza replied simply. She tried to push the light away from her by force of will, to shut her mind against the penetrating voice of Eilistraee’s manifestation. She growled as she struggled pushing and pushing. Slowly, gradually, she felt progress. The light was leaving, but in that moment she realized that what was leaving her was Eilistraee’s grace; she was pushing away her connection to the Goddess. She felt Lady Silverhair’s grace leave her body but it was not quite gone. It was in her eye now, in the sapphire that had replaced her long lost left orb. Into that strange gem had passed all the gifts that being a member of Eilistraee’s clergy bestowed – her divine spells, her power to destroy undead and lycanthropes, her power to walk unseen amongst the creatures of the wild. [i:u0tnu6lw]How strange[/i:u0tnu6lw], Sheyreiza thought. What now?
Something tickled her leg and she looked down. A stout bodied, thick legged, green-furred spider the size of an outstretched hand was climbing up her body. In place of its pedipalps it had grotesquely oversized mandibles. The horrid creature climbed onto her face but she did not move or even flinch. This was a sacred creature of Lolth’s, and even if it was here to poison her to death, she would not defend herself against it. Everything this night was a test and Sheyreiza had committed herself, body and soul, to passing that test. The spider looked into Sheyreiza’s eyes with a merciless, alien gaze and Sheyreiza knew fear. Still, she did not waver. With no warning, the spider’s oversized mandible bit into Sheyreiza’s left eye socket. She staggered backwards but uttered no scream and raised no defense. The fiendish arachnid tore the sapphire orb from her face leaving a bloody, gaping wound behind. It scuttled down her body and deposited the orb on a rock.
Sheyreiza knew instinctually that if she picked up the orb and put it back in her eye she would take Eilistraee’s grace back into her. She could return to the light. Eilistraee would still have her, she had but to choose good. Without hesitating Sheyreiza raised a high heeled boot and stomped on the sapphire as hard she could. The impossible happened – the abyssal star sapphire shattered like glass.
[i:u0tnu6lw]Good bye, child.[/i:u0tnu6lw] The voice of the light whispered as the pale moonlight faded into darkness.
The spider stared up at Sheyreiza until it caught her attention again. The moment she looked at it the creature scuttled off. Sheyreiza followed. She wanted to stop and bandage her bleeding eye socket but she dared not lose track of her arachnid guide, if such was what it was. They walked for miles and the rocky mountain pass gave way to forest. With but a single eye to follow the scurrying spider and watch out for danger Sheyreiza quickly lost track of which direction they were traveling. In short order she knew she was lost with no idea of which was the city or the mountain pass was. The forest grew darker as they traveled. The trees here were larger and more gnarled than those at the edge of the mountain pass. A sense of great age filled these woods. It made Sheryeiza uncomfortable. This was not a place for her. The spider led on, however and Sheyreiza followed.
Ahead the spider darted into a particularly dense cluster of old trees whose hoary trunks rose up from a veritable nest of snaking roots at their base. The trees were so close together their branches were intertwined in countless places along their length. Sheyreiza cautiously climbed through the nest of roots and the lowest branches. As she entered she became aware of a soft glow emanating from deep inside the arboreal cluster. Its light must have been damped to the rest of the woods by the surrounding trees as she had seen no sign of such a light as she approached. Sheyreiza moved towards the cluster’s center. There, on the ground, in a cramped clearing between the trees was a small campfire burning in shallow hole. Sheyreiza almost took a step into the clearing when she suddenly saw three sleeping people sitting in a triangle around the campfire. She had almost missed them entirely; enchanted cloaks draped over the resting trio blended into the surrounding terrain so well they were nearly invisible. Sheyreiza knew at once these were fairy elves. No wonder she felt uneasy here. The spider had led her into the woods of her mortal enemies. This test was as clear as the test of the sapphire orb. The elves did not move though and Sheyreiza realized they were all in reverie.
Crouching just outside the clearing, Sheyreiza evaluated them. There was one adult female, one adult male and one child. The child was perhaps 10 or 11 years old but Sheyreiza could not determine its gender from casual observation. It was no matter. Quietly, she sheathed her long sword, set down her claw-shield and drew her sacrificial dagger. Her steps muffled by the magic in her boots, she padded softly over to the adult female. [i:u0tnu6lw]Always take the most dangerous opponent first.[/i:u0tnu6lw] She had been taught. [i:u0tnu6lw]And if you have no way of judging how dangerous your opponents are, take the senior female first.[/i:u0tnu6lw] Sheyreiza crouched behind the resting elf woman. With a fluid grace humans could only envy Sheyreiza placed her left hand over the woman’s mouth, jerked her head back and used the serrated edge of her blade to cut through her throat. As she did, Sheyreiza pulled the woman backwards stretching her out of her seated position, rolled her to the side and then sat atop her. While she cut the woman’s throat she kept her eyes on the man. If he stirred from reverie she would have to act fast. The woman beneath her jerked and kicked but Sheyreiza’s armored bulk kept the struggling woman’s body pinned to the ground and her arms pinned to her side. The struggles did not last long but Sheyreiza did not stop cutting when the woman stopped moving; she kept sawing until she felt her knife hit bone. Sheyreiza had been taught many ways to kill someone silently and this was amongst the crudest, but it was also amongst the most effective. Once satisfied the woman was dead Sheyreiza stood and padded silently over to the man. She knelt behind him and executed the same maneuver. The man was stronger and so his struggles were more violent, but his will to live was weaker and the struggles ended faster. When he was dead Sheyreiza approached the child. Boy or girl, innocent or not, it had to die but a death like its parents had suffered would be too merciful. Sheyreiza had killed the adults quickly and efficiently because she was afraid of waking one and having a real fight on her hands. Who knew what the adults were capable of? The child, however, would present no such danger.
Knowing Lolth would not want the child to go in a quick and relatively painless manner Sheyreiza decided to do what she could to inflict a bit more terror on her victim. The bloody drowess knelt before the resting child. She reached out with one hand and shook the elf’s shoulder. Quickly the child emerged from reverie. It blinked its eyes and looked at Sheyreiza. The drow priestess was a bloody mess and her one empty eye socket showed clearly in her otherwise beautiful face. It was a sight so horrible, so perfectly cut from the nightmares of the fairy elves that the child could not help but scream. Sheyreiza smiled. That scream, that fear – that was what Lolth wanted. The child screamed for its parents but the scream fell only on the ears of Sheyreiza, the green spider and perhaps Lolth.
“Your parents are dead child.” Sheyreiza said in the surface elf dialect. She pointed to the two lifeless bodies, their bloody, ruined throats all too visible in the flickering fire light. “And so are you.” The child screamed again, stood and turned as if to run but Sheyreiza caught it by its hair. She yanked back the child’s head and cut its throat. A bright crimson stream of hot blood sprayed into the air. Satisfied it was a mortal wound, Sheyreiza cut no further. Instead, she spun the child around to look upon its two dead parents. In the few moments it had left, she wanted the child to understand as much as possible what had happened. The child screamed again and flailed at Sheyreiza but it was in vain. Its blood continued to flow and gradually its beautiful golden eyes rolled up into its head. When the child was dead Sheyreiza examined it. It had been a girl. Lolth would be happy; the sacrifice of females was more valuable than males.
Though the three were now dead this scene was not yet finished. Sheyreiza prowled around the cluster of trees searching the dark forest with her keen eyes. Nothing moved. Her sharp ears heard nothing stir. She went back into the clearing at the center of the cluster. Near the campfire was a small pile of deadwood the elves had set near the flames to dry. Sheyreiza picked up the largest piece, sat down, and began carving the symbol of Lolth on it. When she was done, she proceeded to cut the hearts from the bodies of the dead elves. This was no easy task but Sheyreiza had been taught how to do it long ago. Sheyreiza’s lifelong respect for the dead had led her to learn the skill well; when she took a heart she did what she could to minimize the damage to the body. Though Sheyreiza hated these surface elves, she saw no point in defiling their corpses any further than absolutely necessary. Unless of course, Lolth wished it, in which case Sheyreiza would do whatever the Spider Queen wanted and she would do it with a vengeance.
Half an hour later, Sheyreiza had harvested all three hearts. She knelt before the fire pit and placed them to her side on one of the dead person’s cloaks. Across the fire pit she placed the log she had carved with the symbol of Lolth.
“Great Goddess, Mother of Darkness, hear me!” She called in the twisted words of the abyssal fiends. Raising her bloody knife towards the sky she chanted the prayer of sacrifice. At the climax of the prayer, she placed the three hearts on her carved log in the fire. The three bloody organs sizzled but did not alight. Sheyreiza knew how dense a heart was and how difficult it was to burn. This small fire would never be hot enough and Sheyreiza could not afford to gather more wood and make a bigger one. Suddenly the three hearts burst into blue flames so intense Sheryeiza could barely stand to look at them. This was Lolth’s fire. The Goddess had heard her prayer and accepted her sacrifice. Sheyreiza felt the strength of the Goddess fill her. It was a feeling akin to channeling the Goddess’ power in a divine spell. Her body shuddered with pleasure, her cheeks flushed, her eyes fluttered and a sensual warmth filled her thighs and nether regions. She nearly came.
Something tickled her thigh, distracting her from the pleasurable sensation of the Goddess’ power. She looked down and saw a spider running across her legs, then another. From the tree branch above her a spider dropped to the forest floor next to her. The spiders scuttled towards the bodies of the three elves. More spiders emerged from the tangled roots of the surrounding trees and more began to descend from the branches above. Some dangled on webs, others simply dropped to the ground with a soft plop. Dozens were entering the small clearing now, some as large as Sheyreiza hand, some as small as the tip of her littlest finger. All scuttled towards the bodies.
More followed. The dozens became hundreds. The hundreds became thousands. So many arachnids were dropping from the trees above it sounded like a rainstorm; so many streamed from the tangled roots around the clearing it seemed as if the forest floor was alive. The thousands became tens of thousands, perhaps more. The swarm was beyond all counting or even estimating. They crawled over Sheyreiza and around her. She sat still, just watching. The Goddess was here, or one of her servants was, and all of this was beyond Sheyreiza’s power. The spiders swarmed over the elven bodies and began eating them. Their ferocity was unlike anything Sheyreiza had ever seen from a swarm of small spiders. In a few moments, the bodies were lost from sight completely as the tide of arachnids washed over them. More spiders followed. A few were larger than her outstretched hand. Many had mandibles of unusual size. As they joined in the feeding frenzy Sheyreiza heard a cacophony of crunching and snapping. They were eating the bones.
A few minutes later and the frenzy was over. The spiders retreated, the tide receding back into the dark of the night. Sheyreiza watched in awe. There was almost nothing left of the three elves she had murdered save for their ruined cloaks and a few bits of bloody clothing here and there. A jeweled comb, with bits of blood-matted hair stuck to it marked the spot where the woman’s head had been. A silver buckle with bits of bloody leather still attached to it marked where the man’s torso had been.
“Malla tlu Lolth.” Sheyreiza said. [i:u0tnu6lw]Honor to Lolth.[/i:u0tnu6lw] The goddess’ swarm and her fire were clear signs that Sheyreiza had passed this test. Sheyreiza doubted this would be the last test, however. Surely more would follow. As if reading her mind, a single spider reappeared in the clearing; the green furred spider with the oversized mandibles. It stared at Sheryeiza for a moment and then exited the clearing. Sheyreiza stood and followed. As she left she kicked the carved log into the fire pit and made sure it burned. She did not want to leave any unnecessary signs of her passing or of the Goddess’ involvement. The hearts were gone, completely incinerated by Lolth’s flame and the bodies were utterly devoured. In the flickering light of the campfire, Sheyreiza caught a glimpse of her hands and armor. She was covered in blood. Gore from the three elves, both from the throat cutting and the heart extractions, dripped from her armor. Her hands were slick with it. Holding them up to the fire light she was reminded of her hands earlier in the day when they had been awash with red paint. She smiled, knelt down in the clearing, and wiped off as much blood as she could. She knew this blood would be on her soul, for all eternity; this had not been killing in an act of war or self defense – this had been murder. And she had a strong suspicion the killing had just begun.
***
Inthara Despana danced naked around her sword in the empty barracks room where she was being housed. She had been singing her song of grief and lament for Sheyreiza for hours now; she was treating this night as the night of Sheyreiza’s death and she was mourning her Heart. Inthara knew she had to let Sheyreiza go but it simply was not that easy. Inthara loved Sheyreiza. She loved her whether Sheyreiza followed Eilistraee, Lolth, or anyone or no one. The love was unconditional it seemed.
Exhausted, she stopped dancing and knelt by her sword, tears running down her face. “Dark Maiden, Eilistraee, one of Yours goes to sacrifice herself for the good of others.” Inthara said her voice a whisper. “Do not look unkindly upon Flower, but love her as she deserves. She is My Heart, my soul.” The tears came freely now and Inthara felt her heart breaking. She could no longer hold back her feelings or hide them behind the songs of lament that she knew. Inthara pleaded with the Goddesses. “Sheyreiza Auvryndar, Flower. She goes back to the darkness willingly to help against the war that comes. Maiden, you are kindness and love. I have felt your power and for a brief time, was Your Yathrin. I only wish to be happy and see those I love happy. Please, I beg you; watch over her and our children. She has given Shein'n to me to care for because of what her goddess, the Spider Queen would do, would demand her to do. The same reason she does not want me to follow her into the Underdark. We must get the alliance with the Ilythiiri of the Underdark and for that a Yathrin of Lolth must go…” Inthara stopped as her grief over came her. She pressed her hands to her face and wept bitterly. Wiping her eyes, she struggled to go on with her prayer. “Please watch over her where ever she goes.”
The sorceress stood, drew her sword from the ground and sheathed it. She pulled her symbol of Eilistraee off and set it and the sword upon the bunk next to her. Gently, she wrapped the two up in a blanket, covering them. She stepped back from the bed, turned away from it and knelt on the rough wooden floor. She wiped her eyes again and bowed her head. She took a deep breath. She knew what she was about to do was heresy, but she was desperate. The world was desperate.
“Lolth,” Inthara whispered. “Dark Mother. Queen of all the Drow, I have rarely prayed to You. I now have reason to do so; for another. One who will be Yours again seeks Your favor. She is strong and proud. A fine leader and beautiful. She will do you proud. Sheyreiza Auvyrndar is her name. She is worthy of You. I ask You, even though I am not following You to grant her this favor. I know what You ask of Your priestesses; absolute loyalty above all else. I ask You to do this to aid the survival of the world. Your children, the Ilythiiri are needed to defeat an enemy that has the power to control all, including the Underdark. The enemy has powers that grant them control over the shadows themselves and they do not tolerate rivals, above or below. If Your children aid the surfacers, they will get slaves, wealth, and the trust of the surfacers. They will also bring a magic that is unknown to most on the surface into Your web. You glory in the chaos of life, of battle and conflict. This war will spread chaos and destruction over all of the north of Faerun. The Ilythiiri will strike from below and behind, in the ways You have taught them. For millennia, You have guided them and made them strong. The Ilythiiri culture is the strongest and most powerful, in wealth, magic and glory, of any in the Underdark. I am and always will be an Ilythiiri. A daughter of a proud heritage.”
Inthara paused, took a breath and swallowed hard. She knew that Lolth would not want to hear this next part, but she had to say it. She also knew that by revealing her feelings, she might well doom herself to the altar. “Dark Mother, I love Sheyreiza. A love You consider as weak, yet I will follow her anywhere for it. To Sheyreiza Auvryndar, I pledge my loyalty and heart, forever and for all time. For her, I will swear the Oath. Spider Queen, You are might in the Underdark and Matron of the Ilythiiri gods. Aiding us in this will show all your might and glory. Yours will be a triumph on the battlefield. You will spread chaos amongst your enemies. Please, aid us. A soul is coming to You, willingly. Take her as your Yathrin.”
Her prayer completed, Inthara stood and scrubbed her red-rimmed teary eyes. She splashed water on her face from the wash bowl and set about dressing. She unwrapped the blanket concealing the sword and holy symbol. The symbol was the one Sheyreiza had given to her. “Eilistraee, this symbol will go to a yathrin that will honor you, as Sheyreiza wished. Please forgive her.”
Grief overcame Inthara again and she fell on the bed weeping. “Forgive me, Mother.” She whispered between tears.
A cold voice answered her whisper. It was neither female nor male, it simply was. “Forgiveness is for the weak.”
“Forgiveness is a chance for redemption.” Inthara answered.
“Redemption is non-existent.” The voice countered.
“It is a second chance.”
“One you will never take.” The genderless voice said coldly.
Inthara looked up from her tears, an expression of fierce defiance upon her face. “For My Heart I would risk my very soul.”
“Your soul is hardly yours.” The voice replied. The image of a half demon fucking Inthara appeared in her mind.
“He did not take it or give what was promised. The symbol can and will fade if
I wish.” Inthara snapped, forcing the image from her head.
“But you do not wish it.” The cold voice said smugly.
“A promise not fulfilled is a promise broken and void.” Inthara retorted angrily. I wish to have more children.” She looked around the room but saw no one. “Who are you to speak to me so?”
Her answer was a cold laugh that chilled her to the bone. “Do you not know me my [i:u0tnu6lw]seriso[/i:u0tnu6lw]?” The presence receded as it laughed and it was gone.
[i:u0tnu6lw]Seriso.[/i:u0tnu6lw] Lover. Only one person had ever called her that; Hartex Claddath. Hartex had been the elder boy of Qu’ellar Claddath. He was an assassin and warrior who had served with and for Sheyreiza in Skullport many years earlier. But the voice could not have been his. Hartex was dead. Inthara had been there when he fell paralyzed by the spells of the Skulls while a burning warehouse collapsed around him. He could not be alive could he? And how could he speak to Inthara? How would he have found her? And if he knew where Inthara was and had heard her prayers, that meant that he would be able to find the person who had left him in that burning building to die; Sheyreiza.
***
For many miles Sheyreiza followed the strange green spider. It moved quickly, scuttling along the forest floor, rarely in a straight line. Sheyreiza’s instinct was to move slower, more cautiously, but the spider would not slow down and she knew she could not afford to lose sight of it. It led her deep into woods she knew were the home of darthiir. She could feel their presence. At times she thought she could even smell them, though that may have been a trick of her mind. While the spider’s path was anything but direct, Sheyreiza was eventually able to determine that they traveled north for the most part. Gradually, the fairy elf taint passed from the woods. Larger and larger spider webs appeared between the trees, their beautiful, intricate strands draping between the gnarled old trunks of the forest. Eventually the spider led Sheyreiza to a pit of sorts. Perhaps a hundred yards across in either direction, its steep, grassy slope descended twenty feet or more down to a hole that led into darkness. Old, decaying tree trunks lay like along the slope like ladders from a quarry. Sheyreiza surmised they must have fallen as the hole’s sides collapsed little by little over the years. The green spider climbed up into a tree beside her and spoke in a voice heard only in her mind.
[i:u0tnu6lw]Ahead you will find a band of heretics. You will slay them, except for the leader. The leader you will capture and take to Mantol Derith where you will put him upon the altar there and give his heart to Lolth.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
A band of heretics? She would be outnumbered then. It did not matter. That was what Lolth called upon her to do, so that is what she would do. “It will be done.” She said aloud. She did not equivocate ; there was no point to it. She would either succeed, die in the attempt, or fail. And failure would mean death so truly the only alternatives were success or death.
The spider dropped from its perch and scuttled down the slope. Without pausing, it disappeared into the darkness of the hole. Sheyreiza followed. Cool, dank air greeted Sheyreiza. Her eyes opened up and her natural darkvision took over. She found herself in a steeply descending cavern that smelled of guano. The spider was scurrying forward so she followed quickly. Only years and years of scrambling through the passages of the Underdark between the stalagmites and rock formations allowed her to keep pace. The descent leveled off and the smell of guano receded. They were passed the entry areas where the bats would gather. Now they were in the cavern proper.
A terrible grinding sound came from the passage in front of Sheyreiza. She raised her shield and peered down the passage. The rocks were moving. For a split second she thought it was a cave-in, but then she realized the rocks were moving [i:u0tnu6lw]upwards[/i:u0tnu6lw]. They piled atop one another until a vaguely humanoid form was achieved. A featureless head, a body, two arms and two stubby legs, all comprised of rock held together by clay. It was, if she was not mistaken, an earth elemental. It was also huge.
Sheyreiza went into a fighting crouch. Keeping an eye on the earthen beast, she examined the lay of the passage. This thing would be far stronger than she and capable of bending even her enchanted plate if it landed a direct blow. She would have to move fast and keep from getting cornered.
The elemental did not attack straight away, however. It moved to bar Sheyreiza’s passage. A mouth appeared in the otherwise featureless rock that served as its head. “Sheyreiza Auvryndar.” It said, its voice the rumbling, crumbling bass of a rock-slide. “I have a message for you.”
“Oh?” Sheyreiza replied. She could not keep the surprise from out of her voice. Still, she kept on her toes with shield up and sword ready. “What message? From whom?”
The giant rock monster lumbered back and forth but did not advance. Its tongue-less mouth opened and spoke again. “Turn back Sheyreiza Auvryndar. It is not too late. You may yet be saved. You need not take this path.”
Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes. “Consider your message delivered and your duty done then.”
Surprisingly, the rock monster settled down and dissembled. Clay crumbled and rocks tumbled and in a few moments, there was naught but a mound of loose earth and stone where just seconds before had stood an enchanted creature. Sheryeiza advanced on the inanimate pile of clay and rock cautiously. With one foot, she reached out and kicked a stone. It began to meld into the rocky floor of the passage. All of the stones did. In a few seconds they were gone, melding magically into the sandstone passage. In their wake a symbol formed upon the ground; the hammer of Moradin. It glowed for a few moments and then faded into legible runes: [i:u0tnu6lw] A soul is a precious thing to waste, do not let yours be taken.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
“You waste your time, God of Dwarves.” Sheyreiza said aloud. “But your effort and concern are noted.” There was no reply and Sheyreiza was happy about that. The green spider reappeared and scurried down the now open passage beyond where the elemental had stood. Again, Sheyreiza followed.
Her arachnid guide took her on a long journey. Hours passed. Her feet ached and her body grew tired. Her attention started to drift and that, she knew, would be fatal in the Underdark. She redoubled her efforts to focus. More hours passed and still they moved. Through passages narrow and wide, shallow and tall, clear and congested. Sheyreiza drank what water she had as they went and periodically dug through her satchel for bits of her rations. Still, the spider led on and still she followed, pushing herself to the limit. She would not fail. Time lost all meaning. She trailed the spider now like an animal, not like a drow. Her senses became attuned to the Underdark and to following her arachnid guide. Though walking nearly in a stupor from exhaustion, she kept walking. Periodically she would lose sight of the spider and her heart would race, waking her up from her trance-like state. She would scramble about the passages, moving too quickly and too loudly until she found her guide again. Then she would sink back into her trance-like tracking.
The sharp sound of metal on metal woke Sheryeiza from her stupor. [i:u0tnu6lw]The heretics are just ahead.[/i:u0tnu6lw] Said the spider in her mind.
Sheyreiza nodded. Up ahead she could see a stream flowing through the Underdark. There was a ford ahead as well, comprised of stones that stuck up through the fast flowing dark waters. The sharp sound of metal on metal rang out again and Sheyreiza was able to pin point the sound as coming from just beyond the ford. As she attuned her ears to the cavern she could hear voices now, male and female, speaking in drow. They were too far away to understand. Sheyreiza knew that caverns did odd things with sound, so she knew she could not reliably judge the distance of the heretics by their voices. Quietly she crept forward, sword in hand. At the streams edge, she bent down. With one hand, she cupped some of the ice cold water and splashed it on her face. She cupped more water and brought it to her lips.
She was awake now and her mind moving again. There were several of them, at the least, and only one of her. She would need an advantage. Her divine spells were gone, pushed into her sapphire orb and crushed under her boot. She reached down and touched one of her rings while whispering a command word. The power of the ring made her invisible. Magically concealed against ordinary sight, she moved across the ford to stalk her prey.
There were five of them; four males and a female. Two of the males were sparring with each other. One used a sword and buckler while the other used two blades, one long and one short. The two-sword user fought with a style that seemed familiar to Sheyreiza but she could not place it. To the side, sitting amongst some rocks, were a male and female. They cheered on the two sparring males, though with more blood lust than good nature. Beyond them, the last male kept guard on the passage that presumably led deeper into the depths. The heretics were more concerned with what lay below in the Underdark than what might descend from the surface. There was some wisdom in that, but it would have been wiser still to assume threats would come from either direction. As the proverb said: [i:u0tnu6lw]He who watches his back meets death from the front.[/i:u0tnu6lw]
Sheyreiza listened to the banter and watched the sparring long enough to determine that the man with the two swords was the leader of this little war band. Like all elves and drow, his age was nearly impossible to determine by his appearance. Whatever age he was, however, he had led a hard life. Tiny scars criss-crossed his face here and there betraying signs of violent encounters and not always victorious ones. Scars or not, he was still standing. Sheyreiza would treat him with as much caution as she dared. Still invisible, she moved behind the male and female spectators. From the fetishes and trinkets hanging on her cloak, belt and tunic, Sheyreiza surmised the female spectator was a mage. [i:u0tnu6lw]Attack the most dangerous first.[/i:u0tnu6lw] With no priest evident, that meant the apparent wizard.
Sheyreiza brought her long sword up and struck down against the woman’s neck. Flesh gave way to adamantine and Sheyreiza felt her blade strike bone. She struck again to be sure and the woman fell in a bloody spray. The attack dissipated Sheyreiza’s magical concealment. The heretic closest to her was a drow, and true to his blood he did not hesitate. His sword was out and sweeping toward Sheyreiza in an instant. The blow was wide and long in coming. Sheyreiza batted it aside with her fang-shield, stepped in and swung her blade into the hapless heretic. The man staggered under her blow. Sheyreiza danced around him, keeping his stumbliing, bleeding form between her and the other unwounded heretics. She slashed again and the wounded man fell for good. The male who had been serving as a sentry came next but his skill was no better than the man who had just fallen. Sheyreiza dispatched him quickly, uttering a quick prayer of thanks to Lolth that the heretics were not as well trained as they might be.
The leader with two swords came on the attack after the sentry fell. His sparring partner tried to join in the attack but Sheyreiza kept dancing so as to keep one of her attackers on the far side of the other. Two-swords rushed in and Sheyreiza recognized his attack routine. Using her knowledge, she slipped the man’s blades and charged past him. His sparring partner did not expect Sheyreiza to simply slip past so easily and he was caught off guard. It proved a fatal mistake – Sheyreiza put down the sparring partner quickly and permanently. Two-swords pivoted and came at Sheyreiza again as his sparing partner fell into the cold dark stream clutching a ruined throat. Sheyreiza flipped her sword a quarter turn in her hand and a got a new grip on it. As two-swords came in swinging, she parried his attack and then backhanded him with the flat of her blade. He staggered, but came back again. She parried with the blade this time and backhanded him with her fang-shield. He staggered backwards further, but regained his footing and charged in on the attack relentlessly. This time Sheyreiza used her footwork to slip his assault and she landed a blow from the flat of her blade squarely on his jaw. The scar-faced drow stumbled sideways on rubber legs and collapsed.
Keeping her sword at the ready in case of deception, Sheyreiza knelt by the scar-faced man and examined him. He was alive, but unconscious and probably would not remain alive for much longer. Though she had hit him with the flat of her blade, that blade carried an enchantment strong enough to burn through bebilith carapace. On the scar-faced man, it left a huge burn along the left side of his face where it had struck him. Scorched skin peeled back revealing angry red tissue. Blisters formed around the edges of the open wound and Sheyreiza could see he needed aid. Unfortunately, she had no healing powers now that she had lost Eilistraee’s grace. She reached into her satchel and drew out a vial of healing potion. She rolled scar-face over and poured it into his mouth. When that one was down, she repeated the process. Between the two potions, the wound on the side of his face closed, though she suspected it would leave another scar he could add to his collection.
The man was still unconscious though, so Sheyreiza took the opportunity to strip him. He seemed familiar. Something about his eyes and his movements and the way he fought. Even his relentless determination seemed familiar. She searched his bags and found a black silk mask; the sign of Vhaerun. If she had any doubts as to these being heretics, the doubts past. Searching his pockets she found a medallion on a chain. She pulled it out and her jaw dropped open in shock.
It was a Qu’ellar Auvryndar house symbol. She had not seen one since she had been captured and thrown in the dungeons of Battlehammer Hall. The dwarves had taken her entire collection of house symbols, amassed from the drow she had killed, and melted them down. Her own Qu’ellar Auvryndar symbol had gone into their fires. A thought crossed through her mind. She narrowed her eyes and looked closely at the scar faced man laying unconscious before her. She rolled him over to get a better look at him. The face, with its plethora of tiny scars and its freshly healed burn wound was unfamiliar. Or was it? She tried to imagine a boy she once knew, a baby, and tried to imagine what he would look like if grown. This could not be him, could it?
She splashed water on the man’s face and eventually he woke. He was nearly naked now, his armor and clothing stripped from him.
“Bitch.” He said, spitting in her direction. Sheyreiza ignored him and looked into his eyes. That was what she had found familiar. Perhaps she knew his fighting style but it was his eyes that were truly familiar.
“What is your name?” She asked.
“Go to the pits.” He responded defiantly.
“I am looking for someone. You may be him. If so, I am not here to kill you. What is your name?” Sheyreiza asked again.
The man regarded her for a moment and then looked around. He seemed to count the bodies. “Ulost. Ulost Claddath.” He grimaced as he looked up her ruined left eye-socket.
Sheyreiza frowned and ignored his unease at her wound. “What is your [i:u0tnu6lw]real[/i:u0tnu6lw] name?” She asked, letting a bit of menace creep into her voice. He repeated his first answer. She leveled her sword. “Too bad, that is not who I am looking for.”
“Tanias.” He said quickly.
Sheyreiza’s heart skipped a beat but she tried not to betray her excitement. “What is your surname?”
“I do not have one.”
She held up the Auvryndar house symbol. “Where did you get this?”
He smirked. “Fine. I am Tanias Auvryndar, what of it? I don’t care if you kill me - you can still go to the pits you spider-kissing whore.”
Sheyreiza took a long look at the scar-faced man. Calling him a man was perhaps pushing it; boy might be more appropriate. She knew Tanias Auvryndar would be no more than 34 or 35 years old now – adult in body but still young in mind. She knew his age because Tanias Auvryndar was her son, the babe she had born so long ago in Qu’ellar Auvryndar. This was the child who Matron Shyntlara had given to Sheyreiza’s older sister to be raised. This was the child whose memory haunted Sheryeiza for the rest of her days. It was his eyes she thought of all those years ago in Lonelywood when she was wrestling with her faith; innocent, new born eyes that had looked upon Sheyreiza like no other eyes ever had before - with love and trust. She had failed to return that love and she had betrayed that trust. She allowed her sister to raise the child and in that world, that meant allowing her sister to beat and cajole the child into submission, to subject him to Lolth’s will and to the domination of Her clergy; to cast him out into a cold, heartless society where a child’s love for its mother was ruthlessly exorcised with the lash of a whip, and where a mother’s love for her child had to be left in the dung heap with her afterbirth lest the Goddess demand the child be put upon the altar.
Somewhere along the line, however, Tanias had broken free of his family’s grip and the grip of their tyrannical Goddess, just as Sheyreiza herself had once done. She wondered if his heresy and escape were inspired by her or if he had ever even heard of her.
She stood and sheathed her sword. “I am not here to kill you Tanias.” She said plainly. “I am here to save you, to help you.”
The boy frowned. “Sure you are. Like you saved and helped them.” He said, gesturing to the dead bodies around him.
“They could not be saved,” she replied, “but you can be. You are special.”
The boy’s mouth opened but no protest came out. Her flattery caught him off guard, as it was meant to. Vanity was ever the weakness of the drow. “You are one of those moon-worshippers aren’t you?”
Sheyreiza smiled. “Yes, I am.” She lied. “And I know you can be saved. I have seen it.”
“Seen it?” He asked incredulously. “How?”
“The Goddess herself directed me to you.” That was not a lie so much as an incomplete statement. A goddess [i:u0tnu6lw]had[/i:u0tnu6lw] guided her to him, just not Eilistraee.
“Why you? Are you the Goddess’ chosen savior of all drow-kind?” He asked sarcastically.
Sheyreiza looked him dead in the eye and spoke softly. “No. I am your mother.”
The boy narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“I am your mother.” She repeated.
“Liar!” He barked out. “My mother is a spider-kissing bitch who never cared for one moment about me.”
Sheyreiza kneeled down before him. “I [i:u0tnu6lw]was[/i:u0tnu6lw] a spider-kissing bitch. But you are wrong about the rest. I did care for you. I was just too weak to do anything about it. For that I am sorry.” The speech came naturally to Sheyreiza. She had practiced it for years while she lived in Lonelywood, fantasizing that one day she would be able to find her boy, save him from the cold grasp of whatever heartless deity he followed and then bring him into the light and love of Eilistraee. Now she had found him, but circumstances were somewhat different. It was not to the light and love of Eilistraee she was going to take him. He did not know that, however. Not yet. “I was weak, and scared, and selfish. I did whatever I thought I had to survive. I was wrong. I am sorry.”
The boy snarled. “You are not my mother! My mother is not a simpering, moon-worshipping weakling who makes pitiful apologies!”
“I am neither weak nor pitiful now, but I do make you an apology.” She stood. “There was good in me, even if I was weak. Thanks to others I was given the chance to see that good grow, to nurture it and break free of the Spider Queen. In gratitude to my rescuers and Lady Silverhair, I have come to give you the same chance. I have come to give you hope. I have come to give you love.” The lies came ever easier as Sheyreiza spoke. Had she never ventured to the surface, had she never worshipped Eilistraee or loved Jain’n, never would she have been able to understand love, trust and affection so well; never would she have been able to spin such a beautiful and inviting web of lies.
“Who is my father then?” The boy snapped petulantly.
Sheyreiza drew in a deep breath. That was one secret she had never revealed to anyone, not even the father. Now seemed like the time, however. “Hartex Claddath. Your father was Hartex Claddath.”
“What?” The boy exclaimed. “That’s impossible! It cannot be.” The boy scrambled to his feet and backed away from her. “He never said anything to me. He never said a thing. And he would have! He would have!”
[i:u0tnu6lw]The boy knew Hartex?[/i:u0tnu6lw] Sheyreiza could barely restrain her own shock. It explained the familiarity of Tanias’ fighting style. Clearly Hartex had trained him, at least somewhat. Though she could scarcely believe the two had met, Sheyreiza knew why Hartex would never have told Tanias he was Tanias’ father. “He never said anything to you because he did not know.”
Tanias blanched. He knew she was telling the truth. “Why?”
“I was keeping it a secret. Secrets have power, but that power is lost upon revelation.” She shrugged. “I had planned on telling him, but I ran out of time.”
“Ran out of time?” Tanias growled. “You mean you left him to die in a burning warehouse don’t you?” Sheyreiza looked up sharply. “Yes, bitch, I know how he died. You left him for dead in Skullport. A burning warehouse collapsed upon him and he took the fall for your crime, isn’t that so?”
Tanias was well informed. It seemed he had gotten around in his few years. Sheyreiza simply nodded. “Yes, that is so.” She admitted. “But that was a long time ago, when I was still a spider-kisser and before I came to the surface. Before I came to know Lady Silverhair. Before I changed.”
Tanias stared at her awhile. Gradually, his body relaxed and he leaned back against the rocky wall of the passage. “And now what?”
“And now we travel.” She pointed into the passage beyond which led deeper into the Underdark. “Gather rations and water, but nothing else. We’ve a long journey ahead.”
Tanias shook his head. “That passage leads further into the Underdark. I thought you moon-worshippers lived on the surface.”
“The greatest temple to Lady Silverhair in all the world is [i:u0tnu6lw]beneath[/i:u0tnu6lw] the surface. It is called the Promenade of Eilistraee and it is in the caverns near Skullport.”
The boy scoffed. “Skullport? Do you know how far that is from here? We will never make it, you and I.”
“Yes we will.” Sheyreiza assured him. “We are not walking all the way. Transportation by boat has been arranged. We simply have to make it to Mantol Derith, near the Darklake. From there, we ride.”
“Mantol Derith is full of spider-kissers.” He spat.
Sheyreiza nodded. “Yes, it is, so you had best do what I say and play along, or they will not only get a moon-worshipper for their altar they will also get a worshipper of the Masked Lord.” Tanias frowned, but set about collecting the water and rations as instructed.
[b:1jvv4zd4]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 13. The Spider's Web
Part 3 - The Test of Lolth[/b:1jvv4zd4]
In Silverymoon, Inthara went her morning preparations listlessly like an animated corpse shuffling through its master’s halls. She went outside to the small park and sat upon a bench there. She began to sing her song of lament again, not caring who heard or who watched. Off an on throughout the day she alternated between singing her grief and crying. When the song got too sad, she would bury her face in her knees and simply weep until she could sing again. Hour after hour passed in this way. The folk who lived near the gate, like Silin Klendry, could not help but take note of the beautiful, exotic creature who poured out her heartache with such anguish that they too felt it in their souls. The patrolling Spellguard and knights who had at first been distrustful of the drow were now moved nearly to tears by Inthara’s plight. There was nothing they could do though. Many would be lost in this war, indeed, many had already been lost. It was likely, they thought, that no one now living who remained living through this war would be untouched by the hands of Lady Loss. All would know grief, even if victory could be snatched from the shadows.
When the sun set Inthara finally rose and headed back into her room along the wall. She did not notice it, but the chain on which Sheyreiza’s holy symbol of Eilistraee hung had broken. The holy symbol fell from Inthara’s neck on to the grass and there it lay until the next morning when an entirely different drow would find it. Gryndal Xiith, now called Orthea’xiad, had come to Silverymoon.
***
The journey to Mantol Derith was a long and hard one and took many days. Sheyreiza did not restrain Tanias but neither did she arm or armor him. When there was fighting to do, she did it. Naturally, she could not travel day after day without rest. Though she was semi-aware in reverie, she knew only too well that one could still fall victim to treachery. Every time she sat down to rest she would enact a casting and pretend to invoke both the power of Eilistraee and of one of her rings. She said nothing of it, but the implication was clear – she was casting alarm spells and wards. For his part, Tanias did nothing to harm her. Whether he believed in her implied spells or believed she meant him no harm, one thing was for certain: she was a far better fighter than he was. Alone in the Underdark he stood little chance of ever making it to civilization again. With her, at least there was a hope of survival. All he had to do was give her the slip or kill her when they got to a sizable settlement. Well, assuming there was some way for him to avoid being enslaved. For the moment, being the prisoner of a moon-worshipper was not the worst fate that could befall a lone heretic drow in the Underdark.
As they traveled they occasionally spoke. Though reluctant to give any ground to Sheyreiza emotionally, she could tell he was coming to accept that she was in fact his mother. At first he used the word ‘mother’ sarcastically, but as the journey wore on it simply became what he called her. Sheyreiza would not have called his use of the term affectionate but it was no longer hostile either.
Skirting around Menzoberranzan they eventually came to the entrance of Mantol Derith. Entry into the trade enclave was made via a magic carpet that would levitate visitors up into the main cavern from the long trench below. To activate the magic carpet one had to know the secret word. Sheyreiza did not know the word but Tanias did. Frustrated with his mother’s inability to get the carpet to move or to get the password from the guards above he suggested they not even go.
“We have to go.” She said succinctly. “Our contact is there. Do you really want to travel the rest of the way on foot? Do you really want to brave the labyrinth?”
Tanias relented and gave her the password. They rode the magic carpet up into the great cavern of Mantol Derith under the watchful and suspicious eyes of the drow, duergar, svirfneblin, human and half-orc guardians who patrolled the edges of the trench. Sheyreiza informed him they would be posing as a traveling priestess and her servant. Tanias was skeptical, but he had little opportunity to object.
Mantol Derith’s main cavern was a roughly rectangular space, several hundred yards across on its long east-west axis, and perhaps two hundred yards across on its shorter north-south axis. It was divided by a 50’ wide trench running north-south. At the bottom of that trench, some 100’ below the main cavern, was the corridor where Tanias and Sheyreiza stepped onto the magic carpet. Above, in the main cavern, guards walked the edges of the trench always ready to repel unwanted guests from below. The four corners of the cavern were apportioned to the four main trading groups; drow, duergar, svirfneblin and surfacers. The drow occupied the northwest corner. There they traded drow-enchanted goods for slaves and luxuries not available in Menzoberranzan. Their enclave consisted of a market where the deals were done, a fortified warehouse built into the cavern walls, and a temple, also built into the cavern walls. South of the drow was the surfacer enclave. Here depraved humans, half-orcs and worse traded their kin into slavery and sold what other rarities they could gather from the surface above to the denizens of the Underdark. Their quarter was the least well guarded, the least disciplined and the most divided; it was also, however, the most populated by far; the only thing remotely resembling an inn was located in the south wall of this quarter. To the east of the surfacers was the Duergar enclave. Here the stout folk of Gracklstugh sold blades, armor plates and other metal goods, usually in bulk. Their biggest customers were the drow, who often traded for un-enchanted duergar weapons with duergar weapons they had enchanted. It was an efficient system; the duergar craftsmen might make and sell a handful of un-enchanted blades. The drow would buy these blades, enchant them, use some, and sell the remainder back to the duergar. Both groups also traded the raw materials necessary. The duergar were renowned as miners of course but the drow had their own sources of mithral and adamantine and were not above trading. In the northeast corner of the cavern stood the enclave of the svirfneblin. The deep gnome settlement had been here for ages and it survived the destruction of Blingdenstone. While the Matrons of Menzoberranzan exacted their revenge upon Blingdenstone, the drow Chief Negotiator of Mantol Derith was still bound by the rules of the enclave and by common sense. Accordingly she had made no move against the svirfneblin. Some say this was why she was poisoned. The svirfneblin, for their part, remained to trade despite the egregious harm done to their kin. After Blingdenstone was destroyed, a few survivors escaped to the surface and a few more fled deeper into the Underdark. These refugees still needed to trade however, and there was still a market for their gems and magic. The drow allowed the trade to continue though everywhere else they were hostile to the gnomes. Some said this was a sign of drow practicality. Others said it was simply the reality of Mantol Derith – though they were influential, the drow did not rule here.
As the magic carpet came to a stop Sheyreiza stepped off and started walking towards the drow quarter of the cavern. “Are you mad?” Tanias asked her in hushed but urgent tones. “Those are Lolthians over there.”
“I know.” Replied Sheyreiza. “I have to go check in with the high priestess however. How would it look if a Lolthian priestess, which I am pretending to be, did not check in with the temple when she arrived?”
Tanias’ eyes went wide. “The temple? You [i:1jvv4zd4]are[/i:1jvv4zd4] mad! I will not set one foot in that cursed place!”
“Yes, you will.” Sheyreiza informed him in a stern voice. “It would not do for my servant and battle-captive, you, to be parted from me. I am your mistress while we are here. If you wish to make it out of here alive and un-enslaved, you had best play your part well. If not, then we will surely end up on the slave auction block or the altar.”
The scar faced boy mumbled a curse and a protest but nodded his acceptance. Sheyreiza led him past the so called Mushroom Market where the H’tithet drow of Menzoberranzan carried on their trade, selling weapons, armor and other magics of the City of Spiders but no mushrooms. They passed into the temple and Sheyreiza was immediately assaulted by familiar smells long since forgotten; exotic incense, acrid brazier smoke, coppery blood, sweet perfumes. She flushed with the memories the smell brought on. How long since had set foot in a proper temple to Lolth? Ten years? More?
There was little time to reminisce however. A priestess in black and purple armor approached. In the four corners of the room, Sheyreiza could see warrior had already taken up firing positions. If things did not go well here, they were not likely to make it out alive. Such were the tests of Lolth.
“[i:1jvv4zd4]Vendui’[/i:1jvv4zd4]” Sheyreiza said in greeting. The priestess looked Sheyreiza over, her eyes pausing on Sheyreiza’s eyeless socket before dropping to the pommel of her sword. The silver pommel was engraved with the symbol of Eilistraee. “A trophy.” Sheyreiza said in attempt to cut off any inquiry.
“Of course.” The priestess replied with non-committed aloofness. Her gaze turned to Tanias who stood unarmed and fidgeting nervously. “Another trophy?”
Sheyreiza nodded. “Yes, in a manner of speaking.” Sheyreiza took the priestess’ measure. From her house symbol Sheyreiza could tell the woman was from House Faen Tlabbar of Menzoberranzan. She was not yet a high priestess, a [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar[/i:1jvv4zd4], she was but a priestess, a [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathrin[/i:1jvv4zd4], like Sheyreiza had been. Sheyreiza decided to treat her as an equal for the moment. “I am the Yathrin Elvaelayl Tlabbar. I have come to see the [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar.[/i:1jvv4zd4]”
“[i:1jvv4zd4]Vendui’ cousin[/i:1jvv4zd4].” The priestess greeted in return. “Elvaelayl is it? You have been missing a long time.”
Sheyreiza held up the house symbol she wore around her neck. “I have been serving with the Tanor’thal of Skullport and Karsouth’yl for some time now. It could not be avoided.”
“Of course.” The priestess smiled but there was no warmth or welcome in it. “I am Yathrin Yasharaya Tlabbar. Perhaps you remember me? I was much younger when we first met.”
“I do not remember.” Sheyreiza said, trying to play it safe and avoid getting caught in a lie.
“Too bad.” Yasharaya sighed, though there seemed to be little surprise or insult in her voice. “The [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar[/i:1jvv4zd4] Ghenni’salla Tlabbar, [i:1jvv4zd4]our[/i:1jvv4zd4] aunt, is in the temple. I will tell her you wish an audience.” The priestess looked over Tanias, admiring his form with a lascivious grin. “He is attractive. I can see why you kept him.” Sheyreiza frowned just slightly. “I’ll be back in a moment.” The Tlabbar Yathrin said with a little laugh. Sheyreiza had been told long ago by one of her Skullport entourage, Vel’meth Tlabbar, that the Tlabbar females were usually gifted with a wantonness that made succubi look like prudish hags. Yasharaya seemed to be a fine example of that overt sexuality.
Yasharaya signed to the guards who maintained their watchful vigilance upon Sheyreiza and Tanias. The drow trusted no one, least of all other drow. Satisfied the newcomers would be guarded, Yasharaya exited through iron doors to the temple. Sheyreiza slowly paced about the room taking in the tile mosaics along the walls which depicted various stories from the founding of Menzoberranzan, including the destruction of the eye-tyrant Many-Eyes, the defeat of the dwarven Black-Axe clan and the founding of the city itself by Menzoberra the Kinless. There was also a large statue of a slender, beautiful drow priestess who bore than just a passing resemblance to both Yasharaya and Sheyreiza, standing regally with sword outstretched. The attached plaque identified the statue as a commemoration of Yathtallar Ghenni’salla’s victory over the heretics here as well as her defeat of their legion of undead and fiends. Sheyreiza wondered how much of it was true. Regardless, it was clear this Ghenni’salla was a high priestess who enjoyed unchallenged dominion over this temple.
The portal to the temple opened and Yasharaya appeared. “The Yathtallar will see you now, [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathrin[/i:1jvv4zd4] Elvaelayl. Alone.” Yasharaya looked at Tanias. “I suppose he can stay with me for the moment.” The priestess smiled and looked at Tanias with undisguised lust.
Sheyreiza walked between the heavy metal doors of the temple’s portal and entered the chapel itself. Her heart raced as she took in the scene; a black altar sitting on a dais before a flame pit and a statue of the goddess. Eight braziers burning incense around the altar. Dark patches of dried blood from countless sacrifices stained the floor while the delicate white webs of spiders decorated the walls. A crimson pentagram was inscribed upon the floor below the altar dais and eight burning candles were set equidistantly upon its outer perimeter. Though not as grand in scale or as rich in appointments as the Qu’ellar Auvryndar temple, this place bore the same heavy, ominous feeling of dread and power. Here, the Goddess was strong and ever-present. This was Lolth’s consecrated ground. The altar called to Sheyreiza. She could feel its hunger. The altars of Lolth were bloody, ravenous things. The worship of Lolth called for frequent sacrifice and the plethora of temples in cities like Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan meant the cities had an insatiable appetite for sacrificial victims. Most were slaves, bought in markets like Mantol Derith, but some were drow. Of those, a few were battle captives, but the bulk of the drow to be placed upon Lolth’s altars were culled from the city’s native population. Because of the high demand for sacrifices, virtually any crime could land the offender upon the altar. Indeed, often it seemed as if the high priestesses fabricated crimes and offenses so as to supply their need for victims. A high priestess unable to feed her altar with others would soon be feeding it herself at the hands of her ambitious subordinates. That hunger, that drive to feed the altar, to sacrifice lives and souls to Lolth, this was the very pulse of drow society and no where did Sheyreiza feel it as strongly as she did when in the presence of a consecrated altar. The altar was not a living thing. It was not an animated magical construct. It was simply decorated stone. The more elaborate altars of the powerful houses were enchanted to capture souls, but even then, the altars themselves were simply enchanted stone. Still, the mere sight of one evoked the sense of hunger that Lolth’s church had; Lolth would have her meat and her meat was lives and souls. The altars were her mouths and the bitch was eternally hungry.
A lone figure kneeled before the dark, sanguine, altar. The figure’s form was largely obscured by a glittering dark blue piwafi cloak that resembled the morning sky just before dawn, but under the rich piwafi Sheyreiza could tell it was a female. Long white hair streamed down her back across the dark sky of her cloak like a wayward cloud. There was the slightest tinkle of jewelry as the figure stood.
Sheyreiza kneeled on one knee and made an obeyance to the altar. “[i:1jvv4zd4]Malla tlu Lolth.[/i:1jvv4zd4]” She said aloud. Honor to Lolth. She bowed her head to the figure at the altar. “[i:1jvv4zd4]Vendui’ malla Yathtallar.[/i:1jvv4zd4]” Greetings honored high-priestess.
“Rise.” The figure commanded.
“I am …” Sheyreiza started, but the figure interrupted her.
“Did you bring the heretic leader with you?” The Yathtallar asked.
Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed. “You know of this?” Sheyreiza responded, her surprise evident in her voice.
The figure at the altar whirled to face Sheyreiza. The high priestess was a tall, slender drow of uncommon beauty – not unlike Sheyreiza. Years ago Sheyreiza had taken the form of Elvaelayl Tlabbar, a tall slender beauty of Qu’ellar Faen Tlabbar. Looking upon the high priestess was not unlike looking into a mirror, though in this case, it was a very deadly mirror. The high priestess was dressed in blue-lacquered armor that matched her deep blue eyes. The armor’s revealing cut denoted it as ceremonial; it was far more provocative than protective. Still, Sheyreiza did not doubt it was highly enchanted and capable of turning most blades in those places the armor [i:1jvv4zd4]did[/i:1jvv4zd4] cover. In her right hand the high priestess held a coiled whip whose barbed lash ended in a dagger-like knife. In her other hand she held a longsword sheathed in a jewel encrusted scabbard. Sparkling gems, intricate pendants and fine platinum jewelry hung from the woman’s ears, neck and hair. Sheyreiza admired her style, beauty and wealth. A pang of jealousy mixed with the anxiety that now grew in Sheyreiza’s breast. She wished for such regalia as much as she feared the process of getting it.
“Of course I know.” The woman snapped. “I am the high priestess here? Do you not think I know what goes on in my temple?”
Sheyreiza bowed her head deeply. “My apologies [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar.[/i:1jvv4zd4]”
The high priestess seemed to relax a bit. “I am Yathtallar Ghenni’salla Tlabbar, and I know why you are here, [i:1jvv4zd4]Sheyreiza Auvryndar[/i:1jvv4zd4].” The high priestess paused for effect. “[i:1jvv4zd4]Heretic.[/i:1jvv4zd4]” Ghenni’salla nearly spat as she said the word. Sheyreiza’s blood ran cold. She knew the moment of revelation would have to come, but here it was – she stood now before a Yathtallar, a high priestess of the cruelest and most fickle goddess there was – as a heretic seeking redemption. “You will have your chance.” The high priestess said as if reading Sheyreiza’s mind and fears. “You will have it because Lolth says you will have it. If you fail however…” The high priestess did not need to finish her sentence. “We will prepare the male. You prepare yourself. Remove your weapons, armor and other things. You will meet the Goddess’ judgment naked. You are to pray, there, in the center of the pentgram. When you have made your prayers, you are to take reverie there.”
Sheyreiza nodded her understanding.
The high priestess walked to the doors of the temple with a confident strut that made Sheyreiza love her and hate her at the same time. She wanted that power. She needed that power. She would [i:1jvv4zd4]have[/i:1jvv4zd4] that power.
“I will be informing Tanias that he is to be sacrificed by you.” Ghenni’salla said before leaving.
Again Sheyreiza nodded. “Good, he should know what is going to happen to him.”
Ghenni’salla glared at Sheyreiza. “The male should only know what Lolth deigns for him to know and only that.” The high priestess snapped.
Rebuked, Sheyreiza bowed her head. “Of course [i:1jvv4zd4]malla Yathtallar[/i:1jvv4zd4].” Ghenni’salla scowled at Sheyreiza for a moment, then turned and left leaving Sheyreiza in alone in the temple. Slowly and deliberately Sheyreiza disarmed and disrobed. She set her things in neat piles around her in the pentagram. Her sword she drew from its sheath and lay on her right side. Her fang-shield she lay to her left. Before her, she piled her armor, with the engraved breast plate on top. Behind her she placed the satchel that contained her vials of potions. She had to follow the high priestess’ instructions but she did not have to do so blindly or stupidly. Unless Ghenni’salla directed otherwise, Sheyreiza would sit in the pentagram naked but keep her weapons, armor and enchantments close at hand.
Folding her long, shapely legs beneath her, she sat amidst her possessions in the center of the magic circle. Black candles burned slowly around her and the smell of incense filled her head. She closed her eyes and began praying silently to Lolth. As she did she focused her thoughts outward searching for the thread of elven consciousness that ran through the world unseen and unfelt by all but the Tel’Quessir. It was to this thread of consciousness that the minds of elves, fairy and drow alike, turned to in reverie. The thread touched all elves, but not all elves touched it in the same place or at the same time. Indeed, some elves were so separated from their kin that they never touched the greater consciousness at all, though it was around them just the same. Sheyreiza had often found it difficult to make contact with the greater consciousness and as a result frequently slept like a human rather than entering reverie like an elf. This time, she slipped from prayer into trance and found the thread easily. Or so she thought.
***
Sheyreiza stood atop a low dais set in a landscape of endless gray stone that stretched into opaque mists so similar in color the border between the two was lost to the naked eye. Though the dais and the stone appeared to be part of a cityscape, no sign of any city or settlement was present; just the slowly swirling mist. Though she had disrobed and disarmed when she knelt down in the temple, here, she was wearing her armor and in her hand was her sword. She narrowed her eyes as she often did, though one eye was missing. Something moved in the mist but it was just deep enough to be unrecognizable. Whatever it was, it was huge, perhaps the size of a surface dweller’s house. She stared deep into the mist trying discern the nature of the thing but it moved too quickly and was gone.
“Welcome,” said a voice behind her. The voice was male and familiar. Sheyreiza turned. A male drow came out of the mists. He was tall for a male, his long white hair pulled back from his face and tied securely so it would fall down his back. He was well muscled, though still slender and graceful, like a dancer. His features were sharp and his eyes sharper. Sheyreiza knew him at once, though she could not believe he was here.
“Hartex.” She said simply.
“Yes. Hartex. That was my name once.” He said thoughtfully. “I had almost forgotten.”
[i:1jvv4zd4]He is mad.[/i:1jvv4zd4] Sheyreiza thought.
“Thank you for reminding me.” He smiled. “Time does not flow in the abyss as it does in your world. It has been an age since anyone called me by my mortal name.”
“The abyss? Then you are dead?”
Hartex voice filled with menace. “Do you not remember leaving me to die in Skullport, Sheyreiza? Do you not remember sacrificing me to the Skulls to cover for your crimes?”
“I thought you escaped that fire.” Sheyreiza’s eyes widened a bit. This was one soul she would have rather not had to meet, but it was just like Lolth to arrange a meeting between murderer and victim.
He tilted his head. “Did I? I seem to remember dying there.” He paused and looked down for a moment in thought. “No matter.” He shrugged. “I am dead now.”
“Good.” Sheyreiza said. It was probably not wise to taunt him, but she was glad he was dead and such joy at the suffering and loss of another was something Lolth would like.
“In life, I served you Yathrin.” Hartex said resuming his pacing. “In death I serve Her. Red eyes devoid of any warmth, feeling or soul looked Sheyreiza over with undisguised malice. “You are to be judged Sheyreiza.” Hartex announced. “I will be one of your judges. There will be three others. They will each be along in turn.” He resumed his pacing around her, looking over her naked form as if appraising a brothel slave. His gaze initially made Sheyreiza shrink, but she rose to the moment. She arched her back and held her head high. She was [i:1jvv4zd4]no[/i:1jvv4zd4] brothel slave. She was a priestess and she would not be cowed by some specter from her past. “Each of your judges will ask you questions.” He informed her. “They will test you. Then they will judge you. These judges will determine if you are worthy to return to Her or not. Do you understand what I have explained to you?”
“[i:1jvv4zd4]Xas.[/i:1jvv4zd4]” Sheyreiza replied defiantly. [i:1jvv4zd4]Hatred, power, lust and revenge.[/i:1jvv4zd4] Two of these she desired. Two filled her soul. “Let me be tested. Let me be judged.”
“As you wish.” Hartex smiled. Hartex strode purposefully up to the dais. A beam of light the shade of fresh blood appeared beside Sheyreiza. Hartex held out a hand to it. Now, meet your next judge.” Hartex gestured to the red beam and figure appeared in the light; a female drow in the regalia of a high priestess. She was beautiful. In fact, she was more beautiful than any female drow Sheyreiza had ever seen save perhaps Qilue Veladorn. This woman’s beauty was not the celestial, silver-haired deific beauty of the Chosen of Eilistraee however. This woman was predatory. [i:1jvv4zd4]Feral.[/i:1jvv4zd4] She was the animosity and vengeance of the drow come to life. Her ruby red eyes were the eyes of a fiend, though a spectacularly beautiful one. Her face, her skin, her entire appearance was flawless but held such menace that even the bravest, most ardent admirer would have feared laying with the object of his admiration. There was a familiarity to her though. The line of her nose, the set of her jaw, the cut of her hair, all these things struck familiar chords in Sheyreiza’s mind.
“She is you.” Hartex said simply, answering the question in Sheyreiza’s head. “She is you as you should have been. She is you as you [i:1jvv4zd4]would[/i:1jvv4zd4] have been had you not turned from Lolth.” Hartex turned to look Sheyreiza in the eye and laughed. “If you are found unworthy, she will subsume all that you are and she will replace you.” This thought clearly amused him. Hartex stepped off the dais and walked a few yards away near where the circle of Sheyreiza’s sight ended and the swirling mists began.
The woman in the light stepped toward Sheyreiza and smiled. Delicate fangs framed her seductive smile. Sheyreiza’s eyes widened. This woman was familiar because she was Sheyreiza as Sheyreiza used to be – this was Sheyreiza’s original body, the one she had given up in Skullport when she took the form of Elvaelayl Tlabbar. Only this woman before her was not quite the same. Sheyreiza had been attractive, even beautiful, but not like this; this woman was Sheyreiza’s old form perfected as if sculpted by the hand of Lolth herself. This creature was the very embodiment of what Sheyreiza had once hoped to be. To aspire to such perfection now seemed a folly. To see the lost opportunity this woman represented sent pain stabbing through Sheyreiza’s chest. Could she really have been this woman? Could she really have achieved such malign perfection? Had she really lost such an opportunity?
The apparition of Sheyreiza’s alternate self slid an arm around Sheyreiza’s waist. She leaned in close as one might with a lover. Sheyreiza could smell her and feel her heat. The apparition brushed her lips across Sheyreiza’s cheek and ear sending a bolt of electric sensuality through her. “I am going to show you something.” The apparition purred. “I am going to show you the power of lust. I am going to show you that lust is more powerful than love and that love does nothing but make you weak.” The apparition slid behind Sheyreiza, her arm still wrapped Sheyreiza’s waist, her lips still gently brushing Sheyreiza’s ear. “Gaze into the light,” she whispered, “if you dare, and I will show you the power of lust and the weakness of love through your own past.”
With a brief scowl, Sheyreiza turned to face the sanguine beam. A light appeared deep with in the shaft as if far, far away. It grew larger, as if coming closer and Sheryeiza saw it was growing to form a picture. The picture was bright, almost too bright to look at. Sheyreiza squinted with her one good eye and kept her focus on the expanding light. Through the glare she could see a snow covered landscape. It was, if she was not mistaken, the far north. It was Lonelywood. Rocks appeared in the picture and then trees. Sheyreiza recognized the sacred circle of Lonelywood. A figure coalesced. It was Jain’n, her former lover. He held his sword high and his shield to the fore. He was charging across the snowy circle at someone. Memories flooded through Sheyreiza and her heart raced. He was charging her! This was the moment, this was his betrayal. This was when she had acted to stop the sacrifice of the strange drow woman to Shevaresh. This was when she had finally defied Jain’n, refusing to follow him silently though he would do honor to bloody Shevaresh. Sheyreiza raised her left hand instinctually as if to shield off Jain’n’s blow but the blow never came. Hot anger flowed into her veings. The picture changed.
Jain’n stood atop a mound in the northern wastes. Sheyreiza knew his kin were buried beneath that mound. Her lover held a small child of dusky skin and light hair. It was their daughter, Shein’n. She was small, but a toddler. Sheyreiza was being banished from Lonelywood and had come to see Shein’n one last time and say good bye. She wanted to explain to Shein’n that she loved her and that she was leaving because of the spirits and Jain’n, not because she did not love Shein’n. She wanted her daughter to know she was not leaving willingly. Sheyreiza wanted her daughter to know she was loved.
The ancestors who were banishing Sheyreiza from Lonelywood and separating her from her daughter would not let her have even this simple accommodation. Using their powers, they pushed Sheyreiza from the woods before she could speak to her daughter. Sheyreiza did not even get to say a simple good bye. She was simply removed.
“Love made you weak.” The apparition whispered into Sheyreiza’s ear. “Love for that man cause you nothing but pain. Your love for him allowed him to use you. You loved him and he used to you bear him a child, and then he took that child from you and threw you away when he no longer needed you. Love made you weak. Love made you a fool.”
The vision of Lonelywood dimmed and something new formed in the beam. Sheyreiza saw the large room at the Burning Troll in Skullport where she had spent many an hour and cycle. In the vision, she lay upon a divan before a fire. Hartex was there as well, massaging her back and shoulders. She reached out to him and heard him moan. She aroused him, undressed him and then she walked away. She felt the surge of power and pleasure she felt as she watched an enraged Hartex stalk into the streets, swords in hand, killing anyone and everyone that crossed his path. How much blood flowed because of her little game? She saw a later encounter, Hartex mounting her in front of the fire in the patrol’s room at the Burning Troll. So skilled he was and not just at massage or lovemaking. The vision changed and she saw all those things she had obtained from Hartex through the power of his lust for her; he trained her, he protected her - he killed for her. Each vision caused a sensation in her body like the touch of a lover. Like the touch of Hartex.
The vision changed again and she saw herself naked with Jain’n. The picture merged and she was all that Jain’n had done for her out his lust; saving her from the dwarves, training her, giving her gifts and also killing for her. One by one she was taken through visions of all her lovers, all the men who had lusted after her and had done what she needed or what she wished because of it. There was the prisoner who had offered to help her escape when the Valsharess disappeared and the prison-castle came under attack. It was a brief affair, but his lust gave Sheryeiza the power to escape. Then there was the bald headed brute on the Darklake. He was the most despicable of all her lovers. It was an insult to her people to call that foul beast ‘drow.’ She wondered if perhaps his ancestors included humans or orcs. Or rothe. As they wandered for what seemed like ages on the Darklake she gave herself to him to prevent being raped by the entire crew of escapees. In so doing, she gained the brute’s protection and he saved her for last as they killed the others one by one for food. She had worshipped Kiaransalee then and had at her beck and call a shadow. The brute had not known this, and when the time came that his hunger outweighed his lust, Sheyreiza’s shadow had helped her overcome him. Until then, however, the brute’s lust had helped her avoid being raped, killed and eaten. There was also Gryndal Xiith, her young convert in the Promenade. His lust flattered her, made her feel strong. There was more to it though – there was purity and strength to Gryndal’s new found faith and Sheyreiza used his lust for her to draw that out.
As the visions displayed her past lovers Sheyreiza realized they all something in common: each of them had power that she wanted. At Zhennu Orbb, Hartex had the power to make her peers thing twice before trying to undermine her. At the dungeons, her fellow prisoner had the power to set her free. On the Darklake, the stinking brute had the power to keep her alive and keep her from getting raped. In Skullport, Hartex had the power to fend off their numerous enemies. On the surface, Jain’n had the power to release her from the dungeons of the dwarves and the webs of the Spider Queen. At the promenade, Gryndal had the power to re-inspire her faith. All had power and that was what had attracted Sheyreiza and all of it was made available to Sheyreiza through the power of their own lust for her.
For a brief moment Sheyreiza considered what [i:1jvv4zd4]she[/i:1jvv4zd4] was attracted to. The answer was simple and obvious; power. It was power that opened her legs to men, the weak need not try. She smiled to herself. It all made sense now. For most of her life she had fantasized not about handsome patrons with smooth skin, silken hair and muscular bodies, but about demons. Scaled, clawed, black-eyed beasts of terrible demeanor and horrifying [i:1jvv4zd4]power[/i:1jvv4zd4].
Each vision continued to give her greater and greater sexual arousal, as if each vision was a thrust into her by the very lover she was seeing. The pleasure she derived from each vision built up the feelings of the last, one after another. All of the visions were beautiful but she kept coming back to the time with Hartex in the Burning Troll. She remembered watching from the second floor window as he slew children in the streets. She was masturbating as he did. It was not the killing that excited her so much as the power she had exercised over him. She had caused that. Though she held no blade, she had killed all those people just the same. His lust for her had driven him into a killing frenzy. The thought of his excited her so much she came. A powerful orgasm swept through her body and though she tried to maintain her demeanor a soft cry of ecstasy escaped her lips.
The visions in the beam faded away as the wave of pleasure from the orgasm diminished leaving only a pleasant tingling sensation in Sheyreiza’s fingers, toes and nether region. “See what lust has done for you.” The apparition whispered, coming around to face Sheyreiza. “Lust made you strong. Lust gave you power. Love only made you weak.”
Sheyreiza nodded her understanding and agreement. “Lust is powerful. Love is foolish and makes one weak.”
The apparition smiled. “Now, tell me what you want.”
“To serve Lolth.” Sheyreiza replied dutifully.
With a smooth motion the apparition backhanded Sheyreiza across the face. “A worthy follower of Lolth’s has ambition.” The apparition snapped, her voice changing from smooth seduction to cold rebuke in an instant. “Have you no ambitions of your own?”
Sheyreiza put a hand to her mouth and felt blood flowing from her lip. “I have my own ambitions.” She snapped back petulantly. A moment ago she had felt on solid ground as she recognized the power of lust and the weakness of love. Now the apparition’s rebuke left her uncertain and doubting. She struggled for an answer to the question. “I will have my revenge. I will take my power. I will lead my people.” The words seemed right but the answer felt hollow.
“And if the Goddess does not help you?” The apparition asked.
“Lolth helps those who help themselves.” Sheyreiza replied.
The apparition smiled faintly. “Yes She does. Now we will look at your ambitions. I will show you what you [i:1jvv4zd4]could[/i:1jvv4zd4] be if you are found worthy.” Deep inside the blood red beam of light another vision took shape. Sheyreiza saw herself outfitted in the regalia of a Yathrin of Lolth. She approached an altar to the Goddess. Instead of praying, she disrobed. The shadow of a demonic figure appeared. Sheyreiza lay across the altar while other clerics of Lolth gathered round, also naked. The shadow of the demon fell upon her and she knew the demon was taking her there on the altar. She screamed in pain as the unseen demonic figure tore into her beautiful but delicate body. Her sister clerics cast healing spells to keep her alive as she was penetrated by the impossibly large and violent fiend. When the beast was done with her she was cast off the altar like so much refuse. Her sister clerics began dropping snakes upon her bloody, naked form as she writhed helplessly on the ground. The snakes covered her body completely. She screamed and screamed again as the snakes entered her in every way conceivable. Around this unholy, unnatural scene the other priestesses chanted. When they finished, the tide of snakes receded until only a handful were left. These remaining few had come together, their fanged, reptilian heads separate but their long sinuous bodies fused together halfway down their length. They had become a whip of fangs. Suddenly Sheyreiza realized she was witnessing her own initiation as a high priestess, a [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar[/i:1jvv4zd4], of Lolth. A wave of sexual arousal came over her at the thought of such success and power. A [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar[/i:1jvv4zd4]. The high priestesses were the undisputed rulers of drow society. While the arcanists challenged their spellcasting ability and the warriors challenged their martial prowess, no one challenged the raw power of the priesthood. The elite core of high priestesses held the power of life and death over all other drow at the behest of Lolth herself. They were the guides of the society and culture and the rest of the drow lived to serve them. Sheyreiza could be one. Sheyreiza [i:1jvv4zd4]would[/i:1jvv4zd4] be one.
“I will do anything and everything to achieve such heights.” Sheyreiza said aloud.
“This is but the beginning.” Said the specter of what Sheyreiza might have been.
The vision changed. Sheyreiza was adorned in the regalia of a high priestess and she sat upon a drift disc traveling in stately fashion through the streets of Ched Nasad. Surrounding her was an elite guard of female warriors. A vanguard of male warriors and heralds cleared the path before her and a larger body of warriors and wizards trailed behind. She was not just a high priestess, she was an [i:1jvv4zd4]Ilharess[/i:1jvv4zd4], a Matron Mother. She was the Ilharess of Qu’ellar Auvryndar.
The vision was so powerful, so arousing, Sheyreiza came again. Her one eye rolled up into her head momentarily as the orgasm rolled through her body. She nearly fell but by shear force of will, kept herself up.
The vision was not over however. The drift disc procession came to a halt at the doors of the ruling council’s chamber. Sheyreiza and an honor guard approached and entered. This was to be expected; Qu’ellar Auvryndar was the fourth house of the city and thus had the fourth seat on the ruling council. In the vision, Sheyreiza did not stop at the fourth seat however, she continued to the head of the table where the Matron of the First House, Aunrae Nasadra, normally sat. No creature save the old Matron Yvonnel Baenre of Menzoberranzan, who lived for perhaps 2,500 years, ever held such power or undisputed rulership in Lolthian drow society as Aunrae Nasadra. Aunrae’s word was law and her rule was undisputed.
In the vision Sheyreiza sat in the First Chair and suddenly Sheyreiza knew Aunrae’s rule was [i:1jvv4zd4]over[/i:1jvv4zd4]. The Sheyreiza of the vision was First Matron of the City, Qu’ellar Auvryndar was First House of the City. Matron Sheyreiza smiled and showed long slender fangs at her canines. A group of noble drow approached the throne. At their lead was a high priestess and she was followed by several other priestesses as well as male warriors and wizards. They all bowed in respect to Matron Sheyreiza, the lead high priestess bowing deepest of all. When the high priestess looked up, Sheyreiza recognized her; the high priestess was her daughter, Shein’n, as an adult. [i:1jvv4zd4]Shein’n would come to Lolth.[/i:1jvv4zd4] The other females and males behind the adult Shein’n were Sheyreiza’s other daughters and sons.
“I…” Sheryeiza blinked. “I am First Matron of the city? And I have stolen my mother’s gift? I am immortal?” Such an achievement was almost beyond imagination. House Nasadra had ruled Ched Nasad since its founding nearly 5,000 years ago. In this vision, however, Sheyreiza undid all that. Sheyreiza was the first Matron. Auvryndar was the first house. She had succeeded where all others of her city had failed for nearly [i:1jvv4zd4]five millennia.[/i:1jvv4zd4]
From off the dais Hartex chuckled. “You [i:1jvv4zd4]might[/i:1jvv4zd4] become First Matron, and you [i:1jvv4zd4]might[/i:1jvv4zd4] become immortal. But there are other ways of achieving immortality than your mother’s vampiric blood. Better ways. That Baenre bitch lived for over 2,000 years.”
A vision of Matron Yvonnel’s weathered, lined face came into her head. “Matron Baenre was a hag though. She lived long, but she aged poorly.”
Hartex smiled wickedly. “Yes, but [i:1jvv4zd4]you[/i:1jvv4zd4] do not have to. Look into the vision. Are you a hag like she was? Or are you beautiful? More beautiful than even now?”
He was right. In the vision she was not a hag, she was more beautiful than any drow female she had ever seen, Qilue Veladorn included. As visions of immortality, eternal beauty and total dominion ran through her mind a powerful orgasm swept through Sheyreiza’s body and sent her reeling off the dais. She stumbled on the gray stones as waves of pleasure rocked her; pleasure at the thought of such success, at the thought of such power, at the thought of her revenge upon anyone and everyone. Nothing could be better. Immortal, beautiful, [i:1jvv4zd4]powerful.[/i:1jvv4zd4] [i:1jvv4zd4]Lust and power.[/i:1jvv4zd4] Lust [i:1jvv4zd4]for[/i:1jvv4zd4] power.
With her orgasm fading Sheyreiza regained control over her body and staggered back to the light. She was smiling now at the tingling aftermath of her climax and her new epiphany about her own motivations. The specter gave her a fanged, knowing grin. “Now you have seen your possible future. I have no more visions to show you.”
Sheyreiza licked her wet lips and looked at the apparition with heavy lidded eyes. The orgasms had taken quite a toll on her and she looked not unlike she had in the vision when the demon had taken her. “You have shown me enough. You have shown me rise to rule my city. What more could there be?”
The specter of her alternate self walked by then paused. “There is one thing more.” The specter whispered. “[i:1jvv4zd4]Yorthae[/i:1jvv4zd4].” The specter let the word hang in the air and walked off the dais with a strut that made Ghenni’salla look like a heavy-legged dwarf.
Speechless, Sheyreiza turned to watch her go. [i:1jvv4zd4]Yorthae[/i:1jvv4zd4]? Sheyreiza knew the word. It was from High Drow, the language used primarily by priestesses in their rituals. It referred to the Chosen of Lolth. No Yorthae had existed in centuries, or perhaps even in Millenia. Indeed, Sheyreiza could not remember any tale that clearly identified any Yorthae in all history. Had there ever been one? Yvonnel Baenre, the Matron who had lived and ruled for over 2000 years had not be [i:1jvv4zd4]Yorthae.[/i:1jvv4zd4] Sheyreiza did not even recall Menzoberra the Kinless, the high priestess who had founded Menzoberranzan and ultimately, Ched Nasad, being labeled as Yorthae. Sure she must have been, but then, why had no one said so? Could this be Sheyreiza’s ultimate destiny? To be [i:1jvv4zd4]Yorthae[/i:1jvv4zd4]? To be the Chosen of Lolth?
The possibility was too much to consider seriously. Though possessed of a great ego, Sheyreiza dared not presume the specter was truly telling her she could be the Chosen of Lolth. It would be blasphemy to inquire about it or to even acknowledge the specter had said it.
Hartex approached the dais. “Your next judge is here.” He pointed to a figure emerging from the gray mists, a figure she recognized at once. It was Tanias. He was not clad in rags, like she had left him, but in supple leather armor. There was no burn from where she had slapped his jaw with her blade. This was not his physical body, but something else. It was his soul perhaps or maybe just a clever illusion.
The pseudo Tanias walked directly up to Sheyreiza. “I have but one question for you mother.” He said. “If neither of us had fled our house as heretics, would you have ever cared for me more than you care for any other male of the house?” He narrowed his eyes and leaned in closely. “Speak the truth mother, for I will know truth from lie.”
His question hit Sheyreiza hard as did his admonition to tell the truth. Did he want her to say she loved him? Was his soul looking for a mother’s love? It would have been easy to say she loved him but that would be a lie. And what if this was not Tanias’ soul, or what if Lolth was really behind this as she seemed to be? No matter what Tanias might wish, Lolth would not want Sheyreiza to love him. It would be easy to say she never loved him, but that too would be a lie.
“The truth is I do not know.” She said slowly. “The moment when you were born, I looked into your eyes and saw something I had never seen before. I felt something I had never felt before. To call it love would be an exaggeration, but, under the right circumstances, it could have become love. At least, I think it could have. All I know of love is what I learned on the surface and most of that was a lie.” She bit her lip for a moment while she thought. “As for what I would have felt had we not fled the house, well, that depends. Had you proven yourself worthy, I would have felt pride at having given the House a valuable male. Had you proven yourself less than worthy, I would have felt shame and I would have felt the need to erase that shame by erasing you.”
Tanias’ nodded ever so slightly. “You’re answer is perfectly you, mother.” Without another word he turned and walked away to join Hartex and the specter of the alternate Sheyreiza by the edge of the mist. Hartex smiled briefly at Tanias, then looked to the beam of red light behind Sheyreiza and nodded. “Your last judge is here.”
Sheyreiza turned to the light. A small figure, a child, toddled out of the light. It was a very young girl, perhaps four or five years old. Upon seeing Sheyreiza it smiled and ran to her. “Mother!” The child was Shein’n, Sheyreiza’s daughter by Jain’n. She looked different than she had when Sheyreiza last in Lonelywood. Her dusky skin was black now and her straw colored hair had turned white. She looked purely drow. Shein’n jumped into Sheyreiza’s arms and began kissing her. “Mother, I missed you so much!” Shein’n said. “Where have you been? Daddy says you were bad and you had to go but I miss you. I love you mother, even though daddy says I shouldn’t. And I know you love me too.”
A bolt of heartache tore through Sheyreiza but her mind clamped down on it in a split second. Sheyreiza knew she could bear this child no love now even though she had before. She had to reject the child. No, she had to do worse. She had to cause the child harm. She had to do the worst thing she possibly could to Shein’n; she had to damn her. Anything less than the worst would not be enough for Lolth and it was Lolth Sheyreiza had to please now, not her daughter.
Sheyreiza pulled Shein’n off of her and set her down. “Why are you here?” Shein’n asked taking Sheyreiza’s hands into her own. “I do not like this place. I do not like those people over there.” She said, nodding to Hartex, Tanias and Sheyreiza’s alternate apparition. “Why did you bring me here?”
Kneeling before the girl Sheyreiza spoke as emotionlessly as she could. “I am going to teach you Shein’n. I have much to teach you. I will come for you and I will teach you all those things your daddy does not want you to know.”
“No.” Shein’n said simply. “You would teach me bad things. I don’t want to learn bad things. I don’t want to learn evil.”
“I will teach you, Shein’n.” Sheyreiza said coldly.
Shein’n smiled. “No you won’t. You won’t do that. That would hurt me and you would not hurt me. You love me.”
“I do not love you Shein’n,” Sheyreiza asserted, “I have no feelings for you.”
Shein’n’s beautiful eyes suddenly lost their innocent youth and gained a wisdom far beyond her years. “If you did not love me, if you had no feelings for me, [i:1jvv4zd4]I would not be here right now.[/i:1jvv4zd4]” The enormous truth of that statement hit Sheyreiza like a warhammer. She stood, gazing down upon the child, her mouth hanging open. “My soul has come because your feelings called it.”
Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes. “Then I shall kill those feelings. I will teach you the Way of Lolth. [i:1jvv4zd4]I will damn you[/i:1jvv4zd4]. Remember that.”
The child smiled at Sheyreiza’s threat. “No. I am not really here, just my soul is, and when I awake in the real world, I will not remember any of this.” The child let go of Sheyreiza’s hands and walked over to join the other three judges at the edge of the mist. “Hello brother.” She said to Tanias, who greeted her in return.
Hartex called out to Sheyreiza. “Are you ready to here the judgment?”
Hear the judgment? What tests had she faced? One question from Tanias? A brief encounter with Shein’n’s spirit? Hartex and her alternate apparition had asked nothing, they had only shown her visions. [i:1jvv4zd4]And that was their test.[/i:1jvv4zd4] She realized. Her response to those visions was her test. Her responses were not scripted, or even influenced by Lolth or the judges. Her responses were her own as was her hatred that fed her lust for revenge and power. This was from her. It was not a spell, a drug or the influence of this place; it was the darkness that lay in her soul. That darkness was not Lolth, that darkness was not her teachings, that darkness was nothing foreign at all; it was Sheyreiza’s own essence. Her soul, it seemed, was dark and her heart was black. This was what the visions revealed – those visions were not displayed for her benefit, they were shown to her a test of her soul. Would she feel a longing towards Jain’n – or hatred. Did she want a reconciliation – or revenge. Did visions of power scare her – or excite her.
Hatred. Lust. Power. Revenge. These were not just pillars of Lolth’s faith, these were what lay at the bottom of the dark well that was Sheyreiza’s soul. For better or worse, this was what she was. This was who she was. The visions had drawn that out. All she had to do was but choose to follow her natural inclinations.
“I am ready. Judge me.” Sheyreiza announced defiantly.
Chapter 13. The Spider's Web
Part 3 - The Test of Lolth[/b:1jvv4zd4]
In Silverymoon, Inthara went her morning preparations listlessly like an animated corpse shuffling through its master’s halls. She went outside to the small park and sat upon a bench there. She began to sing her song of lament again, not caring who heard or who watched. Off an on throughout the day she alternated between singing her grief and crying. When the song got too sad, she would bury her face in her knees and simply weep until she could sing again. Hour after hour passed in this way. The folk who lived near the gate, like Silin Klendry, could not help but take note of the beautiful, exotic creature who poured out her heartache with such anguish that they too felt it in their souls. The patrolling Spellguard and knights who had at first been distrustful of the drow were now moved nearly to tears by Inthara’s plight. There was nothing they could do though. Many would be lost in this war, indeed, many had already been lost. It was likely, they thought, that no one now living who remained living through this war would be untouched by the hands of Lady Loss. All would know grief, even if victory could be snatched from the shadows.
When the sun set Inthara finally rose and headed back into her room along the wall. She did not notice it, but the chain on which Sheyreiza’s holy symbol of Eilistraee hung had broken. The holy symbol fell from Inthara’s neck on to the grass and there it lay until the next morning when an entirely different drow would find it. Gryndal Xiith, now called Orthea’xiad, had come to Silverymoon.
***
The journey to Mantol Derith was a long and hard one and took many days. Sheyreiza did not restrain Tanias but neither did she arm or armor him. When there was fighting to do, she did it. Naturally, she could not travel day after day without rest. Though she was semi-aware in reverie, she knew only too well that one could still fall victim to treachery. Every time she sat down to rest she would enact a casting and pretend to invoke both the power of Eilistraee and of one of her rings. She said nothing of it, but the implication was clear – she was casting alarm spells and wards. For his part, Tanias did nothing to harm her. Whether he believed in her implied spells or believed she meant him no harm, one thing was for certain: she was a far better fighter than he was. Alone in the Underdark he stood little chance of ever making it to civilization again. With her, at least there was a hope of survival. All he had to do was give her the slip or kill her when they got to a sizable settlement. Well, assuming there was some way for him to avoid being enslaved. For the moment, being the prisoner of a moon-worshipper was not the worst fate that could befall a lone heretic drow in the Underdark.
As they traveled they occasionally spoke. Though reluctant to give any ground to Sheyreiza emotionally, she could tell he was coming to accept that she was in fact his mother. At first he used the word ‘mother’ sarcastically, but as the journey wore on it simply became what he called her. Sheyreiza would not have called his use of the term affectionate but it was no longer hostile either.
Skirting around Menzoberranzan they eventually came to the entrance of Mantol Derith. Entry into the trade enclave was made via a magic carpet that would levitate visitors up into the main cavern from the long trench below. To activate the magic carpet one had to know the secret word. Sheyreiza did not know the word but Tanias did. Frustrated with his mother’s inability to get the carpet to move or to get the password from the guards above he suggested they not even go.
“We have to go.” She said succinctly. “Our contact is there. Do you really want to travel the rest of the way on foot? Do you really want to brave the labyrinth?”
Tanias relented and gave her the password. They rode the magic carpet up into the great cavern of Mantol Derith under the watchful and suspicious eyes of the drow, duergar, svirfneblin, human and half-orc guardians who patrolled the edges of the trench. Sheyreiza informed him they would be posing as a traveling priestess and her servant. Tanias was skeptical, but he had little opportunity to object.
Mantol Derith’s main cavern was a roughly rectangular space, several hundred yards across on its long east-west axis, and perhaps two hundred yards across on its shorter north-south axis. It was divided by a 50’ wide trench running north-south. At the bottom of that trench, some 100’ below the main cavern, was the corridor where Tanias and Sheyreiza stepped onto the magic carpet. Above, in the main cavern, guards walked the edges of the trench always ready to repel unwanted guests from below. The four corners of the cavern were apportioned to the four main trading groups; drow, duergar, svirfneblin and surfacers. The drow occupied the northwest corner. There they traded drow-enchanted goods for slaves and luxuries not available in Menzoberranzan. Their enclave consisted of a market where the deals were done, a fortified warehouse built into the cavern walls, and a temple, also built into the cavern walls. South of the drow was the surfacer enclave. Here depraved humans, half-orcs and worse traded their kin into slavery and sold what other rarities they could gather from the surface above to the denizens of the Underdark. Their quarter was the least well guarded, the least disciplined and the most divided; it was also, however, the most populated by far; the only thing remotely resembling an inn was located in the south wall of this quarter. To the east of the surfacers was the Duergar enclave. Here the stout folk of Gracklstugh sold blades, armor plates and other metal goods, usually in bulk. Their biggest customers were the drow, who often traded for un-enchanted duergar weapons with duergar weapons they had enchanted. It was an efficient system; the duergar craftsmen might make and sell a handful of un-enchanted blades. The drow would buy these blades, enchant them, use some, and sell the remainder back to the duergar. Both groups also traded the raw materials necessary. The duergar were renowned as miners of course but the drow had their own sources of mithral and adamantine and were not above trading. In the northeast corner of the cavern stood the enclave of the svirfneblin. The deep gnome settlement had been here for ages and it survived the destruction of Blingdenstone. While the Matrons of Menzoberranzan exacted their revenge upon Blingdenstone, the drow Chief Negotiator of Mantol Derith was still bound by the rules of the enclave and by common sense. Accordingly she had made no move against the svirfneblin. Some say this was why she was poisoned. The svirfneblin, for their part, remained to trade despite the egregious harm done to their kin. After Blingdenstone was destroyed, a few survivors escaped to the surface and a few more fled deeper into the Underdark. These refugees still needed to trade however, and there was still a market for their gems and magic. The drow allowed the trade to continue though everywhere else they were hostile to the gnomes. Some said this was a sign of drow practicality. Others said it was simply the reality of Mantol Derith – though they were influential, the drow did not rule here.
As the magic carpet came to a stop Sheyreiza stepped off and started walking towards the drow quarter of the cavern. “Are you mad?” Tanias asked her in hushed but urgent tones. “Those are Lolthians over there.”
“I know.” Replied Sheyreiza. “I have to go check in with the high priestess however. How would it look if a Lolthian priestess, which I am pretending to be, did not check in with the temple when she arrived?”
Tanias’ eyes went wide. “The temple? You [i:1jvv4zd4]are[/i:1jvv4zd4] mad! I will not set one foot in that cursed place!”
“Yes, you will.” Sheyreiza informed him in a stern voice. “It would not do for my servant and battle-captive, you, to be parted from me. I am your mistress while we are here. If you wish to make it out of here alive and un-enslaved, you had best play your part well. If not, then we will surely end up on the slave auction block or the altar.”
The scar faced boy mumbled a curse and a protest but nodded his acceptance. Sheyreiza led him past the so called Mushroom Market where the H’tithet drow of Menzoberranzan carried on their trade, selling weapons, armor and other magics of the City of Spiders but no mushrooms. They passed into the temple and Sheyreiza was immediately assaulted by familiar smells long since forgotten; exotic incense, acrid brazier smoke, coppery blood, sweet perfumes. She flushed with the memories the smell brought on. How long since had set foot in a proper temple to Lolth? Ten years? More?
There was little time to reminisce however. A priestess in black and purple armor approached. In the four corners of the room, Sheyreiza could see warrior had already taken up firing positions. If things did not go well here, they were not likely to make it out alive. Such were the tests of Lolth.
“[i:1jvv4zd4]Vendui’[/i:1jvv4zd4]” Sheyreiza said in greeting. The priestess looked Sheyreiza over, her eyes pausing on Sheyreiza’s eyeless socket before dropping to the pommel of her sword. The silver pommel was engraved with the symbol of Eilistraee. “A trophy.” Sheyreiza said in attempt to cut off any inquiry.
“Of course.” The priestess replied with non-committed aloofness. Her gaze turned to Tanias who stood unarmed and fidgeting nervously. “Another trophy?”
Sheyreiza nodded. “Yes, in a manner of speaking.” Sheyreiza took the priestess’ measure. From her house symbol Sheyreiza could tell the woman was from House Faen Tlabbar of Menzoberranzan. She was not yet a high priestess, a [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar[/i:1jvv4zd4], she was but a priestess, a [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathrin[/i:1jvv4zd4], like Sheyreiza had been. Sheyreiza decided to treat her as an equal for the moment. “I am the Yathrin Elvaelayl Tlabbar. I have come to see the [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar.[/i:1jvv4zd4]”
“[i:1jvv4zd4]Vendui’ cousin[/i:1jvv4zd4].” The priestess greeted in return. “Elvaelayl is it? You have been missing a long time.”
Sheyreiza held up the house symbol she wore around her neck. “I have been serving with the Tanor’thal of Skullport and Karsouth’yl for some time now. It could not be avoided.”
“Of course.” The priestess smiled but there was no warmth or welcome in it. “I am Yathrin Yasharaya Tlabbar. Perhaps you remember me? I was much younger when we first met.”
“I do not remember.” Sheyreiza said, trying to play it safe and avoid getting caught in a lie.
“Too bad.” Yasharaya sighed, though there seemed to be little surprise or insult in her voice. “The [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar[/i:1jvv4zd4] Ghenni’salla Tlabbar, [i:1jvv4zd4]our[/i:1jvv4zd4] aunt, is in the temple. I will tell her you wish an audience.” The priestess looked over Tanias, admiring his form with a lascivious grin. “He is attractive. I can see why you kept him.” Sheyreiza frowned just slightly. “I’ll be back in a moment.” The Tlabbar Yathrin said with a little laugh. Sheyreiza had been told long ago by one of her Skullport entourage, Vel’meth Tlabbar, that the Tlabbar females were usually gifted with a wantonness that made succubi look like prudish hags. Yasharaya seemed to be a fine example of that overt sexuality.
Yasharaya signed to the guards who maintained their watchful vigilance upon Sheyreiza and Tanias. The drow trusted no one, least of all other drow. Satisfied the newcomers would be guarded, Yasharaya exited through iron doors to the temple. Sheyreiza slowly paced about the room taking in the tile mosaics along the walls which depicted various stories from the founding of Menzoberranzan, including the destruction of the eye-tyrant Many-Eyes, the defeat of the dwarven Black-Axe clan and the founding of the city itself by Menzoberra the Kinless. There was also a large statue of a slender, beautiful drow priestess who bore than just a passing resemblance to both Yasharaya and Sheyreiza, standing regally with sword outstretched. The attached plaque identified the statue as a commemoration of Yathtallar Ghenni’salla’s victory over the heretics here as well as her defeat of their legion of undead and fiends. Sheyreiza wondered how much of it was true. Regardless, it was clear this Ghenni’salla was a high priestess who enjoyed unchallenged dominion over this temple.
The portal to the temple opened and Yasharaya appeared. “The Yathtallar will see you now, [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathrin[/i:1jvv4zd4] Elvaelayl. Alone.” Yasharaya looked at Tanias. “I suppose he can stay with me for the moment.” The priestess smiled and looked at Tanias with undisguised lust.
Sheyreiza walked between the heavy metal doors of the temple’s portal and entered the chapel itself. Her heart raced as she took in the scene; a black altar sitting on a dais before a flame pit and a statue of the goddess. Eight braziers burning incense around the altar. Dark patches of dried blood from countless sacrifices stained the floor while the delicate white webs of spiders decorated the walls. A crimson pentagram was inscribed upon the floor below the altar dais and eight burning candles were set equidistantly upon its outer perimeter. Though not as grand in scale or as rich in appointments as the Qu’ellar Auvryndar temple, this place bore the same heavy, ominous feeling of dread and power. Here, the Goddess was strong and ever-present. This was Lolth’s consecrated ground. The altar called to Sheyreiza. She could feel its hunger. The altars of Lolth were bloody, ravenous things. The worship of Lolth called for frequent sacrifice and the plethora of temples in cities like Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan meant the cities had an insatiable appetite for sacrificial victims. Most were slaves, bought in markets like Mantol Derith, but some were drow. Of those, a few were battle captives, but the bulk of the drow to be placed upon Lolth’s altars were culled from the city’s native population. Because of the high demand for sacrifices, virtually any crime could land the offender upon the altar. Indeed, often it seemed as if the high priestesses fabricated crimes and offenses so as to supply their need for victims. A high priestess unable to feed her altar with others would soon be feeding it herself at the hands of her ambitious subordinates. That hunger, that drive to feed the altar, to sacrifice lives and souls to Lolth, this was the very pulse of drow society and no where did Sheyreiza feel it as strongly as she did when in the presence of a consecrated altar. The altar was not a living thing. It was not an animated magical construct. It was simply decorated stone. The more elaborate altars of the powerful houses were enchanted to capture souls, but even then, the altars themselves were simply enchanted stone. Still, the mere sight of one evoked the sense of hunger that Lolth’s church had; Lolth would have her meat and her meat was lives and souls. The altars were her mouths and the bitch was eternally hungry.
A lone figure kneeled before the dark, sanguine, altar. The figure’s form was largely obscured by a glittering dark blue piwafi cloak that resembled the morning sky just before dawn, but under the rich piwafi Sheyreiza could tell it was a female. Long white hair streamed down her back across the dark sky of her cloak like a wayward cloud. There was the slightest tinkle of jewelry as the figure stood.
Sheyreiza kneeled on one knee and made an obeyance to the altar. “[i:1jvv4zd4]Malla tlu Lolth.[/i:1jvv4zd4]” She said aloud. Honor to Lolth. She bowed her head to the figure at the altar. “[i:1jvv4zd4]Vendui’ malla Yathtallar.[/i:1jvv4zd4]” Greetings honored high-priestess.
“Rise.” The figure commanded.
“I am …” Sheyreiza started, but the figure interrupted her.
“Did you bring the heretic leader with you?” The Yathtallar asked.
Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed. “You know of this?” Sheyreiza responded, her surprise evident in her voice.
The figure at the altar whirled to face Sheyreiza. The high priestess was a tall, slender drow of uncommon beauty – not unlike Sheyreiza. Years ago Sheyreiza had taken the form of Elvaelayl Tlabbar, a tall slender beauty of Qu’ellar Faen Tlabbar. Looking upon the high priestess was not unlike looking into a mirror, though in this case, it was a very deadly mirror. The high priestess was dressed in blue-lacquered armor that matched her deep blue eyes. The armor’s revealing cut denoted it as ceremonial; it was far more provocative than protective. Still, Sheyreiza did not doubt it was highly enchanted and capable of turning most blades in those places the armor [i:1jvv4zd4]did[/i:1jvv4zd4] cover. In her right hand the high priestess held a coiled whip whose barbed lash ended in a dagger-like knife. In her other hand she held a longsword sheathed in a jewel encrusted scabbard. Sparkling gems, intricate pendants and fine platinum jewelry hung from the woman’s ears, neck and hair. Sheyreiza admired her style, beauty and wealth. A pang of jealousy mixed with the anxiety that now grew in Sheyreiza’s breast. She wished for such regalia as much as she feared the process of getting it.
“Of course I know.” The woman snapped. “I am the high priestess here? Do you not think I know what goes on in my temple?”
Sheyreiza bowed her head deeply. “My apologies [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar.[/i:1jvv4zd4]”
The high priestess seemed to relax a bit. “I am Yathtallar Ghenni’salla Tlabbar, and I know why you are here, [i:1jvv4zd4]Sheyreiza Auvryndar[/i:1jvv4zd4].” The high priestess paused for effect. “[i:1jvv4zd4]Heretic.[/i:1jvv4zd4]” Ghenni’salla nearly spat as she said the word. Sheyreiza’s blood ran cold. She knew the moment of revelation would have to come, but here it was – she stood now before a Yathtallar, a high priestess of the cruelest and most fickle goddess there was – as a heretic seeking redemption. “You will have your chance.” The high priestess said as if reading Sheyreiza’s mind and fears. “You will have it because Lolth says you will have it. If you fail however…” The high priestess did not need to finish her sentence. “We will prepare the male. You prepare yourself. Remove your weapons, armor and other things. You will meet the Goddess’ judgment naked. You are to pray, there, in the center of the pentgram. When you have made your prayers, you are to take reverie there.”
Sheyreiza nodded her understanding.
The high priestess walked to the doors of the temple with a confident strut that made Sheyreiza love her and hate her at the same time. She wanted that power. She needed that power. She would [i:1jvv4zd4]have[/i:1jvv4zd4] that power.
“I will be informing Tanias that he is to be sacrificed by you.” Ghenni’salla said before leaving.
Again Sheyreiza nodded. “Good, he should know what is going to happen to him.”
Ghenni’salla glared at Sheyreiza. “The male should only know what Lolth deigns for him to know and only that.” The high priestess snapped.
Rebuked, Sheyreiza bowed her head. “Of course [i:1jvv4zd4]malla Yathtallar[/i:1jvv4zd4].” Ghenni’salla scowled at Sheyreiza for a moment, then turned and left leaving Sheyreiza in alone in the temple. Slowly and deliberately Sheyreiza disarmed and disrobed. She set her things in neat piles around her in the pentagram. Her sword she drew from its sheath and lay on her right side. Her fang-shield she lay to her left. Before her, she piled her armor, with the engraved breast plate on top. Behind her she placed the satchel that contained her vials of potions. She had to follow the high priestess’ instructions but she did not have to do so blindly or stupidly. Unless Ghenni’salla directed otherwise, Sheyreiza would sit in the pentagram naked but keep her weapons, armor and enchantments close at hand.
Folding her long, shapely legs beneath her, she sat amidst her possessions in the center of the magic circle. Black candles burned slowly around her and the smell of incense filled her head. She closed her eyes and began praying silently to Lolth. As she did she focused her thoughts outward searching for the thread of elven consciousness that ran through the world unseen and unfelt by all but the Tel’Quessir. It was to this thread of consciousness that the minds of elves, fairy and drow alike, turned to in reverie. The thread touched all elves, but not all elves touched it in the same place or at the same time. Indeed, some elves were so separated from their kin that they never touched the greater consciousness at all, though it was around them just the same. Sheyreiza had often found it difficult to make contact with the greater consciousness and as a result frequently slept like a human rather than entering reverie like an elf. This time, she slipped from prayer into trance and found the thread easily. Or so she thought.
***
Sheyreiza stood atop a low dais set in a landscape of endless gray stone that stretched into opaque mists so similar in color the border between the two was lost to the naked eye. Though the dais and the stone appeared to be part of a cityscape, no sign of any city or settlement was present; just the slowly swirling mist. Though she had disrobed and disarmed when she knelt down in the temple, here, she was wearing her armor and in her hand was her sword. She narrowed her eyes as she often did, though one eye was missing. Something moved in the mist but it was just deep enough to be unrecognizable. Whatever it was, it was huge, perhaps the size of a surface dweller’s house. She stared deep into the mist trying discern the nature of the thing but it moved too quickly and was gone.
“Welcome,” said a voice behind her. The voice was male and familiar. Sheyreiza turned. A male drow came out of the mists. He was tall for a male, his long white hair pulled back from his face and tied securely so it would fall down his back. He was well muscled, though still slender and graceful, like a dancer. His features were sharp and his eyes sharper. Sheyreiza knew him at once, though she could not believe he was here.
“Hartex.” She said simply.
“Yes. Hartex. That was my name once.” He said thoughtfully. “I had almost forgotten.”
[i:1jvv4zd4]He is mad.[/i:1jvv4zd4] Sheyreiza thought.
“Thank you for reminding me.” He smiled. “Time does not flow in the abyss as it does in your world. It has been an age since anyone called me by my mortal name.”
“The abyss? Then you are dead?”
Hartex voice filled with menace. “Do you not remember leaving me to die in Skullport, Sheyreiza? Do you not remember sacrificing me to the Skulls to cover for your crimes?”
“I thought you escaped that fire.” Sheyreiza’s eyes widened a bit. This was one soul she would have rather not had to meet, but it was just like Lolth to arrange a meeting between murderer and victim.
He tilted his head. “Did I? I seem to remember dying there.” He paused and looked down for a moment in thought. “No matter.” He shrugged. “I am dead now.”
“Good.” Sheyreiza said. It was probably not wise to taunt him, but she was glad he was dead and such joy at the suffering and loss of another was something Lolth would like.
“In life, I served you Yathrin.” Hartex said resuming his pacing. “In death I serve Her. Red eyes devoid of any warmth, feeling or soul looked Sheyreiza over with undisguised malice. “You are to be judged Sheyreiza.” Hartex announced. “I will be one of your judges. There will be three others. They will each be along in turn.” He resumed his pacing around her, looking over her naked form as if appraising a brothel slave. His gaze initially made Sheyreiza shrink, but she rose to the moment. She arched her back and held her head high. She was [i:1jvv4zd4]no[/i:1jvv4zd4] brothel slave. She was a priestess and she would not be cowed by some specter from her past. “Each of your judges will ask you questions.” He informed her. “They will test you. Then they will judge you. These judges will determine if you are worthy to return to Her or not. Do you understand what I have explained to you?”
“[i:1jvv4zd4]Xas.[/i:1jvv4zd4]” Sheyreiza replied defiantly. [i:1jvv4zd4]Hatred, power, lust and revenge.[/i:1jvv4zd4] Two of these she desired. Two filled her soul. “Let me be tested. Let me be judged.”
“As you wish.” Hartex smiled. Hartex strode purposefully up to the dais. A beam of light the shade of fresh blood appeared beside Sheyreiza. Hartex held out a hand to it. Now, meet your next judge.” Hartex gestured to the red beam and figure appeared in the light; a female drow in the regalia of a high priestess. She was beautiful. In fact, she was more beautiful than any female drow Sheyreiza had ever seen save perhaps Qilue Veladorn. This woman’s beauty was not the celestial, silver-haired deific beauty of the Chosen of Eilistraee however. This woman was predatory. [i:1jvv4zd4]Feral.[/i:1jvv4zd4] She was the animosity and vengeance of the drow come to life. Her ruby red eyes were the eyes of a fiend, though a spectacularly beautiful one. Her face, her skin, her entire appearance was flawless but held such menace that even the bravest, most ardent admirer would have feared laying with the object of his admiration. There was a familiarity to her though. The line of her nose, the set of her jaw, the cut of her hair, all these things struck familiar chords in Sheyreiza’s mind.
“She is you.” Hartex said simply, answering the question in Sheyreiza’s head. “She is you as you should have been. She is you as you [i:1jvv4zd4]would[/i:1jvv4zd4] have been had you not turned from Lolth.” Hartex turned to look Sheyreiza in the eye and laughed. “If you are found unworthy, she will subsume all that you are and she will replace you.” This thought clearly amused him. Hartex stepped off the dais and walked a few yards away near where the circle of Sheyreiza’s sight ended and the swirling mists began.
The woman in the light stepped toward Sheyreiza and smiled. Delicate fangs framed her seductive smile. Sheyreiza’s eyes widened. This woman was familiar because she was Sheyreiza as Sheyreiza used to be – this was Sheyreiza’s original body, the one she had given up in Skullport when she took the form of Elvaelayl Tlabbar. Only this woman before her was not quite the same. Sheyreiza had been attractive, even beautiful, but not like this; this woman was Sheyreiza’s old form perfected as if sculpted by the hand of Lolth herself. This creature was the very embodiment of what Sheyreiza had once hoped to be. To aspire to such perfection now seemed a folly. To see the lost opportunity this woman represented sent pain stabbing through Sheyreiza’s chest. Could she really have been this woman? Could she really have achieved such malign perfection? Had she really lost such an opportunity?
The apparition of Sheyreiza’s alternate self slid an arm around Sheyreiza’s waist. She leaned in close as one might with a lover. Sheyreiza could smell her and feel her heat. The apparition brushed her lips across Sheyreiza’s cheek and ear sending a bolt of electric sensuality through her. “I am going to show you something.” The apparition purred. “I am going to show you the power of lust. I am going to show you that lust is more powerful than love and that love does nothing but make you weak.” The apparition slid behind Sheyreiza, her arm still wrapped Sheyreiza’s waist, her lips still gently brushing Sheyreiza’s ear. “Gaze into the light,” she whispered, “if you dare, and I will show you the power of lust and the weakness of love through your own past.”
With a brief scowl, Sheyreiza turned to face the sanguine beam. A light appeared deep with in the shaft as if far, far away. It grew larger, as if coming closer and Sheryeiza saw it was growing to form a picture. The picture was bright, almost too bright to look at. Sheyreiza squinted with her one good eye and kept her focus on the expanding light. Through the glare she could see a snow covered landscape. It was, if she was not mistaken, the far north. It was Lonelywood. Rocks appeared in the picture and then trees. Sheyreiza recognized the sacred circle of Lonelywood. A figure coalesced. It was Jain’n, her former lover. He held his sword high and his shield to the fore. He was charging across the snowy circle at someone. Memories flooded through Sheyreiza and her heart raced. He was charging her! This was the moment, this was his betrayal. This was when she had acted to stop the sacrifice of the strange drow woman to Shevaresh. This was when she had finally defied Jain’n, refusing to follow him silently though he would do honor to bloody Shevaresh. Sheyreiza raised her left hand instinctually as if to shield off Jain’n’s blow but the blow never came. Hot anger flowed into her veings. The picture changed.
Jain’n stood atop a mound in the northern wastes. Sheyreiza knew his kin were buried beneath that mound. Her lover held a small child of dusky skin and light hair. It was their daughter, Shein’n. She was small, but a toddler. Sheyreiza was being banished from Lonelywood and had come to see Shein’n one last time and say good bye. She wanted to explain to Shein’n that she loved her and that she was leaving because of the spirits and Jain’n, not because she did not love Shein’n. She wanted her daughter to know she was not leaving willingly. Sheyreiza wanted her daughter to know she was loved.
The ancestors who were banishing Sheyreiza from Lonelywood and separating her from her daughter would not let her have even this simple accommodation. Using their powers, they pushed Sheyreiza from the woods before she could speak to her daughter. Sheyreiza did not even get to say a simple good bye. She was simply removed.
“Love made you weak.” The apparition whispered into Sheyreiza’s ear. “Love for that man cause you nothing but pain. Your love for him allowed him to use you. You loved him and he used to you bear him a child, and then he took that child from you and threw you away when he no longer needed you. Love made you weak. Love made you a fool.”
The vision of Lonelywood dimmed and something new formed in the beam. Sheyreiza saw the large room at the Burning Troll in Skullport where she had spent many an hour and cycle. In the vision, she lay upon a divan before a fire. Hartex was there as well, massaging her back and shoulders. She reached out to him and heard him moan. She aroused him, undressed him and then she walked away. She felt the surge of power and pleasure she felt as she watched an enraged Hartex stalk into the streets, swords in hand, killing anyone and everyone that crossed his path. How much blood flowed because of her little game? She saw a later encounter, Hartex mounting her in front of the fire in the patrol’s room at the Burning Troll. So skilled he was and not just at massage or lovemaking. The vision changed and she saw all those things she had obtained from Hartex through the power of his lust for her; he trained her, he protected her - he killed for her. Each vision caused a sensation in her body like the touch of a lover. Like the touch of Hartex.
The vision changed again and she saw herself naked with Jain’n. The picture merged and she was all that Jain’n had done for her out his lust; saving her from the dwarves, training her, giving her gifts and also killing for her. One by one she was taken through visions of all her lovers, all the men who had lusted after her and had done what she needed or what she wished because of it. There was the prisoner who had offered to help her escape when the Valsharess disappeared and the prison-castle came under attack. It was a brief affair, but his lust gave Sheryeiza the power to escape. Then there was the bald headed brute on the Darklake. He was the most despicable of all her lovers. It was an insult to her people to call that foul beast ‘drow.’ She wondered if perhaps his ancestors included humans or orcs. Or rothe. As they wandered for what seemed like ages on the Darklake she gave herself to him to prevent being raped by the entire crew of escapees. In so doing, she gained the brute’s protection and he saved her for last as they killed the others one by one for food. She had worshipped Kiaransalee then and had at her beck and call a shadow. The brute had not known this, and when the time came that his hunger outweighed his lust, Sheyreiza’s shadow had helped her overcome him. Until then, however, the brute’s lust had helped her avoid being raped, killed and eaten. There was also Gryndal Xiith, her young convert in the Promenade. His lust flattered her, made her feel strong. There was more to it though – there was purity and strength to Gryndal’s new found faith and Sheyreiza used his lust for her to draw that out.
As the visions displayed her past lovers Sheyreiza realized they all something in common: each of them had power that she wanted. At Zhennu Orbb, Hartex had the power to make her peers thing twice before trying to undermine her. At the dungeons, her fellow prisoner had the power to set her free. On the Darklake, the stinking brute had the power to keep her alive and keep her from getting raped. In Skullport, Hartex had the power to fend off their numerous enemies. On the surface, Jain’n had the power to release her from the dungeons of the dwarves and the webs of the Spider Queen. At the promenade, Gryndal had the power to re-inspire her faith. All had power and that was what had attracted Sheyreiza and all of it was made available to Sheyreiza through the power of their own lust for her.
For a brief moment Sheyreiza considered what [i:1jvv4zd4]she[/i:1jvv4zd4] was attracted to. The answer was simple and obvious; power. It was power that opened her legs to men, the weak need not try. She smiled to herself. It all made sense now. For most of her life she had fantasized not about handsome patrons with smooth skin, silken hair and muscular bodies, but about demons. Scaled, clawed, black-eyed beasts of terrible demeanor and horrifying [i:1jvv4zd4]power[/i:1jvv4zd4].
Each vision continued to give her greater and greater sexual arousal, as if each vision was a thrust into her by the very lover she was seeing. The pleasure she derived from each vision built up the feelings of the last, one after another. All of the visions were beautiful but she kept coming back to the time with Hartex in the Burning Troll. She remembered watching from the second floor window as he slew children in the streets. She was masturbating as he did. It was not the killing that excited her so much as the power she had exercised over him. She had caused that. Though she held no blade, she had killed all those people just the same. His lust for her had driven him into a killing frenzy. The thought of his excited her so much she came. A powerful orgasm swept through her body and though she tried to maintain her demeanor a soft cry of ecstasy escaped her lips.
The visions in the beam faded away as the wave of pleasure from the orgasm diminished leaving only a pleasant tingling sensation in Sheyreiza’s fingers, toes and nether region. “See what lust has done for you.” The apparition whispered, coming around to face Sheyreiza. “Lust made you strong. Lust gave you power. Love only made you weak.”
Sheyreiza nodded her understanding and agreement. “Lust is powerful. Love is foolish and makes one weak.”
The apparition smiled. “Now, tell me what you want.”
“To serve Lolth.” Sheyreiza replied dutifully.
With a smooth motion the apparition backhanded Sheyreiza across the face. “A worthy follower of Lolth’s has ambition.” The apparition snapped, her voice changing from smooth seduction to cold rebuke in an instant. “Have you no ambitions of your own?”
Sheyreiza put a hand to her mouth and felt blood flowing from her lip. “I have my own ambitions.” She snapped back petulantly. A moment ago she had felt on solid ground as she recognized the power of lust and the weakness of love. Now the apparition’s rebuke left her uncertain and doubting. She struggled for an answer to the question. “I will have my revenge. I will take my power. I will lead my people.” The words seemed right but the answer felt hollow.
“And if the Goddess does not help you?” The apparition asked.
“Lolth helps those who help themselves.” Sheyreiza replied.
The apparition smiled faintly. “Yes She does. Now we will look at your ambitions. I will show you what you [i:1jvv4zd4]could[/i:1jvv4zd4] be if you are found worthy.” Deep inside the blood red beam of light another vision took shape. Sheyreiza saw herself outfitted in the regalia of a Yathrin of Lolth. She approached an altar to the Goddess. Instead of praying, she disrobed. The shadow of a demonic figure appeared. Sheyreiza lay across the altar while other clerics of Lolth gathered round, also naked. The shadow of the demon fell upon her and she knew the demon was taking her there on the altar. She screamed in pain as the unseen demonic figure tore into her beautiful but delicate body. Her sister clerics cast healing spells to keep her alive as she was penetrated by the impossibly large and violent fiend. When the beast was done with her she was cast off the altar like so much refuse. Her sister clerics began dropping snakes upon her bloody, naked form as she writhed helplessly on the ground. The snakes covered her body completely. She screamed and screamed again as the snakes entered her in every way conceivable. Around this unholy, unnatural scene the other priestesses chanted. When they finished, the tide of snakes receded until only a handful were left. These remaining few had come together, their fanged, reptilian heads separate but their long sinuous bodies fused together halfway down their length. They had become a whip of fangs. Suddenly Sheyreiza realized she was witnessing her own initiation as a high priestess, a [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar[/i:1jvv4zd4], of Lolth. A wave of sexual arousal came over her at the thought of such success and power. A [i:1jvv4zd4]Yathtallar[/i:1jvv4zd4]. The high priestesses were the undisputed rulers of drow society. While the arcanists challenged their spellcasting ability and the warriors challenged their martial prowess, no one challenged the raw power of the priesthood. The elite core of high priestesses held the power of life and death over all other drow at the behest of Lolth herself. They were the guides of the society and culture and the rest of the drow lived to serve them. Sheyreiza could be one. Sheyreiza [i:1jvv4zd4]would[/i:1jvv4zd4] be one.
“I will do anything and everything to achieve such heights.” Sheyreiza said aloud.
“This is but the beginning.” Said the specter of what Sheyreiza might have been.
The vision changed. Sheyreiza was adorned in the regalia of a high priestess and she sat upon a drift disc traveling in stately fashion through the streets of Ched Nasad. Surrounding her was an elite guard of female warriors. A vanguard of male warriors and heralds cleared the path before her and a larger body of warriors and wizards trailed behind. She was not just a high priestess, she was an [i:1jvv4zd4]Ilharess[/i:1jvv4zd4], a Matron Mother. She was the Ilharess of Qu’ellar Auvryndar.
The vision was so powerful, so arousing, Sheyreiza came again. Her one eye rolled up into her head momentarily as the orgasm rolled through her body. She nearly fell but by shear force of will, kept herself up.
The vision was not over however. The drift disc procession came to a halt at the doors of the ruling council’s chamber. Sheyreiza and an honor guard approached and entered. This was to be expected; Qu’ellar Auvryndar was the fourth house of the city and thus had the fourth seat on the ruling council. In the vision, Sheyreiza did not stop at the fourth seat however, she continued to the head of the table where the Matron of the First House, Aunrae Nasadra, normally sat. No creature save the old Matron Yvonnel Baenre of Menzoberranzan, who lived for perhaps 2,500 years, ever held such power or undisputed rulership in Lolthian drow society as Aunrae Nasadra. Aunrae’s word was law and her rule was undisputed.
In the vision Sheyreiza sat in the First Chair and suddenly Sheyreiza knew Aunrae’s rule was [i:1jvv4zd4]over[/i:1jvv4zd4]. The Sheyreiza of the vision was First Matron of the City, Qu’ellar Auvryndar was First House of the City. Matron Sheyreiza smiled and showed long slender fangs at her canines. A group of noble drow approached the throne. At their lead was a high priestess and she was followed by several other priestesses as well as male warriors and wizards. They all bowed in respect to Matron Sheyreiza, the lead high priestess bowing deepest of all. When the high priestess looked up, Sheyreiza recognized her; the high priestess was her daughter, Shein’n, as an adult. [i:1jvv4zd4]Shein’n would come to Lolth.[/i:1jvv4zd4] The other females and males behind the adult Shein’n were Sheyreiza’s other daughters and sons.
“I…” Sheryeiza blinked. “I am First Matron of the city? And I have stolen my mother’s gift? I am immortal?” Such an achievement was almost beyond imagination. House Nasadra had ruled Ched Nasad since its founding nearly 5,000 years ago. In this vision, however, Sheyreiza undid all that. Sheyreiza was the first Matron. Auvryndar was the first house. She had succeeded where all others of her city had failed for nearly [i:1jvv4zd4]five millennia.[/i:1jvv4zd4]
From off the dais Hartex chuckled. “You [i:1jvv4zd4]might[/i:1jvv4zd4] become First Matron, and you [i:1jvv4zd4]might[/i:1jvv4zd4] become immortal. But there are other ways of achieving immortality than your mother’s vampiric blood. Better ways. That Baenre bitch lived for over 2,000 years.”
A vision of Matron Yvonnel’s weathered, lined face came into her head. “Matron Baenre was a hag though. She lived long, but she aged poorly.”
Hartex smiled wickedly. “Yes, but [i:1jvv4zd4]you[/i:1jvv4zd4] do not have to. Look into the vision. Are you a hag like she was? Or are you beautiful? More beautiful than even now?”
He was right. In the vision she was not a hag, she was more beautiful than any drow female she had ever seen, Qilue Veladorn included. As visions of immortality, eternal beauty and total dominion ran through her mind a powerful orgasm swept through Sheyreiza’s body and sent her reeling off the dais. She stumbled on the gray stones as waves of pleasure rocked her; pleasure at the thought of such success, at the thought of such power, at the thought of her revenge upon anyone and everyone. Nothing could be better. Immortal, beautiful, [i:1jvv4zd4]powerful.[/i:1jvv4zd4] [i:1jvv4zd4]Lust and power.[/i:1jvv4zd4] Lust [i:1jvv4zd4]for[/i:1jvv4zd4] power.
With her orgasm fading Sheyreiza regained control over her body and staggered back to the light. She was smiling now at the tingling aftermath of her climax and her new epiphany about her own motivations. The specter gave her a fanged, knowing grin. “Now you have seen your possible future. I have no more visions to show you.”
Sheyreiza licked her wet lips and looked at the apparition with heavy lidded eyes. The orgasms had taken quite a toll on her and she looked not unlike she had in the vision when the demon had taken her. “You have shown me enough. You have shown me rise to rule my city. What more could there be?”
The specter of her alternate self walked by then paused. “There is one thing more.” The specter whispered. “[i:1jvv4zd4]Yorthae[/i:1jvv4zd4].” The specter let the word hang in the air and walked off the dais with a strut that made Ghenni’salla look like a heavy-legged dwarf.
Speechless, Sheyreiza turned to watch her go. [i:1jvv4zd4]Yorthae[/i:1jvv4zd4]? Sheyreiza knew the word. It was from High Drow, the language used primarily by priestesses in their rituals. It referred to the Chosen of Lolth. No Yorthae had existed in centuries, or perhaps even in Millenia. Indeed, Sheyreiza could not remember any tale that clearly identified any Yorthae in all history. Had there ever been one? Yvonnel Baenre, the Matron who had lived and ruled for over 2000 years had not be [i:1jvv4zd4]Yorthae.[/i:1jvv4zd4] Sheyreiza did not even recall Menzoberra the Kinless, the high priestess who had founded Menzoberranzan and ultimately, Ched Nasad, being labeled as Yorthae. Sure she must have been, but then, why had no one said so? Could this be Sheyreiza’s ultimate destiny? To be [i:1jvv4zd4]Yorthae[/i:1jvv4zd4]? To be the Chosen of Lolth?
The possibility was too much to consider seriously. Though possessed of a great ego, Sheyreiza dared not presume the specter was truly telling her she could be the Chosen of Lolth. It would be blasphemy to inquire about it or to even acknowledge the specter had said it.
Hartex approached the dais. “Your next judge is here.” He pointed to a figure emerging from the gray mists, a figure she recognized at once. It was Tanias. He was not clad in rags, like she had left him, but in supple leather armor. There was no burn from where she had slapped his jaw with her blade. This was not his physical body, but something else. It was his soul perhaps or maybe just a clever illusion.
The pseudo Tanias walked directly up to Sheyreiza. “I have but one question for you mother.” He said. “If neither of us had fled our house as heretics, would you have ever cared for me more than you care for any other male of the house?” He narrowed his eyes and leaned in closely. “Speak the truth mother, for I will know truth from lie.”
His question hit Sheyreiza hard as did his admonition to tell the truth. Did he want her to say she loved him? Was his soul looking for a mother’s love? It would have been easy to say she loved him but that would be a lie. And what if this was not Tanias’ soul, or what if Lolth was really behind this as she seemed to be? No matter what Tanias might wish, Lolth would not want Sheyreiza to love him. It would be easy to say she never loved him, but that too would be a lie.
“The truth is I do not know.” She said slowly. “The moment when you were born, I looked into your eyes and saw something I had never seen before. I felt something I had never felt before. To call it love would be an exaggeration, but, under the right circumstances, it could have become love. At least, I think it could have. All I know of love is what I learned on the surface and most of that was a lie.” She bit her lip for a moment while she thought. “As for what I would have felt had we not fled the house, well, that depends. Had you proven yourself worthy, I would have felt pride at having given the House a valuable male. Had you proven yourself less than worthy, I would have felt shame and I would have felt the need to erase that shame by erasing you.”
Tanias’ nodded ever so slightly. “You’re answer is perfectly you, mother.” Without another word he turned and walked away to join Hartex and the specter of the alternate Sheyreiza by the edge of the mist. Hartex smiled briefly at Tanias, then looked to the beam of red light behind Sheyreiza and nodded. “Your last judge is here.”
Sheyreiza turned to the light. A small figure, a child, toddled out of the light. It was a very young girl, perhaps four or five years old. Upon seeing Sheyreiza it smiled and ran to her. “Mother!” The child was Shein’n, Sheyreiza’s daughter by Jain’n. She looked different than she had when Sheyreiza last in Lonelywood. Her dusky skin was black now and her straw colored hair had turned white. She looked purely drow. Shein’n jumped into Sheyreiza’s arms and began kissing her. “Mother, I missed you so much!” Shein’n said. “Where have you been? Daddy says you were bad and you had to go but I miss you. I love you mother, even though daddy says I shouldn’t. And I know you love me too.”
A bolt of heartache tore through Sheyreiza but her mind clamped down on it in a split second. Sheyreiza knew she could bear this child no love now even though she had before. She had to reject the child. No, she had to do worse. She had to cause the child harm. She had to do the worst thing she possibly could to Shein’n; she had to damn her. Anything less than the worst would not be enough for Lolth and it was Lolth Sheyreiza had to please now, not her daughter.
Sheyreiza pulled Shein’n off of her and set her down. “Why are you here?” Shein’n asked taking Sheyreiza’s hands into her own. “I do not like this place. I do not like those people over there.” She said, nodding to Hartex, Tanias and Sheyreiza’s alternate apparition. “Why did you bring me here?”
Kneeling before the girl Sheyreiza spoke as emotionlessly as she could. “I am going to teach you Shein’n. I have much to teach you. I will come for you and I will teach you all those things your daddy does not want you to know.”
“No.” Shein’n said simply. “You would teach me bad things. I don’t want to learn bad things. I don’t want to learn evil.”
“I will teach you, Shein’n.” Sheyreiza said coldly.
Shein’n smiled. “No you won’t. You won’t do that. That would hurt me and you would not hurt me. You love me.”
“I do not love you Shein’n,” Sheyreiza asserted, “I have no feelings for you.”
Shein’n’s beautiful eyes suddenly lost their innocent youth and gained a wisdom far beyond her years. “If you did not love me, if you had no feelings for me, [i:1jvv4zd4]I would not be here right now.[/i:1jvv4zd4]” The enormous truth of that statement hit Sheyreiza like a warhammer. She stood, gazing down upon the child, her mouth hanging open. “My soul has come because your feelings called it.”
Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes. “Then I shall kill those feelings. I will teach you the Way of Lolth. [i:1jvv4zd4]I will damn you[/i:1jvv4zd4]. Remember that.”
The child smiled at Sheyreiza’s threat. “No. I am not really here, just my soul is, and when I awake in the real world, I will not remember any of this.” The child let go of Sheyreiza’s hands and walked over to join the other three judges at the edge of the mist. “Hello brother.” She said to Tanias, who greeted her in return.
Hartex called out to Sheyreiza. “Are you ready to here the judgment?”
Hear the judgment? What tests had she faced? One question from Tanias? A brief encounter with Shein’n’s spirit? Hartex and her alternate apparition had asked nothing, they had only shown her visions. [i:1jvv4zd4]And that was their test.[/i:1jvv4zd4] She realized. Her response to those visions was her test. Her responses were not scripted, or even influenced by Lolth or the judges. Her responses were her own as was her hatred that fed her lust for revenge and power. This was from her. It was not a spell, a drug or the influence of this place; it was the darkness that lay in her soul. That darkness was not Lolth, that darkness was not her teachings, that darkness was nothing foreign at all; it was Sheyreiza’s own essence. Her soul, it seemed, was dark and her heart was black. This was what the visions revealed – those visions were not displayed for her benefit, they were shown to her a test of her soul. Would she feel a longing towards Jain’n – or hatred. Did she want a reconciliation – or revenge. Did visions of power scare her – or excite her.
Hatred. Lust. Power. Revenge. These were not just pillars of Lolth’s faith, these were what lay at the bottom of the dark well that was Sheyreiza’s soul. For better or worse, this was what she was. This was who she was. The visions had drawn that out. All she had to do was but choose to follow her natural inclinations.
“I am ready. Judge me.” Sheyreiza announced defiantly.
[b:f05ye3fh]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 13. The Spider's Web
Part 4 - Judgment of the Spider Queen[/b:f05ye3fh]
“I am ready. Judge me.” Sheyreiza announced defiantly.
Shein’n walked up first. She looked upon Sheyreiza with great sadness. “You would betray me to Her. You would give me to Her even though you know how bad that would hurt me. You would sell me into damnation for your own ends.” The girl-spirit wept. “It is my judgment that you deserve to serve the Spider Queen and be damned yourself.” As her judgment was pronounced, she began to fade into nothing. “Good bye mother.” Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes and steeled her heart. There would be no remorse, no regret, and no second thoughts. There would be only devotion to the Spider Queen. If that meant damning Shein’n’s soul to a fate worse than death, so be it.
Tanias was next. “Mother, you are a heartless, cowardly bitch more interested in saving your own skin than in the welfare of your children.” He spat. “It is my judgment that you are a perfect whore for the Spider Queen.” He turned on his heel and walked away. “I hope you rot in the demonweb for sacrificing me. You deserve it.”
The fanged apparition of Sheyreiza strutted her way up to the dais as Tanias disappeared. She looked ready to seduce or stalk Sheyreiza, perhaps both. “You are not perfect.” She said, smiling as she made her accusation. “There is a tiny spark of light in the depths of your black heart. Not like me. My heart is perfect. I am flawless. I am you perfected. I am the all the hatred in your soul. I am your lust for power. I am your lust for revenge. I am all these things without the rest that taints your soul. No love. No fear. No regret. No pain.” She laughed and the laugh was as cold and bitter as the winds of the far north. It sent a shiver down Sheyreiza’s spine. Ruby red eyes gleaming with the malice of fiends stared at Sheyreiza from the incomparably beautiful, predatory face. The apparition sighed. “But you have mastered it.” She said, not quite with admiration, but perhaps with respect. “You are no longer in its grip. Those feelings you have had, those weaknesses you bore, you have learned to use those to your advantage.” The apparition paused to look at Shein’n and Tanias. “You use them against your children.” Sheyreiza nodded. She [i:f05ye3fh]had[/i:f05ye3fh] used all she knew of love, friendship and good to lure Tanias to Mantol Derith. With Shein’n, here in this place, she had tried to lure her daughter into the servitude of Lolth, playing upon Shein’n’s motherly love. “You will be allowed to keep that knowledge so you can better use it against your enemies. So you can use it for Lolth.” The apparition stepped closer to Sheyeiza. “It is my judgment that you are worthy to serve our Queen.”
Before Sheyreiza could reply Hartex spoke. “And that is my judgment as well. You are fit to serve the Goddess again. You have passed the test [i:f05ye3fh]Yathrin[/i:f05ye3fh] Sheyreiza.” She turned to answer him but she felt something cold sweep over her. The apparition of her alternate self stepped [i:f05ye3fh]into[/i:f05ye3fh] Sheyreiza and she felt her merge with Sheyreiza’s soul. She was one with her future again. She [i:f05ye3fh]could[/i:f05ye3fh] be what she was supposed to be. She would be what she was supposed to be.
The gray mist nearby swirled faster, coalescing into a swirl of silken gray webs. The strange strand of webbing reached out from the mists and wrapped around Sheyreiza’s waist. Another swirl in the mist coalesced and that strand also reached out to Sheyreiza, this one wrapping around her legs. More strands formed, reached out and wrapped around her body. All around the dais intangible mist was becoming tangible webs. They came at her from all sides and from above as well. A sticky strand wrapped across her mouth. Another fell across her nose. Sheyreiza fought to control the panic rising within her. She was being cocooned, like a fly in a spider’s web. Strand after strand wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides and tying her sword to her bound legs. A strand fell across her eyes and she found it hard to seem. More strands came down upon her, crushing her, cutting off her sight and making it difficult to breath. She could not see clearly but something was moving around her. Whatever it was, it was large. She guessed it was whatever had appeared in the mist moving just beyond her sight when she first arrived. It was circling her now and fear coursed through her. She felt its cold, alien presence. Something reached up between her legs and entered her sex, but it did not stop. It stabbed into her, through her, lodging in her belly. She tried to scream but the scream was muffled by the webbing. Her body shook in pain and fear but there was nothing she could do; she was bound and impaled. Something hot and burning flowed from whatever had penetrated her. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she wished for unconsciousness or death. The pain spread from her loins and belly throughout her body. Tightly bound within her silken cocoon and impaled upon some monstrous needle, she writhed in agony as the burning pain consumed her. Her skin burned last, seeming to cook within the cocoon. It felt like the fireballs she had endured during the siege of the Promenade, though infinitely worse. She began to transcend the pain as it drove her mad. Her whole body was on fire, inside and out and there was nothing she could do so she did nothing. She simply screamed from inside her mind and gradually the pain lessened. Her skin tingled. Then her limbs. Soon the tingling spread throughout her body and finally to her loins. Whatever had impaled her was gone. The fire was gone. The pain of the wound was gone. She could feel herself changing, and oddly, she could feel the armor she wore and the sword she carried changing as well.
Something tugged at her and she realized the webs were being stripped off. Hartex came into view, huge strands of torn webbing in his hands. He was freeing her.
For a moment she left her body. She could see the scene from above like a spirit hovering over the corpse of its former shell on some foggy battlefield. Then she was looking through eyes again, though not her eyes. She was looking at a woman entombed in a cocoon of spider webs. It was the beautiful and terrible apparition of her alternate self, with its ruby eyes, perfect face, flawless skin, silken hair and purely predatory demeanor. A hand reached out, her hand, and pulled away webbing from the cocooned woman. Sheyreiza realized she was looking through the eyes of Hartex and that meant she was looking not at her apparition, but at her self. She had changed. The cocoon, the impalement, the fire burning her body – all of these had been her metamorphisis. Like a spider that had molted, she was wearing a new skin now. The skin of her apparition. The skin of Sheyreiza Auvryndar, [i:f05ye3fh]as sculpted and perfected by Lolth. [/i:f05ye3fh] Pride and joy filled her.
Her armor and sword had changed as well. The armor was still red and black, but the sloppy red lacquer was gone replaced by a perfect coloration that seemed to go deep into the very metal itself. It was as light as ever. The runes along the plate edges had changed. Gone where the graceful elven runes which spelled out hymnals of love to Lady Silverhair. They had been replaced by the runes of fiends from the abyss and they spoke of Lolth’s hatred, power, lust and vengeance. They spoke of Sheyreiza. On the breast plate her heraldry had changed as well. Gone was the sword wrapped in a rose standing before a crescent moon. In its place was a thorny rose, as wicked looking as it was beautiful, wrapped in the strands of spider’s web. Sheyreiza knew instinctively that this was who she was and who she was meant to be. She donned the armor piece by piece admiring its fit and form.
Her sword was gone. In her hand was a Morningstar with a handle made from a single great bone and a dark metal head that glowed with a malign power. Tiny abyssal runes were etched all around the head of the weapon. On the bone handle handle were similar etchings along with foul and obscene art.
She saw Hartex again. Her perception had reverted. He was standing before her, strands of torn webbing hanging all over him and piled at his feet. “You are free [i:f05ye3fh]Yathrin.[/i:f05ye3fh]” He said. She could see him perfectly. She had both her eyes again. Both of her ruby red eyes.
Sheyreiza could not help but laugh and her laugh was as cold and as wicked as that of her apparitions. Sheyreiza was indeed becoming what she could become; what she would become. She ran her tongue over her teeth but felt no fangs. It seemed there was still a ways to go. [i:f05ye3fh]Good.[/i:f05ye3fh] She thought. [i:f05ye3fh]I want more victories like this. More achievements. More power.[/i:f05ye3fh]
“I have one more gift for you.” Hartex said in low voice. “You need not take it, but if you do, you must agree to the price before I tell you what either the gift, or the cost, is.”
Ordinarily Sheyreiza would never enter such a bargain with anyone, let alone a demon, but this was no ordinary time. She was in Lolth’s favor – she would accept what ever Lolth was willing to give and she would accept whatever price Lolth wished to demand. “I will take the gift Hartex,” she said smiling, “and I will pay the price.”
He smiled in return. “Good. The gift is my service. The price is one child from your loins, sacrificed to me, every one hundred years. The child of yours that you sacrifice shall be used to form my body in your world. Also, you will be given the gift of a child from my seed. A further sacrifice will be required to initiate that.”
A half-fiend child was powerful gift indeed. Sheyreiza was aware that only the most blessed priestesses were gifted with demonic children, most commonly draegloths. Sheyreiza was not in the habit of trusting demons, but she somehow she knew most of what Hartex said was true. “How long will you serve me?” She asked, licking her lips playfully.
“I will serve you one year in every five, for so long as you keep making the sacrifices. Do you wish to see my true form now?”
“Of course. Very much so.” Sheryeiza replied.
“Very well.” Patches of Hartex’ skin began to lighten, and then erupt. It sloughed off in great, bloody wet pieces as the body beneath swelled ever larger. Limbs sprouted from his torso and his face ripped apart, the gory bits falling to the ground. Sheyreiza watched rapt in fascinated horror. In a few moments, the drow Hartex was gone, replaced by an enormous demonic spider.
“You have become a bebilith.” Sheyreiza said aloud. “Magnificent. That is a great reward. You are truly favored by Her.”
[i:f05ye3fh]Not just a bebilith, but a greater bebilith than any you have yet encountered. [/i:f05ye3fh] Replied Hartex’ voice in Sheyreiza’s mind. She reached out and stroked his legs with their stiff bristles and terrible hooked claws. She had felt such legs before on the creature she fought at the promenade. This was a powerful demon indeed, even if the boast about being a greater bebilith was but an empty boast. Any bebilith was a creature to be respected and feared. The giant spider began to dwindle. It shrunk and it changed shape. In mere seconds, the drow Hartex stood before her again.
“Is that as painful as it looks?” Sheyreiza asked.
“Everytime.” Hartex answered, though it was clear he did not care. “I cannot come into your plane without being summoned however, mistress. To summon me, you must perform a ritual. You will need the blood of a darthiir and the bones of a male. You must draw a pentagram with the blood, place the bones in the center of it, and then call me by my true name. When you do this, I will be able to come to your plane and serve you there.”
“Time for you to return to your son, Great Mistress.” Hartex said.
He called her ‘Great Mistress.’ Was it true? Did she really have a bebilith at her service? No, she had a [i:f05ye3fh]greater[/i:f05ye3fh] bebilith at her service! Truly she was favored by Lolth. Naturally, the bebilith would turn on her the moment she showed weakness or failed Lolth, but that was to be expected. So be it. Her reign as the demon’s great mistress might be long or it might be short, but it would be glorious.
“I will summon you soon then.” Sheyreiza purred. “And I can think of many ways you can serve me.”
The lust was clear in her eyes and her words. “Of course, Great Mistress. As you know, I am quite the talented masseuse and an even more talented lover.”
That was true, Sheyreiza knew. No lover she had lain with, not even Jain’n, had the physical skill Hartex had. He had been trained in the drow art of the deep rub massage and someone had also trained him in the art of sex. “I look forward to it.” She whispered.
“You flatter me, Great Mistress, but it is time for you to return.”
Mists gathered round both of them now and all went dark. When Sheyreiza could see again she was kneeling in the center of a pentagram in the temple of Mantol Derith, right where she had been when she had slipped into what she thought was reverie. [i:f05ye3fh]Had it been a dream?[/i:f05ye3fh] She wondered. She reached up and felt around her left eye socket. She had an eye. She looked down upon her naked body. Her long, sinuous tattoo of calcified webbing still wrapped sensuously around her limbs and body, but the body itself was not the one she had gone to reverie with. She now had the body of her apparition. She smiled and broke into a laugh. This was too wonderful to believe but it was true.
Acrid smoke tickled her nose and set her senses reeling. In front of her was her armor. It was no longer piled neatly like she had left it; instead, it sat upright, as if a person was sitting in it. Strange reddish smoke poured off of the metal as if it had just been dipped in some foul quenching pool after being forged. It was the armor she had seen in her vision. On the floor next to it lay the Morningstar she had seen. Her old sword was gone. Sheyreiza picked up the dark weapon and felt Lolth’s power flow through her. Its name came to her instinctively; [i:f05ye3fh]Lolth’s Blessing.[/i:f05ye3fh] Like her perfected form and armor, it was a gift from the Goddess herself. Sheyreiza slung the weapon from the sash that served as her baldric and retrieved the rest items from the floor.
Armed and armored, Sheyreiza stood looked about the temple. Ghenni’salla was watching her. “Make yourself ready.” The high priestess ordered. “I will bring Tanias in now.” Ghenni’salla walked to the metal doors of the temple and opened the portal. In the outer chamber, Yasharaya was naked, save for her jewelry and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her dark skin. She sat astride Tanias who was also naked and sweating. While the four chamber guards watched, the lusty priestess rode Sheyreiza’s son. Sheyreiza smiled. One of the guards made a noise with his throat and Yasharaya looked up smiling to see Ghenni’salla in the doorway.
“Bring the male in. Now.” Ghenni’salla commanded.
Yasharaya dismounted Tanias. The naked priestess’ grin went from playful to wicked. She signed to the four guards who came out of the corners and stood Tanias up. The guards dragged him into the temple where he saw Sheyreiza in her new guise. Though she had been re-formed by Lolth, this form was familiar to Tanias. “Mother?” He asked in shock. His face flushed and he looked at Sheyreiza adorned in her Lolthian regalia with mix of terror and hatred. “You bitch! I knew you lied, I knew it!” He struggled but he was already bound securely and in the grip of the four guards. Sheyreiza pointed to the altar. He kicked and cursed but the warriors did not let loose of him. Yasharaya threw on a black silk robe and joined Sheyreiza. There, the two women, aided by the guards, secured Tanias to the black stone with adamantine chains. When they were done Sheyreiza dismissed the warriors who left the temple area immediately. The rituals of Lolth were not for males to see except as sacrifices.
“Tanias,” Sheyreiza said looking down upon him. “You are right.” She explained. “I did lie, though not about all of it. I [i:f05ye3fh]am[/i:f05ye3fh] your mother and Hartex Claddath [i:f05ye3fh]is[/i:f05ye3fh] your father. The rest of what I said and implied, however, was a lie. Once I was a moon-worshipping heretic, but no longer. Once I meant to save you but that time has passed. Once I would have taken you to the Promenade, but now, I will send you to the demonweb. I wanted you to know this Tanias. I wanted you to know your mother is damning your heretic soul to Lolth’s hell.”
Rage and fear boiled in Tanias. “Go to the pits, whore!”
[i:f05ye3fh]I surely will,[/i:f05ye3fh] Sheyreiza thought, [i:f05ye3fh]but you will go first.[/i:f05ye3fh] Sheyreiza drew her sacrificial knife and carefully carved the symbol of Lolth on to Tanias’ chest above his heart. When she was done with her bloody etching, she began to chant the prayer of sacrifice in the abyssal tongue. Nearing the finish, she raised her dagger high with both hands, poised over the immobilized body of her son. As she invoked Lolth’s aid she looked down upon Tanias. For a moment his eyes changed. They became the eyes of the new born babe she had seen so long ago. They were the eyes of an innocent child. They were the first eyes Sheyreiza had ever seen that did not look upon her with fear, hatred, contempt or jealously. They were the eyes that first gave Sheyreiza a hint of something beyond the teachings of Lolth, something she would later learn was called love. They were the eyes that haunted her dreams these many years, staring at her helplessly as if to say, “Why didn’t you save me mother. Why didn’t you love me?”
As Sheyreiza looked into those eyes she completed the prayer of sacrifice. She did not hesitate or waver; she brought her knife down into Tanias’ chest. He screamed and she brought the knife down again. Reversing her grip on the bloody knife she began the process of removing his heart. Somewhere during that process Tanias’ screams faded to raspy, ragged breaths and then they too faded, this time into nothing. Tanias Auvryndar was dead at his mother’s hand. From his still warm chest Sheyreiza pulled his bloody heart.
“[i:f05ye3fh]Malla tlu Lolth![/i:f05ye3fh]” She cried, holding the organ up high. Flames erupted from the pit behind the altar and she cast the heart into it and the heart was consumed. A shadow appeared above the altar. It took the shape of a giant arachnid. The shadow was cold and otherworldly. Fiendish. At its darkest point the shadow coalesced into substance and the fore part of a bebilith descended from the ceiling of the temple. The demonic form sank its fangs into the body of Tanias and drained its blood. When the body was exsanguinated, the beast brought its wickedly hooked pedipalps to bear. Savagely it tore through the corpse’s flesh feeding the pieces into its obscene arachnid mouth. In moments all that was left were the bones. The forepart of the bebilith receded into the shadow on the ceiling and then the shadow faded into nothing.
“[i:f05ye3fh]Malla tlu Lolth.[/i:f05ye3fh]” Sheyreiza uttered. A beautiful, terrible, smile crossed her face. She knew what to do with Tanias’ remains. She cleaned out one of her satchels and put the still bones of her dead son into it. Tanias had served her well as a sacrifice and his bones would serve her well to summon the demon-spider Hartex had become. All she needed now was the blood of an elf.
“Congratulations, Yathrin Sheyreiza Auvryndar.” Ghenni’salla said with more than a hint of surprise and malice in her voice. “It seems Lolth has found you worthy. Welcome back.”
“[i:f05ye3fh]Bela’dos malla Yathtallar[/i:f05ye3fh].” Sheyreiza replied with a slight bow.
“[i:f05ye3fh]Malla tlu Lolth[/i:f05ye3fh]. The Dark Mother has truly favored you.” Ghenni’salla’s voice was laced with jealousy now. Sheyreiza could not help but be pleased. Ghenni’salla recovered quickly however. “You are not a Yathtallar yet, you are but a Yathrin; a Yathrin with business to attend to on the surface. Now, get out of my temple.”
Sheyreiza bowed deeply to Ghenni’salla and walked out with a strut that exuded a predatory confidence. She walked out the main doors into Mantol Derith’s main cavern and took a deep breath.
She had done it. She had returned to the Spider Queen's favor, and now it seemed, the Spider Queen favored Sheyreiza like she had favored few others. There was a price of course; along with the favor of the Spider Queen came the attention of the Spider Queen and no one could please that fickle bitch forever. Still, whether the end came sooner or later, the journey would be worthy of song and tale for millennia to come – it would be glorious and it would be bloody. Many were going to die. Many were going to suffer. With Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad’s help the shades might be defeated, but Lolth was going to exact a terrible price and not just of Sheyreiza; many would pay for the honor of Her aid.
Sheyreiza looked down upon the etched, spike head of her morning star. Yes, it would be a bloody ride; a very, very bloody ride. Sheyreiza was prepared, however. She felt a strong connection to her Goddess. She intoned the words to a spell she knew well. Lolth’s power coursed through her body and erupted from her fingers in the form of black flames which adhered to her morningstar’s head. Wrapped in darkfire, it was even more fearsome than before.
The new Sheyreiza, the more beautiful Sheyreiza, the more perfectly predatory Sheyreiza began to laugh and that wicked laugh sent shivers of fear through those that heard it even her jaded, depraved drow kin. The Goddess was with Sheyreiza, and any who heard her laugh that cycle felt Her power in their bones. A champion of the Spider Queen had been born.
Chapter 13. The Spider's Web
Part 4 - Judgment of the Spider Queen[/b:f05ye3fh]
“I am ready. Judge me.” Sheyreiza announced defiantly.
Shein’n walked up first. She looked upon Sheyreiza with great sadness. “You would betray me to Her. You would give me to Her even though you know how bad that would hurt me. You would sell me into damnation for your own ends.” The girl-spirit wept. “It is my judgment that you deserve to serve the Spider Queen and be damned yourself.” As her judgment was pronounced, she began to fade into nothing. “Good bye mother.” Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes and steeled her heart. There would be no remorse, no regret, and no second thoughts. There would be only devotion to the Spider Queen. If that meant damning Shein’n’s soul to a fate worse than death, so be it.
Tanias was next. “Mother, you are a heartless, cowardly bitch more interested in saving your own skin than in the welfare of your children.” He spat. “It is my judgment that you are a perfect whore for the Spider Queen.” He turned on his heel and walked away. “I hope you rot in the demonweb for sacrificing me. You deserve it.”
The fanged apparition of Sheyreiza strutted her way up to the dais as Tanias disappeared. She looked ready to seduce or stalk Sheyreiza, perhaps both. “You are not perfect.” She said, smiling as she made her accusation. “There is a tiny spark of light in the depths of your black heart. Not like me. My heart is perfect. I am flawless. I am you perfected. I am the all the hatred in your soul. I am your lust for power. I am your lust for revenge. I am all these things without the rest that taints your soul. No love. No fear. No regret. No pain.” She laughed and the laugh was as cold and bitter as the winds of the far north. It sent a shiver down Sheyreiza’s spine. Ruby red eyes gleaming with the malice of fiends stared at Sheyreiza from the incomparably beautiful, predatory face. The apparition sighed. “But you have mastered it.” She said, not quite with admiration, but perhaps with respect. “You are no longer in its grip. Those feelings you have had, those weaknesses you bore, you have learned to use those to your advantage.” The apparition paused to look at Shein’n and Tanias. “You use them against your children.” Sheyreiza nodded. She [i:f05ye3fh]had[/i:f05ye3fh] used all she knew of love, friendship and good to lure Tanias to Mantol Derith. With Shein’n, here in this place, she had tried to lure her daughter into the servitude of Lolth, playing upon Shein’n’s motherly love. “You will be allowed to keep that knowledge so you can better use it against your enemies. So you can use it for Lolth.” The apparition stepped closer to Sheyeiza. “It is my judgment that you are worthy to serve our Queen.”
Before Sheyreiza could reply Hartex spoke. “And that is my judgment as well. You are fit to serve the Goddess again. You have passed the test [i:f05ye3fh]Yathrin[/i:f05ye3fh] Sheyreiza.” She turned to answer him but she felt something cold sweep over her. The apparition of her alternate self stepped [i:f05ye3fh]into[/i:f05ye3fh] Sheyreiza and she felt her merge with Sheyreiza’s soul. She was one with her future again. She [i:f05ye3fh]could[/i:f05ye3fh] be what she was supposed to be. She would be what she was supposed to be.
The gray mist nearby swirled faster, coalescing into a swirl of silken gray webs. The strange strand of webbing reached out from the mists and wrapped around Sheyreiza’s waist. Another swirl in the mist coalesced and that strand also reached out to Sheyreiza, this one wrapping around her legs. More strands formed, reached out and wrapped around her body. All around the dais intangible mist was becoming tangible webs. They came at her from all sides and from above as well. A sticky strand wrapped across her mouth. Another fell across her nose. Sheyreiza fought to control the panic rising within her. She was being cocooned, like a fly in a spider’s web. Strand after strand wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides and tying her sword to her bound legs. A strand fell across her eyes and she found it hard to seem. More strands came down upon her, crushing her, cutting off her sight and making it difficult to breath. She could not see clearly but something was moving around her. Whatever it was, it was large. She guessed it was whatever had appeared in the mist moving just beyond her sight when she first arrived. It was circling her now and fear coursed through her. She felt its cold, alien presence. Something reached up between her legs and entered her sex, but it did not stop. It stabbed into her, through her, lodging in her belly. She tried to scream but the scream was muffled by the webbing. Her body shook in pain and fear but there was nothing she could do; she was bound and impaled. Something hot and burning flowed from whatever had penetrated her. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she wished for unconsciousness or death. The pain spread from her loins and belly throughout her body. Tightly bound within her silken cocoon and impaled upon some monstrous needle, she writhed in agony as the burning pain consumed her. Her skin burned last, seeming to cook within the cocoon. It felt like the fireballs she had endured during the siege of the Promenade, though infinitely worse. She began to transcend the pain as it drove her mad. Her whole body was on fire, inside and out and there was nothing she could do so she did nothing. She simply screamed from inside her mind and gradually the pain lessened. Her skin tingled. Then her limbs. Soon the tingling spread throughout her body and finally to her loins. Whatever had impaled her was gone. The fire was gone. The pain of the wound was gone. She could feel herself changing, and oddly, she could feel the armor she wore and the sword she carried changing as well.
Something tugged at her and she realized the webs were being stripped off. Hartex came into view, huge strands of torn webbing in his hands. He was freeing her.
For a moment she left her body. She could see the scene from above like a spirit hovering over the corpse of its former shell on some foggy battlefield. Then she was looking through eyes again, though not her eyes. She was looking at a woman entombed in a cocoon of spider webs. It was the beautiful and terrible apparition of her alternate self, with its ruby eyes, perfect face, flawless skin, silken hair and purely predatory demeanor. A hand reached out, her hand, and pulled away webbing from the cocooned woman. Sheyreiza realized she was looking through the eyes of Hartex and that meant she was looking not at her apparition, but at her self. She had changed. The cocoon, the impalement, the fire burning her body – all of these had been her metamorphisis. Like a spider that had molted, she was wearing a new skin now. The skin of her apparition. The skin of Sheyreiza Auvryndar, [i:f05ye3fh]as sculpted and perfected by Lolth. [/i:f05ye3fh] Pride and joy filled her.
Her armor and sword had changed as well. The armor was still red and black, but the sloppy red lacquer was gone replaced by a perfect coloration that seemed to go deep into the very metal itself. It was as light as ever. The runes along the plate edges had changed. Gone where the graceful elven runes which spelled out hymnals of love to Lady Silverhair. They had been replaced by the runes of fiends from the abyss and they spoke of Lolth’s hatred, power, lust and vengeance. They spoke of Sheyreiza. On the breast plate her heraldry had changed as well. Gone was the sword wrapped in a rose standing before a crescent moon. In its place was a thorny rose, as wicked looking as it was beautiful, wrapped in the strands of spider’s web. Sheyreiza knew instinctively that this was who she was and who she was meant to be. She donned the armor piece by piece admiring its fit and form.
Her sword was gone. In her hand was a Morningstar with a handle made from a single great bone and a dark metal head that glowed with a malign power. Tiny abyssal runes were etched all around the head of the weapon. On the bone handle handle were similar etchings along with foul and obscene art.
She saw Hartex again. Her perception had reverted. He was standing before her, strands of torn webbing hanging all over him and piled at his feet. “You are free [i:f05ye3fh]Yathrin.[/i:f05ye3fh]” He said. She could see him perfectly. She had both her eyes again. Both of her ruby red eyes.
Sheyreiza could not help but laugh and her laugh was as cold and as wicked as that of her apparitions. Sheyreiza was indeed becoming what she could become; what she would become. She ran her tongue over her teeth but felt no fangs. It seemed there was still a ways to go. [i:f05ye3fh]Good.[/i:f05ye3fh] She thought. [i:f05ye3fh]I want more victories like this. More achievements. More power.[/i:f05ye3fh]
“I have one more gift for you.” Hartex said in low voice. “You need not take it, but if you do, you must agree to the price before I tell you what either the gift, or the cost, is.”
Ordinarily Sheyreiza would never enter such a bargain with anyone, let alone a demon, but this was no ordinary time. She was in Lolth’s favor – she would accept what ever Lolth was willing to give and she would accept whatever price Lolth wished to demand. “I will take the gift Hartex,” she said smiling, “and I will pay the price.”
He smiled in return. “Good. The gift is my service. The price is one child from your loins, sacrificed to me, every one hundred years. The child of yours that you sacrifice shall be used to form my body in your world. Also, you will be given the gift of a child from my seed. A further sacrifice will be required to initiate that.”
A half-fiend child was powerful gift indeed. Sheyreiza was aware that only the most blessed priestesses were gifted with demonic children, most commonly draegloths. Sheyreiza was not in the habit of trusting demons, but she somehow she knew most of what Hartex said was true. “How long will you serve me?” She asked, licking her lips playfully.
“I will serve you one year in every five, for so long as you keep making the sacrifices. Do you wish to see my true form now?”
“Of course. Very much so.” Sheryeiza replied.
“Very well.” Patches of Hartex’ skin began to lighten, and then erupt. It sloughed off in great, bloody wet pieces as the body beneath swelled ever larger. Limbs sprouted from his torso and his face ripped apart, the gory bits falling to the ground. Sheyreiza watched rapt in fascinated horror. In a few moments, the drow Hartex was gone, replaced by an enormous demonic spider.
“You have become a bebilith.” Sheyreiza said aloud. “Magnificent. That is a great reward. You are truly favored by Her.”
[i:f05ye3fh]Not just a bebilith, but a greater bebilith than any you have yet encountered. [/i:f05ye3fh] Replied Hartex’ voice in Sheyreiza’s mind. She reached out and stroked his legs with their stiff bristles and terrible hooked claws. She had felt such legs before on the creature she fought at the promenade. This was a powerful demon indeed, even if the boast about being a greater bebilith was but an empty boast. Any bebilith was a creature to be respected and feared. The giant spider began to dwindle. It shrunk and it changed shape. In mere seconds, the drow Hartex stood before her again.
“Is that as painful as it looks?” Sheyreiza asked.
“Everytime.” Hartex answered, though it was clear he did not care. “I cannot come into your plane without being summoned however, mistress. To summon me, you must perform a ritual. You will need the blood of a darthiir and the bones of a male. You must draw a pentagram with the blood, place the bones in the center of it, and then call me by my true name. When you do this, I will be able to come to your plane and serve you there.”
“Time for you to return to your son, Great Mistress.” Hartex said.
He called her ‘Great Mistress.’ Was it true? Did she really have a bebilith at her service? No, she had a [i:f05ye3fh]greater[/i:f05ye3fh] bebilith at her service! Truly she was favored by Lolth. Naturally, the bebilith would turn on her the moment she showed weakness or failed Lolth, but that was to be expected. So be it. Her reign as the demon’s great mistress might be long or it might be short, but it would be glorious.
“I will summon you soon then.” Sheyreiza purred. “And I can think of many ways you can serve me.”
The lust was clear in her eyes and her words. “Of course, Great Mistress. As you know, I am quite the talented masseuse and an even more talented lover.”
That was true, Sheyreiza knew. No lover she had lain with, not even Jain’n, had the physical skill Hartex had. He had been trained in the drow art of the deep rub massage and someone had also trained him in the art of sex. “I look forward to it.” She whispered.
“You flatter me, Great Mistress, but it is time for you to return.”
Mists gathered round both of them now and all went dark. When Sheyreiza could see again she was kneeling in the center of a pentagram in the temple of Mantol Derith, right where she had been when she had slipped into what she thought was reverie. [i:f05ye3fh]Had it been a dream?[/i:f05ye3fh] She wondered. She reached up and felt around her left eye socket. She had an eye. She looked down upon her naked body. Her long, sinuous tattoo of calcified webbing still wrapped sensuously around her limbs and body, but the body itself was not the one she had gone to reverie with. She now had the body of her apparition. She smiled and broke into a laugh. This was too wonderful to believe but it was true.
Acrid smoke tickled her nose and set her senses reeling. In front of her was her armor. It was no longer piled neatly like she had left it; instead, it sat upright, as if a person was sitting in it. Strange reddish smoke poured off of the metal as if it had just been dipped in some foul quenching pool after being forged. It was the armor she had seen in her vision. On the floor next to it lay the Morningstar she had seen. Her old sword was gone. Sheyreiza picked up the dark weapon and felt Lolth’s power flow through her. Its name came to her instinctively; [i:f05ye3fh]Lolth’s Blessing.[/i:f05ye3fh] Like her perfected form and armor, it was a gift from the Goddess herself. Sheyreiza slung the weapon from the sash that served as her baldric and retrieved the rest items from the floor.
Armed and armored, Sheyreiza stood looked about the temple. Ghenni’salla was watching her. “Make yourself ready.” The high priestess ordered. “I will bring Tanias in now.” Ghenni’salla walked to the metal doors of the temple and opened the portal. In the outer chamber, Yasharaya was naked, save for her jewelry and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her dark skin. She sat astride Tanias who was also naked and sweating. While the four chamber guards watched, the lusty priestess rode Sheyreiza’s son. Sheyreiza smiled. One of the guards made a noise with his throat and Yasharaya looked up smiling to see Ghenni’salla in the doorway.
“Bring the male in. Now.” Ghenni’salla commanded.
Yasharaya dismounted Tanias. The naked priestess’ grin went from playful to wicked. She signed to the four guards who came out of the corners and stood Tanias up. The guards dragged him into the temple where he saw Sheyreiza in her new guise. Though she had been re-formed by Lolth, this form was familiar to Tanias. “Mother?” He asked in shock. His face flushed and he looked at Sheyreiza adorned in her Lolthian regalia with mix of terror and hatred. “You bitch! I knew you lied, I knew it!” He struggled but he was already bound securely and in the grip of the four guards. Sheyreiza pointed to the altar. He kicked and cursed but the warriors did not let loose of him. Yasharaya threw on a black silk robe and joined Sheyreiza. There, the two women, aided by the guards, secured Tanias to the black stone with adamantine chains. When they were done Sheyreiza dismissed the warriors who left the temple area immediately. The rituals of Lolth were not for males to see except as sacrifices.
“Tanias,” Sheyreiza said looking down upon him. “You are right.” She explained. “I did lie, though not about all of it. I [i:f05ye3fh]am[/i:f05ye3fh] your mother and Hartex Claddath [i:f05ye3fh]is[/i:f05ye3fh] your father. The rest of what I said and implied, however, was a lie. Once I was a moon-worshipping heretic, but no longer. Once I meant to save you but that time has passed. Once I would have taken you to the Promenade, but now, I will send you to the demonweb. I wanted you to know this Tanias. I wanted you to know your mother is damning your heretic soul to Lolth’s hell.”
Rage and fear boiled in Tanias. “Go to the pits, whore!”
[i:f05ye3fh]I surely will,[/i:f05ye3fh] Sheyreiza thought, [i:f05ye3fh]but you will go first.[/i:f05ye3fh] Sheyreiza drew her sacrificial knife and carefully carved the symbol of Lolth on to Tanias’ chest above his heart. When she was done with her bloody etching, she began to chant the prayer of sacrifice in the abyssal tongue. Nearing the finish, she raised her dagger high with both hands, poised over the immobilized body of her son. As she invoked Lolth’s aid she looked down upon Tanias. For a moment his eyes changed. They became the eyes of the new born babe she had seen so long ago. They were the eyes of an innocent child. They were the first eyes Sheyreiza had ever seen that did not look upon her with fear, hatred, contempt or jealously. They were the eyes that first gave Sheyreiza a hint of something beyond the teachings of Lolth, something she would later learn was called love. They were the eyes that haunted her dreams these many years, staring at her helplessly as if to say, “Why didn’t you save me mother. Why didn’t you love me?”
As Sheyreiza looked into those eyes she completed the prayer of sacrifice. She did not hesitate or waver; she brought her knife down into Tanias’ chest. He screamed and she brought the knife down again. Reversing her grip on the bloody knife she began the process of removing his heart. Somewhere during that process Tanias’ screams faded to raspy, ragged breaths and then they too faded, this time into nothing. Tanias Auvryndar was dead at his mother’s hand. From his still warm chest Sheyreiza pulled his bloody heart.
“[i:f05ye3fh]Malla tlu Lolth![/i:f05ye3fh]” She cried, holding the organ up high. Flames erupted from the pit behind the altar and she cast the heart into it and the heart was consumed. A shadow appeared above the altar. It took the shape of a giant arachnid. The shadow was cold and otherworldly. Fiendish. At its darkest point the shadow coalesced into substance and the fore part of a bebilith descended from the ceiling of the temple. The demonic form sank its fangs into the body of Tanias and drained its blood. When the body was exsanguinated, the beast brought its wickedly hooked pedipalps to bear. Savagely it tore through the corpse’s flesh feeding the pieces into its obscene arachnid mouth. In moments all that was left were the bones. The forepart of the bebilith receded into the shadow on the ceiling and then the shadow faded into nothing.
“[i:f05ye3fh]Malla tlu Lolth.[/i:f05ye3fh]” Sheyreiza uttered. A beautiful, terrible, smile crossed her face. She knew what to do with Tanias’ remains. She cleaned out one of her satchels and put the still bones of her dead son into it. Tanias had served her well as a sacrifice and his bones would serve her well to summon the demon-spider Hartex had become. All she needed now was the blood of an elf.
“Congratulations, Yathrin Sheyreiza Auvryndar.” Ghenni’salla said with more than a hint of surprise and malice in her voice. “It seems Lolth has found you worthy. Welcome back.”
“[i:f05ye3fh]Bela’dos malla Yathtallar[/i:f05ye3fh].” Sheyreiza replied with a slight bow.
“[i:f05ye3fh]Malla tlu Lolth[/i:f05ye3fh]. The Dark Mother has truly favored you.” Ghenni’salla’s voice was laced with jealousy now. Sheyreiza could not help but be pleased. Ghenni’salla recovered quickly however. “You are not a Yathtallar yet, you are but a Yathrin; a Yathrin with business to attend to on the surface. Now, get out of my temple.”
Sheyreiza bowed deeply to Ghenni’salla and walked out with a strut that exuded a predatory confidence. She walked out the main doors into Mantol Derith’s main cavern and took a deep breath.
She had done it. She had returned to the Spider Queen's favor, and now it seemed, the Spider Queen favored Sheyreiza like she had favored few others. There was a price of course; along with the favor of the Spider Queen came the attention of the Spider Queen and no one could please that fickle bitch forever. Still, whether the end came sooner or later, the journey would be worthy of song and tale for millennia to come – it would be glorious and it would be bloody. Many were going to die. Many were going to suffer. With Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad’s help the shades might be defeated, but Lolth was going to exact a terrible price and not just of Sheyreiza; many would pay for the honor of Her aid.
Sheyreiza looked down upon the etched, spike head of her morning star. Yes, it would be a bloody ride; a very, very bloody ride. Sheyreiza was prepared, however. She felt a strong connection to her Goddess. She intoned the words to a spell she knew well. Lolth’s power coursed through her body and erupted from her fingers in the form of black flames which adhered to her morningstar’s head. Wrapped in darkfire, it was even more fearsome than before.
The new Sheyreiza, the more beautiful Sheyreiza, the more perfectly predatory Sheyreiza began to laugh and that wicked laugh sent shivers of fear through those that heard it even her jaded, depraved drow kin. The Goddess was with Sheyreiza, and any who heard her laugh that cycle felt Her power in their bones. A champion of the Spider Queen had been born.
Last edited by Mikayla on Mon Apr 09, 2007 8:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.
[b:2m8ung7a]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 14. Sheyreiza's Web[/b:2m8ung7a]
The journey back to the surface was uneventful. Though the trek back to the Silver Marches took just as long as the trek to Mantol Derith, it felt much shorter to Sheyreiza. Her mind was awhirl, pondering her change in circumstance, the power of Lolth’s favor and the coming threat of the shadow. As she traveled the cycles melded into a single, dark, dangerous yet also pleasant daydream of power, revenge and lust. Never before had her future held so much promise and never before had she been so free from doubt and fear. Certainly death still awaited her around every turn in the Underdark’s passages and down every strand of her life’s web, but that was nothing new. What was new was her potential to rise amidst society, to achieve what few, if any, had achieved before. Her afterlife was also promising, whether she came to it after much success or around the next bend in the tunnel. Lolth had accepted her service. So long as she faithfully served the Spider Queen, even if she lost Lolth’s favor, her afterlife was assured. It would be, if she understood correctly, similar to serving Lolth in this life.
The walk from the cave exit through the woods to the outskirts of Silverymoon snapped Sheyreiza out of her fantasies. Near the cave entrance, the woods were crawling with spiders but the further south Sheyreiza traveled the fewer and fewer arachnids she saw. The forest took on a decidedly fey feel and a feeling of unease crept up Sheyreiza’s spine. Cautiously she crept through the woods as silently as her enchanted boots would allow. As she passed a high mound her feelings of unease peaked. Bow in hand, she scanned the wooded slopes of the mysterious hill for danger. There was nothing. She moved on, her ruby eyes constantly sweeping left and right. Her unease subsided as the strange hill was lost in the distance behind her.
Miles beyond the hill she came upon a small village surrounded by a low wall. It smelled like humans and flowers. A small fire burned amidst a clearing not far from the village walls. As she approached, Sheyreiza saw a circle not unlike the sacred circle of Lonelywood where once she had been a priestess of Eilistraee. A robed human moved through the trees that defined the circle but did not see Sheyreiza creeping through the dark. She passed through the gap between the circle and the village wall. A figure moving north nearly surprised her; she touched her ring and made herself invisible. The figure passed by. It was a darthiir, dressed in hunting leathers and armed with a bow, arrows and knife. A guardian of the village? Perhaps elf and human lived side by side in this small enclave. Sheyreiza filed away the information for future reference and moved on.
South of the village she found a road, chose a direction and then walked parallel to the road but not on it. The dark expanse of woodlands gave way to meadows and the meadows in turn gave way to cultivated fields. She passed by ruins guarded by armored humans, and small farm houses. She was drawing near to the city it seemed.
An anxious knot formed in her chest as she walked. When the walls came in sight the anxiety turned into dread loathing that clutched at her chest like the claw of some gargantuan monster, growing tighter until she could barely breathe. There was something wrong about this place, something terribly wrong. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. She took another a step forward and the terror grew. Sweat rolled off her brow and she realized she had stopped breathing altogether. She had to get out of here. She started walking backwards away from this accursed place. The terror did not subside immediately and her withdrawal quickly turned into a rout. She ran down the road away from the city until she could no longer see it. Finally she stopped and caught her breath near the ruins of a small settlement some distance from the city. Atop a nearby hill she could see the forms of human warriors, Knights in Silver they were called, looking down at the road in her direction. Her panicked retreat had not been very stealthy. Armored humans approached, swords drawn, thick human tongues shouting warnings to thick human ears as they alerted each other and surrounded her. Sheyreiza dug into her satchel and held out her papers to the closest human. The man had been approaching intent on battle but upon seeing the papers his demeanor changed. He approached warily but not offensively. He took the papers from her hand and stepped back well out of sword range. It took the humans a few minutes to find a light with which to read the papers which were then passed around for each to read.
Most of the surrounding humans returned to their posts. The first knight lowered his sword but did not sheath it. He handed Sheyreiza her papers and told her she was free to go. Though thick tongued like all humans, his voice still managed to convey his reluctance to set her free as well as his scorn at her race. Sheyreiza noted his behavior; the knights were suitably wary, they worked well as a team, and they followed orders even when it was obvious they did not want to.
“I do not wish to enter the city.” Sheyreiza said in the common tongue. It was not quite true. She had wished to enter the city, but upon actually seeing it, she had fled in terror. She realized this was probably the work of the city’s famous mythal and suddenly Sheyreiza found herself far more impressed with that legendary artifact than she had been when its powers were but rumor. “I need a message delivered to the dwarf king, Hignar of the Battlehammers. Tell him Sheyreiza has returned and awaits him.” The knight complied and sent a runner to the city to find Hignar.
Sheyreiza spent the rest of the dark morning skulking about the road and ruins where the knights were stationed. She did not like standing too close to them, but she appreciated having them near. If forces of the Shades attacked, or if some passing citizen took issue with Sheyreiza’s race, she could put the knights between herself and her would-be assailants.
A few hours after sunrise Hignar came from the city. He found Sheyreiza taking shelter from the sun’s light in the shade of a great tree. Naturally, he did not recognize her at first and it took some convincing to prove she was who she claimed to be. Once satisfied, Hignar showed Sheyreiza to a small cottage near the road where she could stay. He implored her to keep out of sight. While the nearby knights might not slay her, he doubted they would actually protect her in the event some passerby decided to do her harm. He wanted to know what she had been through, but Sheyreiza provided few details. She told him her return to Lolth had been successful, and that the Spider Queen had asked little upfront other than her service. Hignar took what information he could get and left, uneasily watching over his shoulder as he strode back towards the city.
The cottage was a really just a single room with a bed, a table, a stove, a few shelves and a couple chairs. Surfacers might have called it ‘cozy’ but to Sheyreiza it was a hovel fit for slaves. On the other hand, she had seen the inside of more than one dungeon in her time and while this cottage was no bigger than some of the cells she had occupied, the door did not lock from the outside. She settled in and bit back the urge to complain. The surfacers would expect the worst from her now, so to keep their trust she had to play nice.
Inthara came after Hignar left. The dwarf had told her about Sheyreiza’s change in appearance so while Inthara was wary, she was also easy to convince. Inthara asked about Sheyreiza’s conversion and again Sheyreiza did little more than confirm it had happened. She did not speak at all about murdering the elven family, about killing the heretics or about sacrificing her only son. Instead, Sheyreiza implied the conversion was easy because Lolth wanted the alliance and would extract her price when Sheyreiza went to the afterlife. Inthara nodded along but it was clear she had news of her own to tell so Sheyreiza let the subject change.
The children were here - Inthara had Shein’n and Vraja. Isaniel, the Lonelywood elf who had brought news of Jain’n’s death, had actually done what Sheyreiza asked; she brought the children out of hiding and gave them to Inthara. They were in Silverymoon at that very moment.
A bolt of violent, vengeful, burning lust shot through Sheyreiza. So close. The children were so close and they were in the hands of Inthara. Sheyreiza could get to them. She might not ever get to Jain’n as someone else had killed him before she could, but revenge was still possible; she could hurt the children. She would have to play this game cautiously but boldly, like a savva player who sees a winning combination in the pieces left on the web, but who must now find that elusive path to victory. As the lust fueled Sheyreiza’s mind and she began analyzing all the possible moves and counter moves, a small part of her deep down inside her soul also cursed Inthara. How could the sorceress be so foolish as to tell Sheyreiza about the children? Had she no memory of what Lolthian society was like? Did she not remember Sheyreiza telling Isaniel to keep the children away? Did she not remember her own words when she warned Sheyreiza not to have Isaniel bring the children? The nervousness in Inthara’s voice signaled she did remember of course. Her common sense, however, was overwhelmed by her joy at having the children back. Inthara was also betrayed by her very nature; she simply talked too much and was no good at keeping secrets.
Go slowly, Sheyreiza told herself. Do not push to fast or to far. Inthara knew that Sheyreiza might be a danger to the children and if she felt that danger imminent, she would bolt and the children would slip beyond Sheyreiza’s grasp again. Sheyreiza did not press Inthara about the children and let the conversation turn to other matters.
Inthara told Sheyreiza about the city, about the war preparations and about her journey out to the Moonwoods, the very same dark forest Sheyreiza had recently walked through. It seemed the village Sheyreiza had passed was called Quaerrvar and was indeed home to both elves and humans. Inthara also spoke of the strange hill north of the village that had so unsettled Sheyreiza; the mysterious mound turned out to be the home of the Mouth of Song, a temple to Eilistraee where drow and elf lived side by side, singing and dancing for Lady Silverhair by moonlight. Inthara was not living there yet, but she was spending time there talking with its folk.
All was not well with Inthara, however. She had begun hearing the voice of Hartex in her head. He had been pressing her to return to Lolth but the sorceress resisted. Sheyreiza began silently cursing the demon for making such a blunt, clumsy attempt. Could he not show a little patience? A little cunning?
Then Inthara confessed her recent crimes. It seemed Inthara had been near Quaerrvar one night when shadows appeared. She was not sure if they were undead, shades or something else entirely. In the confusion, she let loose several arrows, two of which found marks. When the darkness lifted, Inthara saw that she had slain two of the villagers. Fearful of the surfacers’ wrath, she fled. Though she had not meant to kill them, she doubted the villagers would listen to reason. When Inthara mentioned Hartex had been talking to her all the while Sheyreiza could barely restrain a smile. There was little doubt the deaths were a set up. The demon's cajoling might be too overt to work on its own, but Sheyreiza could capitilize on the killings.
This was the final piece Sheyreiza needed. She could see the path to victory now – but the path would take several more moves and her gambit could be countered along the way. Brute force would be useless here; deception would be the key.
Sheyreiza nodded in sympathy and comforted Inthara as the sorceress spoke, but she also fed Inthara’s fears. She reminded Inthara of what had happened to Sadei at the hands of humans when the young Eilistraeen was put on trial – and Sadei’s crimes were far less than Inthara’s even if the killing was an accident. Inthara admitted she was scared to go back to the Mouth of Song now, because Quaervarr lay in the path. Even Silverymoon was frightening to her now. Any moment she expected teleporting Spellguard to appear and arrest her.
With the flames of Inthara’s fears well stoked, Sheyreiza quietly suggested that Inthara leave Silverymoon. Inthara retorted that she had no place to go, and what of the children? Sheyreiza made one of her moves. The children were in danger, she told Inthara. Inthara was incredulous at first, but Sheyreiza pointed out the ‘obvious’ facts; if Inthara’s killings were discovered, Inthara would likely hang for the crime, but so would Shein’n. Shein’n was a drow after all. The surfacers were unlikely to care that one of her parents was a surface elf. Inthara nodded and related that since her infancy, Shein’n’s skin had darkened to the jet black of the drow and her hair had gone white. This only reinforced Sheyreiza’s argument. Vraja too was in danger; if Inthara was hung, what then would become of Vraja? He would be a ward of the city, most likely fated to be given to some human farmers as an indentured servant and made to work a plough or smithy the rest of his miserable days. Never would he roam the forests freely with his Tel’Quessir kin like his father Nylo. He would likely forget the elven language altogether and become a human in all ways but blood.
Abject fear showed in Inthara’s face. While she had feared for her own life after killing the two villagers she had not seriously considered the fate of the two children. Quickly, Inthara’s fear turned to anger and resolution. She would not let that happen. No one would harm the children while she was their guardian. No one would hang Shein’n for Inthara’s crimes and no one would enslave Vraja. No one would take her children away again, not if she had to kill every villager she came across.
Sheyreiza supported Inthara’s resolve but made no suggestion about what to do. She would not push Inthara – such a push would likely be too transparent. She had to hide her lust for revenge as long as possible.
They kept talking for hours and Inthara’s hesitation and caution slowly evaporated as she grew more familiar with the new Sheyreiza. It looked like a different woman but the new Sheyreiza sounded like the old Sheyreiza. Whenever possible, Sheyreiza would hint about the dangers of the surface and of the children falling into a stranger’s hands. Never did she say anything overtly – she only responded to Inthara – but she carefully kept nudging Inthara back to the subject of her killings. Just before dawn, as Inthara prepared to leave, Sheyreiza made a move; she told Inthara she would like to see Shein’n if possible so she could explain why she had left. Sheyreiza reminded Inthara that when she had been banished, she had been denied such an opportunity. Inthara nodded. Having talked with Shein’n, Inthara knew the child had no idea about what really happened between her mother and father. She agreed to bring the children by the cottage.
Another piece fell into place.
***
Sheyreiza smoothed the skirts of her gown when she heard voices outside. Glancing through the small cottage window, she saw Inthara approaching with two children, one an elf boy, the other a drow girl. They were all chatting. Sheyreiza stepped over to the fire and waited as the trio came in. The chatting stopped as they looked upon Sheyreiza who was dressed in her finest silver and white silk gown. She smiled as they looked her over curiously, but only Inthara returned the smile.
“Who is she mother?” Asked Vraja breaking the silence. “She looks nice.”
“Be quite Vraja.” Shein’n snapped.
Inthara looked at the two children and gestured to Sheyreiza who kneeled to their height. “Shein'n, Vraja, meet Sheyreiza.”
Vraja looked from his mother to the kneeling woman. “Oh. Hello Sheyreiza. I'm Vraja.” A big smile spread across his young face. There was no guile or fear in it, just innocence and joy.
“I know, young man.” Sheyreiza replied happily. I could kill all three of them now, she thought to herself. They are all within reach. How easy it would be. But that is not what Lolth wants. If I killed them here and now I would have to flee and the alliance would fail. Revenge is important, but the survival of the cities is more so. Besides, killing them is not enough - Lolth wants their souls, not just their lives, and I will give them to her.
Shein’n barely restrained a scowl. “Hello.... mother.” The girl looked up to Inthara. “Why did you bring us to her?”
“To meet me.” Sheyreiza answered, as an astonished Vraja looked back and forth between mother and daughter. “It has been a long time since I have seen you Shein'n. Or you, Master Vraja.” Vraja grinned at the title.
Shein’n ignored Sheyreiza for the moment and stared at Inthara. “Its safer.” Inthara explained. “The danger that was feared will not happen and the city is no longer safe.”
“That is not what you said earlier Inthara.” Shein’n retorted. She was sharp and suspicious Sheyreiza thought, while Vraja was eager and happy. Shein’n looked back to Sheyreiza, her eyes narrowed. “You are.... different.”
Sheyreiza nodded. “In many ways, yes. This face, the one you see now, is my true face. The face you knew as an infant was one I borrowed.”
The girl looked back at the boy. “Vraja. Wait outside.”
Vraja tried to go but Inthara held him close. “Mother, can you let go? She told me to go outside.”
Interesting, Sheyreiza thought, he does what Shein’n tells him to do and does it without question. “It’s alright Inthara.” Sheyreiza said with a smile. “Master Vraja can go outside. Why don't you go with him?” Inthara nodded and left, taking Vraja with her.
When they were gone, Shein’n regarded her mother coolly. “Why did you change?” Straight to the heart of the matter, good girl, Sheyreiza thought. The child was perceptive, untrusting and intelligent. Perfect.
“War is coming to the surfacers. Our people, the drow, can help them, but someone has to convince them to do it. And someone has to lead our people in the fight that is to come. I changed so I can go back to our people and convince them to fight the Shades. Humans are people, despite what your father may have taught you. They are not elves, this is true, but they are people. And there are many dwarves here as well, and elves too. All of them are people and all of them are threatened by the Shades.” Sheyreiza spoke to Shein’n about the Shade threat and what it meant both for the peoples of the surface and the peoples of the Underdark. She stressed the need for an alliance, even one as strange as this one, to fight back what appeared to be an unstoppable foe.
Shein’n had many questions, not the least of which was why Sheyreiza had to return to ‘evil.’ Shein’n would not say Lolth’s name but she knew who the Spider Queen was. Her father had filled her with horror stories; horror stories that Sheyreiza knew were only inaccurate because they failed to convey the true evil of Lolth’s dominion. How could one teach the truth of something one had never experienced? Sheyreiza met Shein’n head on – or seemed to. She did not deny the label of ‘evil’ that Shein’n put upon Lolth nor did she deny her return to the Spider Queen. Instead, she subverted the specifics. Certainly Lolth was evil, but even an evil goddess can see when her people are threatened and has the common sense to take the necessary steps to protect them. What is more Lolthian than self-preservation? An alliance such as this was purely within Lolth’s nature – it meant saving her people from destruction while getting others to fight much of the battle.
The girl wanted to know what would happen next so Sheyreiza outlined the plan in its broadest terms. Now that Sheyreiza had returned to the Spider Queen, she could return to the Underdark and negotiate with the Matrons of Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan. An army of drow and slave troops would be formed and this army would then aid in the coming fight against the Shades. Shein’n was not easily swayed but she was at least appeased. With her questions answered for the moment, Shein’n’s attention turned to Vraja and she went outside to find him. Sheyreiza followed. Everyone was just outside the cottage by the old log that served as a makeshift bench. Vraja wiggled out of Inthara’s arms and retrieved a small bow. He began speaking excitedly of going hunting and of the arrows he made. Shein’n wanted to see them. As the two children talked Inthara took Sheyreiza’s hand and began tapping in code.
[i:2m8ung7a]I have something I need to tell you.[/i:2m8ung7a]
Sheyreiza tapped back into the cup of Inthara’s hand. [i:2m8ung7a]What?[/i:2m8ung7a]
[i:2m8ung7a]I am going to go with you. You are right, it is safer for them. I want you to bring me home; to our Queen. I cannot go as I was. As a Eilistraeen.[/i:2m8ung7a]
Sheyreiza’s heart raced but she struggled not to show her emotions; another piece was falling into place. Infront of the adults, the children were discussing the arrows Vraja had made. Shein’n was examining them carefully. The boy was convinced he could bring down at least four deer. Sheyreiza pointed out that he could not possibly eat four deer and if he went hunting he should take only one. He decided he would take an orc instead. Shein’n said he was a fool for even thinking he could take an orc but Vraja’s energy and enthusiasm was boundless. Sheyreiza could see Vraja was intent on hunting and Shein’n intent on going where ever he went, so she sent them on their way. She limited Vraja to one deer and no orcs, and cautioned them both to run immediately if they saw any unnatural darkness. “Good hunting, Master Vraja.” She said with a smile.
As the two ran off for the hunt Sheyreiza could hear Vraja bragging, “She called me master again!”
“No doubt because you are the master fool at times.” Shein’n replied. It was an interesting relationship they had. Though Shein’n was hard on Vraja she clearly loved him and he obviously loved her. They were best friends even if they were a study in physical, emotional and mental opposites. Perhaps that was [i:2m8ung7a]why[/i:2m8ung7a] they were best friends.
Inthara turned to Sheyreiza and spoke in their native tongue. “Bring me home, my Heart
Sheyreiza nodded. “Come inside.”
They sat in the cottage next to the stove and Sheyreiza tended the fire. “Sister,” Sheyreiza said, “Your return is possible, but Lolth will test you. She will test more than your desire to return to her.”
Inthara brushed back her hair. “Yes, I know. I know She will. She will test my heart, spirit and soul; test my love. I know what I'm asking, and what the price can be. But I cannot believe that I will be safe here.”
“You are [i:2m8ung7a]not[/i:2m8ung7a] safe here. She will most likely want to know you truly seek redemption. She will also likely want to know you are worth it - in other words, that you are strong enough for her to care about.”
“I will do as you did.”
“Then you will face Her test as I did. I would tell you of it, but it is for you to discover on your own.”
“If She finds me worthy, then She will have me back - fully this time. If not, then She can take my soul.”
And she will be more than happy to, Sheyreiza thought. “There is but one way through it if you wish to be successful; And that is through Her, with no hesitation, regret, or second thoughts. You do what She wants, no matter what.
Inthara hugged Sheyreiza from behind, gently squeezing her. “Yes. Without hesitation, without regret. It will be harder than what I was before. I knew no other goddess before. Lolth was the only one I had. Now I've known another's touch.”
“Now you know there are choices.” It had always been about choices, Sheyreiza thought. That’s what life was – a series of choices. “To go back to Her, you must [i:2m8ung7a]choose[/i:2m8ung7a] Her.”
“And I make my choice. Now.” Inthara said resolutely. The sorceress rested her lovely head on Shey's back. “As much as I love Eilistraee, She cannot protect me or the children.”
“No. We have seen what little protection the love of Eilistraee can provide: Talice, Sadei, Laele, Numenor, Akordia, Hivarra, and all the others...dead.”
Inthara pressed her face against Sheyreiza’s skin. “I loved Her. Loved Nylo, Jain'n and many others, yet they all betrayed me; Jain'n, comsumed by his 'duty'; Nylo, his left hand, always doing what Jain’n ordered. They lied to us about things, kept things from us. Took away our children.” The sorceress began to weep.
“It is the lying that hurts me the most.” Sheyreiza said softly, staring distantly into the fire. “Matron Shyntlara took my son Tanias away from me, but she never lied about it. She never told me she was 'good' and I was 'bad' and that was why she did it. She did not ply me with tales of love and fantasies about happiness. She simply was who she was and did what she did. She was honest. Jain'n...Jain'n used lies of love to use me; to use us.”
“Yes. To use our wombs. All my life, I've been used and treated as a tool, a thing, by everyone. Everyone except one. You, Sheyreiza. You saw something and brought that out of me.”
“You are my sister, Inthara. Not by blood, but by something stronger. Choice.” Sheyreiza’s voice was as warm as sun’s light outside and as strong as the walls of the city, but that warmth and strength concealed her cold thoughts. I will see you damned to the Demonweb if you are so weak as to ignore the warnings I gave you, Inthara Despana. Follow me in this life, and you will follow me in death [i:2m8ung7a]sister.[/i:2m8ung7a] And you will deserve it if you bring those children with you, for in so doing, you doom them as well, and for that, you deserve the damnation I am leading you towards.
“Yes, sisters.” Inthara took a deep breath. “I want to stay with you, supporting you when you need it.”
Sheyreiza looked into the fire and decided to plant another hook. So far she had manipulated Inthara with fear of punishment. Now it was time to offer a reward. “Then let us stay together and weather this storm as a family.”
“Together, we can build a strong family.” Inthara echoed.
“Yes. Perhaps a house one day. A [i:2m8ung7a]Qu'ellar[/i:2m8ung7a]. I have spent some divinations on your desires.”
“Oh? What did you see?” Inthara was ever the curious soul.
“You may bear children again, but it will come only as a reward from Her.”
“The Maiden cannot give me that.” Inthara admitted, a spark of anger flaring in her voice.
Sheyreiza decided to fan that spark. “Cannot? I rather think she simply [i:2m8ung7a]will[/i:2m8ung7a] not. The Maiden is punishing you.”
Inthara blinked in shock and then her eyes narrowed. “That bitch.” She hissed. Her hands clenched tightly. “Very well, when can it be done?”
Too easy, Sheyreiza thought. “I think we can likely do it as soon as we get into the Underdark, to Mantol Derith.” While outwardly Sheyreiza offered Inthara comfort, inside, she cursed the sorceress; Inthara, you are weak and you will suffer for it. Soon you will serve Lolth and she will have your soul – all because you were too weak to heed the warnings you were given and too in love with me to use your common sense.
Inthara appeared oblivious. “Everyone that I've cared for has lied to me, except you and Lolth. She may be evil, but as you said, She is honest about it. My Heart, if She takes my soul but doesn’t take me back, treat my body well.” The sorceress hugged Sheyreiza tightly and began to sob.
“I promise sister. I have always treated the dead well and my sister will be no exception.” That was not a lie. If Inthara failed the test of Lolth and paid with her life, Sheyreiza would see her body properly taken care of. The dead deserved respect, even those that failed, for in the end, every drow, successful or not, faithful or not, was going to fail and was going to die. She would not allow Inthara’s body to be defiled or used in necromancy – such a fate was for iblith, not Ilythiiri, and even then, Sheyreiza thought of it as the severest of punishments – one she generally reserved only for those who had proven themselves to be defilers of the dead.
Inthara sniffled and stopped sobbing. She looked up at the window where the light was growing red with the sunset. “Shouldn't the children be coming back soon?”
“Yes, why don't you go find them.”
The sorceress wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Goodbye sister.” She said on her way out.
Goodbye sister, Sheyreiza said to herself. The pieces were in place upon the web of the great savva game. Had this been a human chess match rather than savva, one player would be telling the other “check.”
Still, it was not checkmate. Sheyreiza feared that Inthara would have second thoughts. There were still other pieces on the board not yet accounted for or neutralized. Hignar was not the least of those pieces. He could conceivably get Inthara out of this, either by talking some sense into her or by force if he had to. Sheyreiza needed to conclude this game quickly before the dwarf or anyone else could interfere. She was so close to revenge; so close to claiming all three souls for Lolth.
Down in the depths of her own soul another fear gnawed at her. The fear that Inthara would [i:2m8ung7a]not[/i:2m8ung7a] have second thoughts; that the dwarf would [i:2m8ung7a]not[/i:2m8ung7a] intervene in time; that all three souls [i:2m8ung7a]would[/i:2m8ung7a] go to Lolth. As she watched Inthara through the cottage window that tiny fear became a silent voice and that voice became a silent scream. The tiny part of Sheyreiza that was not evil wanted Inthara to wake up and see the web of deceit she was falling into. That tiny part cried in horror at the thought of what was going to happen to innocent, happy little Vraja and to the beautiful, but wounded little Shein’n.
But though that tiny little part of her soul was screaming in horror at what was happening, Sheyreiza was committed; body and soul she belonged to Lolth, even if the Spider Queen was so twisted as to allow a piece of good to remain in Sheyreiza just so she could feel the pain she caused and use her knowledge of good against her enemies. That tiny little part might not want to see Inthara, Vraja and Shein’n taken into darkness, but Sheyreiza was going to do everything in her power to see that they were. The web was spun, the pieces were in play, her opponent was in check – victory and vengeance were at hand. Nothing would stop her from achieving that victory, not even left over bits of conscience and morality lying like bones of her past life at the bottom of that black pit she called a soul. She would have her vengeance - one way or another, they were going to Lolth.
Chapter 14. Sheyreiza's Web[/b:2m8ung7a]
The journey back to the surface was uneventful. Though the trek back to the Silver Marches took just as long as the trek to Mantol Derith, it felt much shorter to Sheyreiza. Her mind was awhirl, pondering her change in circumstance, the power of Lolth’s favor and the coming threat of the shadow. As she traveled the cycles melded into a single, dark, dangerous yet also pleasant daydream of power, revenge and lust. Never before had her future held so much promise and never before had she been so free from doubt and fear. Certainly death still awaited her around every turn in the Underdark’s passages and down every strand of her life’s web, but that was nothing new. What was new was her potential to rise amidst society, to achieve what few, if any, had achieved before. Her afterlife was also promising, whether she came to it after much success or around the next bend in the tunnel. Lolth had accepted her service. So long as she faithfully served the Spider Queen, even if she lost Lolth’s favor, her afterlife was assured. It would be, if she understood correctly, similar to serving Lolth in this life.
The walk from the cave exit through the woods to the outskirts of Silverymoon snapped Sheyreiza out of her fantasies. Near the cave entrance, the woods were crawling with spiders but the further south Sheyreiza traveled the fewer and fewer arachnids she saw. The forest took on a decidedly fey feel and a feeling of unease crept up Sheyreiza’s spine. Cautiously she crept through the woods as silently as her enchanted boots would allow. As she passed a high mound her feelings of unease peaked. Bow in hand, she scanned the wooded slopes of the mysterious hill for danger. There was nothing. She moved on, her ruby eyes constantly sweeping left and right. Her unease subsided as the strange hill was lost in the distance behind her.
Miles beyond the hill she came upon a small village surrounded by a low wall. It smelled like humans and flowers. A small fire burned amidst a clearing not far from the village walls. As she approached, Sheyreiza saw a circle not unlike the sacred circle of Lonelywood where once she had been a priestess of Eilistraee. A robed human moved through the trees that defined the circle but did not see Sheyreiza creeping through the dark. She passed through the gap between the circle and the village wall. A figure moving north nearly surprised her; she touched her ring and made herself invisible. The figure passed by. It was a darthiir, dressed in hunting leathers and armed with a bow, arrows and knife. A guardian of the village? Perhaps elf and human lived side by side in this small enclave. Sheyreiza filed away the information for future reference and moved on.
South of the village she found a road, chose a direction and then walked parallel to the road but not on it. The dark expanse of woodlands gave way to meadows and the meadows in turn gave way to cultivated fields. She passed by ruins guarded by armored humans, and small farm houses. She was drawing near to the city it seemed.
An anxious knot formed in her chest as she walked. When the walls came in sight the anxiety turned into dread loathing that clutched at her chest like the claw of some gargantuan monster, growing tighter until she could barely breathe. There was something wrong about this place, something terribly wrong. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. She took another a step forward and the terror grew. Sweat rolled off her brow and she realized she had stopped breathing altogether. She had to get out of here. She started walking backwards away from this accursed place. The terror did not subside immediately and her withdrawal quickly turned into a rout. She ran down the road away from the city until she could no longer see it. Finally she stopped and caught her breath near the ruins of a small settlement some distance from the city. Atop a nearby hill she could see the forms of human warriors, Knights in Silver they were called, looking down at the road in her direction. Her panicked retreat had not been very stealthy. Armored humans approached, swords drawn, thick human tongues shouting warnings to thick human ears as they alerted each other and surrounded her. Sheyreiza dug into her satchel and held out her papers to the closest human. The man had been approaching intent on battle but upon seeing the papers his demeanor changed. He approached warily but not offensively. He took the papers from her hand and stepped back well out of sword range. It took the humans a few minutes to find a light with which to read the papers which were then passed around for each to read.
Most of the surrounding humans returned to their posts. The first knight lowered his sword but did not sheath it. He handed Sheyreiza her papers and told her she was free to go. Though thick tongued like all humans, his voice still managed to convey his reluctance to set her free as well as his scorn at her race. Sheyreiza noted his behavior; the knights were suitably wary, they worked well as a team, and they followed orders even when it was obvious they did not want to.
“I do not wish to enter the city.” Sheyreiza said in the common tongue. It was not quite true. She had wished to enter the city, but upon actually seeing it, she had fled in terror. She realized this was probably the work of the city’s famous mythal and suddenly Sheyreiza found herself far more impressed with that legendary artifact than she had been when its powers were but rumor. “I need a message delivered to the dwarf king, Hignar of the Battlehammers. Tell him Sheyreiza has returned and awaits him.” The knight complied and sent a runner to the city to find Hignar.
Sheyreiza spent the rest of the dark morning skulking about the road and ruins where the knights were stationed. She did not like standing too close to them, but she appreciated having them near. If forces of the Shades attacked, or if some passing citizen took issue with Sheyreiza’s race, she could put the knights between herself and her would-be assailants.
A few hours after sunrise Hignar came from the city. He found Sheyreiza taking shelter from the sun’s light in the shade of a great tree. Naturally, he did not recognize her at first and it took some convincing to prove she was who she claimed to be. Once satisfied, Hignar showed Sheyreiza to a small cottage near the road where she could stay. He implored her to keep out of sight. While the nearby knights might not slay her, he doubted they would actually protect her in the event some passerby decided to do her harm. He wanted to know what she had been through, but Sheyreiza provided few details. She told him her return to Lolth had been successful, and that the Spider Queen had asked little upfront other than her service. Hignar took what information he could get and left, uneasily watching over his shoulder as he strode back towards the city.
The cottage was a really just a single room with a bed, a table, a stove, a few shelves and a couple chairs. Surfacers might have called it ‘cozy’ but to Sheyreiza it was a hovel fit for slaves. On the other hand, she had seen the inside of more than one dungeon in her time and while this cottage was no bigger than some of the cells she had occupied, the door did not lock from the outside. She settled in and bit back the urge to complain. The surfacers would expect the worst from her now, so to keep their trust she had to play nice.
Inthara came after Hignar left. The dwarf had told her about Sheyreiza’s change in appearance so while Inthara was wary, she was also easy to convince. Inthara asked about Sheyreiza’s conversion and again Sheyreiza did little more than confirm it had happened. She did not speak at all about murdering the elven family, about killing the heretics or about sacrificing her only son. Instead, Sheyreiza implied the conversion was easy because Lolth wanted the alliance and would extract her price when Sheyreiza went to the afterlife. Inthara nodded along but it was clear she had news of her own to tell so Sheyreiza let the subject change.
The children were here - Inthara had Shein’n and Vraja. Isaniel, the Lonelywood elf who had brought news of Jain’n’s death, had actually done what Sheyreiza asked; she brought the children out of hiding and gave them to Inthara. They were in Silverymoon at that very moment.
A bolt of violent, vengeful, burning lust shot through Sheyreiza. So close. The children were so close and they were in the hands of Inthara. Sheyreiza could get to them. She might not ever get to Jain’n as someone else had killed him before she could, but revenge was still possible; she could hurt the children. She would have to play this game cautiously but boldly, like a savva player who sees a winning combination in the pieces left on the web, but who must now find that elusive path to victory. As the lust fueled Sheyreiza’s mind and she began analyzing all the possible moves and counter moves, a small part of her deep down inside her soul also cursed Inthara. How could the sorceress be so foolish as to tell Sheyreiza about the children? Had she no memory of what Lolthian society was like? Did she not remember Sheyreiza telling Isaniel to keep the children away? Did she not remember her own words when she warned Sheyreiza not to have Isaniel bring the children? The nervousness in Inthara’s voice signaled she did remember of course. Her common sense, however, was overwhelmed by her joy at having the children back. Inthara was also betrayed by her very nature; she simply talked too much and was no good at keeping secrets.
Go slowly, Sheyreiza told herself. Do not push to fast or to far. Inthara knew that Sheyreiza might be a danger to the children and if she felt that danger imminent, she would bolt and the children would slip beyond Sheyreiza’s grasp again. Sheyreiza did not press Inthara about the children and let the conversation turn to other matters.
Inthara told Sheyreiza about the city, about the war preparations and about her journey out to the Moonwoods, the very same dark forest Sheyreiza had recently walked through. It seemed the village Sheyreiza had passed was called Quaerrvar and was indeed home to both elves and humans. Inthara also spoke of the strange hill north of the village that had so unsettled Sheyreiza; the mysterious mound turned out to be the home of the Mouth of Song, a temple to Eilistraee where drow and elf lived side by side, singing and dancing for Lady Silverhair by moonlight. Inthara was not living there yet, but she was spending time there talking with its folk.
All was not well with Inthara, however. She had begun hearing the voice of Hartex in her head. He had been pressing her to return to Lolth but the sorceress resisted. Sheyreiza began silently cursing the demon for making such a blunt, clumsy attempt. Could he not show a little patience? A little cunning?
Then Inthara confessed her recent crimes. It seemed Inthara had been near Quaerrvar one night when shadows appeared. She was not sure if they were undead, shades or something else entirely. In the confusion, she let loose several arrows, two of which found marks. When the darkness lifted, Inthara saw that she had slain two of the villagers. Fearful of the surfacers’ wrath, she fled. Though she had not meant to kill them, she doubted the villagers would listen to reason. When Inthara mentioned Hartex had been talking to her all the while Sheyreiza could barely restrain a smile. There was little doubt the deaths were a set up. The demon's cajoling might be too overt to work on its own, but Sheyreiza could capitilize on the killings.
This was the final piece Sheyreiza needed. She could see the path to victory now – but the path would take several more moves and her gambit could be countered along the way. Brute force would be useless here; deception would be the key.
Sheyreiza nodded in sympathy and comforted Inthara as the sorceress spoke, but she also fed Inthara’s fears. She reminded Inthara of what had happened to Sadei at the hands of humans when the young Eilistraeen was put on trial – and Sadei’s crimes were far less than Inthara’s even if the killing was an accident. Inthara admitted she was scared to go back to the Mouth of Song now, because Quaervarr lay in the path. Even Silverymoon was frightening to her now. Any moment she expected teleporting Spellguard to appear and arrest her.
With the flames of Inthara’s fears well stoked, Sheyreiza quietly suggested that Inthara leave Silverymoon. Inthara retorted that she had no place to go, and what of the children? Sheyreiza made one of her moves. The children were in danger, she told Inthara. Inthara was incredulous at first, but Sheyreiza pointed out the ‘obvious’ facts; if Inthara’s killings were discovered, Inthara would likely hang for the crime, but so would Shein’n. Shein’n was a drow after all. The surfacers were unlikely to care that one of her parents was a surface elf. Inthara nodded and related that since her infancy, Shein’n’s skin had darkened to the jet black of the drow and her hair had gone white. This only reinforced Sheyreiza’s argument. Vraja too was in danger; if Inthara was hung, what then would become of Vraja? He would be a ward of the city, most likely fated to be given to some human farmers as an indentured servant and made to work a plough or smithy the rest of his miserable days. Never would he roam the forests freely with his Tel’Quessir kin like his father Nylo. He would likely forget the elven language altogether and become a human in all ways but blood.
Abject fear showed in Inthara’s face. While she had feared for her own life after killing the two villagers she had not seriously considered the fate of the two children. Quickly, Inthara’s fear turned to anger and resolution. She would not let that happen. No one would harm the children while she was their guardian. No one would hang Shein’n for Inthara’s crimes and no one would enslave Vraja. No one would take her children away again, not if she had to kill every villager she came across.
Sheyreiza supported Inthara’s resolve but made no suggestion about what to do. She would not push Inthara – such a push would likely be too transparent. She had to hide her lust for revenge as long as possible.
They kept talking for hours and Inthara’s hesitation and caution slowly evaporated as she grew more familiar with the new Sheyreiza. It looked like a different woman but the new Sheyreiza sounded like the old Sheyreiza. Whenever possible, Sheyreiza would hint about the dangers of the surface and of the children falling into a stranger’s hands. Never did she say anything overtly – she only responded to Inthara – but she carefully kept nudging Inthara back to the subject of her killings. Just before dawn, as Inthara prepared to leave, Sheyreiza made a move; she told Inthara she would like to see Shein’n if possible so she could explain why she had left. Sheyreiza reminded Inthara that when she had been banished, she had been denied such an opportunity. Inthara nodded. Having talked with Shein’n, Inthara knew the child had no idea about what really happened between her mother and father. She agreed to bring the children by the cottage.
Another piece fell into place.
***
Sheyreiza smoothed the skirts of her gown when she heard voices outside. Glancing through the small cottage window, she saw Inthara approaching with two children, one an elf boy, the other a drow girl. They were all chatting. Sheyreiza stepped over to the fire and waited as the trio came in. The chatting stopped as they looked upon Sheyreiza who was dressed in her finest silver and white silk gown. She smiled as they looked her over curiously, but only Inthara returned the smile.
“Who is she mother?” Asked Vraja breaking the silence. “She looks nice.”
“Be quite Vraja.” Shein’n snapped.
Inthara looked at the two children and gestured to Sheyreiza who kneeled to their height. “Shein'n, Vraja, meet Sheyreiza.”
Vraja looked from his mother to the kneeling woman. “Oh. Hello Sheyreiza. I'm Vraja.” A big smile spread across his young face. There was no guile or fear in it, just innocence and joy.
“I know, young man.” Sheyreiza replied happily. I could kill all three of them now, she thought to herself. They are all within reach. How easy it would be. But that is not what Lolth wants. If I killed them here and now I would have to flee and the alliance would fail. Revenge is important, but the survival of the cities is more so. Besides, killing them is not enough - Lolth wants their souls, not just their lives, and I will give them to her.
Shein’n barely restrained a scowl. “Hello.... mother.” The girl looked up to Inthara. “Why did you bring us to her?”
“To meet me.” Sheyreiza answered, as an astonished Vraja looked back and forth between mother and daughter. “It has been a long time since I have seen you Shein'n. Or you, Master Vraja.” Vraja grinned at the title.
Shein’n ignored Sheyreiza for the moment and stared at Inthara. “Its safer.” Inthara explained. “The danger that was feared will not happen and the city is no longer safe.”
“That is not what you said earlier Inthara.” Shein’n retorted. She was sharp and suspicious Sheyreiza thought, while Vraja was eager and happy. Shein’n looked back to Sheyreiza, her eyes narrowed. “You are.... different.”
Sheyreiza nodded. “In many ways, yes. This face, the one you see now, is my true face. The face you knew as an infant was one I borrowed.”
The girl looked back at the boy. “Vraja. Wait outside.”
Vraja tried to go but Inthara held him close. “Mother, can you let go? She told me to go outside.”
Interesting, Sheyreiza thought, he does what Shein’n tells him to do and does it without question. “It’s alright Inthara.” Sheyreiza said with a smile. “Master Vraja can go outside. Why don't you go with him?” Inthara nodded and left, taking Vraja with her.
When they were gone, Shein’n regarded her mother coolly. “Why did you change?” Straight to the heart of the matter, good girl, Sheyreiza thought. The child was perceptive, untrusting and intelligent. Perfect.
“War is coming to the surfacers. Our people, the drow, can help them, but someone has to convince them to do it. And someone has to lead our people in the fight that is to come. I changed so I can go back to our people and convince them to fight the Shades. Humans are people, despite what your father may have taught you. They are not elves, this is true, but they are people. And there are many dwarves here as well, and elves too. All of them are people and all of them are threatened by the Shades.” Sheyreiza spoke to Shein’n about the Shade threat and what it meant both for the peoples of the surface and the peoples of the Underdark. She stressed the need for an alliance, even one as strange as this one, to fight back what appeared to be an unstoppable foe.
Shein’n had many questions, not the least of which was why Sheyreiza had to return to ‘evil.’ Shein’n would not say Lolth’s name but she knew who the Spider Queen was. Her father had filled her with horror stories; horror stories that Sheyreiza knew were only inaccurate because they failed to convey the true evil of Lolth’s dominion. How could one teach the truth of something one had never experienced? Sheyreiza met Shein’n head on – or seemed to. She did not deny the label of ‘evil’ that Shein’n put upon Lolth nor did she deny her return to the Spider Queen. Instead, she subverted the specifics. Certainly Lolth was evil, but even an evil goddess can see when her people are threatened and has the common sense to take the necessary steps to protect them. What is more Lolthian than self-preservation? An alliance such as this was purely within Lolth’s nature – it meant saving her people from destruction while getting others to fight much of the battle.
The girl wanted to know what would happen next so Sheyreiza outlined the plan in its broadest terms. Now that Sheyreiza had returned to the Spider Queen, she could return to the Underdark and negotiate with the Matrons of Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan. An army of drow and slave troops would be formed and this army would then aid in the coming fight against the Shades. Shein’n was not easily swayed but she was at least appeased. With her questions answered for the moment, Shein’n’s attention turned to Vraja and she went outside to find him. Sheyreiza followed. Everyone was just outside the cottage by the old log that served as a makeshift bench. Vraja wiggled out of Inthara’s arms and retrieved a small bow. He began speaking excitedly of going hunting and of the arrows he made. Shein’n wanted to see them. As the two children talked Inthara took Sheyreiza’s hand and began tapping in code.
[i:2m8ung7a]I have something I need to tell you.[/i:2m8ung7a]
Sheyreiza tapped back into the cup of Inthara’s hand. [i:2m8ung7a]What?[/i:2m8ung7a]
[i:2m8ung7a]I am going to go with you. You are right, it is safer for them. I want you to bring me home; to our Queen. I cannot go as I was. As a Eilistraeen.[/i:2m8ung7a]
Sheyreiza’s heart raced but she struggled not to show her emotions; another piece was falling into place. Infront of the adults, the children were discussing the arrows Vraja had made. Shein’n was examining them carefully. The boy was convinced he could bring down at least four deer. Sheyreiza pointed out that he could not possibly eat four deer and if he went hunting he should take only one. He decided he would take an orc instead. Shein’n said he was a fool for even thinking he could take an orc but Vraja’s energy and enthusiasm was boundless. Sheyreiza could see Vraja was intent on hunting and Shein’n intent on going where ever he went, so she sent them on their way. She limited Vraja to one deer and no orcs, and cautioned them both to run immediately if they saw any unnatural darkness. “Good hunting, Master Vraja.” She said with a smile.
As the two ran off for the hunt Sheyreiza could hear Vraja bragging, “She called me master again!”
“No doubt because you are the master fool at times.” Shein’n replied. It was an interesting relationship they had. Though Shein’n was hard on Vraja she clearly loved him and he obviously loved her. They were best friends even if they were a study in physical, emotional and mental opposites. Perhaps that was [i:2m8ung7a]why[/i:2m8ung7a] they were best friends.
Inthara turned to Sheyreiza and spoke in their native tongue. “Bring me home, my Heart
Sheyreiza nodded. “Come inside.”
They sat in the cottage next to the stove and Sheyreiza tended the fire. “Sister,” Sheyreiza said, “Your return is possible, but Lolth will test you. She will test more than your desire to return to her.”
Inthara brushed back her hair. “Yes, I know. I know She will. She will test my heart, spirit and soul; test my love. I know what I'm asking, and what the price can be. But I cannot believe that I will be safe here.”
“You are [i:2m8ung7a]not[/i:2m8ung7a] safe here. She will most likely want to know you truly seek redemption. She will also likely want to know you are worth it - in other words, that you are strong enough for her to care about.”
“I will do as you did.”
“Then you will face Her test as I did. I would tell you of it, but it is for you to discover on your own.”
“If She finds me worthy, then She will have me back - fully this time. If not, then She can take my soul.”
And she will be more than happy to, Sheyreiza thought. “There is but one way through it if you wish to be successful; And that is through Her, with no hesitation, regret, or second thoughts. You do what She wants, no matter what.
Inthara hugged Sheyreiza from behind, gently squeezing her. “Yes. Without hesitation, without regret. It will be harder than what I was before. I knew no other goddess before. Lolth was the only one I had. Now I've known another's touch.”
“Now you know there are choices.” It had always been about choices, Sheyreiza thought. That’s what life was – a series of choices. “To go back to Her, you must [i:2m8ung7a]choose[/i:2m8ung7a] Her.”
“And I make my choice. Now.” Inthara said resolutely. The sorceress rested her lovely head on Shey's back. “As much as I love Eilistraee, She cannot protect me or the children.”
“No. We have seen what little protection the love of Eilistraee can provide: Talice, Sadei, Laele, Numenor, Akordia, Hivarra, and all the others...dead.”
Inthara pressed her face against Sheyreiza’s skin. “I loved Her. Loved Nylo, Jain'n and many others, yet they all betrayed me; Jain'n, comsumed by his 'duty'; Nylo, his left hand, always doing what Jain’n ordered. They lied to us about things, kept things from us. Took away our children.” The sorceress began to weep.
“It is the lying that hurts me the most.” Sheyreiza said softly, staring distantly into the fire. “Matron Shyntlara took my son Tanias away from me, but she never lied about it. She never told me she was 'good' and I was 'bad' and that was why she did it. She did not ply me with tales of love and fantasies about happiness. She simply was who she was and did what she did. She was honest. Jain'n...Jain'n used lies of love to use me; to use us.”
“Yes. To use our wombs. All my life, I've been used and treated as a tool, a thing, by everyone. Everyone except one. You, Sheyreiza. You saw something and brought that out of me.”
“You are my sister, Inthara. Not by blood, but by something stronger. Choice.” Sheyreiza’s voice was as warm as sun’s light outside and as strong as the walls of the city, but that warmth and strength concealed her cold thoughts. I will see you damned to the Demonweb if you are so weak as to ignore the warnings I gave you, Inthara Despana. Follow me in this life, and you will follow me in death [i:2m8ung7a]sister.[/i:2m8ung7a] And you will deserve it if you bring those children with you, for in so doing, you doom them as well, and for that, you deserve the damnation I am leading you towards.
“Yes, sisters.” Inthara took a deep breath. “I want to stay with you, supporting you when you need it.”
Sheyreiza looked into the fire and decided to plant another hook. So far she had manipulated Inthara with fear of punishment. Now it was time to offer a reward. “Then let us stay together and weather this storm as a family.”
“Together, we can build a strong family.” Inthara echoed.
“Yes. Perhaps a house one day. A [i:2m8ung7a]Qu'ellar[/i:2m8ung7a]. I have spent some divinations on your desires.”
“Oh? What did you see?” Inthara was ever the curious soul.
“You may bear children again, but it will come only as a reward from Her.”
“The Maiden cannot give me that.” Inthara admitted, a spark of anger flaring in her voice.
Sheyreiza decided to fan that spark. “Cannot? I rather think she simply [i:2m8ung7a]will[/i:2m8ung7a] not. The Maiden is punishing you.”
Inthara blinked in shock and then her eyes narrowed. “That bitch.” She hissed. Her hands clenched tightly. “Very well, when can it be done?”
Too easy, Sheyreiza thought. “I think we can likely do it as soon as we get into the Underdark, to Mantol Derith.” While outwardly Sheyreiza offered Inthara comfort, inside, she cursed the sorceress; Inthara, you are weak and you will suffer for it. Soon you will serve Lolth and she will have your soul – all because you were too weak to heed the warnings you were given and too in love with me to use your common sense.
Inthara appeared oblivious. “Everyone that I've cared for has lied to me, except you and Lolth. She may be evil, but as you said, She is honest about it. My Heart, if She takes my soul but doesn’t take me back, treat my body well.” The sorceress hugged Sheyreiza tightly and began to sob.
“I promise sister. I have always treated the dead well and my sister will be no exception.” That was not a lie. If Inthara failed the test of Lolth and paid with her life, Sheyreiza would see her body properly taken care of. The dead deserved respect, even those that failed, for in the end, every drow, successful or not, faithful or not, was going to fail and was going to die. She would not allow Inthara’s body to be defiled or used in necromancy – such a fate was for iblith, not Ilythiiri, and even then, Sheyreiza thought of it as the severest of punishments – one she generally reserved only for those who had proven themselves to be defilers of the dead.
Inthara sniffled and stopped sobbing. She looked up at the window where the light was growing red with the sunset. “Shouldn't the children be coming back soon?”
“Yes, why don't you go find them.”
The sorceress wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Goodbye sister.” She said on her way out.
Goodbye sister, Sheyreiza said to herself. The pieces were in place upon the web of the great savva game. Had this been a human chess match rather than savva, one player would be telling the other “check.”
Still, it was not checkmate. Sheyreiza feared that Inthara would have second thoughts. There were still other pieces on the board not yet accounted for or neutralized. Hignar was not the least of those pieces. He could conceivably get Inthara out of this, either by talking some sense into her or by force if he had to. Sheyreiza needed to conclude this game quickly before the dwarf or anyone else could interfere. She was so close to revenge; so close to claiming all three souls for Lolth.
Down in the depths of her own soul another fear gnawed at her. The fear that Inthara would [i:2m8ung7a]not[/i:2m8ung7a] have second thoughts; that the dwarf would [i:2m8ung7a]not[/i:2m8ung7a] intervene in time; that all three souls [i:2m8ung7a]would[/i:2m8ung7a] go to Lolth. As she watched Inthara through the cottage window that tiny fear became a silent voice and that voice became a silent scream. The tiny part of Sheyreiza that was not evil wanted Inthara to wake up and see the web of deceit she was falling into. That tiny part cried in horror at the thought of what was going to happen to innocent, happy little Vraja and to the beautiful, but wounded little Shein’n.
But though that tiny little part of her soul was screaming in horror at what was happening, Sheyreiza was committed; body and soul she belonged to Lolth, even if the Spider Queen was so twisted as to allow a piece of good to remain in Sheyreiza just so she could feel the pain she caused and use her knowledge of good against her enemies. That tiny little part might not want to see Inthara, Vraja and Shein’n taken into darkness, but Sheyreiza was going to do everything in her power to see that they were. The web was spun, the pieces were in play, her opponent was in check – victory and vengeance were at hand. Nothing would stop her from achieving that victory, not even left over bits of conscience and morality lying like bones of her past life at the bottom of that black pit she called a soul. She would have her vengeance - one way or another, they were going to Lolth.
[i:vlsrhq6d]And now, here is the hardest chapter of this tale, the emotional pinnacle of our saga - the moment when we see the light of love...and just how dark the black heart of evil can be. [/i:vlsrhq6d]
[b:vlsrhq6d]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 15. The Last Flight of the Butterfly. [/b:vlsrhq6d]
Sheyreiza spent several days after her return from the Underdark living in the cottage with Inthara, Shein’n, and little Vraja. She was waiting for Nikie Stitch to come from Sembia with the trade goods they would use as gifts for the Matron Mothers. Once Nikie returned with the dresses, silks and spices, they were going down to Mantol Derith to make their proposal. Before returning to the surface Sheyreiza had requested a meeting with Matron Tlabbar. Ghenni’salla said she would pass the request along and that Sheyreiza could return in a month for her answer. The time was drawing near. With Sheyreiza back in Lolth’s favor the first phase of this plan was finished. The second phase, actually securing the alliance, was about to start.
They could not leave without Nikie, however. Sheyreiza passed the time watching the children and trying to gain their trust. Little Vraja passed the time hunting, always with Shein’n just behind him. She followed his lead but was ever seeking to guide him at the same time. He did not seem to mind; indeed, he seemed to appreciate her advice greatly. Much like his father Nylo, Vraja was more about doing things than getting caught up in ego or appearances. The boy just wanted to have fun. Shein’n was substantially smarter than Vraja but also substantially more insecure. Vraja approached life eagerly, almost recklessly; Shein’n approached it cautiously, warily. Shein’n would not have gone hunting on her own; Vraja would go, but would not likely be successful. Shein’n was growing up too fast, while Vraja seemed like he might never grow up at all. Vraja supplied the motivation and energy, while Shein’n supplied the cunning and caution. The combination was complimentary and they worked well together; on their first hunt they actually managed to bring down a wolf.
Gradually Shein’n warmed to Sheyreiza and the two began to talk more. Sheyreiza told related the story of how she met Jain’n and came to the surface. Shein’n in turn related what it had been like living in Evereska. Because she was drow, Vraja had been her only friend. Though she often chided him for not being as smart as she was, she needed him dearly. Shein’n could not express her feelings or even really understand them, but to Sheyreiza it was obvious that her expressions of scorn for Vraja were the product of her own insecurity; Shein’n needed Vraja so much she resented him for it. Still, it was obvious she cherished him. Vraja was her world. Inthara’s presence was a threat and Shein’n chafed a bit when the sorceress was around. Though long since separated from his mother, Vraja had taken to Inthara immediately and this caused great anxiety in Shein’n. Sheyreiza recognized this and tried to help her through it. For the time being, Sheyreiza needed all four of them to get along. And for a couple of days they did, just like a little family.
While Vraja hunted, and Sheyreiza got know Shein’n, Inthara cooked. Her skill was improving by leaps and bounds now. Ever since coming to the surface, Inthara’s culinary adventures had gotten more daring and more successful. While the foursome lived in the cottage, it was almost always full of the most wonderful smells; exotic spices, pungent meat, fragrant fruits and fresh herbs. Sheyreiza wondered if this was how all surfacers lived. If so, she began to understand some of the appeal. It was nice, comfortable. It was not for her, but she could see how a primitive race as short lived as humans might be satisfied simply trying to live what few days they had in this world in such a pleasant manner. While devoid of any real hope of achievement, such a life was also devoid of the strife and struggle that characterized more advanced, longer lived societies.
On the first night, after cooking the evening meal, Inthara traveled to the Moonwood. She went to the Mouth of Song to say good bye to Gryndal. Sheyreiza knew letting Inthara go was risky; Gryndal, now known as Orthea’Xiad, or Moonshadow, might convince Inthara not to go with Sheyreiza. On the other hand, if Sheyreiza forbid Inthara from saying her good byes to Gryndal the entire scheme might fall apart; Sheyreiza had to maintain a hold on Inthara and the children but it had to be a gentle one. Squeeze too tight and the trio was liable to slip between her fingers. Sheyreiza’s fears were unfounded however; Inthara returned, still intent on going to the underdark and without her symbol of Eilistraee. The next day the sorceress traveled back to Silverymoon to buy a harp and a few other things for the journey ahead. It seemed she was taking up music again.
The children were curious about the underdark. When told it was full of dangerous creatures Vraja offered to protect Sheyreiza saying he would “squish ‘em!” Shein’n chided Vraja for his naiveté. With his perennial good nature, Vraja took the rebuke with a smile commenting only that Shein’n was always right. Sheyreiza told them they would not be “squishing” anything if they could help it; better to avoid the hazards of the Underdark than try and fight through them.
On the second night it was Sheyreiza’s turn to make a little excursion. After supper, she stripped off her gown and began dressing in her armor. She started with her boots, as she often did. As the priestess disrobed, Shein’n’s eyes went wide at the sight of Sheyreiza’s great tattoo. They followed the ribbon of inked webbing from Sheyreiza’s ankle, up her leg, around her torso and down her arms.
“Those are pretty...” Shein’n uttered.
Sheyreiza looked back at her daughter. “What, the boots?” She knew what caught Shein’n’s eye, but she wanted to make it seem unimportant. The tattooing was clearly Lolthian; an intricate band of webbing decorated with spiders. She did not want Shein’n scared off by it. “They..oh...you mean the tattoos.” Sheyreiza smiled as she pulled on her other boot. “They are not just pretty, they are magical.”
“I want some like those mother.”
Sheyreiza was caught off guard. She had expected the child to be frightened not fascinated. This was much better. Sheyreiza could take advantage of this. “We can arrange that,” Sheyreiza offered quickly but coolly, “though we have to wait until your body has grown if we want them to look right.” Disappointment showed on Shein’n’s face. The girl quickly shifted her focus and inquired after Sheyreiza’s armor. Sheyreiza told her that when they got to Mantol Derith she would see about getting some for her. This caught Vraja’s attention immediately. He wanted armor as well, and a sword. Sheyreiza laughed and promised him they would look into it – once they got to Mantol Derith. The children were suddenly very excited about the forthcoming trip. How simple it had been to manipulate them. Sheyreiza wanted to take pride in it, but like the turning of Inthara, it had really been too easy. Children and weak willed souls were not worthy opponents for her. Still, she had to give herself some credit; she was about to snatch three souls for Lolth from under the very nose of Alustriel, the Knights in Silver, that Dwarf King Hignar, and even those moon-dancing heretics. Not a bad accomplishment.
Oblivious to Sheyreiza’s scheming, Vraja drew a knife from his belt. “I have a dagger already! I can kill anything with it!”
“You could probably only kill a rabbit with it Vraja.” Shein’n snorted.
Vraja’s face deepened in thought. “Oh... um... alright.” Suddenly his face brightened. “Well then I'll name it rabbit slayer!” The smiling boy held the sword up as if it was a gift from the gods themselves. “Rabbitslayer it is!” He exclaimed.
“Vraja, you are truly unbowed.” Sheyreiza said with a laugh.
“What does that mean Aunt Sheyreiza? Can I call you Aunt? I always wanted an Aunt.”
“It means no matter what life throws at you, you come up smiling and ready. And yes, you may call me Aunt, because I am your mother's adopted sister.”
“Oh.” Vraja grinned. “Well no point in being sad or angry is my motto.” Impulsively, he ran across the small room and hugged Sheyreiza around the legs. “Hello Aunt!”
Sheyreiza let loose a happy laugh, not because she felt it, but because she knew that was what she was supposed to do. “Hello nephew.” She said with a fake smile. Her deception went unnoticed. So far as the children were concerned, they were a family now. Just the four of them.
For a moment, just a moment, Sheyreiza looked beyond what she knew had to happen to what could have happened. Would it have been so bad to lead a less ambitious life? Would it have been so bad to spend her days living in this cottage with the children and Inthara; Vraja hunting, Inthara cooking, Sheyreiza teaching Shein’n lore and spellcasting. Would that not be happiness? Would that not be enough? An unusual family they would be, but family none the less. Not in the drow concept of family, but in a new way. Well, perhaps not a new way – it seemed to be common amongst surfacers. Still, would it not be possible? Would it not be enough?
The darkness outside the small cottage window reminded her of the answer. No, it would not be enough. A shadow would soon fall across this land, across this cottage, if the people’s of the world did not unite to stop it. That shadow would put an end to Sheyreiza’s fantasy family just as quickly as Lolth would. At least Lolth might give one or more of them a chance to serve. The shadow would simply kill or enslave them.
Yes, Sheyreiza had to destroy her family even as it was just being born. It was a doomed family, the dream of a sleeper who would soon be woken. And if it was doomed, Sheyreiza did not want its doom to be in vain. She would not wait here idly, hoping someone else would save them from the shadow. Sheyreiza had seen what relying on others got you: nothing. Someone had to bring the peoples together. Someone had to make the sacrifice.
She closed her eyes. But what if there was no threat? What if no shadow was going to fall? Could she have stayed here then? Could she have foresworn becoming a Matron to simply become a mother?
Anger swept over her. There was no point to these questions. Daydreams were for children and Sheyreiza was no child any longer. Her destiny was not hearth and home, it was blood and betrayal. So be it.
Sheyreiza slid her fang-shield onto her arm, unlimbered her Morningstar and opened the door. “I am going to go walk the area to ensure the shades do not set an ambush for us. Inthara, watch Shein'n and Vraja, and wait for Nikie. I will be back before too long.”
Inthara nodded as Sheyreiza walked out. She had no intention of patrolling. She was headed to Quaervarr, that little village of elves and humans that lay on the south edge of the Moonwood where she had almost been seen by an elven bowman walking his own patrol. Hartex had told Sheyreiza how to bring him into this plane of existence; she needed to sacrifice a child of her own womb, she needed the bones of a male and she needed the blood of a darthiir. The death of her son Tanias fulfilled the first two requirements; his bones were in a satchel Sheyreiza had been carrying since Mantol Derith. Now she just needed the blood of an elf. How convenient she had happened upon that elven patroller. Leaving her family and her thoughts behind, Sheyreiza stalked quietly into the night
***
The hunt did not take long. Sheyreiza prowled about the small village invisibly until she found a lone elven warrior. She wrapped her morning star head in several layers of cloth and leather before assaulting him under cover of a darkness globe. The servants of the shades attacked under cover of darkness and Sheyreiza hoped if this was witnessed, such would be the conclusion of the villagers. Surprised and unable to see, the man was quickly overcome despite his bravery and training. With her padded weapon, Sheyreiza was able to render the man unconscious without killing him; it was easier to drain him of his blood while his heart was still beating. Still undercover of darkness, she cut his throat and let him bleed out into a bowl she had brought. Then she turned invisible again and left.
She did not walk back to the cottage. Instead, she walked into the woods until she found a secluded meadow. There she set about drawing a magic circle with the blood she had collected. In the middle of the circle she placed the bones of her son, Tanias. Then she called out to Hartex.
Hartex answered.
Red light filled the glade as the ground split open. A long, spindly black leg covered in horrid looking bristles reached out of the glowing fissure. Sheyreiza recognized the leg as belonging to a bebilith demon; she had seen a similar leg appear from a similar planar opening during the siege of the Promenade. One by one more long, black, wickedly hooked legs appeared along the edges of the crack until all eight were out. The body of the beast followed smoothly. It appeared before her, standing at least ten feet tall and twenty feet across from foot to foot. It was as large as the cottage she had been living in, probably larger. As the abyssal rift closed like a healing wound upon the ground, the fiendish arachnid bowed before Sheyreiza.
A beautiful, wicked smile crossed Sheyreiza’s exquisite face. There was absolutely no doubt now that she stood in Lolth’s favor. And there was no doubt that Sheyreiza would do whatever it took to keep that favor.
***
On the return trip Hartex transformed from his bebilith shape to that of his old drow body. Sheyreiza could not help but be a little disappointed, though she knew it was for the best. The truth about Hartex was a valuable secret and she had no wish to lose its power with out profiting from it first. Moreover, the appearance of a spider demon the size of a cottage might push her light skinned and weak willed “allies” over the edge. It was obvious dealing with drow was hard enough on their tender psyches; the sudden appearance of an actual fiend might precipitate an end to the alliance. That was unacceptable; Sheyreiza was not through with it yet.
Before reaching their destination Sheyreiza and the newly reconstituted Hartex came across a small but vicious melee. On a hill overlooking some farm fields a force of Silverymoon’s knights fought desperately against what appeared to be undead. From their shouts Sheyreiza quickly gathered the knights were having difficulty harming the monster. Several of the plate armored humans had already fallen along the hillside, their shining mail rent by unnatural claws and stained red with gore. Seeing an opportunity to further strengthen the alliance and test her new pet at the same time, Sheyreiza sent Hartex into battle to aid the knights. The undead creature was far stronger than it appeared but it nevertheless fell quickly to Hartex’s double blades. The demon could not resist heaping his scorn upon the winded and bloody human survivors but Sheyreiza reined him in before any political damage was done. Quickly the pair traveled to the cottage, leaving the humans to tend their wounded and bury their dead.
Leaving Hartex on guard outside, Sheyreiza entered to find Inthara playing her harp for the children. Little Vraja was playing with a battle helmet.
“You may have need of that helmet sooner than you think.” Sheyreiza told him as she entered. She looked to Inthara. “We must stay alert sister.”
“Trouble afoot?”
Sheyreiza told Inthara about the undead but did not elaborate upon the details of how they were defeated. “There is something more important, however.” The priestess said. “I have brought an old friend to help escort us to our destination in safety.”
“Anyone I know?” Inthara asked with a tremulous voice and anxious eyes.
Sheyreiza held the sorceress’ gaze. “Yes. Hartex Claddath.”
“I see.” Inthara’s voice was strangely calm now. Sheyreiza was not sure if it was resignation or denial. She put a hand on Inthara’s shoulder and began to tap a message to the sorceress.
[i:vlsrhq6d]Do not speak of his death or the fact that he is a demon to the children, it will only scare them.[/i:vlsrhq6d] Inthara nodded her assent. Vraja saw the change in Inthara, but both of the women quickly assured the little boy that all was well. Inthara returned to her harp as the foursome settled into wait for Nikie.
***
An hour later Hartex warned Sheyreiza of Hignar’s approach. She gathered up Inthara and the children and met the dwarf outside where he stood toe to toe with Hartex. The two seemed to be taking each other’s measure; Hignar suspicious of the new drow, Hartex contemptuous of the old dwarf. Nikie Stitch stood nearby casually watching the scene.
“Hello again.” Sheyreiza smiled at the dwarf king. “Hignar, this is my bodyguard, Hartex. Hartex, this is Hignar, a king of dwarves, and Nikie Stitch, his ambassador.”
As Sheyreiza greeted Hignar Inthara stepped out of the cottage dressed for travel with a pack on her back and the children in hand.
Nikie saw the children and looked to Inthara. “Yours Butterfly?”
Sheyreiza answered first. “The girl is Shein'n, my daughter. The boy is Vraja, Inthara's son.”
Vraja smiled and waved. “I'm Vraja! Hello!”
Nikie returned Vraja’s smile and greeting. “Hello Vraja.”
Hignar glanced at the children but ignored the introductions. “Butterfly, what're you doing?” The dwarf was wide-eyed as he looked over the sorceress decked out for battle with her bow slung across her back and her sword at her hip.
“I am going with Sheyreiza.” Inthara said as she wrapped a cloth around her eyes to shield herself from the daylight.
“Why are you going with'er?” Hignar glanced at the children. “Are you.... taking the children with you?”
“Vraja is my son.” Inthara replied with a nod.
“I met Isaniel,” Hignar told Inthara, “she said she brought the children. The chilrun 're stay'n here?”
“Nau.” Inthara said as she finished tying the cloth around her eyes.
“Where 're they goin' then?”
“With us.” Inthara said firmly.
“The children go with Inthara,” added Sheyreiza, “and she is coming with us for the time being.”
Hignar turned to Sheyreiza, his eyes full of doubt and suspicion. “I thought ye said they'd sacrifice her? She doesn't follow Lolth.”
“They do not know that.” Hartex snapped back. The demon stopped himself before he said anything further and quickly offered Sheyreiza a bow in apology for speaking out of turn.
“They'll find 'ut.” The dwarf’s voice was heating up and it was obvious this turn of events was not to his liking.
“We will be traveling to Mantol Derith first.” Sheyreiza replied coolly. “Though the Lolthians will not like it, they cannot strike at her there. The four laws of Mantol Derith prohibit it.” That was a complete lie of course. The laws of Mantol Derith, generally referred to as the covenants, were concerned entirely with promoting trade and prohibiting theft or fraud. Persecuting heretic members of one’s own race was a subject not even remotely touched by the covenants, but Sheyreiza knew Hignar had no way of knowing that.
“I am safer at Mantol Derith than here.” Inthara declared confidently. Hignar just shook his head and sighed.
Sheyreiza, however, had to restrain a smile; the only thing that would keep Inthara safe was an unwavering commitment to Lolth. Mantol Derith would test that commitment, and if Inthara was found wanting, Mantol Derith would the most unsafe place for her imaginable. Sheyreiza had known this encounter would be difficult; she never had any doubt that Hignar would not want Inthara and the children to go. However, at the moment, it appeared that the dwarf was not going to actively oppose it. Sheyreiza had deliberately sprung the news on him to catch him unprepared; given time, he might be able to think of a counter move that would block Sheyreiza’s plans. It would not be hard, for example, for Hignar to alleviate Inthara’s fear of reprisals for the deaths of the two villagers. Hignar could easily ensure the safety of the children so far as the Silver Marches’ authorities were concerned and might be able to ensure Inthara’s safety; if he did, Sheyreiza would lose some of her leverage on Inthara. Sheyreiza knew she had to move quickly before the dwarf thought everything through.
“We must be on our way.” Sheyreiza announced.
Hignar nodded in resignation and sighed again. “I wish 'he children 'ould stay'ere. I'll take'em into the city.”
A stern look of determination crossed Inthara’s face. “They come with me. Mantol Derith is not in the path of the Shades.”
Good girl. Sheyreiza thought to herself. How quickly the fly willingly wraps itself in the spider’s web
The dwarf looked between the two women suspiciously. “Alright 'hen... go.” His frustration and concern was evident in every syllable he uttered.
“Will you accompany us to the entrance Hignar? Or will this be as far as you go?”
Sheyreiza asked in a friendly voice
Hignar frowned and looked around. “As 'ar as I go. Shade marks my movements.”
Little Vraja smiled and extended a hand to Hignar. “Bye mister dwarf.” Hignar looked upon the cheery faced child for a moment but did not say anything or take his hand.
The group made their last arrangements and then set out with Hartex in the lead. Nikie slapped Hignar on the shoulder and shook his hand. “I will see you King of the Dwarves, my friend.”
“Take care, Nikie.” Hignar’s voice sounded almost as if it was going to break in emotion. The stout dwarf crossed his arms and watched the party set out.
Inthara, assigned to walk the trail position, was last to go. Before leaving, she reached into her satchel and pulled forth a circlet of hair. She handed it to Hignar. “A memento,” she said simply.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Hignar nodded and said “Thank ye.”
“Take care and success to your endeavors Hignar.”
The dwarf king looked the drow sorceress in the eyes. “Go.” As they walked away, he added softly, “Aluve’, Butterfly.”
Inthara’s sharp ears heard him. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes expressing her determination, her fear, her resolution and her love. “Aluve’.”
And then they were gone.
***
The party journeyed north with Hartex in the lead scouting, followed by Nikie and Sheyreiza, then the children and finally Inthara watching the rear. They traveled through the Moonwood, past the village where both Inthara and Sheyreiza had killed, past the great mound upon which Eilistraee’s temple the Mouth of Song sat, and all the way north to where the woods were choked with spider webs large and small. There they slipped into the darkness of cave deep in the bottom of what appeared to be a great sink hole a hundred yards across.
The party traveled quickly but quietly through the underdark, seeking to avoid the other denizens of the dark when possible. Of course, it was not always possible; along their journey they battled time and again. Umberhulks, foul oozes, hook horrors and undead all sought to waylay the small band. The blades of Hartex and Nikie mixed with the magic of Inthara and Sheyreiza’s morningstar and faith made quick work of those creatures foolish enough or unfortunate enough to fall in their path.
Days went by unnoticed in the lightless depths. If the lack of sun was having an ill-effect on Nikie or the children, it did not show. The party held together and each person ddi their part; for Hartex that meant scouting and killing, for the children that meant staying quiet, for the others, it meant staying alive.
As the party passed through the gate along the Black Chasm to the crossroads north of Mantol Derith, Sheyreiza brought the party to a halt. “Hold here for a moment.” She set her satchel down and removed her helmet. Hartex moved forward a shortways to keep watch, while Inthara and the children rested. “Nikie, it is time we spoke about a few things. Up ahead is Mantol Derith. It is a trade outpost. A multi-racial one. There are four main enclaves: Deep gnomes, svirfneblin, survivors of Blingdenstone; duergar from Gracklstugh; surfacers, mostly humans and half-orcs, from all over; and drow from Menzoberranzan.” Nikie nodded and Sheyreiza continued. “In Mantol Derith they trade relatively peacefully. There are a few laws. These laws are called covenants. Theft is not allowed. Disguising goods is not allowed. And the use of magic or mind powers to gain aid in negotiating is not allowed.”
Sheyreiza let that sink for a moment before continuing. “We are going to see the drow there. When we do, and throughout this process, you, Nikie, are likely to be treated in ways you do not like. The drow do not view you as a person, but as an animal. To them you are [i:vlsrhq6d]iblith[/i:vlsrhq6d]. Filth, waste, excrement.” Nearby, Inthara cautioned the children to listen to Sheyreiza and heed her words. “Your value to them is tied solely to your use.”
Hartex slipped out of the shadows. “Mistress, a patrol approaches from the north. We would not wish to be caught by them.”
“Let us go then.” Sheyreiza threw her satchel over her shoulder, tucked her helmet under her arm and led the party to the great magic carpet that lay at the bottom of the corridor they walked in. “Come onto the carpet. It will lift us up to Mantol Derith.” She pointed up and the party could see that far above them was a great cavern. The corridor they had been walking in was roofless here; it was really a trench whose top opened up into a great cavern above their heads. Sheyreiza bent down and whispered the secret command word to the magic carpet. The carpet, large enough to carry several fully loaded pack lizards and their handlers, began a slow ascent.
Once in the cavern Sheyreiza led the party to the west side of the grotto. “Nikie, we must report to the High Priestess first. For now, wait for us in the inn. You will find it due south of here.” She pointed in the direction of some shabby looking merchant stalls and foreboding, chain-adorned stage that was obviously used for slave auctions. “The inn is built into the cavern wall. We will come get you when we are ready. You should not have any problems; that is the surfacer quarter down there. There are many humans.”
“As well as other beings.” Hartex added. “The [i:vlsrhq6d]rivvil[/i:vlsrhq6d] can handle herself mistress.”
Sheyreiza arched an eyebrow; respect for a non-drow from Hartex was rare, in life or death. Nikie would bear closer scrutiny. The black clad human woman nodded to the rest of the party and headed south towards the magical glow of the surfacers’ quarter. Sheyreiza watched her go and then led the others through the rather plain looking stone door set in the west wall of the Mantol Derith grotto.
Inside the party was greeted with the smell of incense, the glow of permanent faerie fire, and a nearly naked priestess. “You have taken to wearing considerably less than last I saw you Yasharaya.” Sheyreiza said with a small laugh.
Yasharaya began dressing but was clearly unashamed at being found disrobed. “Greetings again.” The immodest woman regarded the children for a moment, her eyes settling on the pale pink skin of Vraja. “A sacrifice?” Inthara blinked in surprise at Yasharaya’s question and clutched Vraja to her tightly.
“They are a part of my entourage.” Sheyreiza explained. “I would like to see the [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar[/i:vlsrhq6d]. These others can wait here.”
“A strange entourage, but very well.” Yasharaya finished dressing and passed through the inner portal to the temple proper. She returned from the fane momentarily, a smile on her sensuous lips. “You may go in, Yathrin Sheyreiza.”
With one hand on her morningstar hilt in case of treachery, Sheyreiza walked through the metal doors and into the fane of Lolth. A cloaked woman bearing the regalia of a Faen Tlabbar high priestess stood near the altar, but it was not Ghenni’salla Faen Tlabbar.
“Greetings, honored [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar.[/i:vlsrhq6d]” Sheyreiza said cautiously, bending to one knee but never taking her hand off of her morningstar hilt or her eyes off of the woman.
“You are the Auvryndar heretic.” The woman said bluntly.
“A heretic no longer, honored [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar.[/i:vlsrhq6d]”
“Indeed.” The woman seemed unimpressed but also seemed uninterested in pressing the matter. “I am Yathtallar Chalithra Tlabbar. Ghenni’salla is away and while she is gone, I am minding this temple. You have brought the sorceress and the children I hear.”
“Yes, [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar[/i:vlsrhq6d] Chalithra.”
“Bring the sorceress in then, it is time for her to be tested.” Chalithra stepped down off the dais where the altar was. “If she fails, it is your responsibility to slay her. If you do not, it will be my responsibility to slay you. And I will not fail.”
“I understand, honored [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar.[/i:vlsrhq6d]” And Sheyreiza did. Sheyreiza was a [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathrin[/i:vlsrhq6d], a priestess of Lolth, but Chalithra was a [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar[/i:vlsrhq6d], a high priestess. The [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar[/i:vlsrhq6d] were given the power of life and death over the drow by Lolth, both figuratively and literally. Under the Way of Lolth, a Yathtallar could slay most drow on the spot for any perceived infraction against Lolth, Her code, or Her clergy. Commensurate with that responsibility, the [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar[/i:vlsrhq6d] were given the power to slay the living with but a touch and a word as well as the power to raise the dead. Though the Matrons ruled the houses, it was the Yathtallars who really ran the society; not because the Matrons lacked power, but because the Matrons, who were all Yathtallar themselves, were so few they could not be everywhere at once. Accordingly the Matrons ruled through their most trusted servants, the Yathtallar. The high priestesses thoroughly dominated drow society. A Yathrin like Sheyreiza, though a member of the clergy and a potential Yathtallar herself, did not hold such power. Not yet at least.
Chalithra walked past Sheyreiza. As she did she looked at the kneeling priestess carefully. Ever wary of treachery, Sheyreiza watched back out of the corner of her eye. What she saw was not treachery, but jealousy. Sheyreiza’s face and body had been sculpted by Lolth herself and she was exquisitely beautiful. The Faen Tlabbar females, including Chalithra, were well known for their beauty but here, in Sheyreiza, they found a female who surpassed even the Faen Tlabbar women. Such beauty would likely be destroyed by the jealous Faen Tlabbar females but in this case that was not an option; Sheyreiza had gained the favor of Lolth and that favor was manifested in the form of Hartex, a greater bebilith, who even now served Sheyreiza as a bodyguard and assassin. Chalithra clearly hated Sheyreiza, but just as clearly, was going to do nothing openly about it. Sheyreiza had no doubt, however, that Chalithra was secretly praying for Sheyreiza to fail in these tests so that Chalithra might be able to smash Sheyreiza’s beautiful face into oblivion. Such was the way of the drow.
“I am leaving now.” Chalithra announced. “You have the temple. Do not disappoint Lolth.”
“Thank you, honored [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar.[/i:vlsrhq6d]” Sheyreiza remained on one knee until she was sure Chalithra was gone. Then she stood, checked her armor and weapons, and began casting a series of protective spells; she did not intend to be caught flat-footed if Inthara balked at what ever Lolth asked of her, or if the sorceress simply failed. Lolth was not without her own sense of irony and chaos; just because someone failed a test of Lolth did not mean they were absolutely doomed. Usually, it meant Lolth would then pit another of her servants against the one who failed. Should the faithful servant prevail, then Lolth’s will was done and the failure was punished. Should the failure prevail and the faithful be overcome, then the faithful person was proved unworthy and was justly removed from service. Under Lolth’s dogma, faith and loyalty were not enough; competence counted as well. The most faithful and loyal servants quickly found themselves on the altar if they proved incapable. Should the sorceress decide to defy Lolth and try to fight her way out, Sheyreiza would be ready to put her down. Sheyreiza was not going to be found incompetent.
With her protections raised, Sheyreiza opened the door to the ante-chamber. “Inthara, come. Yasharaya, Hartex, watch the children.”
Hartex bowed slightly. “Yes mistress.”
Inthara took Vraja’s hand. “Be respectful and mind him.” She admonished. The sorceress took a deep breath and slowly released it. Carefully, deliberately, she walked past Sheyreiza and into the Fane of Lolth. Sheyreiza shut the door behind them and then went to the altar.
“Inthara, come.” Sheyreiza said, her voice commanding and cold. It was a tone she had rarely used with Inthara since the two of them had left Skullport for the first time so many years earlier. “It is time for you to beg Lolth's redemption if you will have it.”
Steeling herself with another deep breath, Inthara nodded. “Yes.”
With her eyes narrowed to wicked slits, Sheyreiza looked back over her shoulder at Inthara. “Ask Her.” She commanded.
Gathering up her courage, Inthara approached the altar. As she did, Sheyreiza stepped back. This was between Inthara and the Goddess. “Lolth, Mother of the Drow,” Inthara began, “I ask for redemption from my heresy. I offer my life, soul, body and service to Your great Glory.”
Silence followed. The only sound in the Fane was the sound of the two women breathing.
“Ask again.” Sheyreiza commanded in an unnaturally cold and unnaturally threatening voice. “Keep asking until there is some answer, or until see that that Lolth does not want you back and I cut your throat.”
On the dais Inthara trembled but otherwise maintained her composure. She began to pray again. “I give myself to You, to do with as You will. I will serve You loyally and completely.” Inthara paused for a moment, licked her lips and began praying again. “Lolth, I willingly give my soul to you. I need the power You can grant to protect what is important to yo..”
The sorceress stopped in mid-prayer and Sheyreiza had a strong feeling she knew why: Lolth or one of her servants was communicating with Inthara. There was something electric and cold in the air; a presence. Sheyreiza could feel it – Lolth was watching. Silently, Sheyreiza waited.
At the altar, Inthara looked up, tears shimmering in her eyes. “All I can offer.” She said to an unseen presence. The weeping sorceress pressed her hand to her wet eyes and held her head for a moment. Quietly, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, Inthara spoke to Sheyreiza. “Bring Vraja in.” Tears streamed down Inthara’s face.
There was no need to ask why; for Sheyreiza it was obvious. Indeed, it had been obvious what the price would be from the start. The only one who had not seen this clearly was Inthara herself, and perhaps the human, Nikie. Sheyreiza turned and walked to the portal. Opening it, she called to those outside. “Hartex, Yasharaya, send in the boy. Keep Shien'n out there.”
A moment later the toddling form of little Vraja stepped into the room. The boy’s eyes were huge as he struggled to see in the dim light of the Fane. Sheyreiza could see fear and confusion in those big, innocent eyes and she knew somewhere Lolth was smelling that fear and growing hungry for more.
“Go to your mother Vraja.” Sheyreiza said warmly, her gentlest smile upon her perfect lips. Sheyreiza signed to Hartex. [i:vlsrhq6d]Make sure no one comes through the door, either way, until I say so.[/i:vlsrhq6d] Hartex nodded and Sheyreiza shut the door.
Little Vraja paused looking up at Sheyreiza with his big eyes. He held his chubby little hands together and rubbed them nervously, unsure of what to do and unsure of what was happening.
“Vraja, come here love.” Inthara beckoned from the altar.
Vraja went straight to her. “Mother, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong my son.” Inthara said through her tears. She pulled him close and kissed his forehead gently with great love. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Alright.” He replied in a small, unsure voice. Vraja looked around taking in the horrid spiders carved upon the walls, the great statue of Lolth in her drow-spider hybrid form and the many scenes of violent debauchery depicted upon the tiles. “This place doesn't feel right mother. Let's go, please.” The boy was on the verge of tears but he was struggling so hard to be brave. Sheyreiza could here it in his voice. He was scared, confused, but also courageous and though he did not trust her words entirely, he dearly loved Inthara and wanted to leave this place with her. The painful, horribly irony was the meat of Lolth’s twisted appetite.
Inthara knelt before the boy, her eyes still streaming tears. “After this one thing, we will go and get something to eat, and I’ll buy you some armor and a real sword.”
He nodded slowly. “Alright.” It was not the promise of treats or toys but the reassuring sound of his mother’s voice and the natural trust a child has for it parents that calmed him in that moment. And that was precisely the trust Lolth’s will aimed to break.
Inthara lifted Vraja gently onto the altar. “Lie down,” she said with a tearful smile, “it’s a game.” She gave him a playful wink.
“Alright.” The boy said, laying down as she asked. As he put his head down on the cold black stone he began to tremble. “Mother this feels really wrong. Now can we go?”
Inthara stood tall over him now, one hand reaching towards her knife. “Close your eyes baby. I have to do one thing, and then we can go.” Tears streamed in a torrent from her eyes and she struggled to keep her voice steady.
Vraja, trembling, looked up into the eyes of his mother and tried to find comfort there. “Alright, alright.” He said. Comfort was not easily found however, for behind those wet, beautiful eyes a terrible conflict was raging; the will of a Goddess against the instincts of a parent. Vraja was a child, an innocent, raised by people who knew love. He had no idea that monsters such as Lolth and her clergy existed. Certainly he had heard whispers of such creatures, but never could he have imagined the evil that they were capable of; the evil that led them to be labeled as monsters. And so it was that despite her trembling voice and tearful eyes, Vraja put his trust in his mother and closed his eyes.
Inthara reached down along her leg with one hand and drew her dagger. She rested her other hand over Vraja’s eyes, leaned down and kissed his forehead as gently and lovingly as she could. Wet tears fell from her cheeks onto the boys face as she kissed him.
“Mother?” He called out fearfully. “Mother, what’s wrong?”
Inthara looked up from Vraja towards the statue of Lolth. In her native drow tongue she called out to the Goddess. “Mother of Drow, Queen of Spiders, I offer you my blood and my body.” Her voice began to crack as she raised her dagger. “I give You my son!” She yelled. Sobbing, awash in tears, she brought the dagger down upon Vraja.
Inthara cried. Sheyreiza smiled. The boy screamed out in pain and horror. “Rillifane protect me!”
Sheyreiza smiled turned to a snarl and Inthara’s cry caught in her throat. A beam of brilliant white light filled the Fane blinding Inthara and Sheyreiza instantly. Sheyreiza raised her hands but it was too late to protect her eyes. Light-blind, she drew her morningstar and gathered up the chain. As her sight returned she could see Vraja was no longer on the altar, nor was anywhere in the Fane. Rillifane, it seemed, had taken him away.
Up at the altar Inthara stared at the bloody knife in her hand. “I give You my son.” She whispered.
“Your son is gone.” Sheyreiza growled. “Saved, it would seem, by Rillifane.”
Inthara shuddered as she drew in a deep breath. Slowly she placed the bloody knife on the vacant altar where the body of her son should have been lying. For a moment the Fane was silent again, the only sound the sound of the two women breathing.
Behind Inthara, Sheyreiza watched as a green spider the size of a adult’s hand scampered out of the darkness. The spider scuttled over to Inthara’s leg and bit her, but the sorceress did not react. Sheyreiza suddenly realized she had received a sign from Lolth; a vision of a green spider biting another person was often the signal that a test of Lolth was beginning. The person witnessing the spider was now responsible for killing the one targeted by the spider. All too often, the one targeted by the spider was, at that very same moment, having a vision of their own in which a small green spider bit the first person. In this way, Lolth pitted her followers against one another to weed out the unfit. Sheyreiza knew what she had to do. Inthara might have failed Lolth, but she would not.
“You are weak sister.” Sheyreiza said in an angry snarl. She let loose the chain pressed against the bone handle under her fingers and the spiked head of her unholy morningstar swung free.
The words were a pronouncement of death and Inthara knew it. She bowed her head at the altar and then turned to face the wrathful priestess.
“Do it quickly sister.” Inthara said to Sheyreiza. “Be strong in Lolth.”
Sheyreiza crossed the distance to Inthara in three strides and on the last stride she swung. The rune-etched spiked ball of the morningstar slammed into the side of Inthara’s head splattering her beautiful white hair with bright red blood. The wounded, stunned sorceress staggered back against the altar and Sheyreiza struck again. This time the morningstar landed upon Inthara’s chest crushing her ribs. Coughing blood, she slipped along the side of the altar to the stone floor. Sheyreiza looked down upon her bloodies form and struck a third time. The blow sent splinters of broken ribs into Inthara’s heart. The beautiful sorceress gasped and clutched at her chest. Sheyreiza straddled the prone woman and stared into her eyes as she died. Slowly, the light faded from those beautiful eyes and the Butterfly was no more. Inthara Despana was dead.
Behind Sheyreiza a shadow loomed. Hartex had entered the Fane and had assumed his bebilith form.
“Lolth has her soul.” He announced.
Sheyreiza had no doubt he was right. Inthara had lived just long enough to betray her child, a crime that would take her from Eilistraee’s grace and thrust her into Lolth’s grasp. Right or wrong, Inthara’s soul was bound for the abyss. Sheyreiza gathered up Inthara’s body and placed it upon the altar. Around the dead woman she arranged all of Inthara’s worldly possessions. The only thing Sheyreiza kept was a thick brown, leather bound book; Inthara’s journal. Everything else was placed on the altar. When she was done, Sheyreiza ignited the magical flame of the altar. Inthara and all her belongings were consumed in the fires, cremated upon the altar of the Spider Goddess. There was no more respectful end that Sheyreiza could give her long-time companion.
The demon heaped scorn upon the dead woman but Sheyreiza said nothing. As Inthara’s remains burned, Sheyreiza left the Fane and entered the ante-chamber. There, Yasharaya sat reading a scroll above the prone, motionless form of Shein’n.
“She got unruly when we separated her from the boy, so we had to put her down.” Yasharaya said non-chalantly. “She is not dead, just unconscious.”
Sheyreiza looked upon both of them with cold, emotionless eyes. “I am leaving her with you. In time, an envoy from Qu’ellar Auvryndar will come. Send the girl back to Ched Nasad with that envoy for training or use as the Matron sees fit.” Yasharaya simply nodded. Sheyreiza stepped outside the ante-chamber into the main grotto of Mantol Derith. She walked, almost aimlessly, until she came to the great trench. There she stopped.
[i:vlsrhq6d]Weakling.[/i:vlsrhq6d] She thought. [i:vlsrhq6d]Why did you have to be so weak? All that was asked was a sacrifice. Did I not sacrifice my own son and did I not do it with cunning, vigor and glee? Did I not mislead and betray my son only to reveal that betrayal at the last moment and thus make the horror that much worse? But you? No…no, you, Inthara, you were weak. Consumed by love, by regret, by second thoughts and ultimately, by a sense of relief as Rillifane whisked Vraja away, soul and body. Do you think that happened accidentally? Do you think Lolth cannot keep that worthless Rillifane out of her temple? Of course she can! This was your test you fool! Your test was how you would feel about it – and you failed. You felt relief Rillifane came to your child’s aid, rather than anger that your sacrifice was thwarted. You let love betray you. And so, now, having betrayed your child but failed your Goddess, you will go to the abyss, to Lolth, as a failure and a heretic. I know you said you would follow me anywhere, even unto the abyss, because you would do anything to be with me – but do you think Lolth will allow that? Did you really think that if you died a failure and went to Lolth that the Demon Queen would let your dream of being with me come true?
You will never be with me again if Lolth has her way Inthara Despana. The only way we could have been together was if you had not failed; but just as love for me drove you to this test, love for Vraja caused you to fail it. Love is your undoing. Love is your weakness. And now, you will pay the price for all eternity for having loved; you will be forever separated from Vraja and I, the ones you cared so much for. Was it so hard to see that?
I curse you, Inthara. I curse you for not listening to me when I warned you. Did I not tell you to keep the children away from me? Did I not tell you that I would not be the same when I returned? Could you not see the web I wove? Or did you just choose not to see it?
Either way you have earned your miserable fate; though Vraja’s soul is safe, his life is gone, taken at your hand. Shein’n, that beautiful little girl, shall be dragged off to Ched Nasad and turned into a monster like me and like me, she will know what it means to have lived differently. And I, I have now been forced to sacrifice everyone I have ever cared for. My son – slain by my hand on this very altar. My daughter – ripped from a life in the light and cursed to a life of darkness, again by my hand. Vraja – given unto you to be slain upon the altar. And finally, you, Inthara Despana, the truest friend I ever had, greatest companion and most beloved sister – slain by my hand.
And the difference between us?
I have no regrets. I made my choice and I shall stand by it for the good of our city, for the survival of our race. I shall not be weak and I shall not fail, not if I have to send a thousand sisters, sons and daughters to the abyss. [/i:vlsrhq6d]
Sheyreiza spit into the trench then turned away. She did not regret the deaths she had caused nor did she regret the souls she had sent to damnation, but she was angry now; the fire of Lolth’s fury burned in her black heart. The price of this bargain had now been paid and it was time for Sheyreiza to start collecting – and collect she would. For every precious soul of sister, daughter or son she had cursed into darkness, she would send ten of the enemy. A hundred. A thousand.
Hignar had said there might be as many as 20,000 Shades and Shadovar – Sheyreiza knew that would not be enough; [i:vlsrhq6d]200,000[/i:vlsrhq6d] would not be enough to slake her thirst for vengeance; 2,000,000 would not be enough. Nothing would ever be enough, and so she resolved to kill and maim and hurt and betray as many as she possibly could before one of them got lucky and sent her to her Goddess. Sheyreiza had paid the price of this bargain with her soul; Vraja and Inthara had paid with their lives; Shein’n had paid with her future. Now, the world was going to pay in blood.
[b:vlsrhq6d]Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 15. The Last Flight of the Butterfly. [/b:vlsrhq6d]
Sheyreiza spent several days after her return from the Underdark living in the cottage with Inthara, Shein’n, and little Vraja. She was waiting for Nikie Stitch to come from Sembia with the trade goods they would use as gifts for the Matron Mothers. Once Nikie returned with the dresses, silks and spices, they were going down to Mantol Derith to make their proposal. Before returning to the surface Sheyreiza had requested a meeting with Matron Tlabbar. Ghenni’salla said she would pass the request along and that Sheyreiza could return in a month for her answer. The time was drawing near. With Sheyreiza back in Lolth’s favor the first phase of this plan was finished. The second phase, actually securing the alliance, was about to start.
They could not leave without Nikie, however. Sheyreiza passed the time watching the children and trying to gain their trust. Little Vraja passed the time hunting, always with Shein’n just behind him. She followed his lead but was ever seeking to guide him at the same time. He did not seem to mind; indeed, he seemed to appreciate her advice greatly. Much like his father Nylo, Vraja was more about doing things than getting caught up in ego or appearances. The boy just wanted to have fun. Shein’n was substantially smarter than Vraja but also substantially more insecure. Vraja approached life eagerly, almost recklessly; Shein’n approached it cautiously, warily. Shein’n would not have gone hunting on her own; Vraja would go, but would not likely be successful. Shein’n was growing up too fast, while Vraja seemed like he might never grow up at all. Vraja supplied the motivation and energy, while Shein’n supplied the cunning and caution. The combination was complimentary and they worked well together; on their first hunt they actually managed to bring down a wolf.
Gradually Shein’n warmed to Sheyreiza and the two began to talk more. Sheyreiza told related the story of how she met Jain’n and came to the surface. Shein’n in turn related what it had been like living in Evereska. Because she was drow, Vraja had been her only friend. Though she often chided him for not being as smart as she was, she needed him dearly. Shein’n could not express her feelings or even really understand them, but to Sheyreiza it was obvious that her expressions of scorn for Vraja were the product of her own insecurity; Shein’n needed Vraja so much she resented him for it. Still, it was obvious she cherished him. Vraja was her world. Inthara’s presence was a threat and Shein’n chafed a bit when the sorceress was around. Though long since separated from his mother, Vraja had taken to Inthara immediately and this caused great anxiety in Shein’n. Sheyreiza recognized this and tried to help her through it. For the time being, Sheyreiza needed all four of them to get along. And for a couple of days they did, just like a little family.
While Vraja hunted, and Sheyreiza got know Shein’n, Inthara cooked. Her skill was improving by leaps and bounds now. Ever since coming to the surface, Inthara’s culinary adventures had gotten more daring and more successful. While the foursome lived in the cottage, it was almost always full of the most wonderful smells; exotic spices, pungent meat, fragrant fruits and fresh herbs. Sheyreiza wondered if this was how all surfacers lived. If so, she began to understand some of the appeal. It was nice, comfortable. It was not for her, but she could see how a primitive race as short lived as humans might be satisfied simply trying to live what few days they had in this world in such a pleasant manner. While devoid of any real hope of achievement, such a life was also devoid of the strife and struggle that characterized more advanced, longer lived societies.
On the first night, after cooking the evening meal, Inthara traveled to the Moonwood. She went to the Mouth of Song to say good bye to Gryndal. Sheyreiza knew letting Inthara go was risky; Gryndal, now known as Orthea’Xiad, or Moonshadow, might convince Inthara not to go with Sheyreiza. On the other hand, if Sheyreiza forbid Inthara from saying her good byes to Gryndal the entire scheme might fall apart; Sheyreiza had to maintain a hold on Inthara and the children but it had to be a gentle one. Squeeze too tight and the trio was liable to slip between her fingers. Sheyreiza’s fears were unfounded however; Inthara returned, still intent on going to the underdark and without her symbol of Eilistraee. The next day the sorceress traveled back to Silverymoon to buy a harp and a few other things for the journey ahead. It seemed she was taking up music again.
The children were curious about the underdark. When told it was full of dangerous creatures Vraja offered to protect Sheyreiza saying he would “squish ‘em!” Shein’n chided Vraja for his naiveté. With his perennial good nature, Vraja took the rebuke with a smile commenting only that Shein’n was always right. Sheyreiza told them they would not be “squishing” anything if they could help it; better to avoid the hazards of the Underdark than try and fight through them.
On the second night it was Sheyreiza’s turn to make a little excursion. After supper, she stripped off her gown and began dressing in her armor. She started with her boots, as she often did. As the priestess disrobed, Shein’n’s eyes went wide at the sight of Sheyreiza’s great tattoo. They followed the ribbon of inked webbing from Sheyreiza’s ankle, up her leg, around her torso and down her arms.
“Those are pretty...” Shein’n uttered.
Sheyreiza looked back at her daughter. “What, the boots?” She knew what caught Shein’n’s eye, but she wanted to make it seem unimportant. The tattooing was clearly Lolthian; an intricate band of webbing decorated with spiders. She did not want Shein’n scared off by it. “They..oh...you mean the tattoos.” Sheyreiza smiled as she pulled on her other boot. “They are not just pretty, they are magical.”
“I want some like those mother.”
Sheyreiza was caught off guard. She had expected the child to be frightened not fascinated. This was much better. Sheyreiza could take advantage of this. “We can arrange that,” Sheyreiza offered quickly but coolly, “though we have to wait until your body has grown if we want them to look right.” Disappointment showed on Shein’n’s face. The girl quickly shifted her focus and inquired after Sheyreiza’s armor. Sheyreiza told her that when they got to Mantol Derith she would see about getting some for her. This caught Vraja’s attention immediately. He wanted armor as well, and a sword. Sheyreiza laughed and promised him they would look into it – once they got to Mantol Derith. The children were suddenly very excited about the forthcoming trip. How simple it had been to manipulate them. Sheyreiza wanted to take pride in it, but like the turning of Inthara, it had really been too easy. Children and weak willed souls were not worthy opponents for her. Still, she had to give herself some credit; she was about to snatch three souls for Lolth from under the very nose of Alustriel, the Knights in Silver, that Dwarf King Hignar, and even those moon-dancing heretics. Not a bad accomplishment.
Oblivious to Sheyreiza’s scheming, Vraja drew a knife from his belt. “I have a dagger already! I can kill anything with it!”
“You could probably only kill a rabbit with it Vraja.” Shein’n snorted.
Vraja’s face deepened in thought. “Oh... um... alright.” Suddenly his face brightened. “Well then I'll name it rabbit slayer!” The smiling boy held the sword up as if it was a gift from the gods themselves. “Rabbitslayer it is!” He exclaimed.
“Vraja, you are truly unbowed.” Sheyreiza said with a laugh.
“What does that mean Aunt Sheyreiza? Can I call you Aunt? I always wanted an Aunt.”
“It means no matter what life throws at you, you come up smiling and ready. And yes, you may call me Aunt, because I am your mother's adopted sister.”
“Oh.” Vraja grinned. “Well no point in being sad or angry is my motto.” Impulsively, he ran across the small room and hugged Sheyreiza around the legs. “Hello Aunt!”
Sheyreiza let loose a happy laugh, not because she felt it, but because she knew that was what she was supposed to do. “Hello nephew.” She said with a fake smile. Her deception went unnoticed. So far as the children were concerned, they were a family now. Just the four of them.
For a moment, just a moment, Sheyreiza looked beyond what she knew had to happen to what could have happened. Would it have been so bad to lead a less ambitious life? Would it have been so bad to spend her days living in this cottage with the children and Inthara; Vraja hunting, Inthara cooking, Sheyreiza teaching Shein’n lore and spellcasting. Would that not be happiness? Would that not be enough? An unusual family they would be, but family none the less. Not in the drow concept of family, but in a new way. Well, perhaps not a new way – it seemed to be common amongst surfacers. Still, would it not be possible? Would it not be enough?
The darkness outside the small cottage window reminded her of the answer. No, it would not be enough. A shadow would soon fall across this land, across this cottage, if the people’s of the world did not unite to stop it. That shadow would put an end to Sheyreiza’s fantasy family just as quickly as Lolth would. At least Lolth might give one or more of them a chance to serve. The shadow would simply kill or enslave them.
Yes, Sheyreiza had to destroy her family even as it was just being born. It was a doomed family, the dream of a sleeper who would soon be woken. And if it was doomed, Sheyreiza did not want its doom to be in vain. She would not wait here idly, hoping someone else would save them from the shadow. Sheyreiza had seen what relying on others got you: nothing. Someone had to bring the peoples together. Someone had to make the sacrifice.
She closed her eyes. But what if there was no threat? What if no shadow was going to fall? Could she have stayed here then? Could she have foresworn becoming a Matron to simply become a mother?
Anger swept over her. There was no point to these questions. Daydreams were for children and Sheyreiza was no child any longer. Her destiny was not hearth and home, it was blood and betrayal. So be it.
Sheyreiza slid her fang-shield onto her arm, unlimbered her Morningstar and opened the door. “I am going to go walk the area to ensure the shades do not set an ambush for us. Inthara, watch Shein'n and Vraja, and wait for Nikie. I will be back before too long.”
Inthara nodded as Sheyreiza walked out. She had no intention of patrolling. She was headed to Quaervarr, that little village of elves and humans that lay on the south edge of the Moonwood where she had almost been seen by an elven bowman walking his own patrol. Hartex had told Sheyreiza how to bring him into this plane of existence; she needed to sacrifice a child of her own womb, she needed the bones of a male and she needed the blood of a darthiir. The death of her son Tanias fulfilled the first two requirements; his bones were in a satchel Sheyreiza had been carrying since Mantol Derith. Now she just needed the blood of an elf. How convenient she had happened upon that elven patroller. Leaving her family and her thoughts behind, Sheyreiza stalked quietly into the night
***
The hunt did not take long. Sheyreiza prowled about the small village invisibly until she found a lone elven warrior. She wrapped her morning star head in several layers of cloth and leather before assaulting him under cover of a darkness globe. The servants of the shades attacked under cover of darkness and Sheyreiza hoped if this was witnessed, such would be the conclusion of the villagers. Surprised and unable to see, the man was quickly overcome despite his bravery and training. With her padded weapon, Sheyreiza was able to render the man unconscious without killing him; it was easier to drain him of his blood while his heart was still beating. Still undercover of darkness, she cut his throat and let him bleed out into a bowl she had brought. Then she turned invisible again and left.
She did not walk back to the cottage. Instead, she walked into the woods until she found a secluded meadow. There she set about drawing a magic circle with the blood she had collected. In the middle of the circle she placed the bones of her son, Tanias. Then she called out to Hartex.
Hartex answered.
Red light filled the glade as the ground split open. A long, spindly black leg covered in horrid looking bristles reached out of the glowing fissure. Sheyreiza recognized the leg as belonging to a bebilith demon; she had seen a similar leg appear from a similar planar opening during the siege of the Promenade. One by one more long, black, wickedly hooked legs appeared along the edges of the crack until all eight were out. The body of the beast followed smoothly. It appeared before her, standing at least ten feet tall and twenty feet across from foot to foot. It was as large as the cottage she had been living in, probably larger. As the abyssal rift closed like a healing wound upon the ground, the fiendish arachnid bowed before Sheyreiza.
A beautiful, wicked smile crossed Sheyreiza’s exquisite face. There was absolutely no doubt now that she stood in Lolth’s favor. And there was no doubt that Sheyreiza would do whatever it took to keep that favor.
***
On the return trip Hartex transformed from his bebilith shape to that of his old drow body. Sheyreiza could not help but be a little disappointed, though she knew it was for the best. The truth about Hartex was a valuable secret and she had no wish to lose its power with out profiting from it first. Moreover, the appearance of a spider demon the size of a cottage might push her light skinned and weak willed “allies” over the edge. It was obvious dealing with drow was hard enough on their tender psyches; the sudden appearance of an actual fiend might precipitate an end to the alliance. That was unacceptable; Sheyreiza was not through with it yet.
Before reaching their destination Sheyreiza and the newly reconstituted Hartex came across a small but vicious melee. On a hill overlooking some farm fields a force of Silverymoon’s knights fought desperately against what appeared to be undead. From their shouts Sheyreiza quickly gathered the knights were having difficulty harming the monster. Several of the plate armored humans had already fallen along the hillside, their shining mail rent by unnatural claws and stained red with gore. Seeing an opportunity to further strengthen the alliance and test her new pet at the same time, Sheyreiza sent Hartex into battle to aid the knights. The undead creature was far stronger than it appeared but it nevertheless fell quickly to Hartex’s double blades. The demon could not resist heaping his scorn upon the winded and bloody human survivors but Sheyreiza reined him in before any political damage was done. Quickly the pair traveled to the cottage, leaving the humans to tend their wounded and bury their dead.
Leaving Hartex on guard outside, Sheyreiza entered to find Inthara playing her harp for the children. Little Vraja was playing with a battle helmet.
“You may have need of that helmet sooner than you think.” Sheyreiza told him as she entered. She looked to Inthara. “We must stay alert sister.”
“Trouble afoot?”
Sheyreiza told Inthara about the undead but did not elaborate upon the details of how they were defeated. “There is something more important, however.” The priestess said. “I have brought an old friend to help escort us to our destination in safety.”
“Anyone I know?” Inthara asked with a tremulous voice and anxious eyes.
Sheyreiza held the sorceress’ gaze. “Yes. Hartex Claddath.”
“I see.” Inthara’s voice was strangely calm now. Sheyreiza was not sure if it was resignation or denial. She put a hand on Inthara’s shoulder and began to tap a message to the sorceress.
[i:vlsrhq6d]Do not speak of his death or the fact that he is a demon to the children, it will only scare them.[/i:vlsrhq6d] Inthara nodded her assent. Vraja saw the change in Inthara, but both of the women quickly assured the little boy that all was well. Inthara returned to her harp as the foursome settled into wait for Nikie.
***
An hour later Hartex warned Sheyreiza of Hignar’s approach. She gathered up Inthara and the children and met the dwarf outside where he stood toe to toe with Hartex. The two seemed to be taking each other’s measure; Hignar suspicious of the new drow, Hartex contemptuous of the old dwarf. Nikie Stitch stood nearby casually watching the scene.
“Hello again.” Sheyreiza smiled at the dwarf king. “Hignar, this is my bodyguard, Hartex. Hartex, this is Hignar, a king of dwarves, and Nikie Stitch, his ambassador.”
As Sheyreiza greeted Hignar Inthara stepped out of the cottage dressed for travel with a pack on her back and the children in hand.
Nikie saw the children and looked to Inthara. “Yours Butterfly?”
Sheyreiza answered first. “The girl is Shein'n, my daughter. The boy is Vraja, Inthara's son.”
Vraja smiled and waved. “I'm Vraja! Hello!”
Nikie returned Vraja’s smile and greeting. “Hello Vraja.”
Hignar glanced at the children but ignored the introductions. “Butterfly, what're you doing?” The dwarf was wide-eyed as he looked over the sorceress decked out for battle with her bow slung across her back and her sword at her hip.
“I am going with Sheyreiza.” Inthara said as she wrapped a cloth around her eyes to shield herself from the daylight.
“Why are you going with'er?” Hignar glanced at the children. “Are you.... taking the children with you?”
“Vraja is my son.” Inthara replied with a nod.
“I met Isaniel,” Hignar told Inthara, “she said she brought the children. The chilrun 're stay'n here?”
“Nau.” Inthara said as she finished tying the cloth around her eyes.
“Where 're they goin' then?”
“With us.” Inthara said firmly.
“The children go with Inthara,” added Sheyreiza, “and she is coming with us for the time being.”
Hignar turned to Sheyreiza, his eyes full of doubt and suspicion. “I thought ye said they'd sacrifice her? She doesn't follow Lolth.”
“They do not know that.” Hartex snapped back. The demon stopped himself before he said anything further and quickly offered Sheyreiza a bow in apology for speaking out of turn.
“They'll find 'ut.” The dwarf’s voice was heating up and it was obvious this turn of events was not to his liking.
“We will be traveling to Mantol Derith first.” Sheyreiza replied coolly. “Though the Lolthians will not like it, they cannot strike at her there. The four laws of Mantol Derith prohibit it.” That was a complete lie of course. The laws of Mantol Derith, generally referred to as the covenants, were concerned entirely with promoting trade and prohibiting theft or fraud. Persecuting heretic members of one’s own race was a subject not even remotely touched by the covenants, but Sheyreiza knew Hignar had no way of knowing that.
“I am safer at Mantol Derith than here.” Inthara declared confidently. Hignar just shook his head and sighed.
Sheyreiza, however, had to restrain a smile; the only thing that would keep Inthara safe was an unwavering commitment to Lolth. Mantol Derith would test that commitment, and if Inthara was found wanting, Mantol Derith would the most unsafe place for her imaginable. Sheyreiza had known this encounter would be difficult; she never had any doubt that Hignar would not want Inthara and the children to go. However, at the moment, it appeared that the dwarf was not going to actively oppose it. Sheyreiza had deliberately sprung the news on him to catch him unprepared; given time, he might be able to think of a counter move that would block Sheyreiza’s plans. It would not be hard, for example, for Hignar to alleviate Inthara’s fear of reprisals for the deaths of the two villagers. Hignar could easily ensure the safety of the children so far as the Silver Marches’ authorities were concerned and might be able to ensure Inthara’s safety; if he did, Sheyreiza would lose some of her leverage on Inthara. Sheyreiza knew she had to move quickly before the dwarf thought everything through.
“We must be on our way.” Sheyreiza announced.
Hignar nodded in resignation and sighed again. “I wish 'he children 'ould stay'ere. I'll take'em into the city.”
A stern look of determination crossed Inthara’s face. “They come with me. Mantol Derith is not in the path of the Shades.”
Good girl. Sheyreiza thought to herself. How quickly the fly willingly wraps itself in the spider’s web
The dwarf looked between the two women suspiciously. “Alright 'hen... go.” His frustration and concern was evident in every syllable he uttered.
“Will you accompany us to the entrance Hignar? Or will this be as far as you go?”
Sheyreiza asked in a friendly voice
Hignar frowned and looked around. “As 'ar as I go. Shade marks my movements.”
Little Vraja smiled and extended a hand to Hignar. “Bye mister dwarf.” Hignar looked upon the cheery faced child for a moment but did not say anything or take his hand.
The group made their last arrangements and then set out with Hartex in the lead. Nikie slapped Hignar on the shoulder and shook his hand. “I will see you King of the Dwarves, my friend.”
“Take care, Nikie.” Hignar’s voice sounded almost as if it was going to break in emotion. The stout dwarf crossed his arms and watched the party set out.
Inthara, assigned to walk the trail position, was last to go. Before leaving, she reached into her satchel and pulled forth a circlet of hair. She handed it to Hignar. “A memento,” she said simply.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Hignar nodded and said “Thank ye.”
“Take care and success to your endeavors Hignar.”
The dwarf king looked the drow sorceress in the eyes. “Go.” As they walked away, he added softly, “Aluve’, Butterfly.”
Inthara’s sharp ears heard him. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes expressing her determination, her fear, her resolution and her love. “Aluve’.”
And then they were gone.
***
The party journeyed north with Hartex in the lead scouting, followed by Nikie and Sheyreiza, then the children and finally Inthara watching the rear. They traveled through the Moonwood, past the village where both Inthara and Sheyreiza had killed, past the great mound upon which Eilistraee’s temple the Mouth of Song sat, and all the way north to where the woods were choked with spider webs large and small. There they slipped into the darkness of cave deep in the bottom of what appeared to be a great sink hole a hundred yards across.
The party traveled quickly but quietly through the underdark, seeking to avoid the other denizens of the dark when possible. Of course, it was not always possible; along their journey they battled time and again. Umberhulks, foul oozes, hook horrors and undead all sought to waylay the small band. The blades of Hartex and Nikie mixed with the magic of Inthara and Sheyreiza’s morningstar and faith made quick work of those creatures foolish enough or unfortunate enough to fall in their path.
Days went by unnoticed in the lightless depths. If the lack of sun was having an ill-effect on Nikie or the children, it did not show. The party held together and each person ddi their part; for Hartex that meant scouting and killing, for the children that meant staying quiet, for the others, it meant staying alive.
As the party passed through the gate along the Black Chasm to the crossroads north of Mantol Derith, Sheyreiza brought the party to a halt. “Hold here for a moment.” She set her satchel down and removed her helmet. Hartex moved forward a shortways to keep watch, while Inthara and the children rested. “Nikie, it is time we spoke about a few things. Up ahead is Mantol Derith. It is a trade outpost. A multi-racial one. There are four main enclaves: Deep gnomes, svirfneblin, survivors of Blingdenstone; duergar from Gracklstugh; surfacers, mostly humans and half-orcs, from all over; and drow from Menzoberranzan.” Nikie nodded and Sheyreiza continued. “In Mantol Derith they trade relatively peacefully. There are a few laws. These laws are called covenants. Theft is not allowed. Disguising goods is not allowed. And the use of magic or mind powers to gain aid in negotiating is not allowed.”
Sheyreiza let that sink for a moment before continuing. “We are going to see the drow there. When we do, and throughout this process, you, Nikie, are likely to be treated in ways you do not like. The drow do not view you as a person, but as an animal. To them you are [i:vlsrhq6d]iblith[/i:vlsrhq6d]. Filth, waste, excrement.” Nearby, Inthara cautioned the children to listen to Sheyreiza and heed her words. “Your value to them is tied solely to your use.”
Hartex slipped out of the shadows. “Mistress, a patrol approaches from the north. We would not wish to be caught by them.”
“Let us go then.” Sheyreiza threw her satchel over her shoulder, tucked her helmet under her arm and led the party to the great magic carpet that lay at the bottom of the corridor they walked in. “Come onto the carpet. It will lift us up to Mantol Derith.” She pointed up and the party could see that far above them was a great cavern. The corridor they had been walking in was roofless here; it was really a trench whose top opened up into a great cavern above their heads. Sheyreiza bent down and whispered the secret command word to the magic carpet. The carpet, large enough to carry several fully loaded pack lizards and their handlers, began a slow ascent.
Once in the cavern Sheyreiza led the party to the west side of the grotto. “Nikie, we must report to the High Priestess first. For now, wait for us in the inn. You will find it due south of here.” She pointed in the direction of some shabby looking merchant stalls and foreboding, chain-adorned stage that was obviously used for slave auctions. “The inn is built into the cavern wall. We will come get you when we are ready. You should not have any problems; that is the surfacer quarter down there. There are many humans.”
“As well as other beings.” Hartex added. “The [i:vlsrhq6d]rivvil[/i:vlsrhq6d] can handle herself mistress.”
Sheyreiza arched an eyebrow; respect for a non-drow from Hartex was rare, in life or death. Nikie would bear closer scrutiny. The black clad human woman nodded to the rest of the party and headed south towards the magical glow of the surfacers’ quarter. Sheyreiza watched her go and then led the others through the rather plain looking stone door set in the west wall of the Mantol Derith grotto.
Inside the party was greeted with the smell of incense, the glow of permanent faerie fire, and a nearly naked priestess. “You have taken to wearing considerably less than last I saw you Yasharaya.” Sheyreiza said with a small laugh.
Yasharaya began dressing but was clearly unashamed at being found disrobed. “Greetings again.” The immodest woman regarded the children for a moment, her eyes settling on the pale pink skin of Vraja. “A sacrifice?” Inthara blinked in surprise at Yasharaya’s question and clutched Vraja to her tightly.
“They are a part of my entourage.” Sheyreiza explained. “I would like to see the [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar[/i:vlsrhq6d]. These others can wait here.”
“A strange entourage, but very well.” Yasharaya finished dressing and passed through the inner portal to the temple proper. She returned from the fane momentarily, a smile on her sensuous lips. “You may go in, Yathrin Sheyreiza.”
With one hand on her morningstar hilt in case of treachery, Sheyreiza walked through the metal doors and into the fane of Lolth. A cloaked woman bearing the regalia of a Faen Tlabbar high priestess stood near the altar, but it was not Ghenni’salla Faen Tlabbar.
“Greetings, honored [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar.[/i:vlsrhq6d]” Sheyreiza said cautiously, bending to one knee but never taking her hand off of her morningstar hilt or her eyes off of the woman.
“You are the Auvryndar heretic.” The woman said bluntly.
“A heretic no longer, honored [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar.[/i:vlsrhq6d]”
“Indeed.” The woman seemed unimpressed but also seemed uninterested in pressing the matter. “I am Yathtallar Chalithra Tlabbar. Ghenni’salla is away and while she is gone, I am minding this temple. You have brought the sorceress and the children I hear.”
“Yes, [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar[/i:vlsrhq6d] Chalithra.”
“Bring the sorceress in then, it is time for her to be tested.” Chalithra stepped down off the dais where the altar was. “If she fails, it is your responsibility to slay her. If you do not, it will be my responsibility to slay you. And I will not fail.”
“I understand, honored [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar.[/i:vlsrhq6d]” And Sheyreiza did. Sheyreiza was a [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathrin[/i:vlsrhq6d], a priestess of Lolth, but Chalithra was a [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar[/i:vlsrhq6d], a high priestess. The [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar[/i:vlsrhq6d] were given the power of life and death over the drow by Lolth, both figuratively and literally. Under the Way of Lolth, a Yathtallar could slay most drow on the spot for any perceived infraction against Lolth, Her code, or Her clergy. Commensurate with that responsibility, the [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar[/i:vlsrhq6d] were given the power to slay the living with but a touch and a word as well as the power to raise the dead. Though the Matrons ruled the houses, it was the Yathtallars who really ran the society; not because the Matrons lacked power, but because the Matrons, who were all Yathtallar themselves, were so few they could not be everywhere at once. Accordingly the Matrons ruled through their most trusted servants, the Yathtallar. The high priestesses thoroughly dominated drow society. A Yathrin like Sheyreiza, though a member of the clergy and a potential Yathtallar herself, did not hold such power. Not yet at least.
Chalithra walked past Sheyreiza. As she did she looked at the kneeling priestess carefully. Ever wary of treachery, Sheyreiza watched back out of the corner of her eye. What she saw was not treachery, but jealousy. Sheyreiza’s face and body had been sculpted by Lolth herself and she was exquisitely beautiful. The Faen Tlabbar females, including Chalithra, were well known for their beauty but here, in Sheyreiza, they found a female who surpassed even the Faen Tlabbar women. Such beauty would likely be destroyed by the jealous Faen Tlabbar females but in this case that was not an option; Sheyreiza had gained the favor of Lolth and that favor was manifested in the form of Hartex, a greater bebilith, who even now served Sheyreiza as a bodyguard and assassin. Chalithra clearly hated Sheyreiza, but just as clearly, was going to do nothing openly about it. Sheyreiza had no doubt, however, that Chalithra was secretly praying for Sheyreiza to fail in these tests so that Chalithra might be able to smash Sheyreiza’s beautiful face into oblivion. Such was the way of the drow.
“I am leaving now.” Chalithra announced. “You have the temple. Do not disappoint Lolth.”
“Thank you, honored [i:vlsrhq6d]Yathtallar.[/i:vlsrhq6d]” Sheyreiza remained on one knee until she was sure Chalithra was gone. Then she stood, checked her armor and weapons, and began casting a series of protective spells; she did not intend to be caught flat-footed if Inthara balked at what ever Lolth asked of her, or if the sorceress simply failed. Lolth was not without her own sense of irony and chaos; just because someone failed a test of Lolth did not mean they were absolutely doomed. Usually, it meant Lolth would then pit another of her servants against the one who failed. Should the faithful servant prevail, then Lolth’s will was done and the failure was punished. Should the failure prevail and the faithful be overcome, then the faithful person was proved unworthy and was justly removed from service. Under Lolth’s dogma, faith and loyalty were not enough; competence counted as well. The most faithful and loyal servants quickly found themselves on the altar if they proved incapable. Should the sorceress decide to defy Lolth and try to fight her way out, Sheyreiza would be ready to put her down. Sheyreiza was not going to be found incompetent.
With her protections raised, Sheyreiza opened the door to the ante-chamber. “Inthara, come. Yasharaya, Hartex, watch the children.”
Hartex bowed slightly. “Yes mistress.”
Inthara took Vraja’s hand. “Be respectful and mind him.” She admonished. The sorceress took a deep breath and slowly released it. Carefully, deliberately, she walked past Sheyreiza and into the Fane of Lolth. Sheyreiza shut the door behind them and then went to the altar.
“Inthara, come.” Sheyreiza said, her voice commanding and cold. It was a tone she had rarely used with Inthara since the two of them had left Skullport for the first time so many years earlier. “It is time for you to beg Lolth's redemption if you will have it.”
Steeling herself with another deep breath, Inthara nodded. “Yes.”
With her eyes narrowed to wicked slits, Sheyreiza looked back over her shoulder at Inthara. “Ask Her.” She commanded.
Gathering up her courage, Inthara approached the altar. As she did, Sheyreiza stepped back. This was between Inthara and the Goddess. “Lolth, Mother of the Drow,” Inthara began, “I ask for redemption from my heresy. I offer my life, soul, body and service to Your great Glory.”
Silence followed. The only sound in the Fane was the sound of the two women breathing.
“Ask again.” Sheyreiza commanded in an unnaturally cold and unnaturally threatening voice. “Keep asking until there is some answer, or until see that that Lolth does not want you back and I cut your throat.”
On the dais Inthara trembled but otherwise maintained her composure. She began to pray again. “I give myself to You, to do with as You will. I will serve You loyally and completely.” Inthara paused for a moment, licked her lips and began praying again. “Lolth, I willingly give my soul to you. I need the power You can grant to protect what is important to yo..”
The sorceress stopped in mid-prayer and Sheyreiza had a strong feeling she knew why: Lolth or one of her servants was communicating with Inthara. There was something electric and cold in the air; a presence. Sheyreiza could feel it – Lolth was watching. Silently, Sheyreiza waited.
At the altar, Inthara looked up, tears shimmering in her eyes. “All I can offer.” She said to an unseen presence. The weeping sorceress pressed her hand to her wet eyes and held her head for a moment. Quietly, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, Inthara spoke to Sheyreiza. “Bring Vraja in.” Tears streamed down Inthara’s face.
There was no need to ask why; for Sheyreiza it was obvious. Indeed, it had been obvious what the price would be from the start. The only one who had not seen this clearly was Inthara herself, and perhaps the human, Nikie. Sheyreiza turned and walked to the portal. Opening it, she called to those outside. “Hartex, Yasharaya, send in the boy. Keep Shien'n out there.”
A moment later the toddling form of little Vraja stepped into the room. The boy’s eyes were huge as he struggled to see in the dim light of the Fane. Sheyreiza could see fear and confusion in those big, innocent eyes and she knew somewhere Lolth was smelling that fear and growing hungry for more.
“Go to your mother Vraja.” Sheyreiza said warmly, her gentlest smile upon her perfect lips. Sheyreiza signed to Hartex. [i:vlsrhq6d]Make sure no one comes through the door, either way, until I say so.[/i:vlsrhq6d] Hartex nodded and Sheyreiza shut the door.
Little Vraja paused looking up at Sheyreiza with his big eyes. He held his chubby little hands together and rubbed them nervously, unsure of what to do and unsure of what was happening.
“Vraja, come here love.” Inthara beckoned from the altar.
Vraja went straight to her. “Mother, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong my son.” Inthara said through her tears. She pulled him close and kissed his forehead gently with great love. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Alright.” He replied in a small, unsure voice. Vraja looked around taking in the horrid spiders carved upon the walls, the great statue of Lolth in her drow-spider hybrid form and the many scenes of violent debauchery depicted upon the tiles. “This place doesn't feel right mother. Let's go, please.” The boy was on the verge of tears but he was struggling so hard to be brave. Sheyreiza could here it in his voice. He was scared, confused, but also courageous and though he did not trust her words entirely, he dearly loved Inthara and wanted to leave this place with her. The painful, horribly irony was the meat of Lolth’s twisted appetite.
Inthara knelt before the boy, her eyes still streaming tears. “After this one thing, we will go and get something to eat, and I’ll buy you some armor and a real sword.”
He nodded slowly. “Alright.” It was not the promise of treats or toys but the reassuring sound of his mother’s voice and the natural trust a child has for it parents that calmed him in that moment. And that was precisely the trust Lolth’s will aimed to break.
Inthara lifted Vraja gently onto the altar. “Lie down,” she said with a tearful smile, “it’s a game.” She gave him a playful wink.
“Alright.” The boy said, laying down as she asked. As he put his head down on the cold black stone he began to tremble. “Mother this feels really wrong. Now can we go?”
Inthara stood tall over him now, one hand reaching towards her knife. “Close your eyes baby. I have to do one thing, and then we can go.” Tears streamed in a torrent from her eyes and she struggled to keep her voice steady.
Vraja, trembling, looked up into the eyes of his mother and tried to find comfort there. “Alright, alright.” He said. Comfort was not easily found however, for behind those wet, beautiful eyes a terrible conflict was raging; the will of a Goddess against the instincts of a parent. Vraja was a child, an innocent, raised by people who knew love. He had no idea that monsters such as Lolth and her clergy existed. Certainly he had heard whispers of such creatures, but never could he have imagined the evil that they were capable of; the evil that led them to be labeled as monsters. And so it was that despite her trembling voice and tearful eyes, Vraja put his trust in his mother and closed his eyes.
Inthara reached down along her leg with one hand and drew her dagger. She rested her other hand over Vraja’s eyes, leaned down and kissed his forehead as gently and lovingly as she could. Wet tears fell from her cheeks onto the boys face as she kissed him.
“Mother?” He called out fearfully. “Mother, what’s wrong?”
Inthara looked up from Vraja towards the statue of Lolth. In her native drow tongue she called out to the Goddess. “Mother of Drow, Queen of Spiders, I offer you my blood and my body.” Her voice began to crack as she raised her dagger. “I give You my son!” She yelled. Sobbing, awash in tears, she brought the dagger down upon Vraja.
Inthara cried. Sheyreiza smiled. The boy screamed out in pain and horror. “Rillifane protect me!”
Sheyreiza smiled turned to a snarl and Inthara’s cry caught in her throat. A beam of brilliant white light filled the Fane blinding Inthara and Sheyreiza instantly. Sheyreiza raised her hands but it was too late to protect her eyes. Light-blind, she drew her morningstar and gathered up the chain. As her sight returned she could see Vraja was no longer on the altar, nor was anywhere in the Fane. Rillifane, it seemed, had taken him away.
Up at the altar Inthara stared at the bloody knife in her hand. “I give You my son.” She whispered.
“Your son is gone.” Sheyreiza growled. “Saved, it would seem, by Rillifane.”
Inthara shuddered as she drew in a deep breath. Slowly she placed the bloody knife on the vacant altar where the body of her son should have been lying. For a moment the Fane was silent again, the only sound the sound of the two women breathing.
Behind Inthara, Sheyreiza watched as a green spider the size of a adult’s hand scampered out of the darkness. The spider scuttled over to Inthara’s leg and bit her, but the sorceress did not react. Sheyreiza suddenly realized she had received a sign from Lolth; a vision of a green spider biting another person was often the signal that a test of Lolth was beginning. The person witnessing the spider was now responsible for killing the one targeted by the spider. All too often, the one targeted by the spider was, at that very same moment, having a vision of their own in which a small green spider bit the first person. In this way, Lolth pitted her followers against one another to weed out the unfit. Sheyreiza knew what she had to do. Inthara might have failed Lolth, but she would not.
“You are weak sister.” Sheyreiza said in an angry snarl. She let loose the chain pressed against the bone handle under her fingers and the spiked head of her unholy morningstar swung free.
The words were a pronouncement of death and Inthara knew it. She bowed her head at the altar and then turned to face the wrathful priestess.
“Do it quickly sister.” Inthara said to Sheyreiza. “Be strong in Lolth.”
Sheyreiza crossed the distance to Inthara in three strides and on the last stride she swung. The rune-etched spiked ball of the morningstar slammed into the side of Inthara’s head splattering her beautiful white hair with bright red blood. The wounded, stunned sorceress staggered back against the altar and Sheyreiza struck again. This time the morningstar landed upon Inthara’s chest crushing her ribs. Coughing blood, she slipped along the side of the altar to the stone floor. Sheyreiza looked down upon her bloodies form and struck a third time. The blow sent splinters of broken ribs into Inthara’s heart. The beautiful sorceress gasped and clutched at her chest. Sheyreiza straddled the prone woman and stared into her eyes as she died. Slowly, the light faded from those beautiful eyes and the Butterfly was no more. Inthara Despana was dead.
Behind Sheyreiza a shadow loomed. Hartex had entered the Fane and had assumed his bebilith form.
“Lolth has her soul.” He announced.
Sheyreiza had no doubt he was right. Inthara had lived just long enough to betray her child, a crime that would take her from Eilistraee’s grace and thrust her into Lolth’s grasp. Right or wrong, Inthara’s soul was bound for the abyss. Sheyreiza gathered up Inthara’s body and placed it upon the altar. Around the dead woman she arranged all of Inthara’s worldly possessions. The only thing Sheyreiza kept was a thick brown, leather bound book; Inthara’s journal. Everything else was placed on the altar. When she was done, Sheyreiza ignited the magical flame of the altar. Inthara and all her belongings were consumed in the fires, cremated upon the altar of the Spider Goddess. There was no more respectful end that Sheyreiza could give her long-time companion.
The demon heaped scorn upon the dead woman but Sheyreiza said nothing. As Inthara’s remains burned, Sheyreiza left the Fane and entered the ante-chamber. There, Yasharaya sat reading a scroll above the prone, motionless form of Shein’n.
“She got unruly when we separated her from the boy, so we had to put her down.” Yasharaya said non-chalantly. “She is not dead, just unconscious.”
Sheyreiza looked upon both of them with cold, emotionless eyes. “I am leaving her with you. In time, an envoy from Qu’ellar Auvryndar will come. Send the girl back to Ched Nasad with that envoy for training or use as the Matron sees fit.” Yasharaya simply nodded. Sheyreiza stepped outside the ante-chamber into the main grotto of Mantol Derith. She walked, almost aimlessly, until she came to the great trench. There she stopped.
[i:vlsrhq6d]Weakling.[/i:vlsrhq6d] She thought. [i:vlsrhq6d]Why did you have to be so weak? All that was asked was a sacrifice. Did I not sacrifice my own son and did I not do it with cunning, vigor and glee? Did I not mislead and betray my son only to reveal that betrayal at the last moment and thus make the horror that much worse? But you? No…no, you, Inthara, you were weak. Consumed by love, by regret, by second thoughts and ultimately, by a sense of relief as Rillifane whisked Vraja away, soul and body. Do you think that happened accidentally? Do you think Lolth cannot keep that worthless Rillifane out of her temple? Of course she can! This was your test you fool! Your test was how you would feel about it – and you failed. You felt relief Rillifane came to your child’s aid, rather than anger that your sacrifice was thwarted. You let love betray you. And so, now, having betrayed your child but failed your Goddess, you will go to the abyss, to Lolth, as a failure and a heretic. I know you said you would follow me anywhere, even unto the abyss, because you would do anything to be with me – but do you think Lolth will allow that? Did you really think that if you died a failure and went to Lolth that the Demon Queen would let your dream of being with me come true?
You will never be with me again if Lolth has her way Inthara Despana. The only way we could have been together was if you had not failed; but just as love for me drove you to this test, love for Vraja caused you to fail it. Love is your undoing. Love is your weakness. And now, you will pay the price for all eternity for having loved; you will be forever separated from Vraja and I, the ones you cared so much for. Was it so hard to see that?
I curse you, Inthara. I curse you for not listening to me when I warned you. Did I not tell you to keep the children away from me? Did I not tell you that I would not be the same when I returned? Could you not see the web I wove? Or did you just choose not to see it?
Either way you have earned your miserable fate; though Vraja’s soul is safe, his life is gone, taken at your hand. Shein’n, that beautiful little girl, shall be dragged off to Ched Nasad and turned into a monster like me and like me, she will know what it means to have lived differently. And I, I have now been forced to sacrifice everyone I have ever cared for. My son – slain by my hand on this very altar. My daughter – ripped from a life in the light and cursed to a life of darkness, again by my hand. Vraja – given unto you to be slain upon the altar. And finally, you, Inthara Despana, the truest friend I ever had, greatest companion and most beloved sister – slain by my hand.
And the difference between us?
I have no regrets. I made my choice and I shall stand by it for the good of our city, for the survival of our race. I shall not be weak and I shall not fail, not if I have to send a thousand sisters, sons and daughters to the abyss. [/i:vlsrhq6d]
Sheyreiza spit into the trench then turned away. She did not regret the deaths she had caused nor did she regret the souls she had sent to damnation, but she was angry now; the fire of Lolth’s fury burned in her black heart. The price of this bargain had now been paid and it was time for Sheyreiza to start collecting – and collect she would. For every precious soul of sister, daughter or son she had cursed into darkness, she would send ten of the enemy. A hundred. A thousand.
Hignar had said there might be as many as 20,000 Shades and Shadovar – Sheyreiza knew that would not be enough; [i:vlsrhq6d]200,000[/i:vlsrhq6d] would not be enough to slake her thirst for vengeance; 2,000,000 would not be enough. Nothing would ever be enough, and so she resolved to kill and maim and hurt and betray as many as she possibly could before one of them got lucky and sent her to her Goddess. Sheyreiza had paid the price of this bargain with her soul; Vraja and Inthara had paid with their lives; Shein’n had paid with her future. Now, the world was going to pay in blood.