Ascendancy of the Last - Lisa Smedman [51]
Cavatina glanced around the shrine that had become their prison, furious at herself for having become trapped here. The battle-mistress needed her. Rylla was adept at exorcism and a skillful swordswoman, but she would be facing the Crescent Blade, backed up by Qiluй's silver fire.
Cavatina bowed her head and prayed. Eilistraee, surely, could still hear her. "Grant Rylla the strength she needs to do battle in your name, Dark Maiden. Shield her, and strengthen her sword arm."
"By song and sword," Leliana whispered.
Cavatina hoped it wasn't already too late for their prayers.
CHAPTER 6
Kвras yanked the reins of his riding lizard to stop it from snapping at the tail of the mount in front. All around him, the twenty-six other priests who would ride out to the Gathering did the same. Their lizards, cramped together in the portico, were restless and aggressive as they waited for the drawbridge to fall.
A novice in oversized purple robes hurried into the portico, carrying a lacquered black tray. On it was a whiplike tentacle rod and the ring that controlled it. With eyes downcast, the boy halted next to Kвras and lifted the tray.
Kвras caught the eye of the priest on the mount next to him and feigned a greedy smile. "Mine?"
The priest-a greasy-haired, hollow-cheeked drow named Molvayas-smiled, revealing brown, stained teeth. "Yours. To replace the one you lost."
The brownish red tentacles of the priest's rod were coiled over one shoulder and around his chest; their suckers puckered the fabric of his tabard. They sucked and released the purple-encircled eye embroidered on the front of the tunic as if nursing from it. His shield bore the same symbol.
Kвras could feel the other priests watching him out of the corners of their eyes. This was a test. He reached for the ring: a band of black obsidian, set with an equally dark stone. The bitterly cold ring stuck to his sweat-damp fingers. He jammed it onto his left thumb and tore his fingers away. Cold shot through his thumb to the bone, turning the meat of his thumb a dull gray. With a thought, he adjusted its color back to black.
He held up his thumb and flexed it-a motion that would draw the others' scrutiny away from his other hand as it surreptitiously brushed against the belt that cinched in his tabard: a belt that was actually his disguised holy symbol. Masked Lady, he silently prayed. Lend me strength.
Feeling returned to his thumb.
He grabbed the rod's leather-bound handgrip. Finger-thick, rubbery tentacles uncoiled and animated as he lifted the rod from the tray. When he held it at arm's length, the tentacles brushed back and forth against the slate floor, leaving streaks of frost in their wake. He flicked the rod, and a shiver ran through the tentacles. They snapped briefly to attention, then relaxed again and suckered the floor with faint wet pops.
"A fine weapon," he said. "My thanks to House Philiom."
"Gather well," Molvayas said.
Kвras flicked the weapon a second time as he waited, and a third, pretending to admire the balance of its long metal shaft and the suppleness of its three black tentacles. At last he had to coil the weapon around his body, lest the others become suspicious. He suppressed his shudder at the touch of its tentacles against his skin.
Without warning, thuds sounded as the House boys on either side of the drawbridge slammed sledge hammers to release the pegs that held its counterweights. Chains rattled, and the drawbridge fell with a tremendous boom. En masse, the riding lizards surged forward, their riders urging them onward with hisses. The novice who'd handed Kвras the rod gasped as a lizard knocked him down. He screamed as scrabbling claws shredded his tabard and back into a bloody fringe. The screaming fell behind as Kвras's riding lizard surged onto the drawbridge with the rest.
The sour smell of green slime rose to Kвras's nostrils as his mount crossed the moat. Soon it was replaced by the fetid stench of the manure