Lisa Smedman - Sacrifice of the Widow

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.

The dice fell to the sava board and bounced once, twice, then came to rest in the shadow of Lolth's Mother piece. Eilistraee leaned forward, her long white hair brushing the board as she strained to see which numbers were upright. Her lips parted as she read the numerals and a song of joy, pure and radiant as moonlight, burst from the swords that floated at her hips.

"Double ones!" she cried.

Lolth had been reclining on her dark throne, certain the die roll would fail, but she hurled herself forward. "No!" she hissed. "It can't be!" Tiny red spiders spilled from her lips and fell shuddering to the board.

Even as Lolth railed, the dice began to alter. Where once they had been black obsidian with a mere speck of moonlight at their heart, they became moonstone. The side that had been inscribed with a symbol for the numeral one-a multi-legged spider-bore the smooth circle of Eilistraee's moon. Deep within the translucent octahedrons, something black wriggled, struggling to be free: a tiny black spider.

Eilistraee basked in the moonlight that shone down through the branches above her head. "One throw," she cried, "and it came up in my favor, despite the odds." Her perfect lips quirked in a smile. "The impossible is possible, it seems. Corellon might forgive your betrayal yet, Mother."

Lolth's red eyes smoldered with fury. The hand that gripped the side of her throne tightened until it turned ashen gray. Beside her, Selvetarm hunkered down on his eight hairy legs, ready to rend Eilistraee at her command. His drow head twisted back and forth, and his sword and mace fairly quivered in his hands. His fangs were spread wide, dripping poison onto the board. A drop of it splattered the head of Lolth's Mother piece and dribbled down its obsidian-dark contours.

Lolth shot her champion a foul look. "Apologize!"

Selvetarm returned her glare for several moments in stony silence. At last words wrenched themselves out of his mouth, a dark mutter, barely audible. "Forgive me."

Eilistraee watched the exchange with a serenity born of certainty. She would win the game, or at least the current play. "A sacrifice," she said. "I claim it now." She moved her Priestess piece to the spot on the board Lolth had just left bare-the spot where Selvetarm's drider-shaped Warrior piece had stood before Lolth picked it up.

"Priestess takes Warrior," Eilistraee announced, nodding at the piece in Lolth's hand.

Lolth hissed. Rage as she might, she was bound by her oath.

Ao himself was watching.

The Spider Queen's fingers tightened around the Warrior piece. One of its spider legs cracked. As it did, Selvetarm stumbled and clutched at Lolth's throne. His drow head swiveled toward Lolth, eyes wide with loathing-and with fear.

"No," he shouted.

Two more of the piece's legs splintered. Two more of Selvetarm's legs gave way.

"I am your Champion," the god roared, brandishing his weapons. "You can't-"

"I must." Lolth's eyes were as cold as extinguished coals. "And I will. Gladly. You are no champion of mine-traitor."

A push of her thumb, and the neck of the piece snapped. The head fell.

Selvetarm gave a strangled gurgle as his own neck broke. His head fell with a heavy thud to the middle of the sava board, rattling the pieces. Several fell over then vanished.

Lolth dropped the broken Warrior piece to the floor, next to the corpse of her former Champion. She flicked away a piece of leg that clung to her web-sticky hand. A second gesture levitated Selvetarm's head from the board. The blood had drained from it and been subsumed into the World Tree. Selvetarm's face was slack and gray, his mouth drooling open.

"A trophy for your victory?" Lolth asked her daughter, her voice flat and emotionless.

Eilistraee shook her head, her lips tight. "How far you have fallen, Weaver. He was your grandchild."

Anger rekindled in Lolth's eyes at the use of her former title. She tossed Selvetarm's head behind her and settled back onto her throne. "You also have fallen, daughter," she said in a soft voice. "You also, and it's my move."

Eilistraee nodded. The game would continue.

Continue, until only one player remained.

Casually, as if she cared nothing for what had just happened, Lolth pushed a piece forward then eased into a reclining position once more. She used a Slave piece, shoved into a vulnerable position, where it was certain to be taken.

Eilistraee wasn't about to fall for that a second time. She studied the board carefully, wondering which of her hundreds of thousands of pieces to move next. The Priestess that had just forced Selvetarm's sacrifice? From where it stood, it could easily take out any of a dozen of Lolth's Slaves. No, she decided. That piece was too powerful to waste on any of those moves. She would save it for later.

She looked around for the Wizard that had taken Lolth's Slave a moment before, but that piece seemed to have temporarily removed itself from the board.

It would be back, Eilistraee was certain, but on which side?

No matter, there were thousands of other pieces equally as powerful.

Swords humming contentedly at her hips, Eilistraee studied the sava board, lost in contemplation. Her next move should be something unexpected, something devious enough to take Lolth completely off guard, an attack from behind-from the shadows.