Jaleigh Johnson - Spider and Stone

“You’re insane,” Fizzri said, lip curled in disgust. She had nothing to fear from this broken creature. “Lolth has revealed your weakness-”

“Weakness?” Keening laughter burst from Zollgarza’s throat. The sound raised the hairs on Fizzri’s arms. “I have played the game from both sides. Secrets live in me that wizards and priestesses would kill to know.” She pounded a fist against her chest. “I understand now. The strongest will win out. I will tear the weakness from my soul. If it destroys me, so be it.” A pensive expression creased her sweaty face. “But if I win … if I win, I will have found my purpose-Lolth be damned.”

Fizzri hissed and drew her snake-headed whip. “I will tear your tongue from your mouth.”

Zollgarza smiled indulgently at her, which incensed Fizzri more. “I don’t blame you, my precious one.” Her smile widened, and her shoulders shook-with contained laughter or hysterics, Fizzri couldn’t say. “You’ve not known true desperation. Throw yourself on the ground, prostrate yourself before the goddess, crawl, crawl, and crawl, and all will be well again. Lolth needs those like you, the pliant and the blind, those she can twist to suit her.”

“Godsdamn you,” Fizzri cried. “Let your sacrifice be now. I will take the sphere without you.” She didn’t bother with the whip. Hissing the words of a spell, she reached for Zollgarza, fingers curled in a clawlike grip. Black lightning poured from her hands. The dark energy struck Zollgarza and twisted around her, encasing her like a cage.

Zollgarza staggered, but her fixed, hysterical smile remained in place. She lifted her trembling hands in the air and shouted an answering spell. She thrust out her hands and poured the energy back at Fizzri.

Fizzri had her defenses in place, but the shadow of the dragon passing overhead distracted her, and the black energy poured past her spell shield and seized her. Gasping with the pain, Fizzri suddenly looked to the sky.

A build-up of arcane energy-power that sizzled, crackled, and threatened to tear apart the air itself-came from the dragon. Zollgarza must have felt it too. She tipped her head back, white hair spilling amidst the black energy of Fizzri’s attack. Spreading her arms, she sketched a shaky bow to the silver dragon soaring overhead.

“What have you done?” Fizzri screamed at Zollgarza. She spit out a phrase and hurled a sheet of flame at Zollgarza, but the drow leaped nimbly aside and took cover behind a large rock. “You’ve destroyed everything! For what? Lolth, why have you let this happen?”

The exclamation burst from Fizzri before she could stop it. She covered her mouth in horror at her own words. Trembling with fear and pain, she backed up a step.

Fiery pain erupted at the small of her back. Fizzri looked down and saw the tip of an axe blade protruding through her stomach. She tried to turn, but her legs would not obey her. With a jerk, the axe came free, and Fizzri dropped, loose-limbed, to her knees. Her attacker circled around so she could see his bloody axe. Three black horns protruded from the weapon, all stained with blood. The dwarf stared down at her and muttered something in his own language that Fizzri didn’t hear. Then he was gone, running across one of the bridges over the river.

Above her, the arcane energy continued to build, along with Zollgarza’s laughter. Fizzri tried to summon the strength to care about any of these events, but her thoughts were getting fuzzy around the edges. She reached out with her fading consciousness, seeking Lolth’s power, but her cry was a hollow echo, met with only silence.

Icelin squinted through the smoke of a dozen fires that raged on this side of the riverbank. The battle had begun to shift, the dwarves pouring across the river at the sound of a horn. Garn and Obrin stood at the bridges, shouting to anyone within earshot to fall back. The drow forces seemed confused by the sudden exodus and did not immediately follow. Perhaps they sensed a retreat and wanted to take advantage of the lull in the fighting to regroup and hit the dwarves while they fell back to more secure ground.

Icelin saw this from her vantage on the ledge at the edge of the plaza, the same spot where she and Ruen had watched Ingara and Arngam’s wedding. It felt like a tenday ago.

“He’ll do it now,” Icelin said as she levitated to the ground. Sull and Ruen stood waiting for her. “Gods, the power-I can feel it in the air, as if the whole city is one huge conduit for magic.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

“He’s calling upon the runes,” Garn said, pushing through the stream of dwarves flowing into the plaza. “Protective spells placed all over the city-they react to the king’s will, and he can use them-or destroy them-as he wishes.”

“The same thing you did to the bridge on our way down here,” Ruen said.

Icelin remembered the look of sorrow and loss she’d seen etched on Garn’s face when he’d destroyed the ancient piece of architecture. Her heart ached for what the king was about to do. “Is this the only way?” she asked.

Garn nodded once. His expression softened somewhat as Joya and Ingara came through the crowd, looking pale and weary. “Where have you been?” he asked. “We were worried.”

“At the temple,” Ingara said. “I asked Joya to tend to Arngam.”

“Is he all right?” Icelin asked.

“I think so-took in too much smoke. He’s unconscious.” Ingara glanced at her sister. “Are you ready?”

Joya nodded. “We should hurry.”

“Where are you going?” Garn demanded as the two women headed for the bridges. “The king ordered us to fall back.”

“There are wounded on the other side of the river,” Joya said. “I’ll get as many of them up and moving as possible.”

“It’s too late for that,” Garn said, “and even if you got there in time, the drow will tear you apart as soon as they see you.”

“They’ll be too distracted by the king,” Joya said. “I can’t abandon the wounded.” She put her hand on her father’s shoulder and said something in Dwarvish. Garn’s expression hardened, and he shook his head. But Joya was equally stubborn. She took her father’s face between her hands, kissed the runes on his face, and then she pressed her forehead against his. A breath passed, and Joya pulled away. Ingara took her place and repeated the gesture. Then the women headed for the bridge.

“Wait, Joya!” Icelin cried.

Joya turned to look at her, but Icelin found herself at a loss for words. She didn’t know why she’d called out to the cleric. A lump rose in her throat.

Joya smiled and nodded. Then they were gone, passing through the smoke and hidden from sight.

Icelin turned to Ruen, but before she could speak, a tremor shook the cavern, raising dust clouds from the stone. Awareness surged in Icelin’s blood, a massive buildup of power, pulsing, raging …

As if in a dream, Icelin looked up, and for an instant, all the magical runes in the city flashed with brilliant, blue-white radiance. In the heart of the magical storm, the silver dragon pulled up, wings beating the air, and released a breath of gas in a line along the opposite side of the river. The drow caught in the blast collapsed, paralyzed.

The dragon flew higher, and the runes continued to pulse until Icelin raised her hands to her head as if she could ward off the surge in magic. Frantically, she turned to Sull and Ruen.

“Get down!” she cried, but the words were lost in an explosion that deafened her.

All around her, drow and dwarf eyes turned to the sky, their expressions reflecting fear and awe. Icelin looked with them, but she could barely see Mith Barak beyond the glow of the magical light. The runes burst apart before her eyes, and the cavern ceiling above the dragon collapsed. A roaring filled Icelin’s ears, and the tremors became a shuddering that threw her to the ground. Sull and Ruen crawled to her, and the three of them huddled close as the world came crashing down around them.