Resurrection (25 page)

A wall of conjured ice, taller than the giant trolls and an arm's span thick, formed before the creatures, blocking their rush across the bridge. They did not even slow. In stride, they swung the magical stalagmite ram into the wall, and the ice exploded in a blast of shards. They charged onward.

Cursing, Gromph started to fly upward. Though incorporeal, magical energies could still harm him, as could appropriately enchanted weapons. He did not want to get caught in any crossfire.

A cloud of vapor-poisonous vapor, Gromph assumed-formed before the doors. The giant trolls gulped clean air and charged in, swinging the huge ram as they did-right at Gromph.

He dodged aside but his incorporeal flight was cumbersome and slow. The magical ram clipped his shoulder, and its enchantments reached through realities to affect his insubstantial body. Agony exploded in his brain. The impact spun him in a circle and knocked him toward the gate and the killing symbol.

He struggled to right himself and contorted his body to avoid contact with the magically charged gates. Gromph regained control a heartbeat before careening into the gate, and he flew upward and off to the side of the bridge, hovering over the moat chasm. His entire right side flared with pain, but his ring began immediately to repair the wound.

Still holding their breath, the giant trolls reared the ram back and slammed it again into the doors. Sparks flew from its tip, flecks of stone showered the bridge, but the adamantine doors showed not even a scratch. More and more crossbow bolts poured down on the trolls, some getting through the magical shields and finding flesh. One of the creatures, struck in the cheek by a bolt, exclaimed in pain and inadvertently drew a breath of poisonous air. He fell writhing to the bridge and was dead in moments.

The rest continued on, futilely battering the gates as bolts poured down. Gromph found the scene surreal. He could hear nothing, smell nothing. He felt as if he was looking at the imperfect illusion of a first year apprentice.

Gromph assumed the giant troll assault to be only a feint, with the real attack occurring elsewhere, but he had no way to confirm his guess. Apparently, he had been mistaken about Xorlarrin complacency. Matron Mother Zeerith had not yet decided to surrender the glory of sacking House Dyrr. Either that or she simply wanted to keep the Dyrr defenders off guard and force them to expend resources on fodder troops.

To their credit, the Dyrr defenders were using mostly mundane weapons to deal with the giant trolls. They had wasted only two spells and a few discharges from their wands. Crossbows were doing most of the work. Already four of the trolls lay dead. The remaining six continued to swing the ram, though with less force.

An idea struck Gromph.

Moving quickly, he wove his hands in an intricate gesture and spoke aloud the words to a spell. The magic generated a field of force as an extension of Gromph's will. With it, he gripped one of the foremost giant trolls-the creature's eyes went wide, though it did not shout for fear of inhaling the poisonous gas.

Gromph forced the giant troll to loose its grip on the ram and reach forth an arm to touch the doors. The beast seemed to sense its danger and its great strength warred against Gromph's will-but the Archmage of Menzoberranzan's will was the stronger. The giant troll held out a clawed hand, touched the gate, and triggered the remaining symbol.

Gromph averted his gaze as the symbol flared. The magic entered the giant troll, and the creature opened its mouth in a scream. It fell to the bridge, dead. Gromph gave it no further thought.

The rest of the giant trolls, seemingly stunned at the stupidity of their companion and unable to easily manage the weight of the ram without him, broke. First one, then another loosed their grip, turned, and ran. Crossbow bolts chased them back across the bridge. A sphere of magical darkness formed around the head of one. Blinded, the creature ran off the side of the bridge and fell into the chasm.

Gromph studied the gate and saw with satisfaction that the symbol was gone. For a precious few moments, it would remain so.

Moving quickly, Gromph hovered before the door, in the midst of the poisonous cloud, above the giant troll corpses. With the delicate touch of a skilled chirurgeon, he bent aside the lines of the ward that prevented physical passage and slipped through. He did not like leaving the intact symbol behind him but figured he would be able to leave House Agrach Dyrr much more easily than he would be able to enter it. Wards typically barred entry, not exit.

He flew through the adamantine doors and found himself standing in the gatehouse tunnel of House Agrach Dyrr, in the midst of two score spear-armed, lizard-mounted drow cavalrymen. Many of their spear tips glowed with magical power in Gromph's sight, power enough to harm Gromph, had they known of his presence.

They stood in a cluster around him, not seeing him. They must have been stationed there in the unlikely event of a breach or perhaps in preparation for a counterattack.

Gromph could not hear their voices, but he could see the sweat on their faces, the determination in their eyes
.
Some of the soldiers shifted their mounts and passed right through him. He flew into the air to the tunnel's ceiling to avoid their touch. The negative energy associated with his shadow form might damage one of them and alert them to his presence, or worse, one might inadvertently wound him with an enchanted spear.

Safely up against the ceiling, he allowed himself a smile. He had beaten the first challenge. He was in.

Looking to the end of the gatehouse tunnel beyond the cavalry, he saw that another ward awaited him there.

The glowing lines of the master ward charged the air around him, around the soldiers. Magic literally saturated the air around the Dyrr defenders, but they saw it no more than they saw him.

Having bypassed the first line of defense, Gromph had another perspective on the structure of the master ward. He pulled out one of his wands, triggered its dweomer, and examined the line of the master ward.

The wand showed that it had many threads within it. He frowned.

One of the threads was a contingent dimensional lock. Its latent magic likely had been triggered by the destruction of the lichdrow's physical form, to prevent easy entry into House Dyrr and consequent access to the lichdrow's phylactery. The presence of the dimensional lock complicated matters.

A dimensional lock prevented all forms of magical transport. Even if Gromph disabled or dispelled all of the ordinary wards in House Dyrr, he would not be able to teleport out of the Dyrr complex unless he first dispelled the master ward, or at least the dimensional lock that was part of it. Even the powerful contingent evasion spell that Gromph had cast on himself would not work in the presence of a dimensional lock.

Gromph could see that the master ward was too intricate for him to be able to dispel with any ease. It would take hours, and he could not spare the time. He had to keep moving.

He floated over the Dyrr soldiers toward the far end of the gatehouse tunnel. A flash from behind him turned him around, a defensive spell on his lips.

A violet pulse ran through the master ward and traveled to the area of the discharged symbol on the adamantine doors. The magic circled the area, redrew the symbol, recharged it, and reset it.

To Gromph's surprise and admiration, the power in the master ward then circled the point where Gromph had dispelled the first symbol and redrew it too, essentially recasting the spell. Gromph's dispelling dweomer should have eradicated the symbol forever.

The lichdrow's spellcraft was masterful. It was unfortunate that such knowledge would be lost forever when Gromph destroyed the lich's phylactery.

Without further waste of time, he turned and began his attack on the ward at the end of the tunnel.

Souls streaked around Pharaun, near enough that he could have reached out and touched a dozen as they flew past. He hoped soon to add Jeggred's spirit to their number.

The nalfeshnee and chasme eyed the souls with hungry eyes as they passed. Only the barked orders of Quenthel and Danifae kept the demons from feasting on Lolth's dead.

The stream of souls flowed toward and into a jagged black hole at the base of the tallest peak. Pharaun presumed the opening to be the Pass of the Soulreaver, though it was less pass than tunnel. To Pharaun, it looked like a rough tear in the mountain, a malformed mouth open in a scream.

The pass's opening was as dark and impenetrable as pitch. The light of Lolth's sun did not touch it, let alone enter it. The hole was a literal wall of black.

A creeping realization struck Pharaun: the Pass of the Soulreaver was
on
the Demonweb Pits but not
of
the Demonweb Pits. To enter it would be to enter something…
other.

Untroubled by Pharaun's realization, the souls poured into the hole and vanished the moment they broached the entryway, as though they had been extinguished, swallowed by the mountain.

Pharaun licked his lips.

Quenthel pointed downward with the handle of her whip and shouted an order to Zerevimeel. The nalfeshnee headed lower. So too did the chasme bearing Danifae and Jeggred. Pharaun followed.

Zerevimeel set down fifteen or so paces to the right of the pass. Pharaun landed beside the towering nalfeshnee. Danifae steered the chasme down perhaps ten paces to the left of the tunnel. The river of souls flowed between them, and the Pass of the Soulreaver devoured them all.

Quenthel straightened her robes and stared through the line of ghosts at Danifae. Pharaun could see the calculation in Quenthel's eyes.

The nalfeshnee, his feeble little wings still beating, bent down to Quenthel's ear and said, so softly that Pharaun could hardly hear, "I could be of assistance to you for the right price. The draegloth would be an enjoyable kill."

Pharaun could not have agreed more.

Out of the side of her mouth, still staring at Danifae, Quenthel said, "I require no assistance, creature. And this is to be decided by priestesses. You are dismissed. Begone."

The demon hissed in anger. His muzzle peeled back from his fangs, and he reared up to his full height. Pharaun put his hand to the iron wand of lightning at his belt, just in case. He need not have worried. The demon had no desire to challenge Quenthel Baenre.

Pharaun wondered if Danifae still did.

"Remember our bargain, priestess," the nalfeshnee said. "You owe me sixty-six souls. I will expect payment when next we meet."

Quenthel waved a hand dismissively. The nalfeshnee's eyes narrowed, but he gave no further expression to his irritation. He triggered the innate ability of his kind to teleport and disappeared in a blink.

A short distance away, Danifae and Jeggred stood near the chasme. The fly demon beat its wings and turned a circle in excitement.

"Perhaps my payment now, lovely priestess?" the demon said, and a long tongue emerged from a toothless mouth. Something else long and dripping emerged from his thorax.

Danifae smiled sweetly at the chasme, and he beat his wings harder. The charnel reek from the wings caused Pharaun to wrinkle his nose.

Danifae sidled a step closer to the demon. She licked her lips and said, "Kill this wretch, Jeggred."

At first, the words did not seem to register with the demon. His wings beat in agitation, and his malformed brow creased in confusion.

"What did you say, priestess?"

Jeggred bounded forward, and the demon at last understood his peril. He flew into the air but Jeggred leaped up and grabbed him by his human forelegs.

The chasme squealed in pain.

"You lied!" he screamed at Danifae, trying to shake Jeggred free.

Danifae laughed and said, "Of course."

Jeggred, partially lifted into the air by the chasme, grunted and yanked at the demon's arms. The chasme squealed and whined; Jeggred roared and tore.

With a wet ripping sound, the draegloth pulled the chasme's forelegs from its body. Jeggred fell to the ground in a crouch, clutching the two gory sticks of the chasme's arms.

The chasme wailed with agony, and the sound was so ridiculous Pharaun almost smiled. The demon buzzed in circles overhead, showering them all with gore from the bleeding stumps of its front shoulders.

"You will pay, lying drow bitch!" the demon screamed through its pain. "You will pay. Vakuul does not forget!"

Jeggred threw one of the demon's arms at it, but the chasme whined indignantly and wheeled aside. The bloody limb landed at Pharaun's feet.

With one final glare at Danifae, the chasme disappeared, teleporting back to whatever layer of the Abyss it called home.

Jeggred sniffed the other arm, wrinkled his nose, and tossed it away.

Still smiling, Danifae looked through the river of souls to Quenthel. The priestesses stared at one another for a long moment before Quenthel said, "Lolth awaits her
Yor'thae
beyond the Pass of the Soulreaver."

Jeggred must have sensed something in the air. He stepped in front of Danifae, his eyes fixed on his aunt. Pharaun drew nearer to Quenthel.

"Mistress Quenthel states the obvious," Danifae said.

Her small hand was on Jeggred's back. It took Pharaun a moment to realize that she was signing against his skin, telling him something.

"Mistress…" Pharaun began, but Quenthel cut him off.

"I state the obvious, battle-captive, because the obvious has escaped you since first we set foot on Lolth's domain." She punctuated her point with a crack of her whip.

Jeggred's breath came faster. Danifae removed her hand from his back. She had told him whatever it was she had wanted him to know-or wanted him to do.

Tension sat as thick as mist. Pharaun brought to mind the words to a spell. Quenthel had told him to attack only at her command so he stood ready and waited.

Jeggred stared through the souls and alternately eyed him and Quenthel with undisguised hunger. His battle with the chasme had only whetted his appetite, no doubt.

Danifae touched her holy symbol and said, "And what obvious point have I overlooked, Mistress Quenthel?"

Quenthel's serpents hissed hate at Danifae.

"Just this," Quenthel said. "That Lolth requires a sacrifice before her
Yor'thae
enters the pass."

She reached back with her whip as though to strike but Jeggred moved faster. Before Quenthel could move, before Pharaun could cast a spell, the draegloth charged Quenthel.

He covered the distance in four bounding strides.

"Do not!" Danifae shouted, but her words did not match the pleased expression on her face.

Taken aback, Quenthel managed a weak swing with her whip but Jeggred caught the serpents in a fighting claw and held them away from him. He shouldered Quenthel's shield aside and lashed out with a vicious claw strike at her chest.

Armor links flew. The impact knocked Quenthel back two steps.

Jeggred followed up with savage speed, still clutching the hissing whip serpents, which tried futilely to sink their fangs into his iron-hard flesh. Roaring, the draegloth slashed with his free claw. Quenthel recovered herself and batted it aside with her shield, reversed her parry, and struck the draegloth in the face with her shield rim. Several of Jeggred's teeth flew. The strength of the blow momentarily stunned him.

Taking advantage of the respite, Quenthel yanked the whip serpents free of Jeggred's grasp with a grunt. Pharaun marveled at the strength granted her by her magical belt. She leaped back a step, spun the serpents over her head, and lashed them at the draegloth. Propelled by the force of her strength, the serpents struck home. Bloody furrows opened along Jeggred's ribcage. He roared in pain and dived aside, coming to his feet in a low crouch.

Growling, spraying spit, Jeggred pounced forward and unleashed a flurry of blows against Quenthel, blows that would have shredded a rock wall. Quenthel's shield answered, and there was her armor, but the force of the blows drove her backward. Her whip snapped again, and fangs sank into the draegloth's flesh.

Pharaun realized that he had been watching the combat too long. He quickly pulled a small leather glove from his
piwafwi,
moved his closed fists through an elaborate gesticulation, and spoke aloud the words to a spell.

When he finished, a gray disembodied fist as large as a titan's formed before him. At his mental command it flew at Jeggred. The draegloth never saw it coming, and it struck him on his flank with force enough to crack stone.

The impact cut short Jeggred's roar and sent him flying through the air. He landed in a roll ten paces from Quenthel, amidst the souls. He found his feet and clawed at the passing spirits to no effect.

With a roar, he charged Pharaun, but the Master of Sorcere interposed the magical fist.

"I'll kill you, mage!" Jeggred shouted and rent the construct with his claws. "I'll kill you both!"

"Jeggred!" Danifae said, and for the first time in Pharaun's memory her words did not get through.

Battle mad, the draegloth continued to claw at the fist.

Pharaun smiled and readied the fist to deliver another blow.

"Jeggred,
stop!"
Danifae shouted.

That registered.

Jeggred stopped in mid-rampage, looked to Danifae, then back to the fist. His chest rose and fell, his eyes glared, and slobber dripped from his fangs. He fixed his gaze on Quenthel, on Pharaun, on the magical fist of force Pharaun had summoned.

"She was going to attack us, Mistress," Jeggred hissed to Danifae.

Pharaun inched the magical fist closer to the draegloth. He could strike Jeggred again anytime he wished, but he was enjoying the draegloth's growing frustration.

"You underestimate your aunt," Danifae said, smiling sweetly at Quenthel.

Pharaun said, "She ordered Jeggred to attack, Mistress."

The Baenre priestess, only mildly winded from her exchange with Jeggred, smiled and said, "You overestimate our battle-captive, Master Mizzrym."

Pharaun thought not but said nothing.

Jeggred, voice low and dangerous, said to Danifae, "Mistress, I should be allowed to kill-"

"Silence, male," Danifae snapped.

The draegloth fell silent. Pharaun admired the obedience she had instilled in the dolt.

Quenthel examined the small hole in her armor caused by Jeggred, then said to the draegloth, "Nephew, you have just named yourself as a sacrifice to Lolth."

Jeggred spat a glob of yellow saliva in Quenthel's direction. It spattered on the magical fist and dangled there before falling to the rocky ground.

"Are you certain that my mother would approve, aunt?" he said.

That hit home. Jeggred was the son of Matron Mother Baenre. Perhaps Quenthel would risk Triel's wrath by sacrificing him, but perhaps she would not. Pharaun had his answer with Quenthel's next words.

"I shall enjoy administering your punishment, nephew," she said.

Disappointed, Pharaun decided that changing Quenthel's mind was worth another try.

In the most cavalier tone of voice he could summon, he said "This shaggy dolt has repeatedly disobeyed your instructions, has sided with a minor priestess-" he nodded with contempt at Danifae-"and has shown himself unworthy of the Baenre name. His folly is exceeded only by his stink. If you will not sacrifice him, please allow me to kill him. It would be a favor to intelligent life in the multiverse."

Jeggred glared hate.

Quenthel didn't look at Pharaun but answered, "You will do nothing unless I allow it, Master Mizzrym."

"Mistress…" Pharaun began.

"Only
if I allow it, male," Quenthel snapped, and her serpents fixed Pharaun with a stare.

The mage ground his teeth in frustration but managed a halfhearted bow.

"The mage's insolence and the influence of that cursed whip is what shows your weakness, aunt," Jeggred growled.

Pharaun brought the magical fist to his side.

"Enough," Danifae said. She looked to Quenthel and withdrew her holy symbol.

Quenthel did the same. They stared at one another for a moment.

"Perhaps some protective spells before we attempt the pass?" Danifae said.

Quenthel nodded.

Both began to cast, eyeing the other the while.

Pharaun saw the look in each of their eyes and was not certain that defensive spells were what either had in mind.