Lisa Smedman - Ascendancy of the Last

Someone jostled him from behind: one of the fanatics, crowding forward. The fanatic started, glanced sideways at the spot where Naxil stood, and opened his mouth to shout. Naxil grabbed his robe and spun him off the edge. A flick of Naxil's fingers triggered a cantrip; his voice shifted to the falling cultist and followed him as he fell. "Ghaunadaur! Consume me!"

The other fanatics started. The face of the one who'd led the chanting purpled. He spun to face a green-robed cultist next to him. "Trucebreaker!" he howled. "What of your oath? Our Houses were to descend together to greet the Ancient One!"

The other fanatic whirled. "House Abbylan did not sanction this. He leaped of his own accord!"

As they argued, Naxil edged away from the Pit. Avoiding the fanatics was difficult, as the room was crowded. He wouldn't be able to climb the stairs-not with fanatics still descending. He'd have to make his way to the nearest wall, press his back against it, and hope his invisibility held out.

He decided to make his way to the spot where Jub lay, unconscious and forgotten. He twisted this way and that, slipping between the fanatics whenever an opportunity presented itself. Just as he reached the wall, a hand brushed against his shirt-and took hold of the fabric. He tried to wrench away, but the fanatic yanked him close.

"Ally?" the fanatic breathed. Then he coughed.

Naxil realized the "fanatic's" hand was lingering against his mouth-hiding it, as a mask would.

"Ally," Naxil hissed back.

The "fanatic" found Naxil's hand and pressed a gold ring into it. Levitate, his fingers flicked.

Naxil gave silent thanks to the Masked Lady for the boon as he shoved the ring onto his finger. He levitated just above the fanatics' heads, his back against the ceiling, trying to stifle the urge to cough as he breathed the acid-tinged air. He wiped his stinging eyes with the back of his sleeve, lest any tears fall on their heads and give him away.

Below him, the disguised Nightshadow eased into an indentation in the wall and cloaked himself in magical darkness. The fanatics, meanwhile, concluded their argument. They seemed to have come to some sort of agreement. The high priests called to their respective followers, and the fanatics lined up behind them, each with his hands on the shoulders of the one in front of him. Chanting Ghaunadaur's name, they shuffled forward, into the Pit.

At first, Naxil thought they were sacrificing themselves. The fanatics, however, didn't plummet. They sank gently into the Pit, their descent slowed by magic.

As the last of them disappeared into the Pit, a wind sucked the purple mist down after him, and the air cleared. The disguised Nightshadow stepped out of his darkness, crept to the Pit, and peered in. He cocked his head, as if listening to some distant sound. "The trap worked," he said at last with a smile. "They've been driven insane. All of them."

Naxil descended to the floor, the invisibility gone. He moved to where the other Nightshadow stood. Echoing up out of the Pit, from far below, came the sound of voices. It sounded as if all of the fanatics were screaming or crying out at once, in a frenzied cacophony.

Naxil began to tug the ring off his finger but the other Nightshadow gestured for him to keep it. Naxil nodded. "Thanks…"

"Mazrol."

"I'm Naxil."

Mazrol glanced again at the Pit, and shuddered. "Let's get out of here."

They moved to the stairs. Naxil paused to check Jub. The half-orc was unconscious, with a nasty bump on the side of his head, but a prayer would rouse him.

Mazrol looked impatient. "Have you seen Valdar?"

"Who?"

Mazrol's expression turned wary. Naxil tensed. Something was wrong here. Instinct screamed at him that Mazrol had just become his enemy, yet that was ridiculous.

Naxil touched Jub's forehead and began his prayer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw motion near the Pit: the purple mist, rising again. A tendril of it swirled over the lip and crept across the floor, behind Mazrol. The other Nightshadow hadn't noticed yet. He frowned down at Jub. "What are you doing?"

Naxil didn't answer. It ought to be obvious. He kept singing.

Mazrol caught his arm. "Save your prayers." He nodded at the staircase. "If any oozes come slithering down here, we'll need them."

Naxil finished his prayer. "But Jub-"

"Leave him. He's not one of us."

Naxil rose-slowly-to his feet. "He's one of Eilistraee's."

Jub groaned, and rolled over. Naxil heard him cough weakly.

Mazrol stared at Naxil a moment, as if taking his measure. "Eilistraee is dead," he said, his eyes locked on Naxil's. "The Masked Lord killed her. Everything the priestesses taught you was a lie."

Naxil's jaw clenched. He'd heard there were males like this within the ranks of the faithful-Nightshadows who refused to let go of Vhaeraun. Naxil had never worshiped that god, having come to the Masked Lady's faith only after the goddess's transformation. It hadn't been Vhaeraun who had led Naxil out of the misery of Menzoberranzan, but the Masked Lady. Eilistraee.

Mazrol must have seen the flat disbelief in Naxil's eyes. He gestured at the Pit behind him. "Would Eilistraee have allowed this?" he cried. "Would she have permitted us to open a back door to her enemies? She's dead, Naxil. The Promenade is ours now-if we can hold it."

Behind Mazrol, two blood red eyestalks rose above the lip of the Pit. The eyes opened and stared at the two Nightshadows through the swirling purple mist. Naxil would have quaked in terror, had he not already been sent reeling by what Mazrol had just told him. The other Nightshadow had taken a hand in the Promenade's fall! So had others of the Masked Lady's supposed faithful, by the sound of it. "Us," Mazrol had said. The betrayal cut deeper than any dagger.

Naxil prayed silently. Masked Lady, I am your sword, and your song. Temper me. Use my body as your instrument to lead this blasphemer to redemption. Keeping his voice utterly steady, he spoke his accusation aloud. "Traitor."

Mazrol lunged forward to stab Naxil, but Naxil, filled with the Masked Lady's grace, twisted aside. Behind Mazrol, a barbed tentacle snaked up out of the pit, beside the eyestalks. It lashed out and slammed into Mazrol's back, knocking him down. The Nightshadow screamed as the tentacle dragged him to the Pit.

"The Masked Lady can save you!" Naxil cried, leaping forward in a futile attempt to grab Mazrol's hand. "Pray to-"

The tentacle yanked Mazrol out of sight.

Jub sat up. His eyes fell on the spotted, tentacled, sluglike creature rising out of the Pit, and his jaw dropped open. The creature was blood red and enormous.

"Run!" Naxil shouted. He grabbed Jub's arm and yanked him to his feet. Together, they raced up the winding stairs. The stocky little fellow was quick to recover; the Masked Lady's blessing and sheer terror likely had an equal hand in that. After a few steps, he shook off Naxil's arm and climbed without further assistance. "What," he puffed, "was that?"

"I fear the worst," Naxil gasped. "The slug… is one of… Ghaunadaur's forms."

"That's his avatar?"

"It did… come out of… the Pit."

Jub cursed.

Naxil heard a wet slithering behind them: the slug, squeezing up the staircase. Following them. He raced upward, Jub close on his heels. But when they finally reached the top of the stairs, a quivering gray ooze loomed. Naxil dodged to one side of it, Jub to the other.

"This way!" Naxil called. He sprinted across the Cavern of Song, struggling to keep upright on the slippery floor. He cast a frantic glance over his shoulder, but Jub was nowhere to be seen. Naxil cursed and started to double back to search for him, but oozes blocked his path.

Through a gap in their ranks he saw the slug squeezing its way out of the staircase. Six barbed tentacles waved in front of its face. Purple mist boiled around its slimy foot. The tentacles quested south, then north. Its decision made, it slithered toward Naxil. It squirted a stream of purple mist that swirled just short of him.