Tangled Webs (44 page)

Twin births were not common among the drow, but they did occur from time to time. The link between elven twins was incredibly strong, often enabling one sibling to sense the other’s thoughts and to feel the other’s pain. And the rivalry between drow twins was ruthless enough to inspire the most ambitious priestess in Menzoberranzan. Rarely did both siblings live to adulthood. Those who did usually pitted themselves against each other in an endless, equally matched struggle. These miniature wars could become so destructive that many drow decided to avoid the bother by destroying such children at birth. As she gazed at Dagmar’s twin, however, Liriel wondered how strong that bond might be in cultures such as Ruathym, where all children were cherished, where clan and kindred were valued above all other things.

Abruptly the drow turned and strode back to the palace. She had not yet encountered the leader of this place. This she must do, before she could know the true strength of Ascarle.

Liriel made her way back to the council chamber. Beyond it was a suite of rooms. Judging by their opulence, she guessed they belonged to the shadowy “mistress” of whom the malenti had spoken.

One of these chambers was filled with dozens ofscrying devices: small pools, scrying bowls, crystal globes, enspelled gems. The very air crackled with magic, and the drow hurried through to the room beyond. Here she stopped, more stunned by the sight before her than she had been by the discovery of Dagmar’s captured twin. Stretched out on a large loom was a nearly finished tapestry depicting a coastal village—as one of the creatures of the Abyss might leave it after a few days’ dalliance. Dead human warriors lay in moldering piles; sea elves were staked out beneath a blazing sun. Familiar sea
elves. Liriel knew those faces, even if she had seen them only in death.

The drow grasped her holy symbol and whispered the words to the spell that had once sought the spirits of the sea elves. There was no misty gray anteroom this time, for Liriel had not far to go. She touched her fingers to the woven image of the elf, felt the mingled despair and hope as the captured spirit responded to her presence.

Liriel snatched her hand away and stared with dismay at the tapestry. Such a thing took powerful magic; this was the work of a mighty and malevolent being.

Her own words rang in her ears-her impetuous promise to free the captured spirits. If she tried to do so, if she tampered with the tapestry in any way, she would surely alert the powers of Ascarle to her presence.

Welcome, Liriel of House Baenre.

The words sounded in Liriel’s mind as clearly if they had been engraved there by the finger of Lloth. The drow spun, and her amber eyes widened.

An illithid, one of the most powerful and most feared creatures of the Underdark, glided silently toward her. Liriel did not need to ask how the thing had sensed her presence. An illithid could read thoughts as easily as a drow’s eyes could perceive heat patterns.

I am Vestress, Regent Ruler of Ascarle. Your presence here has long been desired.

Liriel flung back her cloak and faced down the powerful creature. “How do you know of me?”

We have need of a wizard, one who possesses considerable command over magic portals. You have proven yourself to be just such a one, the illithid continued. It is no small thing, to move an entire ship!

“That was not my doing, but Lloth’s,” Liriel said bluntly. She saw no reason to prevaricate; the illithid would take the thought from her mind, regardless.

Is it so? You are indeed a priestess of the Spider Queen? A hint of amusement-and speculation—entered the creature’s oddly feminine voice. This situation may prove even more diverting than we had hoped.

“What do you want from me?” the drow demanded, although she was beginning to suspect what the illithid had in mind.

Vestress outlined the plan in detail. As Liriellistened, she kept her mind carefully blank, calling upon the discipline and concentration she had learned in three decades of magic studies to focus her thoughts entirely upon the illithid’s instructions. A moment of doubt, a single stray thread of counterstrategy, and all would be lost.

Finally the drow nodded. “I will do as you say. The banshee will be defeated, the portal opened for the armies of Ascarle.”

And in return, we offer you the power you crave, the illithid said slyly. All the magical treasures of Ascarle will be open to you: the spells and artifacts of a mighty elven people, wonders that form the stuff of legends. This tapestry, which

has so taken your fancy, will be yours to do with as you like. And there is one other reward you might consider: a conquered Ruathym mnust be administered so that the Kraken Society is well served. We agree with your assessment of the human males who rule this island. Order your human champion to do away with the other battle chieftains and establish himself as leader. He will make a most useful puppet—and you will possess a kingdom to rival that of the matrons who forced you from the Underdark, as well as more wizardly might than the father who betrayed you. In time, you could amass power enough to take your revenge and reclaim your place Below. All of this, we offer you.

“I will think on it,” Liriel said in a stunned whisper. She turned and fled the chamber, before the too-perceptive illithid could steal more of her thoughts.

No longer concerned with keeping silent, the drow sped to the council chamber and plunged into the pool. She called the nereid to her and took refuge in the effervescent tunnel that would take her far away from this place.

In moments, Liriel sat alone on the rocky shore near Inthar, hundreds of miles from the wonders and horrors of Ascarle. Yet she could not escape thoughts of the temptations that the canny illithid had laid out before her, temptations made all the more poignant for being torn from the fabric of her own unspoken desires.

Early the next morning, Liriel found Dagmar by the cove, working with several others to mend a torn net. She pulled the young woman away from the other fisherfolk. As they walked along the deserted shore, Liriel told her what she and Fyodor had witnessed, and what she herself had learned in Ascarle.

“You have seen Ygraine. Then you understand why I have done these things,” Dagmar whispered. “Even so, I will surely be slain for my treachery. And I would welcome the blade, even if wielded by your hand!”

“Don’t tempt me,” Liriel said coldly. “Believe me, I have to keep reminding myself that you’re of more use to me alive than dead. You’re going to go to Aumark and tell him all you know of the coming battle.”

Dagmar hesitated, her blue eyes frantic. Liriel thought she knew why.

“Your sister is dead,” she said bluntly.

It was a lie, and a cruel one at that, but Liriel was desperate to free Dagmar from her loyalty to her captured twin. The stunned expression on the Northwoman’s face assured Liriel she had hit the mark. It did not, however, prepare the drow for what happened next.

Dagmar threw back her head and let out a peal of wild laughter. The veil of pretense dropped from her beautiful face, and Liriel stared up into blue eyes burning with fierce Joy.

“So at last I am to come into my own!” the young woman exulted. “Now that Ygraine is dead, I will be the one to bring the hamfarrigen magic back to Ruathym!”

As the initial shock of this announcement faded, the drow nodded slowly. There was a certain macabre logic in Dagmar’s words, for she was obviously astute enough to realize that Y graine would never have returned to Ruathym alive. The traitorous Northwoman had been held hostage by her sister’s captors—not by the threat of her sister’s death, but by Ygraine’s continued survival! To a drow of Menzoberranzan, this made perfect sense. There were some things, however, that Liriel did not yet understand.

“Ygraine would have died sooner or later,” the drow stated coldly. “You could not have waited for your inheritance?”

Dagmar shrugged. “If I knew for certain that the dutiful fool would soon serve mead in the halls of Tempus, I would have been content to wait upon the pleasure ofher captors. But I was shown a tapestry, a magical thing that can hold the spirits of the slain for all time. If I did not do as they bade me, Ygraine’s spirit would have been trapped among the threads. Perhaps that would have been sufficient to pass her legacy on to me, perhaps not. It was not a chance I was willing to take.”

“Many Ruathen have died,” Liriel spat out. “Is your sister’s death worth that much to you? What do you stand to gain from this, besides a passel of shapechanging brats?” Dagmar turned a strange smile upon the drow. “That is how my people think; I would have expected differently from you. To the people of Ruathym, a woman’s worth is measured by the rank of her husband and the sons she bears him. I would be known for myself!”

Liriel stared at the Northwoman, rendered momentarilY speechless by the naked ambition written on Dagmar’s face-an ambition that fully matched her own. The drow had the uncanny sensation that she was gazing into a pale mirror.

“What power were you promised?” she asked softly. “After the conquest of Ruathym, someone must rule,” the young woman said bluntly. “Most of the warriors will be slain, the women humiliated, the pride of all the people brought low. The Ruathen will accept someone who provides a measure of hope, who can restore to them their sense of honor. Who better than she who revived the ancient hamfariggen magic? And I will do it, not a son that some warrior begot upon my body!”

“If that is so, what did you want with Fyodor?” Liriel demanded, for Dagmar’s attempted seduction of her friend still rankled deeply with her.

Again, the strange, cold smile. “Had he lain with me, he would have been dead that very night, and the conquest of Ruathym would have been so much the easier.”

Liriel nodded. It all made perfect sense. Indeed, the mixture of twisted intrigue and icy calculation was all too familiar to her. Familiar, too, was the desire for power, a desire so strong that any method of achieving the longedfor goal was deemed acceptable. There was an odd lrinship between Dagmar and herself that Liriel could not ignore. “Why do you tell me this?” she demanded. Even to her own ears, her words rang with desperate denial.

Dagmar laughed softly, knowingly. “Is there anyone alive who does not wish to be understood? I tell you because on all this island you alone can understand the things I desire, and the things I have done to get them.” Th~e drow received this explanation in silence. As much as she wished to refute the damning words, she found she could not.

“Besides, who can you tell?” Dagmar continued, her voice ringing with amusement as she pulled her long fish knife from her belt. “Even if you were to live out this day, to whom would you take this tale? Fyodor?” she asked mockingly, and something in her tone froze Liriel in place,

her black fingers tightly gripping the hilt of her dagger. “I’He had his doubts about me, of course, but he put them aside easily enough,” Dagmar said in an arch voice. “You must have been denying the poor man, to send him to me in such a state! I was only too happy to comfort him. After all, he was a fine figure of a man.”

The woman’s cruel emphasis was not lost on Liriel, and the warmth drained from the drow’s face. “I’He is dead,” she murmured tonelessly. Grief would come later; she felt numbed to the soul.

“I’A pleasure deferred,” Dagmar mocked. “I’And now that he is gone, no Ruathen warrior wilIlisten to any word you speak against me!”

“I’But they will listen to me,” proclaimed a deep voice behind them.

The two females whirled, identical expressions of consternation on their faces. So deep in conversation were they that neither had noted the approach of the redbearded sailor. Ibn stood a few paces away, his massive arms folded across his chest and angry little puffs of smoke bursting from his pipe.

But Ibn, like most men of Ruathym, had not reckoned with a woman like Dagmar. She darted at him, her long knife leaping toward his heart.

Liriel seized one of the woman’s flying braids, dug in her heels, and held on. Dagmar’s head snapped back as her attack on Ibn came to an abrupt and unexpected halt. Before the woman’s startled curse left her lips, Liriel pivoted on one heel and lifted the other foot in a high, hard kick. Her booted foot connected with Dagmar’s kidney, and the woman let out a howl of pure anguish.

The drow kicked out again, this time at the back of Dagmar’s legs; the Northwoman’s knees buckled and she went down. In three quick steps Liriel circled around to face her foe. On her knees, the much taller Dagmar was not far below the drow’s eye level, and Liriel held her pain-glazed stare for a long moment. Then she balled up her fist and drove it into the woman’s temple. Dagmar swayed but did not go downin no small part because Liriel still held her grip on the woman’s braid. Holding the Northwoman upright by her own hair, the drow coldly dealt another blow, and then a third. At last Dagmar’s eyes rolled up in her head.

It took all of Liriel’s self-control to refrain from beating the beautiful face into a bloody mask. She flung the unconscious woman to the ground and turned to face Ibn, ready to fight yet another battle if need be.

But Ibn merely nodded and calmly took the pipe from his mouth. “You should have killed her,” he observed.

“I wanted to,” Liriel said with fierce candor. “Fyodor would die anew were he to hear me say this, but that felt pretty damned good!”

“Can see how it would,” Ibn agreed, scowling at the woman sprawled senseless at his feet. “The elf-loving bitch had it coming to her.”

Liriel fell back a step. “I’Pve missed something, haven’t I?” she inquired, not at all certain whether Ibn was to be counted a foe or an ally.

“No less than I have,” he admitted grudgingly. “I’Might be that it’s time to settle the scores between us and lay things out plainlike.”

The drow responded with a cautious nod.

“To my way o’ thinking,” Ibn began, “Ruathym’s troubles came out o’ the sea. I had my eye on them sea elves, and you for taking up with ‘em. Tried to warn Hrolf, but would he listen? So Pve been watching for since the day we came ashore. ‘Twas no surprise when the fisherfolk netted those two. But then I saw one of them again, and Dagmar with him. Pve been following the wench ever since—followed her up to Holgerstead, though I didn’t do much good for the folk there.”