Shrouded in shadows, Revered Daughter Yvonnel X'larraz'et'soj reflected upon all that had come to pass. She knelt on the cold stone floor, her robes offering little in the way of protection from the chill. Just ahead of her came the soft, constant dripping of dark rivulets as they coursed along the grooves of the black altar and landed in the congealing pool that was cradled so lovingly in the bowls held aloft by stone demons. The smell of copper suffused the air.
It was beautiful, the chapel. She closed her eyes and reflected on earlier again, the sobbing and the screams that wafted up to her goddess like a hymn profane. How perfect a culmination of life and death, a masterpiece of the delicate art of plunging a dagger with such caring precision as to strike the heart and offer a blessed end to the tortures crafted for the amusement and pleasure of the Spider Queen. It was a duty done, a heretic removed, and a rival's position weakened.
Yvonnel was a woman of nigh limitless ambition. Lesser minds might have called her mad, but those who knew her better knew the far more unnerving truth. The priestess was terrifyingly, coldly, perfectly, sane…and in the frozen steel of that sanity was born something that far surpassed madness. She was a servant of the Goddess. That was her guiding star, her furthest reaching ambition. To serve, not to rule. It was a desire alien to most in the world, whether sunlit or dark. Drow priestesses feared Lloth, admired Her, worshipped Her, but few could claim to love the Spider Queen with anything even approaching Yvonnel's unswerving devotion. That was what had put her in this position, where the faithful had to listen to her voice even when the might of House Baenre itself wanted her crushed like an insect.
"You summoned me," Xullae said quietly from directly behind the cleric. It was no question, whatever the inflections in her voice might have intended to say. It was a habit that Yvonnel found usually amusing and occasionally aggravating.
The Revered Daughter showed no surprise on her face. Somewhere, back in the depths of her youth, she had lost the ability to be astonished. Instead, she admired Xullae for some of the many qualities she commanded: grace, discretion, and the ability to move unheard as well as unseen. That was much of what the Church needed from its servants. Yvonnel rose slowly, finishing her devotions with a symbol sketched in the air by her fingers, gold ring gleaming in the faint light of the braziers. "I did," she said, turning. "Walk with me. I wish to hear more of your pupil."
"She improves," Xullae said flatly.
Yvonnel laughed, a careless smile crossing her lovely features. It was a beautiful sound, clear and crisp as the ring of a glass bell. It had been the last thing many a victim heard. "Your reputation as a conversationalist must be unrivaled, Xullae. Orators mute themselves in awe," the priestess said smoothly. "If you would care to elaborate?"
"If I must. She has more of the gift than I anticipated. Her talents increase even without training. She explores them when I leave her unattended, to escape her boredom. I suppose it is preferable to her earlier hobby, which was causing trouble. She seeks my approval constantly. When I ignore her, she wreaks mayhem until I rebuke her, apparently in the belief that any attention is good attention. She is nimble, if weak still, and very difficult to contain or content with menial activities. She will finish them and go steal anything that isn't nailed down as if to spite me," Xullae said, her tone harsh and critical.
"You like her," Yvonnel commented with a sly smile. The scowl she earned from Xullae only served to confirm her hypothesis. "She does not need schooling as the others do?"
"She is a…natural talent. What literature on the subject calls a 'wilder'. The books confiscated from House Oblodra have been most illuminating. What sorcerors are to arcana, she is to the mind," Xullae explained in the same cold, clipped tone. "Her powers wax and wane with the fluctuations in her mood. Without control, she will be very unstable. I came to ask you for permission to abandon the standard training regimen."
"A difficult request. The Church seldom approves of such questioning of its authority," Yvonnel said as if they were discussing some third person. It was not wholly her decision: the Handmaidens of Lloth would have their say on the Goddess's behalf. She seemed to be pondering the request, however. "However, perhaps I can convince them to reconsider their stance. You say she would become unstable without control. What do you intend? We had already discussed drugs, as with the others."
Xullae shook her head sharply. "Those are not the answer. They would cripple her. You would have nothing but a shell. She has already learned to focus her mind much. It is a tool many children learn to use in the House of Abandonment. They wish to close away the pain from the rest of their being, sometimes even creating separate facets of their mind to protect themselves. No, Sabal needs to be pushed. She excels when I demand, when I hound. Allow me to test the limits and I promise you that she will be well worth the risk of the investment."
"You cannot expect me to approve of letting her off of her leash. People would talk," Yvonnel said with something approaching amusement. Her eyes flickered slightly as she paused in the hall outside of the temple and turned to read Xullae's expression.
"I will have sway over her. When the time comes, she will take her vows and then you will have the greatest leash of all," Xullae insisted. "She has considerable potential, Revered Yvonnel."
"It is a risk I am ill-inclined to take."
Xullae could feel the thoughts moving behind Yvonnel's walls, even though she couldn't see them. It was like looking into the waters of the ocean and seeing dark, dangerous shapes. She needed something that would persuade the Revered Daughter. "She could kill a mindflayer."
Yvonnel raised an eyebrow. The suggestions of thoughts continued to move, sensed despite Yvonnel's precautions. Xullae was one of the best. "We have warriors with shielding who can do that."
"Not on its own ground. Not without their little trinkets. Imagine a weapon we could send into their enclaves, supposedly under their thrall, only to have it break free and open the gates for us," Xullae said. The stern inquisitor knew now had the full consideration of the Revered Daughter. Her case made for tempting implications. Time to add more fuel to it. "Or a force that could shatter the psionic warding of heretics who know to fear us and strike straight into the depths of their mind. This is the kind of potential I'm speaking of. The powers that be will always fear such instruments of the Goddess. They know that someday they will be found wanting and that this could be turned upon them. But there are those like you and I who can see beyond ourselves. People who would gladly bring such a weapon to bear against the Spider Queen's foes."
The priestess of Lloth reflected upon this, weighing it very carefully. It would no doubt end up costing her favors to agree, but if Xullae was speaking honestly—and she had no reason to lie—then this was a proposition well worth her time and investment. She wasn't thinking solely about rooting out heretics, either. As Xullae had pointed out obliquely, there were certain powerful wojmen in the city that deserved to froth at the mouth and convulse as their consciousness was stripped apart. Yvonnel could think of a few she would particularly enjoy seeing in such a position.
Yvonnel exhaled ever so slightly. "I will…inquire. Perhaps even pressure a few to speak differently than they might upon first thought. But I promise nothing, of course."
The priestess left for her lavish quarters and Xullae in turn made for the barracks of the Yath'Abban. It was a brief walk from the Fane itself, allowing her a window into the web of the vast and busy streets of Menzoberranzan. Glittering towers and great buildings rose on either side. The city held a thousand smells, a thousand sounds. Voices hawking wares, the sharp rebukes of slavers as they handled new chattel brought in from raids, hundreds of discussions and arguments, great lizards pulling creaking wagons through avenues, a spider tender whistling as he nudged along his charges with a crook—these subtle cadences of the city rose and blended with the smells of spiced meat, crowds, slave pens, and so many other things. Xullae, however, once found little comfort in it. When first she had come to the city from the Wilds where she had lived almost wholly alone for so much of her youth, the endless ocean of minds and thoughts had almost driven her mad. But now, behind her iron walls of will, she was encased in solitude.
When the drowess moved through the streets, a gap formed around her on all sides. Chittering little goblins fought to get out of her way, without the prompting of a snapping whip or bodyguards shoving. The unflinching air of something predatory was impossible to avoid, coupled with a cold indifference. Her expression had all the concern of a shark's as it cruised through schools of fish. It did not take an expert to sense, even without psionic abilities, the presence of a mind honed to deadly purpose.
She evaluated constantly, allowing herself to skim across the surface of the roiling gray blend of thoughts that surrounded her. Red crackles of anger as minds came to a focus of violence, pale fear that scattered them just as easily, yellow anxiety curling itself into tangles. She could not exactly see these, but she felt them without use of her eyes, just as real as if she were gazing past people's eyes to the mysteries behind them. One could not keep a secret from an inquisitor who wished to hear it. For the most part, however, Xullae allowed it to wash over her like waves upon a shore. There was more information here than she would ever have time to comprehend and almost all of it contained little of use.
She snapped out of her thoughts only when her feet hit the familiar, worn steps of the Yath'Abban barracks. It was a large and rambling building with plenty of grounds, the home of the Dread Fangs of Lloth and her fellow inquisitors. Even the Eyes, spies of the Goddess, used it as a safe house when they needed it. It was a place to rest and recover even as they conducted clandestine meetings or arranged to make use of the Fangs and the inquisitors.
The drowses pressed her hand against the double doors. She could feel magic spark around her flesh and course through the stone. There was a brief surge through the impenetrable wards, and then the finely wrought adamantine door swung open without resistance or sound, as if blown by the breath of Lloth herself. Xullae walked through and it closed just as silently behind her. The main hall was a large, cavernous space with a great statue of Lloth—half spider and half woman—occupying all of the inner wall. Those cruel eyes looked down at her now, almost as if alive with intelligence. It tended to unnerve those with inconstant faith. Xullae found it familiar.
"You're back. About time," a rasping voice said from her left. It was Ryld. She recognized his rather unique voice without having to look over. The scarred and deformed male drow was just another castaway, once just a simple fighter who now made his living as a thief…and an Eye of Lloth. Not even the most careful of priestesses would look twice at him in the street with his grubby clothes and his begging bowl, but no locked or warded door in the city could keep him out if he wanted in.
"Are the patrol rosters up?" Xullae asked, her eyes focusing on the section of wall covered by a large map of Menzoberranzan and the surrounding territory held by the drow. Neatly pinned up to it were assignments, lists of names to go and places to secure. She wasn't certain if the old ones had been replaced.
In a strange way, Ryld always found Xullae's manner oddly reassuring. You always knew what you were getting, he reasoned: a cold manner and a bitter attitude. He found her constancy a refreshing change from most of the females he knew, who were so willing to play up seduction and then suddenly whip out a knife in a lust that had less to do with bed and more to do with blood. Maybe those were just the kind he attracted, though. "Yes. And your little imp has been getting into trouble while you were gone. Our visiting priestesses complained rather vehemently about her behavior towards them. Fortunately for little Sabal, she is too quick to be caught."
That did not please the inquisitor. "Pity, they might have spared my arm the exercise," Xullae said shortly.
Ryld chuckled with a sort of dark amusement. "You'd have made an excellent mother, my dear. Shall I leave you to your chastising?"
Xullae made a sharp gesture of almost banishment with her hand, indicating she wanted to be alone. The drowess wore her anger like an armor, impassive in the face of all the world could throw at her. It was difficult to elicit reactions with pain when one came to expect it and thrive on it, she had learned over the course of a long and eventful life. However, it made her a harsh teacher.
Sabal!
The psionic shout jerked the girl back into wakefulness. Sabal had concealed herself at the joining of a support arch and a statue in one of the adjoining halls, nestled in a little hiding place to nap while pursuit died away. Her pulse started to race now. That voice was unmistakably Xullae's and she did not sound happy. An unhappy Xullae usually meant an unhappy Sabal was soon to follow.
The skinny drow girl uncurled and scrambled down, racing off through the halls. She skidded to a halt in front of Xullae, her amber eyes wide and cagey.
The impenetrable walls of ice that always seemed to be present around Xullae's mind appeared even more foreboding than usual, as if the shadows of anger they cast were only heralds of darker things to come. Sabal tried not to shudder in fear and instead clenched her hands at her side, holding them there. Xullae herself looked taller and more imposing, crimson eyes narrowed and her lips pressed thin to express her displeasure. People always remarked on the stern arrogance of the inquisitor's features and a foul mood only enhanced that quality.
"What have I told you about priestesses?" Xullae asked with just the faintest hint of irritation to her impassive mask of an expression, her silver voice lower in pitch than normal.
"To stay quiet, to stay busy, and to stay away," Sabal recited back, utterly still. For such a fidgety girl, it was an impressive feat of will.
"And yet you cannot follow even the simplest of my instructions. Training room, now."
"I—" Sabal tried.
Xullae did not look amused. "Now." The word was both psionic and audible, hammered into her thoughts with such an intensity that to disobey was impossible. The girl ran and barely made it through the door before Xullae. The speed that normally served Sabal so well in escaping from her misbehavior was not sufficient now.
"Xullae, I—"
"Let us see if I can impress it into you now," her mentor said flatly. Sometimes, Sabal just wished that Xullae would snarl and become angry like a normal drow. She knew what to do with that. It had been the norm at the House of Abandonment. Instead, Xullae seemed so coldly rational and so perfectly controlled. Her fury was scientific in its precise application.
The first blow came before Sabal even had time to think, slamming into the walls that protected her mind and shattering them like glass. The girl dropped to her knees with a gasp, tears flooding her eyes reflexively. "Xullae!"
She could feel the sneer inside her own thoughts. What, you want me to be gentle with you? Do you think Lloth will be kind when it is Her you fail? Better you prick at my touch than bleed your all at Hers!
The pain only intensified from there. Sabal couldn't stifle the animal cry that clawed its way out of her throat as Xullae filled her whole being with a writhing agony. No torture could compare to this—the mind endured aware of its suffering long after a body would give out. Eventually, though, the blackness rose as fear overcame everything else, throwing up walls and closing herself off from everything.
The room went quiet. The silence was broken only by little sobs of breath from Sabal's twitching form. Xullae looked down at her charge, face impassive. It was impossible to discern what she might have been feeling by searching her expression. Finally, the inquisitor moved. She picked up the girl gently and carried her back to their shared quarters. Xullae tucked Sabal into bed, then sat down in a chair at the bed's side and waited. It was only a matter of time before the girl would wake.
It felt like days had passed to Saba when she managed to open her eyes again, but she knew it could only have been a quarter of an hour or so. Her head still throbbed painfully, but at least she was alive. Apparently Xullae wasn't completely furious with her, because she was in bed rather than laid out on the floor. The girl turned and rolled onto her side. There was her mentor in fuzzy focus, waiting patiently.
"What is this?" Xullae asked softly, touching something on the side table. Her voice was normal again, which reassured Sabal.
The girl concentrated a little and shook off the last of the fog. Her eyes slowly came back into focus. When she saw what it was, she tried to curl up in a ball and hide under the sheet. It was combination of fear and embarrassment. "It-t…umm…I…I-I made it."
Xullae turned the dagger over in her hands carefully, as if it was a cherished antique weapon. The blade was jagged, as if it had been pierced together from numerous blades that didn't match. The metal swirled, blended together not by normal means, but by the ferocious concentration of psionic energy. However, Sabal's knowledge of smithing was far from perfect, so the weight was towards the blade, which was itself not quite knife-like. It was pointed, yes, and it was about the right shape with an edge, except the fuller wandered a bit from side to side, like its maker had been distracted. The hilt was fairly simple, the grip wrapped with scraps of leather Sabal had probably scrounged in the armory. But set in the center of the pommel was a tiny silver spider that was very carefully detailed, as if she'd made a little copy of a real living one with metal.
"Where did you get the silver?"
Sabal looked nervous and shook her head a little, as if determined not to answer. She caved quickly under the scrutiny of those red eyes. "There was a coin, and they weren't using it anyway, so I just took it and ran."
Xullae raised an eyebrow slightly. "They being the priestesses?" she said even though she was fairly certain that was the case.
The way the girl looked steadfastly at the wall behind Xullae's shoulder was all the answer that the inquisitor needed.
"Why did you make this, Sabal?" It had been a stupid risk to take and the girl probably knew it. Her mentor was puzzled now more than angry.
Sabal looked absolutely wretched now, twisting the sheets in her hands. "I…" She sucked in a deep breath. "Y-you lost that knife, r-remember? The one you really l-liked? I w-was trying t-to make a new one for you, so y-you'd feel better. It h-had a sp-sp-spider too."
For the first time in a long time, Xullae looked stunned. Then the lines in her face softened slightly and the armor disappeared. She set the knife on the table and then framed Sabal's face in her hands. She was silent for a long moment, just looking into those earnest and fearful amber eyes. How was this girl still so eager for her approval after so much? Even on the heels of that little 'lesson'?
"I was angry when I came back," Xullae said finally, her silver voice tarnished slightly by an unexpected little catch in her throat. "It was…not your fault. I was cruel to you, Sabal, unfairly so. Rest now and things will be better when you wake. I promise."
Sabal looked confused as she laid back, but she nodded slightly and closed her eyes. She would do her best to sleep and hope that it was true.
The girl didn't see Xullae very carefully pick up the ugly little knife with its silver spider hilt and take it with her when she left the room.