Pharaun nodded at the amulet and said, "I believe I'm correct, Valas, in assuming your amulet is no longer functional?"
Valas gave Pharaun a wary frown but nodded.
"May I have the chain it's hung on?" Pharaun asked, holding out a hand.
Valas complied?taking care to keep the amulet hidden inside his tunic as he slid it off the chain. Pharaun could guess why. Judging by its sun shape, it had been created by surface elves. And not just any surface elves, but those who worshiped Labelas Enoreth, Lord of Longevity. If Quenthel saw the mercenary wearing it, her fury would be unbounded. She'd rather have lost a valuable ally to the wraiths than admit that an amulet created by «sunspit» was anything other than an abomination.
As Valas handed Pharaun the chain, Danifae leaned closer to the wall of ice, her breath fogging in the chilled air.
"Careful," Pharaun cautioned. "Don't touch the ice with your tongue."
She gave him a disdainful look, then indicated the storm outside with a jerk of her chin.
"If you're going to try to bind the demon, you'd better get started," she told him. "The whirlpool is starting to move away."
Nodding, Pharaun squatted and began his preparations. From he pockets of his piwafwi he took a lump of beeswax he'd picked up in Menzoberranzan, months before, from a trader from the World Above; and a black opal the size of his little fingernail, shot through with veins of red. He warmed the beeswax by working it with his hands, then he sculpted the softened lump, modeling the arms, legs, tail, and snout of an uridezu demon. The statuette was crude, but it would suffice. Slicing open its chest with a fingernail, Pharaun pushed the opal inside, then pinched the wound shut. He wrapped Valas's chain around one of the statuette's legs, securing it there by joining two links together.
"There," he said, nodding in satisfaction at the chain that bit slightly into the wax statuette's ankle. "That should hold him long enough to get us to the Abyss."
Chapter Thirty-two
As the worm's mouth closed around her, Halisstra squeezed her eyes shut. She gasped as a wave of acid splattered against the exposed portions of her body?her face, neck, and hands?then regretted it as the stench of acid filled her nostrils. Rivulets of agony trickled through her hair and down her neck, searing her chest and back as they found their way under her chain mail and padded tunic.
Clinging to the hilt of the songsword, she twisted violently against the rippling, sucking force of the worm trying to swallow her down. She managed to get her feet braced against the worm's lower jaw, but when she tried to lever the mouth open her boots slipped. The worm swallowed her, wrenching her hands away from the hilt of the sword.
As the worm's throat muscles constricted, forcing her down its throat, Halisstra began to pray. To open her burning lips would mean swallowing acid, which would further increase her torment, so she prayed silently, fervently, begging Eilistraee to help her. Despite the fact that she could feel her skin erupting into blisters, she didn't attempt a curative spell?that would only delay the inevitable?instead she pleaded for something that would help her to escape.
The worm thrashed back and forth, bending Halisstra violently this way and that. She heard dull, muffled thuds that must have been Ryld hacking at the worm with his sword, but then the creature twisted suddenly and they stopped. The motion forced the air from Halisstra's lungs?and she dared not try to inhale. Instead she forced her hand down, scraping it against her acid-slimed chain mail to touch the amulet hanging from her belt, next to her empty sheath.
Eilistraee, she prayed. Help me. Send me a weapon.
Something nudged against her hand?something hard and smooth. Grasping it, Halisstra realized it was the hilt of a sword?obviously the weapon of some other unfortunate victim of the worm. She wasted no time in using what the goddess had provided. Forcing her elbow back against the pulsing wall of the worm's gut, she brought the point of the weapon to bear and felt it slide into the worm's flesh. Then she began to saw.
Her entire body was covered in acid. The worm's digestive juices had seeped under her armor and clothing and onto her skin. She could feel blisters erupting and could feel the acid flowing into the rupturing skin with each move that she made. Head pounding from a lack of air, she sawed desperately, her movements made short and jerky by the fact that the worm's gut was pressing her arm against her side. Flashes of red danced before her eyes, but still she continued to saw. It was either that or die.
The wall of gut in front of her ruptured. Riding a wave of acid, Halisstra fell through the wound in the worm's side, dropping the sword. She lay for a moment on the hard stone, drawing deep, shuddering breaths and watching the worm thrash itself across the cavern. The creature was wounded in half a dozen places: deep gashes that had probably been made by Ryld's greatsword. As the worm shuddered and at last died, Halisstra rolled feebly over, out of the puddle of acid.
"Ryld," she gasped, sighting him.
As her pain-dulled mind registered that he was lying on his back on the cavern floor, she forced herself into a sitting position, nearly fainting at the pain of her heavy chain mail as it rubbed against her acid-burned flesh.
"Ryld," she said, her voice cracking. "Ryld!"
The weapons master's chest still rose and fell beneath the breastplate he wore, though the breaths were shallow. Just below the edge of his breastplate his tunic was torn?a round bloodstain told her that it was a puncture wound. The worm had injected him with its venom.
He needed her magic?and quickly?but she could not aid him without first healing herself. Time was of the essence, so she used bae'qeshel magic, a darksong that would close her wounds. The worst of her pain was relieved?though it returned, in lesser form, a moment later as the acid that had soaked into her clothing began to eat at her skin again. As rapidly as she could, she stripped off her chain mail and pulled off her soggy tunic and boots. Her tunic came off easily, peeling away in wet, rotted chunks. As she stripped down, she noted that the spell had knitted her ruptured skin back together but had left a pattern of overlapping burn marks. Startled by the sight of them, she began to raise a hand to her face?then immediately dropped it as she heard Ryld softly moan. It was no time for vanity.
Scrambling across the floor to him, she laid a hand over the site of his wound and felt a shudder pass through the flesh under the blood-soaked tunic. Closing her eyes, she chanted her prayer.
Eilistraee, aid him. Slow the poison that rushes through his veins. Grant him just a little time, yet, to live.
She lifted her free hand, imagining herself outside, under a clear sky, reaching up toward the moon. When she felt the familiar tingle of magic she swept her hand down, placing her palm upon the hand that still covered Ryld's wound. She felt a rush of magical energy flow through her and into Ryld?energy as cool and as bright as the moon. As the last of it drained out of her she shivered, suddenly cold and exhausted.
Halisstra knelt, anxiously watching Ryld's slow, labored breathing, wondering if her spell had worked. Uluyara had been ight?Halisstra had been mad to think she could find the Crescent Blade, when the combined efforts of Eilistraee's faithful had failed. Halisstra wondered if the ghost that had led her to the worm hole had truly been Mathira Melarn. It seemed more likely that it was just some malevolent spirit seeking to lead others to experience the same gruesome death that it had. Stupidly, like a rothe being led to slaughter, she had followed the ghost to the edge of the worm hole, then entered, despite her realization that it would be a purple worm she'd be confronting and not a dragon after all. She had proceeded anyway, blind faith causing her to believe that the Crescent Blade would be inside the worm's lair.