“Nor will any of the dwarves,” Icelin said, hugging herself to ward off the chill of the cavern. How easy it would be to justify the action if she let herself. No one would blame her this time. No one would mourn the loss of a drow who’d already taken dwarf lives and would take more if given the opportunity. “But it feels wrong.”
“You’ve always had a soft heart,” Ruen said.
“One of my greatest faults,” Icelin said, growing serious. “It’s not just for the sphere itself that I’m considering this.” She paused, gathering her courage. “I need to know something, Ruen.”
“Say it.”
Now or never, Icelin thought. “If we get the sphere and it does what we hope it will do for me, is there a chance for us?” Icelin said. She rushed on. “These last months we’ve spent traveling together, I’ve become more and more certain.” Icelin clutched her arms against her stomach, feeling that if she didn’t protect herself, she might not be able to speak further. “I cover it with jests and insults, but you know-you have to know-that I … care about you.”
“I do,” Ruen said, each word sounding forced. “I don’t understand why. I’m nearly twice your age, I’m not kind or gentle, and I’ve killed people with my bare hands. Death is in everything I touch. No one should want that.”
“There’s nothing I can do about your great age,” Icelin said, a strained smile twisting her features, “or your temperament. I don’t care about what you’ve done, or your spellscar-”
“It changes nothing,” Ruen interrupted. “I can’t give you what you want.”
“I see.” A sudden sense of disconnectedness took hold of Icelin, as if the whole conversation were happening to someone else. It wasn’t his spellscar that kept him from her. He didn’t return her feelings. That was all. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t have to wonder now.” Her voice was unrecognizable to even herself. “I’ll search for the sphere while you and Sull aid the dwarves however you can.”
Ruen shook his head. “I’m not going to leave you in that room with a drow.”
“Mith Barak’s guards will be there if anything happens,” Icelin said. “If I’m going to accept the king’s bargain, I need to speak to him, and I need to do it alone. In the meantime, please take care of yourself, and Sull. I couldn’t … I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
She walked away without another word. Stiff steps carried her across the plaza, and all the while, the contents of her stomach threatened to come up, but considering everything, it had been a clean break. Perhaps she’d spoken coldly, but he’d have to forgive her for that. Allowing in any more emotion would have torn out her heart.
When she was back in the hallway, just outside the library door, alone, she slid to her knees, covered her face with her hands, and let out two quick, dry sobs. That was all. Then she stood up, opened the library door, and stepped inside.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GUALLIDURTH, THE UNDERDARK
23 UKTAR
" Strip them to the waist, but make the cuts as shallow as you can so as not to break the enchantments,” Levriin Soltif commanded his apprentice.
The younger drow, Kraefmir of House Rirdel, did as his master bade him, but he didn’t bother to hide the look of distaste as he removed the armor and scraps of clothing from the bugbear slaves and cast them in a pile. Staring straight ahead, their vapid gazes fixed on Levriin, the creatures did not react when Kraefmir took a ceremonial knife from the pocket of his robes and began tracing an arcane symbol into the flesh of the nearest creature. Levriin focused half his concentration on maintaining control of the thralls and appraised Kraefmir’s progress with the other.
He’s good, Levriin thought. He’s coming into his own, adding flourishes to the magic that even I might not have considered. In many ways, Kraefmir had entered that perfect period of his apprenticeship-skilled enough that he could truly aid Levriin, yet also dependent upon the wizard to advance him in position. Soon he would grow beyond needing Levriin’s tutelage, but for now, he was quite useful.
“You are distracted,” Kraefmir commented without looking up from his work. Blood coated his hands and the knife. He wiped them on a towel. “Your meeting with the mistress mother did not go well?”
Damn it, Levriin realized, he’s perceptive as well. “I underestimated her,” he admitted. The words tasted bitter in Levriin’s mouth, but he wasn’t so proud that he couldn’t learn from his mistakes. “She is not reacting to the potential shift in the power balance the way I expected. She claims we have not divined Lolth’s will.”
“If the priestesses feel threatened, you can be assured they will defend their positions,” Kraefmir said. “Any female who says differently is a liar or a fool.”
In his mind, Levriin saw the blind priestesses, the abominations altered through the power of the Spider Queen. “Perhaps we are not as weak as they would have us believe,” he murmured.
“Master?”
“Mind your work,” Levriin said sharply, and his apprentice obediently fixed his attention on the bugbear’s hairy flesh. He sliced downward with the knife-too deeply, Levriin realized. He felt the pull of the creature’s will against his magic, the faint echo of terror as the slave tried to mount a resistance to the drow’s violation. Levriin lashed out with a mental command, sharper than any whip, and the slave’s silent cry cut off abruptly. He struggled no more.
“Should we fear the goddess’s will?” Kraefmir said after a moment. “Is this chance she offers us-and the promised reward-genuine?”
Oh, so very diplomatic. Levriin silently applauded his apprentice. He really wants to know if I am afraid, for he is too young yet to fear any doom. The true horrors of the world had not revealed themselves to him. Perhaps it was time he confided in his apprentice. If not now, on the eve of their first major offensive against Iltkazar, then when would he get the chance?
“Does it matter?” he challenged the young drow as Kraefmir finished carving the last symbol on the slave’s back.
“Does it matter that we rise in the Spider Queen’s favor?” Kraefmir wiped his hands one last time on the towel, though the fabric was soaked. “How can you ask that?”
“Because the question does not get asked enough, in my opinion,” Levriin said. “Think about it. All our lives, we have striven to better our positions in this city. We are weaker physically than the females, and they remind us every day, with each glance, bitter word, or strike of the whip that we are mentally the lesser creatures. Yet we are masters of the arcane, warriors whose martial prowess rivals that of any of the cities of the surface world. When the World Above speaks of us in fear, they do not separate male and female, priestess and wizard. To them, we are only drow.”
“None of that seems to matter to the females-or to the Spider Queen,” Kraefmir said. “Yet we continue to strive in Lolth’s name.”
“Precisely,” Levriin said. “The centuries pass, and we grow stronger, more powerful, waiting for the day when the goddess will take notice of our devotion. Had we not been denied her love, her favor, would we have come so far?”
“You can’t be suggesting that we don’t need the goddess?” Kraefmir wiped the blade of the ceremonial knife and sheathed it. “You court blasphemy, Master.”
“You mistake me,” Levriin said. “I simply suggest that Lolth’s favor may not be the blow the females expect. Neither may it be what the males of our race need to achieve glory.”
“Ah, I see. Once we achieve supremacy, you believe that will breed complacency,” Kraefmir said. “That we will become slaves to Lolth’s desires once we’ve had a taste of her favor.”
Complacency was one extreme, and at the other … some priestesses are drunk on those desires, Levriin thought. The mistress mother had challenged him on that very point, asking him if he was prepared to submit to Lolth’s will. Was he, in truth? Was he ready to give of himself completely, to undergo a spiritual and perhaps physical transformation? Would the goddess ask of him more than he was willing to give?