Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [19]
“That pendant is Eilistraee’s holy symbol,” Prellyn spat, her mouth twisting as if at a foul taste. “Be thankful I was here to keep you from touching it.”
“I am,” Q’arlynd said smoothly. He pointed. “And that tiny sword? Is it connected with Eilistraee’s worship, too?”
Prellyn used the tip of her sword to flick the tiny blade into a deep crevice in the rubble. “That’s not something you want to touch, either.”
“I won’t,” Q’arlynd said, “but what is a holy symbol of Eilistraee doing here, in Ched Nasad?”
“It must have been carried here by one of her priestesses before the city’s fall. They do that sometimes—come below to try to subvert Lolth’s children and seduce them up to the surface realms.”
“Where the simpletons who fall for it are immediately killed, no doubt.”
Prellyn laughed. “How little you know, male. Eilistraee’s followers actually welcome strangers into their midst.”
“Any stranger?” Q’arlynd asked, thinking of his sister. “Even one of Lolth’s faithful?”
Prellyn gave him a sharp look. For a moment, Q’arlynd thought she might not answer. “If the drow professes a willingness to turn to Eilistraee’s worship, yes.”
“But … Q’arlynd furrowed his brow, pretending to work the thought out aloud. “How do they know who is lying and who is a genuine petitioner?”
“They rely on … trust,” she said, switching to a word in the language of the surface elves. There was no true equivalent in either Drowic or High Drow. “They hand those tiny swords out to whoever asks for them. It is their greatest weakness, and it shows how low they have fallen. Trust among drow is like a shard of ice in lava, except that ice lasts longer.”
Q’arlynd dutifully laughed at her joke, though he knew full well that no drow would ever be as stupid as Prellyn had just made Eilistraee’s priestesses out to be. Assuming Prellyn was right, he’d just learned what those tiny swords were for.
“Those who are duped into turning away from Lolth are fools, of course,” Prellyn continued. “Not only do they face the Spider Queen’s wrath but the ravages of the surface realms as well. The sunlight blinds them, and they fall victim to strange diseases. Their armor and weapons crumble to dust, leaving them defenseless. Drow aren’t meant to live on the surface. We’re creatures of the Underdark—Lolth’s children.”
Q’arlynd nodded dutifully. Prellyn was merely repeating what the priestesses at the temple taught. His instructors at the Conservatory had provided other even more dire warnings, back when Q’arlynd had been a novice wizard, teaching that all magical items crafted by the drow lost their powers when removed from the energies of the Underdark and exposed to the light of the sun. Though that as no longer the case, they continued to admonish against journeys to the World Above.
Q’arlynd, however, didn’t believe the stories of sickness and misery. He knew exaggeration when he heard it. He’d once met a drow who lived on the surface and survived there quite nicely, thank you very much, but that had been long ago.
He wondered whether Eilistraee’s worship was prevalent in whatever surface realm the portal led to and whether Halisstra, if she had survived, had embraced that heretical faith. If so, it would explain why she’d never returned to Ched Nasad. Halisstra’s professed worship of Lolth had always seemed, to Q’arlynd, a touch insincere.
He stroked his chin, pretending to stare thoughtfully at the rubble. “This ruin bears the glyphs of House Ysh’nil,” he said, naming the minor House whose surviving members were currently a thorn in House Teh’Kinrellz’s side. “Do you suppose someone in that House secretly worshiped Eilistraee?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “That wouldn’t bode well for the survivors, especially if the Jaezred Chaulssin knew of it.”
Prellyn, taller than Q’arlynd by a head, stared down at him. “You’re entirely too smart for a male.” She touched the end of his nose almost affectionately. “This is female business. Keep your nose out of it.