Lisa Smedman - Sacrifice of the Widow

"Selvetarm?" he whispered.

He felt nothing. Only… emptiness.

The priestess bent, scooping up her weapon with her off hand. Dhairn ducked instinctively as silver flashed within a hair's breadth of his face. He danced backward, weaving to avoid her sword. Something had happened to his weapon, something inexplicable, but he still had his spells. He raised a hand to cast one-and blinked in surprise at his skin, which had turned a clear, solid black.

The white lines-Selvetarm's holy web-were gone.

The priestess's sword flashed down. Too late, he jerked his hand back. The blade bit into it midway between the fingers, splitting the hand lengthwise. He howled in anguish-then turned the howl into a shout. "Selvetarm!" he cried, trying to summon up the battle fury that would carry him past the pain, but the cry rang hollow in his ears.

He would not faint from the pain. He could not. Forcing his body into a spin, he whirled, whipping the priestess's face with his braid. At the same time he furiously whispered a prayer. He thrust his wounded hand out, reaching for Selvetarm, but no healing came.

Worried, he tried another spell-one that would cover his body in venomous blades, turning it into a living weapon. Ducking and weaving all the while to avoid the priestess's furious but not quite coordinated slashes, he cried his deity's name.

"Selvetarm!" he shouted. "Make me your weapon!"

Nothing happened. The demigod refused to answer.

Nervous sweat prickled Dhairn's skin. Something had happened. Something terrible. Had Selvetarm turned his back on Dhairn and his followers-abandoned those who sought to worship Selvetarm as a deity unto himself? Had Lolth ordered her Champion to do it?

What… was… wrong?

Utterly unnerved by the sudden absence of his deity, Dhairn backed away from the high priestess, who pursued him with fury in her eyes. Behind him, he heard another of Eilistraee's priestesses hurrying down the stairs, shouting something about the Selvetargtlin being defeated.

He only realized how close to the exit he was when her blade skewered his back. He stared, uncomprehending, at the sword point that had mysteriously emerged from his chest. As the cavern began to vanish into a gray mist, he croaked out one final plea.

"Selvetarm," he gasped through lips suddenly gone ice-cold. "I commend… my soul… to… "

But the demigod was no longer there to claim it.

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.