Extinction

Meanwhile, inside the audience chamber, Quenthel corrected her aim. A second glob erupted from the wand, and it struck the aboleth guard in the mouth just as its teeth were about to close on the drow priestess. Gurgling, the aboleth tried to spit out the sticky ball but could not.

The aboleth that had been out in the corridor with Jeggred had been motionless at first, but it soon moved in to attack. It reared above Jeggred, opening its mouth, attempting to bite. Jeggred raked its belly with his free hand, tearing a deep slash. Green blood oozed out?lots of blood?clouding the water Jeggred breathed. It tasted vile, like pungent seaweed?not at all as Jeggred had imagined.

The aboleth turned and bolted down the tu

He continued ripping at the sticky ball that blocked the audience chamber doorway. Each time, his hand got stuck?but each time he ripped off a few strands. Smelling real blood, the draegloth began to pant?then he realized that the blood was his own. His hand was raw where skin had been torn from it.

Inside the audience chamber, Quenthel held Oothoon at bay with her rod. The aboleth matriarch stared for several moments, her three eyes unblinking, then she launched herself out of the niche. Mouth gaping, she sped across the chamber.

For some reason that Jeggred could not imagine, Quenthel seemed to be having trouble making her rod work. Only at the last moment did its magic come to life. A glob streaked toward Oothoon?and missed. As Quenthel flailed back in terror, the aboleth matriarch closed on her, and swallowed the high priestess whole.

For a moment, Jeggred could only stare in horror. His mistress was gone. Eaten. Dead!

Fury seized him. He tore at the sticky mess that held him, heedless of the skin that was being ripped from his hands and arms. Panting water in and out of his lungs?or perhaps vomiting it up and swallowing it again?he thrashed like a fish caught in a net.

All the while, Oothoon stared at him mockingly, one tentacle stroking a bulge in her stomach.

The sticky mass blocking the doorway tore but did not come free. Tipping his head back in frustration?and tearing out yet more hair that had become stuck in the viscous glob?Jeggred howled in rage and sorrow but at last came to his senses.

The Mistress was wise, he thought. She had foreseen this.

And she had given him an order?a final order that had to be carried out quickly, before the wounded aboleth returned with reinforcements.

Wrenching himself free of the sticky doorway, Jeggred swam as fast as he could down the corridor, looking for a way out.

Chapter Twenty-one

Pharaun listened dispassionately as Jeggred gasped out his story. The draegloth was dripping wet and still making the transition to breathing air again. He sucked in great, gurgling breaths that might have been construed?were they made by a creature that was not demon-spawned?to be sobs.

"She's been eaten," Jeggred said, his head low and all four arms hanging dejectedly at his sides. "Mistress Quenthel is dead."

Pharaun regarded the draegloth coldly and said, "Thanks to you."

The comment normally would have caused Jeggred to leap forward, snarling for blood, but instead he stood as quietly as a rothe waiting for slaughter.

Danifae, standing in the tu

"Is it even possible?" she asked. "Even without her spells, Mistress Quenthel should have been capable of defeating the aboleth. Her armor and enchantments alone should have protected her from?"

"He said she was swallowed whole," Valas interjected. "She never had a chance."

At the mercenary's blunt words, Jeggred's shoulders slumped still lower. Hunkering down, the draegloth wrapped his smaller arms around his knees and stared blankly at the river.

Pharaun nodded to himself. As Jeggred had been relating what had happened in the aboleth city, Pharaun grew increasingly certain that the draegloth truly believed his mistress was dead.

Danifae touched his arm lightly and asked, "What should we do next, Master Pharaun? You're the leader now?it's your decision."

Pharaun noted how Danifae had glanced at Valas as she spoke, as if she was watching the mercenary for any challenge to Pharaun's leadership.

Valas, having noted the same thing, grunted, then shrugged.

"Yes," he said, meeting Pharaun's eye. "What now? Continue the search for the ship of chaos?or make our way back to Menzoberranzan?"

Pharaun's answer was immediate.

"We're still under orders from the Matron Mother," he told them briskly, "and I am still under orders from the Archmage of Menzoberranzan. Until we hear otherwise, we continue our quest to find out what's happened to Lolth. And that means finding the ship."

Danifae met his eyes and asked, "All of us?"

Pharaun stared at her.

"Since you didn't keep your part of the bargain," he said slowly, watching for Danifae's reaction, "what reason do I have to keep mine?"

Danifae's eyes blazed as she lost her usual control.

"But you promised!" she spat.

Jeggred, sensing the sudden tension in the air, looked up and growled softly. Valas glanced back and forth between Pharaun and Danifae.

"Promised what?" the mercenary asked.

Pharaun ignored the question.

"You made a promise, too," the Master of Sorcere reminded Danifae in a low voice. He patted the spellbook he'd been reading earlier. "When you slipped away to speak to Quenthel, did you honestly think I wouldn't listen in?"

Danifae's hands curled into fists at her sides. Pharaun almost expected her to stamp her foot and turn away, but after a moment her fingers slowly uncurled. She stared hard at him as if trying to guess his thoughts, then she tossed her long white hair and gave him a sulky pout.

"You meant me to betray you all along," she said. "You knew it would make Quenthel more sure of herself. She might not have met with Oothoon if?"

Pharaun interrupted her by clearing his throat. He inclined his head at Jeggred, who had risen to a fighting crouch.

"What are you saying?" the draegloth growled.

"Nothing," Danifae said smoothly, giving Jeggred a seductive smile. "Pharaun tried to get Oothoon to tell him where the ship of chaos was and learned nothing. He knew Quenthel would be able to succeed where he had failed, and so he was jealous. He was pla

Jeggred thought about that for a moment. Then his lips parted in a snarl.

"He would have lied," he growled, understanding at last. "Pharaun would have made the mistress look bad."

Pharaun waved a hand dismissively, thus concealing a gesture that activated a protective spell whose incantation he whispered under his breath.

"There's no need to get angry," he told Jeggred. "It's just… politics. You'd do the same, in my shoes. Any drow would."

Jeggred, unmollified, snarled at Pharaun and slammed his fighting hands into the mage's chest, but the gesture was half-hearted. His claws remained unflexed. The protective spell Pharaun had cast shimmered only faintly as it easily soaked up the force of the blow. The worst of it was the draegloth's foul breath, which he panted into Pharaun's face for several long moments as he tried to stare him down. Then the draegloth dropped back into a crouch, turning his back to resume his sulk.

Pharaun saw Valas, who had moved silently into position behind Jeggred, sheathing his kukris. Pharaun raised an eyebrow, then nodded his thanks at the mercenary. He had neither seen nor heard Valas draw the twin daggers?he was glad that the Bregan D'aerthe scout had chosen to back him and not Jeggred.