Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [47]
Flinderspeld looked uneasy. “But …”
Q’arlynd arched an eyebrow. “You want that ring off your finger, don’t you?”
Flinderspeld blinked. He started to nod, hesitated, and looked warily up at his master.
Q’arlynd took that as a yes. “Then let’s go.”
Cavatina strode through the woods, savoring the smell of the forest. It had recently rained, and the scents of earth, fallen leaves, and cedar bark surrounded her. It was good to be back on the surface again, even if the bright face of the sun was hidden by brooding clouds.
She wore a thick, padded tunic under her chain mail, and soft leather boots and gloves. Her long white hair was bound in two braids, tied together behind her back. In addition to her small travel pack, she carried with her everything she needed for the hunt.
Pausing to catch her breath, she rested a hand on the hilt of the singing sword. If it did turn out to be something demonic in nature she was hunting, she was well equipped to deal with it. In addition to the weapon, she carried several other magical items. Hanging beside her magical hunting horn, on its own leather strap, was an iron flask capable of trapping demons. She’d also added a second periapt to the one she habitually wore—a glossy black stone that hung from a silver chain around her neck. If the creature’s venom proved so potent that Cavatina wasn’t able to utter a prayer in time, the periapt would protect her.
She’d been traveling for six days since her arrival at the shrine. She had left the Velarswood behind and was well into Cormanthor, making her way first north along the River Duathamper then east. Two days ago, she had seen a party of wild elves out hunting and yesterday a patrol of sun elves in their glittering armor—part of the army of Myth Drannor, no doubt—but she had revealed herself to neither. Eilistraee’s faithful might have found sanctuary in the Velarswood, but in the greater forest, drow were likely to be attacked on sight. Cavatina had no doubt that she could hold her own, even against a group of attackers, but she was loath to be forced into a situation where she would have to send innocent souls to their gods before their time.
Nor did she seek out the drow of Cormanthor. House Jaelre’s members were fervent followers of Vhaeraun, as were those of House Auzkovyn. Blasphemers. They hated Lolth as much as Cavatina did, but she had never subscribed to any of that “enemy of my enemy” nonsense.
Fortunately, there were other ways for her to learn what she needed to know. The Jaelre who had survived the creature’s attack and come to the priestesses for aid—himself a petitioner and well on his way to converting to Eilistraee’s faith—had given her the starting point, the place where he’d been attacked. From there, she’d followed a scant trail—a strand of web stuck to a tree branch so high overhead she’d had to levitate to find it, spots on the ground where leaves had been disturbed by something heavy landing on them, a broken branch where the creature had passed through the treetops….
Several times the trail had gone cold, and she’d had to turn to the trees for answers. Each time, the creature had turned out to be only a short distance away. In one case, the creature had doubled back on its own trail—almost as if it knew Cavatina was following and wanted to be found.
As if it wanted to lead Cavatina into an ambush.
Cavatina smiled. So be it. She’d faced that tactic before. Demons were masters of guile, but Cavatina had decades of experience hunting them. She kept an eye on the ground around her, as well as the branches above, expecting an attack at any moment. None came, however.
Once again, the trail ended.
It was time to ask her guides for assistance. Selecting a massive cedar whose spreading branches touched those of the trees surrounding it, she stripped off a glove and touched her bare palm to the trunk, letting the plain wooden band on her finger make contact with the cracked red bark. She whispered the ring