Ascendancy of the Last

chapter 5

Cavatina gaped at the strange landscape the portal had transported her to. It was as if she’d stepped into the heart of a huge mound of rubble. All around her, jagged pieces of gray stone crowded close on every side—except that the “stone” was blurred and indisŹtinct, and had no substance. When she swept her sword in front of her, the blade passed right through the stones, and when she took a step forward she slid through the rubble like a ghost.

Was she a ghost? She didn’t think so. Whatever this place was, it didn’t look a thing like the Fugue Plane. Nor could she hear Eilistraee’s welcoming song.

A curtain of bright silver shimmered behind her. It was about the size of a door and folded in a V that corresponded to the corner of the room she’d just stepped from. She touched it, and felt a crackling energy that slowed her fingers until it felt as if they were pressing on solid stone. The same thing occurred when she reached around the edge of the curtain and touched it from the other side. It appeared the portal only worked in one direcŹtion: from the Promenade to … here.

She glanced at her feet, and saw that she “stood” inside a chunk of stone. She felt a flat surface under the soles of her hoots—one that remained constant even when she lifted a foot and placed it on the edge of a rock. She couldn’t feel the sharp edge of the stone, but she could step up “onto” it. And though she sensed which way “down” was, she couldn’t feel it. When she leaned forward, it felt as if she still stood upright. Leaning backward produced the same result. Before she could stop herself, she was perpendicular to the silver curtain, which now hung above her head. Even so, she still felt a flat, solid surface beneath her feet. Dizzy and disoriented, she scrambled “upright” again.

What was this place?

She breathed—rapidly, due to her exertions. At least she was still alive. Her body felt solid enough. She slapped a hand against her breastplate and heard the thud it made—though the sound came to her ears an instant later than it should have. She could also hear the low hum of her singing sword. Her movements, however, seemed slow to her eyes. Every motion took twice as long as it should have. Yet she felt no impediment. Though she stood entombed in hundreds of chunks of broken stone, it wasn’t these that slowed her down. When she stuck her fingers into a gap between the stones and wriggled them, they moved just as slowly as they did within the middle of a block of stone.

Short of dying and becoming a ghost—something she was certain hadn’t happened—she knew of only one way to move through objects: by being rendered ethereal. She was loath to leave the portal, but standing next to it and staring wasn’t going to tell her where she was—or how to get back to the Promenade. Still, it was her only landmark. She decided to keep the portal at her back, to move in a straight line away from it. She’d go as far as she could without losing sight of the V-shaped silver curtain, then repeat the process in a different direction if the first search proved fruitless.

She walked away cautiously, sword at the ready. It was difficult not to flinch as she moved through what appeared to be a wall of jagged rubble. Each time her head seemed about to strike a rock, she half-turned away. Eventually, she adjusted to the odd sensation of passing through objects that only looked solid—objects she couldn’t touch or feel.

At about the thirty-pace mark, the portal behind her all but vanished. All she could see of it was the faintest shimmer of silver amid a gray blur of jumbled stone. About the same distance ahead of her, slightly lower than the spot where she “stood,” she saw a dark purple shape. She couldn’t make it out entirely—like everything else in this place, it looked as though it lay behind a pane of frosted clearstone—but it had the general shape of a broken column. A piece of masonry that might have once been the column’s capitol lay nearby.

She glanced behind her. If she kept going, she might never find her way back to the portal. Then she realized how useless it was to her. She might as well leave it behind. The ruined column, on the other hand, might offer a clue as to where she was.

As she moved closer, she saw that the column had been carved from mottled purple stone. Other smashed pieces of column lay nearby, resting on a slab of the same purple rock that must once have been their foundation.

This was the ruin of an ancient building. One that appeared to have been smashed to pieces by a rockfall.

Carefully, she noted the shape and orientation of the broken column. She moved from it to the next closest chunk of the building, and then to the next. She’d expected the smashed building to be rectangular or circular, but the foundation slab had an irregular shape, with bulges around its circumference. The placement of the columns, judging by what remained of their bases, had been equally random. Even the columns looked odd. They weren’t smooth cylinders, but tapered and bulged along their length, as if the masons hadn’t been able to decide which thickness to make them. She tried to touch one, but her hand passed through it.

Some of the columns had inscriptions on them: lines of text chiseled here and there like random graffiti. Cavatina peered closely at these but couldn’t read them. No matter how hard she stared, the writing wouldn’t come into focus. It blurred just enough to render it indecipherable. She tried to trace a line of it with her finger, but couldn’t feel the outline. She might as well have been touching a wisp of shifting smoke.

During her investigation, her body had drifted upward. She was high enough to see that the foundation of the buildŹing was carved with an enormous symbol. It took a moment to puzzle it out, as the lines were interrupted where the slab had shattered, and partially obscured by the fallen columns. But eventually she realized it was a triangle with a Y-shape superimposed on it.

She shivered. That ancient symbol hadn’t been used in milŹlennia. It had long since been replaced by the more common eye-within-double-circle. Yet Cavatina, like all of the Promenade’s priestesses, had been taught to recognize it.

The symbol of Ghaunadaur.

Cavatina knew, now, where the portal had delivered her: to a spot far below the Promenade. This was the temple that had lain in ruins for nearly six centuries, ever since Qilué and her childhood companions had defeated the Ancient One’s avatar. They’d driven it from the caverns that became the Promenade, consigning it to a deep shaft that had then been filled in with rubble and sealed with magic.

A shaft that led to the god’s domain.

“By all that dances!” she whispered. “I’m in the Pit!”

A moment later, a burst of bright purple light pulsed from the Y-shaped symbol, banishing shadows from the cracks in the broken stones covering the slab. With it came a sensation: It was as if something wet and slippery had just fouled Cavatina’s skin.

“Eilistraee, protect me!” she sang. “Shield me from the Ancient One!”

Eilistraee’s moonlight shone out from Cavatina’s pores, evaporating the slime, turning it to flakes of shadow that exploded from her body. The purple light was waning now, but even so, Cavatina backed away. Her sword pealed out a warning as something momentarily blocked the fading glow. Blinking away the spots from her eyes, Cavatina saw a tarry black blob atop the foundation slab. The ooze was faster than Cavatina. Before she could withdraw farther, it squeezed upward through cracks in the rubble and brushed against her weapon. She yanked her sword back—in what felt like slow motion—and was relieved to see that the blade was still whole. Though the ooze had “touched” it, the acid had failed to dissolve the metal.

Ignoring her, the ooze continued upward through the gaps in the rubble.

Realizing it was escaping, Cavatina sang a prayer that called down Eilistraee’s wrath. Shadow-streaked moonlight punched down in a shaft all around her, throwing the tarry black ooze into sharp relief. The light should have reduced the ooze to a smoldering puddle. But the creature slithered on as before, as though it hadn’t even noticed the attack.

Cavatina laboriously followed. She readied a second spell, but by the time it was ready, the ooze had flowed beyond the limits of her vision. Normally she would have been able to run twice as fast as an ooze could slither. But with her body rendered ethereal, Cavatina moved with an agonizing lassitude. Her voice was slow and deep, her hymns dirgelike. The heartbeat that pounded in her ears had a lethargic cadence.

Eilistraee’s purpose in guiding her to this place was now clear. That burst of purple light had been a planar breach. A temporary one, brief as a flicker, but it had lasted long enough for one of Ghaunadaur’s minions to squeeze through, into the Prime Material Plane.

Cavatina could guess, now, why Wendonai had tricked Qilué into inscribing a symbol that would draw Ghaunadaur’s drow worshipers to this spot. Through their prayers, the planar breach could be wrenched wide open—something that would allow Ghaunadaur’s avatar to pass through it.

Qilué must have known that a planar breach existed here. On all of Toril, it was the most likely of places for one to occur. What could Wendonai possibly have said to convince her that ushering Ghaunadaur’s worshipers to this spot would pose no danger?

She tried to imagine the arguments he might have posed. Perhaps he’d convinced Qilué that Ghaunadaur’s avatar would be no match for her. She’d defeated it once before, after all. Or perhaps he’d told her that the slime god itself would come through the breach—that armed with the Crescent Blade she stood a chance of killing Ghaunadaur.

That argument, of course, was as thin as rotted cloth. The Crescent Blade’s blessings specifically enabled it to kill by decapitation, and Ghaunadaur was a shapeless mass withŹout a neck or a head. But perhaps Qilué was so deeply in the demon’s thrall that she wouldn’t think of this.

Whatever the demon might be whispering in the high priestess’s ear was a puzzle Cavatina couldn’t solve just now. What she could do, however, was inspect the seals on the Pit to ensure that whatever oozes slipped through the flickering breach weren’t a threat to the Promenade.

Chasing after the black ooze had left Cavatina with no clear sense of which way was up. Fortunately, there was a way to figure this out. She chose a direction at random and moved until the rubble ended. Beyond it was a wall of stone that had been fused to a glassy sheen by the outpouring of silver fire Qilué had used to drive Ghaunadaur’s avatar down the Pit. Turning her body so that this wall became “down,” she walked along it.

After what seemed an eternity, her head bumped against what felt like a solid surface: the magical barrier that capped the Pit. It shone with a bright silver glow, blocking her way. The Promenade, she was thankful to see, was still safe from an incursion from below—by material and ethereal creatures alike.

She sang the hymn that would allow a priestess to enter the Promenade, and felt the barrier above her soften just enough to let her pass. She pushed her way up through it, into the cavern above.

Everything looked exactly as it should have. The floor was the usual smooth, raked field of stone chips, and the statue of Eilistraee was intact. Made up of tiny chips of stone, it stood on tiptoe with arms extended overhead, forefingers and thumbs touching. It moved, almost imperceptibly, in a dance that kept time with the passage of the moon through the skies of the World Above.

A Protector stood guard at the bottom of the secret stairŹcase that wound down to this cavern. Slowly, Cavatina moved toward her, and the female’s face gradually came into focus. It was Zindira, one of the priestesses who had accompanied Cavatina on the expedition to the Acropolis of the death goddess, more than a year ago. Cavatina waved a hand in front of Zindira’s face, but the other priestess showed no sign of realizing she was there.

“Zindira!” Cavatina shouted, this time passing her hand back and forth through the Protector’s body. “There’s a planar breach at the bottom of the Pit!”

Zindira shivered. She drew her sword and glanced around.

“Yes!” Cavatina cried. “I’m here. Can you hear me, Zindira?”

A moment later Zindira shrugged and resumed her sentry’s pose. She did, however, continue to grip her softly humming sword. As Cavatina shouted again, the volume of the hum rose slightly. Zindira glanced at the weapon.

Struck by sudden inspiration, Cavatina switched from shouting to singing. The sword hummed in time, harmonizing with her melody. By spacing out her words, she could make the sword’s song wax and wane. She sang a battle hymn—a strident call to action. Though the song was drastically slowed, and without words, Zindira listened carefully to it. She glanced back up the staircase as if debating whether to leave her post, then seemed to change her mind and sang a quiet evocation. “Rylla, it’s Zindira. Something strange is happening at the Mound. My sword is singing a warning.”

Cavatina breathed a sigh of relief. Her warning had been received, if not completely understood. It was the best she could do for now.

Rylla hurried down the stairs a few moments later. Cavatina resumed her song. The battle-mistress listened to the sword, then nodded. She glanced around, then strode over to the Mound and inspected it.

“Yes!” Cavatina breathed. “That’s exactly what I wanted you to do.” When Rylla sang a trueseeing and stared intently at the statue, Cavatina tried to move to a spot where the battle-mistress could see her, but she was too slow. Rylla’s survey of the room just missed her.

“I see nothing amiss,” the battle-mistress told Zindira. “Resume your post. Be watchful. After that scare with the dretch, we can’t take chances.”

Zindira saluted the battle-mistress and moved back into position at the bottom of the staircase. Rylla departed up the stairs.

Cavatina clenched her jaw in frustration. Unless she could find a way to render herself material once more, she’d never be able to warn the others about what was happening below. She briefly considered following Rylla—trying to make her understand—then decided that she probably wouldn’t have much luck.

She could, however, find out where that ooze had gone.

With her sword balanced on her shoulder, she climbed down through the rubble.

This time, she scrutinized the walls of the shaft more careŹfully. The stone was smooth for most of its length; the cracks were in the lowest section of the Pit, far below the level of the Promenade. Here, she found numerous places where an ooze or a slime might escape.

She entered the cracked wall and saw a shimmering wall of emerald green light a short distance ahead. At first, she thought it was just a passing ripple of Faerzress, then she realized it was holding steady. Another portal? With rising excitement she moved to it—only to bump into a barrier that felt as solid as stone. It appeared to be a magical ward, capable of keeping ethereal creatures at bay.

The green glow extended far above and below her, and for some distance on either side. Like the stone, it had numerŹous cracks, wide enough to admit an ooze, but too narrow for Cavatina to pass through. She forced herself against the barrier, hoping it would give way, but it didn’t.

She pressed her eye to one of the cracks and peered inside. She saw a natural stone cavern with cracks in its walls, floor, and ceiling. The black ooze was inside the cave, slithering toward a score of other creatures: slugs, oozes, and slimes of varying hues. They sat, quivering, at the center of the room, as if waiting for something.

Several tunnels led away from the cavern. Cavatina spotŹted movement inside one of these: a figure walking toward the main cavern with smooth, flowing steps. It turned out to be a naked drow—an exquisitely beautiful male with eyes of a shade Cavatina had never seen before: pale green, like a newly budded leaf. The odd-looking drow moved without hesitation to the oozes, slimes, and slugs. He halted, his arms raised. As Cavatina watched, horrified, the creatures swarmed him, flowing over the drow in layers like quivering blankets. When they parted again, the drow was gone. Not even a smear remained.

“Self-sacrifice,” Cavatina whispered. Had the drow been drugged? Compelled by an enchantment to offer himself to the creatures? Or had he been one of Ghaunadaur’s followŹers, going willingly into the maws of the slime god’s minions? She’d heard the fanatics sometimes did that. She shook her head in disgust.

Cavatina decided to see where the drow had come from. She made her way around the edge of the cavern to the tunnel he’d just come through. The magical barrier surrounded that tunnel, too. Like the cavern, the tunnel had numerous cracks in it—cracks that extended to the magical barrier. She worked her way around the tunnel, looking for a gap large enough to pass through. There wasn’t one. She expanded her search. The magical barrier, she learned, enclosed an enormous space—an area that might be almost as large as the Promenade itself.

By pressing herself against the shimmering green glow here and there and peering through cracks, Cavatina could see what lay inside the rest of the space. Most of the areas she peered into were natural caverns like the first, but a few were proper rooms, cut from the native stone. One of these held an enormous iron scorpion that turned restlessly, its stinger tail scraping the ceiling of the too-small room.

“A scalander?” Cavatina mused aloud. Was this the one Meryl had babbled about? It had been down here a long time, judging by the accumulated grit on its body and the numerous gouges its stinger had scraped in the ceiling.

Cavatina continued to explore the limits of the magical boundary. Tunnels led away from the central caverns, each surrounded by a tube-like extension of the magical barrier. All dead-ended after a short distance except one: a tunnel that led past what looked like a recent lava flow. Just beyond this point, a staircase slanted upward. It was enclosed by the glowing green barrier too.

Cavatina climbed through the stone beside the staircase, and found herself in an abandoned mine tunnel with a ceiling level with her chest. That told her she was in one of the oldest secŹtions of Undermountain, far below the Promenade: the ancient mithral mine excavated twenty-six centuries ago by the dwarves of Melairbode. Bluish light rippled through the wall and disappeared. Even this deep, there were traces of Faerzress.

The portal that led back to the Hall of Empty Arches lay somewhere within these mine tunnels—though Cavatina doubted it would be much help. Even if she did manage to find it, she doubted it would transport her while she was in ethereal form.

The magical barrier extended only as far as the top of the stairs, which ended in a simple, open arch, just high enough for a dwarf. Inside the arch, the magical barrier was a difŹferent color. Instead of green, it glowed with a golden light that shaded to green at its edges. On the other side of this barrier, at the top of the staircase, sat an enormous gray ooze. It pressed itself up against the barrier that filled the arch, attempting—and failing—to force its way out.

Cautiously, Cavatina touched the golden barrier. It blocked her, just as the green glow had. She glanced up and down the mining tunnel, wondering which way to go next. She spotted scuffs in the dust on the floor—someone had crawled away from the staircase—and decided to follow them. She walked along, in solid stone from the waist down but with her head and shoulders inside the tunnel, trusting to Eilistraee to guide her steps.

A short time later, she spotted a second dwarf-sized arch, this one plugged with stone, just like those in the Hall of Empty Arches. Two drow sat next to it, their backs against the wall. Cavatina moved closer, trying to see who they were. She didn’t recognize the male, who turned out to have a horribly scarred face and ruined eyes, but she recognized Leliana at once. The Protector was naked from the waist up. Her chain mail tunic and a warped and blackened sword lay on the floor next to her.

Another puzzle piece from Meryl’s garbled story dropped into place. This was where Leliana had disappeared to. Whatever she’d been doing, she must have hoped to return through that portal to the Hall of Empty Arches—only to find that it wasn’t active.

Leliana looked strained and exhausted. As Cavatina watched, she made the sign of Eilistraee’s moon and prayed. “Aid me, Lady, in my dance. I’ve done battle in your name; the moonlight within me has waned. Turn your face to me, and fill me with your light that I might return safely to my place of sanctuary.”

Cavatina touched her on the shoulder. “Leliana? Can you hear me?”

Leliana paid her no heed. The male, however, turned his head. One hand groped blindly for Leliana and bumped against her arm. His fingers moved swiftly. Lady. I sense something. A creature draws near.

Cavatina blinked in surprise. “Can you hear me?” she asked. If he could, perhaps she could use him to alert the battle-mistress to the planar breach. But the male didn’t respond to Cavatina’s touch on his shoulder. There! he signed, pointing with his other hand.

Not at Cavatina, but at something behind her.

She turned.

“What is it?” Leliana whispered to the male. “I can’t see anything.”

Cavatina could, however. An ooze was flowing out of the wall, not half a dozen paces behind her. It quivered a moment, bulging first this way, then that. Then it moved toward the spot where Leliana and the male sat. Part of its body remained inside the wall; it was moving through solid stone!

It was ethereal. Just like Cavatina.

She’d heard of such creatures. Able to shift between physiŹcal and ethereal form at will, they were deadly opponents. Unless Leliana and her companion moved away from this spot—quickly—the ooze would engulf them. It would slither over them, resume its material form, and consume them, unless Cavatina stopped it.

She smiled. The ooze might just be her passage out of here.

She stepped into its path, sang a hymn that would shield her from its acid, and kneeled, her sword tucked tight against her body. She cringed as the creature touched her shoulder, dribbling acid onto her, but she held fast. The ooze recoiled, then suddenly bulged forward, engulfing her.

And squeezed.

The pain was excruciating. Pressure drove the air from Cavatina’s lungs. Tendrils of ooze forced their way into her ears, pressing against her eardrums until they rang in agony. Still more tendrils slid into her nostrils, plugging them.

Eilistraee, she silently cried. Strengthen me. Lend your might to my sword arm.

She thrust her weapon away from her, driving it into the ooze. Then she twisted in a kneeling pirouette, wrenching her weapon around with her. The singing sword pealed in muffled joy as its blade bisected the ooze from within.

The ooze shrank away in alarm. Cavatina followed, staying within its flesh, and felt a sudden lurch as the creature entered the material plane. At the last moment, she remembered to duck. Even so, her head scraped the ceiling of the mine tunnel.

She’d done it! Passed back into the Prime Material Plane in the belly of the ooze.

Now she needed to carve her way out of it, before it squeezed the life out of her.

Through a gelatinous blanket of flesh, she saw Leliana rise to her knees and grasp her sword, an alarmed look on her face. “Another ooze!” the Protector shouted—her voice muffled to Cavatina’s ears. Then Leliana sang. Her hymn smashed into the ooze, sending shudders through it. Yet the creature continued to squeeze Cavatina, undeterred by the magical assault.

Cavatina had no air left in her lungs. The ooze forced its way down into her throat. Gagging, she hacked at the thinnest section of its body—the side opposite the spot where Leliana and the male crouched. Cavatina’s knees scrabbled on the acid-slick floor. Had it not been for her spell, her clothing and armor would have dissolved by now, and her flesh with them. Behind her, she could hear the male’s muffled shouting.

The ooze squeezed harder. Spots of bright light crackled in Cavatina’s vision. She felt a rib crack. She thrust again with the sword and felt its point break through the outer skin of the ooze, into the air beyond.

Suddenly, the ooze was gone, vanished back into the Ethereal Plane.

Cavatina sucked in a shuddering breath, exhaled through her nostrils, and blew out the sludge the ooze had left behind. She sang her thanks to the goddess—but couldn’t hear anything. Movement behind her caught her eye: Leliana scrambling to her in utter silence, sword in hand, an astonŹished look on her face. The Protector halted at the edge of the acid slick the ooze had left behind and shouted something—but her words were lost in the magical silence. She switched to silent speech instead.

Where did you come from? Where did the ooze go?

The second question was the important one. It’s ethereal, Cavatina signed back. Be careful. It might materialize again.

Behind Leliana, the male touched his fingers to the floor. He waved, hoping to catch their attention, then signed. Keep still. When the spell wears off, it will be able to feel us moving.

Cavatina glanced at Leliana. He cast the silence?

Leliana nodded. He’s a Nightshadow.

Smart. But where’s his mask?

Later.

The Nightshadow, his ruined eyes staring sightlessly, maintained his vigil, his fingers lightly touching the floor. The three waited—long enough for the acid that was everywhere to dry to a crust. Cavatina would have to renew her protection when she eventually washed it off. But that was the least of her worries. What mattered now was whether the ethereal ooze rematerialized.

It didn’t.

Cavatina realized she could hear herself breathing.

“That was close,” Leliana whispered.

The Nightshadow cocked his head. Nodded. Too close, he signed.

Cavatina was impressed. The male’s senses were sharp. “I think we’re safe now,” she said, speaking aloud for his benŹefit. “If the ooze were going to attack again, it would be on us already. Oozes aren’t intelligent enough to lie in wait.” She crawled to the arch. Leliana followed.

“Where did you come from, Lady Cavatina?” Leliana repeated. “Did you find the portal?”

Cavatina was surprised. “You knew about it, too? How did you get into the room?”

“What room?”

Cavatina realized they must be talking about different portals. “Why don’t you start by telling me how you got here, Leliana. In detail.”

Leliana told a strange story of following a wizard’s conŹstruct into a cavern that wept gray ooze. “It must have escaped from the Pit,” she concluded. “It—”

“Yes. There’s a planar breach.”

“How did you know?”

“I saw it,” Cavatina said grimly. “Finish your report.”

Leliana bowed her head in acknowledgement of the order. She continued her report. It seemed that she and the male, whose name was Naxil, had done battle with a molten ooze—the one that had disfigured him. They’d journeyed to this spot along the route Cavatina had explored, past the now-solidified lava and up the staircase.

“How did you get around the barrier at the top of the stairs?” Cavatina asked.

Leliana held up her hand and nodded at the ring on her finger. “The same way I activated the portal. By touching gold to it—on purpose, this time.”

That explained the golden glow. Cavatina took a closer look at the ring. It looked like an ordinary band of gold. “Is it magic?”

“Its ensorcelments have nothing to do with it. I think that anything gold will activate the portals.” Leliana’s smile faded. She slapped her ringed hand against the blocked archway. “Except for this one.”

Cavatina nodded. Her thoughts were on the archway at the top of the stairs, and the ooze pressing against it. “Let’s just pray that the oozes haven’t fed on anyone wearing gold jewelry,” she said, thinking of the sacrifice she’d seen earlier. “Or the ones that aren’t ethereal will escape too.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Leliana said. Then she shook her head. “But oozes are mindless things. They don’t have enough intelligence to open the barrier on purpose, and the odds of any gold they carry inside them coming into contact with the barrier by random chance are small.”

The Nightshadow flicked a hand. Something’s happening.

“What is it?” Cavatina hissed. “The ethereal ooze?”

The Nightshadow shook his head. He slid his fingers along the intricate carving that formed the frame of the arch. “The stone feels warm,” he whispered back. “I think the portal may be activating.”

“Finally!” Leliana exclaimed. “Go on through, Naxil.”

The Nightshadow started to move toward the arch. Cavatina caught his shoulder. “One moment, Naxil.”

He halted. “Lady?”

“Once we’re back in the Promenade, say nothing of the planar breach until I’ve had a chance to report it to the battle-mistress. We don’t want to start a panic.” The real reason, of course, was that she didn’t want it known she’d seen the planar breach first-hand. If word of that reached Qilué’s ears, the high priestess would realize that Horaldin had not only recognized her portal for what it was, but had led Cavatina to it.

Naxil bobbed his head. “Of course, Dark Lady.”

“Off you go, then,” Cavatina said.

“Wait for me on the other side, Naxil,” Leliana added. “I’ll guide you to the Hall of Healing.”

“Someone else can take him there,” Cavatina said. “Battle-mistress Rylla will want to hear your observations, as well.”

“But it will only take a moment to—”

Cavatina held up a warning finger. “You’re coming with me. That’s an order, Protector.”

The Nightshadow crouched by the arch, waiting.

Leliana’s cheeks darkened, but she made no further proŹtest. “Go on through, Naxil,” she said gently. “I’ll catch up to you once I’ve made my report.”

He nodded, crawled forward into seemingly solid stone, and disappeared.

As soon as he had gone, Leliana wheeled on Cavatina. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

Cavatina sighed. Suddenly, she felt utterly exhausted. “Rylla will explain.”

“What about Lady Qilué? She’ll want to hear our report too. Has she been called back to the Promenade?”

Cavatina hid her wince at the use of the high priestess’s name. She resisted the urge to glance around. Was Qilué now listening in on their conversation? Was Wendonai? “She’ll be contacted, if Rylla deems it necessary.”

” ‘Necessary?’” Leliana repeated, her voice incredulous. “Of course it’s necessary that Qilué—”

“Lady Leliana,” Cavatina said sternly. “This portal may only remain active for a short time, and we don’t want to be trapped down here. Step through it, please. Promptly.”

Visibly fuming, Leliana at last stepped into the portal. As the Protector disappeared, Cavatina briefly closed her eyes. If Qilué had been corrupted by a demon, the Promenade was in danger from two fronts: from without and within.

What was it that Qilué had said, when she’d ordered the attack on the Acropolis of the death goddess? The memory of that conversation returned like a chilling premonition. “Cut off the head, and the temple will fall.”

“Eilistraee protect us,” Cavatina whispered. “Grant that it not be so.”

She squared her shoulders and walked through the “stone” that filled the arch. A heartbeat later, she emerged on the other side, within the Hall of Empty Arches. Leliana and Naxil stood there, together with Rylla, who must have been called to the hall the moment the portal reactivated.

Qilué was just behind them.





Cavatina exchanged glances with Rylla as they followed Qilué back to the Hall of the Priestesses. Leliana was with them, but Naxil had been led away to the Hall of Healing. Just as well—that was one less person who might let something slip in Qilué’s presence. Cavatina noticed Rylla toying with a strand of hair. The battle-mistress was keeping her hand close to her holy symbol.

Qilué walked at the front of the group, looking imperious in her silver robe. She never once looked back at her priestesses, expecting them to follow her without question or pause, as they always had done. The scabbard at her hip was empty, and Qilué held the Crescent Blade in her hand. Its blade rested lightly on her shoulder, just below her ear. Cavatina wondered if the sword were whispering to the high priestess, even now.

“Praise Eilistraee you’ve returned, Lady Qilué,” Cavatina said. Her fingers moved in a silent question at her side, where only Rylla would see them. When?

Just now, Rylla replied.

Cavatina silently groaned. The high priestess must have heard Leliana speak her name—and the snatch of conversation that had followed. Out loud, Cavatina continued, “We found a portal in one of the tunnels south of the river. It leads to cavŹerns below the level of the old mine. We sighted oozes down there. I’m worried the Pit may have developed a breach.”

Leliana shot Cavatina a quick look, obviously noting Cavatina’s use of the words “may have.” Fortunately, the Protector was well behind Qilué, and the high priestess didn’t notice.

“Troubling news,” Qilué answered in a flat voice, without even breaking her stride. The high priestess’s shoulders had tensed, Cavatina noted, at the word “portal,” then relaxed again at the mention of it being south of the river—a location that was nowhere near the ancient temple.

Detection? Cavatina signed to Rylla.

No evil seen. You try.

Leliana had dropped back slightly, forcing Cavatina and Rylla to shift awkwardly to hide their silent conversation. The Protector obviously realized something serious was in the offing—even if she had no idea, yet, what it was. She watched them out of the corner of her eye.

Cavatina was forced to sign with Leliana watching. Report dretch, she suggested.

Rylla moved up beside Qilué. “Lady Qilué, there was an intrusion you should know about. A dretch was spotted …”

As Rylla sketched out the events that had followed the dretch’s discovery, Cavatina dropped back another pace and sang under her breath—softly, so Qilué wouldn’t hear her. Her prayer took hold, causing the holy symbol that hung against her chest to softly vibrate. She scanned the Crescent Blade, looking for the bruised purple aura that accompanied evil. To her surprise, the sword was clean.

Had she been wrong about Wendonai being inside the Crescent Blade?

Rylla glanced back briefly. Cavatina flicked a quick mesŹsage at her. Nothing.

Illusion?

Doubtful. Cavatina had never heard of a balor capable of conjuring illusions.

Banished? Rylla signed without looking back.

An excellent question—one that Cavatina didn’t know the answer to.

“The oozes concern me more than one lone dretch does,” Qilué told her battle-mistress. “They’re the real threat to the Promenade. Are the seals on the Pit intact?”

“Yes, Lady,” Rylla answered. “I checked them myself, earlier today.”

Cavatina, still well back, whispered a second prayer. The silver aura that accompanied holiness sprang into view around the high priestess. But it was fainter than it should have been: a dull gleam, rather than a sheen so bright it caused the eyes to ache. The silver glow was faintest near the hand that gripped the Crescent Blade—the hand whose wrist was marked with a small, still-visible scar.

The Crescent Blade itself was devoid of an aura. For an item forged from moon metal and consecrated to Eilistraee, that was telling indeed.

Wendonai must have been inside it, Cavatina decided, even if he wasn’t there now. Perhaps, having done Lolth’s bidding by persuading Qilué to open a portal to the Pit, he’d departed. The Spider Queen could very well have restored his corpse to life, allowing him to return to the Abyss.

All well and good, but it left a gaping hole. With Wendonai departed, there was nothing to prevent Qilué’s priestesses from pointing out to the high priestess what she’d been tricked into doing—and then reversing it. Lolth might be insane, but she was cunning. She wouldn’t have overlooked this flaw in her plans.

The more likely possibility—vastly more terrifying—was that Wendonai had departed the Crescent Blade for a living host: Qilué.

Cavatina shifted her song a second time, and saw what she’d missed before: a faint purple glow, just above the scar. That was where Wendonai must be hiding.

She fought to hide the revulsion she felt. The situation was more grave than she’d dreamed. Was Qilué’s mind still her own? Was this a demon Cavatina was talking to?

No. Some part of Qilué remained. A significant part. Or her aura wouldn’t have shone silver at all.

Cavatina prayed that Wendonai wasn’t listening in on her thoughts. If he’d heard what had just passed through her mind—or was listening to whatever Rylla was currently thinking—he’d counter whatever they tried next. She prayed that redemption was an armor he couldn’t penetrate.

There was still time to arrange an exorcism—as long as nothing happened to tip their hand. No rash moves, she decided. Nothing that would force the demon to react before they were ready. She’d play along, make her report, and slip away as quickly as she could to make the necessary preparations.

Cavatina directed a sending at Leliana—a carefully worded one that wouldn’t send the Protector into a panic. This may be an imposter, not Qilué. I need to question her without alerting her. On my signal, sing a truth psalm. Do nothing more.

Leliana’s lips tightened. She nodded.

They approached the High House. Rylla reached for the door, but Qilué blocked her. “Thank you for your report, battle-mistress. Please return to the Mound, and re-inspect the seals on the Pit.”

“Surely someone else can tend to that, Lady.” Rylla nodded in the direction of Cavatina and Leliana. “It’s important that I hear what these two have to.”

“Do it,” Qilué said in a terse voice. “Now. A thorough check, this time, or I will hold you personally responsible for whatever follows. As will Eilistraee.”

Exorcism, Cavatina spelled while the high priestess’s back was turned. Prepare.

Rylla stiffened. Hopefully, the high priestess would think this a reaction to the insult she’d just handed her battle-misŹtress. Rylla bowed stiffly and hurried away.

Qilué watched her leave, then pulled the door open and motioned for Cavatina and Leliana to enter. Cavatina tensed. Was the demon taking them somewhere out of the public eye, somewhere it could attack?

Qilué directed them to the room at the very heart of the High House: the chamber that housed her private altar. A holy place, filled with Eilistraee’s blessings. Was the demon trying to prove something? That Eilistraee’s relics were of no consequence?

As Leliana paused before the door, she caught Cavatina’s eye and lifted one eyebrow slightly. Cavatina decided the time was not yet ripe. She would play this move out, and see what followed. “After you, Protector,” she said.

Qilué closed the heavy stone door behind them.

The circular room, shot through with hair-thin threads of moonlight, had walls painted with a mural of a forest. When the stone door was closed, the illusion was complete. Moss, susŹtained by magic, carpeted the floor, filling the shrine with a woodland smell. A pedestal plated in gold, its top even with Cavatina’s eyes, stood at the center of the room. Perched atop it was a rust red, deeply pitted rock the size of a loaf of bread: a fragment of the boulder that had parted from the moon and streaked through the sky on the night Ghaunadaur’s avatar had been defeated.

Qilué raised the Crescent Blade above her head and began to dance around the altar. As the high priestess passed behind the pillar, Cavatina caught Leliana’s eye and nodded before beginning her own dance. Leliana lifted her blackened singing sword and joined in, her lips moving in a whispered song. She spun her blade in a tight circle above her head—a gesture that looked as though it were part of her dance, but was actually part of her spellcasting.

In the same instant that Leliana unleashed her truth-comŹpelling prayer, Qilué quickened her dance and spun behind Cavatina, out of the spell’s path. Cavatina felt the tingle of magic and realized, to her horror, that Qilué had maneuvered her into the path of the magic.

Qilué wheeled on her. “How did you know the Pit has a breach?” she demanded.

“I—” Cavatina tried to lie, but couldn’t. Words tumbled out of her mouth—not the carefully worded “report” she’d been rehearsing, but the truth about what had transpired. Horaldin showing her the portal; Cavatina slipping through it and becoming ethereal; seeing the planar breach, the ooze flowing out of it, the self-sacrifice of the green-eyed drow…

Qilué cut her off at that point with a curt, “That’s enough.”

Cavatina hid her relief. The high priestess hadn’t thought to ask why Horaldin had shown Cavatina the portal. Yet.

Leliana had listened, sword in hand. Now she glanced uncertainly back and forth between Cavatina and the high priestess—as though she’d like to silently ask what to do next, but didn’t dare. Her singing sword let out a low, worŹried hum.

“Sheathe that,” Qilué ordered.

“Why would you have me do that, Lady Qilué?”

“Because it’s annoying.”

Leliana shifted the weapon slightly. “It no longer fits in its scabbard, Lady Qilué.”

“Then find another way to silence it!” Qilué barked. “Lay it down.”

Leliana obediently placed her sword on the floor, ending its song.

Cavatina smiled to herself as she realized why Leliana had asked the question. Qilué’s blunt answer seemed to indiŹcate the truth spell had taken hold of her, as well, despite her attempt to shield herself from it by stepping behind Cavatina. Before Qilué could gather her wits, Cavatina spat out a question of her own. “Why did you open a portal to the Pit, Lady Qilué?”

Qilué scowled—an expression as foreign to her face as a look of mercy would have been on the cruel visage of the Spider Queen. Then, as abruptly as it came, the scowl disappeared. Cavatina could see, how Horaldin had known there was something wrong with the high priestess. Everything about Qilué’s posture, tone, and expression was subtly wrong. Even Qilué’s color was off. Her skin looked clammy, like that of someone who ought to be confined to a sick bed. She even smelled bad—as if it had been some time since she’d bathed.

“Fortunately for you, Cavatina, my preparations are incomplete.”

Cavatina’s heart fell. Qilué wasn’t answering her question! Was the demon capable of resisting Leliana’s magical compulŹsion? Or was the answer simpler: that it was Wendonai who had opened the portal—if so, the demon wouldn’t have been comŹpelled to answer a question directed at Qilué. Cavatina’s hands dampened with sweat. She resisted the urge to clench her sword tighter; Qilué might spot the slight movement and attack.

Cavatina tried another question. “What preparations?”

“A symbol. Had you blundered upon that ruined temple once it was visible, that would have been the end of you. You would have wandered the Ethereal Plane forever, gibbering and broken.”

“I did see a symbol—the mark of the Ancient One. Is that the one you mean?”

“Of course not,” Qilué snapped. “I’m talking about the symbol I inscribed on top of it.”

Cavatina cautiously nodded. If there had been another symbol atop Ghaunadaur’s, she’d failed to detect it. “What symbol is that?”

“One that provokes insanity.” Qilué smirked: another expression she never used. “The idea came from Ghaunadaur’s own scriptures.” She spoke quickly, as if she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. Maybe Leliana’s prayer was affecting her. “Millennia ago, the Ancient One rendered mindless the oozes and slimes that were his original worshipers. I’m going to do the same to the drow who worship him. They’re incapable of redemption, so we’re going to destroy them instead. That’s why I opened the portal in the abandoned temple. Our spies will lure his clerics into it with a feint the fanatics can’t help but follow. Especially once I open the door for them.”

“You’re going to allow Ghaunadaur’s fanatics to enter the Promenade?” Cavatina gasped.

Qilué missed the point. “They won’t realize we’ve ‘allowed’ it. Each group will think it’s mounting a sneak attack. They’ll never realize that others have preceded them, since the ones who have gone before won’t be in any condition to warn them, once the trap is sprung. They’ll all walk into it one by one, as meek as rothe.”

Cavatina was absolutely certain that this was Wendonai speaking. Qilué would never have slain drow outright—even those who worshiped so vile a god—without first offering a chance at redemption. Nor would she have allowed the Promenade’s defenses to be compromised.

“When are these ‘sneak attacks’ to begin?”

Qilué smiled. “My plan is already in motion.”

Leliana broke in. “But Lady Qilué, if the symbol is not yet visible—”

Qilué whirled around. “I know what I’m doing! Your opinion is not wanted, Protector.”

Leliana stood, her mouth open. Her fingers spread slightly, and her posture shifted. In another moment she’d lunge for her singing sword. Behind Qilué, Cavatina frantically shook her head. Not yet! Play along! she signed.

Leliana bowed. “Lady, my apologies for speaking out of turn.”

“The plan has its merits,” Cavatina said, trying to draw the high priestess’s attention back to her. “But the Protectors will need to be notified.”

“Of course,” Qilué said without turning around. She pointed at Leliana. “They just have been. A little sooner than I would have liked. There may be spies among us.”

“Not among the Protectors,” Leliana assured her.

“Not among the priestesses, you mean. There are Nightshadows whose loyalties I’m less certain of.”

She at last turned to Cavatina. “You can see why I’ve been so short-tempered, of late. It’s a big gamble I’m taking—but one that, if all goes well, will prove as rewarding as our assault on the Acropolis.”

Cavatina nodded, trying not to betray the tension she felt. “I don’t like it,” she said. “It’s too risky.” Then she shrugged, as if in resignation. “But I bow to your greater wisdom, Lady Qilué.”

“As do I, Lady,” Leliana echoed.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Qilué nodded. Cavatina relaxed—a little. Hopefully, Wendonai was arrogant enough to think he’d fooled them.

A knock sounded on the door. As Qilué crossed the room to answer it, Leliana caught Cavatina’s eye. Her hand nicked a word: What—?

Ask to leave.

“Lady,” Leliana said. “May I check on Naxil?”

“Not yet,” Qilué said without turning around. “There’s more we need to discuss.”

“Agreed,” Cavatina interrupted. “And the battle-mistress should hear it. Leliana, go find Rylla. Ask her to join us.”

“No!” Qilué snapped. Her hand was on the door. “Remain where you are, Leliana. I’ve already sent for the battle-mistress.”

Cavatina’s heart sank. She could think of only one reason for Qilué to keep the Protector here: Wendonai hadn’t been fooled. And it was worse than that. As Qilué turned back to the door, Cavatina caught a glint of something: silver fire, kindling deep within the high priestess’s eyes. Was Wendonai about to unleash it? Could he? If so, their lives would be measured in heartbeats unless Cavatina did something, and quickly.

Eilistraee, she silently prayed. Dancing Lady, aid me.

She caught Leliana’s eye and glanced down at the other female’s singing sword. One finger flicked. On my signal.

Leliana moved her feet slightly, getting ready to dive for her sword. With luck, the Protector would survive long enough for Cavatina to take Wendonai down and stop him—by killing Qilué, if necessary.

Cavatina prayed that it wouldn’t be.

Qilué opened the door, revealing Meryl. The halfling held up a tray on which stood a single goblet. Or … was it Meryl? For all Cavatina knew, this might be another dretch in disguise.

Cavatina raised her hand slightly, about to give the signal to attack. Before her fingers could move, a voice sang into her ear. Wait.

Eilistraee? Cavatina wondered. Or the demon, mimicking her voice?

Watch, the voice urged. As before, the word sang out in a duet, blending male and female timbres.

Eilistraee. Cavatina felt certain of it.

Meryl glanced into the shrine, at the two priestesses—then yelped and stepped back quickly as Qilué snatched the goblet, spilling part of the clear liquid it held, and shut the door in the halfling’s face.

Cavatina held her hand still. Leliana would be wondering why she hadn’t signaled yet. Logically, now was the time to move, while the “imposter’s” back was still turned.

Goblet in hand, Qilué turned.

Leliana waited, her body tense.

Suddenly, Cavatina understood what the goddess wanted her to do. As Qilué drank from the goblet, Cavatina whisŹpered a hymn of detection. She finished it as Qilué lowered the empty goblet. Cavatina saw the high priestess’s aura brighten, returning to its usual gleaming silver—except for a faint dimple that was the scar on her wrist. She realized that it must have been holy water the high priestess had just drunk—and that it had done its work.

Cavatina shifted her whispered song. As she’d suspected, there was a dark purple aura surrounding the Crescent Blade. Wendonai was back inside it. Yet even as Cavatina watched, a thread of purple found its way back to the scar on Qilué’s wrist, and taint began to flow back into her.

So soon? Surely holy water would have a more lingering effect than that.

Unless it had been tainted by a dretch.

That hadn’t been Meryl. The halfling would have reacted to Cavatina in some way, giving an inappropriate wave, or saying hello. This “Meryl” had simply given Cavatina a fiat, unrecognizing stare.

Cavatina needed to act—and quickly! This might be her only chance to banish Wendonai while he was still vulnerable, before he fully re-entered the high priestess. Yet she’d had no time to prepare. Wendonai was a balor—the most powerful demon of all. Cavatina would need something more than just her sword or holy symbol to …

Wait a moment! Her eyes fell on the sacred stone atop the pillar. Wendonai had been overly clever in bringing Cavatina and Leliana to the shrine. He’d placed the perfect tool for an exorcism within Cavatina’s reach.

Cavatina’s fingers flashed. Now!

Leliana swept up her sword and lunged, her weapon pealŹing its attack—a feint Qilué met with a slash of the Crescent Blade. Their weapons met with a loud crash. Cavatina leaped for the sacred stone. She scooped it from the top of the pillar and hurled it, aiming at the sword in Qilué’s hand. “Begone, Wendonai!” she sang. “Return to—”

Silver fire filled the air with a flash of heat. Cavatina heard a crack—the sacred stone had struck the wall. A welter of fragments pattered onto the floor. Blinded by the aftereffects of the bright flash, she leaped forward, trying to locate Qilué by feel.

A strident note wailed past her ear once, twice: Leliana’s sword blade.

Cavatina ducked. “Leliana! Hold!”

The sword’s singing halted.

Blinking against the streaks that obscured her vision, Cavatina fumbled for the door. Her hand encountered an utterly smooth surface: magic-fused stone—hot enough to scorch her fingertips. She yanked her hand back and sang a hymn, one that should have sent her into the corridor beyond. But Eilistraee didn’t answer.

As the room swam into focus, she understood why. The stone door had been fused shut by Qilué’s silver fire. On top of that, the entire chamber was glowing. Bright green light sparkled from within the floor, ceiling, and walls: a magical barrier, just like the one Cavatina had seen when she’d been ethereal.

Qilué had disappeared, and they were trapped.

Cavatina turned to Leliana. “The demon’s escaped!”

“That was a demon? A demon took Qilué’s form?”

“Worse than that,” Cavatina answered grimly. “That is Qilué, but only partially. A balor is sharing her body.”

“Eilistraee save us,” Leliana whispered, her face paling to gray. Her singing sword let out a mournful peal. She looked around. “Why didn’t it kill us?”

It was a good question. But Cavatina didn’t have time to speculate. With an urgent whisper, she tried sending a warnŹing to Rylla.

No answer came.

Cavatina tried contacting Horaldin—the druid knew spells that would soften stone, and would soon have them out of here—but he also failed to answer.

Cavatina glanced around the shrine that had become their prison, furious at herself for having become trapped here. The battle-mistress needed her. Rylla was adept at exorcism and a skillful swordswoman, but she would be facing the Crescent Blade, backed up by Qilué’s silver fire.

Cavatina bowed her head and prayed. Eilistraee, surely, could still hear her. “Grant Rylla the strength she needs to do battle in your name, Dark Maiden. Shield her, and strengthen her sword arm.”

“By song and sword,” Leliana whispered.

Cavatina hoped it wasn’t already too late for their prayers.