Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [77]
Qilué noted the choice of words. “Your” priestesses. A bitter twist to the word.
“It was House Jaelre and House Auzkovyn that I hunted,” Halisstra continued. “Vhaeraun’s clerics. They’re your enemies, as well.”
“Those who worship Vhaeraun, yes,” Qilué said softly, “but some from those Houses have sought redemption.”
“Not all of them,” Cavatina interrupted. She nodded at Halisstra. “The last one she killed died unrepentant. I gave him every opportunity to redeem himself before he died, but he refused.”
Qilué frowned, not understanding. “You raised one of her victims from the dead?”
The Darksong Knight laughed. “Quite the contrary. He was very much alive, inside her cocoon, when I found him.”
“You killed him?”
Cavatina stared back at Qilué, unrepentant. “He deserved to die.”
Cavatina seemed disinclined to say more. Rather than pursue the discussion in front of Halisstra, who was listening a little too attentively, Qilué let the matter drop. There were more important matters at hand. The Crescent Blade. If it still existed, the quest that had begun three years ago might continue.
She glanced past Halisstra at Cavatina. The Darksong Knight stood ready, her eyes bright in the moonlight. Cavatina was skilled with a sword and experienced at fighting demons. Aside from Qilué herself, she was the most logical choice to recover the Crescent Blade. If it still existed.
“Priestess?” Qilué asked aloud. “Are you up to the challenge?” At the same time, she used her magic to send Cavatina a silent message. It will be a trap. In all likelihood the temple no longer exists, and the blade is still lost.
Cavatina’s posture was tense. Eager. But if it is true? If the sword can be recovered?
“Then you will bring it to me,” Qilué said, answering aloud. She kept an eye on Halisstra as she spoke, watching for a reaction. Halisstra gave no sign of disappointment. It didn’t seem to matter to her that Qilué herself would not be lured into the Demonweb Pits.
Cavatina’s lips parted then closed. Qilué could sense that she had been about to protest, to insist that it should be a Darksong Knight who made the attempt on Lolth, but instead she inclined her head.
“By the song and the sword, we will succeed,” she said. “The drow will be free of the Spider Queen at last.”
“By the song and the sword,” Qilué murmured. Then she took a deep breath. Halisstra, she thought, was a coin balanced on its edge. Which way would she fall—toward betrayal or aid? The prophecy of three years ago had said it could go either way.
No. The prophecy had said it would go both ways. In the goddess’s own words, House Melarn would both aid—and betray. A single coin could only fall on one side or the other.
Was there a second “coin” out there somewhere, waiting to declare itself?
If so, where?
Q’arlynd approached the tree that housed the priestesses. It was still covered in leaves, despite the recent snowfall. Sustained by ancient magic, its branches sparkled against the night sky with a shimmer of green that reminded Q’arlynd of the faerie fire that had decorated the buildings and roads back home.
The trunk was massive, thick as any of the streets of Ched Nasad had been. Its bark bulged in several places, enormous knots of wood that were called burls. Hollowed into each of these was a room, its entrance a round wooden door. Leading up to the doors were ladders made of individual sticks that floated in mid air. These sticks appeared benign, but glyphs carved into them would activate if anyone of evil intent touched them, instantly making them as sharp as steel. Enemies of Eilistraee who were foolish enough to use a magical ladder would lose their fingers at the very least.
Q’arlynd, however, had an easier means of access at his disposal, his House insignia. With a thought, he activated it and rose into the air to the room that was Rowaan’s. Yellow light shone through the cracks between door and frame. Rowaan might be a dark elf, but she seemed to have forsaken the use of her darkvision. Q’arlynd, still levitating, dispelled