Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [45]
Fyodor bowed and took Liriel's hand. They disappeared together through one of the hidden doors.
The moment she was alone, the high priestess sank to the floor in exhaustion. Her battle against Lolth's intrusion had drained her strength to the point of exhaustion. She thought it unwise to show the extent of her weakness before one the Spider Queen had so obviously claimed as Her own.
No matter how reluctant Liriel might be-and Qiluй did not doubt the young drow's reticence-where Liriel went, the eyes of the goddess would follow.
Perhaps it would be different on the surface, Qiluй mused. The power of Lolth could not reach the lands of light. The central tenant of her faith was that darkness was destroyed by light, not rendered invisible. So it had always been, and she had no reason to believe that it would not always be so.
Why, then, could she not dispel the sense that the world had shifted beneath her feet?
CHAPTER FIVE
wizard's apprentice
The illithid known as Vestriss paced the mosaic floor of her throne room, which until recently had been a treasure trove in the submerged ruins that long-dead elves had called Ascarle. Only a few of these ancient treasures remained: large statues for the most part, or golden objects too heavy for the illithid's fleeing slaves to carry away.
Vestriss herself was decidedly worse for wear. Her amethyst rings had been stripped from her four-fingered hands. The silver circlet that had adorned her lavender head was gone, as was the medallion bearing the royal crest she had assumed as the self-proclaimed Regent of Ascarle. Her fine robes had been torn by frenzied, thieving hands, her sensitive facial tentacles bruised. The only reason she still lived was that the slaves had thought her already dead. Liriel Baenre's immobilizing magic had seen to that.
The illithid was not, however, feeling the least bit grateful.
Vestriss's seeking thoughts perceived her genasi slave's foot-dragging approach. Facial tentacles twitched and writhed as if the illithid tasted the air, but Vestriss read the story of the genasi's mission in the emotional storm creeping toward the throne room. Rage the genasi knew in plenty, and frustration, failure, and fear.
Fear. Oh, yes. There was reason for fear.
Vestriss settled into her throne and turned her empty white eyes toward the door. In moments a lithe, blue-skinned female entered the room and dipped into a deep reverence. Purple bruises mottled her face, and one eye was nearly swollen shut. Hatred for the drow who had done this swirled through the genasi's mind, and her overwhelming desire for revenge sang in concert with the illithid's own, similar fury.
Vengeance is the reward of the competent, the illithid "said," projecting a regal, feminine voice directly into the genasi's mind. You, Azar, have failed me.
The genasi's lips thinned, and insulted pride rolled from her in pungent waves. "If I have, mistress, it was because I lacked the necessary magic," she said in petulant tones. "You said the drow was a wizard. You did not know how powerful."
Did I not1? Uriel Baenre stood in my presence. Were I so inclined, I could list every spell in her quiver. I gave you all the magic you needed to stave off her attacks. One tentacle stabbed toward Azar like an accusing finger. What cause have you for complaint? It wasn't magic that marred your face.
The genasi hand lifted to the swelling around one eye. "Even so, lack of magic was the mission's undoing. I intended to follow the ship and slip up on the drow unobserved, but a bullywug shaman sent me into battle, and I had no defense against his call. This I must have."
The illithid dismissed her slave's concern with a flip of her purple hand. Bullywugs are vile monsters, to be sure, but their magic is of little account. They surprised you once. You will not be caught a second time.
"I wish that were true!" the genasi wailed. "The shaman's call- I can hear it still! It is not fitting that the Regent of Ascarle's servants must heed a lessor's voice. Is there nothing