Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,70

As she drew closer to the open double doors, she heard shouting over the ring of the alarms. From the distance came a dull whumph that sounded like an explosion.

She sang a protective hymn and stepped outside. Just ahead, a priestess herded a gaggle of lay worshipers away from the direction the explosion had come from. A half-elf and a drow staggered after them, carrying a body on a drift disc that no longer worked. Cavatina couldn’t tell if the victim was male or female, as much of the body had dissolved. A Protector charged by in the opposite direction, singing sword pealing.

She heard what sounded like a battle raging to the south, in the direction of the Stronghall. She hurried to the corridor that linked the cavern with that one. As she drew closer, she saw a figure running down the corridor. The floor behind him was covered in glittering sparks. These surged forward like a moving ankle-high carpet, contained within a gelatiŹnous mass.

An ooze—within the Promenade! How had it penetrated so deep into the temple? The Protectors should have thrown up a songwall to contain it.

The running figure wore a purple robe with a leering black eye on the front of his tabard—Ghaunadaur’s symbol. His anxŹious expression and frightened glances over one shoulder suggested he wasn’t in control of the ooze. As it threatened to overtake him, he halted and raised his tentacle rod. He whipped it forward, lashing at the ooze with its tentacles. In that same instant, the monster bulged and squirted out a line of emberŹlike motes. Tentacles met glitterfire in a thundering explosion. Waves of heat and cold exploded out of the corridor.

Qilué’s scepter grew warm as it absorbed the heat. But it proved no protection against the cold. Cavatina drew in a lungful of icy air, and shivered. She marveled at what she’d just seen: Ghaunadaur’s faithful, fighting each other?

Before the fanatic could turn, she sang a hymn that renŹdered him rigid. He toppled. She ran to where he lay, intending to drag him out of harm’s way and question him at sword point. The glittering ooze was faster however. It was about to engulf her fallen foe.

She raised the scepter. “Eilistraee!” she cried. “Smite this abomination with your song!”

A peal sounded from the scepter—louder, even, than the clanging alarms. Sound waves shimmered through the air, expanding into a cone that slammed into the ooze. The glitterŹing monster was blown back like a yanked carpet folding upon itself. The ooze surged forward again, but Cavatina blasted it a second time, and a third. As the third soundburst struck, the ooze exploded, splattering golden sparks onto the wall. These glowed for a moment, then faded. A few smears of mucous-like goo, dotted with black soot, were all that remained of the ooze.

The fanatic groaned. His robe smoldered in spots, and was damp with melted frost in other places. As he flopped over, Cavatina recognized him. Kâras, in disguise! He must have been among the spies Qilué sent out.

She dispelled her hymn and extended a hand. “What’s going on, Kâras?”

The Nightshadow rose shakily to his feet. “I just came from Llurth Dreir,” he shouted back over the clangor of alarms. “Qilué’s orders: I brought Ghaunadaur’s fanatics through a portal. I was to lead them into a trap, but oozes followed us.”

He yanked a black ring off his thumb and flung it aside, then kicked the rod after it. The rod rolled away, its limp tentacles flopping. He spoke a word, and his robe and tabard transformed into a close-fitting black shirt and trousers; his sash shimmered and became a mask. Tying it into place around his face seemed to calm him. All traces of the frustraŹtion he’d shown a moment ago disappeared.

Cavatina shook her head in exasperation. “Couldn’t you tell something was wrong with Qilué?” She had to shout to be heard over the clanging alarms. “With this ‘plan’ of hers? It didn’t occur to you to question the logic of leading our enemies into the heart of the Promenade?”

Kâras met her eyes. “She’s the high priestess. Through her, the Masked Lady commands—and I obey.”

“Did the fanatics enter the trap?”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure. I didn’t see what happened. The ooze chased me this way.” He eased back a step, expectŹing a reprimand. Yet this wasn’t his fault. He’d only done as Qilué had ordered.

Four priestesses ran past, toward the fighting. As soon as they spotted Cavatina, their fearful expressions vanished. They shouted that fanatics,