Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [30]
Cavatina drew in a sharp breath. Excitement flooded her body, making her giddy. "Am I to slay the Goddess of Death?"
"No. Throwing down her temple…" Qiluй transferred the whirring blade to her other wrist. "… should be sufficient."
"Her temple," Cavatina echoed, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.
Qiluй tossed the Crescent Blade into the air. "Surrounded by an army of undead. Hundreds. Perhaps thousands."
Cavatina's eyes widened as she realized what the destination must be. "The Acropolis?"
"Yes."
"Why such a small force? Six Protectors is hardly enough to-"
"And six Nightshadows. An even dozen. Of our best."
Cavatina took a deep breath. "That's small, for a crusade."
"Not a crusade." Qiluй caught the sword, held it above her in both hands, and spun from it as if dangling from a twisting rope. "An assassination. Hence…" She spun faster, until the curved blade described a blurred oval in the air. "… the Nightshadows."
"An assassination?" The word felt as wrong in Cavatina's mouth as a lump of sickstone. It suggested poison, a garrote around the throat. She preferred to meet her foes honorably. Face to face, with blade in hand.
"Think of it as a hunt," Qiluй said. She slapped one arm to her side and halted, letting the Crescent Blade spiral down her upraised arm. "You are to kill the head priestess. Cut off the head," she said, as the weapon whirled past her face, "… and the temple will fall."
The weapon spun around her neck. Her hand slapped against the hilt, jerking the sword to a halt. The edge of the curved blade rested against her throat, unsettlingly reminiscent of a scythe poised against a stalk of wheat.
Even more disturbing was the thin line of blood that trickled down Qiluй's wrist.
That shouldn't have happened.
Cavatina knew that first-hand; her mother had been a sword dancer. Jetel Xarann had prided herself on never-not once-being cut by the blades she danced with. Qiluй was far more skilled, the high priestess of her faith. Yet she seemed not to have noticed an error that could have cost her a hand.
Now that the Crescent Blade had been stilled, Cavatina could see the spot where its two halves had been fused together again, and the silvered inscription that was interrupted at that place: "Be your heart filled with light and your cause be true, I shall n- fail you."
The Crescent Blade nearly had failed Cavatina. Only with Halisstra's help had she been able to prevail against Selvetarm. Now she wondered: when the time came for Qiluй to wield it against Lolth, who would come to her aid?
"… depart two nights from now, when the moon rises." Qiluй was saying. "Our new battlemistress will tell you everything you need to know."
Cavatina was startled to realize that the high priestess had dismissed her. Qiluй continued to dance, her eyes staring into the distance and her head cocked slightly, as though she were listening to a faint voice: the sword, whispering to her. Cavatina yearned to hear it too.
Qiluй glanced sharply down at Cavatina. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing," Cavatina said quickly. "Two nights from now, at moonrise. I'll be ready."
* * * * *
Master Seldszar sat cross-legged on a raised stone platform, cushioned by his meditation mat. At least two dozen crystal spheres no larger than pebbles orbited his head. Most were clear and contained a miniaturized image of a person or place the Master of Divination monitored, but one, Q'arlynd knew, could detect falsehoods spoken in the master's presence.
Even though Master Seldszar listened to Miverra speak, his glance kept drifting back to the crystals. Pale green faerie fire burst from his forehead and drifted toward them, fading just before it touched the spheres.
The master's eyes were pale yellow; rumor had it he'd had them replaced, decades ago, with the eyes of an eagle. His hair, too, tended toward yellow. It matched his piwafwi, which was embroidered, in