Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [29]
“Describe Halisstra’s death for me,” Q’arlynd said.
Leliana did, in hushed tones, as if Q’arlynd were a stranger to violent death. Halisstra had been felled by a blow to the head—a blow from Danifae’s morningstar. There was little hope that Halisstra had survived the blow, she added.
Unless …
Hearing her hesitation, Q’arlynd pressed Leliana for more. She told him their high priestess had been attempting to resurrect Halisstra at the moment that the scrying was lost. Shortly afterward, Qilué had communed with their goddess. The high priestess had not divulged Eilistraee’s words to anyone, but she had let one fact slip out. The goddess, it seemed, had spoken of Halisstra in the present tense, as one would refer to someone who was still alive.
Q’arlynd took it all in without betraying any emotion. He was too much of a realist to expect that Halisstra had benefited from the last-minute spell—or even if she had, that she’d been able to escape the Demonweb Pits, which meant that his quest to find his sister was probably a futile one.
He sighed. It seemed he would have to return to the drudgery of rooting through the ruins of Ched Nasad, and tedious years of servitude to House Teh’Kinrellz.
Unless …
“Qilué,” he mused aloud. “I think I’ve heard the name, but I can’t quite place her House.”
Rowaan supplied the name. “Veladorn.”
Veladorn. It was not a House Q’arlynd recognized.
Leliana cocked her head. “Lady Qilué Veladorn, High Protector of the Song, and Right Hand of Eilistraee.” She paused. “Sounding familiar yet?”
Q’arlynd spread his hands. “I’m new to all this, I’m afraid. Just a petitioner.” He favored her with a boyish smile. “I’m sure I’ll learn all of your honorifics and titles, in time.” In fact, he had no intentions of any kind. He’d done what he’d intended by coming to the surface—gleaned everything he could from the priestesses. His sister was dead. That was the end of it. There was nothing further to be gained by pretending to be a petitioner.
He opened his mouth, intending to bid them farewell, grab Flinderspeld, and teleport back to the portal, when Rowaan picked up where Leliana left off. “Qilué is not only a high priestess of Eilistraee,” she continued in an annoyingly helpful tone. “She’s also one of the Seven Sisters.”
Q’arlynd stared at her blankly. That title was obviously supposed to impress him, but he had no idea what Rowaan was talking about.
“She’s one of the Chosen of Mystra,” Rowaan continued.
She had his attention.
“Is that so?” he said in a soft voice. Most of the surface peoples’ gods were of little interest—especially those worshiped by humans—but that was one name he recognized. “Mystra, goddess of magic? The one who tends the Weave and makes magic possible for all mortals?”
“I see you’re familiar with her,” Leliana said.
Q’arlynd gave an apologetic smile. “I’m a wizard,” he told her. “My instructors at the Conservatory mentioned the goddess of magic, once or twice.” He touched the pocket where he’d placed his sword-token. “But it’s Eilistraee I’m petitioning.”
“Well then,” Leliana said, “in that case, we’d better get moving. The moor can be a dangerous place, home to marauding orcs and hobgoblins—even trolls. The sooner we get to the shrine, the better.”
Q’arlynd bowed—it helped hide the gleam in his eyes. This Qilué person sounded powerful—a priestess and a mage both, and not just any mage but one of Mystra’s “Chosen.”
Now that was a matron mother Q’arlynd wouldn’t mind serving.
“Will I …” He feigned boyish hesitation and tried to call a blush to his cheeks. “Will I meet Qilué once we get to the shrine?”
Leliana and Rowaan glanced at each other.
He molded his face into a pleading expression. “If I could hear from her own lips what happened to Halisstra—what she saw in her scrying—then perhaps …”
Rowaan nodded in sympathy. It was Leliana, however, who spoke. “I’ll see if it can be arranged.”
Q’arlynd bowed. “Thank you, Lady.”
He smiled. Prellyn had been right. Eilistraee’s faithful were entirely too trusting.
Deep in a little-frequented