Лиза Смедман - Extinction

Danifae’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Pharaun almost expected her to stamp her foot and turn away, but after a moment her fingers slowly uncurled. She stared hard at him as if trying to guess his thoughts, then she tossed her long white hair and gave him a sulky pout.

“You meant me to betray you all along,” she said. “You knew it would make Quenthel more sure of herself. She might not have met with Oothoon if—”

Pharaun interrupted her by clearing his throat. He inclined his head at Jeggred, who had risen to a fighting crouch.

“What are you saying?” the draegloth growled.

“Nothing,” Danifae said smoothly, giving Jeggred a seductive smile. “Pharaun tried to get Oothoon to tell him where the ship of chaos was and learned nothing. He knew Quenthel would be able to succeed where he had failed, and so he was jealous. He was planning to discredit your mistress—to tell your matron mother, if and when he succeeds in making contact with Menzoberranzan again—that he was the one who found out where the ship is, not Quenthel.”

Jeggred thought about that for a moment. Then his lips parted in a snarl.

“He would have lied,” he growled, understanding at last. “Pharaun would have made the mistress look bad.”

Pharaun waved a hand dismissively, thus concealing a gesture that activated a protective spell whose incantation he whispered under his breath.

“There’s no need to get angry,” he told Jeggred. “It’s just… politics. You’d do the same, in my shoes. Any drow would.”

Jeggred, unmollified, snarled at Pharaun and slammed his fighting hands into the mage’s chest, but the gesture was half-hearted. His claws remained unflexed. The protective spell Pharaun had cast shimmered only faintly as it easily soaked up the force of the blow. The worst of it was the draegloth’s foul breath, which he panted into Pharaun’s face for several long moments as he tried to stare him down. Then the draegloth dropped back into a crouch, turning his back to resume his sulk.

Pharaun saw Valas, who had moved silently into position behind Jeggred, sheathing his kukris. Pharaun raised an eyebrow, then nodded his thanks at the mercenary. He had neither seen nor heard Valas draw the twin daggers—he was glad that the Bregan D’aerthe scout had chosen to back him and not Jeggred.

“As for the offer I made to you,” Pharaun continued, turning to Danifae, “it still stands. It’s just that it’s not... expedient for you to leave us at the moment. With our numbers reduced, I may need you.”

Danifae stood with her hands on her hips, an invitation and a challenge in one.

Interesting how quickly she begins to offer up her enticements, the wizard thought, now that Quenthel is gone.

“The question still remains,” she said. “What do we do now?”

“We continue to try to get the information we need from Oothoon,” Pharaun answered, stooping to tuck his spellbook back in his pack. “Or rather, I continue. I’m going back to Zanhoriloch. Alone, this time.”

“Are you mad?” Valas asked, shaking his head. “You’ll vanish down Oothoon’s gullet, just as Quenthel did. Then where will we be?”

Pharaun shrugged and said, “Free to do as you wish, I suppose.” He winked at Danifae, then added, “Which would mean you’d have to walk to … where you want to go. Perhaps your own mistress will return to claim you again, or maybe our valiant mercenary would escort you.” He laughed and patted his backpack. “Don’t worry. I’ve prepared a little magical surprise for the aboleth. My memories won’t be added to Oothoon’s.”

Danifae gave him a mock pout and said, “See to it that they aren’t.”

Pharaun wasted no time in making his preparations. He pulled a leather glove onto one hand in preparation for a spell he would cast once he arrived in Zanhoriloch and made sure his wands were close at hand. He then cast two protective spells in quick succession. The first would shield him from any attempts the aboleth made to dominate his mind. The second created eight illusionary images of himself that mirrored his every move.

All nine Pharauns nodded their farewell and smiled as Valas saluted them. The one that was second from the left—the real Pharaun—cast the spell that allowed him to breathe water. Mirrored by the others, he stepped into the river, and, as soon as the cold water closed over his head, he spoke the word that would teleport him to Oothoon’s audience chamber.

His arrival took the aboleth matriarch completely by surprise. Oothoon was resting in her niche, admiring a large black pearl held in the tip of a tentacle. As Pharaun and his eight illusionary doubles materialized suddenly in the room, she startled, then coiled her tentacle tightly around the pearl, drawing the precious object closer to her body.

Another aboleth was just outside in the spiraling corridor, guarding the entrance. It blinked its three eyes in startled surprise to see nine drow suddenly appear in the audience chamber but reacted with the swiftness of a trained soldier. A powerful stroke of its fluked tail propelled it into the room. One of the illusionary Pharauns disappeared in a sparkle of magical energy as the aboleth tore through it in an attack as savage and swift as that of a shark.

As the aboleth guard turned for a second attack Pharaun raised his gloved hand and flexed it, swiftly fingering an evocation with his other hand in the silent speech. An enormous ebony-skinned hand appeared in the water. Fingers open, it met the guard head-on, then wrapped itself around the aboleth. It squeezed tight, smashing the aboleth’s tentacles against its body. The guard, nearly blinded by a finger that covered two of its eyes, gurgled with rage and gnawed at the palm of the hand, which was pressed up against the mouth in its belly. The hand, however, was made of magical energy, not flesh, and so the guard’s attempts to bite it were futile. The aboleth thrashed helplessly in the hand’s firm grip, slime from its body clouding the water around it.

Pharaun gave a quick mental push, and the hand carried the guard out of the room and down the corridor.

All that happened in the space of a few heartbeats. Immediately after shoving the guard away, Pharaun turned—together with his mirror images—and cast a powerful enchantment at Oothoon. A wash of magical energy stirred the water around the aboleth matriarch, and an instant later Pharaun saw Oothoon’s tentacles relax. Still wary, he spoke to Oothoon in sign, testing the effects of his charm. If the spell had worked, she would be not just willing but eager to chat with her “old friend” Pharaun.

I apologize for the abrupt intrusion, he signed, but I wanted to find out how our little plan went. I have heard that Quenthel came to you, and that you consumed her. Now will you keep your part of the bargain and tell me where the ship of chaos lies?

Oothoon glanced at the corridor, bereft of its guard, then back at the mage.

“Your ‘priestess’ had no magic.”

Pharaun had anticipated that response.

I suppose you learned from her memories that Lolth is... unavailable, he signed. In time, however, the goddess will awaken, and you will have full use of the spells you just acquired.

“I did not consume Quenthel. She was not worth eating.”

Pharaun blinked.

But the one who accompanied her came back to us and told us you consumed her. He saw you swallow her whole.

“The four-armed one saw what I wanted him to see,” Oothoon said, tentacles quivering and mouth open in what Pharaun took to be a wide grin.

That made Pharaun pause. He had heard that aboleths had mind magic capable of creating illusions. It seemed that Oothoon had used just that talent on Jeggred. Was she dulling Pharaun’s senses with an illusion even then? Were the audience chamber and the corridor beyond not as empty of guards as they seemed?