Lady of Poison: The Priests by Bruce R. Cordell

Author:Bruce R. Cordell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780786956838
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2010-04-07T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

A bone petal fell from the stem of the flower. It fell only half a foot to the slab of rough cut stone that supported the flower's vase. In a way completely unlike a flower, the petal cratered the stone slab as if shot from a crossbow. The sound of its impact thundered around the petrified walls of the Close. The new crater overlaid another, slightly older crater. Only a single petal remained.

One of the two figures standing near the slab said simply, "Anammelech is dead."

Damanda had spoken. She had entered the Close to confer with her lord when the petal fell. She looked at the final remaining petal. The remaining petal signified her connection with her master who stood nearby. In the aftermath of the other petal's impact, she was the most important agent to the Talontyr's campaign north of the Great Dale by dint of survival alone. Her brother blightlords were dead. She remained to be tested.

The Rotting Man cursed, using a language once reserved for raising abominations by a race not native to Faerun. No living creature had spoken that language for eight thousand years, but such was the heat of the Talontyr's fury that he broke an ancient covenant in breathing the words aloud. Each syllable crystallized into a locustlike entity with hatred for blood and a carapace of shimmering purple. With an effort of will, the Rotting Man switched to a less potent tongue, one with less likelihood of its merest utterance binding even his soul to an unmentionable darkness.

The shimmering creatures buzzed about the Rotting Man's head for a moment, surprised by their release from whatever nether dimension they had resided. Damanda stiffened, wondering if she was going to be tested sooner than she expected. The curse-born insects buzzed away like misshapen horseflies but quicker, and with malice aforethought.

"Are those something I'll have to deal with too?" wondered Damanda, waving after the flitting creatures. She figured that with the way things were shaping up, the Rotting Man couldn't afford to lose another lieutenant to one of his fits of rage.

The Talontyr, cloaked in his swathe of rot, ceased his curse rampage. He spoke, his voice initially unsteady from its unintended foray, "I rather think yes. Later. We have more pressing tasks to attend."

"The cleric and his small band?" asked Damanda, though she already knew the answer.

What else had so occupied her lord's mind these last few tendays? The Rotting Man was quiet with the details, but whoever the "cleric" was, the Talontyr seemed consumed with reports of his progress, which he received from agents unknown to Damanda, or perhaps via simple spells of divination.

The Talontyr answered, "Gameliel's failure seemed an accident, but Anammelech's breakdown indicates a trend, don't you think, pretty Damanda?" He extended fingers not quite bereft of flesh, running them through the air near the blightlord's face, coming close, but not touching, Damanda's pale features.

Despite her special nature, she was still relieved to avoid that touch. She said, "The cleric and his group have had their successes, but their path seems clear.

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