Resurrection

Inthracis's bookshelves. The corpses in the wall recoiled as much as their contorted forms allowed at the nearness of the god. Dead eyes stared out of the wall in horror. Even those dead whose hands and arms formed the bookshelf tried to squirm back into the wall, and a score of priceless tomes clattered to the floor. Vhaeraun eyed them and tsked.

Inthracis wondered how his corpses perceived Vhaeraun's appearance. Surely not that of a drow male.

Vhaeraun looked up and said, "Listen." He cocked his head to the side and his eyes went hard.

"Do you hear it?"

The wind outside rose and fell, carrying its message of Lolth's Chosen. The corpses near

Vhaeraun moaned again.

Inthracis nodded. "I hear it, Masked Lord. Yor'thae. It says Yor-"

Vhaeraun hissed and held up a hand, silencing Inthracis. The eyes of the corpses in the walls went wide at the demonstration of divine pique.

"Once is enough, ultroloth," said Vhaeraun. "So you hear the word, but do you know its meaning?"

Inthracis nodded slowly, fear growing in his gut, but Vhaeraun went on as though he had answered in the negative.

"The Yor'thae is the chosen vessel of the Spider Bitch. And this, all this-" With alarming suddenness, the avatar again stood behind Inthracis, hissing angrily in his ear as the fortress shook once more-"is the effort of the Queen of the Demonweb Pits to summon her Chosen and transform herself."

Inthracis gulped, sensing the god's rage, sensing the danger he was in.

Vhaeraun reappeared in the shadows across the room, and Inthracis allowed himself a breath.

Vhaeraun reached out with his good hand and ran his fingertips along the bodies in the wall.

They squirmed, moaning anew. Vhaeraun's fingers came away glistening, and he smiled.

"What do you want of me, Masked Lord?" asked Inthracis, though he knew he would not like the answer.

In an instant, Vhaeraun stood before him, teeth bare, face hot with rage.

"What I want, you insignificant insect, is my mother's heart fed to demons and shat out for my amusement! What I want, you speck of a creature-" he brandished the stump of his wrist before

Inthracis's face-"is Selvetarm's obsequious brain torn from his foul head so that I can use his empty skull as a piss pot."

Inthracis said nothing, merely stared, stood rigid, and held his breath. He was an instant from death. Even the corpses stood still and silent, as though too terrified even to moan.

Vhaeraun took a breath, visibly calmed himself, and offered Inthracis an insincere smile.

"But first things first, Inthracis the ultroloth. Let me be direct: there are three potential candidates for Yor'thae. See them now."

"Wait, Masked Lord-"

But Vhaeraun did not wait. The avatar closed his eyes, and pain knifed through Inthracis's brain. Through the pain an image of three drow females formed in his head, and three names:

Quenthel Baenre, Halisstra Melarn, and Danifae Yauntyrr.

The pain subsided, though the image remained, burned into his brain with a divine brand.

Vhaeraun said, "Each of the three are trying to find their way to the city of the Spider whore.

My mother is calling them, you see, drawing them to her, testing them as they come. One will be

Chosen, one will be her-"

The wind howled anew, and another tremor shook the plane. The word Yor'thae sounded once more through the chamber.

"Yes," Vhaeraun said, and an irritated tic caused his eye to spasm. He focused on Inthracis and said, "What I require of you is that you kill all three of the candidates."

Once again, Vhaeraun was suddenly across the library, behind a large lectern.

Inthracis could do nothing else, so he nodded. Privately, he wondered why Vhaeraun could not kill the three drow mortals himself.

The answer occurred to Inthracis a moment after the question: since the so-called Time of Troubles, the Overgod had forbade the gods from directly affecting the existences of mortals. Thus, Vhaeraun needed an ally unbound by the Overgod's edict, a non-divine ally.

The mercenary in Inthracis started to overcome his fear. He saw opportunity and took it.

"And for me, Masked Lord?" he asked, with the proper amount of deference.

Vhaeraun vanished from behind the lectern to appear beside him. Inthracis looked straight ahead, not daring to face the god.

Whorls of shadows curled around them both, black snakes that slithered along Inthracis's leathery skin. Vhaeraun held his unwounded hand before Inthracis's face, and Inthracis saw that the arm was as incorporeal as a shadow up to the elbow. With a smile, Vhaeraun reached into

Inthracis's body and clutched one of his three hearts. It stopped cold.

Agony raced through Inthracis; his breath caught, and his muscles spasmed. He arched his back, gritted his teeth, but dared not move farther or protest.

"For you?" Vhaeraun whispered in his ear. "For you this: my gratitude, something that is beyond price."

Vhaeraun clutched Inthracis's second heart, stopping it.

Inthracis's vision went blurry. He struggled to draw breath.