Mother Lolth, forgive. Forgive!
Outwardly she wore the impassive mask, but Fizzri wailed the prayer in her mind. Her goddess, however, kept silent. Fizzri fought against despair. Zollgarza missing, which meant the Arcane Script Sphere was still in their enemy’s hands as well. Two vital components lost. No! She would not let this happen.
Ulgatta seemed to sense her distress. Fizzri had given it no command, but the instinct to protect its mistress-instinct fueled by magic-took over, and the serpent’s tongue flicked out, making the barest contact with Velzick’s skin.
The warrior didn’t flinch, but under her hand, Fizzri felt the muscles rippling in his jaw. The reaction distracted her from her terror. It was exciting to watch the males struggle with their restraint, to hold themselves back from striking at their superiors.
“I see your thoughts, Velzick,” Fizzri whispered so only the scout and those standing nearest him heard. “As clearly as if I’d used magic to rip them from your mind, I see what you feel, what you want to do to me at this moment. Wouldn’t you like to be able to tell me?” She coaxed Ulgatta closer, so Velzick’s gaze involuntarily followed the serpent’s progress as it rode the back of the mistress mother’s hand. He swallowed but made no reply. “Think of it, Velzick,” she said, arousal stirring in her voice. “If you didn’t have to worry about risking your position in House Loor’Tchaan-if you didn’t have to curry my favor in the hope I might raise you higher than your fellows here … What would you do if you didn’t have those leashes to hold you back?”
He was trembling, but Velzick let the serpent glide within striking distance of his left eye. At her command, the snake would blind that eye in less than a breath. Fizzri used that thought to soothe herself, to calm the turmoil and uncertainty raging inside her.
Then, to her surprise, Velzick answered.
“Do what you will, Mistress,” he said, his normally deep, lilting voice hoarse. “I serve you to the death. I swear this on the knowledge that we are all the children of the Spider Queen.”
Oh, clever, sly tongue. Fizzri had to give him credit for his nerve.
Velzick’s response, made with such fervor and dignity in the face of the threat hovering in front of his eyes, could do nothing but honor the mistress mother. Yet Fizzri sensed the message hidden in the male’s words. She could read it in his eyes-our time is coming, his expression said, which only increased her inner struggle.
Her goddess remained silent to her pleas, but there was more in Fizzri’s thoughts than just Zollgarza’s fate. Were Fizzri and the other priestesses in Guallidurth prepared to bear the consequences of Lolth’s commands? They were the instruments of the Spider Queen’s will, but Lolth called out for magic, and it was the drow males who had answered, their time come at last to prove themselves worthy to their highest mistress and perhaps achieve an equality with the females.
Once Lolth ascended to become the new Goddess of Magic.
The vision and command from the goddess had come to drow cities throughout the Underdark. Gather and distill the essences of powerful arcane artifacts and transfer them to Lolth in dozens of sacred rituals conducted by wizards and priestesses working in tandem. The power generated would eventually allow the goddess to fashion the ultimate work of Art: the Demon Weave. When complete, it would replace even the memory of Mystra.
But at what cost? Surely Lolth would never forsake her favored daughters for arcane practitioners, for males. Let them serve their queen for now. Fizzri stroked Velzick’s cheek and slowly drew her hand away. Let them strengthen Lolth and bring glory to House Loor’Tchaan, but by the goddess, let us never allow them to forget that they are lesser in all other things, subject to the will of their mistresses. She formed the words as a second prayer to Lolth.
“Keep pressing the attacks on the dwarven outposts and maintain the reconnaissance patrols,” she commanded, raising her voice to address the whole room. “Zollgarza is missing. I want him found. We will assault the city within a tenday.” She ignored the confused murmurs that went through the group of scouts. An attack so soon gave them little time to prepare, but Fizzri didn’t concern herself about that. If Zollgarza was alive, then there was still a chance he would complete his mission and return to her. In that case, a direct attack on the city would not be necessary. But if he’d been captured, then she needed to get him back and retrieve the sphere. That was paramount.
If he was dead.…
No, she wouldn’t allow herself to think it. “Leave me,” she said, deliberately turning her back on Velzick while the scouts filed out of the temple. For a breath, she allowed herself to revel in his hatred and loathing for her, but when she was alone, Fizzri went to her private chamber.
She knelt before the altar, a polished slab of obsidian carved with prayers to Lolth. Fizzri had made most of the engravings herself from the time she was a novice. Two of the carved supplications had been made by other hands-a prayer for protection and a prayer for knowledge made by Fizzri’s first lover-long gone. Since then, the mistress mother had filled the symbols with her own blood, never letting anyone touch the altar, and now, without hesitation, she took up her ceremonial knife and put it to her flesh for another offering.
Letting the blood flow into the carvings, Fizzri recited the ceremonial words. “Always for you, Mother Lolth. My thoughts will find him. I will know if Zollgarza lives and if his task is yet undone.” On the heels of that prayer, she uttered a spell to link her awareness to Zollgarza.
Her mind traveled the hidden pathways of the Underdark, passing through ancient stone, stagnant cave waters and tunnels covered with strange, glowing fungi. Some of the creatures that dwelled there marked her passage, the cold-blooded kuo-toa and roving bands of quaggoths, but only as a vague sense of wrongness, of danger passing swiftly over their heads. Then she was gone, her awareness pointed toward Iltkazar.
Imaginative creature that she was, Fizzri thought she smelled the fire stink of dwarven forges and sweat, the little vermin scurrying around like mice in too-large holes. Zollgarza’s awareness should not be hard to discern among these lesser intelligences. With that hope, she flew freely, spreading her awareness in a wide net.
She was wholly unprepared for the pain.
Agony erupted in the mistress mother’s chest. She coughed once, dredging up blood that dripped from her mouth and nose. Dropping to her knees, Fizzri clutched the altar and pressed her cheek against the cool obsidian. Gods, the weight-it was crushing her. She struggled to draw breath as a fire spread from her chest to every nerve in her body. She collapsed in front of the altar, hands clutching her chest as if her heart might burst from it.
For a long time, she couldn’t move. The pain wracked her, obliterating all thought. She couldn’t pray either until finally, the fire receded. A dull ache lingered in her chest, flaring each time she breathed. How long until it faded?
The magic that protected Iltkazar was stronger than she’d thought-much stronger. She would not be able to find Zollgarza by that means. For now, she must wait to see if Zollgarza resurfaced. If he didn’t, she would command the army to proceed with the assault on Iltkazar. One way or another, she would get the sphere.
Fizzri dragged herself back to her knees in front of the altar. She laid her head on the blood-soaked runes and repeated her prayer. “Lolth, I will find him. I will obtain the power you seek. This I swear.”
The pain dwindled in her chest, and Fizzri felt the edge of triumph blocking out the agony. Lolth heard-and approved.
“Stand behind me,” Garn told Icelin and Ruen.
They’d crossed a narrow stone bridge that traversed a deep chasm. Drafts of frigid air wafted up from the blackness of the pit. A wide tunnel on the opposite side left room for the four of them to stand abreast.