Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [46]
And nearly lost his connection, so surprised was he by what he heard. Flinderspeld hoped to plead with Leliana to spare his master’s life! Or to grab the priestess’s hand, if need be, to prevent her from harming Q’arlynd.
It was inconceivable. Slaves simply didn’t do that, especially slaves who had recently been promised their freedom by that very same priestess. Q’arlynd wondered what Flinderspeld thought he could gain through such an action. Something, surely.
Leliana, meanwhile, moved her dagger closer to Q’arlynd’s throat. His punishment was about to begin. Q’arlynd wished he could close his eyes. In another instant, the priestesses would carve off something painful. Judging by where the knife was, it would probably be the flesh of his face or throat. He braced himself, mentally whispering a prayer to Lolth. A token effort, really, but the goddess was just capricious enough that she might allow his soul to enter her domain once he was dead.
A horn sounded deep in the woods, a strident blare, loud and long.
Both priestesses were startled. The horn sounded again, a sharp, complex series of notes.
“An attack on the shrine,” Rowaan said, her voice tense.
Leliana nodded.
Rowan gestured at Q’arlynd. “What about …?”
“We leave them,” Leliana said. She used her dagger to slice the cord around Q’arlynd’s neck and let him fall back against the ground. When she stood, the sword-token was in her hand. “Let’s move.”
She hurried off into the woods.
Rowaan lingered just long enough to glance down at Q’arlynd. “Redemption is still possible,” she whispered. “One day, you might find it in you to—”
“Rowaan!” Leliana shouted from the woods.
Rowaan jumped, then turned and ran after her companion.
A moment later, Flinderspeld began to move. Slowly and stiffly. Q’arlynd knew how he felt. His own body tingled and his joints felt as stiff as a haunch of thawing meat. He stared up at the deep gnome, still not quite believing what he’d overheard in his slave’s thoughts.
When Q’arlynd could move again, he used Flinderspeld to lever himself back to his feet. Despite the gnome’s small stature, Flinderspeld proved a surprisingly solid anchor.
Leliana hadn’t taken Q’arlynd’s wand. An oversight, surely.
“What now?” Flinderspeld asked. Belatedly, he added, “Master.”
What now indeed, Q’arlynd wondered. Admit defeat, teleport back to the portal, and return to Ched Nasad? He sighed. The prospect of digging through the ruins and groveling to Prellyn for years on end didn’t really appeal to him. Nor was there much to be gained by it. If Prellyn had wanted to formally recognize him as her consort and give him a position within her House, she’d have done it long ago. All Q’arlynd would ever be to House Teh’Kinrellz was a fetch and carry boy, one whose talents were wasted on levitating rocks and ferreting out magical trinkets from the heap of rubble that had once been his home. His own House had trained him as a battle wizard, a caster of fireballs and ice storms. He’d wondered, those past three years, if he’d ever get to use those spells again.
Until a few moments ago, he’d thought the answer to that question would be yes. His spells would make him a valuable asset to Qilué. He’d hoped to earn himself a place as her apprentice and learn even more powerful spells, but now there seemed little hope of that.
He paused, suddenly realizing something. Leliana and Rowaan were the only ones who had heard him admit to killing a priestess, and they wouldn’t be able to tell anyone until after the battle they’d just rushed off to was over. If they died in that battle, no one else need ever learn Q’arlynd’s guilty little secret. He could start afresh—be a “petitioner” once more.
The horn sounded again. Q’arlynd stared into the woods, stroking his chin. Then he smiled. “What now?” he repeated. He pointed in the direction