Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [58]
A priestess, still in blood-splattered chain mail and with the fresh scars of magically healed wounds visible against her black skin, waited at the center of the shrine. As Q’arlynd and Flinderspeld approached, she beckoned them to join her. Q’arlynd stepped into the shrine without hesitation. Flinderspeld was more wary. He could sense the haze of magic that surrounded the shrine. It was accompanied by a sound like the high-pitched voices of women distantly singing. Flinderspeld tested the space between two of the sword-columns with a finger, half expecting to encounter some sort of magical barrier. Then, cautiously, he stepped into the shrine.
As the priestess drew her sword, Flinderspeld edged behind his master. He watched warily as she handed the weapon to Q’arlynd, wondering what his own part was to be.
His master “swore on his sword,” cutting a nick in his palm as he spoke. Prompted by the priestess, Q’arlynd vowed that he did, indeed, want to honor Eilistraee above all other deities, by joining her faith as a lay worshiper. He promised to use his magic to aid the weak and to battle Eilistraee’s enemies, and to obey her priestesses—something that would probably come naturally to Q’arlynd after a lifetime spent in subservience to the women of Ched Nasad. The final oath was a vow to work selflessly to “bring other drow into the light” and treat everyone he met with kindness, until they should prove themselves unworthy of receiving it.
Flinderspeld would believe that when he saw it.
Q’arlynd completed his oath and handed the sword back to the priestess. She bent and offered the blade to Flinderspeld. It took him a moment to realize that he was being asked to join her faith. He glanced, sidelong, at his master. What do you want me to do?
Q’arlynd waved a hand dismissively. “That’s up to you.”
Then, surprisingly, Q’arlynd withdrew from his mind.
It was a test of some sort, but Flinderspeld had no idea how to pass it. Did his master expect him to swear allegiance to the drow goddess? Or to refuse, and make Q’arlynd’s “conversion” all the more significant?
The priestess stared down at him. Waiting.
At last, Flinderspeld summoned up the courage to shake his head. Firmly. He had his own patron deity. He wanted no part of any drow religion. “I cannot join your faith,” he told the priestess. “I am sworn to Callarduran Smoothhands.”
“Very well.” The priestess seemed unconcerned by his refusal. She slid the sword back into its sheath and turned to Q’arlynd. “It is done. Welcome to the light, Q’arlynd Melarn. May you serve Eilistraee well.”
Q’arlynd bowed. “Would you excuse us, Lady?” His hand gripped Flinderspeld’s shoulder. “My friend here is leaving. I’d like a few moments to say good-bye to him.”
Flinderspeld’s heart beat rapidly as the priestess left the shrine. What did his master not want her to see? It was pointless to call out to the priestess, for Q’arlynd would only clamp down with his mental hold. Instead Flinderspeld obeyed the wizard’s mental command, following him into the woods. They walked in silence for several hundred paces before Q’arlynd halted and slid a hand into a pocket of his piwafwi—the pocket where he kept his spell components. Flinderspeld’s eyes widened.
“Wait!” he told his master. “I won’t tell anyone!”
Q’arlynd frowned. “You won’t tell anyone what?”
Flinderspeld swallowed nervously. “You must have read my mind,” he whispered. “You know I was there, watching, when you let those driders kill Leliana.”
“Ah. That.” Q’arlynd spread his hands. “There were four of them, and my magic was almost depleted,” he said smoothly. “I couldn’t possibly have killed them all. I knew another of the priestesses would come along, sooner or later, to revive Leliana, but I wasn’t sure if they’d do the same for me. I couldn’t run the risk of being killed.” The expression of regret he adopted