"Stop that!" Qilue cried. She sang a note into the shout that fused Rylla's fingers together, preventing her from completing the gesture that would seal the portal. "I created that portal. It leads to a trap. One that's about to be sprung. Go and find Horaldin-I need him to recast his enchantment! Now!"
Rylla turned. She was terrified-Qilue could smell the other female's fear-and her voice quavered. "Horaldin's dead."
She's lying. Trying to confuse you.
"What?" Qilue rubbed her wrist. "No, he's not. I just spoke to him." In fact, she'd just placed a geas on him: one that would compel him not to communicate with anyone-not by speech, nor spell, nor written word-until she gave him leave. She'd sealed the geas by drawing a line across his throat. The instant he tried to speak, he'd be wracked by a fit of violent coughing.
Coughing blood.
Qilue blinked, startled. Where had that thought come from?
"You cut his throat," Rylla said. "Decapitated him." She glanced, pointedly, at the Crescent Blade.
Qilue's eyes were drawn to the sword. To the blood on it.
She's trying to trick you. That's your blood. Your cut is leaking again.
Qilue lifted her arm.
Rylla tensed, her fused fingers gripping her holy symbol.
Qilue yanked her bracer up. She stared at the cut on her wrist. No-not a cut. A scar. Old and gray.
It wasn't her blood on the blade.
You had to do it. You had no choice. He would have ruined everything!
"He would have ruined everything," Qilue whispered. Her head was pounding. She felt a slight pressure against her calves and realized the water in the room was rising. Was the river overflowing? She glanced over her shoulder. No, the door behind her was shut. The water inside the chamber was expanding. And swiftly. As it topped her boots and spilled inside them, she felt sensation return to her feet. She hadn't realized, until this moment, that they'd been numb, nearly dead. They'd felt heavy, lumpish, hard…
The water rose to Qilue's knees. Her legs tingled.
Rylla moved closer, her feet swishing in the water. The battle-mistress's eyes locked on Qilue's. "Fight it," she whispered. "Pray. Drive Wendonai out." She sang out a word that filled the air with moonlight and lunged forward, slamming into Qilue, who toppled backward into the water.
She's trying to drown you! Wendonai howled.
Qilue nearly laughed at such an obvious lie. The water tasted pure and sweet on her lips. Rylla's song, pealing out from above, landed like sparkling drops of rain upon the water's surface. Qilue felt the battle-mistress's hands around her wrist and realized Rylla was trying to force the Crescent Blade down, into the water.
Into the healing, holy water.
No! Wendonai shouted. That will destroy it! You'll never kill Lolth!
His hand-Qilue's hand-punched up. The sword hilt slammed into Rylla's nose, knocking her backward and ripping her hands away from Qilue's wrist. Qilue felt her body leap up and shout a word that instantly burned the water from her skin. A familiar, heavy deadness returned and her thoughts slowed. It felt as if each were forcing its way through thick, stinking mud. From the waist down, however, her body was still within the holy water-and still her own. She threw herself to her knees, and suddenly the water was level with her mouth. She gulped it down, and felt its holiness force the demon out of her. Back into the Crescent Blade.
Drink your fill, Wendonai gloated from the sword, which she held just above the surface. I've built up a resistance to it. I'll be back inside you the moment you surface.
Another lie? Qilue suspected so, but she couldn't be certain of anything. Not any more. How long had the demon been warping her perceptions? What other crimes against her faith had he used her to commit? She ducked lower, submerging her head, but holding the Crescent Blade above the surface.
Inside the holy water, she was safe. She tried to decide what to do. One swift tug, and the Crescent Blade would be underwater with her. That would banish Wendonai. But it would also banish her one chance to eradicate his taint from the drow.
Yet she could see that this idea had been a seed planted by Wendonai. The irony was that it was possible. There was indeed a prayer that Qilue could use to draw all of Wendonai's taint inside her. And once his taint was within her, Mystra's silver fire would indeed destroy it. But the flaw in this plan-the flaw Wendonai had blinded her to, until now-was that with so much of his taint inside her, Qilue would lose control. Permanently. The demon would rule her body, as completely as Lolth ruled the Demonweb Pits. Any silver fire she did manage to summon would be twisted to an evil purpose.
Qilue stared at her battle-mistress through the water. Rylla floated nearby, face down, blood drooling from her broken nose. No longer breathing. Later, once she'd decided what to do next, Qilue would revive her. For the moment, she was just thankful Wendonai hadn't been able to swing the Crescent Blade. If it had severed Rylla's neck, her soul would have been destroyed.
Just as Horaldin's had been.
Qilue prayed that the Crescent Blade hadn't completely severed the druid's neck, that his soul had survived to join Rillifane under the great oak.
Qilue! Wendonai bellowed. I know you can hear me. What will you do now? Banish me, and abandon any hope of saving your race?
What indeed? Mystra's silver fire flickered in and out of Qilue's nostrils. Though her head was submerged in water, her long tresses spreading like seaweed across the surface above, she felt no need to breathe. She had all the time in the world to consider the question-unless, of course, someone opened one of the doors to this chamber, letting the holy water spill out.
Her spies, for example. The first group of Ghaunadaur's cultists would be arriving in the Promenade any moment, and heading this way.
She flicked a hand, resetting the locks.
She briefly considered telling the Nightshadows to abandon the plan, destroy their ambers, and flee Ghaunadaur's temples-then decided against it. Too much effort had been spent in putting them in place.
She considered her options. Had she inscribed an insanity symbol on the ruined temple-or was this another of Wendonai's tricks? She decided that it really didn't matter. If a symbol was in place, and the fanatics could be coerced into entering the portal, they would be turned into raving madmen who wouldn't even remember what a temple to their god looked like, let alone what to do with it. And if the symbol didn't exist, the fanatics would gain no benefit from a visit to the bottom of the Pit. If they somehow found their way back from the Ethereal Plane, they wouldn't have learned anything new about the Promenade. The planar breach had existed for centuries, sputtering on like a guttering candle, ever since Ghaunadaur had been driven through it.
Even if the worst happened-if the fanatics, despite being ethereal, found a way to open the breach enough for an avatar to come through, it wouldn't matter. The seals at the top of the Pit would ensure that the Ancient One's avatar didn't escape.
As she sat, thinking, the water surrounding her began to vibrate: the result of an alarm, close by, its clamor shrill enough to pass through stone. The timing was too close to be a coincidence. Karas must have brought his group through.
Confirmation came as three different priestesses shouted Qilue's name at once, urgently reporting they'd spotted fanatics approaching the Promenade, from the far side of the bridge. That they were going to engage them until reinforcements arrived.
Qilue gave a mental command in reply, ordering them to allow the fanatics to cross the bridge, and not to engage them, but instead to set up defensive positions at least fifty paces back from the western side of the bridge. She wondered if they would heed her-how many of her priestesses, besides Cavatina, Leliana, and Rylla, now knew about Wendonai, and would be suspicious of her commands.