Lisa Smedman: Sacrifice of the Widow

Qilue gasped as her awareness blossomed inside Halisstra's body. All of Halisstra's senses were hers. Qilue could smell the harsh, hot wind that howled through the chasm behind her, could feel the aching chill of the souls that streamed past overhead, and she could smell the foul breath of the draegloth as it sneered down at her.

"My mistress has not abandoned me, heretic," the draegloth spat.

From inside Halisstra's awareness, Qilue could see that the priestess was not alone. Some distance behind the draegloth stood a moon elf with pale skin and dark brown hair: Feliane, the other priestess who had accompanied Halisstra on her quest. Feliane panted, as if she'd just been in battle, but the thin-bladed sword in her hand was unbloodied. She moved toward the draegloth with faltering steps, hugging her ribs with her free arm, and wincing with each inhalation of breath.

Danifae was fully behind Halisstra, and the priestess could no longer see her. Qilue fought to turn Halisstra's head in that direction, but Halisstra's attention remained wholly fixed on the draegloth. She trusted the woman-saw her not as a battle-captive seething with a thirst for revenge, but as an ally. A friend.

Qilue shouted from inside Halisstra's head. "Halisstra! Behind you! Watch Danifae!"

Too late. Qilue's awareness exploded into pain as Danifae's morningstar slammed into Halisstra's back, smashing the priestess to her hands and knees.

Halisstra understood it all then. The pain of betrayal was even greater than the sharp ache of her shattered ribs. You could have warned me, Halisstra thought.

The bitter rebuke was directed at Eilistraee, but it was Qilue who answered, I tried.

Halisstra, at last hearing her, nodded weakly.

Danifae's morningstar slammed into her back a second time, knocking her to the ground. She dimly heard Danifae give an order to the draegloth, then its bestial roar.

Feliane answered with a battle song.

Danifae's fingers twined in Halisstra's hair and yanked her head up.

"Watch," Danifae said, her voice a harsh gloat.

Qilue did, through Halisstra's eyes. Feliane wounded the draegloth, but the monster didn't even slow. He slammed Feliane to the ground and began tearing at the priestess's body with his fangs.

Feliane screamed as her stomach was torn open.

Halisstra's vision blurred with tears.

Another gone to Eilistraee. Only Halisstra was left, and her mind was filled with despair and doubt.

"Have faith, Halisstra!" Qilue cried. "Eilistraee will-"

Danifae slammed a fist into Halisstra's temple. Sparks of pain exploded inside Qilue's mind as well, disrupting her awareness. She fought to cling to it as Halisstra coughed, weakly, blood dribbling from her lips. Halisstra turned her head slightly, looking up at Danifae. The other drow swung her morningstar in a lazy arc, her face ugly with cruel mirth.

Halisstra's despair brimmed over. I am not worthy, she thought. I have failed.

"No!" Qilue shouted. "You-"

Too late. She lost the connection. Her awareness was back in her own body, and she stared into the font. Perhaps it was not too late. She summoned silver fire and stabbed a finger into the water, unleashing a beam of pure white flame. Instead of blasting Danifae, however, the magical flame skipped off the surface of the holy water like a stone and ricocheted into the night.

The water in the font rippled, obscuring the scrying. Qilue could see movement-fragmentary glimpses of what was going on. A flash of silver: the Crescent Blade, picked up by Danifae and tossed contemptuously aside. The head of a morningstar, swinging in a deadly arc. Halisstra's eyes, brimming with tears. Danifae's face, twisted with hatred as she spat. Sound was likewise garbled. Halisstra's voice, faintly whispering, "Why?" Danifae's voice, haughty and triumphant: "… weak."

Qilue thrust a hand at the moon, clutching desperately for some other magic that could be channeled through the scrying.

"Eilistraee!" she cried. "Hear me! Your Chosen needs your aid!"

Behind her, the six lesser priestesses shot uneasy glances at one another. They crowded closer, prayers tumbling from their lips. "Eilistraee," they crooned. Swaying, they placed their hands on Qilue's shoulders, lending power to her prayer. Silver fire built once more around Qilue, brighter than before, but slowly. Too slowly.

The ripples in the font cleared. Words bubbled up from its depths. Danifae's voice, gloating.

"Good-bye, Halisstra."

Then the whistle of a descending morningstar.

Qilue heard a dull crunch, a sound like wet wood splintering. She looked down and saw collapsed bone and blood where Halisstra's face had been.

"No!" she cried as the image slowly faded from the font.

She plunged a hand into the water as if trying to pluck Halisstra from it. Holy water slopped over the edges of the font, trickling down its smooth stone sides like a flood of tears. Qilue channeled everything she had into one last spell and felt the water grow as warm as blood. Eilistraee had granted her the power to heal the most grievous of wounds with a touch. Even if Halisstra had slipped beyond life's door, Qilue could resurrect her with a word, but could the spell reach her? Would it have any effect in the domain of Eilistraee's greatest enemy?

It might. Lolth was silent, after all, her priestesses bereft of their power. That was why Halisstra had been sent on this quest, except that something had turned Qilue's last spell, and the souls streaming into the darkened tunnel had been moving towards… something.

The font was quiet and still. Images no longer filled it. Qilue lifted her dripping hand from the water.

One of the priestesses leaned closer, stared down into the font's blank depths. "Mistress Qilue," she whispered-mistakenly addressing her, in a moment of extreme tension, as a drow of the Underdark would address her matron. "Is she… dead? Is all lost?"

The other priestesses held their breath, waiting for Qilue's reply.

Qilue glanced up at the moon. Eilistraee's moon. Selune shone brightly, not yet diminished, the Tears of Selune twinkling in its wake.

"There is still hope," she told them. "There is always hope."

She needed to believe that, yet deep in her heart was a sliver of doubt.

Qilue stood beside the font for the rest of the night. The other priestesses crowded around her for a time, and she answered their nervous questions as soothingly as she could. When at last they fell silent, she sought to touch the mind of Eilistraee.

In a moonlit glade, deep in a forest that needed only the moon's light to thrive and grow, she found her goddess. Eilistraee was a drow-shaped glimmer of unspeakably beautiful radiance. Qilue touched that with her mind. She needed no lips to frame her question. The goddess poured moonlight into her heart, throwing the words that were scribed upon it into sharp relief. She answered in a voice that flowed like liquid silver.

"House Melarn will aid me yet."

Qilue sighed her relief. All was not lost. Not yet. If Eilistraee had indeed heard Qilue's prayer and revived Halisstra, there was still a chance that the Melarn priestess would slay Lolth.

"And House Melarn will betray me."

The glow that was the goddess flickered and grew dim.

Qilue started. Her awareness was back in her body again. She stood in the forest beside the font, the connection with her goddess at an end. The priestesses who had aided in her scrying were seated on the ground, clothed. Snow dusted their hair and shoulders. More snow fell and the sun was rising, a blood-red smudge against the clouds to the east. Much time had passed since Qilue had slipped into communion with Eilistraee, and the hand that gripped the edge of the font was covered in snow. She shook it off and shivered.

Something was wrong. She could feel it in the sick hollow that had opened in her stomach. Turning to the font, she cast a second scrying. Far easier than the first had been, its target was on Toril, at least, not in some deep hollow of the Abyss. The target was the matron mother of one of the noble Houses of Menzoberranzan-a priestess of Lolth. Qilue leaned closer and saw that the drow was wielding magic.