Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [95]
But a priestess of Lloth-even a reluctant one-had no need to fear the undead. Liriel had proved that in the dungeons under Skullport. She tugged her obsidian pendant from its hiding place beneath her tunic, and she prepared herself to face once again the power and confusion that was her dark goddess.
"i'm going in," she informed Fyodor.
The young man nodded as ifhe had been expecting this. He turned to his new friends. "We will meet you back in the village."
The three Ruathen argued and threatened, but they soon realized that neither Fyodor nor his strange little companion could be dissuaded. With many a backward glance, they strode away and disappeared into the forest, reluctantly leaving the Rashemi and the drow to their fate. "The keep?" Fyodor asked when at last they were alone. Liriel nodded. Banshees were known to hoard treasure, and the keep was the most likely stronghold. Holding firmly to her holy symbol, the drow slipped into the stone maze and made her way toward the tower. Fyodor followed closely, alert for any beasts that might be crouching amid the stones and shadows.
They got to the foot of the tower without incident. A single arched portal, empty where the wooden door had long ago rotted away, led into the keep. Beyond, all was darkness. Liriel conjured a globe of faerie fire and followed the bobbing ball of light into the dank interior.
inside the keep was a courtyard, hints of its former splendor remaining in the carved marble of the walls and floor. Liriel noted the indentations where gems had been pried from the stone and the distinctive elvish design of the low wall that surrounded a mineral spring bubbling up in the center of the yard. But there were no signs of treasure or of the spirit.
The drow wandered over to the spring and sat down on the crumbling marble. A sensation of cold assaulted her at once, though the bubbling spring sent wisps of mineralscented steam into the stagnant air. With intense foreboding, Liriellooked deep into the water. Gazing back at her with malevolent red eyes was the face of an elven hag. Wizened skin stretched tight over angular bones, and strands of sparse hair writhed, like a tangle of serpents, in the churning water. Clawlike hands extended up, reaching with deadly purpose toward Liriel.
The drow leaped to her feet, her pendant in her hand, as the banshee burst from the water and flew into the air. "Magic you have, and magic i crave-but the living may not pass," the spirit hissed, swirling around the stunned pair like a wildcat circling its prey:
As the drow brandished her holy symbol, the banshee responded with mocking, hate-filled laughter. Liriel frantically mouthed the words of a clerical spell, one that would drain power from an undead creature. But the banshee's wild mirth only increased, and at last Liriel understood what she faced.
This spirit had once been drow.
While it was possible for an elf of any of the surface races to turn to evil and become a banshee, dark elves excelled at evil, strove for it-bred for it! A draw banshee was among the most feared of all undead. A high priestess might have had the power to turn such a creature; Liriel did not. And the only thing that might kill a banshee-an enchantment that could dispel evil-was beyond her as well. That spell was not taught in Menzoberranzan. Considering the nature of Lloth's clergy, such magic could be suicidal.
Liriel turned to Fyodor. "Run," she said succinctly.
He did not debate the matter. The friends fled from the