After only a few moments, whispers sounded in her head, then hisses, pained wails. She could not see the source.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Her breath came fast.
It was behind her! She knew it with certainty.
She lowered her morningstar and turned around slowly.
A mere five paces away, the misty, serpentine form of the Soulreaver filled the passage. Its empty eyes reduced her to insignificance. Its open mouth could have swallowed an ogre whole.
Deep in its throat, in its bowels, glowed innumerable souls, as tiny as the dolls of a child, as desperate and pained as victims of a torturemaster.
Danifae struggled to find herself, to show no fear. She knew she faced another test of her worthiness.
She touched her holy symbol, and the amber felt cool in her palm.
The Reaver was so immense, so ancient, so terrible. .
The screams of the souls filled her mind. She bore it, though she wanted to dig a furrow in her skull.
The Reaver opened its mouth wider, simultaneously beckoning and challenging her to come forward, to test herself against what it would show her.
She started forward on leaden legs but stopped after only two steps.
Danifae gestured it toward her and said in her most seductive whisper, "You come to me."
It did not hesitate. Mouth agape, it streaked at her, terrifyingly fast. She held her ground as its maw engulfed her.
A thousand muttering voices, terrified, hopeless voices-the voices of the trapped souls-rang in her ears, sounded in her being.
She answered their scream with one of her own.
Anival, First Daughter to the Matron Mother of House Agrach Dyrr, watched from high atop one of the walls as the Xorlarrin forces shifted their ranks in preparation for an assault. She could see little. Strategically placed spheres of magical darkness shielded much of the movement.
Shouted commands and the ring of metal carried across the moat chasm.
Standing beside her, Urgan, the scarred weapons master of House Agrach Dyrr, said, "They will attack within the hour, Mistress Anival."
Anival nodded. She put her hands to the hafts of the two enchanted light maces that hung from her belt. Each sported a head fashioned in the shape of a spider.
"The timing is not coincidental," she said but did not explain. She assumed the attack to be designed to protect the archmage. His allies surely knew that the matron mother had learned of his deception.
Anival looked up and down the line, at walls of adamantine and stone. They had stood for millennia. Surely they would not fall now?
Dyrr solders lined the battlements, and Anival could see from their hard expressions that all of them sensed the impending attack. A tense rustle rippled through the ranks.
"We will hold," Anival said, speaking to herself as much as to Urgan.
The weapons master said, "We will."
Anival thought she heard doubt in Urgan's tone but let it pass. She wondered whether she should hope for her mother's success or failure in stopping the archmage. If the matron mother died and the lichdrow's phylactery was destroyed, Anival might-might-be able to negotiate an end to the siege.
But first, she needed to hold her walls, and without either her vrocks, or her House wizards.
Xorlarrin war trumpets sounded.
"Here they come," Urgan said.
Each of the spider golem's forelegs ended in a sharp claw of jet as long as a short sword. Its mandibles churned with fangs as long as Gromph's hand.
Gromph did not care. Transformed into a skilled warrior by the power of his spell, he charged straight at the golem's front, axe held high in both hands.
The golem crouched at his approach, and two claws lashed out in rapid succession before
Gromph got within reach. Anticipating the move, Gromph spun aside and partially parried one blow with his axe. The other claw struck at one of the mirror images, hit it, and caused it to vanish with a pop.
Using the force of his spin to add momentum to his swing, Gromph whirled in close, slashed with the duergar axe, and cut a wedge of jet from the construct's thorax. With his spell-
augmented speed, he followed up with another, cleaving a furrow in one leg.
The spider leaped backward-crushing a bench under its weight-and struck at Gromph with one claw, then another. Gromph ducked and dodged, trying again to get in close. Two more images vanished. The construct moved with astounding rapidity, despite its weight.
For a moment, the two circled, a few paces apart. The golem stepped over the benches,
cracking stone as it moved, waving its pedipalps hypnotically. Its clawed feet thumped into the floor with each step.
Gromph followed it with his eyes, light on the balls of his feet.
A boom against the temple doors turned Gromph's head. Someone was trying to get through his holding spell. Yasraena had located him.
Seeing his distraction, the golem lunged at him, knocking over benches in its haste. Gromph dived aside and rolled. Claws thumped into the ground around him-one, then another, and another-and three images vanished in rapid succession. A claw nicked his shoulder, drawing blood. His ring began to heal the wound.
Gromph leaped to his feet and intercepted a decapitating claw strike with his axe. The parry severed one of the golem's legs, and a shaft of jet as large as an ogre's arm crashed into a nearby bench.
Another boom against the door. His spell held but Gromph had little time.
Dodging first one blow, then another, he darted inside the golem's reach and struck at its head with his axe. He cut a sliver from it, but it backed off, toppling benches. Gromph pressed but the creature responded by exhaling a cloud of black mist.
Acid, Gromph realized, but could not avoid it. The personal wards that would have protected his own body did not protect Larikal's. Agony lit his skin. His nonmagical clothes disintegrated-
which thankfully didn't include the enchanted robe in which he carried his essential spell components-and his exposed flesh burned and blistered as the mist sloughed away flesh. The stone of the floor and surrounding pews smoked and pitted. An acrid stink filled the air as the cloud dissipated.
Gromph gritted his teeth against the pain, leaped over an acid-slicked pew, and struck another leg from the golem. Another.
The golem answered with a flurry of claw strikes that drove Gromph backward and dispelled all of his images.
Blood and pus leaked from Gromph's skin. His breath came fast and heavy. The pain was slowing him. If the golem was like others of its kind, he knew it would be able to use its acid breath again after only a short time. It had but to gather more of the caustic substance within its enchanted body, and the archmage doubted he would survive a second coating of the stuff.
Gromph had to destroy it first.
He parried another claw strike, reared his axe back and-
A blow from the golem hit him squarely in the chest. Only the magical shield of force and conjured armor kept the impact from splitting him open. Still, the force of the blow sent him careening backward. He stumbled, flailing, and tripped over the broken remnants of a bench.
Gromph fell on his back.
The spider lurched at him, crushing the broken bench. Its mandibles opened wide. Its pedipalps reached for him. Gromph swung his axe furiously from his back, rolled, and tried to regain his feet. A claw descended for his throat, but the shield of force turned it, though the force knocked him down again.
He scooted backward, found his feet, and swung his axe defensively. The golem pressed him,
drew in close and snapped its jaws. The bite snagged Gromph's cloak and pulled him off balance.
A claw strike knocked him to all fours, and he nearly dropped his axe.
Gromph reared up and struck a glancing blow on the golem's head, just above its eye cluster.