Sacrifice of the Widow lp-1

by Lisa Smedman

  The creature was enormous, just as the House Jaelre male who had survived its attack had said, probably twice Cavatina's height. It looked like a powerfully muscled drow female, but with a hairy bulge emerging from each cheek, just under the eye, and eight legs the diameter of broomsticks jutting from its ribs. It was unclothed, with matted white hair whose ends seemed to stick to its shoulders and back.

  "Quarthz'ress!" Cavatina shouted.

  The iron flask began to glow. Bright silver light lanced across the magical darkness, striking the creature, but instead of impaling it and drawing it into the flask, the magical beam ricocheted off its glossy black skin like a ray of light glancing off a mirror.

  That was it then. The creature was definitely not demonic. The flask would have trapped it if it was, or-and this a more disturbing thought-it was some form of demon that was immune to the flask's magic.

  The creature landed on a tree trunk at the edge of the clearing. It sprang back at Cavatina, arms held wide as if inviting attack. Cavatina summoned a curtain of whirling blades around herself, but the creature paid them no heed. It sailed through them, laughing maniacally as they struck its body. Most glanced off with sounds like metal hitting stone, but a few slashed deep furrows in the creature's flesh. Then the creature was through the barrier, dripping blood-still very much alive.

  It caught Cavatina by the leg and shouted something in harsh, grating words that she didn't recognize, spinning itself past her like a partner in a macabre dance. Cavatina felt a wrench, deep inside her body, as if an invisible hand had reached inside and squeezed her vitals. Intense pain nearly made her black out. Then red light flashed under her chain mail shirt, and the sensation was gone. She felt something as gritty as coarse crumbs of salt against her chest-the red periapt, crumbling, its magic overwhelmed.

  She felt a tug on her foot-the creature, yanking off one of her boots. Then the creature sailed out through the barrier of blades, which once again slashed brutally into its body.

  Cavatina fell.

  The murky water did little to cushion her landing. She crashed down onto the submerged stone platform, scraping the skin of her knees and arms. She scrambled upright, the singing sword still in hand, and braced herself as best she could on the slippery stone. It felt as though she were standing on a thick layer of slime.

  The creature crashed into a tree. Dropping Cavatina's boot, it clung to the branches and stared malevolently down at her. The blade barrier had wounded it, carving deep gouges in its stone-hard hide. Blood flowed down its body and dripped from its bare feet into the swamp below.

  "Had enough?" Cavatina taunted, her sword held ready.

  The creature held out a hand that had been sliced by the blades. Two fingers dangled from it by flaps of skin, dribbling blood. "Why do you hurt me?" it asked in a mournful voice. "I am one of you."

  "You're no drow," Cavatina shot back, "and if you once were, you aren't any longer."

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cavatina saw a mound of rotting vegetation begin to rise from the swamp: another of the monstrosities she'd spotted earlier. Invoking Eilistraee's name, she hurled a blast of bitter cold at the spot where it lurked, instantly freezing the water around it and holding it in place. A second blast she directed at the plant-creature itself. The water inside its body, frozen, expanding with a force sufficient to split it apart.

  All the while, a portion of Cavatina's attention remained focused on the creature she'd been hunting. Its wounds were regenerating even as she watched. This would be a tough fight.

  "I was drow," the creature continued, flexing its newly repaired fingers. "Now I am the Lady Penitent."

  The title meant nothing to Cavatina. "What is it you do penance for?" she asked.

  The creature watched as its fingers healed. When they were whole again, it flexed them then lowered its hand. "Everything," it said, "but most of all, my weakness."

  "What weakness is that?"

  The creature said nothing.

  "Come down from the branches," Cavatina suggested. "Let's finish this."

  The creature shook its head.

  Cavatina knew what the creature was doing: stalling.

  Already, Cavatina could feel the effects of the glowing platform. Her legs had started to tremble, and her very bones felt wobbly. The glowing stone's fell magic was affecting her. Even looking at the platform out of the corner of her eye made her feel slightly nauseous. Stepping off it, however, would mean floundering about in deep water that probably concealed more of those rot-creatures. She might be able to drive the monster who gloated down at her away with a spell, giving her time to recover her boot, but Qilue had ordered her to learn as much as she could about it, and a Darksong Knight followed orders. Cavatina whispered a restorative spell. Divine magic flooded into her, negating the effects of the glow.

  The creature must have caught the quick look Cavatina had given the glowing green stone and heard her whispered prayer.

  "That's right," it taunted. "It's made of sickstone. Appropriate, don't you think, for a temple to Moander?"

  Cavatina knew the name well, despite the god's relative obscurity. Moander had been a deity of corruption and decay, a god who had been slain, not very many years ago, by a mere mortal-a bard named Finder. For whatever perverse reasons, Lolth had adopted Moander's name as one of her aliases, possibly to claim his human worshipers.

  "Is that why you led me here?" Cavatina asked. "Is this spot now sacred to your goddess?"

  "Which goddess is that?" the creature asked. It flicked a hand, sending a spray of tiny spiders into the air. "The Dark Mother, or…" she touched forefinger to forefinger and thumb to thumb to form a circle, "her daughter?" Webs flowed from her fingers like pulled taffy as she pulled her hands apart, laughing.

  Cavatina's anger rose inside her like a banked fire. "You dare," she whispered.

  She hurled her sword, snapping out a prayer as it flew through the air. Her aim was true. Guided by the goddess's magic, the singing sword plunged into the creature's chest, burying itself nearly hilt-deep. The creature let out a shriek and flailed its spider legs as Cavatina moved her hand through the air, yanking out the sword and preparing for a second thrust.

  The creature glared down at Cavatina. "You can't kill me!" it raged. "Nothing can kill me. She keeps…" It coughed, doubling over, "sending…" another cough, one with bloody spittle, "me back."

  That said, it sprang from its treetop perch with a leap that sent the dead tree crashing over backward. Cavatina tried to send her sword after it, but the creature was too fast. It scrambled away through the treetops and disappeared from sight.

  Cavatina called her sword back into her hand and cast a second restorative spell upon herself. The sickstone on which she stood had once again sapped her strength. Then she waded to the spot where her boot floated. The water rose to her chest before she reached it, and she had an awkward moment of balancing on one foot in the muck while trying to pull the boot on. Foul-smelling water soaked her clothes and slimed her skin. When she at last levitated out of it, the stench clung to her clothing and armor. She cocked each leg, letting the water drain from her boots. Then she set off in pursuit of the creature.

  She wouldn't make the same mistake twice-she'd make sure she kept her feet well away from its grasping hands.

  The creature was easy to follow. Once again there was a clear trail of broken branches. That trail, however, led in a big circle, back to the ruined temple.

  Cavatina kept well out of range of the sickly green glow. To her surprise, the creature did not. It stood on the submerged platform, still hunched over from the wound the singing sword had dealt it-a wound that should have been mortal, but which had already sealed itself shut, leaving only a faint gray scar behind. The creature moved about, as if restless. As Cavatina drew closer, she saw that its movements had a pattern.

  "By all that's holy," Cavatina whispered. "It's dancing."

  The creature spun and splashed, arms raised above its head, spider l
egs drumming against its chest in time with the dance. Once again, it blasphemed Eilistraee. Its drow hands formed the goddess's sacred circle above its head. Its eyes were closed, and it seemed oblivious to Cavatina's presence. A harsh song came from its lips. Several words were missing, others were roughly abbreviated, as if choked off in mid-syllable. The melody was subtly wrong, like a chord with one note a half-tone off, but even so, Cavatina recognized it.

  Eilistraee's sacred Evensong.

  Cavatina was outraged. "What are you doing?" she shouted.

  The creature slowed. Lowered its hands. "Isn't it obvious?"

  "You profane our holy song."

  "I sing it as I learned it."

  Cavatina blinked. "But you're not… You can't be one of Eilistraee's worshipers."

  "I was."

  Cavatina gripped her sword so hard her hand hurt. Mute with horror, she shook her head.

  "Oh, yes," the creature said, its face lit from below by the sickly green glow. "I once danced in the sacred grove. I rose from the Cave of Rebirth, sang the song, and took up the sword."

  Cavatina felt numb with shock. "You… were one of the Redeemed? A priestess?"

  The creature nodded.

  "But… but how…"

  "I was weak. Lolth punished me. I was… transformed."

  Cavatina allowed herself to drift a little lower, but she was careful not to get too close to the sickstone. The glow must have been affecting the creature. Its legs were visibly trembling, sending tiny ripples through the filthy water.

  "And now you want to be a drow again?" Cavatina guessed.

  The creature gave a bitter laugh. "If only it were that simple."

  Cavatina lowered her sword-but only slightly. "Sing with me," she said. "Pray for Eilistraee's aid."

  "I can't. Every time I try, my throat fills with spiders and I choke."

  "A curse," Cavatina whispered. Part of her wondered if that wasn't a ruse to draw her closer, but the teachings of Eilistraee were clear. Mercy had to be extended to those who pleaded for it, and the creature, in its own unique way, was all but begging. Cavatina reluctantly extended her hand. "Curses can be removed. Let me-"

  The creature reared back, water sloshing around its ankles. "Weren't you listening?" it howled. "This isn't just a curse, I've been permanently transformed. Nothing-nothing! — can redeem me now."

  Cavatina's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes suddenly stung. She could feel the cursed priestess's anguish as if it were her own. She suddenly understood why the creature had left a trail for her to follow, why it hadn't simply fled. She wanted Cavatina to end its misery, and-Cavatina stared at the spot where the singing sword had pierced its chest, a spot where not even a scar remained-Cavatina had failed her.

  As if hearing her thoughts, the creature looked up. "You're powerful," she said. "I can sense that about you. I thought you might have a spell that could end this, but you're as much of a disappointment as Eilistraee was."

  "Don't say that," Cavatina gasped, shocked.

  The creature laughed. "Why should I stay my tongue?" it mocked. "Will Eilistraee punish me? She's already punished me enough for my failure. She's abandoned me."

  "No, she hasn't," Cavatina said fiercely. "As long as you hold her song in your heart, Eilistraee is with you still."

  "No, she isn't," the creature spat back. "Once I was her champion. Now I'm her greatest disappointment. She abandoned me-and Lolth claimed me."

  Cavatina stared down at the creature. The face was vaguely familiar, despite its elongated shape and bestial spider fangs. She tried to imagine the creature with hair that wasn't sticky and matted, with a body the size and proportion of a normal drow. It proved impossible.

  "Who are you?"

  "Isn't it obvious?" The creature gestured at the glowing green platform on which it stood. "I, too, once tried to kill a god, but unlike the bard who destroyed Moander, I failed."

  Cavatina's eyes widened. "You're…"

  "I was Halisstra Melarn."

  Cavatina reeled. "But you were killed! At the very gates of the Demonweb Pits. Qilue saw it in her scrying."

  Halisstra shrugged.

  Questions tumbled from Cavatina's lips. "How did you survive? Where have you been? What happened?"

  "I told you, Lolth punished me."

  "But surely…" Cavatina paused. Shook her head. "It must have been Eilistraee who restored life to you after you were struck down. Why didn't you call upon Eilistraee's aid?"

  Another shrug. "By then, I'd already lost my faith."

  "You can still be redeemed," Cavatina insisted. "If you just-"

  Halisstra gave a bitter laugh. "That's what Seyll said, and look where she wound up."

  Cavatina felt a shiver pass through her. "What are you talking about?"

  Halisstra stared up at her with eyes hollow as an empty pit. "Seyll sacrificed herself-she let her soul be consigned to oblivion. And for what?" Halisstra's eyes suddenly blazed. "Nothing! I failed."

  Cavatina spoke softly, as to an injured child. "They asked too much of you. You were a novice priestess, and they asked you to slay a god."

  Halisstra shuddered. Weakened by the sickstone, she sank to her knees on the glowing platform. Water rippled across its sickly green glow.

  Cavatina extended her hand. "Come away from there. You've suffered enough."

  Halisstra gave a heavy sigh. "I tried to serve Eilistraee. Even after I knew I'd failed her-after Lolth had her way with me and cast me aside-I tried to redeem myself. The Crescent Blade was broken, but I picked up the pieces and carried them to the temple that Feliane, Uluyara, and I had consecrated when we first entered the Demonweb Pits and laid them down inside it and watched as the sword mended itself together and-"

  "What?" Cavatina shook her head. Halisstra was telling her too much, too fast. "Are you saying you created a temple sacred to Eilistraee within the Demonweb Pits?"

  Halisstra nodded. There was a light in her eye.

  "And that the Crescent Blade-a weapon capable of killing Lolth-still exists?" Cavatina asked.

  Halisstra gave a trembling nod. Then a sly smile. "And it's somewhere that Lolth can't touch it. The temple we created is still standing, and the Crescent Blade is inside it."

  Cavatina let out a long breath. She held up a hand. "Just a moment." She spoke Qilue's name, and an instant later felt the high priestess link minds with her. In a low whisper, Cavatina sent a message back to the Promenade.

  "I found the creature. It's Halisstra Melarn, her body corrupted by Lolth. She said much that you should hear."

  The reply was a moment in coming. Take her to the shrine in the Velarswood. Wait for me there.

  Cavatina nodded. Qilue had sounded worried about something. Distracted. Cavatina wondered what new threat had arisen since she'd left the Promenade.

  She extended a hand to the creature that had once been a priestess like herself. "Come," she told Halisstra. "Your chance for redemption may be at hand."

  Szorak crept through the darkened forest, muttering to himself behind his mask. He didn't much care for the Lethyr, even though the thick canopy of intertwined branches above screened the moon's harsh light. Despite the magical ring that had turned his skin and clothing the exact color of the shadows he passed through and the boots that enabled him to move in utter silence, stilling even the crack of a dead branch underfoot, he still felt as if he was being watched.

  Which he was. The very trees were alive. They whispered the whereabouts of all who entered the forest to its guardians.

  Fortunately, his mission that dark night had nothing to do with either trees or druids. It wasn't a druid's soul Szorak was after, but that of a priestess.

  As he drew closer to Eilistraee's shrine, the spell he'd cast a few moments before picked up the first of the wards: a dim glow coming from underneath a pile of dead leaves, several paces ahead. Szorak pulled out a rod of black iron and held it at the ready. Then he walked forward. As the ward was triggered, sparkles of frost-whi
te light erupted on his skin, causing him to gasp from their cold. The wand, however, drew the bitter cold down into itself, and after a heartbeat, it was gone.

  "Is that the best you can do, ladies?" Szorak muttered. "I expected something a little more lethal."

  He continued forward, the rod held loosely in his hand. The pile of leaves exploded as a sword flew out of it. Szorak was barely able to bring his rod up in time. He smashed it against the sword in a desperate parry. Black iron met shining steel with a loud clank, and there was a silent explosion of magical energy. The sword tumbled to the ground, inert.

  Szorak took a deep breath. He stared down at the two glyphs engraved in the blade. Both incorporated the word ogglin. Enemy. Even a magical disguise wouldn't have fooled them, and Szorak hadn't expected a two-glyph ward. Had he not parried the sword, he might have already been dead.

  He chuckled. "That's almost worthy of Vhaeraun, ladies, except that our sword thrust would have come from behind."

  His detection magic revealed other wards to the right and left. The sword must be one of several placed in a ring around the shrine's perimeter, but that ring had been broken.

  Szorak stepped across the neutralized sword. Then he activated the secondary power of his ring, disguising himself. Though he could still feel the soft velvet of his mask against his cheeks and chin, to an observer his face would appear bare, his cheeks smooth and feminine. He would seem taller than he really was, his body more shapely, and his black cloak, shirt, and trousers would instead look like chain mail, covered by a breastplate bearing Eilistraee's moon and sword. The rod in his hand would appear to be a sword. Anyone touching him would instantly perceive that all was not as it seemed, but he fully intended that whoever got close enough for that wouldn't live for more than a heartbeat.

  He walked on through the darkened woods. Up ahead, he could hear women singing and see shapes moving through the trees-Eilistraee's faithful, worshiping at their shrine. He veered away from that spot, looking instead for the place where the priestesses made their home. On a hunch, he whispered a prayer that would lead him to the nearest cave.