Malvag moved his index finger above them, silently reading with the aid of the darkfire. When the time came, he and whichever of the Nightshadows had been successful in their soulthefts would read them aloud, activating the scroll's magic.
Malvag savored the irony of what was to come. The scroll had been intended to open a gate between Lolth's domain and Arvandor, so the Spider Queen could mount a second attack on the Seldarine. It had never been used, however-probably because it had been created in the final years of the Fourth Crown War, just before the ssri Tel'Quessir had been transformed into drow and driven below.
Instead it would be used by Lolth's enemies to make their god stronger. After killing Eilistraee, Vhaeraun would secretly assume that goddess's portfolio and add her worshipers to his ranks. All of the drow in the Night Above-male and female-would come under one god.
Strengthened by their worship, Vhaeraun would mount an attack on Lolth herself, and the reign of the Spider Queen would, at long last, be at an end.
The thought sent a thrill through Malvag.
It was tempered by the memory of the demonic creature that had first bound him then revived him. He shuddered. When the demon-thing had attacked him, he'd assumed it had been sent by Lolth, but after it had revived him, he hadn't been so sure. He'd later decided that it must be a thing of Selvetarm, but the Selvetargtlin had denied that, which left him wondering if the creature was Lolth's after all. The Spider Queen could certainly want Malvag to live so that his work could continue and Eilistraee be killed, no doubt about that, but the thought of Lolth meddling in what should have been purely Vhaeraun's vengeance made Malvag uneasy.
He pushed the thought aside. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted, not when so much rested on his shoulders. He would need all of his concentration to invoke the scroll's powers.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, drinking in the invisible energies that rippled back and forth in the enclosed space. The cavern couldn't sustain life for long. The air already smelled slightly stale. For one night, at least, it would suffice, and that one night was all that mattered.
A whisper of air announced the arrival of another cleric. Malvag turned and saw Urz, his red eyes glittering above his mask. The other cleric's posture was eager and his close-cropped hair stood on end, as if a shiver had just passed through him. He wore a single, wide-bladed dagger at his hip and a homespun black shirt and trousers with frayed cuffs and worn knees. He looked more like a laborer than an assassin, but that natural camouflage served him well. Urz had won Vhaeraun's favor many times over with his bold attacks on Lolth's clergy.
"Dark deeds," Malvag murmured.
Urz inclined his head, paying Malvag the respect due a higher ranking cleric.
"Were you successful?" Malvag asked.
Urz touched his mask then gave the sign for a job completed. "She put up a good fight, though," he said, "broke two of my ribs and nearly cut off my hand." He turned his right hand over, showing Malvag the fresh gray scar across his wrist just below the older burn mark. Then he waggled his fingers. "Good as new now, praise Vhaeraun, but I had to stab her, sop up the soul and get away quick. The Gray Forest was like an overturned beehive after all the noise she made."
Malvag barely listened to the details. Urz had arrived and his mask held a soul. That was all that mattered.
The Jaelre strode toward the drift disc, his hard-soled boots crunching across the crystal-studded floor. "I'm the first one here?"
"As always. I knew I could count on you."
The two males clasped arms-a form of greeting used by the surface elves. Urz's grip was tight and rough on Malvag's forearms, but Malvag returned it in equal measure before letting go.
Urz's eyes crinkled above his mask. "And the others?"
As if in answer, Valdar appeared in the cavern. The slender-boned male landed with a cat's grace on the crystals, a bloody dagger in one hand. He nodded to the others, pulled a lace-trimmed cloth out of a pocket of his piwafwi, and wiped the blade. His pink eyes held a glint of amusement.
"Sorry to be late. I had a little unfinished business to attend to. It's finished, now."
That said, he slid his dagger into a wrist-sheath. He wore a wrist-crossbow on his other arm, and the ties of his piwafwi were stiff from the ends of a strangle cord. He moved with a grace that would have put a tavern dancer to shame, picking his way with silent footfalls over the crystals on the floor. He took up a position that put him equidistant from both males, close enough that he could step inside the range of a crossbow but far enough apart that he could dance away from a drawn blade.
Malvag's eyes narrowed slightly. Valdar didn't quite trust the others yet, nor did Malvag fully trust him, but mutual trust was essential for the ritual to work.
Valdar cocked his head to the side, silently reading the scroll. Urz stood with his arms folded across his chest, staring across the cavern, waiting placidly. Malvag tapped a foot impatiently as the night lengthened. Midnight approached-the deadline Malvag had set for the others' return-and still Szorak didn't appear. Malvag started to wonder if something had happened to him. Four clerics-and four souls-would make the ritual that much more certain and would ensure that the gate opened, but it looked as though Szorak had failed them. Or perhaps-a darker thought that Malvag allowed to alight in his mind only briefly-it had been Szorak's blood on Valdar's blade. Fewer to reap the rewards.
Malvag shrugged off that thought. As long as the three could work together, it didn't matter.
"It's nearly midnight," he told the others. "We must begin."
He turned the drift disc so that the scroll faced him, and indicated where the others should stand, Urz on his right, Valdar on his left. Urz moved readily into the indicated spot, and Valdar eased in sideways.
"I will commune with Vhaeraun," he told them. "At my signal, we'll begin to read. It's important that each of you not get ahead of the others or lag behind. We-"
A startled shout filled the cavern. A drow male appeared in mid-air, arms and legs flailing as he fell. He'd materialized about a dozen paces above the cavern floor, and only just managed to check his fall in time. Levitating, he twisted awkwardly in place, his feet scrabbling against the bumpy crystal floor. Then he stood, smoothing his clothes.
"Szorak!" Urz called. "You're just in time. We were about to begin without you."
"My apologies," the newcomer said from behind his mask. "I must have miscalculated the teleport. I forgot how big this place is." He glanced around then nodded to himself. "Perfect for tonight's dark deeds."
Malvag frowned. Szorak seemed… different, somehow. It took Malvag a moment to put a dagger point on it. The voice. It was lower, huskier, and at the same time somehow tight with tension. And Szorak's body language was off. He leaned slightly forward, a posture that caused the lower half of his mask to hang away from his lips and chin, as if he was loath to touch it.
As if overhearing Malvag's thoughts, Szorak reached under his mask and rubbed his throat. "The bitch managed to cast a spell," he said, "one that transferred her injuries to me." He gave a croaking laugh. "I nearly wound up strangling myself."
Urz chuckled.
"Clumsy," Valdar breathed under his mask.
Malvag frowned. "I've never heard of such a spell."
"Nor had I." Szorak shrugged. "It must be something new the priestesses have come up with." His hand dropped away from his throat. "But I trapped a soul, nonetheless."
It was an odd turn of phrase. Trapped a soul. Not "stole." Something was wrong. Malvag didn't want to sow mistrust-Valdar was already twitchy enough-but he had a growing suspicion that "Szorak" was not who he claimed to be. He moved his hand at his side, where only Szorak could see it. I know who you are.