"...We know little about the artifact, save that it is extremely powerful when awakened and in the hands of a heretic. However, we have learned that all of the previous bearers have been—" the speaker's mouth twisted— "'clerics,' unlike the current bearer—"
Lixarin shook herself out of her stupor at the speaker's final words. "A moment, Kistariel—how can we be certain that this...Del'rania?...is not a cleric? She did take the thing after all. How would she know what it is, unless she was a heretical priestess?"
The Librarian glared at her, infuriated by the lack of titles. How that hot-head had managed to claw her way to such a position, Lixarin did not know; the woman was all arrogance and anger, with very little wit aside from book smarts—she was a wizard, for Lolth's sake, and why any self-respecting female would wish to be a spellslinger Lixarin did not know!
Still, she was smart enough not to take her anger any farther than glaring. A Librarian did not hold the privilege to sit on a Council; Kistarial was here on invitation alone, and could easily be executed for any insult to the Council members, real or perceived. Lixarin was trying her hardest to find insult in the woman's words; Kistarial deserved it, for usurping her niece's rightful place.
"I have considered it, Lixarin-kismat," replied the Librarian slowly. You can almost hear her pebble-sized brain churning as it hunts for the right words, Lixarin thought with disgust. "We have examined her background in great detail, and it appears that she was merely some low-born thief. Talented, certainly, but nothing more. Furthermore, there is some indication that the artifact itself is slightly intelligent—it may pick its bearers."
"That is just as bad!" barked Lixarin. "You've already told us that it is one of the holiest objects of that heretical 'faith.' Surely it would choose someone very open to heresy if not already an ardent follower as its bearer!"
"As the Lady Kismat says," replied Kistarial with a curtsy. "Anyways, as I was saying before..."
"Never mind that." Janarelle rose to her feet. "The only thing of importance is that the heretic remains loose, with the artifact in her hands. We do not know if the artifact has awakened, but considering that she has rung from our forces in the past, I believe that the artifact still sleeps. However, the longer we wait, the greater the chances that the artifact will awaken, giving the heretics and their so-called goddess an unneeded boost. Of course, those surface-dwelling wenches have never been a threat to us and never will be, but...let us not take chances. Therefore, I advise the Council to make strength their first priority and secrecy their second in choosing a squad to slay the heretic. It's a pity she cannot be brought back to the city for a proper execution," she sighed, a petulant expression flitting across her child-like face, "but the risk is too great."
"A moment, Archpriestess," drawled Tis'ganath, standing up. "If I recall correctly, it was you who recommended secrecy over force. After all, it is best if we do not alert those surface dwellers to our hunt. No doubt that the heretics have learned about the artifact from their 'goddess' and are searching for it also. What if they discover our movements? Surely they would interfere, or worse, track them in case we have found the artifact. And we can certainly do without any meddling from the Ralgir Confederation." She sat down, radiating self-satisfaction in some subtle manner.
Lixarin frowned. While the everlasting feud between the Archpriestess and the most powerful kismat in the city was quite entertaining, now was not the time! Lolth had told them to put aside all internal feuds to work together against this new threat.
Janarelle smiled sweetly. It was said that when Janarelle smiled, dragons trembled in their lairs. "Thank you, Tis'ganath—you don't mind if I call you that? after all, we are comrades, aren't we?—for remembering the importance of secrecy. In retrospect, I realize that my mistake was to think that secrecy was more important than force. Strangely enough, I recall that you objected at our last meeting to the same tactics you appear to support now, claiming then that we should make strength our first priority. Your many objections lead me to believe that you must have some sort of plan for killing the heretic. Therefore I nominate you to organize the effort to capture and kill the heretic." Her smile widened. "Does anyone second my nomination?"
The murmurs that had sprung up around the hall suddenly went quiet. Lixarin could tell that many would be glad to see Tis'ganath knocked down a notch or two...but to second Janarelle's suggestion was risky. Tis'ganath's proposed job would be dangerous—failure to capture the heretic might well backfire and cause the artifact to awaken. Anyone who seconded the notion to give the powerful kismat such a dangerous task would surely earn her enmity for a long time.
Lixarin slowly rose. "I'll second the nomination," she said loudly, her voice echoing throughout the cavern. There was a moment of frozen silence, then—
"Thank you, Lixarin-kismat," Janarelle smiled. Louder murmurs broke out. "May the Council vote on the nomination?"
The vote was almost unanimous. "The Council has decided," proclaimed Suradin in ringing tones. "Tis'ganath Shaltiel shall henceforth lead the efforts to kill the heretic." The moderator sat down.
"I...gratefully accept the responsibilities given to me by the council," replied Tis'ganath in ritual response. She shot Lixarin a murderous glare across the table. For a moment Lixarin shivered at the enmity she had just earned...but then relaxed. Tis'ganath would be occupied with her new duties for quite sometime, and her House was more than able to deal with any attack from House Shaltiel. Besides...Janarelle owed her a favor.
There was a silent sigh as tension drained out of the room, yet Janarelle remained standing. "It has been several weeks since the heretic escaped into the arms of the humans, and yet we still have not located her. There has been too much hand-wringing at the expense of progress—what shall we do, how can we kill her without alerting the humans, what can be done?!" she whimpered mockingly. "No more! We now have the most capable Tis'ganath to handle such problems. Yet I believe it is time for us to scry the heretic's location once more."
Out of the corner of her eye, Lixarin noticed Kistarial eagerly tip-toeing out of the shadows she had retreated to during the power struggle, and sneered disdainfully. Even a ten-years boy of her House could hide his emotions better than that nitwit! "If it pleases the Council," the Librarian said, a touch breathlessly, "I will scry for them." She waved in the direction of the far side of the room.
"As you wish," murmured Janarelle, sitting down, a queen granting a child a shiny new toy. The Council turned as one to the far wall as Kistarial walked to it.
It was the only planned wall in the giant cavern: tall, smooth, gleaming crystal. Thousands of years ago, when the city was first established, hundreds of mages had worked for years to transmute the stone into crystal with its current usage in minds. The Crystal Wall was one of the greater sights in Zorin'zaal, and to see it was a privilege granted to few. Kistarial was powerful, Lixarin was forced to admit, as a whirlpool of color swirled across the shining wall. Only a very powerful wizard could project a scry across such a wide surface.
A picture slowly formed...
Daytime. Fields of the tall, green lichen of the surface world. In the distance, a four-legged beast used by humans as a mount trots down a road. A strangely shaped rider perched on the beast.
Lixarin shielded her eyes against the light shining from the vision. In front of the wall, Kistarial squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating against the remaining pangs...
Closer. Not one rider, but two. An armored human holds the reins, riding easily. On his arm, a shield. On the shield, a hand clutches a lightning bolt. In front of the human, a drow, clothed in rags and an over-large tunic, riding awkwardly. Around her neck, silver gleams.
"The artifact!" The words hissed from Lixarin's lips like a snake about to bite. Kistarial clenched her teeth, concentrating harder...
Voices, speaking in Goblan.
"Can't we stop for now?" A feminine voice, a Drow accent. Slightly whiny.
"Why? It's barely noon." A masculine voice, an unfamiliar accent. Slightly annoyed.
"The...sun hurts my eyes." The speaker hesitates, as if uncertain of the right word.
"I thought you could stand the sun. You seemed fine yesterday."
"After two weeks, with no shelter during the...day, yes, mostly. Bright light still hurts. Yesterday, at the slave market, that was...what do you call it...afternoon. Now it is, it is, noontime." The speaker pronounces the strange words carefully, wondering if they are the right words.
Lixarin frowned. The words were from that trade language the surface dwellers used, but what they meant she did not know...
"I thought you couldn't speak Common!" The speaker is outraged.
"I don't. I picked up a few words from the slavers." The speaker is annoyed.
"Oh."
Silence for a few minutes.
"Do we have to go to the, the forest?"
"I told you, the Golden Rose has a small base there for escaped slaves! You can stay there a while, until...until you go home." The speaker is uncomfortable.
"You're just trying to get rid of me, aren't you?" The speaker is accusatory, bitter.
"YES!! YES, I AM!!" the speaker explodes, finally losing his patience. The four-legged beast makes a grumbling sound, picking up on its master's mood. "You're whiny, you complain every ten minutes, you squirm around on horseback and push me away every time I get near you, and you act like an ungrateful brat! Who WOULDN'T want to get rid of you?!"
Sullen silence for a few more minutes.
"I...I'm...sorry," the speaker says slowly, grudgingly, using another strange word. Yet her response is sincere. Yet she is uncertain why she is sincere.
"...Thank you
More minutes pass in silence.
"What if...what if I don't want...don't HAVE anywhere to go?" The speaker probes nervously, waiting for the other's reaction.
"Oh...I dunno. The clerics will think of something." The speaker is satisfied with the casual answer, strong in his belief, strong in his faith. Yet curiosity tinges his voice. "Why?"
"Um...just wondering." The speaker is nervous, perhaps afraid.
"Huh." The speaker is suspicious. "The clerics will think of something," he repeats after a moment, certain there is no harm in the true answer she hides.
The image faded. Kistarial dropped her arms and stumbled away.
"Well," said Suradin after a moment. "Is that all?" The Council was silent, still digesting the vision. "Very well, then. Council adjourned."
Lixarin left, deep in thought. It was time to call in some favors...
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"My Lady Kismat Cemasti. How may I serve you?"
The man slowly straightened from his deep bow. Zranid was tall, nearly the height of a human, with a delicate face, a faint, wry smile, and heavy-lidded eyes that gave him a deceptively sleepy, soft look. Yet beneath those long lashes burned dark red eyes, eyes the color of drying blood. His eyes sum him up, thought Lixarin, not for the first time, as she surveyed the assassin. He was handsome, in his own way, and once or twice she had considered deepening the relationship. Ultimately, she had decided against it; despite everything, she still could not make herself trust him enough to let him into the bedroom.
"Zranid, dear," she purred, "How goes the heretic cult?"
"Badly, milady," he murmured. "They are still recovering from the most recent crackdown."
There were always a few foolish males ready to turn to apostasy if it meant more power, reflected Lixarin, and the heretic cult of Vhaeraun promised more than enough to them. Yet it had been a surprise five years ago, to discover that Zranid was one of them. In a secret trial before the Council he was disgraced, judged guilty, and would have faced the wrath of Lolth had Lixarin not intervened upon his behalf. When Janarelle had asked, as was tradition, if anyone would intercede for him, Lixarin had been unable to resist temptation and surprised the Council by stepping forward. Even more surprising was that Lolth had approved of her suggestion that Zranid should turn traitor and act as a spy in the ranks of Vhaeraun. It was a dangerous move, and yet was well worth the risk: now the greatest assassin in Zorin'zaal was permanently indebted to her.
"Sit, sit. Have some wine." She poured the hot spiced wine into the two cups as he eased himself into the chair. He picked up the cup, swirling the dark liquid slightly, staring into the depths. Was he looking for something? "Surely you don't expect me to use anything...obvious," she chided.
"I wouldn't dream of finding poison in my cup," he said, with apparent sincerity. Yet he waited for her to sip before he lifted the cup to his lips.
"Zranid...you spent several years on the surface, did you not?"
"Two years, milady."
"Do you recognize this sigil?" She handed him a piece of paper with a crude drawing upon it.
"A hand clutching a lightning bolt. Hm." He stared at it absently, searching the recesses of his mind for the answer. "The sigil of some...false human god, milady."
"Oh?" She considered the vision of a human rider, a shield emblazoned with the sigil. Someone who spoke of clerics. "Does this heathen religion have any sort of holy warriors? Ones who...travel the world...um...spreading the word?"
"...Um. Yes. They are called...paladins, if I recall correctly." His eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask? Milady."
"Don't get cocky, Zranid," she said sharply. "I can still see you executed in agony if I wish."
"My apologies, I'm certain, milady."
They both fell silent. Lixarin drank deeply to hide her uncertainty. The situation made her uneasy; if this Del'rania made it to this hidden base, it would be all but impossible to kill her without alerting someone. A giant raid would bring notice to the surface dwellers, and Tis'ganath was the sort to resort to mass slaughter if the heretic escaped to this 'Golden Rose.' Lixarin herself preferred more subtle solutions. Yet to send a known follower of Vhaeraun to the surface...
"Zranid," she said abruptly. "Examine this picture." From her robes she withdrew a picture of the heretic Del'rania, the picture that all powerful kismatai had received shortly after the heretic's flight.
Zranid studied it for a moment. "She looks like a commoner, milady," he said at last. "But if you wish me to kill her..." He shrugged, the very image of surprised obedience.
Inwardly Lixarin sneered at the façade. "Yes, I want you to kill her. But not yet. You see, this commoner is a special case. She lurks on the surface, a potential danger to all of Zorin'zaal. A potential danger to all true drow. Right now she holds great power, yet does not know how powerful she could be.
Lixarin leaned across the table, looking unflinchingly into those unnerving eyes. "There is a forest on the surface," she said softly, silkily. "Somewhere in that forest, near the Ralgir Plains, I believe, is a base of a certain organization called the Golden Rose. It is a place of refuge for escaped slaves of the humans. It is run by clerics of some human god, probably the followers of this same god." She meaningfully tapped the paper with the strange sigil scrawled upon it. "Find this place. Stay there. Wait for this commoner to come. Her name is Del'rania, and she comes with a human protector. If she is slain before she arrives...I will inform you. But if she does arrive...kill her in secret. And bring her jewelry to me. I will know if you keep any for yourself. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, milady," he murmured.
He hand leapt up and gripped his chin before he could pull away. A knife appeared like magic in her hand, and she forced his head up, pressing the dagger against his throat. "And remember this," she hissed. "You are loyal only to me, to me and to Lolth. Do not think you can escape. I will be constantly watching you, and if I see a single attempt to escape me, you will feel the wrath of Lolth. I will hunt you down and slaughter you if need be. You still belong to me, Zranid. Do you understand?"
Eyes the color of the blood beading his throat calmly looked down at her. "As my Lady Kismat commands," he murmured. That faint smile widened slightly in dark humor. "As my Lady Kismat commands."
Infuriated, she shoved up his chin, wishing she could beat that smile out of his face. He grunted slightly as his head snapped back. As the knife vanished back into her sleeve, he rose from the table, waiting to be dismissed.
"Get out," she growled, flicking her hand imperiously at him. "Get out of here, and don't return until you've completed your mission." Lixarin spun on her heel and marched to the door on the other side of the room.
He gave a deep, final ironic bow to her turned back, knowing she could still see him. "As my Lady Kismat commands," he said for the third time, sounding as if he were granting her a small favor, and closed the door behind him.
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Quite a few of you wanted longer chapters, so here's an extra-long one for y'all after such a long wait! I have to warn you, the next might be a little bit short. Sorry it's taken me so long—I've been pretty busy with school and the holidays (don't ask), and half-way through the story my manuscript vanished, and I had to start again, which was discouraging. Moral of the story, folks: ALWAYS save on the hard drive, and once it's finished transfer it to a floppy. Thanks sooooooooo much to everyone who reviewed—give yourself a hand, everyone!! Cookies for all!! passes out a platter of cookies for everyone