Sacrifice of the Widow

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Malvag reeled as the gate closed with a thunderclap that rattled the crystals in the cavern. It was several moments before the ringing in his ears subsided. When it did, he turned to Valdar and Q'arlynd, his body quivering with excitement. "Vhaeraun be praised! We did it!"

The slender Valdar wove back and forth where he stood, exhausted. Q'arlynd looked equally drained, his face an ashen gray. Both males nodded weakly.

The wizard turned and lifted his bound hands. "If you wouldn't mind…"

Malvag hesitated-but only for a heartbeat. Old habits. In the moment of communion their spellcasting had provided, he'd glimpsed Q'arlynd's soul. The wizard wasn't going to turn on him.

Malvag stepped forward and untwisted the wire, releasing the wizard's hands. Then, for good measure, he slipped the slave ring off Q'arlynd's finger and took the master ring off his own. He tucked both rings into a pocket of the wizard's piwafwi.

Q'arlynd's fingers were gray and puffy, with deep indentations from the wires. He rubbed them stiffly together, wincing.

"I can't feel them," he said. He extended his hands slightly. "Could you-"

"Of course."

Malvag took the wizard's hands in his own and whispered a prayer. He felt the rush of power that was the Masked Lord's reply course through him as the fingers healed. When he released Q'arlynd's hands, silver-white motes danced upon the wizard's dark skin.

Malvag jerked his hands away. What was that?

Valdar stared at the wizard's hands. "Moonfire," he gasped.

The wizard, sensing the knife-edge in Valdar's tone, held his hands perfectly still as the sparkles slowly faded.

"If this is moonfire, it's not my doing," he said. "I'm a wizard, not a cleric."

Valdar stood just to Malvag's left, tense as a cocked wristbow. He glanced sidelong at Malvag. One hand was behind his back, where the wizard wouldn't see it.

Has he turned back to Eilistraee? Should we kill him?

Malvag took a deep breath. By Vhaeraun's holy mask, was it really going to unravel so quickly? "No," he said aloud. He turned. "You touched his mind, Valdar, and you know he's no traitor. He's one of us, now."

"There's a simple explanation for what just happened, Valdar," the wizard added. "We just opened a gate to Eilistraee's domain. There's certain to be lingering effects from that."

Valdar relaxed. Slightly.

The wizard smiled and spread his hands. "What's more, I could easily have teleported away just now-which would be the logical thing for me to do, if I was a traitor-but I'm still here with you." He shook his head, an exasperated expression on his face. "We just cast high magic. Drow, casting high magic, perhaps for the first time. Do you honestly think I'd turn my back on that kind of power?"

Malvag answered, before Valdar could, "Of course not."

Abruptly, the wizard turned and strode to where Urz lay. He touched the fallen Nightshadow and spoke a word. "There. I've just turned Urz back to flesh and blood. He is, however, unconscious. Looks like he took a nasty hit on the head when he fell-but I'm sure your healing magic can deal with it." His lips quirked slightly. "Just be sure, when he wakes up again, to let him know I'm on your side. No hard feelings, I hope."

Malvag nodded at Urz's body. "Do it," he told Valdar.

The pink-eyed drow cocked an eyebrow. "Very well." He kneeled beside Urz, put a hand to the dead male's chest, and began a prayer. His other hand was raised to his mouth, hiding it.

Malvag, watching, reflected on how odd it was to see a fellow cleric casting magic bare-faced. He resisted the urge to cover his own mouth with a hand. Even in the company of other clerics, going without a mask felt like being naked.

A low groan came from Urz's lips as Valdar completed his prayer. Urz stirred-and his body was limned in a haze of silver-white light. Valdar reeled.

"More moonfire! The wizard is doing it!" He raised his wrist-crossbow.

"Valdar, stop!" Malvag shouted.

The crossbow thrummed. The wizard jumped back but not quickly enough. The bolt sliced a bright red line through the flesh of his cheek. He returned Valdar's attack with a flick of his fingers, sending a bolt of magical energy back at the slender male. Valdar grunted as it bored into his chest and began a prayer, one that would summon enough darkfire to incinerate the wizard on the spot.

"Stop it!" Malvag cried. "Both of you. There's got to be another explanation!"

Urz sat up, holding his head. The silver-white glow had faded from his skin.

Darkfire raced from Valdar's hand across the cavern, but instead of burning the wizard, it swirled harmlessly around him. Within the dark flames were flecks of white. More moonfire. Valdar gaped at his hand, a shocked look on his face.

"How did he…?"

Malvag stared at Q'arlynd and Valdar, worried. That was moonfire, within the darkfire-something that should have been impossible. And it hadn't just appeared when the spell had struck Q'arlynd, it had come straight out of Valdar's hand at the same time the darkfire did. Had opening a gate to Eilistraee's domain somehow corrupted their magic?

The wizard had halted in mid-casting, magical energy crackling between his extended fingers. His lips parted, as if he were about to say something. Then he seemed to think better of it. Slowly, the magic faded from his hand.

Urz gave a howl of anguish, startling all three of them. "He's dead," he cried. Eyes closed, mouth a grimace, he pounded with his hands against the crystal floor until his hands were bloody. "He's… dead!"

"Who's dead, you idiot?" Valdar snapped.

Malvag, however, didn't have to ask. A chill slid into his gut like an ice-cold blade. He said a hurried prayer, seeking communion with his god.

"Vhaeraun?" he whispered, his mouth dry. "Are you there?"

Valdar stared at him, tense.

Urz continued to wail and beat the floor. "Dead!"

The answer came to Malvag at last, a strangely double-timbered voice, as if a male and female were speaking at once.

"I… am… here," it said, the voices blending into one by the final word.

Malvag felt his face pale. His legs no longer seemed willing to support him. He sagged, felt the points of crystals jab into his knees as the enormity of what he'd just done came down on his shoulders like a collapsing tunnel. That was Eilistraee who'd just spoken, not Vhaeraun. Instead of the Masked Lord absorbing her power into himself, the opposite had happened. Eilistraee was posing as Vhaeraun and answering his clerics' prayers, tainting them with moonfire, and there was only one way she could have done that.

By killing Vhaeraun.

Malvag tried to convey that to Valdar, but all that would come out was a dry croak. "Eilistraee… No use… Vhaeraun is… gone. We can't…" He gestured weakly at Q'arlynd. They could hurl all the spells they liked at the wizard, but he was under Eilistraee's protection-even if he didn't know it himself.

Valdar glanced at the still-howling Urz, then back at Malvag. "No!" he raged. The slender cleric summoned darkfire to his hand a second time-darkfire tainted with moonfire-then hurled it. Not at the cleric, as Malvag had expected, but at Malvag himself.

It sloughed off Malvag, just as it had the wizard. As the dark glare of it died down, Malvag noticed that Q'arlynd was gone. He must have teleported away. So had Valdar, it seemed, after hurling the darkfire. The cavern was empty save for Urz, who, by the sound of his hoarse cries, had been driven mad by the loss of his patron deity.

Everything Malvag had worked for was in ruin. The bond, strong as adamantine, that had allowed drow to cast high magic was broken. Not that it mattered anymore.

"It's true," Malvag said, answering a Valdar who was already gone. "Vhaeraun's dead. We helped Eilistraee kill him. I was a fool to think she wouldn't prevail within her own domain." He lowered his face into his hands-a mask that no longer held any power. Then his hands fell away. One brushed against the dagger that was sheathed at his hip.

Slowly, he drew it. He stared at the poison-coated blade for several long moments. There was no longer any god to claim his soul when it entered the Fugue Plain, but that suited Malvag just fine. The torments of the demons would be nothing compared to what he felt at that moment, and if Eilistraee tried to claim him, he'd spit in her face.

Touching the blade to his arm, he drew it across his wrist.

Q'arlynd staggered through the Promenade looking for a priestess, the mask that had been his disguise clenched in one hand. He was in the cavern where the lay worshipers lived-buildings reared up around him on either side-but the passageways between them were empty. Where was everyone? His face throbbed and his limbs felt leaden: the wristbow bolt's poison doing its work. He wasn't going to last much longer without a healing spell, but if he died there, Qilue would surely see to it that he was restored to life. She'd have to, in order to learn what had just happened.

Unless, of course, she simply had a necromancer speak with his corpse.

No, Q'arlynd thought. Qilue wouldn't do that. She'd want details-descriptive nuances the stagnant mind of a corpse couldn't provide, and even if she used a truth spell on him, Q'arlynd had the perfect excuse for his actions.

He slipped a finger into his pocket, touching the master-and-slave rings. He could honestly say that he'd been forced to open the gate despite the geas, that he'd had no choice in the matter. Well, not until the end-but the high priestess didn't need to know that. If Q'arlynd chose his words carefully, she never would.

He slipped on something and scrabbled at the stone wall next to him for support. Looking down, he saw a smear of blood on the cavern floor. Someone had been hurt there. Badly hurt. Pushing himself away from the wall, he staggered on, still searching for a priestess. Where had they all gotten to?

Qilue would be angry, of course, when she learned that three priestess' souls had been consumed by the spell, but Q'arlynd had managed to bring back the "mask" that held the body and soul of the fourth priestess. That had to count for something, and opening the gate had all worked out for the best in the end. Vhaeraun was dead. If Q'arlynd chose his words carefully, perhaps the high priestess might reward him yet, and what a reward it would be. Qilue was, after all, a Chosen of Mystra. She must know spells that would rival high magic. If he could become her cons… her…

His mind stumbled. He couldn't find the word, nor could he see very well. The edges of his vision blurred and his stomach felt as if he'd swallowed hot coals. He tripped over something. A body. Looking down, he saw a blood-red robe and braided white hair. For one terrifying moment, he thought it was the judicator who had confronted him in the woods. Then he realized it was another Selvetargtlin. A very dead Selvetargtlin.

A pace or two away lay a scatter of bodies: males and females of various races, their bodies hacked to pieces. Lay worshipers from the temple. Kneeling beside them was a priestess. Q'arlynd fell to his knees beside her, shook her shoulder.

"Lady," he gasped. "Help me. Poison…"

The priestess fell over on her side, revealing a chest soaked in blood. She, too, was dead. Q'arlynd fumbled at the pendant that hung around her neck: the goddess's holy dagger. If he prayed, then maybe, just maybe…

He gasped as a hand touched his shoulder. He tried to turn but only managed to fall over onto his side next to the bodies. He stared up from the cold stone floor at a terrifying sight: an armored female, hair and body shrouded in sticky webs, holding in one hand a sword that fairly hummed with latent magic. One of Lolth's priestesses, he was certain. Weakly, he laughed. Of all the stupid luck…

The female laid her sword on the ground as she kneeled beside him. Cold metal touched Q'arlynd's cheek-a silver dagger. Why slit his throat? That was too quick, too clean for one of Lolth's priestesses. A prolonged flaying with a whip of fangs was more their style. Q'arlynd tried not to grimace as the pain roiling in his gut intensified. He wouldn't give her the pleasure of seeing how much he was already suffering.

"Eilistraee," he whispered, half-heartedly. As if the goddess would answer him.

"Eilistraee," the female above him repeated. "Heal him. Drive the poison from his body."

The pain was gone.

Q'arlynd sat up. He touched a hand to his healed cheek and shivered. He'd been within a heartbeat or two of death, but he was healthy again. Strong. He saw that it was a priestess of Eilistraee who had come to his aid, but not one he recognized. He stood, and bowed his thanks.

"Lady. To whom do I owe my rescue?"

"Cavatina Xarann," she said. "Darksong Knight."

Q'arlynd got a good look at her weapon as she picked it up again. The sword looked ancient and had a script running down its curved blade. Q'arlynd moved his fingers behind his back and pretended to cough, hiding a one-word divination. The blade's aura-visible only to him-nearly made him wince. That weapon was powerful. An artifact. With a start, he realized it must be the Crescent Blade.

The priestess glanced around. "What happened here?"

Q'arlynd shrugged. "I know as little as you do. I only just teleported here."

Coal-red eyes bored into his. "Only a priestess can do that."

Q'arlynd waved a hand, trying to appear nonchalant. "I know, I know-the wards and all that. Qilue herself taught me the song that would bypass them."

She lifted her sword slightly, a subtle threat. "Sing it now."

Q'arlynd did.

The Crescent Blade lowered. "It seems you are what you say. My apologies. I didn't ask your name. What is it?"

He bowed a second time. "Q'arlynd Melarn."

The priestess's eyes widened. No doubt she too had known his sister.

"I have to go," Q'arlynd said in an apologetic voice. "Urgent tidings to report. I must find Qilue." He lifted the mask. "I have to return this to her."

"Wait." Cavatina's voice cracked like a whip. Her hand gripped his shoulder tightly, and it fairly stank of spider. She stared off into the distance for a moment, then back at him, a hint of surprise in her expression. "It seems Qilue is expecting you. She's on her way here now."

Her brief touch had left strands of web on his piwafwi. Q'arlynd brushed them from his shoulder.

Cavatina smiled, and wiped away some of the web that clung to her own narrow face. She still kept an eye on him, but she'd relaxed slightly after talking to Qilue. "The offal of the Demonweb Pits," she said, pride in her voice. She grinned. "But I'd gladly wade through the stuff a second time, if the reward were the same."

She expected him to ask the question. He obliged her. "What reward?"

Her eyes glittered as she hefted the Crescent Blade. "I killed a deity today."

She waited, obviously expecting awe. She was proud. As vain as any matron mother. Q'arlynd couldn't resist.

"So did I," he said with a smile.

Cavatina listened as Halisstra's brother made his report. It was an incredible tale, if it could be believed. Three drow males, working high magic? Opening a gate that bridged the realms of Vhaeraun and Eilistraee?

She waited impatiently, anxious to make her own report. The wizard's tale was incredible and almost certainly untrue. It was woven, through and through, with boastfulness masquerading as modesty. He was acting as if he expected some sort of reward from Qilue. The high priestess, however, either missed his cues-or ignored them.

Which was just fine with Cavatina. She didn't like Q'arlynd. He was too deliberately self-depreciating in that smarmy way that males fresh out of the Underdark had.

She stood slightly behind Q'arlynd, where he wouldn't see her silent communication to Qilue: Remember the prophecy. His sister proved herself loyal. This must be the Melarn who will betray us.

Qilue gave her a brief glance. Q'arlynd's betrayal is already past, she sent back, communicating mind to mind. I expected as much from him. He will be redeemed yet.

The wizard was still talking. "It would appear, Lady Qilue, that Eilistraee has triumphed over the Masked Lord. Moments after the gate closed again, the magic of his clerics became corrupted. The spells they tried to cast were laced through and through with Eilistraee's moonfire. Upon seeing that and realizing it must be significant, I came back immediately to make my report." He held up the mask. "And to return this to you."

Q'arlynd looked at the high priestess expectantly, but Qilue merely nodded and took the mask from the wizard's hand. Her expression remained noncommittal.

The wizard's shoulders slumped slightly. Then they straightened again. "Lady," he said, bowing once more. "I must say that it gives me great joy that, despite my blunders-despite being killed and later enslaved-I was still able to serve Eilistraee." He bowed again and added, "and to serve you."

The silence stretched.

A short distance away, lay worshipers cleared away the dead. The bodies of the faithful were gently laid onto blankets and carried away, but the corpse of the Selvetargtlin was left where it lay. Later, it would be burned.

Qilue touched the wizard's shoulder, bidding him to rise. Aloud, she said, "Go to the Hall of Healing, Q'arlynd. Someone is waiting there for you."

The wizard hid his disappointment well. He gave Qilue a puzzled look. "Who, Lady?"

"Rowaan."

The wizard's eyes widened. "But… her soul…"

"Flew straight to Eilistraee's domain, with those of the other two priestesses, as the gate opened. By the grace of our goddess, it was not consumed."

Halisstra's brother gave a relieved sigh. Perhaps he wasn't as unfeeling as he seemed, or perhaps he was just a good liar.

"Lady," he exclaimed. "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that." He bowed again then hurried away.

Cavatina watched Q'arlynd make his way out of the cavern then turned to Qilue. "What a tale that one told!"

The high priestess nodded. "It's true. If not every word, at least in its essence."

That made Cavatina blink. "It is? Vhaeraun's really dead?"

Another nod. "I expected that Q'arlynd might fail in the task I assigned him, despite the geas I placed on him. Shortly after I sent him on his way, I entered communion with Eilistraee and warned her that Vhaeraun was poised to enter Svartalfheim. The goddess was prepared. Vhaeraun might be a master of stealth, but when the advantage of surprise was taken away from him, Eilistraee's prowess with the sword prevailed."

Cavatina let out a long, slow breath. "So it is true. Two deities, dead. In one day." She gave a fierce grin, unable to contain her pride. "And one of them by my hand."

Qilue glanced at the Crescent Blade. "Your sword served you well."

A voice whispered into Cavatina's mind from the sword. Dead, it chuckled. By my blade.

Cavatina bristled. It had been her victory. The sword was just… a sword. Not only was she irritated at it, but also at Qilue's almost blase response to the news. Chosen of Mystra Qilue might be, but surely she would acknowledge that Cavatina had just slain a demigod. Instead the high priestess just seemed… weary.

"You already knew that Selvetarm was dead?" Cavatina asked.

Qilue gestured at the dead cleric who lay a few steps away. "The Selvetargtlin nearly prevailed. They came within a blade's edge of taking the Promenade then all at once, their prayers failed them."

Cavatina noted Qilue's bloodstained armor and her freshly healed scars, one of which completely encircled her right arm. It had been a close thing. That realization sent a chill through Cavatina, one that tempered the thrill of her triumph.

"Make your report," Qilue said. "Tell me everything that happened." She clapped a hand on Cavatina's web-shrouded shoulder. "And… well done. I owe you my life."

That was better. Taking a deep breath, Cavatina related her tale, ending with her escape from the Demonweb Pits.

"I'm worried about Halisstra," she concluded. "There was no sign of her on the other side of the portal. I would have returned to the Demonweb Pits to search for her, but I didn't want to run the risk of the Crescent Blade falling into Lolth's hands. I came here instead, as quickly as I could."

"You did the right thing," Qilue answered. "I'll scry for Halisstra. We'll find her."

The conviction in the high priestess's voice reassured Cavatina, who felt terrible about leaving Halisstra behind. Not only had the former priestess redeemed herself, she'd tipped the balance between victory and defeat. Halisstra deserved better than to fall into Lolth's hands.

"If Halisstra is still within the Demonweb Pits, I'd like to lead the mission to rescue her," Cavatina said.

"Of course." Qilue pointed at the Crescent Blade. "But that will remain here, in the Promenade, where I can keep an eye on it. Until the time comes to challenge Lolth herself, it will be safer in my keeping."

Yes, the blade whispered. It quivered, slightly, leaning toward the high priestess.

Cavatina realized that Qilue' was holding out her hand, but she didn't want to give up the sword, not just then. The Crescent Blade felt so right in her grip. Her fingers seemed loath to uncurl from it.

She glanced down at the singing sword sheathed at her hip, a holy weapon of the Promenade. It was a magical weapon, yet it seemed like a novice's wooden practice sword in comparison to the Crescent Blade-in comparison to a weapon forged for slaying deities.

A sudden realization came to her then. No matter what she hunted next-no matter how powerful a demon she faced-the kill would be anticlimactic. The knowledge filled her with great sorrow.

Gently, Qilue pried Cavatina's fingers from the hilt of the Crescent Blade.

Cavatina at last let go. Strangely, her feelings were mixed. Parting with the weapon was, in some small way, a relief-and a disappointment. It would be Qilue wielding the Crescent Blade when the time came to take Lolth's life. Cavatina told herself that the high priestess was the logical choice-a Chosen of Eilistraee-but the thought made Cavatina's entire body ache. Just for a moment, she understood the envy that unredeemed females could feel for one another. For just an instant, she hated Qilue.

She stuffed the emotion down, smothering it, and asked, "What now?"

The high priestess glanced wearily around. Her eye settled on two lay worshipers-a drow female and a human male-who were removing the dead. They bowed in acknowledgement before lifting a body onto a blanket and carrying it away.

"We raise our dead and rebuild our defenses," Qilue answered. "The Promenade must be protected, and we must maintain our vigilance against the enemies that remain: Ghaunadaur and Kiaransalee." She cradled the Crescent Blade against her chest. "And we must prepare for the ultimate battle against Lolth."

Again, Cavatina felt a stab of jealousy. She stared down at the dead Selvetargtlin. "With their god dead, I suppose the Selvetargtlin will turn to Lolth-but what of the Nightshadows?"

"Eilistraee has stolen Vhaeraun's portfolio. His clerics draw their power from her, now-though," and Qilue smiled, "it may take some of them a while to realize it. When they do, they'll be ripe for redemption and ready to be drawn into the dance. Our priestesses have a lot of work ahead of them."

Cavatina gave the high priestess a sharp glance. "Nightshadows will join our ranks?"

Qilue nodded. "They already have, albeit unwittingly." She stared across the cavern, as if trying to see into the future. "There is a lot to be worked out yet."

Cavatina shook her head. If ever there was an understatement, that was it. The thought of clerics of Vhaeraun defiling Eilistraee's holy shrines with their black masks and evil deeds-especially after all that had just happened-made her flesh crawl.

"I don't like it," Cavatina said. Blunt, as usual, but it had to be said. "The Nightshadows are cowards and thieves and traitors, slinking about like-"

"People change. Even Lolth's vassals have been redeemed, including, it would seem, the Lady Penitent."

"What if they refuse redemption? What if they reject Eilistraee and choose Lolth instead? What you've done may have just made our enemy stronger."

Qilue's eyes blazed. "What I've done was necessary and inevitable."

"Even so, it worries me," Cavatina continued. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you, Lady Qilue, of the sacred teachings. Just as Selvetarm was corrupted after he destroyed Zanassu and assumed the Spider Demon's divine power, so might our worshipers be, if we accept Vhaeraun's clerics into our ranks." She paused, suddenly realizing the ramifications. "So might Eilistraee be, if Vhaeraun's evil seeps into her-"

"Enough!" Qilue's voice was sharp. "It is done. Eilistraee has slain Vhaeraun. There is no going back from that now." Her eyes bored into Cavatina's. "Do you really think, Darksong Knight, that I had not considered this before sending Q'arlynd on his mission?"

Cavatina hung her head. "Of course not, Lady." But secretly she wondered. She didn't know Qilue well, but according to reputation, the high priestess wasn't one to display anger. Cavatina's blunt words must have disturbed her. Deeply.

Then again, Cavatina realized, perhaps Qilue had been offered no choice. The high priestess must have realized what a gamble Q'arlynd's mission had been and known that it would likely fail. Without Qilue's warning, Vhaeraun might have surprised Eilistraee, even killed her. Cavatina tried to imagine Eilistraee's holy light, corrupted with creeping tendrils of shadow-to imagine herself, slowly corrupted-and shuddered.

"For now," Qilue said, "I would like you to keep secret everything Q'arlynd just told us. I would prefer the Nightshadows to think that Vhaeraun's destruction was entirely of our own devising. Remember, good will come of this. The Nightshadows will be brought into the light. Willingly or not, the drow will be brought into the light."

Cavatina bowed her head. "Praise Eilistraee," she murmured.

Her heart, however, remained shadowed with doubt.

As Q'arlynd walked away he ground his teeth at the high priestess's lack of response. He'd expected gratitude from Qilue, even praise, but she hadn't thrown him so much as the smallest scrap. Instead she'd listened to his report as if it bored her then dismissed him like a commoner. Obviously, whatever boastful report the Darksong Knight was making was more important to the high priestess.

He walked slowly, concentrating on his spell and not bothering to keep up with the two lay worshipers he was supposed to be following. He had no interest, really, in talking to Rowaan. He'd rather listen in on Cavatina and Qilue.

He walked through the temple, pretending to be on an important errand and found himself on a bridge above the river. By then, he was already almost at the limit of the spell's range. No matter, he thought. The report the high priestess hadn't wanted him to overhear was astonishing, but it was true-the death of the demigod Selvetarm, at Cavatina's hand. Still, it was of little more than passing interest to Q'arlynd. He'd learned everything he needed to…

Just a moment. What was that the Darksong Knight had just said? Had she really just uttered the name, "Halisstra"?

He jerked to a halt, listening intently.

She had.

Q'arlynd stood, utterly still, oblivious to the rush of the river below.

Halisstra. Alive.

She had been with the Darksong Knight in the Demonweb Pits when Selvetarm was slain. She'd come to Cavatina's aid when all seemed lost, but then Halisstra herself was lost, perhaps left behind in the Demonweb Pits. But-Qilue promised-Halisstra would be found again.

Elation surged through Q'arlynd. There, at last, was something he knew his way around, something he could work with. With Halisstra alive, House Melarn could be reforged. Halisstra would be its matron mother and Q'arlynd, her oh-so-obedient brother, would be the true power behind the throne. When the time was right, the pair of them would return to Ched Nasad and claim their rightful place as its ruling House. They would rebuild the city to its former glory. They would…

Q'arlynd's imaginings slammed back to earth again as he realized what he'd been overlooking. Halisstra was one of Eilistraee's faithful. If Q'arlynd did manage to talk her into returning to Ched Nasad, she'd probably insist on trying to "redeem" everyone she met. She'd last about as long as fungus wine in the tankard of a thirsty orc. Then Q'arlynd would be on his own once more-and in an even worse position than before. He'd wind up reviled. Hunted. Maybe even dead.

He ended his spell. He'd heard enough.

He stood, drumming his fingers on the rail of the bridge and thought, What now?

A pair of lay worshipers hurried across the bridge, carrying a body toward the temple. Q'arlynd pressed himself against the rail, letting them pass. In the distance, faintly, he could hear the voices that emanated from the Cavern of Song; they rose and fell in rhythmic waves. The song was sweet, seductive-but it didn't call to Q'arlynd. Not any more.

From below came the sound of rushing water. One hand on the smooth rail of the bridge, Q'arlynd contemplated the cold, dark river that came from some distant place, briefly intersected Eilistraee's temple, then moved on.

Perhaps it was time for him to move on, too, but where? And to what?

He sighed, wishing the brief bond he'd experienced with Malvag and Valdar in the darkstone cavern had lasted just a little longer, but it was gone-dead as Vhaeraun, thanks to Eilistraee.

Q'arlynd shook his head, still not able to believe it-a bond like that, forged with clerics of Vhaeraun, the most mistrustful, backstabbing males on all of Toril. Who would have ever thought…

A realization came to Q'arlynd then, sudden as a bolt of darkfire. If such a bond could be forged with Nightshadows, then surely it could also be created among wizards. Perhaps Q'arlynd could build his own power base around a cabal of like-minded males. He knew where he was most likely to recruit them-in Sshamath, a city ruled by a conclave of wizards rather than by a council of matron mothers-by male wizards, rather than female priestesses.

Excited, he pondered the possibilities. During his brief link with Malvag's mind, he'd learned that the ruined temple the Nightshadow had found, far to the south, had held only the one scroll. That ruin was a dead end, but other artifacts from the time of the Crown Wars might also have survived in other locations. It would simply be a matter of finding them. Q'arlynd already had an idea where he might start-in the ruins of Talthalaran, in ancient Miyeritar. More specifically, within that ruined tower he'd spotted while hiking across the High Moor with Leliana and Rowaan, the tower whose floor pattern had reminded him of the Arcane Conservatory in Ched Nasad.

The tower had been a wizards' school. He was certain of it.

For the first time in many years, a smile crinkled Q'arlynd's eyes. He didn't need Halisstra. Or House Melarn. He'd find his own road to power-one that wouldn't force him to walk in the shadow of a female.

He climbed onto the rail of the bridge then stepped off into space. A heartbeat before he struck the cold, dark surface of the river, he teleported away.