Extinction - Lisa Smedman [102]
For several long, dizzy moments Ryld flung his head back and stared sightlessly at the sagging ceiling of the ruin. Dimly he was aware of the rough floor rushing up to meet his back, of a corner of his vambrace digging with blissful pain into his shoulder.
Halisstra was on top of him. For just a moment, her hair seemed streaked with silver as she tossed it back behind her shoulders, and Ryld was reminded of the woman who had appeared to him in the belladonna-induced fever dream. Sparkles of moonlight rushed down and exploded into his mind, obliterating everything else.
Much later, Halisstra touched his shoulder and whispered, "Ryld? Are you in Reverie? I wanted to speak to you about something."
Ryld opened his eyes. He could tell by Halisstra's tone that he wasn't going to like whatever it was she was about to say. She sounded formal and firm, her tone reminiscent of the way a priestesses would address a male. He braced himself, waiting for the whiplike reprimand that must soon come. She must have spotted him earlier, spying on the sacred song and dance, and she was going to chastise him for it.
"I'm going back to the Underdark," she told him. "I'm going to find Quenthel Baenre and the others and rejoin their quest."
Startled-but not showing it, in case it was a test-he stared deep into her eyes. Her face, like his own, was perfectly neutral. No, not completely. Something shone in her eyes-something more than reflected starlight. An echo of the passion they'd shared.
"Why?" he asked.
Halisstra visibly relaxed.
"Uluyara has asked me to go back there. Eilistraee's priestesses need to know if Lolth truly is dead. The information is vital to their cause-and I'm the only one who can obtain it for them."
Ryld nodded. The warrior part of his mind acknowledged the wisdom of Uluyara's command. Halisstra would make an excellent spy. Moreover, she was merely a foot soldier in Eilistraee's order. If Quenthel killed her, she would barely be missed. The traitor priestesses' war against Lolth would continue with barely a ripple. Deep inside, however, he boiled with anger at Uluyara's willingness to sacrifice Halisstra.
"I'm not asking you to come with me," Halisstra said.
Realizing that he had let his anger show-and that Halisstra had misread it-Ryld said what was on his mind.
"One tiny slip, and Quenthel will kill you, as fast as a striking serpent."
"That's something I'm willing to risk."
"I'm not," he said. "That's why I'm going to come with you."
Halisstra touched his cheek.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Later still, when Ryld had indeed slipped into Reverie, Halisstra stared at him. He sat cross-legged, his eyes closed. His hands were crossed on the scabbarded blade of Splitter, but otherwise he looked like a vanquished warrior, his armor strewn about him and his weapons cast aside.
Sighing, Halisstra leaned back against a wall of the ruin and settled into Reverie herself. Her muscles were already loose and relaxed, and so it took but a moment for the familiar wash of memories to claim her.
She drifted with them, observing with detachment as her mind skipped from one to the next, like a stone skipping on water. Memories of the first day of her service in the temple of House Melarn and her instructors caning her palms until they bled after she mispronounced the words of the daily prayer. And of the satisfaction Halisstra had felt the next day, when she was called to lead the prayer-and did so with a precision that earned a brief smile from the priestess who had beaten her. Memories, too, of the footraces she and her sister Jawil had run, as children, along the roads of Ched Nasad-and the terrifying plunge after Jawil had pushed her over the edge in retaliation when Halisstra at last won a race. Only the fact that Halisstra had "borrowed" an aunt's House insignia-one that provided levitation magic-had saved her. Later, Jawil had said that she'd known about the insignia all along.
Those older, well-visited memories jostled against newer, fresher, somehow cleaner ones. Of the night she had been lifted from the cave