The party crossed the bridge and came eye to eye with the dark elves. The Kilseks’ faces held all the fierceness and arrogance of the Freths’, but they also bore a weariness and desperation that hadn’t been present among Razherrt’s men. Perhaps Nathlilik told the truth after all.
As Kestrel passed the drow leader, their gazes locked. Nathlilik’s red eyes burned with determination Kestrel knew she herself had never felt. “You really do hate the cult,” she murmured.
“My lifemate, Kedar, is among those enslaved,” Nathlilik said. “I will avenge him.”
They found the cult sorcerer exactly where Nathlilik had said to expect him.
They did not expect to find him dead.
“Ugh.” Kestrel grimaced at the sight of the corpse. The cultist lay wrapped in a cocoon of sticky white strands with only his head and neck exposed. Bite marks covered his face and throat, leaving the flesh in shreds. The expression in his frozen eyes suggested he’d died a slow, painful death. “What got him? Spiders?”
“Some kind of wild creature.” Jarial knelt beside the body to lift a long gold staff from where it had fallen near the sorcerer’s body. “Whatever it was, it left this behind.”
She crept closer for a better look. A G-shaped hook crowned the staff, within which a glowing yellow orb floated freely. “The Staff of Sunlight.”
“That’s my guess.”
Kestrel glanced around the rest of the room. A closed door stood opposite the one they had entered, and a table and chair sat in the corner. Several papers lay scattered on the table and floor. Ghleanna picked them up, scanning their content. “Most of these are useless notes, but this page is an order from Mordrayn. It says to eliminate the arraccat from the eastern section of the catacombs’ third level.”
“That’s where we are, isn’t it?” Durwyn asked.
Ghleanna nodded absently as she quoted from the order. “The creatures lair above the baelnorn and thus too close to our operations there.”
Corran took the paper from Ghleanna’s hand and studied it himself. “What’s an arraccat?”
“I think it’s a creature with eight eyes,” said Durwyn, his voice a bit higher-pitched than normal, “and eight legs with really sharp claws... and a wide mouth with wicked fangs... .”
Kestrel glanced at him in surprise, but his back was turned to her. “How do you know that, Durwyn?”
“Because I’m looking at one.”
The arraccat hissed and sprang toward Durwyn. The fighter jumped out of the way, allowing the rest of the companions their first look at the creature. A cross between a spider and a cat, it stood nearly as tall as Kestrel and twice as wide. Brown fur covered its feline head, long tail, and oval arachnid body.
Just as quickly as it had arrived, it disappeared.
Faeril swept the room with her gaze. “Where did it—” Suddenly, two more appeared in the room. “Jarial! Ghleanna! Behind you!”
Ghleanna spun around, her staff cutting the forelegs out from under one of the arraccats. The creature buckled, then evaporated from sight. The other arraccat sprung at Jarial before he could strike it with the Staff of Sunlight, his only weapon at hand. The beast sank its fangs into his shoulder and disappeared.
The mage cried out in pain. “Their bite stings! I think they’re poisonous!”
Kestrel grabbed her club and snapped her wrist. The weapon telescoped not a moment too soon—all three arraccats reappeared, this time behind Corran, Faeril, and Durwyn. She advanced on the closest creature, but a shout from Ghleanna stopped her. “Kestrel, look out!”
She spun to discover a fourth arraccat behind her. Green saliva—or was it venom?—dripped from its fangs. Four pairs of yellow eyes glittered menacingly in the torchlight through slit lids. Kestrel avoided eye contact, knowing that if she stared into those hourglass irises too long, she’d go dizzy.
The creature sprang. She grasped her club in both hands and struck it in the head, momentarily stunning it. No sooner did it disappear from sight than another took its place. The party fought at least six creatures now—the way they kept popping in and out, Kestrel couldn’t keep track—and hadn’t managed to land a fatal blow on any.
“Backs to the walls!” Corran yelled. “So they can’t attack from behind!”
Kestrel fought off another beast and pressed herself against the door opposite the one they’d entered. No one had had time to check what lay on the other side, but at this point she didn’t care. They had to get out of this room. The arraccats now outnumbered them, and more appeared each minute. No wonder the cult sorcerer had fallen prey to the creatures—they multiplied like rabbits.
She tried the door and found it locked. Damn her luck! She fumbled in her belt pouch, willing her fingers to find the right lockpick as she tried to fend off an arraccat one-handed. A moment later, Corran was at her side. “Open it! I’ll cover you!”
The paladin’s blade sliced through the creature and injured another in the time it took her to locate the tool she needed and open the lock. “Durwyn! Faeril!” she shouted over a nearby arraccat’s hiss. “This way! Jarial! Ghleanna!”
One by one they backed over to the open door and slipped through to a small stairwell. Corran entered last. He slammed the door and fell against it, winded.
Several minutes passed in silence as they waited, arms ready, to see whether the arraccats would appear on this side of the door. None did. Jarial loosened his iron grip on the Staff of Sunlight and lowered its end to the ground. “I think we can relax.”
Faeril examined Jarial’s bite mark. The injury itself was minor, and Ozama’s boots had once again protected him from the effects of poison. While the cleric bandaged the wound, Kestrel regarded Corran thoughtfully. The paladin might be an insufferable prig, but he’d seen to everyone else’s safely before his own—unlike the debacle in the House of Gems courtyard. “I thought you never retreat from a fight?”
“Live to fight another day—isn’t that how you rogues think?” He wiped the creatures’ foul blood off Pathfinder and returned the weapon to its scabbard. “I’m beginning to believe that motto has some merit.”
She hadn’t time to contemplate his change in attitude, for Ghleanna summoned them excitedly. “There’s a door at the bottom of the stairs, marked with the Rune of the Protector. The baelnorn cannot be far away.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Fhaormiir!”
The moment the party approached the door, the Word of Safekeeping boomed out of the air in a deep voice that reverberated throughout the stairwell. Adrenaline raced through Kestrel as the door silently swung open. Soon they would meet the Protector, and ask him to use the Gem of the Weave to undo the corruption of the Mythal. With the tide thus turned against the cult, perhaps she and the others would have a prayer of completing this mission alive. She did not want to consider their chances if the baelnorn refused their petition.
Expecting a long corridor, Kestrel was surprised to discover only a small antechamber. The room was empty, with a single pair of doors breaking up the smooth expanse of wall. The massive oak doors, however, took up nearly one whole side.
“Are we in the right place?” Faeril murmured. “I thought the baelnorn’s dwelling—”
“Hush!” Kestrel closed her eyes to focus her sense of hearing. Muffled noises came from more than one place on the other side of the doors. A muted voice, the scrape of a chair, several low chuckles. She signaled to the others to remain still—and silent—while she investigated. Then she crept up to the doors and peered through the keyhole.