Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [121]
"Are you all mages?" he asked.
Mages, priestesses, warriors-for nearly three millennia the matrons and patrons of our House wore this lorestone.
"And the other kiira you spoke of-do they all contain the combined wisdom of mages and clerics as well?"
Of course.
"And each kiira is capable of casting the spell that stripped my memories when I wore the wrong lorestone?"
Yes.
Q'arlynd laughed with delight. "Then we still have a chance. Listen."
Swiftly, he outlined his idea.
That may be possible, the lorestone said when he was done. With Eilistraee's blessing. I know that it is possible to hand you the sword you seek. As to whether you can wield it…
"We have to at least try."
Yes.
As the voices of his ancestors faded, Q'arlynd became aware of his surroundings once more. Eldrinn was watching him intently, his eyes gleaming.
"We've got work ahead," Q'arlynd told him with a grim smile. "Kiaransalee is about to get a taste of her own poison."
* * * * *
Cavatina gasped as her awareness returned to her body. A moment ago, she'd been drifting toward Eilistraee's sacred grove, weaving her way through the moonstone-hung boughs, her spirit dancing in time with a song whose beauty made her weep. Now she lay on her back on a cold stone floor, her throat tight and sore. Eilistraee's song had vanished, replaced by a ghastly wailing and the muffled rattle of bones.
A male bent over her, one hand resting lightly just above her left breast.
And she was naked.
"Kвras," she growled. She was halfway to her feet, fists raised to fend him off, when she realized what he must have done. She lowered her hands and turned her motion into a bow. A little less gracefully than she would have liked, but a bow nonetheless. "You healed me?"
He nodded.
"Thank you."
Cavatina glanced around. They were in a small, cell-like chamber with stone walls and a single exit. The door was closed and barred with what looked like a femur. The walls bore ghastly murals, painted with what looked like dried blood. Shifting shadows screened the worst of it-Kвras's doing, no doubt.
There was no point in asking what had happened. Cavatina remembered all too well the feel of the ghost's dagger plunging into her neck. "Where are we?" she asked, rubbing her throat.
"A distant corner of the Acropolis," Kвras said in a low, cautious voice. "A chamber, now hallowed by the Masked Lady. But my prayer won't hold the Crones at bay for long. Even Cabrath-the spirit you slew-will rejuvenate eventually."
Cavatina's eyebrows rose. "You knew her?"
"I knew of her, when she was still alive. She was one of Kiaransalee's priestesses, back in Maerimydra. A mortal, then."
Cavatina let that go. She glanced around but didn't see her singing sword. "What about Leliana and the other Protectors?"
"Dead. I'm the only one who still lives. Even disguised, I could drag only one of you away." He pulled a small, silvered sword, hanging from a broken chain, out of his pocket. Her holy symbol. "I managed to retrieve this."
Cavatina took it. She held it to her chest and whispered a heartfelt prayer of thanks. "I'm surprised that…" She stopped herself just in time. She'd been about to question why he hadn't just skulked away from the Acropolis and saved himself-that would have been more in keeping for a Nightshadow, after all-then realized there was no point in stirring up old arguments.
He guessed her intent, despite her silence. "The Masked Lady commands, I obey."
Cavatina nodded her approval. He had a sense of duty. Perhaps she'd been wrong about the Nightshadows, after all. She'd learned a lot, in recent days.
"What do you suggest we do now?"
Kвras seemed surprised she'd asked his advice. His eyes narrowed, as though he expected a trick. Then he shrugged. "We're outnumbered, probably a hundred to one. And that's just counting the Crones, all of whom will rise as revenants shortly after we kill them, if we don't take the time to permanently lay them to rest."
Cavatina tightened her grip on her holy symbol. "Then we'll make sure we do just that."
Kвras shook