The Longest Wait - Drowtales



The Longest Wait

The city was out of control.

Diva’ratrika stood at the window and looked out upon the magnificent vista of Chel’el’sussoloth. From the vantage point of the tallest tower of the Vel’sharen Fortress, she could see almost to the edge of the vast city. And feel the weight of helplessness crushing her heart.

Madness had afflicted the psyche of some among the drow race. Chel’el’sussoloth, the crowing jewel of their civilization, was bleeding from the wounds inflicted by her own children. That madness would one day blight their entire species. But not if she could help it.

From this far above the ground level, the Vel’sharen Il’haress could easily make out the fires that were blazing within the city. Fortunately, they were sporadic and isolated; and there were more people out there fighting to put them out than those who were starting them. And yet, for every fire that was being brought under control, another one seemed to spring up elsewhere. Diva’ratrika prayed fervently to the Goddess that these fires would not become a conflagration that would raze the city.

What her eyes could not see from this height were the bodies. But that did not prevent her from knowing that the bodies were there. The streets of Chel’el’sussoloth were littered with corpses – most of them commoners, but not all. Soldiers had died out there, as had mages and priestesses. But in the end, it did not matter whether the blood that flowed belonged to the nobles or the citizens. It was the blood of the drow, and every drop spilled out there was a testament to her own failure to act in time.

Diva’ratrika itched to be out there on the streets, though logic and prudence dictated that she remain where she was. Alight with flames, the dark alleys of the city were a battleground between her people and the Nidraa’chal Clan. She had commanded her entire army to mobilize, leaving behind only a skeletal force to guard the citadel. At her behest, two of her five eldest daughters – the two who were willing - had gone out to assist the soldiers as well, along with a substantial number of other priestesses and mages from the vast Vel’sharen family. They were certainly doing all they could to control the chaos, battling against the pillaging murderers of the enemy, but it was so excruciatingly slow.

The Il’haress wondered if any of the other clans had dispatched soldiers to assist her men in this war. The Val’sarghress Clan might have, and the Kyorl’solenurn. Could there be those that were actually siding with the enemy? That was a chilling thought and she banished it quickly from her mind.

Looking out upon the ravaged city below her, Diva’ratrika cursed herself yet again for not acting earlier. Ever since the Gathering at the School**, the Vel’sharen had been prepared to battle the Nidraa’chal. Under any other circumstance, she would have preempted an attack by being the first to strike. Two things had held her back. The first was a desire to build a consensus among the various clans and create an alliance to battle the evil that they faced. The second was the protestations of her daughters.

The Gathering had clearly shown her that although there were a few factions that supported her own ideas – the most notable being the Val’sarghress and Kyorl’solenurn - too many of the Clans still failed to understand the gravity of the danger that threatened the drow race. And of course, there were some who had already gone over to the other side - those who had already been tainted.

Tainted. An involuntary shudder passed through her as the word echoed in her mind. Such a small word to describe the greatest danger the drow had ever faced since coming to the Underground.

Looking back, the Vel’sharen Il’haress was forced to admit that she could not blame the other matriarchs for underestimating this threat. After all, if a priestess should summon a demon and then fail to control it – thus becoming subjugated by it – it was her own fault. If anything, a demon-possessed priestess was a weakling, someone who did not have the strength to defeat the creature she herself had called forth. She was a mere shell, a host for the evil that controlled her. Ironically, while such a union allowed the demon to roam free among the world of mortals, it also severely curtailed its’ own powers. In any case, such a one was not a threat to anyone. That was what everyone thought. That was what everyone believed.

For a very long time - too long - Diva’ratrika had also believed similarly, dismissing and ignoring the occasional reports that concerned demon summoning attempts gone wrong. But a single event had changed her perception of the matter. She had come to realize – slowly, and with growing horror – the true extent of the threat posed by those who were possessed by demons – the ones who were tainted. By the time she had called the Gathering, following the tumultuous events**at the School of Priestesses, her viewpoint had altered radically from the casual apathy that she had once shared with all the other matriarchs. The actions of the Nidraa’chal Clan on this night had proven her worst fears to be true. They were an extreme manifestation of the threat - tainted to the last man, woman and child. The question was, would their behavior tonight be enough to shake the other clans out of their self-indulgent ignorance?

The fateful event that had changed her views of the tainted was an encounter with her eldest daughter. Two years ago, Snadhya’rune had walked into her mothers’ chamber unannounced. The Il’haress had looked up and received a jolt. Her daughter had crimson eyes, the eyes of one who had summoned a demon and failed to send it back.

- “Il’haress”, she said without preamble, “I need access to stronger spells.”

Anger replaced the initial shock. Snadhya’rune was the heir apparent, next in line to become the leader of the Vel’sharen Clan. Or rather, up unto this moment, she had been the heir apparent. Her failure at the demon summoning was a glaring indication of her weakness. Such a person had no right to aspire to lead the most powerful family in the drow world. The Il’haress felt extremely disappointed and responded coldly.

- “If you need help to rid yourself of the creature that has infected you, I will assist you. But you certainly seem somewhat less than capable of handling what powers you already have. Giving you any more is out of the question.”

Her daughter looked back, her red eyes narrowing, before breaking into a smile.

- “No, Il’haress! You are mistaken. I have not been infected. I have been enhanced. My strength now is greater than it ever was before.”

- “Greater than ever before?” Diva’ratrika sneered, barely able to restrain her anger. “Is that what they always say, when a ceremony goes awry and the summoner is beaten down by the summoned? How long did you manage to struggle before the demon defeated you?”

Snadhya’runes’ next words were forever burnt into her consciousness.

- “You misunderstand… Mother! I was not defeated by the demon. I chose of my own free will to let it merge with me.”

She had departed immediately afterwards. But the Vel’sharen Il’haress had been left behind to struggle with her own thoughts.

Within a year, Sarv’swati and Zala’ess**, her second and fifth eldest daughter, had chosen to follow their sisters’ path, becoming one of the tainted of their own volition. Diva’ratrika had been furious. To be defeated by a demon was bad enough, but to merge with one freely was an unspeakable act. Time and again, she had considered disowning all three of them, or perhaps imprisoning them. But in the end, the matriarch had done nothing. Disowning such powerful priestesses would significantly impact the strength of the clan. That was the reason she gave to herself. The true reason, the one that Diva’ratrika refused to admit except in her most private thoughts, was more scandalous - she cared too much about her daughters to send any of them away. She had allowed herself to succumb to a weakness that she would have considered unforgivable in any other Il’haress; and it both angered and embarrassed her.

All demon-summoning experiments within the clan had been summarily banned. But as time went by, she realized that the tainted ones were gaining a foothold in just about every clan in the city. Like an insidious disease, the demons were burrowing their way steadily yet stealthily into the very essence of the drow race. The Vel’sharen spies begun to bring in more and more reports of the burgeoning numbers, and growing power, of the crimson eyed priestesses among the nobility. With each new report, Diva’ratrikas’ determination to do something to counter this growing threat strengthened. When the turmoil at the School of Priestesses aroused the concern of every clan in the city, she saw a golden opportunity to communicate her thoughts to the others, and took the unprecedented step of summoning a Gathering.

Of course, she had never imagined that events would transpire the way they did. Following the Gathering, she had mobilized the entire strength of the Vel’sharen, determined to take down the Nidraa’chal Clan without delay. At the same time, she had sent out missives to her counterparts in the other clans. It was clear that at least some of them had realized the danger posed by the ones who had merged with the demons. Gaining their alliance was important, for she simply could not eradicate this threat to their society all by herself. But the responses from the various matriarchs had been both unexpected and enraging. Even Quain’tana of the Val’sarghress Clan, one of the more vociferous speakers at the Gathering, had balked at the thought of an alliance with the Vel’sharen. Many had subtly hinted that they did not wish to interfere in a struggle between two clans. No one had accepted her offer.

A struggle between two clans! How could they say that after all that had already happened? But there was no helping it. Perhaps the tainted ones had already subverted some of them, just like the Nidraa’chal Clan had been. Or they simply refused to see what was in front of their face because it was too hard to accept. Either way, Diva’ratrika was determined not to sit by idly any more. She had been on the verge of launching an assault against the enemy when her daughters intervened.

They had come in together, all three with their disgusting crimson eyes, looking uncomfortable and hesitant. The Il’haress had struggled with her hidden emotions. Her dear daughters were now part of the tainted ones whom she despised so much. She had also marveled at their expressions of discomfort. It had been a long time since she had seen them behave this way.

- “Il’haress…” Snadhya’rune begun. Then halted and started again. “Mother! Please don’t proceed with this war against the Nidraa’chal Clan. It is… uncalled for.”

She had lowered her head, as if ashamed of her own words. This had startled Diva’ratrika even further.

- “Uncalled for? You were not present at the Gathering. But you are fully aware of what happened there. You still say this battle is uncalled for?”

- “Mother! Please try to understand. Why do you bear such hatred for those who have merged with the demons? They… we… do not mean you harm.”

- “Hatred?” the Il’haress replied with iron in her voice. “I do not hate your kind, child. I loathe you. You have given up your identity, what you were, to become something else. A lowly, despicable creature controlled by a demon. You are not a drow anymore. You are the tainted, about as worthy of trust and respect as a white elf. Perhaps less. You are blind to what you have become, but I most certainly am not.”

Snadhya’rune looked up at her mother.

- “Then why do you not kill us first, Il’haress? We are tainted, and you hate us.”

The matriarch had been stunned into silence. For the first time in several hundred years, she had been forced to turn her own gaze away.

Her daughter smiled wanly. “Mother, I know you love us. And we too love you. So please, listen to us. We, the tainted as you call us, are not enemies of the…untainted. We may have red eyes, but we are still drows. We are not trying to take over or harm or kill anyone. Some of us were conquered by demons against our will; but the rest, like me, like my sisters, chose to join with them. To improve ourselves. To become stronger. Is that not the aim of every drow who lives? Please do not shun us just because we chose to follow a different path from you.”

It was an impassioned plea, and Diva’ratrika found it hard to ignore the strength of feeling in those words. Despite herself, she was affected.

- “Snadhya, the Nidraa’chal Clan has declared war upon us. Do you want me to sit back and do nothing?”

-“They declared war, yes, but it was only in response to… what you said at the Gathering. It is not a challenge from one clan to another. It is an attempt to protect their existence – the existence of the… tainted – from assault by those… who hate them. Let me talk to them. I… I am sure I can convince them… to see reason… if you give me a few days.”

Diva’ratrika had leaned forward on her chair, eyes narrowed as she looked at each of her three daughters in turn.

- “Are you telling me that your loyalties to the tainted ones are greater than your loyalties to your clan?”

Snadhya’runes’ response had been instantaneous.

- “Never! We are the Vel’sharen above all else. And we will always remain so.”

Her words had carried absolute conviction, and the Il’haress had relented.

She wished now, dearly, that she had not listened to them. But who would have expected that even a clan as thoroughly tainted, as the Nidraa’chal would act this way?

Clan wars were an institution of the civilization the drow race had created in the Underground. Hundreds of such battles had taken place over a millennium of their history. Families fought, pitting their warriors, mages and priestesses against each other, until one side prevailed and the other was subjugated or vanquished. People died, but only those who were involved in the war. Rarely, if ever, did a neutral bystander become one of the casualties. Even the slaves of the losing side generally remained unharmed; at least, they were never killed intentionally. And till date, no such battle had ever extended to involve the common citizens of Chel’el’sussoloth.

Such were the unwritten rules of clan combats. They were born, not out of any considerations for the lives of the innocent, but by virtue of practical reasoning. Slaves were a common resource who lacked loyalty to any specific clan and simply labored for their current owner. Why kill the slaves of your enemy when you could make them your own? Every clan in the city relied on the ordinary citizens for their provisions and supplies. Why kill commoners when it would end up disrupting your own activities, and create potential enmity with other clans who would get affected? Thus, clan wars had evolved over the years to become highly focused and extremely intense, deadly for the combatants, but no more than spectator entertainment for the uninvolved. Of course, since the outcome of these clashes often led to a shift in the balance of power within the noble class, no clan could truly remain uninvolved for long, and the end of one battle frequently sowed the seeds for another.

Thus, what the Nidraa’chal had done today had broken all the rules. They had gone berserk, attacking the city, starting fires, killing people who had nothing to do with the Vel’sharen. No warring clan had ever acted this way in living memory. Then again, why was she so surprised? Her enemies were no longer drow. No, they were the tainted, playthings of the demons. And they had chosen, deliberately, to become what they were. They no longer respected, perhaps no longer understood, the laws that governed the drow society.

But if the behavior of the Nidraa’chal Clan demonstrated the true nature of the tainted, then why were her daughters behaving in a completely opposite manner? Snadhya’rune had always been a mirror image of her mother, not only in looks, but also in her burning desire to control the entire drow race and mold it to her vision. But where her mother tended towards circumspection in her dealings, she was possessed of an extremely aggressive and confrontational nature. However, her… affliction had somehow mitigated rather than strengthened her belligerent tendencies. She seemed softer, more restrained, less reactive. Sarv’swati had inherited her mothers’ deliberate taciturn nature, so it was hard to tell in her case, but Zala’ess, who had always been heavily influenced by her eldest sister, had also shown similar signs of moderation.

This change had been disturbingly evident earlier today, when the first reports of the enemy rampage through the city had come in. Diva’ratrika had instantly ordered every available warrior, mage and priestess to head into the city and destroy the marauders. Then she had stormed into the room of her eldest daughter. Snadhya’rune had apparently been meditating. She had barely had the time to look up before the Il’haress struck her so hard that her head slammed against the corner of the bed as she fell to the floor.

- “Arkanth! Gambhik! Lothranvith!** You betrayed me! Held me back with your words, and now your tainted… friends… are attacking the city. I will not forgive any of you!!”

Snadhya’rune raised herself to her knees. She had cut both her forehead and lips, but all she did was clasp her hands before her. When she looked up, her crimson eyes had tears.

- “Forgive me, Il’haress! I failed you. But I tried to reconcile with them… I did.”

She lowered her head.

The matriarch looked at her daughter, anger replaced by confusion. Everything she had learned about the tainted ones told her that those who merged with demons became more aggressive and violent. But her daughter had become a living contradiction. She had left the room, her thoughts still in a quandary, and stormed to her own room.

A fresh conflagration flared up in the eastern section of the city. Diva’ratrika gritted her teeth as she watched. Intolerable! They knew that they stood no chance against the overwhelming might of the Vel’sharen Clan, so why did they indulge in this depravity? Had the demons devoured even the last shred of sanity from their minds?

Images came to her suddenly. Images from a long, long time ago. Another place, another time. A world where the sun shone brightly in the blue sky during the day, and light from the moon relieved the inky darkness of the night. In that world, she had witnessed that same madness that she witnessed now, the same atrocities being committed - by other people against her own, and by her own people against others. It had ended in flames and ashes. That beautiful world had burnt in an inferno, consumed by an irresistible evil, and her entire race had fled before its scourging menace.

The War of the Moons.$$ Diva’ratrika shuddered involuntarily as old memories, hidden for so long in the deepest recesses of her mind, started to resurface. To escape the insanity that had taken over the surface lands, the dark elves had chosen to make their new home in the eternal gloom of the Underground. They abandoned the light to become the drow; they survived and prospered while the world above them was torn apart.

A millennium was a short time for a race to recreate an entire civilization. It was a short time for collective memory of the people to forget what had happened before. But, the drow had seemingly succeeded in doing both the things. The shadow of insanity had fallen upon them again. What would they do this time?

The Vel’sharen Il’haress turned away, dogged by the thoughts of her failure to act in time. The view from the window only served to reinforce her helplessness, and it was a bitter pill to swallow. Though it was the dead of night, sleep or rest was the furthest thing from her mind, so she chose instead to pace the silent corridors of her abode, passing from one empty passageway to the next like a shadow while she brooded.

The colossal citadel of the first clan of the drow civilization housed nearly ten thousand souls. Almost every members of her massive clan – her children, grandchildren, cousins, nephews and nieces – as well the soldiers, slaves and artisans, occupied the first twenty levels of the stronghold. But Diva’ratrikas’ unquenchable thirst for control was only matched by her equally intense desire for solitude; a desire that made her shun all company, even that of her beloved daughters. That is why she had carefully segregated the top two tiers of the fortress from the rest. The penultimate level of the citadel housed a select group of warriors and handpicked slaves who were dedicated exclusively to protecting and maintaining their own floor and the one above it. This level also housed the Vel’sharen throne room, where the matriarch would meet visitors on the extremely rare occasions that she granted an audience to anyone. The Il’haress herself, and her five eldest daughters, resided on the highest tier of the fortress, and in more than three hundred years, except the slaves who were dedicated to its care, no outsider had walked upon it.

Despite her hermit-like existence, Diva’ratrika ruled her massive clan with an iron fist. Early on during her reign, her mother, the first leader of the clan, had carefully designed and imposed a harsh hierarchical structure upon the entire clan. While highly restrictive, it also ensured that the Vel’sharen had almost never suffered from the revolts and fractious infighting that plagued every other major clan in the city. Diva’ratrika had continued to enforce this hierarchical system, being quick to punish all transgressions. Thanks to an extensive network of spies, among other things, she knew at all times exactly what was afoot in her domain. Although she herself never appeared in public, letting Snadhya’rune and her other daughters do her bidding and implement her will instead, the Il’haress still retained absolute control of her clan.

There were daughters she hadn’t met in years and grandchildren whom she had never seen. Many among the clan had lived and died without ever setting their eyes upon their matriarch. But no one doubted who held the reins of power. For six hundred years, her rule had remained unchallenged.

But today, after a very long time, the reclusive matriarch felt vulnerable and alone. Her responsibilities weighed upon her mind. The last time such feelings had come upon her was the day her mother had died, and the mantle of leadership had fallen upon her shoulders, so many years ago.

Unexpectedly burdened by solitude, Diva’ratrika tried to solicit the company of her daughters. But she failed to locate any of them. Two of the five – the two who were still untainted – had of course rushed to the city at her behest. But Snadhya’rune, Sarv’swati and Zala’ess were nowhere to be found either. Feeling unreasonably miffed, the drow woman wandered around for a while trying to find her daughters. Finally, she headed for the lower level.

As she descended the stairs, the question posed by her eldest daughter had came back to her mind. Her daughters were tainted. How should she deal with them?

The matriarch shook her head slowly as she reached the floor where the slaves and guards resided. She could not murder any of her children, even if they were corrupted. Besides, taking any decisions until the reason for Snadhya’runes’ softened attitude became clear would be premature on her part.

Diva’ratrika turned the corner to look upon a nightmare.

The bodies were stretched out along the floor as though the killers had deliberately arranged them. Purple blood had soaked into the carpet, discoloring it with multiple dark stains. Every one of the soldiers had died the same way, their heads blown apart. Arms and legs had been torn off, scattered around the room. It had been a savage battle, and entirely one sided. The assailants had unleashed magic; none of the warriors had stood a chance.

The Il’haress breathed in sharply as she stared at the headless corpses piled upon the floor. Carnage was not new to her; she had seen many in her life, and on a few occasions had perpetrated them. But how could such a thing happen here inside the fortress without her becoming aware of it? The entire bastion of the Vel’sharen Clan had been carefully covered with an intricately woven web of magic, making it a nearly impregnable stronghold. Not only did the spells activate a series of deadly traps upon an invading force, it also allowed Diva’ratrika to instantly become aware any hostile entities within the citadel, and track their movements. But she had sensed nothing, absolutely nothing at all.

Overcoming her momentary paralysis, she hurried past the bodies. Perhaps someone of the Nidraa’chal Clan had managed to enter the fortress. For that matter, it might be some other enemy, trying to take advantage of the confusion. As first clan of the city, the Vel’sharen had to contend with the antagonism of all other clans that aspired to replace them. Their animosity was generally well concealed, but it would hardly be surprising if one of their more daring enemies chose to assault the fortress while it’s strength was so severely depleted. But how could an attacker have possibly penetrated through the magical shield, all the way to the upper levels of the fortress, without being detected?

Over the next ten minutes, as the Il’haress combed through the rooms and passages of that level, she found many more corpses. By her own command, no mage, priestess or wielder of magic was permitted to live on this tier. Thus, the soldiers here were handpicked for their strength and loyalty, but had absolutely no defense against sorceries. Each one had been struck down where he or she stood, blown apart by spells that their armor could not stop and their weapons not deflect. But the attackers themselves still eluded her, just as they had somehow eluded the magical shields that had been protecting the fortress for hundreds of years.

Clenching her jaw, Diva’ratrika continued her hunt. Her rage was dangerously close to getting out of control. She did not know why the detection spells were failing to pinpoint the intruders, but the reason for that failure was the least of her concerns. She wanted to find the intruders, and find them she would.

Passing into the next corridor, she saw the slaves.

There had been perhaps fifty of them. They had been lined up against the wall, and then cut in half. Each body lay on the floor in precisely two pieces. The blood had pooled along the entire length of the corridors’ floor, covering it end to end. The massacre had been quick, merciless and completely unnecessary.

The Il’haress took in the scene quickly, her eyes flat. There was no doubt now as to who the enemy was - the tainted clan of Nidraa’chal. It made perfect sense now, and Diva’ratrika cursed herself for being fooled so easily. They had dispatched a part of their troops into the city to create mayhem, and when she had reacted, predictably, by sending out the entire Vel’sharen army after them, the tainted washoors** had invaded the Vel’sharen Fortress. It was an obvious ploy, except that the magical barriers that protected this citadel should have defeated their intent. Somehow, they had found a way to overcome the magic. The power of the demons that possessed them could very well have given them this ability.

For the first time, the Il’haress felt concern for the safety of her daughters. She knew all of them were more than capable of handling themselves and taking care of any enemy, but they also harbored a weakness for others of their kind – others of the tainted. Would they be able to fight back if the Nidraa’chal Clan ambushed them?

Her heart chilled at those thoughts, but despite the urgency in her feelings, she forced herself to slow down and move more cautiously. It would not do to blunder into an ambush herself. The idea of heading to the lower levels to fetch help never entered her head. She levitated across the corridor, then primed up a mana-fire spell before landing and advancing further.

A sound at last! A scream floated to her ears from the room up ahead. That was where the last of the guards were – had been - posted. At the same instant, she detected the use of magic. A vicious grin curled her lips. She had found the washoors now, and they would pay the price for daring to challenge the Vel’sharen Clan.

Since she had made no attempt to shield her own magic at any time, it was very likely that the killers ahead had already sensed her approach. Which meant that the room ahead, in all probability, was a trap. It was too bad that her enemies did not know what they were dealing with. With a few short words, Diva’ratrika cast a reflection barrier around her. This barrier did not simply stop an attack; it reflected the spell back to the attacker. If the Nidraa’chan invaders surrounded her and launched an attack, which is what they were most likely to do, they would bring down doom upon themselves with their own hands.

Protected by the barrier, and armed with a mana-fire at her fingertips, the enraged Il’haress bounded across the remaining distance and hurtled into the room through the door, prepared to unleash her power…

…and stumbled to a halt. Snadhya’rune, Sarv’swati and Zala’ess were in the room, apparently surprised to see their mother. The latter hurriedly looked around the room. A soldier lay dead on the floor, the large dining table in the center had been smashed in half and the chandelier above hung at a crooked angle. There was no one else in the chamber.

Puzzled, she turned to look back at her daughters.

At their crimson eyes.

And realized the truth.

- “Hello Mother!” Snadhya’rune purred as she raised her hand. Incarnadine energy as red as her eyes burst from her fingers and hurtled towards Diva’ratrika. Instinctively, she dropped to the ground, letting the lethal force pass harmlessly over her rather than relying upon the reflection barrier for protection. The scarlet beam crashed into the wall, exploding with concussive force and showering her with broken glass.

Snadhya’rune and her sisters were momentarily out of her view, hidden by the expanse of the table. But her daughters voice could be heard all too clearly.

- “Sorry, Mother! You know we love you very much. But we – the tainted – are the future of the drow race. For the sake of the future, you must die.”

With those words, something died within the Il’haress.

It had all been an act. The softening of their hearts had been a charade. The oath of everlasting loyalty to the Vel’sharen had been a lie. Her beloved children were tainted to the core, and they had fooled her all too well.

An absolute, primordial rage took control of her mind and body, washing away all other emotions, and she struck back.

Snadhya’rune walked a step ahead of her sisters. She did not even bother to look at the trail of blood their mother had left behind. She could detect their victims’ life force quite easily with her enhanced senses. Another incidental benefit of the “taint”. Her face broke out in a thoughtful smile. The word “tainted” had a delicious, depraved beauty to it. The secret name that they had chosen for themselves was the “evolved”. But from this day forth, she would call herself, and the others, by the name that the Il’haress had so kindly bestowed upon them. Tainted.

Sarv’swati murmured in a voice laced with amusement. “She went into the throne room. I think Mother means to die while seated on the throne.”

Zala’ess’ laughter was mirthless and unrestrained. “An Il’haress to the end. She has some delusion that her death will be something grand. Too bad we aren’t about to let that happen.”

- “What do you propose?”

- “How about we drag her from her precious throne all the way to the lower level of the citadel? We’ll strip her and hang her upside down from the main gate and leave her there. Let even the commoners see how the once great Vel’sharen ruler died in shame and ignominy.”

- “Hush!” their elder sister raised a hand. “I wish we could do that, but just about everyone in the fortress will see us if we attempt something like that.”

- “Everyone is out in the city fighting. Only the slaves remain.” Sarv’swati pointed out.

- “We cannot kill every witness. Let’s just stick to the plan.”

Without turning her head, Snadhya’rune could see her sister shrug.

Moments later, they were standing in front of the throne room. It had a massive entrance, built to impress the visitor. A double door forged from adamantium, polished to gleam like silver and studded with precious stones, greeted all who came here. Engraved in its’ exact center was the nine-moon herald of the Vel’sharen Clan. Each moon was colored differently, but that color changed dramatically if one viewed it from even a slightly different angle. A simple spell of illusion, but extremely impressive in the results it produced.

The doors were closed, but they could all sense their prey inside.

Zala’ess pushed to the front impatiently. “What are we waiting for? Let’s gut the harvith** and be done with it.”

“Relax, will you?” Sarv’swati spoke softly but firmly. Although she was only a couple of inches taller than her sisters, she always gave the appearance of being taller. Sarv’swati, as befitted the second daughter of the Vel’sharen, was a powerful sorceress, but at the same time, she also possessed the physique of a warrior, and her skill with the battle axe were legendary. She had never had the need to speak loudly to get other people’s attention. Zala’ess stopped, a bit startled, and looked back.

“If Diva’ratrika has any ability left to think straight,” Sarv’swati said, flicking away a stray lock of hair from her forehead, “she would have placed a trap just inside the doorway. It would be extremely stupid for any of us to barge in and get killed at this point of time, when our purpose had been nearly fulfilled.”

Snadhya’rune nodded assent. Another idea had been running through her mind for quite some time now. It was time to reveal it.

- “Listen! I think we need to change our plans a little.”

Both her sisters looked at her, Sarv’swati looked mildly curious, Zala’ess suspicious.

- “Instead of blaming the Nidraa’chal Clan for attacking us and killing the Il’haress, we will tell the others a slightly different story. We will say that the Nidraa’chal Clan had assaulted us, but fortunately the Il’haress survived the attack.”

- “WHAT?!?” Zala’ess exclaimed, startled. Sarv’swati arched an eyebrow quizzically.

- “If we tell everyone that the Il’haress survived, then things can go exactly as they did before. Of course, because of this “failed” attempt to kill her, she will become even more remote and secretive, and give up any and all interactions with the outside world. We will be the only ones who will remain in contact with her, and will continue to communicate her commands to the rest of the clan, as we have been doing all along. No one will ever learn the truth.”

- “Wait a minute!” Zala’ess intervened. “That will never work. The slaves and the guards on this level are all dead now, but they will be replaced. They have always had access to the Il’haress; at the very least the slaves responsible for cleaning her chambers see her all the time. They will soon wonder where their mistress vanished. Once word gets out, someone will be suspicious, and then we will be in trouble. It’s much easier to tell people the Nidraa’chal Clan killed her.”

Snadhya was already shaking her head.

- “Neither the slaves nor the guards will be replaced. Remember, the enemy somehow found a way to penetrate our defenses and enter this level. The only explanation for that is that someone among the warriors or slaves betrayed us. Additionally, we will let it be known that the Il’haress is convinced that there are other traitors among the clan, and she is investigating into it. She no longer trusts anyone. Therefore, from this day forward, absolutely everyone is forbidden entry to this tier and the next. No guards, no slaves, nobody except us. I am willing to wager that no one will even think to question such an order.”

Sarv’swati murmured. “What then of our two poor sisters who have gone forth so bravely to battle? When they return, won’t they wish to see their mother? We cannot deny them entry.”

- “When they return, I am sure we will be able to… persuade… them to join us.”

- “I thought you were waiting for the day when they would willingly merge with demons, the way we did,” Zala’ess interjected sourly.

Her elder sister shrugged.

- “So I had hoped. But they possess far too much abhorrence for demons, no doubt inherited from our dear, soon to be departed mother. And unlike her, they have been suspicious of our true motives for quite some time. The little act I have been putting up about becoming more tenderhearted has not worked with them at all. Even if we stay true to the original plan, it would be hard to sell them the story that the Nidraa’chal invaded the citadel and killed the Il’haress.”

- “Fortunately, willingness is not a prerequisite for joining the tainted,” Sarv’swati observed demurely. Snadhya’rune noted amusedly that her sister too seemed to have taken a liking to the word “tainted”.

Zala’ess frowned. “That’s all very well. But what advantage does your new plan give us compared to the old one? If anything, the element of risk seems greater.”

- “The element of risk is only marginally higher. The benefit is that if everyone believes that mother is still in control, everything will go on as they have for hundreds of years. All the plots and conspiracies and unrest that accompany a new Il’haress to her throne will be eliminated. More importantly, if the Vel’sharen were to have a new matriarch, a lot of the other Clans will be inclined to flex their muscles to test her strength. We absolutely do not need such distractions. There is already enough to do.”

“Maybe,” Zala’ess muttered, “But we planned this for a long time. I don’t like the idea of you changing things at the last minute without even telling us.”

Sarv’swati chuckled unexpectedly and thumped Zala’ess back, causing the latter to wince in pain. “Don’t fret, li’l sister. Sna’dhyas’ plan is a good one and you know it. Let’s just carry it out.”

Zala’ess responded with an angry glare. She was very much the opposite of her sister. Nearly a head shorter than all the others, thin as a bone, bestowed with a volatile temper that contrasted sharply with Snadhya’s calm demeanor and Sarv’swatis’ amused disposition. She hated being reminded of her lack of physical strength, and even after all these centuries, she still tended to react badly when Sarv’swati called her “li’l sister”

“Are we in agreement?”

The eldest daughter of the clan cast her sanguine gaze upon both her sisters in turn. When they had nodded - Sarv’swati thoughtfully and Zala’ess reluctantly - she turned back once more to look at the throne room doorway.

- “All right then! Mother will definitely have laid some traps for us in there. So we need to go in very carefully.”

- “Why not just leave her there?” Sarv’swati murmured.

Snadhya’rune turned her head slightly. “What?”

- “We need not enter. Let’s just lock the door, blow up this whole passageway, and keep her trapped in there. She will die in her own time. We are hardly in a hurry.”

There was a short silence. Then Zala’ess started to laugh with glee.

Snadhyas’ smile also grew as she considered the idea. It was truly a perfect solution. And there was an ironic beauty to it. Their mother had lived in isolation most of her life. She would die in isolation as well. Nodding in approval, she gestured to her sister.

- “Very well. You proposed it, so it’s only fair that you do the honors.”

Angling her head in assent, Sarv’swati turned and started to walk back towards the beginning of the passage. “Let’s move back a little first.”

As the others followed her, Zala’ess leaned forward and whispered in her elder sisters’ ear.

- “We might have forced mother to join us. In her weakened condition, she could not have resisted a demon.”

Snadhya’rune clucked her tongue.

- “She has ruled over us six hundred years. Do you really want her lording over us for an eternity?”

There was no reply. They came to a halt at the beginning of the passage. Pivoting on her heels so that she faced the throne room entrance again, Sarv’swati started casting a spell in a clear, precise voice. Her sisters leaned back against the walls and observed quietly as their mother’s fate was sealed.

Diva’ratrika felt her eyelids droop even as she struggled to stay conscious. The healing spell that she had cast upon herself had successfully stopped the bleeding, but it had also exhausted the last reserves of her strength. It was all she could do to simply stay upon her feet. This was the end. Any moment now, her traitorous daughters would come in and kill her.

With every ounce of willpower left within her, the Vel’sharen Il’haress fought the temptation to give in to unconsciousness. Her death was going to be a pitiful one, but at least she would look it full in the face when it came. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to take yet another step, though every movement sent a fresh bout of pain coursing through her ravaged body. She had entered the throne room with the determination to make a final stand upon her throne. But the loss of blood had been too severe and she had collapsed halfway across the room.

Now, she staggered drunkenly towards the ornate seat of power that long been the symbol of the ruling matriarch of the Vel’sharen Clan. Sweat rolled into her eyes, blurring her vision, and her hands shook uncontrollably. Somewhere deep inside, a tiny voice was laughing hysterically at her foolishness. What difference did it make whether she died here or somewhere else? But Diva’ratrika was well past the point where what made sense, and what did not, mattered.

At last, her hands were touching the familiar cold shape. The drow woman collapsed, rather than sat, upon the majestic adamantium seat that had been hers for six hundred years, with an audible gasp. An intense revulsion filled her to the core at that thought that very soon, one of the tainted ones would be sitting upon it.

Despite her efforts to remain conscious, darkness was creeping across her vision. Perched upon the throne, Diva’ratrika looked straight at the entranceway. She tried to conjure up one final spell as she waited for the doors to open, one last act of defiance before it all ended. But neither her mind nor her body had the strength to do it. With nothing else left to try, the Il’haress simply leaned back and begun uttering a disjointed prayer to Sharess as she waited to die.

The battle with her daughters had been a nightmare.

Had they simply relied upon Vel’sharen sorcery, Diva’ratrika may well have overcome even the combined might of her three opponents. But the tainted women possessed not only the magic of their clan, but also the unholy power of the demons. Diva’ratrika had not bothered to study anything of demonic attacks, and that proved to be her undoing. After a short but vicious encounter, Sarv’swati had brought down the reflection barrier that protected the matriarch. Snadhya’rune had instantly launched a blinding white blast of energy towards her. The Il’haress had evaded the attack easily. Moving behind a wall for protection, she had begun to re-erect the barrier. But before she could complete the spell, a tremendous force had suddenly slammed into her back. It had sent her staggering forward helplessly, defenseless and in full view of her daughters. They had struck almost simultaneously, and none of them had missed.

Diva’ratrika had been blasted all the way across to the other end of the corridor. As she lay there stunned, Snadhya’rune mocking voice had floated from afar and stabbed through her befuddled senses.

- “I should have warned you, Mother. Some of our spells can bounce off the walls. Well, now you know.”

As quickly as that, it had been over. Almost paralyzed by the intense agony ripping through her, she had been more than willing to remain there and let her daughters inflict the final blow. But neither despair nor pain could overcome the instinct of survival that was so deeply rooted in her psyche. Almost without realizing it, the matriarch had struggled to her feet, and fled. Thus, her death had been postponed. By a few minutes.

Diva’ratrikas’ steadily failing senses warned her of a spell being cast somewhere nearby. She gritted her teeth and straightened upon the throne. They were here, and time was up.

A mild tremor shook the floor of the room.

The Il’haress braced herself, breathing heavily.

The next jolt was stronger, and it was accompanied by a rumbling sound.

Were they trying to break down the door? Or were they trying to destroy the room itself? If so, it was a wasted effort. Diva’ratrika struggled to withstand the lure of unconsciousness. The throne room had been constructed to very strict specifications centuries ago. Its walls had been reinforced over and over with layer after layer of magic. It was possible, perhaps, that the combined might of her unholy trinity of offsprings could produce enough brute force magic to shatter even these walls, but they would probably knock down a huge chunk of the fortress were they to attempt to generate that powerful a spell. Surely they were not that insane.

The floor shook again, and this time it was accompanied by a powerful rumbling sound emanating from beyond the entrance. She squinted her eyes, trying to focus her mind as the floor trembled harder and the noise grew more powerful. Exactly what were those she-demons trying to accomplish? It felt as though they were destroying the whole damned passageway outside…

A sudden horror filled her. With convulsive strength, Diva’ratrika raised herself from the throne. She raised a trembling hand, almost in supplication.

- “No… don’t…”

It was too much of an effort. Darkness swept over her, and she collapsed senseless upon the floor.

A noise was intruding upon her peaceful slumber. Though faint, it was insistent and it grated upon her nerves. Despite her attempts to ignore it, Diva’ratrika finally could not stand the annoyance any longer. Consciousness overcame sleep, and her eyes opened slowly.

- “Are… are you awake, Mistress?”

The Il’haress looked at the object in front of her. It appeared to be a box of some kind, bright and shiny. Strange! When did this thing get into her chamber? Well, at least she was conscious, and right now it was a very comfortable feeling to just remain lying here. The bed felt a little colder than usual, but not unpleasantly so. Now if only she could figure what it was that she was seeing, she could go back to her nap.

- “Mistress?”

Argh! That annoying sound again. Diva’ratrika blinked a few times. She knew what that thing was, but her mind was rather fuzzy…

The Vel’sharen throne! That’s what it was!

But why was it doing inside her…

Memory returned with a rush.

The Il’haress jerked violently as she lifted her head from the floor. A strong feeling of nausea flooded her senses immediately, forcing her to remain still until it passed. She grimaced as a dull pain started to throb in her temples immediately afterwards.

- “Mistress?”

That voice!

Overcoming a strong desire to close her eyes again, Diva’ratrika willed herself to roll over onto her back. It took several tries before her body responded to the commands of her brain. When she had managed to turn over, she saw the one who had been whispering to her.

A slave.

The matriarch regarded the girl for a while, trying to assimilate this new information. She was a small thing - thin as a wire, disheveled hair, collared neck, very ordinary looking - undoubtedly a drow girl of common blood; one among the hundreds of slaves that lived within the citadel. But Diva’ratrika could not take her eyes off that face while her confused mind was still trying to determine the importance of what she saw. In the meantime, this unwavering scrutiny was obviously scaring the already frightened girl even more.

After a long silence, the Il’haress managed to whisper a question.

- “How did you get here?”

The slave suddenly seemed to remember, belatedly, that it was forbidden for slaves to lock gazes with their mistress and bowed her head to look at her feet. A momentary tremor shook her shoulders.

- “Answer, slave! I asked you a question”

This time, a more violent jerk passed through the girls’ body, and she replied in a tiny voice.

-“The… the air duct… Mistress! They all got killed… all the other… slaves… so I hid… I was frightened. I crawled into the air duct… and I came here…” Her voice started to break, choking with tears. “Forgive me, Mistress!”

The Il’haress sighed. That was what she had suspected, but for a moment a few wilder thoughts had crossed her mind. “Stop crying, slave, and don’t move,” she muttered and closed her eyes.

Too tired! She needed rest. At least, for a little while longer, before she could start thinking rationally again.

Diva’ratrika regarded the massive doorway of the throne room. Rage filled every corner of her mind, and the knowledge that it was completely impotent only made it worse. Admittedly, she had only had the three hours of rest, and not even half her strength had been restored. But that was of no consequence. Even with all her powers at her disposal, she would still have been just as helpless. The doors that stood before her, undamaged and unscratched despite the spells that she had flung against them, were a symbolic reminder of that harsh fact.

It was useless to deny the truth. It was not enough for her thrice-damned daughters to just kill her; they also wanted her to suffer before she died. That was why they had chosen to follow this course of action. Those filthy demons! Seated upon her throne, Diva’ratrika gently massaged her temples, trying to force down the violent thoughts that surged up within her at the memory of those scarlet eyes. Anger and hatred were two emotions that she could not afford to have. Above all else, it was important for her now to remain focused, and to remember each and every detail that she could about the construction of this room.

Her mother, the first Il’haress of the Vel’sharen Clan, had had this room constructed to make it practically impervious to magical assaults. In other words, she was trapped within this room.

There was only one way to enter or leave this chamber. Her demon infested daughters had sealed it from the outside with a locking spell, and then destroyed the entire corridor outside of it, piling tons of debris against the door. Despite her attempts, Diva’ratrika had failed to open the door, or to break it down. Even if through some miracle were she able to do so, her path would be blocked by a mountain of debris to the other side? There was no way for her to get through it. Though she had been blasting away at the door in a mindless fury, the more rational part of her mind knew right from the start that it was a futile effort.

Unfortunately, the walls of the room were just as impregnable as the door; just as resistant to any magic spell she could hurl at them. There were no other exits from this room. No windows, no secret passages. In short there was no way out.

Not for her, at least. There was the air duct through which the slave girl had come in. It was far too small for Diva’ratrika to even think about getting through. No. She was fated to hurl her powers over and over against the impenetrable confines of this prison until her body collapsed from weakness and exhaustion. There were only two ways that this imprisonment would end – death through starvation or death through suicide. Neither escape nor rescue was possible.

And that was the fate that her own children had decreed upon her. Trapped within the throne room – her own throne room – the Vel’sharen Ilharess’ life would eventually come to a miserable end. It might be months before thirst and hunger would overwhelm her, but what would be the point in stretching out her existence for that long, when there was nothing to hope for?

For the first time in her long life, Diva’ratrika began to cave in to utter and complete despair. The tranquility she had foisted upon her mind moments ago fell apart in an instant. The last time she had cried had been almost five hundred years ago, the day her mother had died. But now, once again, tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. Death was a concept that had never bothered her, but to die in this ignoble manner, helpless and weak, was terrible.

She turned her head and considered the girl who was kneeling next to the throne. She was a small creature, looking even smaller now. Diva’ratrika felt more bitterness well up inside her. Here was a slave - frail, helpless, insignificant. Here also was the mightiest sorceress of the underground, the de facto ruler of the entire drow race. Yet this mighty woman was trapped in a prison she could not escape, while this worthless slave could simply get up, walk to the wall, crawl into the same air duct that she had come through, and get out of here whenever she wanted.

Diva’ratrika suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to unleash a fire spell at the slave girl and blow her away. You shriveled little insect, her mind snarled silently, what right have you to leave this prison, while I remain here trapped? Her hands trembled as tears of helplessness burnt her eyes. But the Il’haress held back her powers.

“Why, Sharess?” she screamed at the ceiling suddenly. The slave girl jumped like a frightened animal, shrinking back against the side of the throne. “I have always served you. Why did you do this to me?”

There was no answer save for the slight echo of her voice. The drow woman slumped to the ground instead. Putting her chin upon her knees, she brooded upon her desperate situation. A long time passed in utter silence. Then she remembered the book.

The most powerful spells ever created by the Vel’sharen Clan, the most powerful forms of sorcery even conceived by the drow race, were written down in a book that was concealed right here, in this very room. She had never studied it herself - and neither had her mother, the previous Il’haress - but she did know that all of the spells the book described had been created and used during the War of the Moon. The only time in her life that she seen this book was seven hundred years ago, when her mother had revealed its hiding place to her, while repeatedly impressing upon her the need to keep the very existence of the book a secret, and to never ever use the book save at a time of dire crisis. Diva’ratrika had kept her promise on both counts. She had never touched the book, and had never breathed so much as a word about it to Snadhya’rune or anyone else.

Diva’ratrika blinked, trying to clear the moisture in her eyes, as a sudden glimmer of hope came to her. If this situation did not count as a crisis, then nothing did. The book could be the one thing that could possibly show her a way out of this otherwise impregnable prison.

With the flame of hope re-kindled in her heart, the drow woman turned to regard the slave yet again. The fact that this girl had escaped the slaughter was a miracle in itself. In all probability, while she had been secreted in the air duct, some other slave or guard had been killed in close vicinity. The aura of the dying victim had covered up her own aura, and those she-demons must have moved away from that spot before this other aura could dissipate. That could be the only explanation.

Thus, this slave girl had survived, and ended up here. Was it a mere coincidence? Maybe. Then again, maybe it was the will of Sharess. This slave could be used to fetch food, water and news from the outside while Diva’ratrika could plan for a way to escape from this place.

Somewhere inside her, the matriarch could hear a voice was mocking her. She had been beaten down by her own daughters and then forced to run away like a coward. Now she was trapped like a rat inside this room, and was hoping that a worthless slave would be able to sustain her while she floundered around trying to find a way to escape. How low had the great Vel’sharen Il’haress fallen!

Diva’ratrikas’ shoulders trembled momentarily as she savagely clamped down upon those thoughts. Self-pity was the most destructive of emotions, and she would not allow it to rule her mind. Looking at the slave, she commanded in a tired, but still imperious, voice.

- “Tell me your name.”

- “R…Ragini, Mistress!”

- “Very well… Ragini! Come closer and kneel before me.”

Despite the fear that was paralyzing her nerves, the young girl had enough sense to obey without delay. She rose up, digging her nails into her clammy palms. The Il’haress remained silent, so she took a few tentative steps forward. In a heartbeat, Ragini found herself right in front of the throne. Her knees almost gave out, and for a frightful moment, she was on the verge of losing her balance and falling upon her mistress. Somehow, she held her poise and knelt, carefully keeping her eyes upon the floor.

Then her heart almost stopped beating as the Il’haress reached out and placed a bejeweled hand upon her head, curling delicate fingers in her tousled hair.

- “Stay still!”

She obeyed, despite the sweat that poured down her back.

A sudden stab of pain in her chest almost drew a scream from her throat. Ragini muffled it instinctively, but could not stop a gasp from escaping her lips. The pain was gone an instant later, but it felt as though a fire had been lit inside her chest.

Diva’ratrika’s hand tightened in the slaves’ hair and pulled her face upwards, till their eyes met. The noble woman smiled as if to assuage the fear she saw in the others’ face, but her words were cruel.

- “Ragini! I have placed a spell of death upon you. Unless this spell is counteracted, seven days from now, you will suffer several hours of intense agony, and then you will die.”

She saw confusion come upon the girls’ face, then shock, and finally, despair. Silent tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. It occurred to Diva’ratrika suddenly that right now this slave girl must be going through the same emotions that were raging in her own mind. For some reason, she found this thought extremely disturbing. When she spoke again, her voice had lost some of its harshness.

- “I am the only one now who can save you now, Ragini. And I will do so if you do exactly as you are told. If you fail to carry out my instructions, you will die. Is that clear?”

She delivered the final words with extra force, jerking upon Ragini’s head to emphasize her words. Apparently, she understood, and responded with a forlorn voice.

- “As…as you command, mistress.”

Diva’ratrika nodded and disengaged her hand from Raginis’ hair.

- “Stand up and look at me. Don’t look away until I permit you to do so.”

The terrified girl scrubbed the tears from her face and hastened to obey. Even standing straight, her eyes were barely level to those of the seated Il’haress. As soon as their gazes met, the latter leaned forward, transfixing the slave with her stare.

- “Listen carefully, and follow my instructions to the letter.”

“First of all, you will mention to no one, absolutely no one, that you met me in this room. In fact, you will tell no one that you were ever in this room. You will not breathe a word about what happened here, about what I have told you and about what I will order you to do. NO ONE.”

She waited till she saw a nod of assent before continuing.

- “There are three things I want you to do. First, gather some food and water, whatever you can carry without being noticed and bring them back here. Second, look around the Fortress and find out whatever information you can about what my all of my daughters are doing or planning.”

“Last but most important, avoid attention. Let no one suspect you of doing anything out of the ordinary. All the other slaves on this tier are dead; so do not remain here. Stay on one of the lower levels with the other slaves, and return to me within seven days. Unless you wish to die.”

Diva’ratrika looked steadily into Raginis’ eyes until she was certain that the girl had understood. Then she nodded.

- “Leave then. And remember my words.”

She watched silently as her vassal scampered around the throne to the back wall of the chamber. It was adorned with a series of murals that depicted different incarnations of the Drow Goddess. The entire wall was a work of art, created through a careful melding of skilled craftsmanship and sorcery. Its’ true beauty was obfuscated by light of the torches that illuminated the chamber, because the magic imbued within the wall only came to life in the darkness. Were the torches to be blown out, every figure carved on the wall would become visible in a preternatural luminous relief, a sight that could easily inspire terror within the casual viewer.

But artistry was the last thing on the matriarchs’ mind.

Right next to the corner of the room, a couple of feet off the floor, was the mouth of the air duct. The grill that normally covered it was lying flat on the floor nearby, leaving the small square hole cut into the back wall exposed. For a moment, Diva’ratrika felt a sense of disbelief. Surely, this hole was too tiny for even someone of Raginis’ size to be able to pass through. But as she watched, the slave girl seemed to scrunch in upon herself, seemingly becoming even smaller, and squeeze into the opening.

- “Seven days at most, slave.”

The Il’haress watched the small figure vanish into the narrow opening. In a few moments, she would come out on the other side, free and unencumbered.

Diva’ ratrika took a deep breath and rose from her throne. Just as Ragini had done moments ago, she turned around and knelt before it. Carefully placing her palms upon the seat of the throne, she began to chant a spell in a high pitched voice.

It took several tries. Diva’ratrika was extremely upset, and not a little frightened, to discover that she did not clearly remember the spell to undo the magic that guarded the book. It had been done only once after all, and that was a long time back. Fortunately, the repeated failures did not set off any hidden traps or activate any further safeguards. Concentrating hard, the drow woman continued doggedly, and succeeded in reciting the spell correctly on the eighth attempt.

The seat of the throne lifted upwards, like the lid of a box. In fact, that was exactly what it was, a box that had been sealed away with magic for a millennium. As it opened, the Il’haress reached out for the book concealed within it. She felt a momentary tingle in her palms as her hands touched its’ cover. That was the second layer of protection – a spell that permitted only someone with Vel’sharen blood to take the book out. She waited until the tingling had subsided, then grabbed the tome, lifting it out of the box and placing it upon the floor.

Given the nature of its contents, it was a deceptively plain looking thing. The cover was unadorned and unmarked; surprisingly, the book didn’t show its’ age at all. Shifting to a more comfortable cross-legged position on the floor, ignoring the protests of her exhausted body, Diva’ratrika opened the book to its first page. Despite her best efforts, she could not control the palpitations of her heart as she did so. It felt as though she had crossed some kind of a boundary and entered a forbidden territory. During the six hundred years of her reign, not once had she thought about this book. In the one thousand years that had passed since the drow came to the Underground, no one had tried to read it. There had never been a need.

But there definitely was a need now.

She started to read the first page, written in an archaic form of Drowish, the language of the nobility. Her heart sank after the first few lines, and it took a conscious effort to stop her self from rushing to the second page. But the feeling kept growing stronger, and after ten minutes, halfway through the third page, Diva’ratrika uttered a cry of frustration, falling flat on her back upon the floor, arms splayed on either side. She looked at the ceiling, but her thoughts were a whirlwind, and her eyes unfocused.

The book was a riddle.

It was the final safeguard. Instead of containing a straightforward description of the spells, the book gave hints and clues and oblique references to what any of the spells did and how it could be cast. Only a person trained at the highest levels of sorcery and well trained in many different disciplines of magic could hope to ever understand what was written there. Even then, it was a difficult proposition.

The Vel’sharen Il’haress knew that her own abilities were more than sufficient to accomplish this task. That was not the problem. The problem was that at the very least she needed to refer to several other books to be able to decipher many of the riddles that were posed here. Many of the clues could be deciphered in more than one way, and to misinterpret any aspect of a spell could be lethal. It would take a long time to fully understand all the possible applications of any spell that was contained in the book.

For many minutes, the drow woman allowed dark thoughts to flood her mind. With her inner eye, she imagined her own death over and over. The book had been her only hope, and it seemed to have been in vain. The only thing that she could no now was to rely upon that slave girl to steal the necessary materials from the library and bring them here. That by itself would be a difficult task to accomplish. How would she teach an uneducated slave to find and locate a particular book in the vast Vel’sharen library? How would the latter be able to smuggle the book out of the library without being spotted? Assuming that she did manage to bring the necessary items here, to decipher the secrets hidden within this extraordinary book would be both a difficult and lengthy proposition. Finally, what if there truly was no way to break free of this prison?

Then again, was there another option available to her?

The Il’haress felt desperation creep back into her. Her life and death were now in the hands of a lowly worthless little slave. Diva’ratrika could no longer quiet the mocking voice within her that sneered at how pathetic she had become.

Ten days.

It was not the confinement or the loneliness that bothered her - solitude was something that she had embraced wholeheartedly for hundreds of years. It was the knowledge that she had no control whatsoever upon her own fate that weighed most on her mind.

Diva’ratrika found herself praying to Sharess more often. The Mistress of Chaos was a cruel deity who strengthened her people by subjecting them to pain and adversity. Would she smile upon her devotee and show her a way out? Perhaps this was her way of testing to see if Vel’sharen Il’haress was truly worthy of her position. Be that as it may, the drow woman always felt her heart become lighter once she had finished praying to the Drow Goddess.

Four days back, Ragini had returned and caused Diva’ratrika to explode in fury. The miserable little moron had brought slave food. Slave food! Despite the hunger that gnawed at the pit of her stomach, a momentary rage had blinded her completely. Hurling the food to the floor, she had attacked the slave girl viciously, nearly beating her senseless. Only the latters’ pitiful whimpering about not being able to steal anything better had finally made the Il’haress relent; that, and the realization that this girl was the only one who could bring her anything from the outside.

Taking that first bite of the slave food had been one of the most difficult things the noble woman had ever done, and as she swallowed that morsel, she knew that her pride would never recover from the wound it had suffered today. But the food and water had helped restore her strength a good deal, lifting her spirits a little. A terrified Ragini had then proceeded to provide her with news of the outside world. Snadhya’rune had gathered the whole clan together and blamed the entire affair upon the Nidraa’chal. She had also told everyone that the Il’haress was still alive. Diva’ratrika had shaken her head at the audacity of the tainted woman’s plan, but hadn’t been too surprised by what she heard.

It was the other news that had really hit her. Ragini spoke of four mistresses being present at the meeting, and all four had those terrible red eyes that marked the tainted. And Snadhya’rune had declared that the third elder Vel’sharen daughter, Sillice, was a traitor who had been in league with the enemy, and having failed in her attempted assassination, made good her escape. These words had shattered a frail hope that the trapped Il’haress had nurtured deep within her heart. A hope that Nishi’kanta and Sillice, her two elder daughters who had not succumbed to the demons, would somehow find a way to oppose the diabolical reign of Snadhya’rune. It had been an illogical thought all along, but it had stayed in her mind. Even that slim hope had now been destroyed. Nishi’kanta had joined, or been forced to join, her tainted siblings, and Sillice was very likely dead, killed by the others. The story of her escape was a lie just as everything else was.

It was ironical. Diva’ratrika had never considered Sillice to be worthy of being her successor. Her third daughter had been strong yet petty, intelligent yet near-sighted. Sillice had been the one most devoted to her mother, the one who tried to emulate her the most, yet lacked the qualities that were needed to sit upon the throne, the qualities that Snadhya’rune and Sarw’swati possessed in abundance. Yet Sillice, it seemed, had been the only one able to resist the taint, and given her life for it.

The Vel’sharen Clan had fallen completely into the hands of the tainted, and there was no one left to oppose it. Gritting her teeth, the Il’haress had renewed her determination to find a way out of this prison, not only to save her own life, but also to save the Vel’sharen Clan from doom.

She had then proceeded to remove the death spell from Ragini, and replaced it instantly with another one, ensuring that the slave would either return again in seven days time, or die. This time, the girl had wailed openly, until Diva’ratrikas’ harsh voice silenced her. Explaining exactly what to look for in the library and how to bring it out of there turned out to be a simpler task than the noble woman had anticipated. Despite her appearance of being simple-minded, and her overwhelming fear, Ragini was fairly intelligent, grasping the instructions quickly. For the first time, the Il’haress had felt genuinely pleased, and even patted the girls’ head in encouragement before sending her off.

The news she had received had convinced Diva’ratrika that none of her daughters would ever bother to actually come into this room. They knew well enough that the spell they had cast was unbreakable. Even so, it was better to take certain precautions. Over the next several hours, she had carefully constructed a series of traps just inside the throne room doorway. Since not even Snadhya’rune knew the exact location of any of the secret passages that led to and from this chamber, the main entrance was the only way any of them would ever try to come in.

Cursing her daughters yet again, the matriarch returned to studying the book in front of her. They had done this to her, and if she somehow found a way out of here, they would pay dearly for their treachery.

One year.

More than one year had passed since the day she had staggered into this room, wounded and bleeding.

Diva’ratrika sat on the floor with her back resting against the side of the throne, knees pulled up to her chest. A most undignified manner for an Il’haress to sit, she mused. As though it mattered.

The spell book lay carelessly to one side, next to a pile of several other books that Ragini had swiped from the library and brought here over the last twelve months. Diva’ratrika glanced at it disinterestedly. She had finally finished reading that tome in its entirety. As a result, some of the most potent forms of sorcery ever conceived were at her disposal. Spells capable of creating death and destruction on an unheard of scale. Incantations that could call forth the calamitous forces that had been unleashed during the War of the Moons. Unfortunately, even with all this power within her grasp, she had found no method whatsoever that would allow her to escape from this prison without causing her untimely demise.

It seemed death was the only road to freedom.

Diva’ratrika ran a hand down her face. Time had taken its toll over this past year. Subsisting on the meager rations that Ragini was able to smuggle in, she had stayed alive, but had not stayed healthy. The matriarch had lost a lot of weight. Her eyes had sunk in, bones protruded all over her body and her hair was a tangled mess. She had discarded her clothes several months back because of the stench that they emanated. Ragini had managed to sneak in a garment once, but that had soon become as dirty and stinking as her original clothes. The Il’haress now stayed naked all the time, but there was no escaping the odor of her own body or the constant feeling of being unclean.

More disturbingly, the yearlong imprisonment had had its effects upon her mind. She had first realized something was wrong with her about three months back. In one of those moments when an unnamed emotion had impaired her judgment completely, she had not renewed the death spell upon Ragini, the way she had been doing all this time, Instead, Diva’ratrika had cancelled the spell, and told the slave she was free. It was not until afterwards, when more rational thoughts prevailed, that the Il’haress had been horrified at the magnitude of her own stupidity. She had spent the entire week cursing her self for falling prey to a moment of weakness. Would the slave return again, now that she had been freed from the death sentence that had been hanging over her all this time? That question had turned over and over in her mind until concentrating on the book had become impossible, and she had spent the whole week brooding upon darker thoughts.

But Ragini had returned as always, and the Il’haress had stunned herself again with yet another irrational act. She had rushed out and hugged the slave in delight. Hugged the slave! What’s more, she had not renewed the death spell that time either, or at any time since then.

As she thought about her actions now, Diva’ratrika feared that they were, in fact, the first symptoms of insanity. Lately, she had caught herself looking forward to Raginis’ visits, not because of what the slave brought with her, but to see the girl herself. Not only that, sometimes she was not even thinking of Ragini as a slave anymore, treating her instead like a companion or an ally. No! More than that! Treating her like a family member.

A slave girl as a family member! Yes, that was definitely a sign of madness.

Yet Ragini had been loyal to her, and the Il’haress chuckled at the irony of it. In truth, that slave deserved much more to be a part of her family than her own daughters did. After all, that girl was the only one who had helped her while the others…

The Il’haress jerked her head. Such thoughts were unacceptable.

She focused once again on what she had learned from the book.

The incarceration spell was truly inviolate. Death was the only escape.

So be it, then.

Ragini came in through the opening in the wall. She wrinkled her nose at the oppressive, stale air that pervaded the whole room, then looked around. Her mistress was seated by the side of the throne; lost in thoughts as always.

- “Mistress, I have brought you food and drinks!”

The matriarch roused herself from her reverie and looked at her vassal.

- “Come Ragini! I was waiting for you.”

There was no longer any fear within the girl. She moved with alacrity, stepping lightly across the floor until she faced her mistress, and then sat down without asking for permission. The Il’haress did not even notice what she would have considered an inexcusable conduct on the part of a slave less than a year ago; focusing instead on what Ragini was carrying on her shoulder.

It was a hefty looking cloth bundle, and the latter opened it to produce several condiments and three large bottles of water. Diva’ratrika snatched up one of the bottles and took a long drink. When her thirst had been temporarily quenched, she took the bread and meat that Ragini proffered and started to chew on them.

After she had taken a few bites, the girl began to speak tentatively - “Mistress, another slave told me yesterday… that he overheard the other Mistresses talking. They said two other Clans had formed an alliance and…”

- “Never mind!” Diva’ratrika said in between mouthfuls.

Ragini was surprised but stayed silent as ordered. Without appearing to do so, she observed her mistress as the latter ate. It was surprising how much the Il’haress had changed over the past one year. It was not just her appearance that was different. She was also no longer the harsh and cruel woman that she used to be. Ragini smiled shyly as she marveled at how terrified she had been of this brutal and terrible mistress, and how completely devoted she was to this same person now.

No further words were exchanged during the next several minutes. The Il’haress finished her food, took another long swallow of water, and then leaned back against the throne with a contented sigh. Another minute passed before she finally spoke.

- “Ragini, there is something I want you to do. It will be difficult, but it is very important that you do it, and do it correctly.”

- “Anything you command, Mistress.”

The Il’haress scrutinized the girl before her. The face that had seemed so ordinary the first time she had gazed upon it now looked surprisingly pleasant. This tiny creature that had looked so pathetic a year back now looked strong and capable. What had brought about this difference? Was it Ragini who had changed?

No, Diva’ratrika mused, it was not she.

“Come closer to me”, she commanded suddenly.

The slave girl obeyed instantly. This time, she felt no fear when her mistress placed her bony fingers upon her head. Nor was there any pain this time. Instead, Ragini was surprised at a sudden feeling of lightheartedness that washed over her, as though a burden had been lifted from her shoulders, a burden that she never knew she carried.

The noble woman removed her hands from the others’ hair and smiled.

- “Ragini! Every slave of this clan is bound by a locator spell. This spell is what makes escape impossible for any slave, because no matter where you go, any of your masters or mistresses can track you down in an instant. You have also had this spell upon you all your life.”

She paused before her smile widened a little.

- “Not any more. As of this moment, you are free. If you wish, you could even escape, and never be found.”

The slave girl sat there stunned by the words of her mistress. A long moment passed before she could respond.

- “But… mistress… why? I… I do not want to escape. I want to remain here, and… and serve you… all my life.”

For a moment, Diva’ratrika felt oddly touched. The next moment, she felt angry at being so touched. Her voice was sharp when she spoke.

- “If you truly want to serve me, then I am going to ask you to do something very important. It is imperative that you follow my instructions to the letter. Can you do that?”

Ragini nodded, looking unexpectedly relieved.

The Il’haress paused, and then enunciated every word precisely.

- “Ragini, if you do as I ask, l may be able to free myself.”

An expression of unadulterated joy passed over the slave girls’ face. She burst out in a delighted voice.

- “Mistress, I promise to you I will do exactly as you command. No matter what happens, even if I die, I will not fail you. I promise, Mistress!”

Yet again, Diva’ratrika found herself oddly touched by her vassals’ exuberance. But this time, she did not feel angry afterwards. She felt guilty.

The Border Forest had something of a sinister reputation. Located just outside the official boundary of Chel’el’sussoloth, it was actually considered to a part of the Wilderness, and hence shunned by most people. But having been here once before, Ragini knew that it was really an ordinary mushroom forest, except that it had undergrowth thicker than what was normally found in the more carefully cultivated copses inside of the city.

She had already been here for more than three hours. It hadn’t taken her long to locate a suitable clearing within the forest upon arrival. Drawing the symbol had been more difficult than expected. The ground was dusty and dry, and furrowing it with her knife had proved to be an arduous task. But she had finished it at last, and after checking and rechecking it against the figure that her mistress had drawn upon the paper, Ragini was fully satisfied with its accuracy. With nothing else to do, she had placed herself in the exact center of the figure etched on the ground, as instructed by her mistress, and there she had waited.

To the best of her estimates, there was still more than an hour to go before midnight fell. She found herself fingering her shoulder again. The nine-moon tattoo that had been upon her skin all of her life was definitely gone, leaving behind only a dull ache. The crest of the Vel’sharen was marked upon the shoulder of each and every slave of that Clan, but it was no longer upon hers. The mistress had done that with her magic. She had told her that she was no longer a slave. Ragini did not fully understand what that meant. She did not care. It was her duty to obey all of the mistress’ instructions, and that was what she would do.

The mistress was sometimes scary, but she was actually a very nice person. Ragini thought it was cruel of the younger mistresses to lock her up in a room like this, and it was a wonderful thing that she would finally be free. Though the whole thing was still a puzzle. Especially drawing this thing on the ground and sitting here in its’ middle.

Ragini shrugged mentally and yawned. She was happy to do whatever the mistress had asked of her. She was a slave.

Midnight.

Diva’ratrika realized her hands were shaking.

So many things could go wrong. Her mother had warned her explicitly that not only were the spells written in that secret book extremely powerful, they were also unpredictable, often proving dangerous for the caster herself. And Diva’ratrika was going to trust her life upon one of those spells, and the promise of a slave.

It was madness. Had loneliness and desperation finally driven her over the edge?

The torches whose magical light had brightened the throne room for so many years were now blown out. In the prevailing darkness, the fantastic figures on the back wall had come to life, outlined with a soft, white glow. The Il’haress looked around one more time. Even the most familiar nooks and corners of this chamber took on an unfamiliar aspect under the gaze of her infrared vision. But the only thing that was of any importance was the book. It was back in its hidden location underneath the thrones’ seat. The rest of the things did not matter.

There was no point in delaying this further. Nor were there any other options to choose. After a moment of deliberation, Diva’ratrika picked up her robe and put it back on. It fit badly upon her thinned out frame - a sharp reminder of what had been done to her. It brought forth a sharp burst of anger that washed away all her doubts.

She walked to her throne to sit upon it for one last time. Taking a deep breath, the Vel’sharen Il’haress closed her eyes and started to sing a melancholy chant. It almost sounded like a dirge, a wail for the dead, and perhaps that was what it was. Slowly, her voice grew stronger, and a warm feeling entered her heart, embracing her, soothing her. She felt lighter - carefree and confident. It was not so hard after all. As her voice reached a crescendo, the lines that she had etched into the floor around the throne earlier in the day begun to glow, brightening with each note, casting an eerie light upon its surroundings. It was the same figure that the Ragini had drawn upon the forest floor several miles away.

Diva’ratrika opened her eyes. It was time. She raised her hand and turned her wrist inwards, so that the two forefingers pointed towards her heart. A terrible sadness enveloped her at the thought of all the things that she had wanted to do in her life, and remained undone. Then her hands struck like a snake, stabbing the center of her chest with the point of her fingers.

A sigh escaped her lips as her heart stopped beating. The figure beneath her feet burst into an incandescent flame. Then, her head dropped forward upon her breasts, and the Vel’sharen Il’haress died.

The girl opened her eyes slowly. There was a dark ceiling above her, kind of spotty, with lighter patches in between. She stared at it for a long time; content to simply remain where she was. What finally forced her to move was the realization that she was terribly thirsty.

She sat up slowly, and the world spun for an instant. When her vision cleared, she looked blankly at the tall things around here. Tall things… mushrooms! Yes, that is what they were called. Mushrooms all around.

The first attempt to regain her feet ended when her knees folded up beneath her and she collapsed back onto the ground. Several minutes passed before the girl felt confident enough to try again. This time, she managed to get to her feet, but the world started spinning around again. She clapped her hands upon her ears and squinted her eyes, breathing shakily, trying to swallow. Her dress was damp with perspiration, but her throat was as dry as a parchment. What was going on?

When the world around her had finally stabilized, the girl found the courage to take a step forward. She was pleased when she didn’t fall, and took another step. Strength returned slowly, and she continued to walk. Within the mushroom forest, all directions were the same. It didn’t matter. All she wanted right now was to drink water. Cold and sweet and wonderful water.

Bi’pin was so completely absorbed in planting the turnip seeds in the field that he did not realize that somebody had walked up to him. When he finally looked up, his heart nearly jumped into his mouth in shock.

It was probably the dirtiest girl he had ever seen, covered from head to toe with dust, as if she had been rolling on the ground over and over. A quick glance showed that she was alone. There was nobody else around.

Recovering slightly, he stood up slowly. But it was the girl who spoke first.

- “Water.”

- “What?”

- “Water… please!”

Bi’pin was a levelheaded person, not easily given to fear. He had been running this farm out in what the city folks called the “wilderness” all his life. He had had his share of adventures, exploring the depths of the true Wilderness of the Underground. But this sudden encounter was definitely unnerving. Hardly anyone ever came here save for his immediate neighbors, other farmers like himself, so this apparition of a girl popping up from nowhere was definitely an event out of the ordinary.

Still, she had asked for water. Bi’pin lifted the water-skin from his waist belt and uncorked it before handing it to his unexpected visitor. The girl took it from him and took one long swallow, emptying the whole bottle. She seemed a little disappointed when there was no more water was left, but didn’t ask for more. She simply wiped her chin, leaving a dirty streak across it, and handed the empty pouch back.

The farmer cleared his throat.

- “So… ah… where did you come from?”

The girl vaguely pointed towards the direction behind her.

Well, there was the mushroom forest behind her, and the city beyond that. Bi’pin grinned ruefully. She obviously could not have come from anywhere else.

- “Where… am I?” the girl asked, running a hand through her extremely messy hair.

- “About five miles beyond the city limits.”

- “City…?”

She looked totally lost. Bi’pin gave her a quizzical look.

- “Chel’el’sussoloth”, he added helpfully, wondering if this was a joke of some sort.

- “Oh… of course.”

There was an awkward silence. The farmer continued to eye her warily. She was definitely a very strange girl. She showed no inclination to move away, but she was not saying anything either. Just what was wrong with her, anyway?

Finally, not knowing what else to say, he asked – “I’m Bi’pin. What’s your name?”

There was a pause. The girl frowned as if trying to remember something. Then she looked back into his eyes blankly and replied.

- “I don’t know.”

-“Two glasses for table twenty.”

Is’peta nodded, deftly handling the tray with the mugs on it. She weaved through the tables of the crowded inn, stopping every now and then to deposit one of the glasses in front of a patron. She placed the last two glasses on the table at the corner of the room, then hurried back to the counter with the empty tray, ready for the next round.

The main hall of the Black Dragon Tavern was always crowded at this time of the day, but it was especially so on the days of the gladiatorial bouts. When she started working here about a year back, the fights were normally scheduled three times a week. Recently, they had started holding these jousts almost everyday. The spectators were certainly pouring in, and business was booming. But that meant she and the other waitresses had to work harder.

Her memory was not as fuddled as it had been on the day she met Bi’pin, almost eighteen months back. But that didn’t mean she remembered anything about her past. Everything about her life before that day was a blank, and she still didn’t know her name or where she came from. Is’peta was the name Bi’pin had given for lack of anything else, and she was content with that name.

She still met Bi’pin, but it was only on those infrequent occasions when he would leave his farm to come into the city. His had an active dislike for the crowds and the noise of the city, preferring the quiet and solitude of his farm. Is’peta had stayed there for three months before moving to the city. Her home, if it could be called that, was a tiny hovel located a few streets beyond the arena. It was cramped and dirty, but that was all she could afford. Life was hard. She did not have much money, and she found working in the tavern to be an exhausting experience. but at least she was earning enough to feed herself.

Her reveries were abruptly broken when the innkeeper called out to her.

When Is’peta looked at him, he indicated for her to come around to the room behind the counter. She shrugged and obeyed. He probably wanted to discuss something in private.

On entering the small chamber that kind of served as an “office” for the innkeeper, Is’peta was surprised to find a young man sitting there. He was dressed well, with a cloak made of that fine silky material that cost an arm and a leg, and that Is’peta could have killed to own a piece of. She had often fantasized about wearing one of those dresses she had seen the noble ladies wear, except that she would never be able to save enough money to buy it.

- “Is’peta?” the man enquired. He was obviously a noble. Even if his clothes had not made it obvious, his accent certainly did. All the nobles spoke the Common Tongue with that accent.

Is’peta nodded. Then bowed belatedly.

- “Yes sir. At your service.”

The young man nodded pleasantly.

- “I am Hans’mukh, of the Sor’loreil Clan. We are one of the most powerful families of Chel’el’sussoloth.”

Unlike most other commoners, who shied away from the nobility and almost never attempted to know any more about them than was absolutely necessary, Is’peta had taken the trouble to learn the name and rank of every clan in the city. Somehow, she felt it was something useful to know, and for all her muddled up memories about her own life, she was good at remembering things.

That’s why she knew perfectly well that the Sor’loreil were in fact a minor clan, and far from being “one of the most powerful”, as this noble had just so pompously claimed. But she kept her knowledge to herself and responded.

- “I am honored, sir. What may I do for you?”

Hans’mukh appeared pleased by the response.

- “Is’peta, I have an offer to make to you. My Il’haress, the leader of the Sor’loreil Clan, has been seeking a personal attendant for a while. Lately, she has complained of monotony weighing down upon her. She wishes for a change, to have someone or something… different… in her life.”

He paused, as if to gauge her reaction. Is’peta maintained an interested look upon her face, but gave nothing else away.

- “She was in the tavern three days last week. You caught her eye. The Il’haress is an impulsive lady. She determined yesterday that she wished you for a companion. So I am here to offer you a chance to join our Clan.”

Is’peta’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, her thoughts completely lost coherency. It took a conscious effort before she could collect herself.

- “Join your clan, sir? I do not understand.”

- “Well, not as a family member, of course. After all, you are a commoner. Only the Val’sarghress Clan,” here he made an expression of great distaste, “allow just about anyone to join their family, even those not of noble birth, because none of them are of noble birth either. How they…” he halted suddenly, then continued. “You will be a slave of the clan, but understand that slaves within our clan are treated differently than in other clans. They are not made to wear collars like in most other clans, nor are they branded, such as the Vel’sharen do to their slaves. In your case, you will be a personal attendant to the Il’haress, so she will likely permit you to wear any clothes that you wish - whatever she decides you should have, of course. The Il’haress is generous; she may even give you spending money if you please her.”

He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table.

- “And, if you interest her enough, you may experience sexual pleasure with the Il’haress. I can tell you it is a wonderful experience that leaves one craving for more.”

“So, will you accept this proposition, Is’peta?”

Is’peta was speechless. She had always thought that all the slaves of the various clans were either captured in battle, or bought from the slave market or were slaves by birth. For the first time today, she realized that the nobles, at least of this particular clan, actually asked someone to become their slave.

Though her first instinct was to refuse, something held her back. At this moment, she was a free person. But, just what was this freedom giving her anyway? Barely enough money to stay alive. She would remain a waitress at the tavern all her life. Was that future really something to look forward to?

She knew, even as those thoughts crossed her mind, that she had already made her decision. It had been a surprisingly easy one to come to. After glancing briefly at Hans’mukhs’ face, she bowed deeply.

“I accept… master. Thank you.”

Three years.

Is’peta had become used to thinking that her life had begun the instant she had woken up in that mushroom forest. After all this time, memories of her previous life still refused to return. She didn’t really think much about it anymore, having come to accept simply that there was a massive hole in her mind that would probably never get filled. How her memories had been lost, and what she had been before it happened, were two questions that would never get answered. And most of the time, it did not even bother her, except when, every now and then, something strange would happen.

Such as the time three months back when she spotted a priestess walking down the market street, wearing the scarlet-purple robe of her calling, snake whip wrapped around her waist. A space automatically opened up around her as she walked, the commoners hurrying to get out of the way of her imperious advance.

Is’peta was standing inside a jeweler shop, along with Cham’lina, the Sor’loreil Il’haress. She stared at the approaching Yathallar, confusion growing in her mind. That face, that walk, it all seemed so familiar. And yet, she was certain she had never seen that noble woman before. Unable to contain her curiosity, Is’peta lightly touched upon the sleeve of her matriarch and whispered – “Pardon mistress! Who is that lady walking down the street?”

Cham’lina glanced briefly in that direction. “One of the Vel’sharen priestesses. Why do you ask?”

Is’peta murmured. “Only curiosity, mistress. Your pardon.”

Cham’lina smiled and patted her slaves’ head. “Too much curiosity is bad for health.”

“Yes mistress.”

But she had continued to stare. As the Vel’sharen noble passed in front of the shop, Is’peta caught a glimpse of her eyes. And suddenly, a cold feeling of dread knotted at the pit of her stomach.

The eyes were red. As red as molten lava. She had never seen such eyes, yet looking at them made a cold shiver run up her spine. Why did they seem so familiar, and why was she so afraid?

Cham’lina tapped her shoulders. “Let’s go, Is’peta.”

The Sor’loreil Clan certainly treated their slaves well. Is’peta had certainly never regretted giving up her “freedom”. Cham’lina was a demanding mistress, but not harsh and Is’peta was definitely her favorite slave, especially in bed.

It was definitely a good life, and these strange incidents were too few and far between to cause her any real worry.

Is’peta opened her eyes to absolute darkness. For a moment, she panicked at the thought she had gone blind. But then she spotted a glimmer of light somewhere far away and sighed.

A horrible pain was pounding away inside her skull. She tried to move her head and groaned as a spike of agony shot through her brains. Groggily, she raised her hands. Somehow they felt heavy. Is’peta blinked a few times, trying to ignore the pain, trying to see.

She found the reason why her arms felt heavy. Her wrists were shackled.

Memory of what had happened rushed back, and she shuddered.

The attack had been sudden, and it had come in the dead of the night. Both Is’peta and Cham’lina had been awakened by screams. For a moment they had both lain still, uncertain. But the screams continued, and the Il’haress had leapt to her feet. She was still naked, but what she had grabbed for was not her clothes, but her sword. She had rushed out of the room in an instant. Confused, uncertain and afraid, Is’peta had run after her, out of the bedroom, down the stairs and into the main hall below.

Those soldiers in black might well have been demons from the Abyss. She barely had a moment to register the carnage below before she saw them pouncing towards her mistress like animals. The Il’haress cut her first assailant in half with her sword. Then a tremendous blow sent Is’peta flying into the nearby wall. She slammed head first into the stone and collapsed to the ground, nearly senseless. With her hazy vision, she saw things happen as though in a nightmare. A sword pierced Cham’linas’ body; followed by another; and another. The Il’haress went down, and the dark assassins stood over her, weapons raised, stabbing at her body again and again and again.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion after that. She remembered being carried by one of the attackers, draped across his shoulder like a sack, before being thrown down upon something like a cart. She had been unable to move, unable to talk; all she had been able to do was watch. Watch as flames leapt up from the walls of the Sor’loreil Clans’ Fortress. Watch as the house that had been her home for the last four years burnt down to the ground.

A wail escaped Is’petas’ throat as she wriggled in the darkness. A strength born of desperation took hold of her, and she sat up. The walls were made of bars. She was within a cage, along with several others. Slaves, she realized a moment later. Slaves of the Sor’loreil Clan. Each one of them was unconscious; beaten and bruised. Every one wore shackles on his or her wrists, and a collar on the throat. Is’peta stared uncomprehendingly, and then raised her hands to her own throat.

She too wore a collar. Just like everyone else.

Is’peta fell back upon the floor of the cage again, and tears started to stream down her face. Cham’lina was dead. Her wonderful, kind, loving mistress was dead. And now she had become a true slave. Four years of joy and happiness, destroyed in an instant.

She continued to weep as she lay upon the floor of the cage, in the midst of the other unfortunate slaves. A long time passed before exhaustion could finally overwhelm her and put her to sleep. But she knew no peace even in her slumber. For in her dreams she saw those terrible images all over again. Saw her beloved mistress being stabbed by the swords and going down in a shower of blood. Oddly enough, both she and the attackers wore the cloak of the Vel’sharen Clan.

Eight years.

Is’peta sighed and sat back on her haunches, fingering the slave collar. It was really bothersome. She wished the In’drakil Clan would not collar their slaves.

Three years had passed since the In’drakil Clan had wiped out the Sor’loreil. Is’peta never found out why they had killed Cham’lina and her clan-people, not that it really mattered. But she was still surprised at how easily she had been able to accept her new life. Maybe because things had not changed all that much. The nobles of the In’drakil Clan were stricter than the Sor’loreil and made their slaves work harder, but they treated their vassals kindly enough. Is’petas’ initial hatred for them had melted away after a while. She had found the favor of quite a few of her new masters and mistresses, and life was good again. In the end, Is’peta knew that she was just a slave. From her perspective, it did not matter who owned her as long as she was treated well.

Unlike the Sor’loreil, the In’drakil owned many slaves, and had a lot of dealings with other clans. This had given Is’peta a chance to meet more people in these past two years than she had met in the five before that. She had gained many friends and acquaintances, and had started spending every minute of her free time in their company. There were occasions when she missed her previous mistress. Cham’lina had been a good mistress, and Is’peta had been happy serving the Sor’loreil Clan. But the more time passed, the more she felt that in many ways, her life here was a better one.

At least, when she was awake. When she slept, it was a different story.

At first, Is’peta could not remember her dreams. They left behind a faint impression of being disturbing when she awoke, but vanished with the last traces of her sleep. However, that was only at the beginning. Soon, her dreams became more vivid, and she started remembering. The walls, the rooms, the people, the places. She recognized none of them, yet they felt familiar. She tried to ignore them, but the dreams persisted. They started to come every night. And became more and more detailed. And one day, six months back, Is’peta had woken up to a shocking realization.

The people she had been seeing in her dreams were all nobles of the Vel’sharen Clan. They were dreams of her previous life.

Such a thought had never occurred to her before. But from that moment onwards, she never again doubted the origin of her dreams. She must have been a slave to the Vel’sharen Clan before she somehow lost her memories. And now, she was starting to remember.

The befuddled girl had spent some time mulling over her sudden revelation, concluding finally that this knowledge changed nothing. But it was good to know. Shrugging her shoulders, she had gone about her work.

But on that very day, she had had the first of her headaches. It came suddenly, striking her down like a blow to the skull. The agony had been so severe that she had cried out in pain. An instant later, her vision blacked out, reminding her suddenly of that terrifying night when the Indra’kil soldiers had captured her. And then, without warning, she had collapsed.

Is’peta found out afterwards that she had fainted. One of the masters had come to take a look at her. He seemed puzzled by her condition, but said nothing, simply prescribing a medicine. The slave girl had been both relieved and frightened at the same time. Such a thing had never happened before.

These strange bouts of headache struck her down a three more times over the course of the next six months, including one time when she was standing at the top of a staircase. She had ended up at the bottom with a twisted ankle. One of the priestesses who had a special fondness for her had done a thorough magical scan upon her afterwards, but could find nothing wrong with her.

But by that time, it was not the headaches that scared her any more. It was her dreams. With each passing night, they had changed in character. She had started to see violent battles in her dreams – her nightmares. Terrible magical spells being unleashed, people dying, people screaming. Sword fights, bloodbaths, raging fires. And always in her dreams, there appeared the nobles of the Vel’sharen Clan, their eyes glowing red in the darkness.

No matter how many times she dreamt it, Is’peta still woke up in a cold sweat every time, shivering with fear. She had started now to crave for every waking hour, and to dread the fall of night. The thought of sleep had become abhorrent to her. But one could stay awake for only so long.

Another night was approaching. Is’peta sighed as she carried the bags down the empty corridor. The Indra’kil had decided to redecorate several sections of their Fortress, and any slave that could be spared had been put to the task. It had been a long day, but she did not mind it in the least. She would have gladly worked till sheer exhaustion knocked her out, if it meant she could pass the night in a dreamless slumber. But once she carried these bags to the kitchen, her duties for the day would be done.

Is’peta shifted the weight of the bags upon her shoulders and continued walking, feeling depressed. One of the mistresses was approaching her from the opposite direction. Though custom dictated that a slave should bow and remain immobile when a noble was passing by, it was never enforced here. Most slaves simply bowed their heads once, nothing more. So Is’peta continued to walk, and glanced at the other as she approached.

Crimson eyes.

The world turned upside down.

The noble woman passed by as though she had not even registered the presence of the slave. But Is’peta remained frozen, perilously close to screaming in terror. On several occasions previously, she had seen priestesses of other clans whose eyes were just as sanguine as these. But never had she had a chance to look upon them from such a close range. Now that she had, Is’peta felt an uncontrollable fear taking control of her body. They were terrible eyes to behold. Eyes that longed for mayhem, lusted for death, reveled in destruction. Eyes that wished to do only one thing. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Just like in her dreams. But this was real.

And then, the headache came again. It exploded inside her brain, snatching up every lucid thought, overwhelming all her senses with a crushing, unbearable agony. She was barely conscious of the bags falling from her shoulders before darkness swallowed her up.

Dead bodies piled up everywhere. An uncontrollable desire for violence raged within her. She stormed through open doors and empty hallways. At every step, she encountered more corpses; and floors slick with blood. That only drove her thoughts to greater frenzy and she started to run through the corridors of the Fortress.

Traitors! Demons! How dare they do this? Never would she forgive them.

Signs of life at last. A greviously wounded soldier breathing raggedly, bleeding copiously. She reaches out and grabs at him. He is a young boy. Barely conscious.

Where are they? She screams, her face inches from his. Where are they?

She shakes the boy like a rag doll. There is no response. She drops him and continues to run. An open door. A large hall. The dining table that dominates the center has been smashed in half. Chairs overturned. More dead bodies.

Then she spots them. Three women. Garbed in the holy robe of the Yathallars. Splattered with blood. They turn as one towards her.

Three pairs of scarlet eyes stare back at her.

Hello Mother, one of them snarls, a vicious grin upon her face and raises her hand.

A ball of fire hurtles towards her with unbelievable speed. She ducks instinctively. Sound of glass smashing behind her. She feels a sharp twinge on her neck. Pieces of glass fall to the floor all around her. She glances momentarily at them even as she prepares to retaliate.

Her reflection stares back at her from one of the glasses. A stern beautiful face, perfect ebony complexion, framed with long white hair, now disheveled. A brilliant blue gem still hangs from her forehead. Eyes of deep purple, filled with rage. Full lips drawn back in a snarl.

The face of a queen.

Her face.

Is’peta opened her eyes. This time she was not shivering. Nor was she afraid.

But she was shocked.

The soul-transpose spell had worked! She was alive. But it had not been perfect. Eight years had passed with her mind lost in the darkness. Eight long years,

But at last, she had remembered who she was

She was the Il’haress of the Vel’sharen Clan, Diva’ratrika.

- “We need to move faster.”

Is’peta ignored her masters’ words completely. They both knew that it was impossible to go any faster. Ek’nath - noble of the In’drakil Clan - never looked back. He was intent on pushing his way through the crowd, and she simply stayed a few inches behind him, stepping into the momentary gap that he forced through the sea of people that flowed past them.

It was nearing the end of the day. They were walking along one of the main thoroughfares of the city of Chel’el’sussoloth, and it was about as packed with people as any place could possibly ever be. Those who plied their trade by day were now heading for home, and those whose livelihoods were earned at night were beginning to come out. The whole street was jammed with people and vehicles of all manners and descriptions. Is’peta glanced at her masters’ back in amusement. The poor man was having a hard time. The garb of nobility that normally earned him respect and a wide berth from the commoners, was useless when every inch of space was taken up by the rushing crowd. He grunted constantly, often wiping sweat from his brow, as he manfully continued his advance. His frustration was so obvious that she wanted to pat his head.

On her part, the former Il’haress soaked up the sights and sounds that washed over her. The sheer vitality of the moment was overwhelming. In the six hundred years that she had reigned over her clan, Is’peta had never ever experienced this aspect of the drow civilization. Her world had been formed of massive, empty hallways, populated only by guards, slaves and her daughters. They were all cold, precise and humorless. Every step, every glance, every breath were measured, filled with purpose and intent, sometimes deadly. Life had been a game where any false move meant death. She had played it, and won every time, and loved every moment of it. Her weakness had been her blind faith upon her children, for which she had paid the price.

Eleven years had passed since she had been betrayed. Trapped within her throne room, left to die. There lay her body, surely no more now than a skeleton wrapped in regal garments.

Over the last two years, her memory had continued to return in fits and starts. She had tried all she could to jog her brains, pushing herself hard to accelerate the process of recovery. But she had no control over her mind. There was still too much that she was unable to recollect, the most important of which was her magical powers. She had recalled how to do a lighting spell as well as a charm spell. But beyond that, nothing. At least, not yet.

She could recall nothing of what she had studied in that book. Except for the name of a single spell.

Ek’nath turned off the main street into a small by-lane, and permitted himself an audible prayer of thanks as he was suddenly free of the crushing weight of people. Through long habit, Is’peta automatically surveyed her surrounding for any possible threats. Tall walls framed the alley on either side, making it dark and cloistered. A few lights, no open doors or windows, devoid of people and disturbingly silent, the lane contrasted starkly with the congested chaos of the main road she had just left. Not a place that inspired confidence in ones’ personal safety.

The drow noble quickly brushed his clothes, and then ran his fingers carefully through his hair. Satisfied that his appearance was still dignified, he glanced back at his slave.

“Come along, slave. We are already late for the appointment.”

Arrogant brat! Within her mind, Is’peta wavered between amused tolerance and irritation. He was but a boy. Having just completed his training as a mage, he had finally received recognition as a useful member of his family, and was completely giddy with his newfound status. She was inclined to tell Ek’nath how laughable his attempts at sounding gruff and competent were, and how obvious was his fear of making mistakes. But she was just a slave. So she nodded and followed him deeper into the darkened alley without a word.

It was a singular opportunity and an unforgettable experience to see the drow civilization from two perspectives that were polar opposites. As an Il’haress, she had never stopped to think about the role that slaves played in this society. They had a world that was truly antithetical to that of the nobles. Over the last ten years, she had come to realize that as long as a slave followed orders, he or she possessed an extraordinary degree of freedom, one greater than that of the nobility itself. Most nobles simply did not notice slaves at all, no more than they noticed the carpet on the floor or the lamp on the table. Thus, slaves could come and go as they pleased. They could freely mingle with the commoners, as well as with slaves of other Clans. And so very often they were privy to the inner secrets of their masters and mistresses, because secrets that were otherwise so carefully concealed, were often divulged in the presence of a slave without a second thought.

Which was why Is’peta was now surely one of the most well informed individuals in the entire city. From the moment that her memory returned two years back, she had carefully cultivated a huge network of “informants”, which of course consisted entirely of slaves of different Clans. She had used many methods – most often her limited prowess at sorcery – to gather information through the slaves, particularly those of the Vel’sharen Clan. She now knew almost as many secrets about as many people as she had known as an Il’haress. And that was one of the things that she enjoyed the most about her life.

Enjoyed. Strange as it sounded even to her own ears, there were many things about her life as a slave she had come to like – such as the energy that enthused her when walking among a crowd of commoners, or the joy that she felt as she sat and gossiped with other slaves in the basement. Where once she had sought solitude, now she sought companionship.

All of which did nothing to deter her from her final goal – regain her rightful position as the Il’haress of the Vel’sharen Clan, and to put an end to the corruption that was steadily subverting the drow race.

Is’petas’ thoughts darkened as she remembered the reason why it had all begun - the taint that was spreading over their entire civilization. What had begun as a trickle was now approaching the proportions of a flood. Many drows had already fallen to the demonic blight, and while the greater number still remained untainted, so few of them truly realized what was happening. Sadly enough, it was the slaves who were most vividly concerned about the “strangeness” that was affecting so many of their “masters and mistresses”. But of course no one listened to them.

And here she was, stuck within a slave body, fully aware of the terrible danger that loomed over the drow race, and completely incapable of doing anything about it. She had regained only a fraction of the power that she possessed as an Il’haress. But without her magic, she was nothing. Is’peta wanted to become Diva’ratrika one more time; wanted to regain control of the Vel’sharen Clan. But even after two years, she did not know how. All she could do was wait and hope.

At the same time, the demons were getting stronger, and time was running out for the drow race. With the exception of the Kyorl’solenurn Clan, no one seemed to be taking any action or even be aware of any threat. It was up to her to do something before their race fell to the taint.

Had she not been so completely lost in introspection, Is’peta would certainly have spotted the assailant earlier. Unfortunately, she did so only an instant before the attack, and by then it was too late. Ek’nath apparently never saw it coming. His head simply burst apart like an overripe melon. Purple blood splattered across the walls, and on her. But she ignored both the blood that flowed down her cheek and the headless corpse of her master as it toppled to the ground. Her gaze was directed instead towards the diminutive figure that stepped forward from the darkness, hands still raised in the aftermath of the lethal spell they had unleashed upon Ek’nath.

It was a young girl, garbed in the dress of the nobility, with a hooded cloak thrown over her shoulders. Is’peta could identify a lot of nobles by their face now, and it took her only a moment to recognize her master’s killer.

In that moment of absolute silence, when the two of them locked gazes, Is’peta could almost hear the wheels of fate turning. Silently, she thanked Sharess for being merciful. Then, before any doubts could creep into her mind, she took a couple of steps forward. Ignoring the blood that was dripping down her hair, she smiled faintly.

The girl hesitated, obviously perplexed. Normally, a slave should have been down on his or her knees in fear, so the boldness of this particular slave was certainly strange. Finally she spoke.

“Who are you?”

The former Il’haress found herself taken aback by this simple question. Who was she, indeed?

She was not Is’peta. Is’peta was a simple slave, who had no aspirations beyond that. She was not Diva’ratrika. Diva’ratrika was an Il’haress, leader of the most powerful clan of the drow race. She was not Ragini. Ragini was dead. She had Ragini’s body, but even that had been changed. The soul-transpose spell had wrecked havoc with it. It had altered the color of her skin. It had altered the color of her hair. But somehow, it had given her Diva’ratrikas’ cold, regal eyes.

Yes, she was somebody different. Somebody new. Somebody reborn.

Reborn.

She smiled more broadly and bowed her head a little. A lock of blue hair fell upon her eyes.

- “Your humble slave, mistress. My name is Liriel**.”

Their eyes met, and Ariel++ smiled back.

END

** Liriel = Li + Riel. Li means “Again”. Riel is “born”. Hence, “again born”, or reborn. Similarly,

++Ariel = Ar + Riel. Ar is short for “ar’shola” i.e. spider. Thus, Ariel means “spider born”

** The Gathering at the School is one of the pivotal events that led to the current state of affairs in the drow society. The full story of the events that preceded it, as well what happened at the Gathering itself, will be given in another tale.

** See footnote on previous page

** Crysthels’ mother

** Curse words

1. Arkanth = Ar + kanth. “Ar” is short for “ar’shola” that mean spider. “Kanth” means insects. Hence Arkanth roughly translates to vermin. A strange curse word, given the respect the drow accord to the spider in general.

2. Gambhik = Gam + bhik. “Gam” means dirty and “bhik” is beggar. Dirty beggar. Can also be translated as wretch.

3. Lothranvith = Loth + ran + vith. “Loth” means city (as in Chel’el’susso”loth”). “Ran” means to sell. “Vith” is an archaic word for woman.

“Ranvith” by itself is a curse, referring to a woman who sells her loyalty to the enemy (cheaply). Adding Loth to the beginning implies the “ranvith” in question is a commoner (not of noble blood)

An English equivalent to lothranvith could be “street whore”. However, since the concept of prostitution does not exist in the drow society, it is only a rough equivalent.

$$ An ancient war that forced the drows to flee to the Underground. There will be many stories about that in the future.

** Maggots

** Harvith = har + vith. Barren woman i.e. a woman who cannot bear a child

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