Seyll’s eyes fluttered, and she groaned, “Halisstra. ...”
Halisstra recoiled, startled above all else, and somewhat repulsed to find that she was stripping the corpse of someone who was not quite dead yet. She glanced down at the stone and studied a coursing rivulet of blood streaming from Seyll’s side to the foaming water of the creek. The priestess’s breath sounded wet and shallow, and bright flecks of blood stained her lips.
“I hope you will forgive me, Seyll, but I have need of your arms and armor, and you will be dead in a very short time,” Halisstra remarked. “I have decided to decline your gracious invitation to join your observances tonight, as I have pressing business elsewhere in the forest.”
“The . . . others?” Seyll gasped.
“Xarra had the decency to die swiftly and without awkward conversation. The surface girl I charmed and sent running off into the forest.”
Halisstra unbuckled Seyll’s sword belt and dragged it loose, setting it well out of the dying drow’s reach. She set to work on the armor fastenings.
“While I admire your determination to save me from myself, Seyll, I can’t believe you didn’t see this as a likely outcome of your attempt to convert me.”
“A risk ... we are all ... prepared to take,” Seyll managed. “No one is beyond redemption.”
She mumbled something more and reached up to interfere with Halisstra’s work, but the Melarn priestess simply batted her hands away.
“A foolish risk, then. Lolth has punished your faithlessness through my hand, apostate,” Halisstra said. She pulled off Seyll’s boots and undid the leggings of her mail. “Tell me, was it worth it, to follow the path that led you to a cold and pointless death here in this miserable forest?”
To Halisstra’s surprise, Seyll smiled, finding some last reservoir of strength.
“Worth it? Upon . . . my soul, yes.” She laid her head back and gazed up into Halisstra’s face. “I... have hope for you still,” she whispered. “Do not. . . concern yourself. . . with me. I ... have been . . . redeemed.”
Her eyes closed for the final time, and the wet sound of her breathing halted. Halisstra paused in her work. She had expected anger, resentment, perhaps even fear or scorn, but forgiveness? What power did the Dark Maiden hold over her worshipers that they could die with a blessing for their enemies on their lips? Seyll turned away from the Spider Queen, she told herself, and through me the Spider Queen exacted her vengeance. Yet Seyll died with calm assurance, as if she had escaped Lolth finally and completely with the ending of her life.
“The Spider Queen take your soul,” she said to the dead priestess, but somehow she doubted that Lolth would.
“A swift march is our surest path to victory,” Andzrel Baenre said, addressing the assembled priestesses.
Nimor stood to one side and watched the Baenre weapons master, one of only a handful of males invited to take counsel with the assembled females. All of the great Houses, and no less than sixteen of the minor ones, were represented in the hastily mustered Army of the Black Spider, named for the banners under which they marched. Nearly thirty high priestesses—at least one from almost every House, and in some cases, several high priestesses from the same House—filled the great command pavilion provided by the Baenre contingent, watching Andzrel like predatory cats while reclining, sitting, or standing as rank and opportunity dictated. Nimor and the other few males stood, of course. No mere male would be seated while a high priestess remained standing.
“We lead some four thousand drow soldiers and twenty-five hundred slave soldiers into battle. By all reports it would seem that we are evenly matched with the duergar army that marches up from the south, but we do not intend to meet the duergar in a fair fight, of course.” The word “fair” sent a wave of chuckles echoing through the tent. Andzrel used a slender baton to direct their attention to a large map inked on rothe-vellum. “We can stop a force significantly stronger than our own by picking the right ground to fight for. The place we will halt the duergar advance is here, at the Pillars of Woe.”
“If I decide that your plan has merit, you mean,” drawled Mez’Barris Armgo of House Barrison Del’Armgo. “Triel Baenre may trust in your judgment, but I intend to think for myself, boy.”
A tall, powerful female, the matron mother of the Second House was the ranking priestess present and nominally in command of the entire expedition. Each of the Houses had contributed some number of its priestesses to command their contingents in battle, ranging from unblooded acolytes to first daughters and matron mothers. Weapons masters such as Andzrel and males—including Nimor in his role as Zhayemd Dyrr—commanded warbands, companies, and cavalry squadrons, attending to the endless details of organizing the army of Menzoberranzan.
“My cousin presents House Baenre’s views, Matron Mez’Barris,” Zal’therra Baenre rasped. “Matron Triel endorses the weapons master’s battle plan.”
Foremost of Triel Baenre’s cousins, Zal’therra looked nothing like the petite Matron Mother of House Baenre. She was tall and broadly built in the shoulders, a strapping female with a remarkable amount of physical fortitude and a coarse, intimidating manner. She and Mez’Barris were two of a kind in physique, yet the Matron Mother of House Del’Armgo possessed a brilliant, vicious cunning that was nothing more than a sullen streak in the Baenre priestess. Mez’Barris fixed her red eyes on the younger woman, but did not respond.
Andzrel knew better than to speak while the two females sparred. He waited through a moment of silence before he continued the briefing.
“Here is Rhazzt’s Dilemma,” he said, “where Captain Zhayemd of Agrach Dyrr reported the duergar vanguard yesterday morning. It lies about twenty-five miles south of the Pillars of Woe, at the lower end of the canyon. Assuming the worst, we can expect the duergar to storm the outpost and force the entrance by sometime late today, perhaps tomorrow if we’re lucky. Duergar are hearty soldiers and can march all day long, but they’re slow, and their army will be burdened with a long supply train and heavy siege engines. Ascending the gorge will be difficult going. It seems that, in the worst case again, they should reach the Pillars in five days—more likely seven or eight.”
“How do you know the gray dwarves haven’t overrun the outpost already?” a priestess of Tuin’Tarl asked.
“We do not, Mistress Tuin’Tarl. The duergar wizards and clerics are preventing our efforts to scry the surroundings, a common tactic in warfare of this sort.”
Andzrel nodded to Nimor and added, “That is why it is essential to deploy a screen of capable scouts, to find out through mundane means what our wizards cannot see. Zhayemd of Agrach Dyrr is charged with the command of our reconnaissance.”
Andzrel waited a moment to see if the priestess had any more questions, then went on, “In any event, our armies travel faster than the gray dwarves, and we have a much easier route. I would expect our vanguard to reach the Pillars of Woe three to four days from now. If we hold the upper exit from the gorge, the duergar will never break our defenses. As you can see, it is something of a race, and therefore we should make all possible speed.”
“What plan do you have for battle, Zal’therra?” asked another priestess, the mistress of the House Xorlarrin contingent.
Nimor smiled at the remark. Zal’therra had certainly been instructed by Triel to rely on her House weapons master’s advice in planning the battle, but the high priestesses naturally talked past Andzrel as if he wasn’t even there.
“Andzrel will present it,” the Baenre priestess replied, as if she’d just finished explaining it all to him and choose to allow him to show off her genius.
If the weapons master took note of the slight, he did not show it.
“We will build a strong, well-anchored line across the mouth of the gorge. A few hundred troops should suffice for this, but we will commit a thousand. The remainder of our soldiers will be held in reserve and secure various small passageways and flanking caverns in the vicinity.” Andzrel set down his baton and faced the assembled priestesses, his face expressionless except for the keen glitter of determination in his eyes. “I mean to allow the duergar to come to us, and break them between the Pillars of Woe. When they have hurled their strength on us in vain, we will pursue them back down the gorge and slaughter them and their minions in heaps.”