Лиза Смедман - Extinction

Tell the truth, Zinda said. Your spells are useless. Lolth is silent, perhaps forever. Perhaps she is dead.

“No!” Quenthel cried aloud. “Lolth lives!”

Seeing Jeggred’s sharp glance in her direction, she shut her mouth.

She must live, she continued silently. If I didn’t believe she was still alive, I would—

What? Yngoth spat, his thoughts cracking Quenthel out of her despair. Give up? Embrace death yourself? What god, then, would claim your soul?

Anger making her steadier—she hated it when the vipers peered into her innermost fears—Quenthel spat her thoughts back at them.

No. Never that. It’s just that revealing what has happened to Lolth would mean bargaining from a position of weakness. The aboleth would realize I was powerless. She might even decide to mount an attack on the drow, as other races have done.

Hsiv joined the debate with a chuckle in his voice. The first of the imps to be bound into her whip, he was often the one who helped guide Quenthel’s thoughts back to a truer course.

The aboleths are an aquatic race, he reminded her. They can’t leave their lake.

I know that, Quenthel retorted, not caring that the vipers would see through her lie. But the aboleths might tell other races about Lolth’s silence. If word of our weakness spreads, we’re doomed. Ched Nasad has fallen, and now Pharaun is no longer able to contact Gromph. For all we know, Menzoberranzan—

Menzoberranzan is far from Lake Thoroot, Hsiv gently reminded her. And this is a little-visited region. Anyone the aboleth might tell would attack a drow city that is closer to hand.

Quenthel barely heard him. All of the fears and doubts she’d kept bound tightly inside her ever since the group had fled from Ched Nasad erupted like spiders from a cocoon.

But that’s just it! she wailed. Who knows how many of our cities have been destroyed—or how many will yet be destroyed before this crisis is done? I’ve got to find Lolth—to tell her what’s going on. Triel and the other matron mothers are all depending on me, and I’m not sure... I don’t know how...

Leave that to us, Yngoth hissed.

Quenthel wasn’t listening.

The fate of every drow city in the Underdark is on my head, she moaned. Things are hard enough without Pharaun and his stupid, petty power games. Doesn’t he realize what’s at stake? This could result in the extinction of our race!

It could, Zinda agreed.

Yngoth quickly hissed the larger viper to silence.

You must focus on the matter at hand, he reminded Quenthel. You must find out from Oothoon where the ship is—a task that will be easier than you think. The sava board has already been set up for you. All of the pieces are already in place.

That brought Quenthel up short, and she asked, They are?

Yngoth’s tongue flickered in and out in the serpents equivalent of a smile.

To learn where the ship of chaos is, Pharaun must meet with Oothoon a second time. If he thinks you have been consumed, he may lower his guard slightly. And that may be his downfall.

Quenthel frowned and sent, I don’t understand.

Listen, and you will, Yngoth continued. You will tell Oothoon that Lolth is dead—Oothoon won’t believe me, Quenthel interrupted. I don’t believe it myself.

Your ring will prevent the aboleth from hearing your thoughts or from detecting your lies, Hsiv reminded her. Then, once Oothoon has deemed you unworthy of eating, you will offer her Pharaun, instead. You will tell her that in return for her telling you where the ship of chaos lies, you will convince Pharaun that you have been eaten. Thus tricked, he will swim willingly into the jaws of death.

The aboleth will eat him! K’Sothra cried.

And you’ll be rid of Pharaun at last, Zinda added. In a way that even Triel won’t find fault with.

How will I convince Pharaun I’m dead? Quenthel asked.

You won’t, Yngoth answered. Twisting to stare at the entrance to the cave, the viper fixed its eyes on Jeggred. He will. Take Jeggred with you—and tell him nothing of your plans. That way, his grief will be all the more convincing. Give him an order, and make sure he fixes it in his mind, that if you should be killed, he is not to take his revenge upon the aboleth. He instead must fight his way back to Pharaun and tell him what happened, so the others may carry word of your death back to Menzoberranzan. Tell Jeggred that he must succeed in doing this—at all costs—or the life of his mistress will have been forfeited for nothing.

As if he’d somehow sensed that they were talking about him, Jeggred stirred and glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed, but he obeyed Quenthel’s sharp gesture instantly, returning his attention to the tunnel.

Quenthel, meanwhile, was relieved to learn that there was a way out of her dilemma—one that would finally pay Pharaun back for his intolerable insubordination.

She stared at Yngoth expectantly and asked, How am I to avoid being eaten by the aboleth?

The viper bared its fangs in a menacing smile.

You still have your rod, Yngoth replied.

Quenthel nodded.

And that bottle of lace fungus wine you’ve been saving.

Yes, Quenthel answered. But how in the Abyss are those going to—

Listen, Yngoth said again. And I will explain...

Quenthel listened avidly. By the time Yngoth was finished speaking, her lips were parted in a feral grin.

It might just work, she thought to the snake, sending a wave of excitement along with the thought. Then, on a grimmer note, she added, It must.

The other vipers, who had maintained a respectful silence as Yngoth outlined the plan, writhed in anticipation of seeing it carried out. Even Qorra, the serpent who almost never spoke, could hardly contain herself.

Oh! she said. This will be such fun!

Jeggred waited just outside the audience room in which Quenthel was speaking with the aboleth matriarch, every muscle in his body tense. Quenthel was in there, atone, with two of them. She’d let one of the creatures—the one that wasn’t Oothoon—move into a position behind her. Why had she allowed it to do that?

Jeggred didn’t like the bloated fish-folk. They could not be trusted. Even with water filling his nostrils, he could smell the stink of deceit. He glanced, eyes narrowed, at a third aboleth, which had been ordered out into the corridor by its matriarch when Quenthel had told Jeggred to wait outside. Jeggred itched to rend its rubbery looking flesh, to see if its blood ran red. He could picture it … the blood would fill the water in a cloud. What a heady feast that would be—to inhale blood with each breath!

One of the trailing tentacles of the aboleth guarding him drifted close to his shoulder. Jeggred lashed out, clawing a furrow in its flesh.

Its three eyes blinking, the aboleth let out a burbling cry and yanked the tentacle away. It did not attack.

Jeggred, his pulse pounding in his ears, prepared to hurl himself after it, to close for the kill. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Quenthel had turned. She was signing at him furiously.

Hold your temper, she ordered. We are their guests.

Had it been a male who had spoken, Jeggred would have snarled back in defiance—then torn him to pieces. Instead, he bowed to his mistress.

As you command, Mistress.

As he signed, he snuck a glance at the aboleth he’d wounded.

He’d been wrong about aboleth blood. It was green and didn’t flow freely but oozed out like sap.

Satisfied the stupid creature was not going to retaliate, Jeggred returned his attention to Quenthel. He could have guarded her better if he’d been allowed to remain at her side, but an order was an order. He had obeyed, as he always did, without question. As a result, he could understand nothing of the conversation—Oothoon’s voice was pitched too low for him to hear, and he could not see what Quenthel was signing, since her back was to him.