Sands of the Soul (17 page)

Without any further preamble, he withdrew a sheaf of papers. The Lurker wiped his hand across his lips and shakily accepted the bundle of parchments. He reached for them as a drowning man would an offered hand. It was hard for the priest to hide the gleam in his eye and the Lurker was certain his eagerness was not lost on Ciredor.

After carefully paging through the stack twice, the Lurker looked up at him with barely concealed awe. There was a bit of a quaver in his voice when he spoke next to the necromancer.

“I-I don’t know how you managed to find these pages,” the Lurker began.

He watched as Ciredor nodded benevolently in response, but he did not offer to explain where the velum sheets had come from.

“For the last few months,” the Lurker continued when he realized that Ciredor was going to remain taciturn, “you have so diligently searched out these lost words of Ibrandul. If you hadn’t come to us, who knows whose hands these pages might have fallen into. Even I was unaware of their existence.”

“I have long been a supplicant of the Lurker in Darkness,” Ciredor finally replied. “It has been not only my duty, but

that of my father and my father’s father to spend our lives in search of these artifacts.”

“I am only the first in my family,” the priest said with a lowered head, “to embrace the Lord of the Dry Depths.”

He was humbled in front of someone so dedicated to Ibrandul. The priest felt an icy finger under his chin tilt his face upward.

“I am glad,” Ciredor said with some emphasis, “to have discovered a sect of Children of Ibrandul so devout to my god. Only in Waterdeep have I come close to finding followers a fraction as pious as yours.”

The Lurker sat a little straighter, bolstered by this sincere compliment. He did believe that his novices were most accomplished and that bit of pride gave him the ability to respond.

“It only serves to follow that we would be the most loyal,” the priest explained. “After all, Calimshan is the home of Ibrandul. He rose from our desert.”

Not wanting to insult any other group of followers—and he realized that Ciredor must Come from one of those—he hastily added, “The other sects are also fervent in their devotion, but we live in the heart of the mystery.”

The Lurker watched Ciredor expectantly, looking for any sign that he might have insulted his benefactor. However, II the necromancer did was slowly smile.

“You are right,” Ciredor agreed, “that our heart is within the Calim Desert.”

The Lurker was relieved that Ciredor was not offended, though he was puzzled at the mage’s reference to the heart. The Lurker thought Ciredor might have said more correctly that their origin was in the desert, but he was not going to chance saying the wrong thing again or nit pick over the turn of a phrase. To further smooth things over, he recounted his meeting with Tazi and Steorf, knowing the outcome would please Ciredor.

“Those foreigners arrived just as you said they would,” he

told Ciredor eagerly, and he saw the first spark of excitement appear in the mage’s black eyes. “Really?” Ciredor drawled.

“The two from Selgaunt and their Calishite companion arrived just a few hours ago,” the priest clarified, spurred on by Ciredor’s interest.

“Were they like I described?” Ciredor asked carefully.

“As soon as the woman with the short black hair heard of the sacred writings, she dashed right over to the book.”

“Just as I told you she would,” Ciredor agreed kindly. “What happened?”

“One of my young but very dedicated novices kept her from touching the lost writings,” the priest answered. “That’s when they truly revealed their colors.”

“How so?” Ciredor questioned.

“The woman’s burly young companion attempted to attack the Child of Ibrandul with magical means. Of course,” the priest added, excited that his words were having a pleasing effect on his patron, “that was to no avail.”

“Not in this sanctum,” Ciredor agreed. “What was the outcome?”

“The beast had to resort to physical combat on an opponent much weaker than himself.” The Lurker shook his head in distaste. “In fact, the man turned quite savage in the end, and his woman had to pull him away.”

“They haven’t changed,” Ciredor chuckled, and the Lurker wasn’t sure if the laugh was for his benefit or not.

“And the woman also let slip that she was carrying on her person several scrolls that she had stolen from you.”

Ciredor only nodded slowly at this revelation.

“That is the only thing that concerns me,” the priest added. “I am not sure that we will be able to recover those.”

“Why not?” Ciredor asked, but the Lurker saw that he was not unduly distressed.

“Those two muzha-dahyarifs are on their way to a most fitting end. Several of the Children of Ibrandul, including the

novice who was beaten by the young mage, are as we speak leading them into a trap deep within the tunnels of the Muzad,” the Lurker explained. “There I am sure they will discover what it means to have betrayed the Skulking God.”

“I know they will,” Ciredor quietly agreed, “and don’t be too concerned about the scrolls they have. I might have made copies of some of the writings elsewhere. What of their Calishite companion?” he added and the Lurker thought Ciredor was almost anxious.

“She is quite safe, Lord,” the priest reassured him. “We were able to separate her almost immediately from her foreign companions. She is in a chamber located just beyond our main hall.”

“Wonderful,” he replied.

“She has been very acquiescent since she was separated from her companions,” the Lurker noted, “and she knows several of the Children of Ibrandul from her own youth.”

He himself had been amazed by that discovery.

“Why should that surprise you?” Ciredor keenly noticed.

“I’m astonished that a Calishite could be so easily deceived, I suppose,” the priest admitted. “For all purposes, this young woman is every bit at home amongst us and yet she was traveling in their company.”

“Try to understand,” Ciredor explained easily, “that tho^e two from Selgaunt are very persuasive. Fannah had been traveling with me some time ago in Sembia as I searched for the lost words when we became separated. She fell into some minor danger and the Sembian woman, Thazienne, took advantage of the situation.”

“What happened?” the Lurker asked.

This was the most verbose his benefactor had ever been, and the priest was enthralled.

“Thazienne picked Fannah out of a crowd, an obvious foreigner and unfamiliar with the commercial ways of the people of Selgaunt, and made arrangements for several of her less than reputable friends to ‘attack’ Fannah so that Thazienne

could then conveniently rescue her. While Fannah is a very astute young woman, she is far too trusting at times.”

“I am sure that will improve with age,” the Lurker added. “When she approaches my age and has more experiences with life, as you and I have had, I am sure she will be much wiser for it.”

Ciredor broke into a wide smile at the priest’s theories and the Lurker was pleased that he was finally connecting with the man he knew would change the worship of Ibrandul forever.

“But I have interrupted you,” the Lurker noticed.

“There is not much more to my story,” Ciredor continued. **Fannah, being the pure soul that she is, felt a great deal of gratitude to Thazienne. My understanding is Thazienne used her hired mage to befuddle Fannah, and she inadvertently ended up giving those two the location of some of the scrolls we had saved from the greedy merchants of Selgaunt.”

The Lurker hissed at that.

“Horrible to contemplate,” Ciredor agreed, “and Thazienne would have dearly loved to have gotten her hands on all our words. I’m sure visions of jewels and immeasurable fortune were dancing in her head when she saw the collection on your dais.”

“That will never happen” the Lurker promised solemnly, and Ciredor smiled again.

“You have done an excellent job protecting the sacred words. The only thing that we need to do is await the Foreshadowing that is less than a tenday away,” the mage proclaimed.

“The time of the new moon,” the Lurker said in a reverent voice.

“Yes,” replied Ciredor. “That time when the Land Above is pitch black…”

“And we celebrate Ibrandul’s promise to envelope the Lands Above and Below in utter darkness,” the priest finished for Ciredor.

He could feel his heart beat more quickly at the thought of the upcoming ritual.

“Fannah may have fallen away from her roots,” Ciredor added, “but she will play a pivotal role in the Foreshadowing. I would prefer that she be kept cloistered away until that time,” he instructed.

“Don’t you wish to see her?” the Lurker questioned.

“I would prefer if she had some time alone,” Ciredor explained. “That way, she may be able to purge the effects the Sembians have had on her. Surrounded as she is by the familiar smells and touch other home, I believe she will come to her senses without any magical intervention.”

“Everything will be done as you request,” the priest told him. Ciredor smiled at his fealty.

“I knew when I first met you,” Ciredor added, “that I had found the true home for Ibrandul’s lost words. This Foreshadowing will be like none other.”

“Is that when you will read to us from the scrolls?” the Lurker nearly begged the mage.

“I will do that and so much more,” Ciredor promised.

Stay close,” Tazi whispered.

The near total darkness of the tunnel made her cautious. She felt her way along the wall.

“I’m beside you,” Steorf replied. “Are the Children of Ibrandul behind us?”

Before Tazi had a chance to answer him, a large shadow slithered ahead of them. Tazi felt something hairy lightly brush against her extended hand. She froze in her tracks and threw her other arm protectively across Steorf’s chest.

“There’s something in here with us,” she warned him.

“Then let’s see how well my sorcery works down here,” Steorf nearly growled.

He shook off Tazi’s shielding grip and raised both his hands, and Tazi could tell by the sound of his

voice that he was thrilled to exercise his powers. A few words escaped his lips and dazzling light enveloped his hands. The light seeped from his fingers, and the tunnel was illuminated by radiance as bright as the morning sun.

The glare from Steorf’s hands showed that the tunnel went on for about fifty feet beyond where they were standing. The rock was unremarkable. There was nothing to set the tunnel apart from the many others they had traversed, except that this one had other occupants; other, rather large occupants.

Just a few steps away from Tazi and Steorf crawled a dozen spiders. Each one was nearly as wide as Steorf was tall. Some stood on the floor as Tazi and Steorf did, but a few scuttled up the cavern walls.

That wasn’t the end of it. Tazi watched in amazement as several of the largest spiders transformed into drow before her eyes. One was something in between an arachnid and a dark elf. Without any further warning, the pack of creatures fell on them.

Tazi turned with a scream and ran from the closest spider. From the corner of her eye she could see Steorf wearing an expression of shocked disbelief at her flight. She didn’t have time to worry about that. One of the largest spiders ran after her, just as she had expected and hoped it would. After covering only a few feet, Tazi started to tumble to the ground. The spider descended on her.

As Tazi struck the ground, she tucked herself into a ball and rolled forward. As she did so, she freed the dagger in her right boot. When the spider landed on her, Tazi was just finishing her roll. That brought her face up directly under the center of the beast with her blade drawn. The momentum of the roll helped her to thrust the blade directly into the spider’s belly and slash it fiercely.

Black blood flowed from the wound Tazi inflicted, and she instinctively knew those fluids were just as deadly, if not more so, than the spider itself.

Tazi moved away from the twitching monster as fast as she could and tossed her soiled dagger away. She withdrew both of her guardblades with a fierce shout.

“One dead,” she called to Steorf.

There was no time for congratulatory remarks as both of them were immediately caught up in heated struggles. Tazi found herself surrounded by three spiders, and Steorf had to contend with several drow.

Tazi brandished her right guardblade at two of the spiders and flipped the left one up so that she held the sword like a javelin. With one powerful toss, she threw the weapon and impaled the other spider against the wall. It screamed and Wiggled to no benefit. The point of Tazi’s blade was wedged tight into a crevice. The animal’s squeals started to increase as its weight slowly pulled its body down while the blade was held fast.

The noises stopped abruptly as the spider’s head was sliced up the center by the sword. Tazi dispatched the other two fairly easily.

They must be the front lines, she correctly guessed.

She could see that Steorf had his hands full with the drow. She observed him as he grabbed the one closest to him and hit her in the face with the palm of his hand. Tazi was surprised that he was leading with his fists and not his magic.

Perhaps he doesn’t want to make the same mistake that he did with the dog, she concluded. Or he’s enjoying this.

As in the Temple of Ibrandul, Tazi heard the snap of bone but was startled when the drow Steorf had struck fell over dead. Then she realized Steorf must have shoved the elf’s nose bone directly into her brain. He turned to another drow and slammed him into a wall, crushing his skull. The third drow proved a little more elusive, skipping just out of the human’s reach.

“Fine,” Steorf snarled, and released a bolt of magic.

The discharge passed through the drow and blasted away a portion of the wall behind the elf. Steorf watched as the figure

winked out of existence—then he felt himself smashed in the back of the head by a wave of force. He turned to see the same drow now standing behind him.