Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,17

the room beyond. The guard—an ordinary foot soldier, armed with mace and shield—came staggering out of it, retching. “Dark Lady,” she gasped. “I couldn’t stop …”

Whatever she’d been trying to say was lost as she doubled over and vomited. One hand flailed behind her. That way, she signed.

Cavatina shouted a song of dispelling that tore the noxious fog to shreds. She ran into the hall, alert for the slightest sound. She could see only a fraction of the room. Floor-to-ceiling stone partitions, lined up down the middle of the chamber like pews in a temple, blocked most of it from sight.

She heard the peal of an unsheathed singing sword from the far side of the room, followed by the battle-mistress’s shout. “Cavatina! I’m in position! Northeast corner.”

“Southwest corner!” Cavatina shouted back. Priestesses crowded behind her. At least one was a Protector, and Cavatina could hear the battle song of a singing sword harŹmonizing with her own weapon. It turned out to be Chizra. She greeted Cavatina with a terse nod.

Cavatina ordered Chizra and four other priestesses into the room. They formed up, weapons ready, then at her signal strode from one side of the room to the other, each moving between two partition walls. With their swords sweeping the air in front of them, they sang prayers that would strip the dretch of any concealments. When they reached the far side of the hall, they sang out in unison. “All clear!”

“Cavatina!” Rylla called from the far corner of the room. “Could the dretch have turned aside and entered the Cavern of Song?”

“No,” Cavatina shouted back. “I sang a true seeing. It defiŹnitely came this way.”

The gray-faced guard, at last in control of her stomach, nodded in rueful agreement.

Cavatina ordered the nearest priestess to stand guard, in case the dretch doubled back. Then she hurried to the far corner of the room. The battle-mistress stood at the room’s second exit, a distant look in her pale gray eyes, her lips moving soundlessly. She was obviously listening—and replying—to a report from a searcher elsewhere in the temple.

Rylla was large, even for a female. Her broad shoulders and lighter skin were a legacy of her human father. She was an unusual choice for battle-mistress, but these were unusual times. Although she carried her sword, she was without belt or scabbard, and unarmored; she obviously hadn’t had time to don her chainmail before responding to Cavatina’s urgent sending.

Rylla nodded in agreement with whatever she’d just heard, then turned to Cavatina. “There’s no sign of the dretch in the Hall of Healing. Nor in the Cavern of Song. It doesn’t seem to have made it past this point. Another of the portals must have become active.”

“The real question is how it got into the Promenade in the first place,” Cavatina said. “How did it get past our wards?”

Rylla stared at Cavatina. “You’re the expert in hunting demons. You tell me.”

Cavatina had a bad feeling about this. The dretch’s sudden appearance was all too reminiscent of the Selvetargtlin onslaught of three and a half years ago, and their trick of using ensorcelled gems to jump to the Promenade. She wondered if another attack were imminent.

She glanced at the closest partition wall. Like the others, it was carved in low relief with the likeness of two archways—decorative arches only, since the middle of each was solid stone. There were eight, in total. Each had once been a portal, but the magic that had sustained them had faltered centuŹries ago, when Netheril fell. Only one of the arches was still active, and then sporadically. Once it sputtered to life, it might remain open for the space of a heartbeat—or for more than a month. It led to the Hall of Empty Arches from a deeper level of Undermountain that was once part of a dwarven mithral mine predating even Netheril.

The occasional adventurer blundered through this portal, usually badly battered and in need of healing by the time it opened. Qilué had thus decreed that it not be sealed. Those who agreed to abide by the rules of song and sword were offered healing in the nearby hall. Those who didn’t were either blindfolded and removed from the Promenade—or, if they proved hostile, were put to the sword.

Rylla motioned for Cavatina to follow, then sang a hymn. She walked slowly through the room, her free hand briefly passing across the front of each of the arches. “Dead. Nothing. Still dead …”

Cavatina followed, sword at the ready.

Rylla passed her hand