Lisa Smedman - Sacrifice of the Widow

Iljrene was waiting for Qilue in the Hall of Healing, beside another priestess Qilue knew well-Leliana. Qilue had taken Leliana's sword-oath more than a century ago, when she had first come up from below.

Leliana turned, a stricken look on her face, as Qilue entered. "Lady Qilue," she said. "It's my daughter Rowaan. The Nightshadows killed her and Chezzara can't raise her from the dead. Her soul…"

Qilue touched Leliana's arm. "Let's be certain first." She glanced past Leliana at the alcove where two novice priestesses hastily prepared a bed on which to lay a body. Two other priestesses-both just teleported from the Misty Forest, judging by the snowflakes still melting in their hair-stood by, holding the corners of a damp blanket on which Rowaan's body lay. Even in death, she looked remarkably like her mother.

Qilue moved closer and noted the telltale mark of an assassin's cord around Rowaan's neck. She murmured a prayer of detection, and a distinctive shadow appeared across the lower half of the dead priestess's face.

Leliana moaned.

"Tell me about the attack," Qilue prompted.

"It happened late last night," one of the priestesses holding the blanket answered. "The Nightshadow who did it got away. So did the one who aided him."

Leliana's face twisted with anguish. "It's my fault," she blurted. "I was stupid. I trusted him."

Qilue frowned, not quite understanding. "This second Nightshadow-you knew him?"

Leliana nodded. "He posed as a petitioner." A bitter laugh burst from her lips. "He even took the sword-oath, but he betrayed us in the end. He dispelled the glyph on Rowaan's door then kept me talking while the other Nightshadow went into her room and…" Her voice faltered, and her eyes strayed to the priestesses who were gently laying her daughter's body on the floor. "Stole her soul."

Leliana tore her eyes away from the body of her daughter. She took a deep breath then spoke again, shaking her head all the while. "I still can't understand it. I questioned him under a truth spell, and he gave his name and the details of his coming to the surface readily enough. He wasn't truly a petitioner-he only sought us out in order to find his sister-but he fought beside us when the judicator attacked, and later, when he took the sword-oath, I thought that perhaps he had-"

"Leliana," Qilue said, cutting the other priestess off in mid-flow with a touch on the arm. "You're getting ahead of yourself. One piece of the story at a time, please. What name did this male give?"

"Q'arlynd Melarn."

Qilue' gasped. Moonfire danced on her skin, washing the cavern with light. There was the second coin, dropped at her feet. It had landed, as Eilistraee had foretold, on the side that was betrayal. "Tell me everything about this male-and swiftly, but start at the beginning this time."

Qilue listened as Leliana's tale unfolded, occasionally interrupting with a question. When it was done, she stood in thought for several moments. "It seems odd that he confessed his knowledge of Vhaeraun to you on the very night the Nightshadow struck."

"Q'arlynd must be a Nightshadow," Leliana insisted. "He even admitted attending their meetings."

"Did he really?" Qilue said softly. An idea was beginning to take shape. "And now he's promised himself to Eilistraee." She paused. "Perhaps he's the one that will aid her."

"Aid who, Lady Qilue?" one of the other priestesses asked.

Qilue, lost in thought, didn't answer. If Q'arlynd was the Melarn who would aid Eilistraee, that meant Halisstra would betray the goddess. Cavatina knew how to take care of herself-she was skilled in hunting demons, and used to trickery-but even so, Qilue worried that she might have sent the Darksong Knight to her death. She steeled herself, telling herself it had to be done. Such sacrifices were necessary, if the drow were to be brought into Eilistraee's light. In the meantime, the new development had to be dealt with.

She stared down at the faint square of black that shrouded Rowaan's face. "Q'arlynd came directly from Ched Nasad, you say?"

Leliana nodded. "Through the portal in the ruins of Hlaungadath."

"Let's hope he tries to return the same way."

Q'arlynd squatted in the tiny patch of shadow cast by the wall, squinting at the portal. An entire night he'd tried to activate it, and nothing had happened. He'd thought it would be a simple matter-a repetition of the phrase that had triggered its magic from the other side back in Ched Nasad, but though he'd read the Draconic characters precisely as written, the space inside the arch remained a blank stone wall. He might as well have knocked on it with his head, for all the good it had done.

In full daylight, the sun beating down overhead, the glare rendered him almost blind. He wondered, for the hundredth time, if he should just give up on the portal and make his way to the closest Underdark city instead. Eryndlyn lay somewhere beneath ancient Miyeritar. Perhaps one of its merchant Houses could use a battle mage to accompany their trading missions. It would be a big step down from his hopes, but it would at least be something.

A sudden noise made him startle. Another lamia? Quickly, he rendered himself invisible. As he rose to his feet, he reached inside his pouch for components for a fire spell. He waited, sulfur-gum in hand, as footsteps approached the doorway to the room in which he stood.

A shadow fell across the floor, a shadow with the outline of a drow. A naked drow-and female, too. Q'arlynd almost laughed. How stupid did the lamias think he was? Still, he had to admire the detail they'd put into their illusion. Those curves were very enticing.

He pulled the quartz crystal from his pouch. With it, he'd be able to see through the lamia's illusions-and pinpoint the creature so that he could incinerate it where it stood. As the shadow lengthened, he activated his insignia and rose into the air, out of the roofless building.

Below him, a drow female appeared to step into the room. Q'arlynd squinted through the crystal at her, expecting to see either the bare stone of the floor below the illusion-or a lamia, underneath a drow-shaped glamor. Instead he saw a female who was tall and beautiful, with silver hair and a proud bearing, like the matron mother of a noble House. She wore a gauzy silver robe that did little to hide the dark curves beneath. A sword hung from a scabbard on her belt, and she wore a bracer on her right forearm that served as a sheath for a dagger. In her left hand, she held a curious looking metal wand with a knob at either end. Eilistraee's holy symbol hung from a chain around her neck. She had a deeply lined face and somber expression, but despite her age she looked as fit as a female in her first century of life. Regardless of the obvious threat she posed-perhaps because of it-he found her intensely attractive. She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Q'arlynd lowered his crystal. The priestess was real. She must have been sent to find him, to kill him. He placed a foot atop the ruined wall and gently pushed off, at the same time taking aim with the sulfur-gum.

Without warning, his levitation ended, sending him crashing into the street below. He rose, gasping and spitting blood from a cut lip. As he did, the priestess turned and glanced out into the street. She stared straight at him-seeing him. His invisibility must also have ended.

"Q'arlynd?"

He flicked the pinch of sulfur-gum at her and shouted the words of his spell. The tiny ball streaked through the air, igniting in mid-flight. It struck the priestess on the shoulder, immediately expanding into a violent ball of searing fire. Much of it washed back onto Q'arlynd-something it shouldn't have done.

He scrambled to his feet, his hair and skin singed from the blast, furiously blinking away the fiery afterimage that obscured his vision. He expected to see a charred body lying on the ground, but when his vision cleared the priestess was just standing there, completely unscathed. A nimbus of silver fire surrounded her naked body like a second skin, and her hair was one long, sparkling streak of silver. A candle-sized flame flickered at one end of the wand she held, and she raised it to her lips and blew it out.