Do you know a woman named Bronwynn, of the Redleaf Clan?
Koora's mental voice, when she answered, was small and tight. There is no Redleaf Clan. Not any more. A pause, then, I was deep in the forest, hunting, when it happened. Now I hunt drow.
Sorrell blinked in surprise, but said nothing. What could be said? He remembered the murmured kindnesses, the polite words that had been spoken after his own loss. He knew that nothing he said could banish the grief he heard, loud as a tolling bell, in Koora's silence. His fists were clenched around his club; glancing down, he saw that his fingers had faded to a dull red.
Did you… He had to blink furiously before he was able to continue. Was there a child?
I was not yet a mother, thank Angharradh for small mercies. But my sister was. Three daughters, all dead.
Sorrell felt a tear furrow its way through the dirt on his cheek. It dripped, a bead of dark blue, onto the stone at his feet and faded to purple. He didn't want to hear any more. Lisa Smedtnan
Thankfully, Koora was silent.
Sorrell raised a hand to wipe his cheek-and paused as he heard a noise in the passage behind him. A faint thudding, like footsteps on stone. He started to turn to see which of the others was approaching, then remembered their magical boots.
He whirled just in time to see a monstrous shape scuttling across the ceiling of the cavern, tearing a scuff of darkness in the lichen as it ran. It looked like a cross between drow and spider-dark elf from the waist up, but with a spider's bulbous thorax and abdomen, and eight legs.
Sorrell's heart pounded as he stepped out of the crack and raised his club to meet the monster's charge. He needed room to swing his club; he'd have to count on his invisibility to hide him. Knocking the monster down into the crimson spitters would be his best chance.
Sorrell! What's happening? Pendaran's voice. Alert. Tense.
Monster attacking! Sorrell shouted back. Half spider, half drow.
The creature's eyes locked on his.
Sorrell felt a sudden chill. It must have magic! It can see A ray of indigo light flashed from one of the creature's hands. It caught Sorrell square in the chest. Dots of blackness swam before his eyes. His legs wobbled and nearly buckled. His club-suddenly too heavy-sagged in his hands. The monster whipped its abdomen forward and a line of dull brown web shot from fingerlike spinnerets at its tip. The sticky strands nearly smothered Sorrell, fouling his hair and clothing, gumming his face and eyes. He tried to pull free, but the web was stuck fast to the stone wall behind him. The more he tore at it, the more his hands became entangled. The monster, meanwhile, jammed itself into the passageway and plucked Sorrell away from the wall, then began turning him around and around. More web surged from its spinnerets, winding around his legs, binding them tightly together.
Don't let it get away! Pendaran's voice, excited. Keep it busy until we can get there.
Sorrell groaned.
As if it had heard the silent message, the monster laughed. Its voice was disturbingly elflike. Its face, however, was not. Curved fangs sprang out of its cheeks like a pair of scissors opening. Each was beaded with poison at its tip.
Sorrell's hands were trapped by the web; it would be impossible to reach the anti-venom vial on his belt. All he could do was close his eyes and pray. At first, instinctively, to Corellon Larethian, then to Shevarash. He begged the Hunter to hear his plea.
Not yet! he cried. I haven't had a chance to kill The god's reply came like a clap of thunder. A deep male voice, grim as a dirge. Day is Done.
Sorrell's eyes sprang open. He knew immediately what the god wanted, and understood what the result would be. In a quavering voice, he began the lullaby he'd composed for his son: "Birds have flown home to their nests. I know we all could use some rest…"
A flicker of what looked like white flame sprang to life around the monster's head.
"Close your eyes now, day is done…"
The flame brightened. The monster shook its head and gnashed its fangs.
"Sleep now till the morning comes…"
The monster squeezed its eyes tight against the glare and shook its head.
Tears tumbled from Sorrell's eyes as he continued to sing. The lullaby brought back memories of his son's soft cheek against his own, the smell of Remmie's milk-sweet breath and tiny arms hugged tight around Sorrell's neck, a smaller head on the pillow next to his own.
Gone now. Dead.
Sorrell had vowed, in that dark cellar, never to sing that lullaby again-never to sing again. But what was a vow, compared to a god's command?
"Go to bed, now don't you cry…"
Sorrell's voice broke then, but it had been enough. The monster collapsed on the floor of the tunnel, its eight legs jerking reflexively, claws scraping on stone. Sorrell felt hands touching him, and realized that Nairen and Adair had reached him. He fought to pull himself together as they sliced the webs from him. Distantly, he heard Pendaran's Well done, and felt a calloused hand squeeze his shoulder.
Pendaran turned away, murmuring. His hands made a gesture over the monster. Suddenly released, it sprang to its feet, revived by Pendaran's magic.
Shocked out of his grief, Sorrell snatched up his club. Before he could attack, however, Adair lowered his spear, blocking the way.
Wait, he urged. Pendaran's charming it.
Pendaran said something to the monster in a chittering voice. It grinned back at him and its body bobbed up and down. Then it turned and clambered up onto the ceiling of the cavern, motioning with one of its elflike arms for them to follow. Pendaran's lips twitched-a suppressed smile.
It captured one of the drow, he announced.
He ordered Koora to maintain her position, and Adair, Nairen, and Sorrell to follow him back across the cavern. They did, Sorrell keeping a wary eye on the monster above.
What is that thing? he asked the group.
It was Nairen who answered, as they carefully picked their way between the crimson spitters, A drider. A reject ofLolth, their goddess. Driders hate the drow as much as we do, even though they used to be drow themselves.
Sorrell shuddered. He'd heard that Lolth was a cruel and uncaring goddess, utterly without mercy; that she deformed those who displeased her. He couldn't conceive of worshiping such a deity.
If it's a drow, why aren't we killing it?
Nairen winked. Be patient.
On the far side of the cavern, the drider reached into a shoulder-deep crevice in the rock and pulled out what looked like the top of a broken staff, set with a fist-sized emerald. Chittering at Pendaran, the drider crawled around a bend in the passageway, then touched the gem to the wall. The emerald glowed, and a hole silently sprang into being in the rock. The drider scrambled through it, still holding the broken staff. A putrid smell wafted out of the opening.
Nairen? Pendaran's voice. What can you detect!
Sorrell heard a quick, whispered prayer.
It's a dead-end cavern. There's no sign of a mate. Even so, he held his sword in one hand. Ready.
Adair, keep watch fifty paces on.
The half-elf nodded at his leader, and trotted away.
Pendaran, Sorrell, and Nairen followed the drider into a cavern that was dimly illuminated by more of the phosphorescent lichen. A pool of water filled one end of it. Hanging from a web that spanned the ceiling, twisting slowly in a cocoon of sticky web, was a drow. Only a portion of face showed, the skin black against the dull white of the web. Even though no more than a day could have passed since the drow had been captured, it smelled as though the body was already decomposing. Rancid liquid dripped from it onto the floor.
There's one of them, Nairen said. We'll soon have some questions answered.
But he's dead, Sorrell protested. How-?
On three, Pendaran said, cutting Sorrell off as he met Nairen's eye.