Resurrection

Inthracis smiled at his pets, even as he ran his plan through his mind. He had been unable to scry any of the three priestesses-he did not know why-and Vhaeraun's avatar had not shown himself again. Still, he dared not disobey the Masked Lord's command.

Inthracis would use a simple spell to show the Black Horn Regiment where it was to go-the fiery, blasted heath of the Plains of Soulfire, in the shadow of Lolth's city and the Infinite Web-

and go they would. Inthracis knew the plains to be uninhabited but for the tortured souls that burned in the sky above them-and perhaps a few of Lolth's eight-legged pets.

"Inthracis! Inthracis!"

The time had come.

Without another word, he threw open the doors and strode forward onto the high balcony that overlooked the assembly hall. The cheer that greeted him from below sent flakes of skin raining from the ceiling, shook the walls of Corpsehaven like one of the Blood Rift's frequent earthquakes.

He looked down on the regiment. Rows of squat, beetle-like mezzoloths looked up at him with their red, compound eyes. They stood on two legs, using the other four to wield their polearms. Plates of armor draped their black carapaces. Their mandibles offered soft clicks. The larger nycaloths moved amongst them, calling for quiet.

Muscles rippled under the green scales of the gargoylish nycaloths as they moved. Huge axes hung from their backs. Four clawed hands erupted from their muscular chests, and their sleek heads sported two horns, limned black, of course.

Inthracis raised his hands, and the multitude fell silent. Only the howl of the wind outside disturbed the moment. In its shriek, Inthracis still heard the echo of Lolth's call, but softer:

"Yor'thae."

Inthracis ignored it, except to hope that the diminishment of the call indicated the diminishment of Lolth.

He willed a spell to amplify his voice. When he spoke, his softly uttered words sounded as loud and clear in the ears of his troops as if he had stood beside them.

"There are drow priestesses that we must kill," he said. "And we must do it under the eyes of the Spider Queen herself."

A ripple ran through the lines. All knew that something had been happening recently with

Lolth.

Inthracis spoke the words to his spell and called up a towering image of the Ereilir Vor. A

green mist hung over a pockmarked landscape. Pools of caustic fluid bubbled their stink into the air. Glowing souls burned in arcane fire in the sky.

Beyond the plains, Lolth's city loomed, a great, crawling citadel of iron set among the Infinite

Web. Millions of arachnids scurried along its strands.

Another ripple ran through the lines. No doubt some recognized the locale.

"That is where we will do battle," he called. "And here is our prey."

Drawing upon the mental image placed in his mind by Vhaeraun, he spoke aloud the words to another spell and caused an image of the three priestesses to take shape before the regiment.

"All three must die," he said, "and an extra twenty-five souls from my cache to those who strike the killing blow."

A roar answered him and he nodded.

The Black Horn Regiment was ready. If Vhaeraun was right, and one of the three drow priestesses was or was to be Lolth's Yor'thae, then the Spider Queen's Chosen would never reach her goddess's side.

Chapter Eleven

Day was drawing near. The nalfeshnee and chasme flew on. The mountains grew larger and larger in Pharaun's sight. Though perhaps a league away, they stood so tall they looked like a wall of black rock that never ended. He knew that no one could ever go over them. There was only one way through-the Pass of the Soulreaver.

Souls streamed overhead, angling downward and flowing toward the base of the mountains.

The nalfeshnee eyed the glowing souls hungrily as they passed, but his fear of Quenthel kept him from doing anything other than looking. The chasme continued to whine at the heaviness of his load.

As the mountains loomed closer and closer, Pharaun caught Quenthel looking back, not at him but at the horizon line. Pharaun turned to watch it too, expecting to see the light of the rising sun once again summon forth Lolth's children for the Teeming.

The sun peeked over the edge of the world, casting its dim red light across the landscape. To

Pharaun's surprise, nothing happened.

The light oozed over the rocks, holes, and pits, but no spiders came forth to greet it.

It appeared that the Teeming was over. Strange, that so great a degree of violence could erupt and end with such suddenness. Pharaun had a peculiar sense that the Demonweb Pits was holding its breath, waiting for something.

When he turned back around, he found Quenthel staring at him. With exaggerated gestures,

she signed, Be prepared when we land. But do nothing except at my command.

Pharaun nodded in understanding. The time for the confrontation had come at last.