Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,10
with her free hand.
Naxil swiftly repositioned himself, his back to hers. He held his magical dagger by the point, ready for a throw. She heard him whisper a prayer of protection. Each scanned the area, their free hand held out where the other could see it in peripheral vision. Leliana’s sword hummed softly, anticipatŹing danger.
No threat spotted, Naxil signed.
No immediate threats, Leliana agreed.
Nor was there any sign of the construct. There were, howŹever, half a dozen large jumbles of iron that might once have been other constructs, lying in rusting heaps on the floor.
Do you know this place? Naxil asked.
No.
The gold circle started to fade. Leliana squatted and touched her ring to the floor. Nothing happened. The golden glow disappeared. It looked as though they weren’t getting out of here via the portal.
Fortunately, they had another way out: a prayer that would return them to the spot on the surface that Leliana had desŹignated as her sanctuary. But she didn’t want to invoke that magic yet. She wanted to learn more about where the portal had sent them.
She decided to send a brief message to the battle-mistress, before moving out. Rylla, she sent. There’s a new portal in a dead-end between Three Pillars and Dragon Throne Cavern. I accidentally activated it. Can you scry me?
She waited. No reply came. The portal had either sent them to another planeunlikely, this certainly felt like part of the Underdarkor this place was somehow warded to prevent magical communication.
Something dripped from the ceiling onto her shoulder. A moment later she felt dampness as it soaked through her chain mail, into the padded tunic she wore underneaththen a burning as it reached her skin. Acid! She heard Naxil suck air through clenched teeth. A drop must have struck him, as well.
She sprang away from the spot, and Naxil did likewise. They looked up. Acid-slicked strands of what looked like gray mucus were oozing from one of the cracks in the ceiling, directly over the spot where they’d just been standing. The strands twitched slightly, like worms, elongating even as Leliana watched.
Gray ooze, she signed. A quick glance around confirmed her fear: the stuff was weeping from several other spots in the ceiling. In some places, acid fell in a steady dribble. In others, it dripped. A drop of it landed on her hand, stinging it.
She pointed at one of the darkened tunnels. Check it. See if it’s safe. Order given, she sprinted for the other dark tunnel and peered inside. The cracks in its floor, walls, and ceiling extended as far as she could see. Ooze seeped through the ceiling here too.
Naxil turned away from his tunnel. No good. More ooze.
Leliana hesitated. She glanced at the third exit. Was it wishful thinking, or was the floor in front of it slightly less slick? She flicked a hand: That way. If they didn’t find a safe spot soon, she’d be forced to teleport them out of here.
She had to run nearly doubled over to avoid the strands of ooze hanging from the ceiling. Acid splattered her back, dribbled in between the links in her mail, and burned its way to her skin. Other drops struck the back of her head. Naxil slipped on the acid-slick floor, nearly falling. Leliana grabbed his arm and dragged him into the tunnel.
A few paces in, the acid dribbles stopped. Though the stone here was also cracked, the gray ooze didn’t seem to like the dry heat. The farther up the tunnel they ran, the drier the floor got. At last Leliana called a halt. She gritted her teeth at the hot flares of pain in her back, shoulders, scalp, and hands. It was as if a dozen wasps were stinging her all at once. And those had just been drips. Once that ooze forced its way fully through the cracks in the cavern ceiling, there would be no going back.
Naxil’s free hand strayed to his shoulder, fingers gingerly touching an acid burn in his leather armor. He winced.
“Have you been taught the healer’s prayer?” Leliana asked softly.
Naxil nodded. “A lesser version of it.”
“Use it.”
Together they sang their prayerssoftly, their voices mere whispers in the darkness. When they were done, Naxil sighed deeply and flexed his shoulder, stretching the healed skin. “What are the battle-mistress’s orders?”
“Rylla didn’t answer my sending. Looks like we’re on our own.”
Naxil glanced back the way they’d come. “I think I know where we are.”