Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,61
poised. Her arm whipped forward, and the dagger flashed through the air. Q’arlynd twisted aside and hurled a lightning bolt at her. She dodged, faster than his eye could follow. The lightning struck the shelf behind her, exploding it apart and setting several scrolls on fire. Q’arlynd frantically searched for his assailant, and felt a sharp pain in his side as he moved. He touched his shirt, and his hand came away bloody. Unlike her, he hadn’t dodged quickly enough.
He saw a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye: her kick. Her foot slammed into his face. Spitting blood, he went down. He landed on his back, bent across his cushion like a sacrifice on an altar stone. She hurled herself on top of him, straddling his stomach, hooking her legs around his, and twining her fingers in his so he couldn’t gesture. Her legs squeezed. He gasped as the wound on his side pulled open and tried to buck her off, but she was too strong. Swift as a striking spider, she transferred both of his hands to one of hers. Her free hand scooped up her dagger, and she jammed the hilt into his mouth like a bit. He tasted metal and sweat-impregnated leather, and the legs of the spider-shaped pommel dug sharply into his cheek. She forced his head back, pushing so hard he thought his neck would snap. Involuntary tears sprung to his eyes. He tried not to gag.
“I could kill you,” she told him. “Quicker than a blink.” The dagger jerked for emphasis. He gurgled from the pain, tasting the blood that slid down his throat from his split lips. “But first, I offer you the opportunity to do penance.”
The arousal he’d felt a moment ago was gone. Fear had replaced it, along with confusion. He tried to talk, but all that came out was, “Whuhwhuh?”
“You’re Eilistraee’s,” she hissed. “Forswear her, and live. Embrace the Lady Penitent. Embrace Lolth.”
Q’arlynd felt sweat break out on his forehead. Not so long ago, it would have been easy to renounce Eilistraee. That was no longer possible. His ancestors whispered fiercely at him from within the lorestone. Fight her, they urged. Die proudly, with Eilistraee’s song on your lips! Q’arlynd found himself swept up in their strident chorus, unable to speak the words T’lar had ordered him to. Nor did he want to, he suddenly realized. He took comfort in the fact that it was Eilistraee, rather than Lolth, who would claim his soul after death. He finally understood what Leliana had tried to explain to him, back when they’d first met: that to have tried, even if failure was the result, was more worthy than to surrender and surŹvive. He remembered her words still: “To Eilistraee, struggle is honored equally with success.”
Of course, to pretend to surrender wouldn’t hurt.
“Will you do penance?” T’lar asked. She stared at him intently, her lithe body silhouetted by the light of the burning scroll shelf.
Q’arlynd managed the slightest of nods.
She removed her dagger from his mouth and reversed it. The point pricked his neck. He didn’t dare swallow, lest it’s the razor-sharp steel slice open the bulge in his throat.
T’lar smiled. “Pledge yourself to Lolth, then, and be redeemed. Refuse, and I’ll open your throat. You’ll be dead before your magic can save you.”
Q’arlynd opened his bloody lips, drew breath, and prepared to speak the only spell that might save him. It required no gestures, no components. Just a single word.
Whether it would work given that Sshamath was surŹrounded by Faerzress, was an open question. He decided to aim for somewhere close at hand.
“Da’bauth!” he spat.
Magic wrenched him sideways through space. He landed hard on his back in the hallway outside his study, cracking his head on the floor. He shook off the pain and sprang to his feet. With a wave, he unlocked the door. Wrenching it open, he hurled a spell into the room. Yellowish green vapor poured from his palm, filling his study with a deadly, swirling cloud. He slammed the door shut and locked it again.
He waited, using the beats of his pounding heart to mark the time. After twice the amount of time required, he cast a protective spell on himself and opened the door. His study was a shambles. Burning scrolls littered the floor. Everything was dusted with the residue of the poisonous fog he’d conjured. He scanned the room for footprints, but saw none. Nor did he see T’lar, even when he