Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,73

was closed. Cavatina pushed on it, praying it wasn’t locked. When she at last forced it open, a rush of liquid flowed out. She leaped back, worried it might be more acid. The force of the liquid inside the room pushed the door shut. She glanced down. Her boots were still intact, and her feet didn’t sting. The liquid probably wasn’t acid.

An ooze slid into the corridor behind her. She turned to blast it with the scepter.

Nothing happened. She’d used it once too often, draining it of its magic.

She slammed her shoulder into the door, opening it again. She braced it as a rush of water flowed out. Something carried by the flow bumped against her knees: a body.

“By all that dances,” Cavatina cried. “Rylla!”

She dragged the battle-mistress’s body into the room with her, and let what remained of the water push the door shut. As she threw the deadbolt, she heard the wet slap of the ooze striking the door. She dropped the depleted blast scepŹter down in the ankle-deep water and bent to examine the battle-mistress. Rylla’s nose looked broken. Water dribbled from her open mouth as Cavatina lifted her. Rylla appeared to have drowned.

Had her death been the fanatics’ doing, or Qilué’s?

Cavatina lay Rylla down again and drew her sword. The weapon hummed softly, ready for battle. She looked around. The compulsion glyph Horaldin had inscribed on the wall was gone—had the portal been sealed, too? She sloshed to that corner of the room and sang a detection.

The wall turned as thin as mist. The portal was still active.

Had Qilué passed through it?

Cavatina glanced at the chamber’s second exit and saw a dull brown ooze squeezing its way through the cracks between the door and its frame. Kâras wasn’t likely to show up, and she doubted he’d get past it if he did. The other ooze, meanwhile, was squeezing its way around the door she’d bolted shut.

There was only one way out now.

Into the portal.

Cavatina didn’t want to leave Rylla behind. If her body was consumed by an ooze, the battle-mistress might never be resurrected. She grabbed Rylla with her free hand, dragged her body to the portal, and stepped through it.

She emerged from the V-shaped curtain of shimmering silver into a jumble of misty-looking stone. She released Rylla—the battle-mistress’s body could remain where it was, for now—and moved cautiously to the ruined temple, sword in hand. She expected to see Ghaunadaur’s fanatics clustered around it, offering sacrifices. But as the foundation slab and its shattered columns hove into view, she saw no one. Had she reached it before the fanatics?

She must have: the symbol wasn’t glowing. The planar breach was inactive; the necessary sacrifices had not yet been made.

Nor was there any sign of Qilué.

Cavatina hesitated. What now?

Stand guard, she decided. Stay here and cut down any fanatics who made it through the portal. They would be rendered ethereal, just as she was. She could kill them. As she moved to the ruined temple, looking for the best place to make her stand, its tumbled stones came into sharper focus. A glimmer of silver caught her eye. Another portal? No, it looked more like a …

Symbol.

For a time briefer than a blink, Cavatina experienced a moment of terrible clarity. Qilué hadn’t lied: she had inscribed a symbol over Ghaunadaur’s: a powerful, potent symbol scribed in mercury and diamond dust.

A symbol of insanity.

Cavatina’s mind crumpled. She saw… She felt… That screaming! Make it stop! She dropped her sword and clapped her hands over her eyes. A bright purple glow penetrated the cracks between her fingers. The symbol! No, the symbol. Bright—it hurt her ears. Her skin felt wet. Slime. Foul taste. She spat it out. Upside down? Why was it above… ? The purple glow should have waned, but didn’t. The dancer’s name would save… Cavatina opened her mouth, but confusion came out of her ears. A presence moved past her now. Green. Slimy.

Evil.

Purple smoke. The smoke stared at her. At her. An eye smiled.

My sacrifice.

“No!” Cavatina shrieked. She spun, tumbled, flailed. Clawed away, rolled, swam through rubble. Rock bubbles. She couldn’t… her sword gone …

She had…

Failed.

Leliana ran out the door of the High House and caught the arm of the nearest priestess. “Where’s the battle-mistress? Have you seen Rylla?”

The priestess shook her head. “No! Erelda’s taken command.”

“What about the high priestess?”

“Qilué?” Another head shake. “Haven’t seen her either.”

Leliana stopped a lay worshiper who ran by, and a Nightshadow. Their answers were the same. Behind her, Cavatina