Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,63

white hair capping the back of his head hung in a single braid that touched the floor behind his cushion. Glittering dust covered his face, neck, and hands—and, presumably, the rest of his body under his clothes and boots—a protective abjuration capable of deflecting even the most powerful spells. Q’arlynd imagined it must feel gritty and uncomfortable, especially in the armpits and groin. But perhaps the Master of Abjuration had a spell that would negate that.

Q’arlynd noted—without looking directly at Masoj’s forehead—that it was smooth, without indentation. He wondered if Masoj was one of the two who’d been promised the chance to claim a kiira. Seldszar was playing his pieces close to his chest on that one. Even Q’arlynd didn’t know which two masters, besides Seldszar, were descended from Miyeritari stock.

Seldszar sat with his arms folded. Even though they hid the largest of the eyes embroidered on his piwafwi, the other eyes all seemed to stare vigilantly in every direction at once. Seldszar’s own eyes—a strange, pale yellow—remained fixed on the crystal spheres orbiting his head. Clear eyelids swept across his eyes every few heartbeats.

Though Seldszar never removed his gaze from his crystals, Q’arlynd felt the master’s attention shift to him. “Master Q’arlynd,” Seldszar said. “Thank you for joining us.”

Q’arlynd sat straighter. Master. He loved the sound of the word. He inclined his head in acknowledgement of Seldszar’s formal greeting.

Masoj shifted slightly, his bony knees creaking. “Let’s get to the point, shall we? My vote wasn’t enough. You require someŹthing else from me before I can claim my prize. What?”

Ah, Q’arlynd thought. The Master of Abjuration had been promised a kiira. Whether Masoj’s bloodline was pure enough for him to claim it, however, remained to be seen.

“Yes, young Master Q’arlynd,” Urlryn said. His voice dropped just enough on the title to imply scorn, without openly stating it. An act, for Masoj’s benefit. Urlryn didn’t want the Master of Abjuration to know how much hope he’d balanced on the knife’s edge of this meeting. Urlryn’s College had been greatly weakened by the augmented Faerzress— though not nearly as severely as the College of Divination. He nodded across the table at Seldszar. “Tell us what our combined centuries of study couldn’t. How is the Faerzress to be unmade?”

“It isn’t,” Q’arlynd answered bluntly. “Sshamath’s Faerzress will remain long after we four are dust. What we will do, instead, is remove ourselves from it. Sever the link between drow and Faerzress.”

“All drow?” Urlryn asked—another scripted question.

Q’arlynd shook his head. He repeated what his ancestors had told him. “Not all. Those who worship the Spider Queen will derive no benefit from our casting.”

He waited. This was the moment of revelation. Seldszar had been able to learn much about Masoj, but not his faith. If the Master of Abjuration worshiped Lolth, these careful negotiations would be for naught.

” ‘Our’ casting?” Masoj asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Q’arlynd touched the lorestone on his forehead. “I’ll be present, though not actively participating. The ancestors of House Melarn will be on hand to provide advice, should you three have any questions.”

We stand ready, they whispered.

Masoj nodded, but his attention was on the other two masŹters. “What spell am I to provide?”

Q’arlynd hid a sigh of relief. Masoj wasn’t a spider kisser. “The casting is complex, requiring several participants,” he explained. “The Colleges of Masters Seldszar and Urlryn will provide mages to cast the simpler abjurations: those that break enchantments and remove curses. I have also secured a promise of assistance from a priestess capable of evoking a miracle.”

Masoj’s eyebrow rose a little farther. He didn’t ask which deity the priestess honored—that was easy enough for him to guess, thanks to Guldor’s accusations at the Conclave. Q’arlynd wondered how Masoj would react when he actually met Qilué.

“What we need from you,” Q’arlynd continued, “is your expertise in reversing magical imprisonments.”

“Where is the abjuration to be cast?” Masoj asked.

“We don’t know yet.”

Masoj’s nostrils flared slightly.

“But we will in a moment,” Seldszar interjected. He nodded at the decanter. “A vision will reveal it presently. That’s why I invited each of you here. One of us may recognize something the others do not.”

That wasn’t quite true, Q’arlynd reflected. Masoj wasn’t nearly as well versed in ancient lore as the other two masters, and he wouldn’t be that useful. Letting him observe the vision first hand, however, would give the impression that the others had nothing to hide.

Masoj folded his arms. “And if I refuse to participate?”

Seldszar lifted his hands, fingers poised. “Then you’ll never learn