Forgotten Realms - The Lady Penitent - Storm of the Dead

by Lisa Smedman

  Halisstra pointed at a branch ahead of the pair and off to one side in the forest. She sang a brief melody. The branch bent then sprang back. The pair gave a start, then leaped into action. The male signaled flank left and fell back along the trail, toward the spot where the invisible Halisstra crouched. As the female cautiously moved ahead, Halisstra whispered her song a second time, causing a rustling deeper in the woods. The female moved through the trees in pursuit of whatever she imagined was lurking at the side of the trail.

  In another moment the pair would realize they’d been tricked—but a moment was all Halisstra needed.

  The male had shrouded himself in darkness, but Halisstra’s eyes penetrated his flimsy concealment. She sprang at him. He whirled and raised both fists, his wristbows thrumming. One of the bolts glanced harmlessly off Halisstra’s hardened skin. The second punched into her torso just beneath her left breast. It stung—but the puncture immediately began to heal, pushing the bolt outward. The poison that coated it did nothing to slow her. Grabbing the cleric by his outstretched arms, she yanked him close and sank her fangs into his neck. Pain stiffened his body. His eyes rolled back in his head. Then he gave a soft grunt and sagged in her arms.

  Halisstra, visible for the time being, examined his body. Her single bite had only rendered the cleric unconscious. She spun him, laying on a thin coating of web. Then, clutching the sticky body to her chest with her spider legs, she sprang into a nearby tree. Swift as a spider, she swarmed up its trunk and deposited the cleric in the crook of a branch.

  A moment later, Eilistraee’s priestess reappeared below. “Glorst?” she whispered. She glanced around, then squatted and touched something on the ground. Web glinted on her fingers as she rose. She touched the holy symbol that hung against her chest and glanced up.

  Halisstra waved down at her, releasing a spray of hair-thin web.

  The priestess sang a shrill note and grabbed a beam of moonlight that appeared over her head. She hurled it like a lance at Halisstra. The moonbeam plunged into Halisstra’s stomach, droning through her vitals and leaving them feeling loose and watery. Bloody bile rose in her throat. Even as she choked it down she felt her damaged organs mending.

  “Why do you attack me, priestess?” she gasped. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

  The priestess yanked a hunting horn from her belt and blew a strident plea for help. Halisstra knew no one would arrive in time. She’d deliberately chosen an ambush point on the outskirts of the shrine’s territory.

  The crossbow bolt had nearly worked its way free of Halisstra’s ribs. She yanked it out and tossed it down. “Your companion tried to kill me,” she told the priestess. “And yet…” She lifted the cleric’s body and tossed it down. “I showed mercy.”

  The unconscious cleric tumbled through the branches, the sticky webbing that coated him slowing his descent. He landed with barely a thud on the forest floor.

  The priestess frantically sang a protective hymn.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” Halisstra cried. “Why do you fear me?”

  “Your tricks won’t work on me, demon,” the priestess shouted back. Though her sword was steady enough in her hand, her voice quavered. She bent to touch fingers lightly to her companion’s throat.

  The gesture told Halisstra everything she needed to know: the pair were more than fellow clerics. No one but a lust-addled fool would pause to check if her consort was alive. Halisstra had made the right decision in not killing the male outright.

  “I came to beg your help,” she told the priestess. “And instead of showing Eilistraee’s mercy, you and your male try to kill me.” She leaped to the ground, clutched herself as she landed, and pretended to stagger. She forced herself to vomit, filling the air with the tang of bilious blood.

  To her credit, the priestess didn’t flinch. Even though Halisstra loomed over her, she stepped between Halisstra and the paralyzed male.

  “I mean you no harm,” Halisstra continued. “I’m looking for Lady Cavatina. She promised to help me.” She looked down at her misshapen hands. “I wasn’t always a monster. I was a priestess, like yourself, until I was transformed by Lolth’s foul magic.”

  Doubt showed for the first time in the priestess’s eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Halisstra Melarn.”

  “No,” the priestess whispered—but the word held no conviction. She lowered her sword slightly. “By Eilistraee’s silver tresses, is it true?”

  Halisstra lifted a hand, hesitated, then held out fingers that were dark with blood from her wounds. “It’s true,” she sang.

  Into those two brief words, she spun powerful magic. The priestess’s expression softened. She sheathed her sword. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Had I known—”

  Halisstra waved the apology away, spiderwebs drifting from her hand. “How could you have known? I was captured by yochlols and subjected to …” She lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper, “… unthinkable torments. For nearly two years, I languished in the Demonweb Pits before at last escaping.”

  The priestess frowned. “Two years? Lady Halisstra, it has been nearly five years since you set out for the Demonweb Pits with the Crescent Blade.”

  “And nearly two years ago that I escaped—and returned to the Demonweb Pits with Lady Cavatina, to slay Selvetarm.”

  “But…” The priestess’s frown deepened. “It was Lady Cavatina who killed Selvetarm … wasn’t it?”

  “With my help.”

  “Then why do the odes say nothing of—”

  “Aside from Lady Qilué, only Cavatina knew that I still lived. And Cavatina has a Darksong Knight’s pride. She would hardly have admitted to letting Lolth’s minions capture me a second time, would she? Better not to mention my involvement at all. To pretend that I had died years before, during Lolth’s Silence.”

  At the word “died,” the priestess glanced down at the male. The cleric didn’t look good; his eyes had fully rolled back in his head and his skin was turning gray. Halisstra reached out and lifted the priestess’s chin, forcing her to look away. “It’s only a weak venom,” she lied. “You have plenty of time to heal him. Plenty of time, still.”

  “Yes,” the priestess repeated softly. “Plenty of time.”

  Her eyes reminded Halisstra of another priestess who’d succumbed to Halisstra’s bae’qeshel magic, years ago. Seyll had stared just as trustingly into Halisstra’s eyes a heartbeat before Halisstra plunged a sword into her. And yet Seyll had told Halisstra, as she lay dying, that no one was beyond redemption—not even Halisstra.

  She’d been wrong.

  This priestess had a wide mouth and creases at the sides of her eyes that could only have come from frequent laughter. The frown of confusion looked out of place on her forehead. The slight bulge of her stomach hinted she might be carrying a child.

  Halisstra hated her.

  “What’s your name, priestess?”

  “Shoshara.”

  “I need to find Cavatina, Shoshara. She’s the only one who can lift the Spider Queen’s curse. The priestesses at the Lake Sember shrine told me she came here for the High Hunt. Is she still in the Shilmista Forest?”

  The priestess shook her head. “Lady Cavatina left a few days ago. Lady Qilué summoned her to the Promenade.”

  Halisstra’s jaw clenched. “Which road is she traveling?”

  “She isn’t going by road. She used the portal. She’ll be at the Promenade already.”

  Halisstra hissed angrily. This was an obstacle she hadn’t counted on. Portal or no, she’d never get inside the Promenade—not with a demon’s mark on her palm. Her fingers inadvertently tightened on the priestess’s chin, and her claws pricked flesh. When Shoshara gasped, Halisstra released her and feigned contrition, curling her body into a submissive ball. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. Please don’t hurt me again, Mistress.”

  The priestess rubbed her chin, then glanced at the faint smudge of blood on her fingers. “No real harm done,” she said with a vague laugh. �
�Eilistraee’s mercy is infinite.” Her eyes strayed to the cleric. His mask lay flat against his mouth and nose; he no longer breathed.

  Halisstra rose and caught the priestess’s hands in hers. She turned Shoshara slightly, preventing her from looking at the corpse. “Shoshara, please. I can’t enter the Promenade. Not looking like … this. You have to call Cavatina back to the Shilmista Forest.”

  “I’ll send word to her. Tell her you’re coming and—what’s happened to you.”

  “No!” Halisstra cried. “Cavatina will feel immense guilt at having abandoned me. She’ll refuse to come.”

  “Not Lady Cavatina. She has more honor than that.”

  “You don’t know her. Not the way I do. You haven’t seen what she’s capable of. I…” Halisstra paused, trying to call tears to her eyes. It didn’t work. “I have. Nearly two years ago, in the Demonweb Pits.” She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Abandoned.”

  That emotion, at least, was easy enough for Halisstra. All she had to do was think of Eilistraee’s betrayal. The Lady of the Dance had indeed turned away from Halisstra, leaving her to face Lolth alone on that first journey to the Demonweb Pits during Lolth’s Silence. No matter what excuses Qilué might give, that fact remained.

  And just look what had come of it.

  “But Lady Cavatina returned to the Demonweb Pits after slaying Selvetarm,” the priestess exclaimed. “She must have gone there to search for you, before sealing the portal.”

  Halisstra widened her eyes in feigned shock. “Cavatina sealed the portal? I thought that was Lolth’s doing!” She shook her head in mock disbelief. “So that’s why my first escape attempt failed. Cavatina betrayed my faith in her.” She glared. “Cavatina should apologize to me. She owes me at least that much.”

  The enchantment she’d placed on Shoshara was strong; Halisstra could see the pity in the other female’s eyes—and the rising anger at Cavatina’s “betrayal” of Halisstra. Shoshara believed Halisstra’s story. Every word of it.

  “You said you have the magic to contact Cavatina?” Halisstra asked.

  Shoshara nodded, much to Halisstra’s relief.

  “With a sending song?”

  Another nod.

  “Will you call her back to the Shilmista? I want to hear from Cavatina’s own lips that she didn’t just abandon me. But please, make up some other reason for calling her back. Don’t tell Cavatina I’m here. I want to see how she reacts when she sees me, and give her the chance to explain herself. If I’m wrong about her, I wouldn’t want to embarrass her or … anger her.” Shoshara took a deep breath, then made her decision. “I’ll do it.”

  The priestess sang a brief melody and stared off into the darkened woods, as if looking across a great distance. For several moments, she was silent. She frowned slightly, then nodded. “Lady Cavatina cannot come to the Shilmista. Not now. Lady Qilué is sending her away on an urgent mission. One that must preclude all else.”

  “Where?” Halisstra hissed. “Where is she being sent?”

  Her outburst startled Shoshara. The priestess blinked. “I asked, but she wouldn’t…” Her eyes strayed to the prone cleric. Then they widened. “Glorst!” she gasped. She gaped at Halisstra, eyes wide. “You—”

  The charm had broken.

  Halisstra lashed out, slapping the priestess’s face so hard her fingers left a mark. “Die!” she shouted.

  Without so much as a cry, Shoshara crumpled atop the body of her consort.

  Halisstra stared down at them, her mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust. “Weak!” she spat at the priestess. “You’re weak!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Just look at what you’ve done!”

  She yanked the priestess’s body into her arms and bit it savagely on the face, throat, and arms. Again. And again. It was a bloody ruin when she at last threw the priestess down. Panting, she shook her head, clearing it. When her breathing slowed again, she bent and—very deliberately, this time—inflicted several bites on the already cooling body of the male.

  She drew the priestess’s sword and placed it where it might have fallen, had it tumbled from Shoshara’s dead hand, and shrouded both bodies with web. Halisstra couldn’t mimic a spider’s digestive juices, but she could strew web about the bushes, as if it had been shot from above by spinnerets.

  Halisstra was angry at herself—angry for not having first asked where the portal to the Promenade was. But she could hazard a guess. During her time at the Velarswood shrine, she’d observed priestesses, recently arrived from the Promenade, who were dripping wet. There had been a pool near that shrine, innocent looking, yet always heavily guarded from moonrise to moonset. She’d seen a similar pool in the Shilmista Forest.

  She squinted through the branches at the night sky and smiled.

  Eilistraee’s moon would light the way to her prey.

  Cavatina squinted as she swam upward through the ice-cold water. The surface of the lake, bright with the light of the full moon, rippled above. They’d portaled in deep; the surface was farther above her than she’d expected. Already her lungs strained from the lack of air. When she broke the surface, she gasped in a long, grateful breath.

  Treading water, she twisted around. The Moondeep Sea glowed with moonlight—bright enough to illuminate the ceiling, nearly two hundred paces above.

  A head broke the surface next to her: Kâras. His mask was plastered against his mouth; a shake of his head freed it. “You should have … warned us … the portal was … so deep,” he gasped.

  Cavatina thought the same thing—of Qilué.

  “Watch for the others,” she told Kâras. “If any don’t make it, we’ll have to revive them.”

  That said, she levitated. A quick glance around revealed no imminent threats. Aside from the disturbance caused by the portal, the Moondeep Sea was quiet and still. She’d been wrong about it being moonlight illuminating the ceiling. Everywhere she looked, the stone that made up the cavern was infused with a faint glow. It shimmered with a pale blue light that was almost white: the largest Faerzress she a ever seen.

  She counted heads as the Protectors and Nightshadows broke the surface, one by one. Some used prayers to stand upon the moonlit ripples, and others hovered just below the surface, breathing water, then rose and sprayed water from their nostrils in fine sheets.

  Two of the wizards sputtered up without any visible magical aid: Q’arlynd and the young mage from the College of Divination. A short distance from them, the female conjurer rose to the surface in a swell of water, the cupped hands of an elemental she must have summoned. As it was subsumed into the lake, a whirlpool dimpled the surface directly below. The human wizard with the staff rose out of it, bone dry, and levitated beside her.

  The other wizards used equally creative methods to exit the depths. One climbed out of the lake as if scaling an invisible ladder, while another rose to the surface sucking on a blue, blown-glass bottle that didn’t look as if it could possibly contain enough air to sustain her. The wizard in the gold skullcap tossed a tiny wooden box away from himself as he broke the surface, and it unfolded into a small wooden boat. He climbed, dripping, into it, and with a flick of his hand magically set its oars to sculling.

  Everyone was accounted for. Those who hadn’t risen from the water by magical means were treading water. Cavatina glanced around to get her bearings, then pointed at the spot where they were to meet the svirfneblin: a tunnel, bored into the cavern, with a beachlike mound of rubble in the lake below. Fortunately, it wasn’t too far away.

  That tunnel, she signed to the others. Make for it.

  With a mental command, she lowered herself until she hung horizontally above the lake. Then she “swam” forward, immersing only her hands. When she reached the base of the rockfall, she drew her singing sword and climbed the slope. Her boots let her spring lightly from one foothold to the next. Pausing at the top, she peered into the mine tunnel. It should have been gloomy, but instead, its walls were illuminated with the faint, flickering light of the Faerzress
.

  Nothing stirred inside the tunnel.

  That didn’t surprise her. The Acropolis was several leagues away, and the Moondeep Sea was remote and rarely visited. The Crones would position any guards closer to their own cavern. Nevertheless, as the first of the Protectors reached the spot where she stood, Cavatina pointed down the narrow tunnel. Scout ahead, she ordered in silent speech, one thousand paces. Report each quarter count. The priestess nodded and disappeared into the tunnel.

  Cavatina ordered another Protector to remain at the bottom of the rockfall and keep watch over the lake. That priestess took up her position, singing sword in hand, as the others climbed or levitated to the spot where Cavatina stood.

  Much to her irritation, Kâras set up his own guard at the bottom of the rockfall and ordered a Nightshadow into the tunnel. Cavatina caught the male’s arm as he tried to pass her. “Wait,” she whispered. “We’ll have our first report in a moment.”

  The Nightshadow glanced back at Kâras.

  “I give the commands,” she hissed at the Nightshadow. “Not him.”

  “Yes, Lady,” he murmured.

  Kâras climbed up next to them. “Are we not following Qilué’s orders? ‘Stick together,’ you quoted her as saying. Nar’bith is a master at stealth, silent as shadow. And two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

  Two more Nightshadows had just climbed up the rockfall behind Kâras, eyes watchful above their masks.

  “Four eyes are better than two,” Cavatina agreed. “But if you give orders that overlap mine, there will be unfortunate consequences.” She nodded at the Nightshadow whose arm she still held. “This male, skewered on the Protector’s sword. I must warn my priestess he’s coming.”

  Kâras inclined his head. “Fair enough.” His eyes remained unrepentant. “Warn her.”

  Cavatina’s eyes narrowed. She knew he was trying, once again, to one-up her, to appear as if he was giving the orders, but she wasn’t about to waste time sparring with him. She warned Halav with a sending then she released the Nightshadow.

  He drifted away into the tunnel, his footsteps utterly silent. Kâras turned away and clambered back down to the water. He disappeared from Cavatina’s view.