How long before she reaches the pass, Lady? asked Halisstra.
A pause, then, She will reach them before the tired sun of my mother rises anew.
The connection grew tenuous. The spell was soon to expire. Halisstra felt her goddess moving away from her. She tried to grab on, but Eilistraee slipped through her fingers.
Before the spell dissipated entirely, she mentally blurted, Does Danifae Yauntyrr still accompany Quenthel Baenre?
She sensed a hesitation and instantly regretted asking such a selfish question. Still, Eilistraee offered an answer, as though from far away, and the words gave Halisstra hope.
Yes. A pause, then, Doubt is her weapon, daughter.
The connection went quiet. Halisstra opened her eyes, found herself again clad in her cumbersome flesh, sitting across from Feliane. The elf's eyes too were rimed with tears.
"The Lady favored us," Feliane whispered.
"She did," Halisstra answered. "She did, indeed. If Lolth has no Chosen. ."
"Then she will die," Feliane finished.
Halisstra could only nod.
Spontaneously and at the same moment, the two sisters in faith stretched out their arms and embraced, lit with the afterglow of contact with the divine.
"We will succeed," Feliane said, and to Halisstra it sounded more question than statement.
"We will," Halisstra affirmed, though Eilistraee's last words troubled her. For whom was doubt a weapon? Whose doubt? She had no answers.
In short order, Uluyara emerged from her trance, and Halisstra and Feliane related the substance of their communion.
Uluyara took it in with a nod, then said, "The Baenre is three leagues from here. Her route follows the souls. We'll track her, find her, and kill her."
"Her route leads to the mountains," Feliane said. "To the Pass of the Soulreaver."
"Then that is where we are going too," said Halisstra. "We must reach it before the sun rises."
They would once more ride the foul wind of the Demonweb Pits. Halisstra knew they would catch Quenthel and Danifae before they reached the Pass.
"We should assume that Baenre is accompanied by more than the nalfeshnee and Danifae,"
Uluyara said. "The wizard, the draegloth, and the mercenary you told us about may yet travel with her."
"Agreed," Halisstra said.
As they prepared to set off, Halisstra thought of Danifae, hesitated, then said to Uluyara,
"Danifae Yauntyrr said to me once that she had been called by Eilistraee. I would. ." She trailed off. "She saved me once, from the draegloth. I would like to give her another chance to answer the Lady."
Uluyara's face showed incredulity. "Is not accompanying Quenthel Baenre answer enough?"
she asked. Her face softened at Halisstra's frown, and she reached out a hand as though to touch
Halisstra, though she did not. "Halisstra Melarn, your guilt over your life before Eilistraee is affecting your judgment. I know the feeling well. But no one called by the Lady would travel with a priestess of Lolth. If Danifae is with the Baenre, then she is with the Baenre."
Halisstra heard sense in Uluyara's words, but she did not want to throw Danifae away so quickly.
"You may be mistaken," Halisstra said. "Let us see what events bring. If she is to be a servant of the Lady, she will show it when she sees me."
Feliane's gaze shifted anxiously between them.
Uluyara's brow furrowed. She started to speak, stopped, and finally said, "Let us not argue about this, not now. As you say, we will see what we will see. I will be pleased to be wrong."
Halisstra stared at the high priestess a moment longer and decided to let the matter rest.
"Gather near me," Halisstra said.
She sang the prayer that would again change them all to mist and let them ride the wind.
When she finished the spell, their bodies metamorphosed into vapor. As it had before, Halisstra's field of vision swelled and contracted in a way that made judging distances difficult. Still, she felt in control of her body. They rose from the spire, heading skyward toward the souls high above.
As they ascended into the cloud-roofed sky, Halisstra spared a glance back at the temple, on the tor they had claimed in Eilistraee's name. She knew she would never see it again.
The three priestesses fell in amongst the souls, just three more insubstantial forms amidst the thousands. At Halisstra's mental command, they increased their speed until they were streaking through the air faster than any of the shades, as fast as a bolt fired from a crossbow.
We have you, Quenthel Baenre, she thought. And we're coming.
Deep in the bowels of Corpsehaven, Inthracis stood in an anteroom off to the side of his assembly hall, separated from the finest regiment of his army by ornate double doors. Like the rest of his keep, he had fashioned the doors from carved bone and sheets of flesh. Beyond them stood the five hundred mezzoloths and nycaloths of his elite Black Horn Regiment, all veterans of the Blood Wars. Nisviim had sounded the muster and the Regiment had answered. The nycaloth leaders had already briefed the troops on their assignment and worked them into a killing frenzy with promises of glory and payment of twenty soul-larvae each.
The troops beat the hafts of their glaives, tridents, and poleaxes against the floor, sending shivers through the walls and floors, giving Corpsehaven a pulse that temporarily overwhelmed the wind's incessant howl. In time with the thumping, the troops shouted aloud for their general,
turning his name into an incantation.
"Inthracis! Inthracis! Inthracis!"
Inthracis smiled and let the excitement build.
Even through the tumult Inthracis could hear the roars of the nycaloth sergeants. He pictured the assembly in his mind-row upon row of armed and armored yugoloths-and reveled in their adoration. Yugoloths were mercenaries to their core, and Inthracis had treated his army well over the millennia, rewarding them with glory, souls, treasure, and flesh. He had augmented their loyalty with subtle binding spells, quietly cast. He had built his army with care over the centuries, and its fearsome strength and unswerving loyalty had elevated him nearly to the top of the Blood Rift's hierarchy. He had only to unseat Kexxon the Oinoloth and he would sit atop
Calaas's spire.
Vhaeraun had commanded Inthracis to bring an army to the Ereilir Vor, the Plains of Soulfire,
in Lolth's Demonweb Pits. Inthracis could not muster his entire army without leaving
Corpsehaven unguarded, but he could do the next best thing-bring the Black Horn Regiment, and lead them himself. He would leave Nisviim, his arcanaloth lieutenant, in charge of the fortress until his return. Inthracis knew the bound arcanaloth would not betray him.
Besides, he was certain the Black Horn regiment would be enough-more than enough-to slaughter the three drow priestesses and whomever or whatever might accompany them. And when the three priestesses were dead, Vhaeraun might actually reward him.
"Inthracis! Inthracis!"
The rhythmic beat of weapon hafts on the floor grew louder, faster, building toward a crescendo. Beside Inthracis, snarling and drooling, stood Carnage and Slaughter, his canoloth pets. The rising volume of the chanting agitated the four-legged, houndlike yugoloths-both were dumb but quite powerful, quite loyal-and their long, barbed tongues lolled from the fanged sphincters of their mouths. Their claws dug into the floor, and both uttered low growls.
Inthracis reached up to pat them each on their huge, armored flanks.
"Be at ease," he said and let arcane power creep into his voice.
The power of his magic eased their tension. The canoloths uttered satisfied murmurs and visibly relaxed.