Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [104]
Szorak stiffened. For a space of several heartbeats, there was silence. Then he exhaled. “You know my secret,” he said. “You know about my sister. It’s true. Seyll was a priestess of Eilistraee, but I assure you, Malvag, that I am not.”
Valdar gave a dark chuckle. “Not a priestess?” His eyes ranged up and down Szorak’s body. “That’s pretty clear.”
Szorak gave Valdar a level look. “If you think I’ve disguised myself, cast a divination that pierces glamors.” He gestured at his body. “What you see is what I am.”
Urz glanced back and forth between Szorak and Malvag. One hand was raised, fingers twitching slightly, as if ready to cast a spell. He was clearly only waiting for Malvag’s command to strike. “His sister’s a priestess?”
“A dead priestess,” Szorak said. He chuckled. “Killed years ago by a priestess of Lolth who was masquerading as a petitioner, but I assure you that I’m no spider kisser.” He spread his arms. “Go ahead. Inspect me.”
Malvag took him up on the offer and whispered two prayers in quick succession. They revealed that the mask did indeed contain a trapped soul—one that glowed with the irritating silver sheen of good. Szorak’s own aura, in contrast, was a dull brown.
Malvag relaxed. He’d been wrong. It was Szorak. He’d very nearly let his suspicions ruin everything. He touched Urz’s arm.
“No need for that,” he told the other cleric. Then he turned back to Szorak. “Take your place,” he instructed. “We’ve already wasted too much time. We should begin.”
Szorak moved toward the drift disc. He hesitated for a moment then stood next to Urz.
Malvag gestured, and the drift disc moved to a position where all could read it. His previous darkfire spell had ended some time ago, so he whispered the prayer again, causing the flames that only those with darkvision could detect to dance once more about his fingertips.
“When I lower my finger to the page,” he instructed, “begin to read.”
That said, he enshrouded his head in magical darkness, stilled his breathing, and made the sign of the mask. He prayed, his fingers signing in time with his words. “Masked Lord, God of Night, Shadow of my Soul. Hear me on this, the longest of nights. Your Nightshadows stand ready to open a gate to Eilistraee’s domain. Masked Lord, are you ready? Should we proceed?”
The communion came, as it always did, on softly creeping feet. One moment there was nothing, then came a whisper from behind, as faint as breath. Malvag felt a presence slip softly into his awareness. He sensed, rather than truly saw, a pair of eyes peering over his shoulder. The eyes were black, flecked with silver. They matched the weapons that swished through Malvag’s awareness in streaks of utter black and gleaming silver—the long sword Night Shadow and the short sword Silverflash. A cloak swirled as the god spun, leaving streaks of starlight. Vhaeraun took several moments to answer—his eyes kept darting about—but at last the word came, cutting the air like a hissing blade.
“Yes.”
Malvag smiled. A thrill raced through him. The hairs on his arms shivered erect as he opened his eyes, dispelled the magical darkness, and started to lower his finger to the scroll. He heard the clerics on either side of him take a breath as they prepared to read aloud.
But from his right came an intensely bright flash of light. An explosive boom filled the cavern as a jagged lightning bolt erupted from Urz’s chest and forked toward Malvag and Valdar. It slammed into Malvag’s own chest, sending waves of pain crackling through his body and filling his nostrils with the stench of seared flesh. As both he and Valdar reeled, gasping, Szorak ripped off Urz’s mask. He slapped Urz on the back with his other hand and shouted. As the mask fluttered away, Urz went rigid and toppled to the floor with a loud crash. Szorak danced back, shaking a wand out of his sleeve