Viperhand - Douglas Niles [121]
Only somehow the woman had turned the tables. The general could feel no regret at this news, save for the fact that his own punishment of the impetuous captain was now thwarted. In any event, he had far greater problems confronting him.
"The woman is still here, in the palace!" cried the Bishou, enraged. "She can be caught and punished!"
Cordell looked at the cleric as if he had lost his mind. He knew that Erix, and Halloran, and those two natives-together with that bizarre and frightening snake-had fought through the palace all night, chasing the drow elves that had teleported from one place to another across the roof.
"Thank you for the information," the general said to Kardann. "Now I suggest you go down to the trove. Make a plan for moving the gold, as much as we can. We shall not remain here for long."
The assessor from Amn looked at Cordell in shock. He hadn't considered the possibility of flight, particularly if such flight took them beyond the protecting walls of the palace. Yet something in the captain-general's eyes dissuaded any attempt he might have made at argument.
"Very well, sir," he agreed, with a bow.
"But the witch!" Domincus argued, turning on Cordell. "Surely you want her dead."
"The only witch, I fear, is the one who deceived me-deceived all of us-and is now beyond our reach. As for Hal-loran's woman, her death would gain us nothing."
"Look, General," said Daggrande grimly. The dwarf pointed across the plaza.
They all stared as the growing light clearly revealed the file of prisoners-Payit and Kultakan-standing on the steps, extending from the lofty temple of Zaltec to the ground, and continuing to wind around the base of the Great Pyramid. As the sun crested the horizon, the line began to move.
Darien stepped forward, passing among the robed figures of the Ancient Ones until she stood at the lip of the great bowl of the Darkfyre. Here she knelt, bowing deeply to the Ancestor as that venerable master of the draw sat back in his throne.
"My Father, I have returned," she whispered.
"And you bring us nearer to success than ever, my daughter," replied the Ancestor, his voice a harsh rasp. He raised his head, his white eyes blazing from his skull-like visage at the other drow gathered around the deep caldron.
"But still that ultimate triumph eludes our grasp" he said. "You tell me that the girl still lives, that she eluded the attacks of all of you!"
"She is protected by powerful pluma," said a drow, Kizzlok. He still wore the black chain mail and dark steel sword that he had taken to the palace, one of the few survivors of those who had answered Darien's summons there.
"It is true, Father," Darien added. "My strongest spells were useless against her, as long as she wore that token."
"Then we must try again, and keep trying until she dies!" snarled the leader, his voice low but heated. "My visions stressed the importance of slaying her before the war began; though we have failed in that, she cannot be allowed to survive any longer! Perhaps there is still time. Destiny shall pivot on the events of the next days. We cannot afford to fail again, when we are so close."
"But what has that destiny unleashed, now that Naltecona has died, and the chosen daughter of Qotal still lives?" asked Kizzlok.
"I cannot say for certain, but the portents are dire. We must cope with events now, as they occur." The Ancestor snapped his commands. "You, Kizzlok, will lead a group into the city as soon as night falls again. There you must, you will, find and kill her, or you will not bother to return!"
"Wait," said Darien softly. "Perhaps there is another way."
"What is that?" asked the Ancestor testily.
"I think that the woman will come here of her own free will," she said. "They seek to disrupt our plans for war. After last night, they know where to direct their efforts-toward us, the Ancient Ones. And certainly