Resurrection

"This is why, Melarn. You were always weak. It's fitting that you served a weak goddess in the end. I, however, do not."

Halisstra stared hate at Danifae and managed, "You are still a Houseless battle-captive."

Danifae sneered, stepped back, and raised her morningstar for a killing blow. When it came,

Halisstra summoned all of her strength and rolled aside.

The head of the weapon smashed into the rocks.

Halisstra found her knees and scrabbled after the Crescent Blade. She couldn't see clearly, and the pain in her ribs sent stabs through her.

The morningstar slammed into Halisstra's ribs and sent her sprawling to the rock. The pain was nearly unbearable.

Danifae loomed over her again, holding her morningstar high.

Sickening sounds came from behind Halisstra-the draegloth feeding on Feliane, lapping her blood, chewing her flesh.

"Why do you toy so with your food, Jeggred?" Danifae said, smiling. "The Pass of the

Soulreaver and the vintage blood of Quenthel Baenre await."

At that moment, Halisstra wanted death, wanted it more than anything. She closed her eyes and waited for it.

Eilistraee had failed her.

Halisstra had killed them all.

"Good-bye, Halisstra," Danifae said, and smashed her morningstar down on her former mistress's face.

Halisstra felt a flash of pain then nothing.

Danifae stared down at the bloody body of her former mistress. She had made her sacrifice,

and so she could enter the pass.

"Praise Lolth," she said, and gave Halisstra a final kick. She looked to Jeggred, who was feeding on the elf priestess's flesh. The elf's hand closed, opened. Soft moans escaped her.

Danifae smiled at the pain she must have been enduring.

"Come, Jeggred," she said. "It is time to follow after your aunt."

The draegloth looked up from his feast. Blood soaked his muzzle. Shreds of flesh hung from his teeth.

"Yes, Mistress," he said.

He rose and loped to her side, obviously reluctant to leave off his still living meal.

"How long before you kill her?" Jeggred asked. "Her and the mage?"

"In due time," Danifae answered.

Together, they walked into the Pass of the Soulreaver.

Chapter Fourteen

Gromph stood on the portico outside the temple's doors and used a divination to analyze

Geremis's personal protections. One after another, Gromph moved gently through the mage's protective spells: elemental wards, a spell that made the Dyrr wizard's flesh as hard as stone, a death ward, and … a feedback ward. Gromph raised his eyebrows at that last. The archmage rarely saw feedback wards; the lichdrow must have taught it to Geremis himself.

The feedback ward would turn back on Gromph the effect of any directly offensive spell he cast on the Dyrr wizard. The archmage would have to get rid of it.

Unfortunately, casting a spell on Geremis would cause Gromph to become visible-a foible of the invisibility spell-so he moved off to the side of the doors, amidst shadows that would camouflage him when the magic was terminated. From there, he quietly whispered the words to a dispelling dweomer, targeting only the feedback ward.

When the magic took effect, Gromph felt a tingle over his skin as he became visible. Safely hidden in darkness, a shadow within shadow, Gromph guided his magic against Geremis's feedback ward.

As delicately as a cutpurse lifting a coin pouch, the archmage assaulted Geremis's ward.

Gromph's counterspell met the magic of the Dyrr wizard and oozed over it.

In the span of only two breaths, Gromph's magic prevailed. Geremis's ward winked out.

I have you, the archmage thought.

While drow were inherently spell resistant, almost no dark elf in Menzoberranzan could resist the power of Gromph's spells without augmentation to their natural resistance. He had detected no such augmentation on Geremis. The Dyrr mage was vulnerable.

Geremis raised his bowed head and spared another glance behind him. Though he looked over and past Gromph, suspicion was writ clear on his face. He reached into his pocket to search for something, no doubt a spell component.

Gromph prepared to cast his own spell but cursed when he realized that he would need a pinch of dust to cast it. He didn't make it a habit to carry mere dust as a component because it was always readily available-at least when he could touch the corporeal world.

With nothing else for it, Gromph called upon the power of the shapechanging spell and transformed himself into the form of a drow male, though not his own form. His flesh hardened,

his body grew heavy, and soon he felt his feet on the floor. Sound and smell returned to him. The stink of stale incense wafted through the temple doors. Larikal voiced her prayers to Lolth in a low tone.

Gromph crouched low in the shadows outside the temple's doors, and Prath's piwafwi hid him almost as well as his shadow form.