Online Book Reader

Home Category

Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [56]

By Root 397 0

Before Q’arlynd could ponder that mystery further, another priestess came rushing through the woods—one of those Q’arlynd had aided earlier. Leliana lowered the hand that wore the ring. Apparently she wanted to continue living, after all.

“Rowaan’s been killed!” she cried. “Help her!”

As the priestess set to work, Leliana whirled to face Q’arlynd. “You followed us here. Why?”

“I hoped to prove myself a worthy addition to Eilistraee’s forces, Mistress,” he said, bowing. He was used to angry females and knew exactly what to say, and his words were no longer constrained by a truth spell. “I thought that by joining the fight, I might atone for … that unfortunate accident in Ched Nasad. I arrived as you were battling the four driders. I managed to kill the one you see here, but the other three escaped. Surely, in light of the assistance I’ve just rendered, you will reconsider your earlier decision to kill me?”

Leliana blinked. “Kill you? What makes you think—”

A low groan interrupted her. The priestess who had just cast the restorative spell sat back and whispered a prayer of thanks to her goddess.

Rowaan was alive again.

Leliana fell to her knees and embraced her. She touched the ring on Rowaan’s finger. “That was bravely done, Rowaan.”

Rowaan gave a weak shrug. “No need for thanks.” She nodded at the woman who had raised her from death. “I knew Chezzara would be along eventually.”

“Even so,” Leliana said. “Death weakened you. Your magic will never be as strong.”

“You would do the same for me, Mother. I know you would.”

Q’arlynd’s eyes widened slightly at that. He gave a mental nod. He’d already noted the resemblance between the two priestesses, yet he was surprised to hear that they were mother and daughter. Normally, among the drow, that counted for little. “Blood,” as the old expression went, “was only a dagger-thrust deep.” Mothers, more often than not, outlived their daughters—the slightest hint of treachery was met with brutal retaliation. But Leliana and Rowaan seemed to share something more than a mere House name: one of those rare bonds of genuine affection.

Elsewhere in the woods, swords clashed and a woman cried Eilistraee’s name, reminding them that the battle still raged.

“I’m needed,” the priestess who had raised Rowaan said. She pointed at Q’arlynd. “And so is he. Whoever he is, he’s a formidable fighter, and it’s not just driders we’re facing. There’s a judicator fighting alongside them.”

Both Leliana and Rowaan startled.

The healer, that dire pronouncement made, turned and hurried away into the woods.

Leliana helped Rowaan sit up then turned to Q’arlynd. She stared at him a long moment then inclined her head.

“Thank you.”

Q’arlynd bowed. “My pleasure, but before we rejoin the battle, I have one question. What’s a judicator?”

“One of Selvetarm’s champions,” Leliana answered.

“One of his clerics?” Q’arlynd asked. He shuddered at the memory of spider-pupiled eyes.

“More.” Leliana’s expression grim. “Much more.”

Judging by the abrupt way the scream had cut off, another priestess had just found that out.

As the sun rose the next morning, Flinderspeld wandered through the forest, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun. Drider corpses were everywhere—draped over tree branches and splayed on the ground in a litter of shattered legs, blood, and smashed chitin. Strangely, he hadn’t seen any dead priestesses, though there was evidence that several had died. Three times, he found a breastplate sliced entirely in two, atop a crumpled pile of chain mail and boots and with a sword lying nearby. It was as if the women who had died wearing the armor had suddenly vanished, leaving their weapons and equipment behind.

Flinderspeld was very, very glad that he hadn’t met up with whatever had done that.

He spotted a living priestess a short distance ahead and hurried toward her. Torn links dangled from a slash in her chain mail, and her breastplate was drenched with blood. She stood, sword blade resting on her shoulder, staring down at another pile of empty armor.

“Ah, excuse me,” Flinderspeld asked.

Return Main Page Previous Page Next Page

®Online Book Reader