Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,105

the urge to clench his fists in frustration. “Qilué,” he whispered. “Can you hear me? It’s nearly time for the casting!”

Behind him, mages from the school of divination streamed into the cavern, carrying boxes filled with the enchanted items necessary to fuel the spells. The items were all from the vaults of Seldszar’s College, as attempting to persuade the highly suspicious Urlryn and Masoj to contribute would have strained their already fragile alliance to the breakŹing point.

Eldrinn supervised the placement of these valuables, while Alexa scribed the teleportation circle that would convey Q’arlynd and the other three masters to the ancient temple. She’d been forced to draw it well away from the city, in this damp cavern, in order to be clear of the Faerzress. The cool, bare walls with their trickles of water would have been soothŹing, in other circumstances.

“Qilué!” Q’arlynd hissed again. “It’s time! Where are you?”

“Is something wrong?” a voice behind him asked.

Q’arlynd spun. Seldszar sat cross-legged on a driftdisc, dark lenses shielding his eyes in preparation for his imminent journey to the World Above. Lying to him would serve no purpose. For all Q’arlynd knew, the Master of Divination was already reading his thoughts. “I can’t reach Lady Qilué,” Q’arlynd admitted. “She promised she’d participate—that she would come the instant she received my summons. But—”

“Does she realize the importance of what we’re about to do?”

“Yes. Of course. It will be of enormous benefit to her faith. If the Faerzress no longer draws the drow below, her followŹers will have an easier time convincing them to come to the surface.”

Out of the darkness, and into the moonlight.

Q’arlynd startled. Had he just said that aloud? He cleared his throat. “Could we put the casting off for a little while? Until we’ve located her?”

Seldszar shook his head. “Too much is at stake. By now, spies from the other Colleges will have noticed the shifting of so many magical items. They’re bound to either make a grab for them or attack our Colleges while we’re away. To delay would give them time to marshal their forces—and it might cost us the other masters’ support.” His head shifted slightly as he scrutinized one of the crystals orbiting his head. “Speaking of which, Masters Masoj and Urlryn will be here momentarily.”

“I see. This cycle, then.”

“Immediately—if not sooner.” Seldszar glanced briefly at Q’arlynd. “Where is Lady Qilué mostly likely to be?”

“In the Promenade.”

“Describe it. And describe her.”

“If she’s in the temple, you won’t be able to scry her,” Q’arlynd told him. “The Promenade is warded against…” His voice trailed off as he saw the look Seldszar was giving him over the top of those dark lenses.

He did as Seldszar asked. When he’d finished, Seldszar chanted a divination, and sat in silence for several moments. His lips parted, as if in surprise. Then a muscle in his jaw clenched.

“Were you able to see the Promenade?”

“I was. There were no priestesses there. Every cavern I scried was awash in oozes.”

Q’arlynd felt a profound sorrow. To his surprise, hearing at arm’s length that the Promenade had been lost struck even deeper than watching, first-hand, the violent demise of Ched Nasad, the city of his birth. “But surely it… Qilué …”

“Is neither within her temple, nor anywhere else I can divine. She’s gone.”

The certainty with which Seldszar said this worried Q’arlynd. He grasped at threads. “There’s another shrine, in the Misty Forest. I know the priestess who presides there. I saved her life, once. Lady Rowaan may know what’s become of Qilué. Even if she doesn’t, she may be able to provide someone of equal stature.”

“Go then. Don’t waste time.”

Q’arlynd bowed. He concentrated on the burl trees that housed the priestesses, spoke a word, and teleported. An instant later, he stood in a forest beside a massive tree. A thought sent him levitating to the nearest burl. As he rose, he saw its door was slightly open. Suddenly wary, he cast a protective spell. A flick of his fingers eased the door open from afar. He peered in and saw there was no one inside. The room within the hollowed-out burl looked as though it had recently been occupied, though: clothes hung from pegs, and the remains of a meal stood on the table, next to a half-full goblet. Wind blew through the branches above, making them creak and groan.

“Lady Rowaan?” he called. “Is anyone here?” He drifted upward, and knocked on the next door. It didn’t open. He tried again at another door: again, no response.