by Lisa Smedman
A voice, sweet enough to bring tears to Cavatina's eyes, sang into her mind. Yes.
"How can we get her out of there?"
Cavatina felt her goddess's hesitation. You can't.
Despair filled her. She heard Laeral's breath catch. The other female must have read the disappointment on her face.
"Is there no one who can save her?" Cavatina implored. "Not even you, Dark Maiden?"
A host of possible outcomes blurred through Cavatina's mind. She had a sense of pieces moving across a sava board too rapidly to follow, as some unseen force tested first this move, then that. At last they stilled. Eilistraee's reply came, in a voice tinged with a profound sorrow. If Ao so wills, it shall be.
Cavatina startled. What did Ao the Overgod have to do with this? As she pondered what Eilistraee's answer might mean, she felt the goddess slip from her mind, silent as a shadow.
Cavatina glanced up at the moon. Selune wore her half-mask this night, and seemed to be staring down at Cavatina. Waiting. Her cold scrutiny tempered Cavatina's determination. "Go," she whispered to Laeral, "swiftly, to each of Eilistraee's shrines. Gather as many of the priestesses as you can. We must perform the exorcism here."
Laeral glanced around the gloomy forest. The air was thick with the stench of rot and mold, and in the distance, the night twist tree wailed its anguished refrain. "But isn't this the worst possible-"
"This is where it must be done," Cavatina said grimly. "Eilistraee has decreed it."
Laeral stood. "What will you do while I'm gone?"
Cavatina nodded at the web-shrouded mound. "I'm going inside."
"Shouldn't you wait until-"
"There may not be time," Cavatina said firmly. "Besides, I hunt better alone."
Laeral nodded. "Keep me alerted to everything you see. Speak my name, and I'll hear what follows."
Cavatina agreed.
Laeral spoke an incantation that whisked her away.
Cavatina rose to her feet. Her first impulse was to stride in boldly and challenge whatever foes might be within, but then she glanced at the wooden sword in her hand and nearly laughed. No, she decided, sheathing it. She'd take a page from the Masked Lady's new songbook, instead. Slip in quietly, and scout around. If need be, she would sing moonfire into existence, and burn the place clean.
She sang a protective hymn, then a glamor that would screen her from sight until she chose to strike a blow. Her third prayer would allow her to slip through the tangle of webs unimpeded. She crept closer to the mound and eased her way into the tangle of web. The sticky silk slid past her body as if her skin were oiled. Just ahead was a haphazardly spun cocoon. Looking around, Cavatina saw dozens more, each of them easily large enough to contain a drow. Several bulged and rocked, as whatever was trapped within struggled to get free.
"By all that dances," Cavatina breathed. "This looks like Halisstra's handiwork!"
Was Halisstra still alive? After betraying Cavatina to the demon Wendonai, she had reappeared briefly atop the Acropolis, then vanished without a trace. That had been two years ago. No one had been able to learn where she had disappeared to-not even Qilue.
A sound within the cocoon next to Cavatina drew her attention. Over the discordant music coming from within the mound, she made out a muffled female voice: a word or two of song, then a struggling gasp, then another faint note of song. She was debating whether to tear the cocoon open when another of the cocoons turned slightly, revealing a partially rotten hand protruding through a gap in its side. A spider-shaped ring adorned one of the death-stiffened fingers: Lolth's symbol.
Cavatina sang a divination. A dim purple glow leaked out of the cocoons that were still twitching: the aura of evil. Cavatina's eyes narrowed. Did each contain one of Lolth's faithful? Had Halisstra turned against the Spider Queen?
The answers, Cavatina was certain, would lie within the mound.
She spoke Laeral's name, and whispered what she'd just seen. As she did, she stared at the cocoons, debating what to do. Four years ago, she would have reveled in slaying an evil deity's helpless faithful, but now she found the thought repugnant. She said a prayer for those inside, praying they might survive long enough to be cut down and freed by the priestesses Laeral would soon bring. "May you find redemption," she whispered, her fingers touching the cocoon in front of her.
She crept on through the tangle of webs, closer to the hill they covered. A tree near the base of the hill had fallen, its roots tearing a hole in the earth, and inside this gap lay an adamantine door. More webs dangled, like a curtain, in the empty doorframe. She slipped into a chamber with a depression in its black marble floor and blasphemous murals showing masked spiders. Drying blood was splattered everywhere. The metallic smell of it overwhelmed the stench of the cocooned corpses outside. The far wall held a mural of a spider with a drow head and a lesser spider dangling from each arm; the abdomen was a dark hole in the masonry. The harp music came from inside it.
Beyond the hole was a second, stone-walled chamber. Cavatina spoke Laeral's name again and described what she saw. Nine corridors radiated from the second chamber. The harp music came from the one in the middle of the rear wall. More murals adorned the walls of this chamber, but they were obscured by webs and ruptured egg sacs. Movements on the floor caught her eye. Thousands of tiny red spiders, none of them bigger than a drop of blood, coursed back and forth, scurrying first in one direction, then another. They seemed to be moving in time with the music-scurrying, then stopping, then moving in another direction again as its tempo and melody changed.
Cavatina smiled grimly. She liked a challenge. She sprang through the hole and ran through the chamber, leaping gracefully from one clear patch of floor to the next in an improvised dance. The spiders thinned once she was inside the corridor, allowing her to slow her pace. After a short distance, the corridor opened onto a third chamber. Cavatina, still invisible, peered inside, battling the urge to pinch her nostrils shut against the sulfurous smell within: the stench of demon.
The room was larger than the first two, and circular. It was dominated by an enormous, black marble throne, carved in the shape of an upside-down spider. Halisstra sat atop it, her clawed fingers plucking hair-thin strands of steel that stretched, like harp strings, between the throne's curled spider arms. The harsh twang of the music trembled through Cavatina's body, leaving a sludge of fear in its wake. Instinctively, she reached for her singing sword to ward off the music's effect. Her hand closed around a wooden hilt, reminding her that the singing sword was gone.
Halisstra had her back to Cavatina. She stared intently at something on the far side of the throne. Cavatina cautiously circled the room, keeping near the wall. A crouching figure came into view. Half the size of the hulking Halisstra, the creature had dull white eyes and skin covered in boils. So misshapen was it that its gender was impossible to determine. At first, Cavatina's mind insisted that this couldn't be Qilue, that it was some blasphemous blend of drow and demon. But the "demon" held the Crescent Blade in its hands, and wore the amulet Laeral had described around its neck.
It was Qilue.
A lump rose in Cavatina's throat as she beheld what the high priestess had become. Cavatina had been raised within Eilistraee's faith. Her earliest memories were of her mother singing the high priestess's praises. Centuries ago, as a girl, Qilue had rekindled Eilistraee's faith from the ashes in which its spark had smoldered for millennia. She had conquered Ghaunadaur, established the Promenade over his Pit, and set up shrines across the length and breadth of Faerun. But now the Promenade had fallen and Qilue had been reduced to…
A tear trickled down Cavatina's cheek. She wiped it away. This wasn't the time for tears, but for action. It might not be her destiny to save Qilue, but she could take Halisstra down. Not permanently-unless Lolth had abandoned her, Halisstra wouldn't die-but at least long enough for Laeral and the others to whisk Qilue out of this foul chamber and attempt an exorcism. Cavatina would likely die in the battle she was about to undertak
e; her communion with Eilistraee had hinted of this. But that didn't matter. After the horrors she'd experienced during the fall of the Promenade, she was ready to dance at the goddess's side.
Halisstra seemed to have at last remembered whatever song she'd been attempting to play. Her clawed fingers settled into a rhythm, and the music became more melodic. Slowly, lest she make any noise, Cavatina drew the wooden sword. The fact that it didn't kill no longer mattered, since Halisstra couldn't die, anyway. It felt better to have a sword in her hand, even if it was only a wooden one. As the weapon cleared its sheath, Cavatina began the prayer that would send a bolt of twined moonlight and shadow through Halisstra's heart.
Halisstra ended her melody with a single, shrill note. The Crescent Blade suddenly shrank and transformed, becoming an assassin's strangle cord. Halisstra leaped down from her throne. As she reached for the transformed weapon, Cavatina unleashed her spell. Her moonbolt bored into Halisstra's broad back, sending her staggering.
Halisstra whirled, her face twisted with rage. Her eyes widened as she spotted the now-visible Cavatina. As Cavatina sang a second moonbolt into existence, Halisstra yanked the assassin's cord from Qilue's hands and flicked it upward. The weapon transformed back into a sword once more. She raised it above her head with a manic grin. "Yours," she said, her eyes wild, "will be the first soul reaped. Cast aside your feeble goddess, and pay homage to the Lady Penitent!"
Cavatina hurled her second moonbolt. It slammed into Halisstra's chest, sending her staggering. Cavatina leaped in close, thrusting with the wooden sword. Halisstra grunted as the point of it entered her body.
"Surrender," Cavatina told her, "and I'll show mercy."
"Never," Halisstra hissed. She leaped back, unwounded- the wooden sword penetrated flesh, but left no mark-and lashed out with the Crescent Blade. Cavatina instinctively parried-and suddenly was holding nothing but a wooden hilt. Furious, Cavatina dropped it and danced back, resolving to give her opponent no further chances. She sang a circle of blades into existence, and they whirred around her like a disturbed nest of steel-sharp bees. Qilue was directly in their path, but by the grace of Eilistraee she remained unharmed; the magical blades glanced harmlessly off her time-frozen body.
Halisstra seized upon Cavatina's momentary distraction and sang a harsh note. The magical blades that had been protecting Cavatina exploded into shards of light and vanished.
"Redemption is at hand!" Halisstra shrieked, the strings of her throne reverberating in time with her cry. Spittle flew from her lips, and the spider legs twitched madly against her chest. She menaced Cavatina with the Crescent Blade, springing-fast as a spider-to block the chamber's only exit. "Kneel before me, mortal!"
The words slammed into Cavatina's mind, forcing her to the ground.
Halisstra sprang back to her throne and raked its strings with her clawed fingers. Random notes jangled together. "Dance!" she screamed.
Cavatina shuffled forward on her knees across the flagstone floor. She tried to lift her hands to direct a prayer, but they rose above her head, twisting in a terrible parody of the sword dance. "Laeral," she cried. "Halisstra has-"
"Be silent!" Halisstra screeched.
Cavatina's throat tightened, preventing her from completing her warning. Where was Laeral? What was keeping her? She glanced at the room's only entrance, but it was empty. It was, however, faintly lighter, as if moonlight were filtering in from outside the mound. The spiders that had been in the outer chamber burst into this room in a wave, as if fleeing something. Cavatina heard a faint sound that might have been a song, drifting in their wake. The sound gave her hope.
Halisstra loomed over Cavatina, weaving the Crescent Blade back and forth, mockingly directing her "dance." The strings of her throne reverberated in a dismal, unending chord. Cavatina fought with all her will as she scraped across the floor on her knees, but to no avail. Halisstra had grown strong-more powerful than Cavatina had anticipated. Had Halisstra truly been elevated to the status of demigod, as she claimed?
"Who's the master now?" Halisstra asked mockingly. "I was your plaything once, but no more! Lolth's cast you aside. You're mine!"
Cavatina realized Halisstra wasn't talking to her, but to the Crescent Blade. Halisstra stood, caressing it, oblivious to the dribble of blood the blade had just opened in her palm. "You will serve me," she told it. She fingered the spot where the blade had been mended. "Or I will break you. Toss you away, like a piece of trash. Would you like to see how that feels?" She tilted her head, as if listening, then laughed. "Why should I believe you?"
She listened again, stared thoughtfully at the Crescent Blade, and smiled. "Yes. I can kill you, can't I? I can kill anyone!"
She strode over to Qilue, and touched the blade to her throat. The high priestess remained as still as stone. Cavatina, mute and shuffling on bloody knees, felt a rush of fear. Laeral had said that nothing could harm Qilue while she was frozen in time, but that was before Halisstra had found a way to tease the Crescent Blade from her hands. She watched, horrified, as Halisstra slowly drew the blade across Qilue's throat.
Eilistraee! she silently cried. Your high priestess needs you! Save her!
The chamber brightened slightly. Eilistraee, answering with moonlight?
Halisstra abruptly stopped cutting. She pulled the sword away and inspected Qilue's neck. The blade had left a hair-thin line of red, but no blood flowed from it.
Praise Eilistraee! Laeral's spell had saved Qilue! Cavatina wept with relief-but then the Crescent Blade began to glow with a ruddy light. An instant later, it burst into flame. Halisstra cocked her head again, laughed, and touched the sword's edge once more to Qilue's throat. The fire licked across the curved blade, and slid from it onto Qilue's neck, encircling it in flickering orange light. Then it disappeared into the cut on her neck.
Qilue's eyelids fluttered. Her head twitched. A creaking sound filled the air as wings burst from her shoulders and unfurled, and she rose. Her mouth opened, and a gurgling laugh came out. Low, deep, masculine.
Wendonai's voice. He was inside Qilue's body-dominating it!
The chamber seemed to spin around Cavatina. She felt ill, faint. Not this, Eilistraee, she prayed. Anything but this!
Wendonai held out a hand. Halisstra reached for it.
"No!" Cavatina shouted.
She didn't cry out alone. At the same moment that she spoke, moonlight filled the chamber. A voice sang out with a power that sent Halisstra reeling. Throne strings parted with a shrill twang. Spiders shriveled and died. The Crescent Blade vibrated in Halisstra's hand-so violently that she nearly dropped it.
A shaft of pure silver light coalesced at the center of the room: moonlight so intense Cavatina was forced to turn her head. It centered on Wendonai. Taint boiled from his body and fled across the floor in a wave of tarry black smoke, and the reek of brimstone filled the air. Much of the floor-hugging, sticky cloud was burned away by the silver moonlight, but a wisp of it lapped at Cavatina's bloody knees. She could feel it trying to force its way into her body through these wounds, but the strength of her faith forced it out. Then the last of it was gone, fled back to the Abyss, back to Wendonai's corpse, to revive it. But that was a trivial matter, compared to the events unfolding in this chamber.
The silver moonlight continued to burn down. Demonic flesh melted away like wax, revealing a drow female so beautiful Cavatina could barely breathe. She had Qilue's face, but framed with moon-white hair, streaked with shadow, that draped her naked body like a robe. A masked-shaped shadow screened much of her face. The eyes that stared out of it brimmed with silver tears as she stared at Halisstra, who cowered before her.
Cavatina's heart pounded so fiercely in her chest she thought it would burst.
Eilistraee's avatar!
No-something more. Qilue had become a vessel, and the goddess had filled it. Eilistraee had saved the high priestess, as promised. She'd stepped into Qilue's body and assumed mortal form-something that hadn't happened since the Ti
me of Troubles.
It will end where it began, a female voice sang.
It will begin where it ends, a male voice harmonized.
Cavatina was no longer bound by Halisstra's foul magic. She rose, weeping and exulting, and cried out in praise. "Masked Lady," she sang joyfully, lifting her arms. "Lead me in your da-"
She remembered Halisstra too late.
The Crescent Blade flashed.
Cavatina felt cold steel meet her throat and heard the dull crunch of her spine being severed. The world spun crazily as her head tumbled to the floor. Then all went gray.
*****
Q'arlynd glanced around. All was in readiness. A domed wall of force had been erected atop the glade where the ancient temple had once stood, to keep intruders out. Spheres of silver light circled its perimeter, ready to intercept and negate any hostile spells. The possibility of an enemy locating this spot, however, was remote. Anyone attempting to spy on the four masters would see only what Seldszar's glamor showed them: an empty glade, surrounded by forest and washed by moonlight.
In fact, the clearing was heaped with boxes-a veritable matron's ransom in magical items, arranged in three piles. Master Masoj sat on a moss-softened stone next to one stack of boxes, his diamond-dusted skin glittering like twinkling stars in the moonlight. The corpulent Urlryn stood beside another, sipping wine from his goblet. Master Seldszar, his head moving back and forth as he tracked the gems orbiting him, sat cross-legged on his driftdisc, above the third pile. Dark lenses screened his eyes from the moonlight.
Q'arlynd stood with his four remaining apprentices, their minds linked by their rings. They would be adding their energies during his prayer. Eldrinn-clad, as usual, in pale gray clothes that made his skin appear darker-was rooting around in Q'arlynd's memories, satisfying his curiosity about what had become of Piri. Q'arlynd, heeding his promise to Flinderspeld, gave the boy a mental nudge when he strayed too near the portion of his mind that held memories of the magical pools.