Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [111]
Kharza-kzad was now a lichdrow, a dark-elven wizard who existed beyond death, beyond the limitations of mind and body. Invulnerable, nearly invincible, the undead creature could cast at will all the spells gathered throughout its centuries of life.
The lichdrow soared upward, pausing only upon becoming eye-level with its dumbfounded enemy. It raised a skeletal hand. Clasped in the bony fingers was a slender metal rod, still glowing with the lava's borrowed heat.
"My finest creation," announced the undead wizard in a whisper as dry as desiccated bone. "A wand of lichdom. Would you care to see it demonstrated again-on you, perhaps?"
Nisstyre was terribly outmatched, but even now he was determined to have the final word. He clasped a ring of tele-portation that would take him from this place, and he painted a mocking smile on his face.
"Perhaps several centuries from now, when I have witnessed Vhaeraun's triumph and have grown tired of life, I might be tempted to accept your offer. When that time comes, I will no doubt find you still here."
And with those words, the merchant summoned the magic that would take him out of the volcano and beyond reach of the lichdrow Xorlarrin.
In time, the former Kharza-kzad might find his way back to Menzoberranzan, but Nisstyre knew the wizard had few gate spells at his command. He'd made sure-or at least, as reasonably certain as one drow could be about the secrets of another-that Kharza knew no way back into his own Spelltower. At the present, therefore, Nisstyre felt safe enough in returning to the city.
He might not have gotten the information he needed from Kharza, but there was another drow in Menzoberranzan who knew more about Uriel's plans than she would admit. It was time to get seek out his new partner.
Shakti Hunzrin had just returned to Tier Breche when the summons came. Along with a dozen other high-level students, she was attending a tutorial session on accessing the lower planes and conversing with its denizens. The subject held little interest for Shakti; indeed, after the events of the last few days, all of her studies at Arach-Tinilith seemed no more than a dreary anticlimax. She would have welcomed almost any interruption.
Almost.
Eight armed female guards-part of the elite forces of House Baenre-came to the very door of the classroom and respectfully commanded Shakti to accompany them. With them was a driftdisc, the floating magical conveyance used by the most powerful of matrons and priestesses. Shakti had never expected to ride on one, and she took little pleasure in it now as she glided in state toward the Baenre fortress, surrounded by her prestigious escort. For in sending a driftdisc, Matron Triel was not honoring her guest but blatantly displaying her own might and position. To Shakti, it seemed the logical first step toward a very public execution. Lloth might have decreed no priestess kill another, but the Baenre clan always seemed to be beyond law.
Her prospects did not brighten when they reached the Baenre fortress. She was ushered into the very heart of the first house-the vast chapel. Gromph pushed past her at the door, looking grim and sullen. Shakti understood why at once: eight Baenre priestesses gathered about the altar. A dark rite would be performed in this chamber that no mere male could witness.
Matron Triel beckoned Shakti to come toward the altar. As the younger priestess drew near, the matron slowly raised her arm. In it was a whip armed with the heads of two angry, writhing snakes.
"Lloth knows what is in your heart," Triel said in «her cold, even voice. She began to advance, slowly, a glint of mocking pleasure in her usually unreadable eyes.
At that moment Shakti understood the Spider Queen had witnessed her deal with Nisstyre and