Sacrifice of the Widow

by Lisa Smedman

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Lolth’s domain is filled with monsters that consume souls,” Q’arlynd explained. “If your soul manages to avoid those, there’s still the Pass of the Soulreaver to get through. From what the priestesses teach, it’s the equivalent of being flayed alive. Only the toughest and most tenacious survive the passage to eventually stand by Lolth’s side. The rest are annihilated.” He shrugged. “I expected Eilistraee to at least throw up a wall of swords or something to whittle out the faithful from the dross, to select those who are truly worthy.”

  Rowaan smiled. “Eilistraee doesn’t test her faithful. We test ourselves. It’s what we do here on Toril, before our deaths, that matters.”

  “What about those who convert to the faith?” Q’arlynd asked. “What if, before they sought redemption, they did things that Eilistraee found abhorrent?”

  Rowaan stared at him for several moments. Then she nodded. “Ah. I see. You’re worried that Eilistraee won’t accept you.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about Halisstra,” he lied.

  Rowaan touched his arm, not really listening. “It doesn’t matter what you were before your redemption, which deity you worshiped. You belong to Eilistraee now.”

  His heart nearly skipped a beat at that. Had Halisstra told the priestesses about his earlier, half-hearted “conversion” to Vhaeraun’s worship? Q’arlynd opened his mouth, intending to explain that the dalliances of his youth were just that—mere flirtations, the sort of thing any boy might make the mistake of getting caught up in. He paused before speaking, worried that anything he said might bring his more recent conversion into question. If he protested that he hadn’t been serious back then, the priestesses might think him less than sincere with them, too—something that would be a mark against him, when he finally got to meet their high priestess.

  Rowaan, perhaps sensing his unease, gently touched his arm. “The Spider Queen has no hold upon you any more.”

  Q’arlynd relaxed as he realized she’d been talking about Lolth, not Vhaeraun.

  “I only paid Lolth lip service,” he said. “I spoke the words, because her priestesses ordered me to, but I never gave the Spider Queen my heart.” He touched his chest as he said that, an earnest expression on his face.

  Part of what he said was true. He certainly hadn’t made the Spider Queen any promises, let alone claimed her as his patron deity. He’d never seen the point. For the living worshipers of Lolth, there was great reward—power and glory—but only if you were female. Males were told their reward would come after death, but from all Q’arlynd had heard, Lolth handed out only more suffering.

  “You’ve left all that behind in the darkness,” Rowaan continued. “You’ve come up into Eilistraee’s light. As long as you’ve truly taken her song into your heart, you’ll dance forever with the goddess.”

  “Eternal reward,” Q’arlynd whispered, adding a touch of reverence to his voice. He needed to appear suitably awed, even though he knew what Rowaan was saying was too good to be true. “But only, surely, for the souls of those who proved themselves worthy of it in life by aiding the goddess in some substantial way.”

  “No,” Rowaan said, her voice firm. “To Eilistraee, struggle and success are the same. It’s the intent behind the act that truly counts.”

  Q’arlynd stroked his chin, mulling that over. If what Rowaan said was true, Eilistraee offered eternal life to anyone who stuck to their vows of aiding the weak and working to convert other drow to the faith. It didn’t matter if they actually succeeded in achieving those goals, only that they had tried.

  It was an astonishing doctrine, one that contradicted everything Q’arlynd had learned in life thus far. From all that he’d observed and been taught, the gods demanded either everything or nothing of their faithful. Vhaeraun, for example, insisted on perfection from his followers. The slightest failure in following the Masked Lord’s decree would earn his eternal wrath. Even those who had hitherto been the most devout of his followers could find themselves forever barred from his domain. Lolth, in contrast, reveled in chaos and didn’t seem to care what her faithful did. Nor did she take much of a hand in the trials they faced after death, leaving that to the minions of her domain. Souls—from the lowest male lay worshiper to the highest female priestess—succeeded in making the passage across the Demonweb Pits by chance as much as anything.

  In contrast, Eilistraee made demands of her followers but showed mercy to them, even when they failed.

  Q’arlynd supposed that was a comforting thought to most, but to him the idea of a deity who weighed not just deeds but intentions was more than a little unnerving, and it seemed a little unfair. Vhaeraun’s followers, as long as they produced results that were to their god’s liking, could harbor whatever rebellious thoughts they liked in their hearts. Lolth’s priestesses could do and think whatever they wanted, since the rewards their goddess bestowed were so often arbitrary. Eilistraee’s faithful, on the other hand, had to always be asking themselves not just if they were doing the right thing but if they were doing it for the right reasons.

  Q’arlynd didn’t want to have to live up to that. After a lifetime of lying to survive, he wasn’t sure himself when he was telling the truth.

  Most of the other females had returned to their quarters. Leliana, however, lingered, talking to another priestess who had also remained behind. Q’arlynd could see that Leliana was keeping an eye on her daughter. Despite his avowed conversion, she still didn’t trust him. Not fully.

  “One other question … Is Eilistraee’s domain truly a place where the dead are happy?”

  Rowaan seemed startled by his question. “Of course. What could bring more joy than slowly becoming one with the goddess herself?”

  Q’arlynd lowered his voice. “Then why were you so sad when Leliana died?”

  “Because I’d miss her,” Rowaan said. She paused a moment then added, “Imagine if someone you loved suddenly disappeared, and you knew it might be many years—perhaps centuries—before you’d see them again. You’d be terribly sad to see them go. You’d cry, too.”

  No, I wouldn’t, Q’arlynd thought. I didn’t, not three years ago, and not now.

  “Then why did you use your ring to change places with her?” he asked. “The same would apply. You would be dead, and she would be alive, and it might be many years before you met again.”

  Rowaan winced. “My mother is a powerful priestess. She can do more to further Eilistraee’s cause here on Toril than I can.”

  She glanced up at the bundles in the trees. “We raise our dead because we must. We’re few in number and we can’t afford to lose a single one of the faithful from our ranks. That’s why the judicator’s attack was so devastating. Without a body, we can’t resurrect the dead, and there’s so much work yet to be done. So many drow haven’t yet been brought up into the light. Every one of Eilistraee’s faithful is going to be needed in the coming fight.” She stared down at Q’arlynd, and for a moment he felt as if a divine being stared into his soul. “Every one.”

  Q’arlynd shivered.

  Behind Rowaan, Leliana ended her conversation with the other priestess and walked toward them. Q’arlynd bowed as she approached.

  “What are you two talking about?” Leliana asked.

  Rowaan turned, smiling. “He was asking about Eilistraee’s domain and what it’s like to dance with the goddess.”

  Leliana cocked an eyebrow and turned to Q’arlynd. “Why? Are you planning on dying some time soon?”

  He rose from his bow. “Not if I can help it, Lady. Eilistraee willing, it will be a while yet before I set foot in her domain.” He gave them one of his most boyish smiles. “I’m not much of a dancer, you see.”

  The remark had the desired effect. Rowaan laughed out loud.

  Leliana, however, did not.

  “I was thinking about my sister, actually,” Q’arlynd hurriedly continued. “I wanted to know what happened to her after her death.”

&
nbsp; Leliana’s expression softened. “Don’t worry—you’ll see her again in Svartalfheim some day.” She paused. “If you remain faithful to your vows, that is.”

  Q’arlynd bowed. “I will, Lady.” It was a promise he wasn’t likely to keep, but that wouldn’t matter until he was dead. As long as he still drew breath, he could always choose a different patron deity, if things didn’t work out with Eilistraee’s high priestess.

  It was time to get moving on that.

  He caught Leliana’s eye. “You told me a meeting with your high priestess would be possible.” He gestured at the bier in the tree. “Now that the funeral rites are over, I was wondering when I might meet Lady Qilué. I understand she’s in your chief temple—the Promenade?”

  Leliana shook her head. “We can’t spare anyone to take you there. Not right now.”

  “I can teleport, remember?” Q’arlynd reminded her. “I don’t need an escort. Just describe this Promenade for me, and I’ll make my way there myself.”

  “No,” Leliana said firmly.

  “Have you at least told Lady Qilué I’d like to meet with her?”

  Leliana threw up her hands. “When would I have had the chance to do that, between battling driders and dealing with our dead?”

  “The drider attack was more than a tenday ago,” Q’arlynd continued, using the surface dwellers’ term for the passage of time. He understood the delay—the priestesses had been busy strengthening their defenses in the aftermath of the attack—but it still irritated him. “When were you going to tell Lady Qilué that I’d like to meet with her?”

  Leliana folded her arms. “When I’m good and ready—and not a moment before.”

  Q’arlynd fumed, wishing he had disposed of Leliana when he’d had the chance. Clearly, she’d changed her mind about arranging a meeting with the high priestess, and since she was the one who had taken charge of him, back at the portal, she had the final say over what duties he would have among the faithful—as well as whether he might move on to another shrine or temple. Q’arlynd, however, had higher aspirations than sitting in some mist-choked forest, listening to the females sing. He wanted to be at the heart of things, at the seat of power, which would only be possible if he secured an audience with Qilué. That was how a male succeeded in life, by attaching himself to a powerful female and serving her well.

  “It’s best for now if you stay here, Q’arlynd,” Rowaan said. “The drider attack cut our numbers nearly in half. If the judicator returns, we’ll need your spells.”

  Q’arlynd inclined his head in a show of modesty, inwardly gritting his teeth.

  “And if Vhaeraun’s assassins show up here—”

  “Rowaan!” Leliana snapped, rounding on her daughter. “That’s not something lay worshipers need to trouble themselves with.”

  Q’arlynd blinked. Rowaan had obviously just said something he wasn’t meant to hear. It almost sounded as if the priestesses were expecting the Nightshadows to strike.

  “But Q’arlynd is one of us now,” Rowaan protested. “He—”

  “Is not a priestess,” Leliana said. “He’s a powerful wizard, yes, but he’s …”

  She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Q’arlynd could do it for her. A male.

  He bowed his head, silently acknowledging Leliana’s superiority. Whether one worshiped Lolth or Eilistraee, it was all the same. A priestess was a priestess.

  Female.

  But females, in his experience, often had a weakness for a handsome face, something Q’arlynd might just be able to use to his advantage. He smiled at Rowaan—the seemingly apologetic smile of a male who knew his place in the world but just couldn’t help wanting more. She gave the slightest of nods in return.

  Rowaan, he was certain, trusted him.

  He could use that.

  Qilué stared with a mixture of pity and wariness at the creature that squatted before her. Little remained of the drow Halisstra Melarn had once been. Lolth had expanded Halisstra’s body to twice its size, enhancing it with wiry muscle and giving her face an elongated, bestial appearance. The spider legs protruding from her ribs and the fangs scissoring out of those bulges on her cheeks made her monstrous indeed, but despite her size and power, Halisstra’s eyes hinted that something still remained of the priestess she had once been. Qilué saw a yearning there, a faint spark of hope nearly lost amidst the anguish and rage.

  They stood in the forest, Qilué wrapped in protective silver moonfire, Halisstra with a palpable taint surrounding her. Qilué had come armed with a singing sword, silver dagger, and her magical bracer in addition to her spells, but so far there had been no treachery. Halisstra had clearly been claimed by Lolth, but if this was a trap it had yet to be sprung.

  Cavatina stood a few steps behind Halisstra, sword in hand. Moonlight glinted off her armor. “Repeat what you told me about the temple,” she prompted. “Describe it for Qilué.”

  Halisstra bared pointed teeth in what Qilué supposed was meant to be a smile. “It stands on top of a tall spire of rock. Feliane, Uluyara, and I shaped it with our prayers from the stone of the Demonweb Pits. It’s intact and is sacred ground still. Lolth’s creatures cannot enter it.”

  “Including Halisstra,” Cavatina added.

  Halisstra bowed her head.

  “Yet you were able to place the Crescent Blade inside this temple?” Qilué asked. She wanted to hear this part of the story again to see if there were any inconsistencies.

  Halisstra nodded. “From a distance, yes. I tossed the broken pieces of the sword through the doorway. I had thought only to put the pieces somewhere safe, so that the weapon might later be recovered and repaired, but the temple must have worked some kind of magic on the sword. As I watched, blade and hilt slid toward one another and joined. Eilistraee’s sacred moonlight filled the temple, and the sword glowed white. The light blinded me for a time. When I could see again, I looked into the temple and saw the sword lying on the floor, reforged.”

  It seemed strange to Qilué that Lolth had allowed that to happen within her own domain, stranger still that the temple to Eilistraee remained intact. The Spider Queen was known to permit spaces sacred to other deities to exist within her realm—the Demonweb Pits housed portions of the domains of Vhaeraun, Kiaransalee, and Ghaunadaur, after all—but they were deities who had allied with Lolth during her revolt against the Seldarine. Eilistraee was Lolth’s enemy. A temple to her within the Demonweb Pits should have been an unbearable burr upon the Spider Queen’s throne. Lolth was either suffering the temple to exist for some reason of her own, or—Qilué grimly smiled—she had been weakened by her Silence to the point where Eilistraee might, at long last, vanquish her.

  Or Halisstra was lying about the existence of a temple.

  “Tell me again how the Crescent Blade came to be broken,” Qilué said.

  “After Danifae treacherously attacked me, I lay injured for a time. When I regained consciousness—miraculously, still alive—Uluyara and Feliane were dead. Danifae and the draegloth had disappeared. I realized they must have entered the Pass of the Soulreaver and knew I had to follow. I entered the pass and battled the monsters Lolth sent against me. I fought well, but just as I neared the exit, a misplaced thrust wedged my sword in a crack in the rock. When I tried to wrench it free, the blade snapped. I had fought my way through the pass, only to stand at the very doorstep of Lolth’s fortress with a broken weapon.”

  Halisstra paused, her spider fangs quivering. After a moment, she composed herself.

  “I still had Seyll’s sword,” she continued, “so I carried on. I fought Danifae and Quenthel, but in the middle of that battle we were drawn into Lolth’s city, to her very throne. Lolth had awakened from her Silence. I tried to fight the goddess herself, but without the Crescent Blade …” A shudder ran through her body. “I had no hope. Lolth was too powerful. She forced the three of us to kneel before her. Danifae, she killed and consumed. She was the most worthy, in Lolth’s eyes, and the goddess wanted to add her subst
ance to her own. Quenthel she spared and sent back to Arach-Tinilith, where she serves the Spider Queen still. I was deemed unworthy for having renounced my faith to embrace Eilistraee. For this, Lolth said, I would do eternal penance. She seized me and bit me.” Halisstra touched the puncture marks on her neck. “Eight times she sank her teeth into my flesh. Then she spun me into a cocoon. When I emerged, I was … like this.”

  Qilué nodded. “What happened then?”

  “I made my way out of Lolth’s fortress. It was filled with yochlols, but they made no move to stop me. I stumbled away across the plain, back to the Pass of the Soulreaver. I recovered the pieces of the Crescent Blade and entered the pass. This time, nothing attacked me. I made my way to Eilistraee’s temple and placed the sword inside.”

  “Tell her how you escaped from the Demonweb Pits,” Cavatina prompted. “It was a very clever tactic.”

  Qilué shot the Darksong Knight a look. Thus far, Qilué herself had offered neither praise nor criticism of anything Halisstra had said. Qilué wished that she had been able to come more swiftly to the Velarswood. Halisstra had obviously told her story more than once to Cavatina, something that would have allowed Halisstra to smooth out any wrinkles in the tale. Normally, Qilué would have used a spell to tell what parts of the story rang true and which were lies or embroideries, woven onto a slim thread of truth, but whatever hold Lolth had on the tragic creature that Halisstra had become was strong. Even Qilué’s magic could not penetrate it.

  Qilué wondered what Lolth was trying to hide.

  “I escaped by observing Selvetarm,” Halisstra continued. “By following him, I learned where one of the portals that leads from Lolth’s domain was located. It was guarded by a songspider, a creature whose webs create music that can enslave or even kill. This barrier would have barred my way, had I not been schooled in bae’queshel. I used that magic to play the strands of the web like a lyre, plucking it open. The portal led back to this plane, to a place east of Lake Sember.”