Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,92

lip. Quasits were such pitiful excuses for demons. She drew her dagger—the one with the spider pommel that she’d taken as a trophy of Nafay’s kill—and held it where the demon could see it. “What would you like in return for telling us, Piri? Release?”

Tears welled in the overlarge red eyes.

“Then fight the demon. Scry your master. Tell me where he is. If I believe what you tell me, I’ll skin you free and send your soul to Lolth.”

The demon’s expression suddenly changed. The quasit spoke in its own shrill-pitched voice. “Oh no!” it squeaked. “That will hurt!”

The priestess laughed. “Only for a moment, demon. And think on this: if T’lar uses that pretty little dagger of hers properly, being parted from your skin will only temporarily kill you. As long as you die here, you’ll re-manifest in the Abyss.” She gestured at his body. “Free of that annoying wizard, I might add.”

The quasit met the high priestess’s eyes briefly, then let out a heavy, sulfurous sigh. “Fine,” it said petulantly. “I’ll let him do it.” Its eyes slid sideways to T’lar. “But she has to swear by the Spider Queen, that she’ll send me back clean. No skin.”

T’lar smiled. “I swear it, by Lolth’s dark webs.”

The demon nodded. It tightened its ring hand into a fist, closed its eyes, and puckered its forehead into a frown of concentration.

The two drow waited. The silence stretched—long enough for the spider on the high priestess’s shoulders to scuttle to the ground and spin a trap-web in one corner of the room. At last the quasit’s eyes fluttered open. A high-pitched, tittering laugh burst from its lips.

“He saw him, he saw him, he saw him!” the quasit squeaked. “He was talking to a svirfneblin.”

T’lar leaned closer. “Where was he?”

The quasit giggled. “Don’t know.”

Anger hissed from T’lar’s lips.

“But he heard where he’s going! The ‘Fountains of Memory’ he said.”

T’lar glanced at the high priestess. Streea’Valsharess Zolond shrugged. It seemed she hadn’t heard of the place either.

The quasit’s head twisted so it could see T’lar. “You have what you wanted. Skin the wizard off me. Send me back to the Abyss.”

“Not yet.”

“But you swore—”

“Not until Q’arlynd Melarn is dead. Until then, you’re staying right where you are.”

“Noooo!” the quasit howled.

The hoop had almost slowed to a stop. T’lar reached out and gave it a nudge that sent it spinning again. “Yes.”

Halisstra strode through the jungle, following the priestess. She’d slain the first priestess who had disturbed the penance ritual—the one who’d come bleating about the strange song the night twist tree was singing. The second priestess had been smarter. She’d taken the time to decipher the song, and reported it to her superior, rather than interrupting Halisstra. The superior, in turn, had waited until the ritual was over. Her eyes had widened in startled alarm when Halisstra sprang off the throne and caught her by the throat.

“Wendonai?” Halisstra shouted. “Here?”

Unfortunately, the priestess couldn’t answer. Halisstra had crushed her throat. The other faithful had balked at that, but a soothing song had drawn them back into Halisstra’s web, once more eager and grateful to serve her.

The priestess who had deciphered the song pointed ahead through the jungle at a black, leafless tree growing out of the remains of a tumbled building. A mournful sound poured out of it, the sound of weeping and pleading. The sound of weakness.

“Closer,” Halisstra ordered.

The priestess didn’t hesitate. Despite the danger the tree’s song posed, she strode forward. After three steps, she crumpled to her knees, screaming. A moment later, the night twist’s magical attack washed over Halisstra. A phantasm loomed in her mind: the image of Lolth in hybrid form, a spider with Danifae’s face. You will never escape me, Lolth leered. You are not a demigod, but a mortal—and you are mine. The illusionary Lolth loomed over Halisstra, her bloated abdomen pulsing. Web oozed from her spinnerets. I will bind and break you, just as I did before. Your weakness will betray y—

Halisstra sang out a loud, clear note that shattered the illuŹsion like glass. A second song stilled the priestess’s screams. The smaller female scurried to Halisstra’s side, trembling, as Halisstra listened to the night twist’s song.

The priestess had been correct. The tree was singing Wendonai’s name.

Halisstra looked around. Moonlight, as bright as a hunŹdred torches, illuminated the jungle. Just beyond the night twist was a clearing littered with tumbled masonry. A glint caught Halisstra’s eye—a faint light, like moonlight gleaming on metal. She walked toward it. Vines,