Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [11]
She sighed. Compared to a demon hunt, patrolling was dull work. She almost hoped that a cloaker would swoop down from the ceiling. She patted the bastard sword at her hip. Demonbane would make short work of it. The sword might not hum as prettily as the temple’s singing swords, but it had seen Cavatina through more battles than she could count.
They continued through the cavern, checking to make sure that none of the magical symbols had been dispelled. Each symbol was as large as a breastplate, painted prominently on a wall, floor, or column where those passing through the cavern couldn’t help but glance at it. The symbols had been painted using a paste made from a blend of liquid mercury and red phosphorus, sprinkled with powdered diamond and opal. Attuned to Eilistraee’s faithful, the symbols could be safely stared at by her priestesses and lay worshipers, but anyone with evil intentions who so much as glanced at a symbol would trigger it, as would any cleric who served Eilistraee’s enemies. Cavatina pointed out for Thaleste the difference between those symbols that caused wracking pain, and those that sapped strength.
“None that kill?” the novice asked. “Why not slay our enemies outright?”
“Because for all drow, there is a chance of redemption,” Cavatina answered. Then she smiled grimly. “Though for some, the chance is much slimmer than for others. That’s what our swords are for. Once an intruder is debilitated, we give her one chance. She can live by the song—or die by the sword.”
Thaleste nodded, her eyes bright with tears. She’d made that very choice, just two years ago.
They moved on, softly singing the hymn that disabled the cavern’s other magical protections. Tiny bells, hanging from silver threads, had been secreted here and there among the columns. Capable of detecting anything that moved in the cavern without singing the proper wards, the bells were ensorcelled to sound a clamorous alarm that could be heard dozens of paces away. A silence spell could muffle the sound, but the spell would have to be cast several times over—once per bell—and each bell’s hiding place would have to be found first.
All of the bells Cavatina randomly selected to inspect were in place; none had been disturbed. Each rang with a clear ping when Cavatina flicked it with a fingernail.
Just like the Promenade itself, the caverns were protected not only by visible defenses but also by less tangible magic. Forbiddance spells had been put in place with sprinkles of holy water and wafts of incense, invisible to any who did not have the magic to detect them. They were a potent barrier, one that prevented enemies from teleporting or shifting there—even in astral or ethereal form. The forbiddance spells were permanent, and only the most powerful of spellcasters could remove them. The only way to bypass them was with one of Eilistraee’s holy songs, and even that held no guarantee of safety. Those who used the song to slip past the magical barrier would, if of evil intent, arrive with grievous wounds—possibly even fatal ones.
The cavern narrowed, and the floor rose and fell. The priestesses clambered over half-formed stalagmites that looked like sagging lumps of dough. Several times, Thaleste’s scabbard scraped against the soft limestone, tracing a faint line. The novice had a lot to learn about moving silently.
“The cloakers are going to have ample time to spring an ambush, with all that noise you’re making,” Cavatina warned her.
Thaleste was breathing hard from her exertions. Her face darkened in a blush. “My apologies, Mistress.”
“Dark Lady,” Cavatina corrected. “There are no matron mothers here.”
“Dark Lady. My apologies.”
Cavatina accepted the apology with a nod.
Eventually, they reached the spot where the cavern ended. The ceiling