Ричард Байерс - Dissolution

«Who else? Her priestesses say she travels her domain in a mobile iron fortress, but she must have left it behind that day. I beheld the goddess herself in the guise of a spider as huge as the Great Mound of the Baenre. She's appeared to others in the same shape only smaller, but she was colossal when she came for me. «I was terrified, but what was one to do about it? Run? Fight? Either effort would have been equally absurd. I exercised the only sensible option. I huddled atop the thread and covered my eyes. «Alas, she denied me the comforts of blindness. Her will took hold of me and forced me to look up. She was looming over me, staring down with a circle of luminous ruby orbs. «I felt as if her gaze was not merely piercing but dissolving me. The sensation was intolerable, I wanted to die, and in a way, she granted my wish.

«Her legs were immense, but they tapered to points at the ends, and, moving with a dainty precision, she used the two front-most members to dissect me. Did the process kill me? I don't know. By all rights, it should have, but if I lost my life, my spirit lingered in my divided flesh, still suffering the horror and pain. «My soul was conscious, too, of its own destruction. Somehow, as the Spider Queen picked apart my flesh and bones, she was filleting my mind and spirit as well. It irks me that I can't describe how it felt. I hail from a race of torturers and spellcasters, but I still lack the vocabulary. Suffice it to say, it wasn't pleasant. «In the end, every aspect of my self lay in pieces before her—for inspection, I realize now, though I was in too much agony and dread to work it out at the time. When she'd looked her fill, she put me back together.» Still careful not to betray himself, keeping his mind focused on the story, Pharaun decided it was the triangle that would power the alhoon's Call. The question then was what to do about it. The real brooch hung on the chest of Syrian's physical body, back in the material world. The one inside his mind was a sort of echo. An analogue. Would depriving Syrzan of it accomplish anything? Pharaun continued, «Do you think she reconnected every subtle juncture of my intellect and spirit exactly as they'd been before? Over the course of the next few years, I invested a fair amount of time brooding over that particular question, but it's unanswerable, so let it not detain us. «After the Mother of Lusts cobbled me together, she tossed me back to my native reality, back onto the altar, in fact, thus indicating she found me acceptable. I imagine the clerics were disappointed. I've never known an inquisitor to rejoice in a suspect's acquittal. «Perhaps they took a bit of solace in the discovery that I'd gone altogether mad. They carted me back to my family, who strapped me to a bed and debated whether it wouldn't be more convenient all around to smother me with a pillow, Sabal was my advocate and guard. She couldn't afford to lose her staunchest ally.

«Let's skip over all the raving and hallucinations, shall we? Eventually my wits returned, and as I reflected on my experiences in the Abyss, I realized that while Lolth was infinitely dreadful and malign, she was transcendently beautiful as well. I'd simply been too distraught to recognize it at the time.» The magic of both the ring and the brooch had accompanied the dreamers into the dream. Otherwise, Pharaun wouldn't be able to see the triangle glowing. So perhaps if he disposed of the talisman in this place, its counterpart in mundane reality would lose its enchantments. Possibly not, also, but the Master of Sorcere felt he had to take a chance. He doubted he'd get another. «Certainly she exemplified that supreme power to which all dark elves, particularly we wizards, aspire,» the drow rambled on. «I felt inspired that she was our patron. She's worthy of us, as we are worthy of her.» «She impressed you,» Syrzan said, its mouth tentacles wriggling, «as even the pettiest deity can overawe a mortal. Still, you're a scholar of the mysteries. You should know there are powers greater than Lolth, entities who, if they saw fit—»

Pharaun snatched the triangular ivory brooch off the undead mind flayer's soiled and shabby robe and slammed it down on the convoluted parapet at the edge of the bridge. The ornament didn't break. In desperation, he pulled back his arm to throw it. Perhaps the illithilich would have difficulty retrieving it from the murky pool below. A cold, rough hand grabbed him by the collar and wrenched him down. He was powerless to resist. In the reality Syrzan had created for itself, it was as strong as a titan. The lich ripped the brooch from Pharaun's grasp and thrust it into a pocket. It clutched the dark elf with both hands, leaned its head close, and wrapped its dry, flaking mouth tentacles over the mage's skull. Pharaun knew this was how mind flayers fed. They wormed their members into whatever orifices were most convenient and yanked out their victim's brain. He wondered what would happen when Syrzan subjected his dream self to such treatment. Would his physical body perish, or would it survive as a living but mindless shell? «Didn't you like my story?» Pharaun gasped. The lich's grip was squeezing the breath out of him. «You seemed quite engrossed. That was why I dared to hope I could catch you by surprise.» «You put your hands on me! I do not permit that!» The mellifluous voice of the Prophet was roughening into an ugly combination of hisses and buzzes. The tentacles squeezed tighter. «Technically, these aren't my hands,» Pharaun said. Goddess, it felt as if his skull was going to shatter! «Since this is all imaginary.» «You will tell me how you knew which charm to grab.»

«My ring. It allows me to see and interpret patterns of magical force. No wizard should be without one.» «You were a fool to try to thwart me here in my private world. Don't you understand that inside this construct, I'm a god?» «I'm dead regardless,» replied Pharaun, «and when a drow knows his life is forfeit, he bends his thoughts to revenge.» «But you're mistaken.» Syrzan loosened the grip of the tentacles and said, «I'm not going to kill you. That would be wasteful. As you observed, my objective is to enslave all Menzoberranzan. Certainly you, with all your talents, will make a useful thrall. Had you not manhandled me, your bondage might have been relatively light, for I enjoy the society of other mages. Now I'm afraid you aren't going to enjoy it in the slightest.» Pain ripped through Pharaun's head. He screamed.

«Let me do it,» Houndaer growled. His scimitar at the ready, he stalked toward Ryld. The Master of Melee-Magthere tried and failed to rise. As a student at the Academy and in all the years since, he'd studied techniques for transcending pain, but he'd never felt anything comparable to the invisible blow the undead illithid had struck him. It had been like a spear driving through his mind. Syrzan emerged from its momentary trance and said, «No.» Houndaer turned. «No?» he asked. «You were right about them. Obviously.» «And I trust,» said the lich, its mouth tentacles wriggling, «that you'll remember whose judgment is superior. Now that they're here, however, they might as well serve our cause as you hoped they would. It's just a matter of reshaping their minds.» The bard lifted an eyebrow and asked, «Can you do that?»

«Yes,» said Syrzan, «but not instantaneously, and not now. I need my strength to give the Call.» It pulled Pharaun's silver ring off the unconscious drow's finger. «Lock them up for the time being,» the alhoon ordered. «All right,» said Tsabrak. «I hope you're going to fix it so we can all control them.» He too advanced on Ryld. The weapons master struggled once again to rise. Someone lashed him over the head with the flat of a blade, and all the strength spilled out of him like wine from an overturned cup. The next few minutes were a blur. Houndaer, Tsabrak, the bard, and another renegade carried their captives to a cell. It had the same grime and air of desolation as much of the rest of the castle, but someone, exhibiting a proper dark elf's sense of priorities, had gone to the trouble to refurbish the locks and restraints. The rogues divested Ryld of his cloak and armor, then chained him to the wall. As he'd expected, the conspirators took more elaborate precautions with the wizard, even though Pharaun had suffered a violent seizure shortly after Syrzan stunned him, had apparently passed from that into complete unconsciousness, and showed no sign of rousing any time soon. In addition to shackling him, the rogues locked a steel bridle around his head, forcing the bit into his mouth to keep him from enunciating words of power or anything else. They inserted his forearms into the two ends of a hinged metal tube, a sort of muff or double glove that would make it impossible for him to gesture or crook his fingers into a cabalistic sign. By the time they finished, Ryld's strength had begun to return, enough, at least, to permit him to speak. «It'll get you, too,» he croaked. Houndaer turned, scowling. «What?» «The lich. It doesn't want to share power. It's planning to turn every Menzoberranyr, including you, into its mind-slave. That's what illithids do.» «Do you think we trust the beast?» the Tuin'Tarl sneered. «We're not idiots. It'll serve its purpose, and we'll dispose of it.» «So you intend, but what if Syrzan's already working on subjugating you, so subtly you don't even know it? What if, when the time comes—» Houndaer punched his former teacher in the mouth, dashing his head against the calcite wall. «Shut up,» the noble said. «You fooled me once and made me look like an imbecile. It's not going to happen again.» The rogues made their departure. With his spidery lower body, Tsabrak had to squeeze through the door. The last one out, the bard gave Ryld a wry smile and a shrug. The door slammed shut. Ryld licked the salty taste of blood from his gashed lower lip.