Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [25]
As he approached the building, Q'arlynd noticed two white-robed wizards from the College of Necromancy huddled together and talking in low voices, as if plotting something. Curious, he decided to eavesdrop on their discussion. It probably wasn't anything important, but one never knew what scrap of information might prove valuable.
He whispered a quick divination and flicked a finger in their direction, and their whispers became clear. "… a priestess of Eilistraee," one of them said, nodding in the direction of the slave house. "She's-"
The other necromancer made a furtive hand sign. The speaker abruptly fell silent and glanced in Q'arlynd's direction. Q'arlynd was puzzled-but only for a moment. Looking down, he saw violet sparks dancing around the finger he'd used to direct his spell. He curled his hand into a fist, cursing softly.
No matter. He'd heard enough. He strode briskly past the pair, toward the slave house. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the necromancers hurry up the street. The other lingered outside the slave house, watching the entrance.
Q'arlynd stepped into a display room lined with shelves holding hundreds of hollowed-out chunks of clearstone, each of a size that would fit neatly in a cupped hand. Each clearstone contained a slave, temporarily reduced in size and bound inside the stone. Some sat on the floor of their clearstones, shoulders slumped in resignation. Others raged and pounded on the walls of their prisons with fists or feet, or butted with their horns, making tiny tinking noises. A few of them had their mouths open as if shouting, but since none of the slaves needed to breathe while magically bound, no sounds were escaping their mouths. Nor did they need to eat or drink, ensuring that they wouldn't foul the inside of the containers.
About a dozen customers eyed the merchandise. Q'arlynd immediately picked out the priestess by her posture. She stood with her back to him, staring intently at a chunk of clearstone on the shelf in front of her, her body rigid with disapproval.
Q'arlynd wondered what she was doing there.
Eilistraee's faithful opposed slavery, and often put themselves at risk to set slaves free. If that was what this priestess was plotting, she wasn't being very sly about it. She wasn't wearing her armor or carrying a hunting horn, and her holy symbol was tucked inside her shirt, with only the silver chain around her neck showing, but her body language all but shouted her faith to anyone familiar with Eilistraee's creed.
Q'arlynd sidled up behind her and glanced at the clearstone she stared at. In Sshamath, only "primitive" races could be kept as slaves, but Eilistraee's faith included a number of worshipers of the lesser races. Perhaps one of them had been captured and put up for sale. That would explain the priestess's lack of discretion.
The clearstone, however, held only a goblin: a scrawny little yellow-skinned creature that stared dully out through the clearstone like a mace-hammered lizard. Goblins were vicious, self-centered little beasts that scavenged in packs; it was doubtful they understood what a deity was, let alone were capable of worshiping one.
The priestess, Q'arlynd decided, must be in Sshamath for some other reason.
He cleared his throat. "Greetings, Lady."
As the priestess turned, he briefly touched his forefingers and thumbs together-in front of his body, where the other customers wouldn't see his gesture-to form the sign of Eilistraee's moon.
The priestess's eyes widened slightly. Then a hint of suspicion clouded them. "Who took your sword oath, and where?"
"Lady Karizra, at the shrine in the Misty Forest." Q'arlynd turned his right palm up, revealing the tiny,