Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [2]
Lolth smiled. A spider the size of a bead of sweat crawled across her upper lip, then disappeared into the crack between her parted teeth. "Yes, indeed," she breathed. "Why not?"
"With Ao as witness," Eilistraee added. "And under the same terms that we agreed to. A contest to the death. Winner take all."
Kiaransalee's voice issued from the crack between realms. "To the death," she chortled.
The crack widened, revealing the goddess and her realm.
Kiaransalee was horrible to look at, gruesome as any mortal lich. Her coal-dark skin stretched tight over a near-skeletal face, and her hair was lusterless as bleached bone. The rotted silks that hung from her wasted body had faded to gray, mottled with mold. A multitude of silver rings hung loose on her bony fingers. She sat cross-legged on a slab of marble: a tombstone whose inscription had been obscured by moss. A field studded with other gravestones stretched behind it, under an ice-white sky.
Kiaransalee pulled a maggot from her flesh and shaped its soft, dough-like mass into a Mother piece, giving it the form she wore when appearing before her worshipers: that of a beautiful drow female. As it darkened to black, she placed it on the sava board, then swept an arm in a scythelike motion. A host of lesser pieces appeared in the crook of her arm: skeletal Slaves, slavering ghoul Warriors, lich-like Wizards, and Priestess pieces in black robes with hooded cowls. These she sprinkled across the board, letting them fall like a scattering of ashes over an open grave.
"My move!" she cried. Leaping from her tombstone, she shoved two pieces forward at once, neatly flanking the Priestess piece Eilistraee had planned to use, leaving it with only one avenue of escape: one that would force it to move against the Warrior sooner than Eilistraee had planned.
Eilistraee turned her eyes to the space above the sava board. "You permit this?" she raged.
Ao was silent.
Lolth laughed. "She is playing against both of us at once, daughter. Two moves seems only fair."
Eilistraee's mask hid the thin line of her lips.
Lolth leaned forward. "My turn, now." Deliberately, savoring Eilistraee's growing unease, she picked up the demonic Warrior piece. She held it up for Eilistraee to see, then slid it in front of the Priestess, cutting off her line of escape.
Eilistraee fumed. If her Priestess piece went down, a host of other pieces would follow. Lolth's Warrior, once again animate and blazing with unholy glee, was poised to cut a swath right through them.
Was there no move she could make to prevent this?
Her gaze fell on a piece that stood well outside her House. Half off the board, it appeared to have been taken out of play. But in truth, it had not yet been removed. If her opponents made the moves she expected, the path between it and one of Kiaransalee's most important pieces would soon be clear.
Several of Eilistraee's own pieces would have to be sacrificed along the way. But if it worked, the result would be worth it.
She moved a Priestess forward-a piece that wore Vhaeraun's mask. It was a less than perfect move, one that would probably be easily countered. But it would buy her time. If she were lucky, it would serve as a distraction for the move she planned to make-the one that would end this game.
CHAPTER 1
The Month of Alturiak
The Year of the Bent Blade (1376 DR)
"Where are you going?"
At the sound of the voice, Q'arlynd froze. The words had come from a distance, carried on the wind. They held a note of alarm, even panic. Warily, he looked around but saw nothing. The moon was a mere sliver, but it provided ample light for his drow eyes. The moor stretched flat in all directions. The low jumbles of stone that dotted it-the ruins of ancient Talthalaran-offered little concealment, except to someone lying prone. The shifting mists were another matter. Even with summer approaching, they rose from the ground every night.
"Where are