Lisa Smedman - Ascendancy of the Last

Flinderspeld's eyes widened. "A selu'kiira! And a powerful one, judging by the color. How-?"

"It's a long story," Q'arlynd said. "But the awarenesses inside it can do as I've described-something you can verify for yourself once you're wearing that ring. You'll be able to touch not only my thoughts, but theirs, as well."

Flinderspeld stared at the proffered ring. "Why would you let me do this?"

"Because I trust you."

Flinderspeld fell silent for several moments. Q'arlynd waited, trying not to betray the tension he felt. Svirfneblin were naturally mistrustful. Flinderspeld might reject the proposal out of hand, ring or no.

Flinderspeld thrust out a hand. "Give me the ring. And your trueseeing crystal."

Q'arlynd lifted the chain from his neck and handed over both gemstone and ring. He watched with a bemused smile as Flinderspeld studied the ring carefully through the gemstone, assuring himself that it was, indeed, the master ring-and not the slave ring, concealed by an illusion. His time among the drow had taught him to never be too trusting. He handed the gemstone back to Q'arlynd, and put on the master ring. "Your turn."

Reluctantly, Q'arlynd slipped the slave ring onto his own finger. He closed his eyes and braced himself as Flinderspeld thrust into his mind and rifled through his private thoughts. His jaw clenched. Then Flinderspeld delved deeper. Q'arlynd heard the svirfneblin's voice in conversation with the awarenesses inside the kiira. He couldn't make out the words.

One of his arms jerked up; Flinderspeld had taken control of it. Q'arlynd found himself walking jerkily forward. He spun when he reached the far wall, nearly toppled, and felt his arms jerk out to steady himself. He walked forward again and squatted, then jumped. He tried to glance at Flinderspeld as the svirfneblin walked him back across the room again, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Flinderspeld chuckled, and spun Q'arlynd around a second time.

Q'arlynd started to worry. Had he misjudged Flinderspeld? If so, he'd just condemned himself to a life of slavery. To a svirfneblin.

The insult had slipped into his mind before he could prevent it; Flinderspeld would certainly have heard it. Q'arlynd mentally shouted to the svirfneblin that he hadn't meant it, that he didn't think of the deep gnomes as a lesser race. But he knew this was a lie.

Thanks to the slave ring, so did Flinderspeld.

Q'arlynd's hand came up. His finger pointed-at his own forehead. He felt Flinderspeld yank an evocation from his mind. Sweat trickled down Q'arlynd's temples as he fought to form a word, but Flinderspeld held him stiffly in place. Strain as he might, all that came out was, "Nnnn-"

"Keep silent!" Flinderspeld shouted-a passable imitation of a drow master's command, an order Q'arlynd had used many times. A bolt of magical energy streaked out of Q'arlynd's fingertip and bored into his forehead, hot and painful. Q'arlynd's eyes watered. He groaned.

Suddenly, his body was his own again.

"We're even, now." Flinderspeld said. He tugged the master ring off and held it out to Q'arlynd. "And I don't want your ring. Controlling someone else's body was… interesting, but I didn't like the place it led me to. It felt…" He paused, searching for the word. "Wrong."

Q'arlynd yanked off the slave ring. "You won't help me, then."

Flinderspeld lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't say that."

Q'arlynd squatted down to Flinderspeld's level, not quite believing what he had heard. "You'll lead me to the Fountains of Memory?" he asked eagerly.

"Not only that. I'll let you remember it afterward."

Q'arlynd's eyebrows rose.

Flinderspeld smiled. "Your ancestors have promised me they'll erase your memory of the pools, if you try to tell anyone where they are. I'm not sure if I believe them, but I'm willing to gamble that you'll keep your mouth shut, once the spell you hope to cast at the ruined temple is complete."

"My ancestors told you… what I'm planning?"

Flinderspeld's smile widened to a grin. "You'll have to trust me to keep quiet about that."

Q'arlynd nodded to himself. Flinderspeld was better at striking a bargain than he'd thought. No wonder he was prospering. "Well played."

"For anyone else, the answer would have been no. But you weren't all that bad, as drow go. You did set me free, regardless of what your motive was at the time. I owe you one, for that."

Q'arlynd smiled-a genuine smile of friendship, not the false one he'd practiced in the mirror before coming here. He clasped Flinderspeld's arms and said a word he never thought he'd utter, except in jest. "Friends?"

Flinderspeld returned the arm clasp and spoke in Low Drow. "Allies."

Q'arlynd's eyebrows lifted.

Flinderspeld burst into laugher. "Friends."

T'lar rolled a spike-spider back and forth between her palms, savoring the harsh pricks as its needles drove into her flesh. The metal throwing ball wasn't loaded, and its needles held no poison. She did it for the sensation alone. Each jab, each welling of blood was a penance for letting her target slip away. She'd learned that he'd departed for the World Above, but hadn't been able to find out where, or why.

In another moment, however, that little problem would be rectified.

She stood, together with the new high priestess, next to a black iron barrel hoop that hung from a chain by the ceiling. Inside the hoop, a spider descended on a thread of silk. The high priestess coaxed it in the direction she wanted with a morsel of raw meat, her free hand slowly guiding the hoop. The metal grated softly against the chain as it turned. She caught the spider and deftly moved it to the side, adhering the strand to the hoop. The final strand in place, she transferred the spider to her shoulder, and inspected its handiwork. Within the hoop was a five-pointed star, made entirely from web.

"We can begin."

T'lar nodded. She slipped the spike-spider into her belt pouch and wiped her bloody palms against the thighs of her skin-tight tunic. "Summon him."

The high priestess flicked the iron hoop, setting it spinning. Then she picked up a candle. She held it a moment near her face and invoked Lolth's name. As she did so, the flickering light illuminated her elaborately coiffed hair, obsidian blood-drop earrings, and silver crown. Only a short time ago, that crown had graced the head of Laele Zauviir, but the Spider Queen's temple in Sshamath had a new high priestess, now. Streea'Valsharess Zolond was much stronger than Zauviir had been-ready to grasp power in her own two hands, instead of licking up the crumbs the Conclave offered.

Streea'Valsharess Zolond touched the candle to the web inside the hoop. The strands of spider silk ignited. Sustained by magic, they continued to burn. "Lords of the Abyss, hear my command," she intoned. "In Lolth's name, send forth the demon Glizn."

A puff of yellow smoke erupted out of the center of the spinning hoop, filling the chamber with an acrid stench. Smoke drifted toward the spider carvings adorning the ceiling. A stationary figure appeared within the hoop, held by the burning web while the hoop spun around it: a tiny demon, barely twice the length of T'lar's hand, with batlike wings. It looked like a quasit, except that its skin was black and dry, instead of oily green. Instead of the usual horns, it had stiff white tufts of hair growing from its scalp. The demon's red eyes were too large for its face, and their expression was one T'lar was used to seeing on the faces of her targets. Fear. Deep inside those eyes, someone screamed.

The high priestess laughed. "What lovely irony! Whatever happened, quasit, to flip things inside out?"

T'lar glanced sideways at the high priestess.

Streea'Valsharess Zolond gestured at the demon, and chuckled. "Until recently, one of Q'arlynd Melarn's apprentices wore this demon."