Sacrifice of the Widow

CHAPTER SIX

Qilue brushed a strand of hair away from Nastasia's face. The dead priestess's body showed no signs of putrefaction, despite having lain in a treetop bier, exposed to the elements, for a tenday. The mark of Vhaeraun's assassin could still be seen, an indentation in the neck, left by a stranglecord. Her dark skin was chafed around this wound, and her open, staring eyes were so bloodshot they were more red than white.

The priestess was definitely dead, yet her body was uncorrupted. Even the smell of death was missing. This might have been construed as a sign from Eilistraee-save for the faint discoloration on the lower half of Nastasia's face which Qilue's detection spell had just revealed.

A discoloration in the shape of a mask.

Qilue turned to the four priestesses who had carried Nastasia's body into the Promenade's Hall of Healing. The novices from the shrine at Lake Sember shifted uneasily as Qilue examined the body, particularly at the revelation of a square of darkness shrouding Nastasia's cheeks and chin. Their hands twisted nervously on the leather-wrapped hilts of swords, or fingered the silver holy symbols that hung against their breastplates.

At last, one of them spoke. "Vhaeraun's mark. What does it signify, Lady?"

Qilue's voice was grave. "Nastasia is not dancing with Eilistraee in the sacred groves. Her soul has been stolen-it's trapped inside a Nightshadow's mask. They call it 'soultheft.'"

Eyes widened. "But why, Lady? What does he want with her soul?"

"I don't know." Qilue lied, loath to elaborate. The novices were rattled enough. She didn't want them to panic. The Nightshadows typically used soultheft to revitalize the enchantments on a depleted magical item. In the process, the soul was consumed.

From the look of Nastasia's body, that hadn't happened yet. Her soul was, apparently, still trapped within the mask, her body not yet truly dead, but at any moment, the assassin who had stolen Nastasia's soul might annihilate it.

"You were right to bring her here," Qilue told the priestesses. "We must find the one who did this to her."

"We tried a scrying, immediately after the attack. It didn't reveal-"

"This will."

Lifting her arms, Qilue drew the moon's chill light down into the Hall of Healing. Pale radiance limned her body as she began her dance. Singing a hymn to the goddess, Qilue spun in place, faster and faster until her body became a blur. The moonlight that enveloped her waxed brighter, filling her with radiance. In another moment, she would know the direction of the assassin she sought. That done, she would teleport to another of the shrines and repeat the dance there. The point where the two lines crossed would pinpoint the assassin. Then she could strike.

The sudden, jerking halt of the spell's culmination, however, did not come. Eventually, the glow that surrounded Qilue waned then disappeared. She slowed, lowering her hand.

Her dance had revealed nothing. The assassin had either shielded himself with potent magic, fled to another plane, or died.

Eilistraee might know the answer.

Qilue began a second prayer. Invoking Eilistraee's name, she sent her awareness up into a shaft of moonlight to commune with her goddess. It would be a fleeting link, but it would serve. Radiance filled Qilue's mind as the link was forged.

She asked her first question of the goddess: "Does the person who killed Nastasia live?"

Eilistraee's face-a thing of unearthly beauty that Qilue was unable to look upon without tears-turned slightly, from side to side. The answer, just as Qilue had anticipated, was no.

"Is his mask still with his body?"

The face nodded.

"Is Nastasia's soul still-?"

Wait.

The word startled Qilue. The goddess ordinarily answered a question asked in communion with a simple yes or no. On top of that, Eilistraee's voice sounded strange. The word had been layered with a deeper, rougher tone, one whose reverberations left an ache in Qilue's mind. She could still see Eilistraee's face, but it was more distant than it had been, dimmer than before. It unnerved her, but she did as instructed. She waited.

Another word came: No.

The communion ended.

Qilue shivered. What had just happened? Had it been Eilistraee who had answered, or… some other goddess? If another deity, why had Eilistraee permitted the intrusion? And what question had just been answered? Had the other deity-if indeed, it had been another deity who had spoken-been saying that the assassin did indeed still have his mask, or had the answer been for the question that Qilue had not quite completed?

The four priestesses were staring at her, waiting for answers. Qilue, badly rattled, took a breath to steady herself-and was surprised to smell the odor of decay. She looked down just in time to see the dark shadow that lay across the bottom half of Nastasia's face split down the middle, as if it had been sliced in two. Then it faded.

Hope shone into Qilue, bright as moonlight. She shoved aside the worries about whose voice had answered her.

"Eilistraee be praised!" she said. Something-perhaps the goddess herself-had just broken the soultheft's hold. Qilue immediately laid her hands on the corpse. "Join me!" she cried to the lesser priestesses. "A song to raise the dead."

The other four were startled but swiftly joined Qilue in prayer. Together, their voices washed over the dead woman, calling her soul back to her body. The song ended on Qilue's sustained note, layered by the harmonies of the other four priestesses-and Nastasia's eyes sprang open. She immediately flailed with one arm, as if shoving an attacker away. Her other hand groped for her sword. Then she recognized where she was. She stared up at Qilue, eyes wide.

"Lady," she gasped. She sat up and rubbed her throat, then stared at her own hand, a wondering expression on her face. Her joy at finding herself alive again was obvious, but so too was a hint of sorrow-understandable, in a priestess who for the briefest moment had been dancing at Eilistraee's side. She looked up at Qilue. "You called me back."

Qilue spoke in a gentle voice. "Your soul was stolen, but something caused it to be set free again. All is well now." She paused. "I called you back because we need to know what happened. Tell me what you remember. Everything that followed the assassin's attack."

Nastasia swallowed. Winced. "I was dead."

"And then? Between that time and just now, when you found yourself dancing in Eilistraee's grove?"

Nastasia glanced off into an unseen distance. "Darkness. Nothing."

Inwardly, Qilue sighed. She'd hoped for more.

"And…" Nastasia frowned, thinking hard. "There was a voice, the voice of the man who killed me."

The four novices whispered anxiously to each other.

Qilue held up a hand. "Silence." She gently touched Nastasia's shoulder. "Try to remember. What was he saying? Could you make out any words?"

Nastasia closed her eyes. Her frown deepened. She started to shake her head, but then her eyes sprang open in alarm.

"He plans to open a gate." She looked up at Qilue, her face gray with worry. "A gate to Eilistraee's domain, so that Vhaeraun can attack her. He's going to use our souls to fuel it."

"No!" one of the lesser priestesses gasped. She turned to Qilue. "Is it possible, Lady?"

"The Nightshadows are adept at conjuring," Qilue said, "but they would have to send one of their members into Eilistraee's domain in order to open a gate there, and no follower of the Masked Lord can enter Eilistraee's realm without her knowing it."

Nastasia shook her head, eyes wide. "They don't need to enter her domain. The assassin told them they could cast the spell from Toril, from a cavern in the Underdark that lies inside a powerful earth node. He told the other clerics he knew a ritual of high magic that would accomplish this."

"Drow males?" Qilue's lips quirked into a smile. "Casting high magic?"

Even as the others chuckled, reassured, Qilue wondered. If it was possible, what then?

Iljrene's spy had turned in a report-something about Vhaeraun's clerics and plans to "open" something. That report had cut off in mid-sentence and Iljrene had been unable to contact her spy since, but he had provided one detail: a name. Malvag. Qilue suspected that Malvag and the assassin who had stolen Nastasia's soul were one and the same.

"Did you overhear any names?" she asked Nastasia.

The priestess closed her eyes, thinking. Then she nodded. "House names," she answered. "Jaelre and Auzkovyn, and another name… Jezz. The assassin was angry with him. I think Jezz accused him of worshiping Lolth."

Qilue nodded, then turned to the others. "Whether Vhaeraun's faithful are capable of high magic or not," she continued, "this bodes ill for us."

"But the assassin's dead, isn't he?" one of the priestesses asked. "Isn't that what Eilistraee said?"

"That was her answer," Qilue said.

"Then there's nothing to worry about. That puts an end to the scheme right there."

Qilue gave the priestess a brief nod. She remained troubled, however. Malvag might indeed be dead, but the other clerics were obviously still carrying out his plan. Two nights before, one of Vhaeraun's faithful had been spotted trying to sneak into Eilistraee's temple in the Yuirwood. He had been driven off, but just the past night another attack had come, this time against the shrine in the Gray Forest. It had only been discovered that morning, when the murdered body of a priestess had been found.

As the four priestesses helped their revived companion to her feet, Qilue contacted the high priestess in the Gray Forest with a sending. The answer came a short time later in a whisper only Qilue could hear. It wasn't good news.

The priestess in the Gray Forest also had a square of darkness shrouding her lower face. Her soul, too, had been stolen.

Q'arlynd hurried through the woods, Flinderspeld jogging obediently behind. As they drew closer to the blare of horns, Q'arlynd could hear women shouting as well as the thrum of arrows in flight and the wet, chopping sound of weapons hitting flesh. Above and ahead, he could see dozens of figures hurtling through the treetops. One passed close enough for Q'arlynd to recognize it as a combination of spider and drow.

A drider? On the surface?

The creature spotted Q'arlynd. It hurled a dagger, but the weapon was deflected by Q'arlynd's protective spell and thunked into a nearby tree. The drider shrouded itself in a sphere of darkness as wide as the spreading branches of the tree. Before it could escape, however, Q'arlynd cast a spell, sending a pea-sized gout of fire streaking toward it. Heat bathed his face as it exploded, creating a fireball that filled the magical darkness. A heartbeat later, the blackened corpse of the drider tumbled from the tree, followed by burning branches.

Q'arlynd turned and plucked the drider's dagger from the tree. He handed it to Flinderspeld. "Stay right here. Don't fight unless you're forced to."

The gnome frowned. "I thought you said 'we' would join the battle."

Q'arlynd made a point of looking down at the deep gnome. Flinderspeld was tiny, barely half his height, the size of a child. "You're too valuable to throw away in combat," he told his slave. That said, he spoke the words to a glamor that rendered the deep gnome invisible. He drew his wand and strode toward the sounds of fighting.

The trees screened much of the battle, but it was well illuminated. Balls of silver-white light drifted through the trees, illuminating the scene with the brightness of several full moons, forcing the driders to squint. As he moved through the forest, Q'arlynd counted nearly three dozen of the creatures. The priestesses, many shielded by auras of protective magic, fought with sword and spell, singing as they attacked. Swords flew through the air as if guided by invisible hands, harrying the driders in the treetops.

The driders shifted position constantly, scuttling through the branches overhead and releasing arrows with deadly effect. One struck a priestess in the arm, a grazing wound, but she immediately reeled and fell. Poison. Another priestess rushed to her side and began a prayer, but a second drider dropped suddenly from a tree and landed on her back. As its fangs spread to bite, Q'arlynd blasted it with his wand. Jagged balls of ice smashed into the drider's chest, knocking it away from the priestess. The blows weren't enough to kill the thing, but the priestess finished the job, slashing with her sword in a backhand swing that decapitated the drider. As the head rolled toward Q'arlynd, he noted the pattern of fresh scars on its face which looked almost like a spiderweb. Odd.

The priestess looked to see who had come to her aid. Q'arlynd made a quick hand sign-ally-then bowed. The priestess nodded and went back to her healing spell.

Q'arlynd ran off to find more targets-making sure, whenever possible, that a priestess was on hand to observe him fighting. He battled the driders with blasts of ice, no longer caring if he depleted the magic of his wand. If the battle earned him a meeting with the high priestess, it would be worth it. He fought as well with the evocation spells he'd learned at the Conservatory. It felt good to be using his talents again. He blasted the driders with magic missiles or punched holes through them with jagged streaks of lightning. Once, when several priestesses were watching, he used the fur-wrapped rod that was that spell's material component to stitch a lightning bolt through four different targets, delighting in its flashy display of power.

At one point one of the driders-one also with a pattern of scars on its face-attempted to cast an enchantment on him. Q'arlynd had been trained to shield his mind, and he laughed aloud when the drider tried to implant a suggestion that he flee. He pummeled it with a blast from his wand and ran on, searching for Leliana and Rowaan.

He saw someone he thought was Leliana battling two driders, but when he got closer, he realized it was a different priestess entirely. She didn't seem to need his assistance. Q'arlynd watched, fascinated, as she released her sword, which sang as it flew through the air. As the weapon slashed at one of the driders, keeping it busy, she sang a prayer. Her hands swept down, calling a brilliant white light down from the night sky. It slammed into the second drider, knocking it to the ground. In the same instant, her sword stabbed the first drider through the heart. Then it flew back to the priestess's hand.

The streak of light had left Q'arlynd blinking. As his vision cleared, he realized the priestess faced yet another opponent-not a drider, but a drow, a male in armor as black and glossy as obsidian, holding a two-handed sword with an intricate basket hilt. The warrior's skin was covered in a tracery of fine white lines, similar to the scars Q'arlynd had seen on the driders' faces, except that the lines were glowing.

The warrior swung at the priestess, his blade hissing through the air. She dodged it-barely. The warrior whirled, his long white braid whipping through the air as he turned and slashed again. This blow the priestess tried to parry, but the warrior's sword sliced her blade off at the hilt. The priestess threw what remained aside and tried to cast a spell, but even as her lips shaped the first word of her prayer, the enormous black sword slashed straight down, cleaving through her body from head to groin. One half of the body toppled to the ground at once. The other half wavered a moment before falling. As Q'arlynd watched, both halves blackened then crumbled like soot. Soon all that was left was the woman's boots and armor, surrounded by a pool of rapidly blackening blood. This began to bubble, resolving itself into a foul slick of tiny spiders. The warrior dipped the point of his sword into them, and they scuttled up its blade. They disappeared into the steel, as if absorbed.

Q'arlynd realized he was just standing there, staring. Suddenly coming to his senses, he rendered himself invisible a heartbeat before the warrior turned.

The warrior stared in Q'arlynd's direction. He swung his sword in a slow arc until its point was aimed directly at Q'arlynd. The invisibility Q'arlynd had cloaked himself in vanished. He fumbled for his spell components, cursing his shaking hands. He was a battle mage, damn it. He'd faced down powerful enemies before. What in the Abyss was it about this warrior that made him so unnerving?

The eyes, Q'arlynd thought. Those pupils looked like spiders crawling around on the warrior's eyeballs. It felt as though they were about to scuttle straight into Q'arlynd's soul.

The warrior smiled.

Just as Q'arlynd finally found the spell components he'd been groping for, a drider called out to the warrior from overhead. "This way!" it shouted. "Another one that's too strong for us."

Shouldering the two-handed sword, the warrior strode away in the direction the drider had indicated, leaving Q'arlynd behind.

Q'arlynd closed his eyes and shivered. The warrior had let him go.

Why?

It took Q'arlynd several moments to regain his composure. When he had, he continued through the forest-less brazenly this time, constantly glancing over his shoulder for any sign of the spider-eyed warrior. He'd almost forgotten that he'd been looking for Leliana when he suddenly spotted her just ahead. She was on her own, surrounded by three driders, all with scarred faces.

He reached into the pocket of his piwafwi then hesitated. No one else was around, and it looked as though Leliana would be fighting on her own. He decided to wait and see what happened. If the driders killed her, well and good. It would save him the trouble of doing something that a truth spell might later reveal.

He stepped back behind a tree, out of sight, and settled in to watch, arms folded across his chest.

Even though it was three against one, Leliana put up a good fight, but then a fourth drider pounced on her from above, dropping swiftly out of a cloud of darkness. The priestess smashed it aside with her sword, but one of the other three driders leaped forward and sank its fangs into her thigh, just below the hem of her chain mail. She cried out but didn't immediately fall-possibly she had some magical protection against poison. Then the drider tore its fangs free of her flesh. Blood sprayed from the wound, splashing a tree several paces away. The bite had opened an artery. Leliana crumpled, her face ashen gray.

That was it then. The driders had done the job for Q'arlynd, just as he'd hoped.

Three of the driders levitated away from the body and scurried off into the treetops. The fourth, however, lingered. From behind the tree, Q'arlynd aimed his fur-wrapped rod at the creature and spoke a word, hurling a lightning bolt at it. The drider never saw it coming. The bolt struck the back of its head, blasting it from the creature's body. Spider legs crumpled beneath a smoking corpse.

Q'arlynd thought he heard movement in the woods behind him then. It was difficult to tell, with all of the noise of battle, but a quick glance revealed nothing. He walked toward Leliana, intending to ensure that she was dead. As he stared down at her body, he felt a momentary twinge of an unfamiliar emotion. It was unfortunate, really, that she had to die. Leliana was an attractive female, and he'd enjoyed their verbal sparring matches.

He shook off the feeling. The world was harsh. Leliana had been about to carve Q'arlynd up for the amusement of her goddess. But instead she wouldn't be able to tell the others about the priestess who had died in Ched Nasad. What was done was done.

Or was it? Q'arlynd heard something that sounded like a ragged breath. He glanced down at his feet and saw the priestess's eyelashes flutter. Was Leliana still alive?

He readied a spell, one that would finish her off without leaving too much of a mark, but for some reason, he felt a lingering reluctance to do what must be done. Brutally, he shoved this useless sentiment aside and sighted along his finger at Leliana's chest. A faint haze of magical energy danced at his fingertip.

Behind him, he heard someone shouting Leliana's name. Rowaan. She was practically upon him-close enough that she'd witness whatever he did next. That changed things. Adopting a protective pose over Leliana, Q'arlynd sent the magical bolt into the body of the drider he'd already killed. Then he turned and prostrated himself on the ground.

"There were four of them, Mistress, attacking Leliana," he cried. He gestured at the one he'd blasted with his lightning bolt. "I killed one and drove the others off."

Behind him, Leliana's breath rattled raggedly in and out. In moments she would be dead.

Rowaan barely acknowledged him. She fell to her knees at Leliana's side, a stricken expression on her face. Q'arlynd raised his head slightly, watching. His wand was still in his hand, and he shifted position so that it pointed directly at Rowaan. As soon as an opportunity presented itself, he'd blast her with it.

Rowaan ignored him. She lifted her right hand and brushed her lips against the platinum band on her index finger, whispering something. Then she clenched her hand and closed her eyes.

Q'arlynd knew the moment he'd been waiting for had arrived, but curiosity stayed his hand. A moment later, his eyes widened as Rowaan cried out in anguish. He glanced around, expecting to see a drider, but no attackers were visible. By the time he'd returned his attention to Rowaan, she lay on the ground, her face gray and her breathing shallow and ragged. There was a ragged gash in her thigh, a wound identical to the one that had felled the other priestess, and Leliana, amazingly, was sitting up. There wasn't a mark on her. It was as if the drider attack hadn't even happened.

Rowaan gave one final gurgle then died.

Leliana's first action was to glance at Rowaan and cry out. Her second, upon seeing Q'arlynd staring at her, wand in hand, was to raise her sword.

"Mistress, wait!" he shouted. He pointed at the lightning-blasted drider. "I tried to save your life by killing him. Is this the thanks I get?"

She hesitated. She glanced at the dead drider and slowly lowered her sword. She turned to Rowaan and pressed her fingers against the dead priestess's throat in several places, searching for a life pulse without success. Still ignoring Q'arlynd, she raised her own ring to her lips.

Q'arlynd shook his head. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Those weren't slave rings, they instead seemed to transfer wounds from one person to the next. Rowaan had willingly forfeited her own life to save Leliana, and Leliana was about to attempt the same.

Eilistraee's followers were insane.

Or perhaps there was some other reason for their actions that Q'arlynd didn't know about yet. Perhaps priestesses who died in battle received some boon from their goddess after death. Rowaan might have just snatched that honor from Leliana by dying in her place, and the other priestess wanted to take it back again.

Except that the expression on Leliana's face was not one of anger at having been cheated but of anguish.

Before Q'arlynd could ponder that mystery further, another priestess came rushing through the woods-one of those Q'arlynd had aided earlier. Leliana lowered the hand that wore the ring. Apparently she wanted to continue living, after all.

"Rowaan's been killed!" she cried. "Help her!"

As the priestess set to work, Leliana whirled to face Q'arlynd. "You followed us here. Why?"

"I hoped to prove myself a worthy addition to Eilistraee's forces, Mistress," he said, bowing. He was used to angry females and knew exactly what to say, and his words were no longer constrained by a truth spell. "I thought that by joining the fight, I might atone for… that unfortunate accident in Ched Nasad. I arrived as you were battling the four driders. I managed to kill the one you see here, but the other three escaped. Surely, in light of the assistance I've just rendered, you will reconsider your earlier decision to kill me?"

Leliana blinked. "Kill you? What makes you think-"

A low groan interrupted her. The priestess who had just cast the restorative spell sat back and whispered a prayer of thanks to her goddess.

Rowaan was alive again.

Leliana fell to her knees and embraced her. She touched the ring on Rowaan's finger. "That was bravely done, Rowaan."

Rowaan gave a weak shrug. "No need for thanks." She nodded at the woman who had raised her from death. "I knew Chezzara would be along eventually."

"Even so," Leliana said. "Death weakened you. Your magic will never be as strong."

"You would do the same for me, Mother. I know you would."

Q'arlynd's eyes widened slightly at that. He gave a mental nod. He'd already noted the resemblance between the two priestesses, yet he was surprised to hear that they were mother and daughter. Normally, among the drow, that counted for little. "Blood," as the old expression went, "was only a dagger-thrust deep." Mothers, more often than not, outlived their daughters-the slightest hint of treachery was met with brutal retaliation. But Leliana and Rowaan seemed to share something more than a mere House name: one of those rare bonds of genuine affection.

Elsewhere in the woods, swords clashed and a woman cried Eilistraee's name, reminding them that the battle still raged.

"I'm needed," the priestess who had raised Rowaan said. She pointed at Q'arlynd. "And so is he. Whoever he is, he's a formidable fighter, and it's not just driders we're facing. There's a judicator fighting alongside them."

Both Leliana and Rowaan startled.

The healer, that dire pronouncement made, turned and hurried away into the woods.

Leliana helped Rowaan sit up then turned to Q'arlynd. She stared at him a long moment then inclined her head. "Thank you."

Q'arlynd bowed. "My pleasure, but before we rejoin the battle, I have one question. What's a judicator?"

"One of Selvetarm's champions," Leliana answered.

"One of his clerics?" Q'arlynd asked. He shuddered at the memory of spider-pupiled eyes.

"More." Leliana's expression grim. "Much more." Judging by the abrupt way the scream had cut off, another priestess had just found that out.

As the sun rose the next morning, Flinderspeld wandered through the forest, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun. Drider corpses were everywhere-draped over tree branches and splayed on the ground in a litter of shattered legs, blood, and smashed chitin. Strangely, he hadn't seen any dead priestesses, though there was evidence that several had died. Three times, he found a breastplate sliced entirely in two, atop a crumpled pile of chain mail and boots and with a sword lying nearby. It was as if the women who had died wearing the armor had suddenly vanished, leaving their weapons and equipment behind.

Flinderspeld was very, very glad that he hadn't met up with whatever had done that.

He spotted a living priestess a short distance ahead and hurried toward her. Torn links dangled from a slash in her chain mail, and her breastplate was drenched with blood. She stood, sword blade resting on her shoulder, staring down at another pile of empty armor.

"Ah, excuse me," Flinderspeld asked. "I'm looking for the priestess Vlashiri. Leliana told me to seek her out."

The woman looked at him with hollow, exhausted eyes. "You found her."

Flinderspeld couldn't believe his luck. He held up the finger that bore the slave ring. "Leliana said you could remove the curse from this slave ring."

"That's no longer possible."

Flinderspeld blinked. "But Leliana promised. She-"

"Too late for promises," the priestess said. "Vlashiri's… gone. There isn't anything left of her to resurrect."

"Oh." Flinderspeld looked down at the empty armor, suddenly realizing that the priestess he was speaking to wasn't Vlashiri, after all. "Is there anyone else who could…?"

The look in the woman's eye silenced him. "Not any more. Not at this shrine, at least." Then she sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just that… Try the Promenade, near Waterdeep. That's our main temple. Several of the priestesses there are familiar with curses. Perhaps one of them could help you."

Flinderspeld nodded politely, though he had never heard of the place. Even if this "Waterdeep" was only a league away, he was unlikely to reach it. He'd managed to avoid his master during the frenzy of the past night's drider attack, but with the battle over, sooner or later Q'arlynd would-

As if on cue, he felt his master's awareness slide into his mind, like a dagger into a well-oiled sheath. Flinderspeld turned and saw the wizard walking toward him.

"Ah, Flinderspeld. There you are. I was worried you might have vanished."

Not a good choice of words, Master, Flinderspeld thought back, pointedly nodding at the empty armor.

Q'arlynd paled. Flinderspeld wondered why Vlashiri's empty armor unnerved his master so.

"Vlashiri's dead?" Q'arlynd asked, repeating aloud the information he had just plucked from Flinderspeld's mind. The wizard glanced at the ring on Flinderspeld's hand. "I suppose you'll have to find someone else to remove that ring then, won't you?"

If that's meant to be a joke, it isn't funny.

Q'arlynd wagged a finger at him. "Don't be so bitter, Flinderspeld. This isn't the time for it. I'm about to accept Eilistraee as my patron deity. You're going to be my witness. Come."

Dutifully, Flinderspeld trudged after his master. He had no choice. If he disobeyed, Q'arlynd would take over his body and march him along like a puppet. Flinderspeld had borne that stoically, back in Ched Nasad-as a slave in a drow city, his only chance at survival had been to obey his master, and Q'arlynd, for all his bluster, had never harmed him. After what Flinderspeld had seen the past night, he was starting to question his master's decency. Flinderspeld, invisible, had followed Q'arlynd. He'd seen his master stand idly by while the driders killed Leliana. He'd also noted the flicker of magical energy around Q'arlynd's hands as he stared down at her near-fatal wounds-a flicker that always preceded a deadly magical bolt. Until that moment, Flinderspeld had thought that his master joined the battle to prove himself to the priestesses, but he soon understood that Q'arlynd must have intended to kill Leliana and Rowaan all along.

It was something Flinderspeld should have anticipated. He'd been stupid to think that his master was different from other dark elves.

Q'arlynd led him to a section of the forest that was littered with broken chunks of stone, the ruins of buildings that had fallen long ago. Eventually, they came to an odd-looking structure that must have been a shrine to the drow sword goddess. It consisted of a dozen sword-shaped columns of black obsidian, set point-first into a circular platform of white stone. The hilts of the column-swords were flattened, and supported a circular roof, also of white stone, that had a hole at its center. The shrine looked ancient, its moon-shaped roof weathered until its edges were softly rounded.

Flinderspeld admired the columns as they approached the shrine through the ground-hugging mist. Obsidian was a difficult stone to work with, its brittle edges constantly flaking and splitting. Whoever had carved the rounded contours of those sword hilts was a master, and they'd also known how to use magic. Even after centuries of exposure to the elements, the edges of those swords still looked sharp. There was dried blood on one of them-blood shed, presumably, by driders.

A priestess, still in blood-splattered chain mail and with the fresh scars of magically healed wounds visible against her black skin, waited at the center of the shrine. As Q'arlynd and Flinderspeld approached, she beckoned them to join her. Q'arlynd stepped into the shrine without hesitation. Flinderspeld was more wary. He could sense the haze of magic that surrounded the shrine. It was accompanied by a sound like the high-pitched voices of women distantly singing. Flinderspeld tested the space between two of the sword-columns with a finger, half expecting to encounter some sort of magical barrier. Then, cautiously, he stepped into the shrine.

As the priestess drew her sword, Flinderspeld edged behind his master. He watched warily as she handed the weapon to Q'arlynd, wondering what his own part was to be.

His master "swore on his sword," cutting a nick in his palm as he spoke. Prompted by the priestess, Q'arlynd vowed that he did, indeed, want to honor Eilistraee above all other deities, by joining her faith as a lay worshiper. He promised to use his magic to aid the weak and to battle Eilistraee's enemies, and to obey her priestesses-something that would probably come naturally to Q'arlynd after a lifetime spent in subservience to the women of Ched Nasad. The final oath was a vow to work selflessly to "bring other drow into the light" and treat everyone he met with kindness, until they should prove themselves unworthy of receiving it.

Flinderspeld would believe that when he saw it.

Q'arlynd completed his oath and handed the sword back to the priestess. She bent and offered the blade to Flinderspeld. It took him a moment to realize that he was being asked to join her faith. He glanced, sidelong, at his master. What do you want me to do?

Q'arlynd waved a hand dismissively. "That's up to you."

Then, surprisingly, Q'arlynd withdrew from his mind.

It was a test of some sort, but Flinderspeld had no idea how to pass it. Did his master expect him to swear allegiance to the drow goddess? Or to refuse, and make Q'arlynd's "conversion" all the more significant?

The priestess stared down at him. Waiting.

At last, Flinderspeld summoned up the courage to shake his head. Firmly. He had his own patron deity. He wanted no part of any drow religion. "I cannot join your faith," he told the priestess. "I am sworn to Callarduran Smoothhands."

"Very well." The priestess seemed unconcerned by his refusal. She slid the sword back into its sheath and turned to Q'arlynd. "It is done. Welcome to the light, Q'arlynd Melarn. May you serve Eilistraee well."

Q'arlynd bowed. "Would you excuse us, Lady?" His hand gripped Flinderspeld's shoulder. "My friend here is leaving. I'd like a few moments to say good-bye to him."

Flinderspeld's heart beat rapidly as the priestess left the shrine. What did his master not want her to see? It was pointless to call out to the priestess, for Q'arlynd would only clamp down with his mental hold. Instead Flinderspeld obeyed the wizard's mental command, following him into the woods. They walked in silence for several hundred paces before Q'arlynd halted and slid a hand into a pocket of his piwafwi-the pocket where he kept his spell components. Flinderspeld's eyes widened.

"Wait!" he told his master. "I won't tell anyone!"

Q'arlynd frowned. "You won't tell anyone what?"

Flinderspeld swallowed nervously. "You must have read my mind," he whispered. "You know I was there, watching, when you let those driders kill Leliana."

"Ah. That." Q'arlynd spread his hands. "There were four of them, and my magic was almost depleted," he said smoothly. "I couldn't possibly have killed them all. I knew another of the priestesses would come along, sooner or later, to revive Leliana, but I wasn't sure if they'd do the same for me. I couldn't run the risk of being killed." The expression of regret he adopted looked genuine, and Flinderspeld wondered if he might have been wrong about what he saw after all.

"Now give me your hand," Q'arlynd ordered.

Flinderspeld did, wondering what was coming next.

Q'arlynd batted the hand aside. "Not that one, fool. Your left hand."

When Flinderspeld hesitated, Q'arlynd bent down and grabbed it, then yanked off the glove. The wizard spoke a few words in the drow language then pulled the ring from Flinderspeld's index finger.

The slave ring.

Off.

Flinderspeld gasped. "What are… Why did…?"

The wizard flipped the ring into the air, caught it, then tucked it away into a pocket of his piwafwi. "I'm one of Eilistraee's faithful, now," he said. "That's what we do. 'Treat everyone with kindness.' "

"But…"

Q'arlynd sighed and spread his hands. "All right, so I have an ulterior motive. Consider this: I'm going to remain on the surface, at least for a time, among Eilistraee's priestesses. If I keep you with me, you're certain to stumble across another priestess who can remove curses. The ring was coming off your finger sooner or later-and if a priestess removed it, the ring's magic would be forever negated." He patted the pocket into which he'd slipped the ring. "This way, I hang onto my property, or," he quirked an eyebrow, "part of it, at least."

"I see," Flinderspeld said, and he was starting to.

Q'arlynd liked to pretend he was as cruel and heartless as any drow, but his actions too often were at odds with his words. It wouldn't have been hard for the wizard to keep Flinderspeld firmly in tow and prevent him from asking the priestesses for help.

Q'arlynd stood with his hands on his hips. "Now I'm going to make sure that you don't tell anyone what you saw."

Flinderspeld blanched. "You're not going to blast me as I walk away, are you?"

Q'arlynd snorted. "Why would I want to kill you? You're valuable property."

"I'm your property no more."

"That's true." Q'arlynd said. He stroked his chin. "What I'm going to do is send you away. Somewhere far from here, ideally-somewhere Eilistraee's priestesses are not. You can choose wherever you'd like to go. Just name the place, and I'll teleport you there."

Flinderspeld's jaw dropped. He searched his master's face, looking for some clue as to whether the offer was genuine. "Really?"

Q'arlynd's lips twisted. "Really."

Flinderspeld scratched his bare scalp, thinking. Despite all of the times he'd fantasized about escape, he'd never quite settled that question. "I don't know where I'd like to go," he answered truthfully. "Blingdenstone's destroyed- there's even less left of it than of Ched Nasad. Perhaps one of the lesser svirfneblin settlements-if there's a guild that will have me."

Q'arlynd nodded. "I understand. You have no home, no House. Nothing." He gave an overly harsh laugh, probably intended to sound cruel. "All you have is-"

The wizard halted abruptly and glanced away.

Flinderspeld looked up into his former master's face, suddenly realizing what Q'arlynd was trying to say. The drow wizard had actually grown fond of him over the past three years. They shared a common bond, after all-home and family, destroyed. Q'arlynd was going to miss Flinderspeld.

Perhaps, he thought, they weren't so different after all. Flinderspeld himself had remained hidden while Q'arlynd had battled his way through the woods thick with driders. For a few moments, when he'd lost sight of Q'arlynd, he'd hoped that his master was dead.

Flinderspeld shrugged. "You weren't such a bad master," he told the wizard. "Any other drow would have killed me for my 'insolence' long ago."

Q'arlynd snorted. "Don't remind me of my faults." His voice hardened. "Choose where you want to go. Quickly, before I change my mind and decide to blast you after all."

"All right," Flinderspeld said. "How about Silverymoon? Our city maintained a trading post there."

"Fine."

"Have you ever been to Silverymoon?"

Q'arlynd smiled. "Never."

Flinderspeld didn't like the sound of that. "Then how will you teleport me there? Don't you need to have visited the city yourself?" He wet his lips nervously. "I heard that if a teleportation misses its target, a person could get 'scrambled,' maybe even die."

Q'arlynd reached into the pocket where he'd placed the slave ring. "If you're afraid of a little jump, then perhaps I should rescind my offer."

"No, no!" Flinderspeld said quickly. "I'll go. It just sounds… dangerous."

"It is," Q'arlynd said. "That's what makes it so much fun." He pulled out the slave ring and held it out. "I want you to put this on again."

Flinderspeld frowned. Had Q'arlynd been teasing him? Was this all some sort of elaborate joke?

"You only need to wear it for a moment," Q'arlynd said impatiently. "Just long enough for me to observe your thoughts while you visualize a specific location in Silverymoon, one I can teleport to. I need to be able to 'see' it in order to target my spell."

After a moment's hesitation, Flinderspeld held out his hand. "There's a cavern, close to the surface, under the main marketplace. That's where the svirfneblin merchants camp when they visit the city."

"Good." Q'arlynd dropped the ring into Flinderspeld's palm. "Visualize it, in as much detail as you can."

Flinderspeld slipped on the ring and scrunched his eyes shut. He pictured the cavern as he'd last seen it, carefully picturing every rock and cranny. After several moments, the wizard tapped him on the head.

"That's enough," Q'arlynd said. "You can stop now." He removed the ring from Flinderspeld's finger and pocketed it again. He whispered something, and glanced down at Flinderspeld, magic crackling faintly around his fingertips. "Ready?"

Flinderspeld gulped. Nodded. "Good-bye, Q'arlynd, and thanks. If you ever-"

Q'arlynd laughed. "Idiot," he said. "Don't say good-bye yet. I'll be accompanying you."

Q'arlynd's stomach lurched as he found himself plummeting in empty space. Flinderspeld howled in terror as the cavern floor rushed up to meet them. Q'arlynd tightened his hold on the deep gnome's shirt and activated his House insignia, halting their descent just before they hit the floor. He twisted upright and his feet found the floor.

The cavern was just as Flinderspeld had pictured it-a wide space with a leveled floor and a stalactite-studded ceiling. Crates, baskets, pack lizards, and camp gear filled it. The two dozen svirfneblin who were camped there leaped to their feet, shouting in alarm, as Q'arlynd and Flinderspeld materialized in front of them. One of them threw a dagger, which glanced off the protective shield Q'arlynd had surrounded himself with.

Flinderspeld held up his hands and shouted something in his own language, but the other deep gnomes only glared at him. Q'arlynd was probably making them nervous.

"Go on," he said, giving Flinderspeld a gentle shove forward. "Talk to them. I'm sure they'll come around eventually. They seem friendly enough."

Flinderspeld looked unconvinced.

Q'arlynd saw another of the deep gnomes load then crank a crossbow. He waved to his former slave. "Good luck!" Then he teleported away.

He returned, still laughing, to the forest. Now that had been a leap! He hadn't expected the ceiling to be so low. As remembered by Flinderspeld, the cavern had seemed huge.

He wondered if he'd ever see the deep gnome again. He hoped the other svirfneblin didn't kill his former slave, even though he realized that that would ensure the deep gnome would never betray him. He told himself there were practical reasons for setting Flinderspeld free. For one thing, if Q'arlynd was subjected to another truth spell, he would be able to honestly say that the deep gnome had gone willingly on his way and come to no harm. And if he ever needed the deep gnome to perform a service for him in the future, Flinderspeld's gratitude at having his life spared could be manipulated into a sense of obligation.

Even so, Q'arlynd was going to miss him.

Q'arlynd shoved the thought aside. It was no time for sentiment. He had to get on with the task at hand-meeting Qilue and winning a place for himself in her House.