Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [4]
Qilué gasped as her awareness blossomed inside Halisstra’s body. All of Halisstra’s senses were hers. Qilué could smell the harsh, hot wind that howled through the chasm behind her, could feel the aching chill of the souls that streamed past overhead, and she could smell the foul breath of the draegloth as it sneered down at her.
“My mistress has not abandoned me, heretic,” the draegloth spat.
From inside Halisstra’s awareness, Qilué could see that the priestess was not alone. Some distance behind the draegloth stood a moon elf with pale skin and dark brown hair: Feliane, the other priestess who had accompanied Halisstra on her quest. Feliane panted, as if she’d just been in battle, but the thin-bladed sword in her hand was unbloodied. She moved toward the draegloth with faltering steps, hugging her ribs with her free arm, and wincing with each inhalation of breath.
Danifae was fully behind Halisstra, and the priestess could no longer see her. Qilué fought to turn Halisstra’s head in that direction, but Halisstra’s attention remained wholly fixed on the draegloth. She trusted the woman—saw her not as a battle-captive seething with a thirst for revenge, but as an ally. A friend.
Qilué shouted from inside Halisstra’s head. “Halisstra! Behind you! Watch Danifae!”
Too late. Qilué’s awareness exploded into pain as Danifae’s morningstar slammed into Halisstra’s back, smashing the priestess to her hands and knees.
Halisstra understood it all then. The pain of betrayal was even greater than the sharp ache of her shattered ribs.
You could have warned me, Halisstra thought.
The bitter rebuke was directed at Eilistraee, but it was Qilué who answered, I tried.
Halisstra, at last hearing her, nodded weakly.
Danifae’s morningstar slammed into her back a second time, knocking her to the ground. She dimly heard Danifae give an order to the draegloth, then its bestial roar.
Feliane answered with a battle song.
Danifae’s fingers twined in Halisstra’s hair and yanked her head up.
“Watch,” Danifae said, her voice a harsh gloat.
Qilué did, through Halisstra’s eyes. Feliane wounded the draegloth, but the monster didn’t even slow. He slammed Feliane to the ground and began tearing at the priestess’s body with his fangs.
Feliane screamed as her stomach was torn open. Halisstra’s vision blurred with tears.
Another gone to Eilistraee. Only Halisstra was left, and her mind was filled with despair and doubt.
“Have faith, Halisstra!” Qilué cried. “Eilistraee will—”
Danifae slammed a fist into Halisstra’s temple. Sparks of pain exploded inside Qilué’s mind as well, disrupting her awareness. She fought to cling to it as Halisstra coughed, weakly, blood dribbling from her lips. Halisstra turned her head slightly, looking up at Danifae. The other drow swung her morningstar in a lazy arc, her face ugly with cruel mirth.
Halisstra’s despair brimmed over. I am not worthy, she thought. I have failed.
“No!” Qilué shouted. “You—”
Too late. She lost the connection. Her awareness was back in her own body, and she stared into the font. Perhaps it was not too late. She summoned silver fire and stabbed a finger into the water, unleashing a beam of pure white flame. Instead of blasting Danifae, however, the magical flame skipped off the surface of the holy water like a stone and ricocheted into the night.
The water in the font rippled, obscuring the scrying. Qilué could see movement—fragmentary glimpses of what was going on. A flash of silver: the Crescent Blade, picked up by Danifae and tossed contemptuously aside. The head of a morningstar, swinging in a deadly arc. Halisstra’s eyes, brimming with tears. Danifae’s face, twisted with hatred as she spat. Sound was likewise garbled. Halisstra’s voice, faintly whispering, “Why?” Danifae’s voice, haughty and triumphant: “… weak.”
Qilué thrust a hand at the moon, clutching desperately for some other magic that could be channeled through