Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,103

Inn, she pulled a pinch of grave dust from a pocket, tossed it ahead of her, and spoke a divination. It revealed a man in shabby clothes, lurking outside the inn’s door. He started as he noticed Laeral looking at him, then slunk away through the foul-smelling muck that mired the street. Laeral swept her hand up, directing her spell at the minotaur’s cage—and sighed in relief as Cavatina became visible. The Darksong Knight “stood” in mid-air beside the cage, peering into it intently and shouting at the minotaur, who shouted back at her. The words they hurled at each other were inaudible, as the spell revealed things to the eyes only.

Passersby craned their heads to look up at the spectacle. One nudged another with an elbow. Laeral picked out the words “Eilistraee” and “priestess” in his whispered comment. Ignoring them, Laeral spoke an incantation and made a twistŹing gesture. Cavatina’s body visibly solidified, and her shouts became audible as she was wrenched, fully, into the mateŹrial world. As she tumbled,. Laeral snapped out a word and pointed. Cavatina jerked to a halt a pace above the ground, and slowly drifted downward.

She landed, and began writhing violently. Her fists pounded the paving stones, and her body twisted this way and that, as if she were dodging blows from an unseen opponent. “The symbol of slime!” she shouted. “Sacrifice the dance to make the eye stop! It’s looking at you! We can’t allow it to come or it’s lost the…”

Laeral started. Cavatina was raving like a madwoman.

Behind her, she heard a chuckle and a derisive comment. “.. . what they deserved. We won’t have to worry about the Promenade no more. It’s—”

She whirled and glared at the speaker: a drow who, judging by the heavy manacles he carried in one hand, was a slaver. “What did you just say? What’s happened to the Promenade?”

The drow laughed. “Ask your friend.” He mocked her with a bow and strode away.

Laeral was tempted to send a bolt from her wand sizzling through him, but there were more urgent matters to deal with. She rushed to Cavatina’s side and tried to help the Darksong Knight to her feet, but Cavatina screamed and jerked away. Laeral pulled a pouch from her pocket, tipped out the preserved snake’s tongue it held, and clenched it in her fist. She touched her hand to her lips. “I can help you,”

she told the Darksong Knight in a soothing voice. “Please follow me.”

Calmed by magic, Cavatina followed Laeral through Skullport’s garbage-strewn streets. She mumbled as she walked. The odd word was intelligible—”slime” and “gate” and “battle”—but Laeral could make no sense of what Cavatina was muttering. It was clear, however, that some calamity had overtaken the Promenade. When Cavatina suddenly shouted the name “Ghaunadaur!” Laeral knew what had happened: another attack by the Ancient One’s fanatics. Of all the times Qilué might have chosen to draw Wendonai’s taint into herself, this must surely be the worst.

Yet another indication that the time hadn’t been of Qilué’s choosing.

Laeral’s destination was just ahead: the Sisters Three Waxworks. Kaitlyn and her sisters were friends of Laeral’s, devotees of Chauntea who posed as simple candle makers. They kept a stock of healing potions on hand, and were adept at restorative spells. Whatever madness afflicted Cavatina, they’d be able to cure it. Laeral opened the door of the shop and coaxed the Darksong Knight inside. “Enter,” she said, touching the fist that held the snake tongue to her lips as she spoke. “You’ll find peace, here.”

Cavatina stumbled into the candlelit shop. Laeral closed the door on the gaggle of Skullport residents who’d tagged along after them, mocking the Darksong Knight by imitating her frenzied, uncoordinated motions. “Kaitlyn,” Laeral said to the woman behind the counter as she bolted the door shut. “My friend needs your help. She—”

Cavatina screamed and flattened herself against a wall, knocking over a display of scented candles. An instant later, her terror switched to rage. She hurled herself at a candle that gutŹtered on the counter. “The ooze!” she screamed. Her fists pounded into the soft purple candle, splattering molten wax across the counter. “We have to stop the temple before the glow fills the river with the slime of the death and staunch the flow of blood!”

Kaitlyn had been arranging a display of candles on a shelf when Laeral and Cavatina entered. The brown-haired woman’s mouth dropped open in surprise as Cavatina attacked her merchandise, but she sprang quickly into action. She