Annihilation (14 page)

That you are
, he replied.

If you levitate straight up
, she sent,
you’ll come right to me. Well
, Pharaun returned,
in that case …

The wizard closed the book he was working on, the spell still not fully prepared, and tucked the volume back into his pack. He stood and touched the brooch that held his
piwafwi
on his shoulders.

Straight up?
he sent.

I’ll catch you
, came the alu-demon’s playful reply.

Pharaun’s feet left the deck, and he accelerated, the ship falling rapidly away beneath him. When it was lost—or more properly when
he
was lost—in the pitch-dark shadows of the ominous cavern, he slowed.

“A little more,” Aliisza whispered to him, her voice barely audible.

Pharaun came to a stop slowly, a defensive spell hanging on his lips in case the alu-demon turned on him—she was a demon after all, so there was always some possibility of that.

There was a surprisingly loud rustle, and Pharaun looked up. Aliisza, her batlike wings spread out behind her, was slowly sinking toward him. He turned so they were facing each other.

They were almost together when Aliisza asked, “Can your levitation hold me up?”

Pharaun almost had a chance to answer before her arms folded around his neck and her full—though not substantial—weight fell on him all at once. He concentrated hard on the brooch,
almost losing his defensive spell in the process, and managed to hold them both aloft. They bobbed a bit at first, but ultimately managed a tight embrace in the gloomy air near the ceiling of the Lake of Shadows.

They were face-to-face, less than an inch apart. Pharaun could smell the beautiful alu-demon’s breath. The touch of her skin against him, the curves of her body in his arms again, and the soft caress of her fleshy wings folding around him, enclosing him, made his body react of its own accord.

A playful smile crossed Aliisza’s full lips, and she showed a set of perfect white teeth with the exaggerated canines of a vampire. Pharaun remembered her habit of playing with her teeth. He didn’t bother wondering why he liked that about her so much.

“Yes,” she whispered, “I remember you.”

Pharaun returned her smile and asked, “So, what brings a bad girl like you to an evil place like this?”

That made her laugh.

“The Lake of Shadows?” she replied playfully. “Oh, I try to get here a couple times a year, if I can. To take the waters.”

Pharaun nodded, smiled, but didn’t bother extending the banter. Kaanyr Vhok’s consort had come there for a reason, and he wasn’t quite smitten, or egomaniacal enough to think it was only to see him.

“You’re spying on us again,” he accused.

“No,” Aliisza replied with a pout, “I’m spying on you
still
. Doesn’t that make you feel important, having someone like me spying on you all the time?”

“Yes,” he said, “and that’s precisely the problem.”

“What do you hope to find in the Abyss?” she asked abruptly. Pharaun had to blink a few times to get his head wrapped around the question. “That is where you’re going in that wonderful old ship of chaos you’ve salvaged, isn’t it?”

“What would Kaanyr Vhok care what we do,” he asked, “or where we go?”

“Can’t a girl be curious?”

“No,” he replied with some finality. “In this case, no, she can’t.”

“You can be quite the rodent when you want to be, Pharaun,” she said, and she smiled again.

“Shall I take that as a compliment?”

Aliisza looked him in the eyes. Drow and demon were both smart and pragmatic enough to know they weren’t some pair of star-crossed human lovers. They might even be combatants on opposite sides of a war that could ruin both their civilizations—if Kaanyr Vhok’s ragged Scoured Legion could be called a civilization.

“Can I come too?” she asked, tipping her head, and looking almost as if she were trying to read an answer written across his brow.

“With us?” he asked. “On the ship?”

She nodded.

“I’ll have to check with the purser to see if there’s a cabin available, but at first glance I’d have to say no way in all Nine Hells and the Barrens of Doom and Despair besides.”

“Pity,” she said. “I’ve been there before, you know.”

“Where else have you been?” Pharaun asked, intentionally jarring the subject away from her joining their expedition. “Have you visited the City of Spiders lately?”

“Menzoberranzan?” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

“News of home and all that,” said the wizard.

Her wings tightened around him, and Pharaun liked the sensation. It was similar to the warmed blankets his favorite masseuse used to drape on him in Menzoberranzan. He’d been traveling too long.

“You’re missing some of your comrades,” the alu-demon
noted. “The big fighter with the greatsword and the other one. The scout.”

“You
have
been spying on us,” Pharaun replied.

He couldn’t imagine why she’d want to know that unless she was testing their strength, or …

“Reporting back to Kaanyr Vhok?” he asked.

She pretended to blush and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Menzoberranzan is under siege,” he said. “I suppose you know that.”

She nodded and asked, “You’ve sent your warriors back to aid in the defense of the city?”

Pharaun laughed, and Aliisza looked put out. He didn’t care.

“Tell me they didn’t run afoul of some less civilized denizen of the Underdark between Ched Nasad and here,” she said. “It would break my heart.”

“Your heart will remain intact then,” he replied. “I don’t suppose it would hurt you to tell me who lays siege to my home.”

“It might just,” she replied with a wink. “Let’s not risk it. Of course, if I knew what you know about the fate of your Spider Queen, that might cushion the blow.”

“Ah,” he said, “I tell you the big secret, and you tell me the little one.”

“There are no little secrets,” the alu-demon replied, “if you’re the one in the dark.”

“You know, Aliisza,” Pharaun said. “We should get together and tell each other nothing more often. It beats preparing spells or getting on with my life.”

“You’re a sarcastic little devil, Pharaun. You know, that’s just what I love about you.”

“Please assume I feel the same,” was the mage’s reply. “So if we’re done not speaking to each other, can I go?”

“We’ve spoken to each other, Pharaun,” said Aliisza, “I’m sure
of it. For instance, until now I hadn’t imagined you didn’t know who was laying siege to your City of Spiders. Oh, and you told me you were going to the Abyss.”

“Yes, well,” Pharaun said, unconcerned that she’d drawn those obvious conclusions. “Good for you. Do run along and change the course of life in the Underdark.”

“You’re playing games with me,” the alu-demon said, ice in her voice and in her eyes like Pharaun had never seen. “I like that but not forever.”

“You’re withholding information from me,” he retorted. “I never like that.”

They floated in midair, wrapped in a tight, familiar embrace, staring into each other’s cold, uninviting eyes for a long time.

“I could be your friend still, Pharaun,” Aliisza said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The Master of Sorcere found himself struggling for something to say. He knew they were finished, feared they were finished forever, and found himself wishing that weren’t true.

Longing, Pharaun silently mused.

Yes
, Aliisza replied directly into his mind,
longing
.

Pharaun pushed her away. Aliisza hung in the air for half a second before she started to fall. She stared daggers at him even as her wings opened to slow her descent. Pharaun thought she looked more hurt than angry.

“We’ll talk again,” she said, then she was gone with a flash of dull purple light, and Pharaun was alone in the impenetrable shadows.

I hope so, he found himself thinking. I really do.

Something was missing.

Halisstra could feel it—or rather, she
couldn’t
feel it. She couldn’t feel the Binding. She couldn’t feel Danifae.

Having a captive bound to her by that obscure drow magic was a strange and subtle experience. It wasn’t something she was conscious of really, not on a moment-by-moment basis. Rather it was always there, in the background, like the sound of her own breathing, the feeling of her own pulse.

She was dancing when it stopped. The priestesses who had welcomed her into their circle danced often. They danced in different combinations of certain females and danced in different places both sacred and mundane. They danced naked most of the time, clothed some of the time. They danced wearing armor and weapons and danced with offerings of fruit or works of art. They
danced around fires or in the cold. They danced at night—in the dark that Halisstra still found comforting—or in the day. She was still learning the significance of each of those different venues, every subtle shift in components and approach, rhythm and movement.

When the feeling came upon her, Halisstra stopped dancing. The other priestesses took no notice of her. They didn’t even pause, let alone stop their joyous ritual.

Halisstra stumbled out of the circle and made her way quickly and with a sense of impending doom back to where she had left Ryld. The weapons master wasn’t included in the circles of priestesses, and she could tell that was wearing on him. Halisstra was gone hours at a time, and returned to questions she couldn’t always answer. She had no way to be sure Ryld loved her—she wasn’t entirely certain yet what “love” was, though she thought she was learning, but the warrior stayed. He stayed there in the cold, light-ravaged forest with her, surrounded by worshipers of what to him must have still felt like a traitor goddess.

She staggered into the cool, dark chamber they shared, interrupting him in a meditative exercise she’d seen him do before. He was standing on his hands, eyes closed, toes pointed, legs bent back at the knee. The weapons master held that position for hours sometimes. Halisstra couldn’t do it for more than a second or two.

He opened his eyes when she came in and must have seen something in her expression. He rolled forward in a single, smooth motion and was on his feet. There was no sign he was dizzy or disoriented.

“Halisstra,” he said, “what happened?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but no words would come.

“Something happened,” he said, and he looked around the room.

“Ryld, I …” she started to say, then watched as he began to arm himself.

He grabbed Splitter—his enormous greatsword—first then quickly buckled his sheathed short sword to his belt. He had his armor in his hands when she touched his arm to stop him. His skin felt warm, almost hot, but there was no sweat. Deep black skin was stretched over muscles so hard he felt as if he were chiseled from stone.

“No,” she said, shaking the cobwebs from her head finally, “stop it.”

He stopped, and looked at her, waiting. She could see the impatience in his eyes, impatience mixed with frustration.

“What is it?” he asked, and she could see him comprehending even as he spoke.

She smiled and he sighed.

“It’s Danifae,” she said finally. “I can’t feel her anymore. The Binding has been broken.”

His eyes widened, and she could tell he was surprised. Not surprised, necessarily, that the Binding had been broken, but it was as if he were expecting to hear something else.

“What does that mean, exactly?” he asked, leaning his breastplate against the wall next to the bed they shared.

Halisstra shook her head.

“She died?” he asked with no trace of emotion.

“Yes,” Halisstra replied. “Maybe.”

“Why does that frighten you?”

Halisstra stepped back—was literally taken aback by that question, though it was a logical one.

“Why does that frighten me?” she repeated. “It frightens me … concerns me, that she’s free of me. One way or the other, I’m no longer her mistress, and she’s no longer my battle-captive.”

Ryld frowned, shrugged, and asked, “Why does that matter to you?”

She opened her mouth to respond and again could form no words.

“I mean,” the weapons master went on, “I’m not sure your new friends would approve anyway, would they? Do these trait—I mean, other … these priestesses even take battle-captives?”

She smiled, and he turned away, pretending to be deeply involved in returning Splitter to its ready position under their bed.

“They aren’t
traitor
priestesses, Ryld,” she said.

He hung his head briefly in response then sat down on the bed and looked at her.

“Yes they are,” he said, his voice as flat and as beaten as his eyes. “They’re traitors to their race, as surely as we are. The question I keep asking myself now is, is it so bad to be a traitor?”

Halisstra stepped to him and knelt. Draping her hands on his knees. He put out a hand and brushed her long white hair from her black cheek—the gesture seemed almost instinctive.

“It’s not,” she said, her voice barely audible even in the quiet of their little room. “It’s not so bad. We can really only be traitors to ourselves anyway, and I think we’re both finally being true to ourselves … and each other.”