Lisa Smedman - Sacrifice of the Widow

As the spell slowly unfolded, Q'arlynd's apprehension gave way to a growing sense of wonder. Malvag's presence was a brutal fist inside his mind, but Q'arlynd could sense Valdar's awareness as well. Both men were excited, tense with anticipation. They were doing it! Working high magic. No drow had ever done it before, not since the time of the ssri Tel'Quessir, the original dark elves.

Their voices droned on.

Yes, Malvag whispered into Q'arlynd's mind. Together. We can. Do it.

Together, Q'arlynd whispered back. He saw it all, the brotherhood that was possible. His link with the two males next to him was as real as the connection between skin, muscle, and bone. Separate, the three were dead matter. Together, they moved, breathed and lived-and worked magic. Q'arlynd could see the Weave itself, could glimpse the hitherto invisible connections that linked the drow one to another. All his life, he'd been yearning for something like that, a bond, a true bond. He had thought he'd find it in his Ched Nasad once Halisstra was on the throne. He'd planned to forge it link by link by seeking out loyal Melarn who would work together to build and sustain their noble House, but he had come to see the futility of that dream. Only someone who had experienced the linking of minds, the oneness that was high magic, could understand what the word "bond" truly meant. Q'arlynd understood Malvag-understood what had driven the other male's nearly century-long quest to find that scroll. And Valdar, a male Q'arlynd had only just met-a male who had slashed open Q'arlynd's throat, just a short time ago-was like a brother to him. Valdar had grown up in Menzoberranzan, under the lash of Lolth's priestesses, before House Jaelre fled that city, but he had lived to be master of his own destiny.

Master.

Q'arlynd could no longer feel his fingers-the wire wrapped around them was that tight-but he no longer cared. He managed to glance off to the side to meet Malvag's eye. The Nightshadow inclined his head in the slightest of acknowledging nods, his own eyes still locked on the scroll.

Vhaeraun, Malvag managed, while somehow still reading the scroll himself and forcing Q'arlynd's mouth to do the same. The other male's self-control was amazing. Vhaeraun offers power. Seize it.

For just an instant, Qilue's face flashed through Q'arlynd's mind. The geas she'd cast on him took hold, and a near-crippling pain lanced through him, but a heartbeat later it was gone, that strand of the Weave slashed like a flimsy ribbon by Vhaeraun's sword. Q'arlynd saw eyes hanging in the air before him, eyes that were blue with delight.

Malvag and Valdar paused, drawing breath. Q'arlynd did the same. Together they watched as the three souls that had been swirling within the circle, like smoke, were suddenly sucked into its center in a flash of white light. That surprised Malvag-through his connection with the other male, Q'arlynd could sense it. Malvag had expected the souls to simply vanish, consumed by the gate, but then again, Malvag thought with a mental shrug, perhaps that was the way the spell was supposed to unfold.

They were almost done, and very little of the scroll remained. The link between Q'arlynd and the other two males was so strong that he could feel his heart beating in unison with theirs. The crystals, too, pulsed in time.

Ready? Malvag signed.

Valdar nodded.

So did Q'arlynd.

Q'arlynd started as he realized that Malvag had relinquished his hold, and Q'arlynd's body was his own again. His surprise deepened as he realized the Nightshadow was giving him a choice. Q'arlynd could ruin the spell then and there by the simple act of shutting his mouth, or he could continue reading the scroll.

A choice. Something Qilue had offered him in name only. She'd been all too quick to back up that "choice" with a geas.

The gate loomed over Q'arlynd's head, large enough, and clear enough, that he could see a dark forest within it one moment, a bleak and rocky pit the next. Eilistraee's domain, and Vhaeraun's, almost connected. Only two lines of the scroll remained.

Q'arlynd locked his eyes on it and continued to read, his voice in perfect cadence with the two Nightshadows.

"The bridge between realms is Woven," he intoned. "The crossing is complete."

As they completed the conjuration, the gate, fully formed, opened. Their masks flew from their faces and fluttered into it. A figure sprang through in their wake and vanished into the woods of Eilistraee's domain: Vhaeraun, swords in hand, eyes gleaming gold above his black mask.

Hungry for Eilistraee's blood.

Qilue landed in the cavern that was all that remained of the former temple of Ghaunadaur and looked around. The cavern was empty. The floor was a jagged field of rubble that had tumbled from the walls and ceiling to seal the deep pit into which Ghaunadaur's avatar had been driven. Smaller fragments of stone hung above the floor, suspended by magic to form a mosaic-like statue of Eilistraee-the seal that capped the pit. The statue was posed as if dancing, balanced with the toes of one foot touching the floor and the other leg extended, arms sweeping up and out. Almost imperceptibly, the mosaic-statue's pose was changing as the magic that animated the chips of stone went through a cycle that began anew with each full moon.

With a thought, Qilue shifted her awareness, enabling herself to see magic. The statue's aura was a pure, sweet silver. The seal was untouched.

An instant later, Iljrene materialized beside her. The tiny battle-mistress was fully armored, a singing sword in her hand. Her doll-like face was set in a frown of determination as she took up a position beside Qilue. She held a hand to one delicately pointed ear and listened. "Here they come."

Qilue, intent upon her prayer, merely nodded. She pointed a finger at the cavern's only intact entrance, the foot of the staircase that twisted down from above. The sound of running footsteps echoed down it.

Jasmir, Qilue sent. Have any of our priestesses entered the staircase that leads to the Pit?

None, came the confident reply.

Qilue smiled. Silver fire danced in her hair and on her skin. Focusing it within her hand, she let it build to a ravening white flame. The silver fire roared, filling the cavern with a sudden, brilliant light. As the first of the Selvetargtlin burst into the room, Qilue hurled it at him. A streak of silver shot toward the base of the stairs, rippling the rubble floor below it as it went. It smashed into Selvetarm's cleric, burning away his scarlet robe and turning the chain link lining below it red-hot. Qilue expected him to collapse, incinerated, but the Selvetarm kept coming, his flesh burning from his bones even as he ran. He charged the two priestesses, screaming his god's name and hurling a spell. Three of the stones that made up the floor between Qilue and Iljrene grew in the blink of an eye, becoming monstrous spiders that loomed over the two priestesses.

Spiders of stone.

He collapsed, dead.

Iljrene was busy with a prayer of her own as a second Selvetargtlin burst into the cavern, also screaming his deity's name. Singing loudly, her magical sword whistling over her head in whirling counterpoint, Iljrene flicked her hand in his direction then squeezed. The second cleric's eyes widened, and he took a staggering step, another-and his body collapsed into a bloody ball of mangled flesh pierced by protruding splinters of bone. Carried forward by the aborted charge, what remained of the cleric fell to the ground, a wet, bloody ball inside a suddenly loose robe.

It had been a brutal spell, but there was no time for Qilue to mourn yet another drow soul forever beyond redemption. The stone spiders were on them, even as four more Selvetargtlin came running into the room screaming their god's name. The second of the four held a black rod in his hand-the rod capable of breaking the seal on the Pit.