Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [29]
He laid the clearstone on the cavern floor, dispelled its magic, and stepped back as it shattered. The goblin instantly assumed its full size. It staggered to its feet and stared at him, lips pulled back in a grimace that revealed a mouth of jagged teeth. If Q'arlynd got too close, the creature would no doubt bite him. Goblins were that stupid; they didn't understand what wizards could do to them.
"Go on," he told it, making shooing motions. "Run along now. You're free."
The goblin's head puckered in a frown that pulled its ears closer to its beady eyes. "Free?" it squeaked.
"Yes, free," Q'arlynd repeated, already regretting this. He flicked a finger and spoke a one-word spell that hurled a pebble at the creature. "Go!"
The goblin cringed.
Muttering at its stupidity, Q'arlynd teleported back to the city.
After he was gone, faerie fire puddled on the floor where he'd been standing, bathing the cavern in a pale violet light.
The goblin sniffed at the glow. Then it scurried away.
CHAPTER 4
Cavatina touched her fingers and thumbs together to form Eilistraee's sacred moon, and bowed. "Lady Qiluй. You sent for me?"
"Cavatina. My thanks. For coming so quickly." The high priestess levitated near the ceiling of the Hall of Swords, a large chamber in the Promenade where the Protectors of the Song honed their skills. She was naked, her ankle-length silver hair whirling like a wind-blown skirt around her as she spun in place. Motes of moonfire filled the air around her, shining with the many colors of the changing moon: blue-white, dusky yellow-orange, and harvest red reflected by the curved blade of the sword she danced with. The Crescent Blade.
Cavatina felt a pang of longing for the weapon. Her right hand clenched as she remembered its perfect heft, and how its leather-wrapped hilt had warmed in her palm.
"I have a mission for you. One that will require… your renown." The high priestess continued to dance as she spoke, her breathing rapid. Yet her voice betrayed no hint of weariness. Qiluй' had been performing the dance of attunement without pause for nine days and nine nights, according to the priestess who had greeted Cavatina upon her arrival at the Promenade. Yet the silver fire that flowed within her sustained her body. Aside from a sheen of sweat, the high priestess looked as strong as if she had only just begun her dance.
Qiluй spun with the sword balanced atop her head, the midpoint of the blade lying flat against her silver tresses. A toss of her head sent it spinning into the air. She "caught" it on one arm, spun the weapon in a fast blur around her arm from wrist to elbow, then flicked it to her other arm and repeated the motion. A thrust of that arm sent it spinning into the air; it sailed toward the ceiling, slowed, then fell.
Cavatina gasped as the weapon whistled down, point first, at Qiluй's upturned face. The high priestess twisted aside at the last moment and caught the hilt between her bare feet. A kick transferred the sword back into her hand.
"I am assembling a force," Qiluй said as she shadow fenced with the weapon, "and sending it north. You will lead it. Six Protectors…"
The sword flashed in a high arc. Qiluй caught it, point-first, between finger and thumb, and flipped the hilt into her hand.
"… and six Nightshadows."
Cavatina's nostrils flared. "Nightshadows," she muttered.
"Do not denigrate them," Qiluй admonished. "They are weapons. Finely honed. Eilistraee has embraced them. So must you."
Cavatina lowered her eyes. "My apologies, Lady Qiluй."
She hadn't intended her comment to be heard. She knew she was being honored. The mission must be an important one if Protectors were being sent. The singing swords they carried left the temple only in times of dire need. Like the time, nearly two years ago, when Cavatina had been sent into the Demonweb Pits to recover the Crescent Blade, armed with the singing sword that now hung at her hip.
"Our objective?" she asked.
"The time has come." Qiluй set the Crescent