The draegloth stood over him, drool hanging from his exposed fangs in shimmering tendrils, his eyes aglow in the orange torchlight.
Ryld tried to breathe but he couldn't. No air was getting past his throat at all. He wanted to say something, but there was no way to form words. Besides, he didn't know what to say. He'd turned his back on everything he knew for a woman he didn't know at all, a woman who chose a path for herself that would inevitably lead to her own destruction as surely as it had led to his. Part of him wished he'd been killed by anyone but the filthy half-demon, but another part was satisfied that it took a draegloth to bring him down. He almost wanted to thank Jeggred for fighting him in the first place. It was more than he deserved.
Jeggred moved closer, and Ryld was thankful that he couldn't breathe. He couldn't smell the half-demon's breath.
Jeggred leaned on the axe blade and broke open Ryld's chest. The sensation was something beyond pain—a mind-twisting agony that only death could possibly cure.
He watched the draegloth reach into his chest. Ryld's body started to jerk, and he couldn't stop it. The draegloth grabbed and groped inside his chest, and Ryld's vision faded in and out.
When Jeggred pulled his hand away, Ryld's eyesight came back long enough for Ryld Argith, Master of Melee-Magthere, to see that his heart was still beating when the draegloth began to eat it.
The weapons master's heart was strong, and Jeggred relished the texture as well as the taste of it. Ryld Argith was a worthy opponent, a good kill, and the draegloth wished he could stay and devour more of him. The drow was dead by the time Jeggred finished eating his heart, and he knew that Danifae and the others were waiting for him.
Not bothering to wipe any of the blood, slime, or sap off himself, the draegloth touched the ring that Danifae had given him and used its magic to return to Sschindylryn.
Chapter Twenty-one
"Ryld Argith is dead," Danifae said to Quenthel, her eyes darting at Pharaun.
The mage sat quietly, legs folded, in front of the mainmast. He didn't look back at her, seemed to have no reaction at all. Danifae chewed her bottom lip, her eyes flickering back and forth between Pharaun and Quenthel.
"And?" the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith prompted.
"I killed him," Jeggred grumbled.
Danifae looked at the draegloth, whose eyes were locked on Pharaun. Still the mage made no move and never looked at either the draegloth or her. She'd promised to spare the weapons master but had lied. Danifae half expected the mage to burn her to ciders where she stood for the betrayal. Either he was too busy with his preparations for the journey, or he didn't care … or he was planning something for later.
"And Halisstra Melarn?" Quenthel asked.
"I tore his body to shreds," Jeggred went on, oblivious to his aunt's question, "after I ate his heart. There's barely a piece bigger than a bite left of him, spread out over that freezing mud hole."
"Yes," Danifae said, smiling at the draegloth, who was still looking at Pharaun, "well, be that as it may, Halisstra has in fact done the unthinkable. She enjoys the protection of Eilistraee now, and there's no longer any doubt."
"You have evidence of that?" Pharaun asked, his voice quieter, weaker somehow, or maybe just bored.
"She told me," Danifae replied, still looking at Quenthel.
"It's true," the draegloth added.
Quenthel turned on Jeggred, her face right, her eyes blazing. Still, she looked tiny in front of the hulking creature.
"How would you know, fool?" Quenthel spat. "You weren't brought here to think."
"No," the draegloth answered, not shrinking the slightest in the face of the high priestess's rage, "I was brought here to act. I was brought here to fight and to kill. How much of that have I done, my dear, dear aunt?"
"As much," Quenthel replied, her voice coming out almost as a growl, "or as little as I tell. you. As I tell you, not Danifae."
Jeggred loomed over her, the muscles under his gray fur rippling with anticipation.
"Mistress Danifae," the draegloth said, "is at least trying. She's acting—"
"Without my direct orders," Quenthel finished for him.
Danifae was afraid that Jeggred would continue, so she said, "Only on your behalf, Mistress."
Quenthel lifted an eyebrow and stepped closer to Danifae.
"We talked about that, didn't we, battle-captive?"
"I am no one's captive now, Mistress," Danifae replied, "but still I serve Lolth."
"By turning my draegloth's head?" the high priestess said.
Danifae felt the skin on her arms and chest tingle.
"No," she said. "Jeggred helped me help you."
"Help me?" asked the high priestess.
The draegloth turned and skulked away. He found a spot near the bow and sat with his head bent downward. Quenthel was still looking at Danifae as if she expected an answer.
"Mistress," Danifae said, "I am without a home. You said you would bring me back to Menzoberranzan with you if I served you. That, and a host of other reasons, is precisely why I did what I did."
"Did I ask?" Quenthel roared. "Did I send you to do this?"
Danifae lifted an eyebrow herself and waited.
Quenthel took a deep breath and turned away from the former battle-captive to stare out at the black water, lost in thought.
"My loyalty is with Lolth," Danifae said, "and to the House of your birth."
"House Baenre," Quenthel said, her voice icy, "has no room for upstarts, traitors, or battle-captives."
"I think you'll find, Mistress," the former servant pressed on, "that I am neither an upstart, a traitor … or a battle-captive. It is not I who dances under the gaze of Eilistraee, I am here, and I am ready to serve you, to serve Lolth, to serve Arach-Tinilith, Menzoberranzan, and the entire dark elf—"
"All right," Quenthel snarled, "leave it out. I don't need my arse li—"
"Never, Mist—"
"Silence, child," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said. "Interrupt me again and taste venom."
Danifae got the distinct impression that it was a hollow threat, but she silenced herself just the same. It wasn't easy for her to do. There was much she burned to say to Quenthel Baenre, but she decided that she would say it to her corpse instead. Besides, the vipers at Quenthel's command were still dangerous, and all five of them stared at her, their cruel poison glistening on darting tongues.
"Everyone," Pharaun called from where he sat, his eyes closed. "Now that we're all here. . what's left of us anyway. . we'll be on our way.
"As the Mistress ordered," the mage added.
Danifae took a deep breath and a last look at the dreary Lake of Shadows and said, "We're ready, Master Pharaun."
Quenthel turned to look at her, but only out of the corner of her eye. A thrill raced through Danifae at the emotions plain in that look. The Mistress of Arach-Tinilith was terrified.
The ship began to move in response to Pharaun's will, and the wizard shuddered. Through his connection with the ship he could feel the cold of the water, the heat of his own body and the bodies of his comrades on the deck, and he could feel the lesser demons still being digested in the hellish transdimensional space that was the vessel's cargo hold. He found it an unusually pleasant mixture of sensations.
Still water rippled and tapped against the bone hull as the ship glided slowly across the surface of the lake. Other than that, nothing changed at first.
The walls are thin here, Aliisza whispered into his consciousness.
They are, he agreed.
The walls she referred to were the barriers between planes. In certain places and at certain times those barriers drew thinner and thinner and often broke all together. The Lake of Shadows was very close to the Plane of Shadows. The barriers between the two planes were especially thin there.