Avernil entered the small chapel in Scellobel as quietly as he could manage, not wanting to interrupt the prayers of the paladin kneeling before the statue of their goddess Eilistraee. The priest spent a moment considering the paladin, her pressed white clothing and the perfect trim of her short blue-gray hair reflecting the discipline that had so ordered her life. He took a seat on the backmost bench and began a prayer of his own, seeking guidance, as was Galathae in this confusing time.
“We knew it would come to this eventually,” came the paladin’s voice a short while later, stirring Avernil from his contemplations.
He glanced at the woman. Holy Galathae, she was called throughout the city of Callidae, and the moniker was quite apt. She was a hero to the aevendrow many times over and had recently led the raid that had returned to the city many they had thought lost to the slaadi and the frost giants that inhabited the far end of their glacier home.
“For our descendants, I presumed,” Avernil replied. “Certainly, I did not expect the udadrow to arrive in Callidae, and most certainly, not the group we encountered, good of nature and enemies of the demons.”
“When Doum’wielle Armgo came to us, the die was cast,” Galathae replied.
“Even then, she was a cast-off from this city of the Underdark, so near to the Faerzress. She will not return to the south and certainly not ever to that City of Spiders, I expect.”
“She’ll not, no,” Galathae confirmed. “Nor should she. Doum’wielle Armgo has suffered enough because of this place called Menzoberranzan.”
“Would you say the same of Zaknafein?”
The paladin shrugged. “Azzudonna tells me that she often finds him staring off into nothingness, his thoughts far away.”
Avernil nodded. It made sense.
“What does your communion tell you?” Avernil asked.
“We are reasoning beings of free will. The goddess would not command us to go, nor deny us the journey if that is our choice.”
“Do you believe that Mona Valrissa will be as accommodating?”
Galathae chuckled at that. “She has more practical considerations than Eilistraee might hold.”
“You think the mona would deny you?”
“It is not her choice alone,” Galathae reminded.
“Then, the Temporal Convocation. Do you think they will deny you?” he pressed.
“Were it just me, then no, they would not. But it will not be only Galathae petitioning to leave Callidae, will it?”
“I would opine that you and I are the most hesitant of the congregation. Some are elated at the possibilities here, thinking the war in the Underdark the very moment of truth for them, the very event for which they were called to service in this temple.”
“Mona Valrissa will not be pleased at that. Nearly a hundred aevendrow leaving Callidae to fight in a war that is not Callidae’s concern.”
“Is it not?” asked the priest.
“In the eyes of Eilistraee, it is the concern of all drow, and all duty to those who know the truth of Lolth. But we are a small church in a single borough. Seventy-three aevendrow in a city of more than forty thousand. And those seventy-three might well endanger the city itself.”
“Doubtful.”
“But not impossible,” said Galathae. “And even the remotest chance of such disaster has ever been taken seriously by the Temporal Convocation, with the weight of it falling squarely on the shoulders of Mona Valrissa Zhamboule. She has already taken a chance in allowing Jarlaxle, Artemis Entreri, Catti-brie, Drizzt Do’Urden, Kimmuriel, Gromph, and the priestess Dab’nay—a priestess of Lolth in practice if not in heart—to leave the city with their memories intact.”
“And the most unusual dwarf,” Avernil added, and the mere thought of Pikel had him smiling, and Galathae, as well.
“It has been a most unusual year,” the paladin replied with a head shake.
“Perte miye, Zaknafein,” Avernil recited. “These heroes from the south drove Ygorl from the slaadi fortress and dealt a great blow to our enemies. Jarlaxle’s cleverness showed us the source of the loss of Cattisola borough, and likely saved the rest of Callidae as we drive back the remorhaz hordes which the slaadi and their giant allies have unleashed upon our home.”
Galathae’s troubled expression brightened almost immediately. “Unusual is not always a bad thing,” she admitted.
“The Dark Maiden Eilistraee grants us our choices. They will be guided by the heart, with open eyes to the dangers before us. Is that not a good thing?”
“That is everything,” Galathae agreed. “The very reason that Eilistraee’s words so called to me.”
“I had thought it was because of the Dark Maiden’s reverence for the world of sunlight. Did you not once call her a sister goddess to Mielikki? Or was that simply to engender yourself to the priestess Catti-brie?”
“A sister in ethics and cause. I stand by that comparison. Did Mielikki not return Catti-brie to this life for her to do battle with the avatar of Lolth?”
“True enough, but what of this cause? The choice is yours, is mine, is for each of our congregation to make on their own. But you know that Galathae’s choice will sway many.”
“It is not a responsibility I desire,” Galathae replied. “For myself, I know the course, and it is one that pleases Eilistraee.”
“An easy decision?” Avernil asked, surprised.
“No decision such as this is truly easy. But as much as I love Callidae, as much as I would remain here and enjoy the life we have built, yes, I see no other choice.”
“If Mona Valrissa allows it.”
“She’ll not stop me.”
“Yes, but will she allow you to leave with your memories of Callidae intact? Would you sacrifice even that, the very definition of your life, if that was the first cost, and with the last being, quite likely, the end of your life?”
Without hesitation and with no sign of the slightest doubt, Holy Galathae replied, “Yes.”
“It is foolhardy,” the small man named Vessi said to Azzudonna as the two shared a drink in Ibilsitato, the main tavern in the Callidaean borough of Scellobel. “This is a decision driven by pride and guilt, not by any rational thought.”
“It is not my decision.”
“And I wasn’t speaking of you. Of course Zaknafein will decide to go. You must have known that from the start. His son is walking into mortal danger, as is the man who has been his friend since long before either of us were born.”
“He hasn’t yet decided,” Azzudonna argued.
“When he learns that Galathae is determined to go, and will almost certainly be allowed to do so, do you think he will remain behind?”
Azzudonna didn’t verbally answer, but she realized that her sour expression would be enough. Vessi knew her as well as anyone alive. He could see right through any facade she tried to paint on her face. Vessi might well be the only person in the world from whom Azzudonna couldn’t hide.
“Do you really believe that Mona Valrissa will allow it?” she asked.
“Who can stop Galathae? She takes her orders from a goddess, not the representatives of the Temporal Convocation.”
“And just as many expected that one would bring trouble when Galathae pledged to her those many years ago,” said another woman walking up to the table, “so she has.”
Azzudonna grinned at the approach of their friend Ayeeda, who helped run Ibilsitato.
Ayeeda tossed her bar rag over the back of a chair and pulled up a seat. She didn’t return Azzudonna’s smile, and the woman understood her hesitance, given the subject.
Galathae, too, had once been of their band, a group of five young aevendrow preparing and practicing together endlessly in an effort to earn a place on Biancorso, the Scellobel Whitebears. But that was before Galathae had become “Holy Galathae,” before the word of Eilistraee had come to her ears and into her heart. They were still friends, these four, but with Galathae far removed now.
Azzudonna and Vessi had achieved their common goal of joining Biancorso. An injury had slowed Ayeeda’s progress to the point where she had simply stepped aside in the trials, while Ilina, the fifth of the companions, had also found a church and now served as a high priestess to Auril the Frostmaiden.
“Galathae turned her heart outward from Callidae,” Vessi said.
Azzudonna put her hand on the man’s forearm. He and Galathae had been paired in those early days and had even spoken of having children together. But they had drifted apart as Galathae had become more earnest in listening to the call of the Dark Maiden.
“Galathae’s allegiance to Callidae cannot be questioned,” Ayeeda insisted. “Many times has she shielded this city at her own mortal peril. Without hesitation . . .”
Azzudonna’s subtle head shake stopped Ayeeda, reminding her that Vessi was talking about more than Galathae’s feelings for the city.
Vessi clearly caught the signal, too, though, and he just laughed. “I will forever care for Galathae,” he said with a sincere smile.
“As will we all,” Ayeeda agreed. “And I think her goddess a fine being with a goodly purpose. How can we not cheer one who would rescue udadrow from the Underdark? But Eilistraee is not for Callidae—not solely, at least.”
“I remain surprised that the Temporal Convocation ever sanctioned that particular church,” Vessi admitted. “For all that we agree in the goodness of Eilistraee, her demands are often counter to that which remains our most important duty.”
“But her demands were not ever expected as anything tangible,” Azzudonna argued. “Not until now.”
“And here we are,” Vessi said with a great sigh.
“Yes, here we are. Is there not a part within either of you that looks at the possible adventure?” Ayeeda said, surprising Azzudonna.
“You just said that Eilistraee was not for Callidae,” Vessi argued, obviously also surprised.
“Forget Eilistraee. I don’t know her teachings, nor do I care at this time. I’m talking about the promise of being a part of something grand and great. Jarlaxle and his friends are off on a noble adventure!”
“One that will get them all killed,” said Vessi.
Ayeeda shrugged as if that wasn’t of much concern. “When you traveled to the frost giant fortress and did battle with the slaadi, even the slaadi godbeing, was that any less dangerous?” she asked Azzudonna. “Yet you went—twice!—and look at the adventure those journeys brought to you. The adventure and the love, even. We practice, we train, we do battle occasionally, and we put every essence of our hearts into the pretend war that is cazzcalci. Now a true war stares at us from afar, beckoning, and we close the curtains and act as if it is not out there.”
The speech startled Azzudonna and left her and Vessi unable to respond for some time, until Azzudonna finally quipped, “Are you sure that you haven’t joined Avernil’s flock?”
“Maybe I am tired of wiping tables and filling mugs and watching you two have all the excitement of battling in cazzcalci,” Ayeeda replied.
“There is an ongoing battle in Cattisola right now,” Vessi reminded.
“It is one for wizards and priests,” Ayeeda replied. “Warriors do not fare so well against the burning bellies of the remorhaz. They’ll not even allow us to descend the ropes into the crystal caverns.”
“So you wish to go across the world and do battle in the darkness of the Underdark?”
Ayeeda shrugged noncommittally. “I cannot deny the allure of such an adventure, not when I would know that I am fighting for the cause of justice, and to help our kin, who do not deserve their fate at the hands of the demon dictator. It is a passing urge, I expect.”
Azzudonna looked to Vessi, who shrugged, not disagreeing.
Nor could she, Azzudonna had to admit to herself. She would continue to argue with Zaknafein to keep him in Callidae by her side.
But if he went . . .
Camious Veridal was the oldest member of the Temporal Convocation and had served in this legislature off and on for more than three centuries. His home was located in the borough of Mona Chess, which housed the Siglig, the chamber of Callidae’s governing body.
He was also of the same generation as the priest Avernil of the temple of Eilistraee, both old men who had spent centuries in Callidae.
Galathae was surprised when Mona Valrissa Zhamboule had announced Camious as the Answerer of the Inquiry this day, but, judging from the way Avernil hung his head after the announcement, she guessed that the priest had expected it, or feared it, at least.
Avernil and Camious had known each other and had butted heads fiercely in the distant past.
Galathae caught Avernil’s attention to lock stares, the priest slowly shaking his head.
Galathae tried to deny his dourness, but she understood that having Camious serve as the lead inquisitor was not a good beginning to their requested petition.
Camious walked down from his seat in the semicircular gallery—a far walk, since Mona Chess, as the hosting borough, always seated their representatives farthest from the podium and the witness floor.
He took his time, mumbling to himself and occasionally looking to scrutinize the petitioners, his gaze mostly falling over Avernil, his old friend, his old adversary.
When he got down to the floor, Mona Valrissa introduced him again, then took her seat. Camious paced back and forth before the ten guests of the Temporal Convocation this day, all but ignoring Galathae, mostly eyeing Avernil, and then studying the other eight clerics of the church of Eilistraee who had come with the high priest.
“On the issue regarding the petition to depart Callidae in support of the udadrow,” he began slowly.
Galathae regarded Avernil, who offered a stern gaze and another head shake, begging her not to intervene.
“I object,” she said anyway.
Camious was not caught by surprise, clearly, and he paused and turned his hawklike gaze over the paladin.
“Petitions, not petition,” Galathae corrected. “There are two, not one, before the Temporal Convocation this day.”
“They are the same request,” Camious replied.
“But not the same petitioner. If two came here asking for a leave from their work, would they be answered as one?”
“Are you not a member of Avernil’s church?”
“I am indeed, proudly so, but my petition is not his, nor one for, of, or included with his church. Mine would be before you—indeed, was before you—prior to High Priest Avernil’s request. They are separate issues, I insist, and one should not influence the other.” She could feel Avernil’s gaze boring into her, and truly, she hadn’t wanted to harm the man or the chances for his request. But neither would she risk her own journey for the sake of the church.
“You undertake this mission for your goddess, our goddess,” Avernil interjected, drawing a fierce scowl from Camious.
“I do, and from that which is in my own heart,” Galathae answered him, even as the inquisitor began to instruct her not to respond to one who was not asked to speak. “This is my charge, I believe,” she continued, now addressing the whole of the convocation. “The calling of Galathae by Eilistraee was for this moment, for these unexpected friends I came to know and to care for. For the inspiration of Drizzt Do’Urden and for Zaknafein and Jarlaxle. Are we to doubt the graces our gods offered to them after the miracle we witnessed at cazzcalci?
“And that is why I must go to them now and help them with their fight. And that is why you must grant me this, for all of us. For if you do not, I doubt that I, or many of you, will sleep without the choice haunting your thoughts hereafter.”
“You speak well, Holy Galathae,” Camious admitted, and his tone was indeed softer, and he was nodding, as if silently assuring her that her petition would be handled separately, as she had asked.
Camious started to say something more, but again, Avernil interrupted.
“As it is her calling, can ours be any less urgent and compelling?” the high priest insisted.
Galathae thought that Camious seemed perturbed, but only for a moment, the man clearing his throat and turning to view the priest directly.
“My old friend, my old rival,” Avernil began. “You, all of you here, should take Holy Galathae at her word. She has earned every bit of your, of our, trust so many times over. Her calling is sincere, and her goddess, my goddess, is thrilled at the possibilities that have come to our kin, the udadrow. It was not mere chance that brought the visitors from the south to our city. Nay, they came to find us, I have no doubt.”
“Jarlaxle said that they came to find Doum’wielle Armgo,” Camious corrected. “And I can assure you that Doum’wielle, who, like Zaknafein, has been granted permission to change her mind and leave Callidae to join in this war in the Underdark, wants no part of it. They came to find her, and they found her, and even she rejects their adventure.”
“She is not of Menzoberranzan,” Galathae felt the need to say, though she realized that her own case would have been stronger if she just left it where it had ended earlier. “She is more elf than udadrow, and was raised among the elves of the surface. And these visitors came to us accidentally in search of her, yes, but because Jarlaxle believed that Doum’wielle could be of great service to his cause at this critical moment in the city of Menzoberranzan.”
“And she will not serve, and if she will not, then why should—” Camious began.
“She is not of Eilistraee!” Avernil insisted. “And she is only half udadrow, and only under the corruption of the sword you would not allow to remain here in Callidae did she seek out that part of her heritage, to devastating consequence. Her choice is not to go, but that has little bearing on that which Galathae, and I and my clergy and believers at the temple of the Dark Maiden, are compelled to do. By our goddess, by the beliefs that we hold dearly in our hearts.”
“More dearly than your love of Callidae?” Camious asked bluntly.
Avernil started to answer, but stopped short, realizing the trap, as Galathae, too, saw it. If Avernil offered an affirmative answer, they both knew, it would end his petition on the spot, for if he and his fellows loved something more than Callidae, they would not be allowed to leave for fear that Callidae would subsequently be betrayed. And if he answered no, then why was he so insistent on going?
There was no correct answer to that leading question.
“Yes, an impossible choice,” said Camious. “And thus, you see the difficulty for us here at Temporal Convocation.”
He looked from Avernil back to Galathae, then to Mona Valrissa. “The petitions,” he said, notably using the plural, “should be considered separately, I advise.”
He then bowed to Galathae, to Avernil and the other priests, then to Mona Valrissa and the assembly, and slowly walked back toward his distant seat, high in the back row of the gallery.
Before he had even neared that seat, the petitioners were escorted from the room and placed in an antechamber to await the decisions.
They lived in a glacier, but Callidae was not a cold place. That particular room, however, held a palpable chill, and neither Avernil nor any of the others even glanced Galathae’s way.
She understood and accepted it. She had hurt their chances greatly. Had she stood with them, a petition for all or none, the Temporal Convocation would have faced a much more difficult decision, both because allowing one to leave was far easier than the departure of several score, and because she was Holy Galathae, a hero of the city many times over, and if anyone in Callidae had earned this dispensation, it was surely her.
So be it, she decided, and she didn’t try to explain herself to Avernil and the others.
She had done what she believed she had to do.
So be it.
“I’ll not ever leave this place,” Doum’wielle told Zaknafein and Azzudonna. She had gone to their house to see them, surprising both. “But I have heard that you are leaving.”
“I am,” Zak confirmed.
“And you are surprised to see me?”
“I am,” Zak repeated.
“I wanted to say thank you one last time. You saved me from a fate likely worse than death itself.”
“We all did. Of course we did, for you and the others, and the vision of Callidae, which is so different from the land we once called home.”
“Well, I wanted to say goodbye, and thank you.” She chewed her lip, and Zak recognized that there was clearly something more that had brought her here. He didn’t ask, didn’t say anything, just stood meeting her gaze.
“May I see it one last time?” she asked finally.
He knew what she meant. “Why?”
“I want to prove to myself that I have overcome that infernal blade, and fully so,” Doum’wielle explained. “I would take Khazid’hea in hand and dominate it, and tell it that it will never again shape my course—”
“The sword is gone,” Zak interrupted, and Doum’wielle fell back as if slapped.
“Gone? I was told you were wielding it now. You had it when we left the cavern of the slaadi.”
“Jarlaxle intended it for me, but there was no place for such a weapon here in Callidae,” Zak replied. “It is gone, south with Jarlaxle. Khazid’hea has gone to war, which no doubt pleases the insatiable blade immensely.”
Doum’wielle fumbled about for a response, and finally just nodded with a bit of acceptance and resignation.
“You would have denied the blade,” Azzudonna said from a seat at the side of the small room. “Such a weapon as that would have no hold over Little Doe of Callidae!”
That brought a smile to Doum’wielle.
“When you go, will you be fighting against my family? Against House Barrison Del’Armgo?”
“I know not,” said Zak. “The lines are being drawn, surely, but where they will be cut, I can’t be sure. What I do know is that I will be fighting against Lolth, and against those who would impose her will upon the people of Menzoberranzan who deny her. The battle is to free the city of the Spider Queen, and if the Armgos—”
“I do not care,” Doum’wielle interjected. “They are my family in name alone—I should not have even called them that. My home is here, my family is here.”
“And that is a good thing,” said Zak.
“Perhaps there will be a day when you can return to Menzoberranzan in peace, to visit and to see the changes that have been brought about through this war,” Azzudonna added.
But Doum’wielle was shaking her head through the whole of that sentiment. “I have no desire. Never. Not to Menzoberranzan, nor back to the Moonwood where I was raised. I am Doum’wielle of Callidae, and I am content. I am free of the sword and I am free of my past. I cannot change what I have done, and I’ll not forget it. But I accept it now, and I look in the mirror with no shadows hovering about my shoulders, with no stains showing in my eyes.”
Azzudonna rose and came across the room to wrap Little Doe in a great hug. “And here you are loved,” she whispered into Doum’wielle’s ear.
“I wish you had the sword,” she admitted to Zak when Azzudonna stepped back. “I am not curious as to what would happen when I held it once more, because I know what would happen.”
“You just wanted Khazid’hea to know it,” Zak remarked, and Doum’wielle smiled all the wider.
“I wish you well on your travels,” said Doum’wielle. “Although this is not, and cannot be, my war, I know which side should win. Lady Lolth be damned.”
“Lady Lolth be damned indeed,” Zak agreed.
Doum’wielle bowed to the two and left without another word.
Zak watched her move down the lane for some time before he closed the door. He was pleased for Doum’wielle, and believed that the demons within the young woman had indeed been fully excised. He turned with that thought brightening his expression, but found a wall of scowl coming back at him from Azzudonna.
“You decided, then,” she said.
Zak swallowed hard, realizing that he hadn’t even told her, hadn’t told anyone, that he had finalized his decision to go to war before blurting it out to Doum’wielle.
He hadn’t even admitted it to himself.
“He’s my son.”
“I know.”
“And Jarlaxle has been my friend for most of my life. You cannot understand how trapped I was in the house of Matron Malice Do’Urden. I was her toy and her assassin. My every move—”
“I know,” Azzudonna said and rushed over to hug her lover. “I know, and know that you must go and answer this call, for if you do not, it will haunt you forevermore. And I will go with you.”
Zak pushed her back to arm’s length, staring at her hard.
“Would you let me wander off to a war while you sat here in peace?” she asked before he could object. “If you are going, then I will be by your side, and when it is time to put our weapons to work, you will be glad to have me there.”
“I do not doubt that last part.”
“Do you think you can stop me from going?”
Zak gave a helpless laugh and pulled Azzudonna back in for a great hug. “I can’t, I know, but I would if I could. What will be left of Zaknafein if you come with me and are killed?”
“That is the price of war,” she whispered back. “What would be left of Azzudonna if I let you go without me and you were slain?”
“Mona Valrissa has already told me that I will be allowed to leave the city. What of you?”
“I will petition this very day,” Azzudonna replied. “The Temporal Convocation is assembled and hearing the petitions of Galathae and the church of Eilistraee right now.”
“We should hurry.”
“Not ‘we,’” Azzudonna corrected. “You being there will hurt my petition. They will think I am coerced.”
Zak started to respond, but Azzudonna put her finger over his lips. When he settled, she replaced the finger with her own lips, a long and lingering and promising kiss, then she rushed by him and out the door, fast on her way to the borough of Mona Chess and the assembly.
Galathae and the priests of Eilistraee were called back into the Siglig after more than two hours, during which the priests whispered and grumbled, sometimes prayed, and Galathae remained perfectly silent in her meditation and prayers. She let the priests lead the way back into the hall to take their seats before the gallery, all of them looking to the sitting representatives, trying to get a feel for what judgment might be coming.
All except for Galathae. She kept her gaze to the floor, her thoughts inward as she moved to and took her place on the left of the line of chairs. She told herself repeatedly that they could not deny her request. She had earned their deference here, and trusted that they would properly accede.
For all of her logic and surety, though, there remained a bit of nervousness, which became a gasp when Mona Valrissa settled the gathering, looked to the petitioners, and said simply, “Your petition is denied.”
Galathae was almost yelling out in protest as she looked up—only to realize that Mona Valrissa was addressing Avernil directly.
“Our petition is a call from our goddess!” Avernil protested. “By what power does this body deny—”
“This body holds responsibility for the city of fifty thousand souls,” Mona Valrissa quietly replied. “Ours is not a decision made lightly. The idea of scores of aevendrow marching to war in Menzoberranzan is unacceptable.”
“The whole city should be marching!” one of the other priests yelled.
“Would you trust outsiders more than your own people?” another yelled.
Galathae sucked in her breath. That was the wrong thing to say, she knew. From both the obstinate priests. Any hope Avernil might have entertained of changing the verdict was flown, certainly.
As if to prove her true, behind Mona Valrissa, the representatives began grousing and pointing fingers, more than one calling for rebuke.
For her part, Mona Valrissa stood straight and solemn. She didn’t blink, her expression didn’t fluctuate at all, her stare boring into Avernil, who seemed to shrink under the weight of it.
“Do you think you are the only ones who wish to go?” she said at long last, after her immovability had silenced the outburst from petitioners and representatives alike. “Do you think that I would not wish to go and mete out justice to this demon queen who has held our kin, my kin, in her thrall for these centuries?”
“Our god . . .” Avernil began meekly.
“Is one of many in Callidae, sanctioned by this body to you many years ago. I know of the Dark Maiden and understand her call to you now—it is a call that was discussed when first you created this church in Callidae, and a call about which you were then warned. And in that warning, it was noted that we in the Temporal Convocation are not here to service the wishes of Eilistraee or any other godly being. We serve Callidae and Callidae alone, the common good, the general welfare of all who reside here. That service requires us to now say no to your petition. However deep your devotion, however determined your priorities, in this place, the city is above your church and above any of the gods worshipped here. And the city demands that you cannot go to this far-off place to do battle. The risks are too great, and the chances that your arrival in Menzoberranzan will change the outcome of their war are too small.
“Your petition is denied.”
“The ritual!” one priest called. “Do not hold me here! Take my memories, as you would do to any visitor who came to us and decided to leave.”
“Not to any visitor,” another of the priests snidely added.
She ignored the latter remark, and simply said to the former, “It cannot be done to one whose memories of Callidae are all that gives identity. Your petition is denied.”
Galathae admired Mona Valrissa’s control in not lashing out at the priest who had so rudely questioned the decision to allow Jarlaxle and the others to depart with their memories intact.
“For you, Holy Galathae,” Mona Valrissa began, and the paladin held her breath in anticipation. “We would prefer that you remain here with us, serving Callidae, as you have done for all these years.”
The priests sitting to Galathae’s right began to grumble, thinking that she, too, was being denied, but Galathae held her composure and let Mona Valrissa have her say.
“Our trials here have only just begun. The powers our visitors brought to bear on the slaadi and the giants have set them far back, we believe, at least for now, but the crystal caverns beneath our city teem with the threat of the remorhaz.”
Galathae nodded. She was among the first to do battle down there, and had nearly lost her life to the power of the great polar worms.
“We are saddened, Holy Galathae, by your desire to leave,” Valrissa said. “The whole of Callidae will mourn your departure. I implore you to change your course.”
Galathae didn’t answer—she knew that Mona Valrissa wasn’t really expecting an answer.
“With that said, you have earned our trust in this,” Valrissa said, and Galathae breathed with relief, though she knew it was coming. To hear the words, though . . .
“We’ll not dull your memories of Callidae, but if you go, you go under Geas Diviet.”
“Willingly,” Galathae said.
“I doubt the ritual is needed for Holy Galathae.”
“I doubt it, as well. Truly and humbly. But still, I would not go at all without the Geas Diviet upon me. Should I begin to betray Callidae in any way, under torture, then know I betray all that I am, and so let the geas take me from this world before the betrayal can be uttered.”
“Could you not do the same to us, then?” Avernil asked. “We, too, would accept—”
“No.” Valrissa cut him short. “Too many. Far too many. For one Callidaean to join the battle in Menzoberranzan, there is little risk. For your numbers? Unacceptable. It will not be. That is our decision. Your petition is denied, High Priest Avernil. Yours, Holy Galathae, is granted under the Ritual of Diviet.”
Some of the priests began to object once again, but Avernil finally hushed them.
“You could have helped my cause,” he whispered to Galathae.
“It would have defeated my own, and to no change in your outcome,” she replied. He silently groused at this, but didn’t refute her words.
“The Temporal Convocation has other business this day,” Mona Valrissa announced and motioned to the guardians of the hall, who moved immediately to escort Galathae and the others out of the Siglig.
As she was leaving, Galathae saw Azzudonna coming fast the other way, up the white stairs and into the building.
She could figure out easily enough what had brought her friend to this place this day.
She also could guess the outcome, and it was not one Azzudonna would like.
“You are pledged to Biancorso,” Mona Valrissa said to Azzudonna, who sat alone on the floor before the legislative gallery some two hours later. “Heart and soul, until your body fails or your life ends. Have you forgotten?”
“Of course not, Mona Valrissa,” the woman answered.
“But you’ll not honor your sacred oath?”
“So much has happened. I have been to the south. I have been to the lair of the slaadi and faced the Lord Ygorl. I have—”
“You have fallen in love,” Valrissa interrupted. “And it is a beautiful thing. But do you place this lover above your pledge to Biancorso and the borough of Scellobel?
“To Callidae?”
“I . . . I . . .”
“Zaknafein has been given permission to depart, though none here desires that,” Valrissa said. “And yes, these last months have been surprising for us all. And enlightening. But no, Azzudonna of Scellobel, your petition is denied. You have taken a sacred oath to Biancorso, one not so easily rescinded.”
“Yes, Mona,” the devastated woman replied, her gaze to the floor.
“Convince Zaknafein to stay,” Mona Valrissa offered.
Azzudonna did look up to meet her gaze.
She didn’t respond.
She didn’t need to.