Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,51
Ghaunadaur’s faithful had no set liturgy. Like the god they worshiped, their rituals were amorphous and ill-defined. Each priest praised the Ancient One in his own fashion. If any of the others noticed that Kâras was uttering nonsense, it wouldn’t matter. He just prayed that the Ancient One itself wasn’t listening.
A few moments later, the first of the sacrifices staggered into the altar room: an orc, her eyes glazed, a dribble of the drug she’d been forced to drink drooling from her mouth. Even from a distance, Kâras could smell its licorice-sweet scent. The tempo of the priests’ mutterings increased, found a rhythm. “Onward. Oblivion. Onward.”
With each word, the captured slave took a step forward, stumbling as if shoved by invisible hands between the two rows of priests. Compelled by their magic, the orc made her way, one halting step at a time, to the dais. At last she bumped her shins against it, fell forward, and cracked her head on the stone. She rose, her snout bloody. She levered herself up onto the first layer of the dais. Then the second. Then onto the altar stone itself.
The priests fell silent. With a wet, slurping sound, the black ooze that was Shi’drin slithered onto the altar. As it engulfed the orc, the glaze fell from her eyes. Her cry of anguish was cut short as her flesh sizzled. The stench of burned hair filled the room. For a heartbeat or two she struggled, then fell still. A pitted bone poked momentarily out of the black ooze, then got slurped back inside.
Now a second slave stumbled into the room, this one a male half-orc. Like the first sacrificial victim, he stank of the drug he’d been forced to consume. The priests began their chant anew, compelling him forward.
Sickened, Kâras played along. “Onward. Oblivion. Onward.”
One by one, eleven more captured slaves marched to the dais, climbed to the altar, and were consumed. Feeling faint, Kâras wondered if the sacrifices were ever going to end. He vomited in his throat, and harshly swallowed the bile down again.
As the thirteenth captive was being dissolved, a sound like stone being slammed by a sledge rent the air. Instantly, the priests fell silent. Heads turned. Kâras peered down his line and saw that a Y-shaped crack had opened in the altar stone and the altar had split into three pieces. Judging by the reactions of the priests, it was an auspicious omen. They seemed tense, anticipatory.
Kâras didn’t like the thought of that.
A greenish sludge oozed out of the. “The Great Devouring is at hand!”
“They have cracks and puddled on the upper level of the dais. It dribbled onto the lower level, then onto the floor. Kâras watched it, his every muscle tense. When it reached his boot, he shifted his foot slightly. Its stench made his stomach lurch. But he couldn’t very well flee, not with the others watching. He stood his ground, sweating, as the sticky green ooze flowed past his boots. He prayed it wouldn’t dissolve the leather, burn through to his feet, and reveal him as a spy.
It didn’t.
No more victims staggered through the curtain; the sacriŹfice seemed to be at an end. Yet the priests continued to sway and chant Ghaunadaur’s name. Kâras glanced at the curtain, wondering if he could slip away without anyone noticing. He decided not to risk it. Meanwhile, the green stuff kept oozing from the altar like blood from a wound. It was obviously a manifestation of Ghaunadaur. But what did it mean?
A moment later, one of the novices burst into the chamber. He threw himself onto the floor and wormed his way to the altar through the sludge, fouling his robes. “Masters!” he cried, his voice shrill with excitement. “The lake is in turmoil! It’s turned a bright purple. A spawning has begun!”
The black blob on the altar flowed upward, assumed the shape of a drow, and morphed back into Shi’drin. The Eater’s eyes grew wild with anticipation. “It is come!” he criedcome!” the other priests chanted. “His serŹvants have come!” As one, they turned and rushed from the room.
As the other priests jostled each other in an apparent frenzy to be devoured by whatever was rising out of the lake, Kâras hung back. He felt dizzy with fear. Llurthogl was spawning? Why now? Had Ghaunadaur sensed an enemy among his fanatics? Kâras glanced nervously at the green ooze that fouled his boots, wondering if it was about to consume him.