• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

A realization came to Q’arlynd then, sudden as a bolt of darkfire. If such a bond could be forged with Nightshadows, then surely it could also be created among wizards. Perhaps Q’arlynd could build his own power base around a cabal of like-minded males. He knew where he was most likely to recruit them—in Sshamath, a city ruled by a conclave of wizards rather than by a council of matron mothers—by male wizards, rather than female priestesses.

Excited, he pondered the possibilities. During his brief link with Malvag’s mind, he’d learned that the ruined temple the Nightshadow had found, far to the south, had held only the one scroll. That ruin was a dead end, but other artifacts from the time of the Crown Wars might also have survived in other locations. It would simply be a matter of finding them. Q’arlynd already had an idea where he might start—in the ruins of Talthalaran, in ancient Miyeritar. More specifically, within that ruined tower he’d spotted while hiking across the High Moor with Leliana and Rowaan, the tower whose floor pattern had reminded him of the Arcane Conservatory in Ched Nasad.

The tower had been a wizards’ school. He was certain of it.

For the first time in many years, a smile crinkled Q’arlynd’s eyes. He didn’t need Halisstra. Or House Melarn. He’d find his own road to power—one that wouldn’t force him to walk in the shadow of a female.

He climbed onto the rail of the bridge then stepped off into space. A heartbeat before he struck the cold, dark surface of the river, he teleported away.

CODA

The dice fell to the sava board and bounced once, twice, then came to rest in the shadow of Lolth’s Mother piece. Eilistraee leaned forward, her long white hair brushing the board as she strained to see which numbers were upright. Her lips parted as she read the numerals and a song of joy, pure and radiant as moonlight, burst from the swords that floated at her hips.

“Double ones!” she cried.

Lolth had been reclining on her dark throne, certain the die roll would fail, but she hurled herself forward. “No!” she hissed. “It can’t be!” Tiny red spiders spilled from her lips and fell shuddering to the board.

Even as Lolth railed, the dice began to alter. Where once they had been black obsidian with a mere speck of moonlight at their heart, they became moonstone. The side that had been inscribed with a symbol for the numeral one—a multi-legged spider—bore the smooth circle of Eilistraee’s moon. Deep within the translucent octahedrons, something black wriggled, struggling to be free: a tiny black spider.

Eilistraee basked in the moonlight that shone down through the branches above her head. “One throw,” she cried, “and it came up in my favor, despite the odds.” Her perfect lips quirked in a smile. “The impossible is possible, it seems. Corellon might forgive your betrayal yet, Mother.”

Lolth’s red eyes smoldered with fury. The hand that gripped the side of her throne tightened until it turned ashen gray. Beside her, Selvetarm hunkered down on his eight hairy legs, ready to rend Eilistraee at her command. His drow head twisted back and forth, and his sword and mace fairly quivered in his hands. His fangs were spread wide, dripping poison onto the board. A drop of it splattered the head of Lolth’s Mother piece and dribbled down its obsidian-dark contours.

Lolth shot her champion a foul look. “Apologize!”

Selvetarm returned her glare for several moments in stony silence. At last words wrenched themselves out of his mouth, a dark mutter, barely audible. “Forgive me.”

Eilistraee watched the exchange with a serenity born of certainty. She would win the game, or at least the current play. “A sacrifice,” she said. “I claim it now.” She moved her Priestess piece to the spot on the board Lolth had just left bare—the spot where Selvetarm’s drider-shaped Warrior piece had stood before Lolth picked it up.

“Priestess takes Warrior,” Eilistraee announced, nodding at the piece in Lolth’s hand.

Lolth hissed. Rage as she might, she was bound by her