Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [32]
He relaxed the twist in the fabric. “A soul,” he explained, “trapped by soultheft and held there still.”
The other clerics’ eyes widened. Malvag could tell they were impressed. Most Nightshadows could hold a soul within their masks for only a moment or two. “You may have heard of the attack on the shrine at Lake Sember five nights ago?”
Heads nodded.
Jezz looked impressed. Fleetingly.
“You mean to tell us you’ve got the soul of a priestess of Eilistraee trapped in there?” asked one of the Auzkovyn—a thin man whose protruding nose creased the fabric of his mask into a tent shape. His breathing was light and fast, his eyes wide.
“What better tool for opening a gate to her domain?” Malvag asked. “As some of you may already know, the working of high magic demands a price. Better we fuel it with this—” he fluttered the mask gently—“than with our own souls, wouldn’t you agree?”
Smiles crinkled the eyes of the other Nightshadows as they laughed at his wry joke.
“I can teach you to do the same, to hold a soul in your mask until you are ready to spend its energy,” Malvag told them. “When each of us has gathered this necessary focus, we will meet again to work the spell.” He retied the mask around his face. “Through soultheft, each of you will have the fuel needed to work high magic.” He met the eyes of each male in turn. “The only question remaining is, do you have the faith?”
The Nightshadows were silent for several moments. The eyes behind the masks were thoughtful.
All but those of the House Jaelre leader. “Assuming this scroll of yours really exists, there’s a flaw in your plan,” Jezz said. “In order to create a gate, the caster has to enter the plane that is the gate’s destination. As soon as one of you enters the domain of another god—be it Eilistraee’s domain or Arvandor—the element of surprise is lost.”
“That would be true,” Malvag admitted, “except that this spell will allow us to open a gate between two domains from a distance—from a location on Toril.”
“Nonsense,” Jezz scoffed. “That would require more power than you possess. The combined efforts of a hundred clerics. A thousand.”
“What if I told you I know of something that will augment the magic of each cleric participating in the spell a hundredfold?” he asked. “Perhaps even a thousandfold.” He paused. “There is a cavern, deep in the Underdark,” he told the Nightshadows, “a cavern lined with darkstone crystals, and thus a perfect vehicle for the Masked Lord’s magic. It lies at the center of an earth node of incredible power—something that will boost our magic to the levels we need to work the spell.”
“And this cavern?” Jezz demanded. “Where is it, exactly? Or is that something you’re not prepared to share with us?” He glanced at the others, then back at Malvag. “Perhaps because it, like the ‘ancient scroll’ you’ve told us about, doesn’t exist.”
Malvag carefully hid his delight. He could not have scripted Jezz’s comments better himself. “On the contrary,” he countered. “Those who choose to join me will be shown both the cavern—and the scroll—this very night. I’ll teleport them there.”
The word hung in the air. “Them.” Not “you.”
Jezz glared at Malvag, then stared around at the others, slowly shaking his head. “You trust him?” A scornful word, in the mouth of a drow.
Eyes shifted from Jezz to Malvag and back again.
“Then you’re fools,” Jezz said. “Anyone with eyes can see that this is a ploy to thin the ranks of the faithful, so this newcomer can rise to a more prominent position. He’ll teleport you into a cavern filled with sickstone, or somewhere equally unhealthy, and abandon you there.”
His words hung in the air for several moments.
The Nightshadows shuffled, glancing at one another. One of the House Jaelre males, a large fellow with close-cropped hair and an old burn scar on his right hand, at last broke the silence. “I’m in,” he grunted from behind his mask.