"I don't know," Halisstra answered.
You must decide, said Seyll, and you must decide now.
The apparition gestured behind her at the long row of disembodied souls. Something was different, and it took Halisstra a few seconds to realize what was happening. The line of souls disappeared into the gray distance, what might have been miles away. The colorless ghosts were changing, one after another as if a wave was passing through them. Color and life, even substance returned to each soul in turn, but only for a brief moment, then the effect passed to the next dead drow in line. As the color passed in and out of them they convulsed, twisting in the air more from pleasure than from pain. The wave drew closer and closer, scattering the line of drow in its wake.
"She's back," Halisstra whispered.
Seyll came closer to her, wrapping her ghostly body around Halisstra, who stiffened but didn't push the apparition away.
She is back, Seyll whispered into her mind. Soon her power will course though you. I can protect you, but you have to want me to. You have to want Eilistraee, not her. Not that demon. Please.
"Please," Uluyara whispered.
Halisstra closed her eyes and tried to return Seyll's ghostly embrace, but her arms closed over nothing.
"Eilistraee," Halisstra called, her voice breaking, "help me!"
Seyll grew solid in her arms, and Halisstra felt the priestess's body quiver. Seyll screamed, and Halisstra heard it both in her rattling ears and in her tortured mind.
"Seyll," Uluyara shouted over the sound of pure agony that was ripped from Seyll's momentarily corporeal throat. "No. ."
Seyll's body disappeared, and Halisstra's arms wrapped around only herself. The scream echoed in her mind but left her ringing ears to the silence of the Astral Plane. She opened her eyes and saw Seyll floating in the gray nothing in front of her. The priestess's body was twisted and broken, her face wracked with pain. She had grown more transparent, and was quickly fading away.
"Seyll. ." Halisstra whispered.
The priestess looked her in the eyes one last time, and though it seemed to cause her a considerable amount of pain to do so, she smiled as she faded from sight.
Halisstra felt her body sag even as she was infused with an energy and confidence unlike anything she'd felt before.
"She's gone," Uluyara whispered.
"She didn't abandon only Arvandor," Feliane said, her eyes wide with horror. "She let the power of Lolth pass into her."
"To protect me," Halisstra whispered.
"It killed her," Feliane said. "She didn't choose the Astral, she chose oblivion."
"The thing that I most feared myself," said Halisstra. "It was oblivion that drove me to Eilistraee."
"She sacrificed herself," Uluyara said.
"For me?" asked Halisstra.
"And for Eilistraee," Feliane said.
Halisstra's mind reeled, but her eyes cleared of tears, and blood began to flow in her tired muscles. She felt alert, refreshed, even as she was overwhelmed.
"She sacrificed herself," Halisstra repeated, "so I could. ."
"So you could serve Eilistraee," Uluyara finished for her. "So you could wield the Crescent Blade."
Halisstra put a hand on the hilt of the weapon that could kill a goddess and said, "I hesitated, but I hope not for too long."
"She's awake," Feliane warned, "or resurrected. She'll fight back."
Halisstra thought about that. She tried to imagine facing Lolth herself in battle, and for the life of her she couldn't.
"We'll follow the souls to Lolth," Halisstra said, moving in that direction even before she finished speaking.
Feliane and Uluyara fell in behind her.
Chapter Twenty-six
"No," Pharaun muttered, "this way. .?"
He turned left when the corridor forked. He had cast a number of divinations and was doing his damnedest to follow them all.
"None of your spells are working," Quenthel asked, "are they?"
Pharaun didn't bother looking at her but continued along the corridor hoping he would stumble on something that might get them on the right track.
"I'm getting. . contradictory information," he shot back, "but at least I'm doing something. You said you've been here before—why aren't you taking us right to her?"
Quenthel didn't answer, and they shared a look that served as an agreement not to continue bickering.
"It's as if the farther we go into this spider fortress, the stranger our surroundings become," Danifae said. "There were no right angles anywhere when we first walked in, but now there are. They seemed to appear the moment I got comfortable wandering the corridors without them. Still, we have seen nothing alive, haven't been harried by a single guardian, and for all intents and purposes we have the run of the place. What does it mean?"
"That Lolth wanted us to come," Quenthel replied, shooting a contemptuous glance at Danifae.
Pharaun and Valas exchanged a look that told each other they'd reached very different conclusions.
The wizard paused in a section of corridor that had widened out to well over twenty feet. The ceiling was low, the darkness comfortably dense, and the smell of rot fortunately not as overwhelming as it had been most of the time. He cast another spell and concentrated on his surroundings, searching for signs of life. He could sense dead spots through which his magic couldn't penetrate—walls perhaps lined with lead or some other particularly dense substance. Still, far at the edge of the limits of his perception, Pharaun could make out signs of life.
"A light wash," he whispered to himself, "but it's there."
"What?" Quenthel asked. "What's there?"
The wizard opened his eyes and smiled at Quenthel.
"There is something alive in here with us after all," he said, "but the sign is strange—diffuse and distant as if the creature is either very far away, only barely alive, cloaked in magic that protects it from divination, or some combination of those things. I can't get a. . Mistress?"
Quenthel dropped to her knees, and Pharaun instinctively backed away. The air was charged, and the Master of Sorcere's skin tingled, but whatever was happening had a much more profound effect on the two females.
Quenthel dropped to her hands, her face coming dangerous inches from smashing into the cold, rusted steel of the ruined spider fortress. Her muscles jerked and spasmed, and her face was twisted into either a rictus of agonized pain or a grin of some kind of feral pleasure— Pharaun couldn't tell which.
Danifae fell to the floor as well, but she was facing up. Her back arched, and soon she was touching the floor only from one tiny spot on her head and the tips of her toes. Pharaun couldn't help admiring the curve of her body, marred as it was by the same petty wounds—cuts, abrasions, welts, and bruises—that they'd all accumulated along the way. Not sure he wasn't seeing only what he wanted to see, Pharaun thought Danifae's expression was one of total pleasure, complete physical abandon.
Next it was Jeggred's turn to fall. The draegloth dropped to one knee, his three remaining hands reaching out to grab blindly at the walls. He ripped jagged rents in one steel partition. Brown dust covered his fur, clinging to it in clumps until it looked like the half-demon was rusting the same as the spider fortress. Jeggred screamed so loudly Pharaun had to clamp his hands over his ears.
Even as the draegloth's scream faded into panting—desperate gasps for air—Pharaun looked at Valas. The scout seemed entirely unaffected, and Pharaun himself felt no burning desire to writhe around on the floor.
"Whatever it is," Pharaun said to the scout, "it only seems to be affecting the—"
He thought at first that he was going to say "the females," then he realized that it was affecting the priestesses and the one creature among them born of Lolth's peculiar hell.