Sacrifice of the Widow

CHAPTER FIVE

Deep in the Underdark below the Misty Forest, the judicator Dhairn stood in a vast cavern whose walls were honeycombed with tunnels that had been bored out centuries ago by a long since vanished purple worm. Above him, webs crisscrossed the ceiling. Cocooned corpses hung from them, dripping putrid liquid onto the floor, and a rancid smell thickened the air. Dozens of faces peered down at Dhairn from the tunnels, faces with ebon-black skin and glowing red eyes. Driders-drow from the waist up, but with the eight-legged lower thoraxes and bulbous abdomens of spiders.

Dhairn himself was a drow-a race the driders would ordinarily attack on sight, but his sudden entrance had given the creatures pause, as had his appearance. His scalp was shaved, save for the circle of hair at the back of his head that was braided into a long strand, the end of which was crusted solid by repeated drippings in blood. His black skin was webbed with lines of glowing white, the hallmark of the deity he served. His eyes had no color, only black dots where the pupils were. Anyone looking closely might have seen the faint yellow lines that formed a web pattern across the white of each eye and noted that his pupils were not truly round but shaped like spiders.

The driders weren't getting that close, however, not after having noted the massive two-handed sword the judicator carried. The hilt of the magical weapon had two guards, each shaped like a spider. One of these had its legs clenched tightly around Dhairn's right fist. He wore no sheath, and he could let go of the weapon with his left hand but never with his right.

Dhairn swept back his cloak with his free hand, revealing red robes and an adamantine breastplate embossed with Selvetarm's holy symbol: a crossed mace and sword, overlaid with a spider. The magical cloak had allowed him to effect an unexpected appearance in the driders' cavern by stepping out of solid stone. As they hissed at him from above, trying to work up the courage to attack, he spoke.

"Spawn of Lolth!" he shouted. "Exiles from Eryndlyn, from Ched Nasad, from Menzoberranzan, by Selvetarm's will, you are to be outcasts no longer! There is a place for you in the ranks of the Selvetargtlin, if you would take it!"

From above him came a rustling and the hiss of whispered speech. One of the driders sprang out of a tunnel and descended toward Dhairn, head-down, on a strand of web. The drider was male, his long, uncombed hair hanging from his scalp like scraps of cobweb. His face was pinched and thin, his eyes narrowed in what looked like a permanent wince. A curved fang protruded from each of his cheeks, its hollow point oozing venom. He turned slowly on the strand of webbing, twisting his head so that he could keep Dhairn in sight.

"You serve Lolth's champion?"

Dhairn's sword swept out, severing the strand. The drider hovered in mid-air a moment too long before falling to the ground, confirming Dhairn's suspicion. The dangling drider had been an illusion. Dhairn followed through with his swing, spinning around to slice through seemingly empty air behind him. His blade bit into something solid. A drider's head flew in one direction, while the suddenly visible body crumpled. Dark blood rushed from the severed neck like wine from a ruptured wineskin. The drider had a glove on one hand that glowed with an intense magical aura. The puddle of blood in which that hand had landed sizzled, disintegrating into nothing.

Dhairn looked up at the remaining driders as his sword drank in the blood that coated its blade. Eyes blinked. Several of the driders drew back into their tunnels. The one Dhairn had just slain had probably been their wizard. A pity, that. His talents would have been useful.

"We are all Lolth's champions," Dhairn told the driders, "drow and drider alike."

"That's not what her priestesses say." The voice was female, probably their leader. Dhairn glanced from hole to hole, trying to spot her.

"We are the damned," she continued. "We failed Lolth and were marked for our weakness. This is Lolth's punishment."

Dhairn spotted her. The female had reared up on her spider legs and held her arms wide. She might have been beautiful once. Her ears were delicately pointed, her eyes slanted to match. Her upper body was shapely above a slender waist. Even the venomous fangs that protruded from her cheeks did little to spoil her appearance, but life as an exile had left her no pride. Her hair was tangled, and her body fouled with the stinking drippings of the corpses the driders loved to eat. Her dark skin was streaked with smudges of rock dust.

"Has it never occurred to you," Dhairn asked, "to wonder why Lolth should have altered your bodies into a semblance of the holiest of creatures? Do you honestly conceive of your half-spider forms as a punishment? No, I say it again. You are her champions, as much as Selvetarm is."

He stood, waiting, letting the driders consider what he'd just told them.

Their leader frowned down at him and said, "Lolth's priestesses-"

"Lied to you," Dhairn said in a cold voice, "as Lolth herself orders them to. It is all part of the Spider Queen's plan. Your exile has made you stronger, more cunning. By preying upon the drow, you cull from our ranks the weak, the incapable. You make our race stronger." He paused to let that sink in. "If you had truly fallen from the goddess's favor, then why did she grant you such power? You have been stripped of your House insignia, but you can still levitate. You are no longer drow, but you can still cloak yourselves in darkness and reveal hidden enemies by limning them in magical light. You have powers that Lolth bestows only upon the most favored of her drow children, the ability to recognize your enemies by their auras and to magically spy on them from a safe distance while you plot your ambushes. Lolth has transformed you into the perfect weapon, a creature endowed with a drow's cunning, and a spider's venom and stealth. What you lack is the hand to wield you."

"And you are to be that hand?" the leader asked, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

Dhairn lifted his chin. "Selvetarm is to be that hand," he told her. "I am but his judicator." He lifted his sword. "Come and be welcome in his faith. It is time to reclaim your place among the drow."

It took a moment more, but the leader jumped from her tunnel and descended on a strand of web. As her spider legs touched the floor of the cavern, other driders followed her lead, some descending on strands, others scuttling down the walls. Soon Dhairn was surrounded by several dozen of the creatures, the majority of them male. None approached within sword range, and all had wary, distrustful expressions, but their eyes also held a cautious hope. They had lost their possessions, their status within their Houses, their ability to carve out their own destinies after their transformation and exile, and something more-the greatest sting of all. They bore the painful stigma of thinking they had been judged by their goddess and found wanting, of thinking that this failure had been branded upon their bodies for all the Underdark to see.

But someone had come to tell them that it was all part of the Spider Queen's plan, that Lolth still carried them close to her dark heart, that there was a place for them in the web of life. And it was not just anyone who told them that, but a powerful cleric of Selvetarm, Lolth's champion, a demigod whose form was similar to their own.

Dhairn could see that the driders ached to believe him, but they needed something more before they would allow themselves to accept his words as truth. Dhairn would give it to them-a bloody victory.

"There are indeed drow who are an abomination in Lolth's eyes," he told them, "drow who have strayed far from the web of life that Lolth intended us to weave, drow who live on the World Above and practice a blasphemous worship. This is to be your task: to be the scourge that either drives these blasphemers back into Lolth's embrace-or that flays their traitorous flesh from their bones. It will be your chance to prove yourselves, a test you will not fail."

He held his sword before him. Its blade was clean, the wizard-drider's blood completely absorbed by its steel. He glanced from one drider face to the next. "Who of you will be the first to join the ranks of the Selvetargtlin?"

The driders hesitated, looking to their leader. She met Dhairn's eye, taking his measure. Then she stepped forward, her spider legs clicking on the stone floor, and kneeled. "Chil'triss, of House Kilsek."

Dhairn nodded. It was probably the first time in decades that she had used her House name.

"Chil'triss of House Kilsek," he repeated, touching the tip of his blade to her cheek. Slowly, he drew the blade down her face, cutting a thin but bloody line diagonally from cheek to jawline. He repeated it, turning the line into an X. Two more lines, one horizontal, one vertical, completed the pattern: the radiating support lines of a web. "I welcome you to the ranks of the Selvetargtlin."

When it was done, she smiled through the blood that dribbled down over lips and chin. Her fangs twitched with excitement, and a determined fire had rekindled in her eyes.

"Kneel," she shouted at her people. "Join the swarm."

Dhairn smiled.

Q'arlynd sat some distance from the campfire, cross-legged on the damp forest floor. Well inside the forest, almost at the shrine, there was a chill in the air. The mist that gave the forest its name clung to the ground in patches, leaving a thin sheen of moisture on everything it touched, but at least it was a little less bright under the trees. Their spreading branches filtered out the worst of the moonlight.

He drew his quartz from a pocket of his piwafwi and peered through the magical crystal at the surrounding forest. All was as it appeared. There were no hidden watchers lurking in these misty woods. Flinderspeld and the two clerics sat a short distance away, next to a fire, warming themselves. The freshly killed and gutted body of a small woodland creature hung over the flames from a hook, slowly roasting.

Q'arlynd spoke a word and rendered himself invisible. He removed his belt, laid it across his knees by feel, and placed the magical crystal on the inside of the broad strip of leather close by the buckle. Though the rest of the belt remained invisible, the section of it that was immediately under the crystal became visible. On it were words written in tiny glyphs: Q'arlynd's spells. Holding the belt close to his eyes so he could read the script, he moved the crystal slowly across the belt, committing his "spellbook" to memory again.

Halfway through, he paused and looked up. Flinderspeld had been talking with the two priestesses as they waited for their end-of-night meal to cook, but he had gone to lean toward Leliana in a conspiratorial pose, one shoulder twisted slightly forward.

Q'arlynd attempted to listen in on Flinderspeld's thoughts, but the link wouldn't come. His eyes narrowed. The deep gnome was certainly close enough for Q'arlynd's rings to have worked their magic upon him. The priestesses' must have done something to block the link. That was something Q'arlynd would have to deal with in future, but for the time being he let them think they had their privacy. He had other means, honed over a lifetime of peering around corners and into locked rooms. He cast a spell that would allow him to observe and listen from a distance.

Flinderspeld had removed his gloves. Leliana held his hand and studied the slave ring on his finger.

"… remove it," she was saying. "When we reach the shrine, I'll ask Vlashiri to do it. She knows the prayer you need."

Q'arlynd nodded to himself. Such treachery was to be expected, especially of slaves. Nevertheless, it irritated him. The ring on Flinderspeld's finger was the last of Q'arlynd's slave rings. The other four that had formed a set with his master ring had been buried-together with the bodies of the slaves who had worn them-when Ched Nasad collapsed. Q'arlynd would not let the last slave ring be taken from him as well.

Leliana dropped Flinderspeld's hand and leaned closer to the other priestess. Her voice dropped to a low whisper that Flinderspeld wouldn't be able to hear but that Q'arlynd's magic conveyed quite nicely.

"I'm going to have a word with this 'master' of his. He's not acting much like a petitioner, if you ask me."

Rowaan looked startled. "But he bears a sword-token," she whispered back.

Leliana looked unimpressed. "So what?" she hissed. "Our tokens have fallen into the wrong hands before. You heard him when I said the name of the priestess who went to Ched Nasad was Milass'ni-he didn't correct me."

Rowaan shrugged. "Some people simply aren't good with names."

"He's not that stupid. He's a wizard, and the academies don't accept dullards."

Flinderspeld had risen to his feet as the priestesses whispered together. He backed out of the circle of firelight slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself. He eased down into a crouch and started to blur…

Leliana whirled to face him. "Hold it right there!" She'd drawn her sword, and it was in her fist. Ready.

Q'arlynd scrambled to his feet, one hand darting to his pocket for a spell component.

Flinderspeld halted. He returned to normal again, paler by several shades.

"You're going to answer some questions, too," Leliana told him.

Q'arlynd paused, component in hand. It looked as though Leliana wasn't about to hack his slave in two after all. She just wanted some answers, and if all went well, Flinderspeld would tell her exactly what she hoped to hear. Q'arlynd put the spell component away.

Instead of questioning the deep gnome, however, Leliana did the unexpected. She spun her sword above her head it in a tight circle until it hummed through the air. Then she halted the blade over Flinderspeld's head.

"Tell me how your master came to have Eilistraee's token," she demanded.

Q'arlynd cursed. Leliana had obviously just cast a spell on his slave, and Q'arlynd could guess what its effects would be. As Flinderspeld opened his mouth to answer, Q'arlynd once again tried to slip into his slave's mind. Finally, it worked. Whatever magical shield the priestesses had placed between the two rings had lapsed. Q'arlynd heard Flinderspeld mentally rehearsing the story he'd been coached with before they'd stepped through the portal. Flinderspeld was about to say that he'd seen a priestess of Eilistraee give his master the token, but the words never made it from mind to mouth. The deep gnome instead began to babble something else entirely.

"We found the token in the rubble. My master told me to say-"

Furious, Q'arlynd seized hold of his slave's body. Flinderspeld's jaw snapped shut so quickly his teeth nipped his tongue. Q'arlynd forced the deep gnome's face into a smile, preventing him from wincing at the pain that flared in his tongue.

"To tellanyone… that… he… foundthetoken. The… priestess… toldhimshe… didn't… wantanyoneto… know… she… hadcometo… Ch-Ch-Ched… Nas-Nas…"

Q'arlynd frowned. Why was he being so difficult? Even with a truth spell in effect, he should have been able to control Flinderspeld, yet the words staggered out of the deep gnome's mouth one moment, spilled out in a rush the next. All the while, Flinderspeld's mind screamed like a shrieker, desperately fighting Q'arlynd's hold on his body while trying to blurt out the truth.

Rowaan stared at Flinderspeld, her mouth open. Leliana was quicker on the uptake. "The wizard's controlling him," she hissed at her companion. "He must be close by. Find him."

Rowaan touched her pendant, whispering the words of a prayer.

Q'arlynd withdrew from Flinderspeld's mind. The deep gnome continued babbling the rest of his answer to Leliana's question, but Q'arlynd was no longer concerned with what Flinderspeld might be telling the priestesses. The damage had been done, and if Leliana worked her truth-compelling magic on Q'arlynd and learned what he'd done, things would only get worse. The killing of a fellow priestess-even by accident-was something no drow female would forgive.

Q'arlynd's hopes of meeting Qilue had just burned up as quickly as a torch-touched web. It was time to end his little jaunt through the World Above and return to Ched Nasad.

But not without his slave.

Who, strangely enough, stood stock still, instead of backing slowly away as he usually did when trouble reared its head.

Q'arlynd cursed, realizing that Flinderspeld must be magically held. Q'arlynd paused just long enough to fasten his belt around his waist then teleported to the deep gnome's side. A second, quick teleport would-

"There!" Rowaan shouted, pointing straight at him across the crackling fire.

Rowaan's spell had allowed her to spot him, but it didn't matter. Q'arlynd slapped his invisible hand down on his slave's head and spoke the word that would teleport the pair of them to-

Q'arlynd felt his body stiffen. Unbalanced, he toppled over. He landed heavily on the ground next to Flinderspeld, narrowly missing winding up with his face in the fire. The earthy smell of fallen leaves filled his nostrils.

He heard Rowaan chanting. Suddenly, he could see his nose again. His invisibility had been dispelled.

Leliana rolled him over. She poked his shoulder with the point of her sword, notching a shallow wound in his flesh. If he'd been able to, Q'arlynd would have yelped.

Leliana smiled. "You're wondering what just happened."

Indeed he was.

Leliana flipped up the back of Flinderspeld's vest and pointed at something: a glyph, drawn on the inside of it. Q'arlynd didn't recognize the glyph, even though it was written using the drow script. It must have been sacred to Eilistraee.

"Rowaan got the idea from watching you reading your belt," Leliana told him.

Q'arlynd's eyelids were still working, so he gave an involuntary blink of surprise. He barged his way into Flinderspeld's thoughts. The deep gnome was the only one who knew where Q'arlynd kept his travel "spellbook," but Flinderspeld gave the equivalent of a mental head shake. He hadn't told the priestesses.

Q'arlynd decided that Rowaan was more cunning than he'd given her credit for. She must have spied on him, on an earlier occasion, as he'd replenished his magic.

Leliana let the vest fall. "The glyph was triggered by whatever spell you just tried to cast on your former slave," she told Q'arlynd. Her eyes were gleaming, triumphant. She took great pleasure in having outwitted him.

Eilistraee's priestesses, he decided, were no different from any other females. He'd been stupid to let down his guard around them.

"Now you're going to tell us who you really are," Leliana continued, "and why you're so keen on meeting Qilue."

With that, Leliana spun her sword around her head, repeating the prayer she'd used earlier, casting a truth spell. Inwardly, Q'arlynd smiled. She would no doubt remove the magical hold only from his mouth and leave the rest of his body enspelled, and when she did, a word would suffice. He'd strike both priestesses blind, dispel the magic that held him rigid, and teleport away with Flinderspeld.

Leliana touched his lips, freeing them, then held the sword over his head.

Q'arlynd tried to cast his spell. His mouth, however, refused to cooperate. Concentrate as he might, he couldn't speak the arcane word that would trigger his spell. Instead, he found himself meekly answering Leliana's questions, while the rest of his body remained stiff and uncooperative. He told her about finding the sword-tokens on the priestess's body, about taking the magical boots and rings for himself, about the rock that had struck her dead.

At this, Rowaan gasped then exchanged a pained look with Leliana.

"Where is her body?" Leliana asked.

"In Ched Nasad. I rendered it invisible then left it where it was."

"And her pendant?"

"Taken by Prellyn."

"Who's Prellyn?"

"Weapons mistress of House Teh'Kinrellz, the House I was serving."

She let that go without further explanation. "Where are the other sword-tokens she was carrying?"

"Hidden, together with the boots and rings, except…" Q'arlynd tried to choke back the rest but couldn't. "Except for the one that's sewn into the collar of Flinderspeld's new cloak."

Leliana signaled to Rowaan. The other priestess ran her hands along the deep gnome's collar, located the sword-token within then cut the seam, removing it. Q'arlynd was relieved when she didn't search the cloak further. Inside the hem were things he'd prefer to keep.

Q'arlynd continued babbling as Leliana questioned him some more. He confirmed that he was, indeed, a Melarn, and Halisstra's brother, that he had used the portal because he was curious about his sister's fate, that he had no intention of converting to Eilistraee's faith but wanted to meet Qilue so he could offer his services to her as a battle mage.

By the end of it, when Leliana at last touched his lips again, stilling them, he was sweating. The priestess stared down at him, her expression grim. She was thinking, no doubt, about the priestess who had died in Ched Nasad. She obviously intended to execute him, but not swiftly-she wasn't nearly enraged enough. She was probably trying to decide which bits of him to slice off first. She was a female, after all, and drow females delighted in nothing so much as torture.

If Q'arlynd had been capable of it, he would have cupped his hands protectively over his groin. That was usually the spot the blade sliced first. It always, the females agreed, produced the most amusing screams.

Leliana glanced at Rowaan. She said something to her in the drow's silent speech-holding her hand where Q'arlynd couldn't see it. Rowaan glanced briefly down at Q'arlynd then shook her head.

Leliana sheathed her sword and drew a dagger. She bent down and grabbed Q'arlynd's piwafwi and lifted him slightly from the ground. Behind her, Flinderspeld leaned forward, struggling to speak. His lips struggled to form a word.

Q'arlynd barely managed to prevent his eyes from widening in surprise. The hold spell Leliana had cast on Flinderspeld was wearing off. The deep gnome's hands twitched slightly as he strained against the spell's ebbing magic. The moment that hold spell ended, Q'arlynd could use the deep gnome as a distraction. He thrust his awareness deep into Flinderspeld's mind, preparing to take it over…

And nearly lost his connection, so surprised was he by what he heard. Flinderspeld hoped to plead with Leliana to spare his master's life! Or to grab the priestess's hand, if need be, to prevent her from harming Q'arlynd.

It was inconceivable. Slaves simply didn't do that, especially slaves who had recently been promised their freedom by that very same priestess. Q'arlynd wondered what Flinderspeld thought he could gain through such an action. Something, surely.

Leliana, meanwhile, moved her dagger closer to Q'arlynd's throat. His punishment was about to begin. Q'arlynd wished he could close his eyes. In another instant, the priestesses would carve off something painful. Judging by where the knife was, it would probably be the flesh of his face or throat. He braced himself, mentally whispering a prayer to Lolth. A token effort, really, but the goddess was just capricious enough that she might allow his soul to enter her domain once he was dead.

A horn sounded deep in the woods, a strident blare, loud and long.

Both priestesses were startled. The horn sounded again, a sharp, complex series of notes.

"An attack on the shrine," Rowaan said, her voice tense.

Leliana nodded.

Rowan gestured at Q'arlynd. "What about…?"

"We leave them," Leliana said. She used her dagger to slice the cord around Q'arlynd's neck and let him fall back against the ground. When she stood, the sword-token was in her hand. "Let's move."

She hurried off into the woods.

Rowaan lingered just long enough to glance down at Q'arlynd. "Redemption is still possible," she whispered. "One day, you might find it in you to-"

"Rowaan!" Leliana shouted from the woods.

Rowaan jumped, then turned and ran after her companion.

A moment later, Flinderspeld began to move. Slowly and stiffly. Q'arlynd knew how he felt. His own body tingled and his joints felt as stiff as a haunch of thawing meat. He stared up at the deep gnome, still not quite believing what he'd overheard in his slave's thoughts.

When Q'arlynd could move again, he used Flinderspeld to lever himself back to his feet. Despite the gnome's small stature, Flinderspeld proved a surprisingly solid anchor.

Leliana hadn't taken Q'arlynd's wand. An oversight, surely.

"What now?" Flinderspeld asked. Belatedly, he added, "Master."

What now indeed, Q'arlynd wondered. Admit defeat, teleport back to the portal, and return to Ched Nasad? He sighed. The prospect of digging through the ruins and groveling to Prellyn for years on end didn't really appeal to him. Nor was there much to be gained by it. If Prellyn had wanted to formally recognize him as her consort and give him a position within her House, she'd have done it long ago. All Q'arlynd would ever be to House Teh'Kinrellz was a fetch and carry boy, one whose talents were wasted on levitating rocks and ferreting out magical trinkets from the heap of rubble that had once been his home. His own House had trained him as a battle wizard, a caster of fireballs and ice storms. He'd wondered, those past three years, if he'd ever get to use those spells again.

Until a few moments ago, he'd thought the answer to that question would be yes. His spells would make him a valuable asset to Qilue. He'd hoped to earn himself a place as her apprentice and learn even more powerful spells, but now there seemed little hope of that.

He paused, suddenly realizing something. Leliana and Rowaan were the only ones who had heard him admit to killing a priestess, and they wouldn't be able to tell anyone until after the battle they'd just rushed off to was over. If they died in that battle, no one else need ever learn Q'arlynd's guilty little secret. He could start afresh-be a "petitioner" once more.

The horn sounded again. Q'arlynd stared into the woods, stroking his chin. Then he smiled. "What now?" he repeated. He pointed in the direction from which the horn blasts were coming. "We're going to join that battle. The priestesses need our help."

Flinderspeld looked uneasy. "But…"

Q'arlynd arched an eyebrow. "You want that ring off your finger, don't you?"

Flinderspeld blinked. He started to nod, hesitated, and looked warily up at his master.

Q'arlynd took that as a yes. "Then let's go."

Cavatina strode through the woods, savoring the smell of the forest. It had recently rained, and the scents of earth, fallen leaves, and cedar bark surrounded her. It was good to be back on the surface again, even if the bright face of the sun was hidden by brooding clouds.

She wore a thick, padded tunic under her chain mail, and soft leather boots and gloves. Her long white hair was bound in two braids, tied together behind her back. In addition to her small travel pack, she carried with her everything she needed for the hunt.

Pausing to catch her breath, she rested a hand on the hilt of the singing sword. If it did turn out to be something demonic in nature she was hunting, she was well equipped to deal with it. In addition to the weapon, she carried several other magical items. Hanging beside her magical hunting horn, on its own leather strap, was an iron flask capable of trapping demons. She'd also added a second periapt to the one she habitually wore-a glossy black stone that hung from a silver chain around her neck. If the creature's venom proved so potent that Cavatina wasn't able to utter a prayer in time, the periapt would protect her.

She'd been traveling for six days since her arrival at the shrine. She had left the Velarswood behind and was well into Cormanthor, making her way first north along the River Duathamper then east. Two days ago, she had seen a party of wild elves out hunting and yesterday a patrol of sun elves in their glittering armor-part of the army of Myth Drannor, no doubt-but she had revealed herself to neither. Eilistraee's faithful might have found sanctuary in the Velarswood, but in the greater forest, drow were likely to be attacked on sight. Cavatina had no doubt that she could hold her own, even against a group of attackers, but she was loath to be forced into a situation where she would have to send innocent souls to their gods before their time.

Nor did she seek out the drow of Cormanthor. House Jaelre's members were fervent followers of Vhaeraun, as were those of House Auzkovyn. Blasphemers. They hated Lolth as much as Cavatina did, but she had never subscribed to any of that "enemy of my enemy" nonsense.

Fortunately, there were other ways for her to learn what she needed to know. The Jaelre who had survived the creature's attack and come to the priestesses for aid-himself a petitioner and well on his way to converting to Eilistraee's faith-had given her the starting point, the place where he'd been attacked. From there, she'd followed a scant trail-a strand of web stuck to a tree branch so high overhead she'd had to levitate to find it, spots on the ground where leaves had been disturbed by something heavy landing on them, a broken branch where the creature had passed through the treetops…

Several times the trail had gone cold, and she'd had to turn to the trees for answers. Each time, the creature had turned out to be only a short distance away. In one case, the creature had doubled back on its own trail-almost as if it knew Cavatina was following and wanted to be found.

As if it wanted to lead Cavatina into an ambush.

Cavatina smiled. So be it. She'd faced that tactic before. Demons were masters of guile, but Cavatina had decades of experience hunting them. She kept an eye on the ground around her, as well as the branches above, expecting an attack at any moment. None came, however.

Once again, the trail ended.

It was time to ask her guides for assistance. Selecting a massive cedar whose spreading branches touched those of the trees surrounding it, she stripped off a glove and touched her bare palm to the trunk, letting the plain wooden band on her finger make contact with the cracked red bark. She whispered the ring's command word and felt its magic alter her senses. Her blood seemed to slow to a sap-trickle in her ears as they became attuned to the creak of branch against branch, the green-tinged whisper of scale-like leaves, the slow groan of the ever-growing trunk. She felt her vocal chords lengthen and roughen. Tilting back her head, she spoke in a voice that matched the sound of the cedar, a slow, creaking groan.

The tree considered her question. Its upper branches bobbed in the equivalent of a slow nod. It had indeed felt a creature like the one she described scuttle through its branches, but that creature had been moving fast and was long gone.

Cavatina asked a second question of the tree. The cedar considered its answer. It started to sway a negative reply then paused. A shiver ran out through its branches, shaking loose droplets of water that splattered the leaves at Cavatina's feet. The shiver also stirred the branches of the trees next to it and was repeated a moment later by these trees. Cavatina's question was passed on in a leafy whisper, in an ever-widening circle that rippled across the forest canopy. For several moments, there was only silence, as the cedar Cavatina was touching waited for their reply. Then that reply came rustling back. An elm tree reported a cocoonlike sack hanging from it, still sticky-freshly woven. It was hanging in a tree that a creature, exactly like the one Cavatina had described, had just scuttled away from.

"Where?" Cavatina asked, her voice a low drone.

Above her, a branch shifted. Splayed fingers of green pointed.

Cavatina smiled. The wind, praise Eilistraee, was blowing in exactly the right direction. She thanked the cedar then sprang into the air. As she rose through the branches, she drew her sword and prayed. Eilistraee granted her request, rendering her invisible. Slowly, she drifted over the treetops, blown by the wind.

She had to renew her invisibility twice before she spotted an oval of dirty white, twisting slightly in the breeze. The elm from which it hung stood close to an enormous hollow tree trunk-the perfect place for a creature to lay in ambush.

Too perfect.

Cavatina cast a detection spell on the hollow trunk and received the result she'd expected: there was nothing evil inside it. She widened her search, surveying the surrounding forest, turning in a mid-air dance and sweeping her sword around in a circle. Nothing. The air sang a song that was sweet and pure, with no taint of evil.

The creature was gone.

Wait-a faint note of discordance came from the cocoon itself. For a moment, Cavatina wondered if the creature had been even more clever than she'd thought, if it had sealed itself inside one of its own cocoons as a surprise for its stalker, but the aura Cavatina's prayer had detected was weak, almost gone.

She landed beside the cocoon. Whoever was inside it was still alive. Barely. She could see the victim struggling, weakly, inside the sticky strands. Something bulged-an elbow? A faint gasping sounded from inside the tight binding of silk, someone struggling to breathe.

Cavatina flicked her sword, slicing the cocoon open over the spot where a face would be. Her sword point caught on something, yanking it out of the hole. A black mask. It fluttered to the ground and lay still, but it held her attention, much more than the ragged gasps coming from the other side of the hole she'd cut in the cocoon. Something about that scrap of black fabric was wrong-something far more disturbing than the fact that it was a holy symbol of a god who was one of Eilistraee's chief enemies.

The mask was somehow alive. Cavatina could sense it, screaming at her. Just at the edge of her hearing, like a note that could shatter crystal.

She would deal with it in a moment. For now, there was the victim inside the cocoon. His eyes were still sealed shut by a thick layer of sticky silk, but his mouth was working. His lips were drawn back in agony, revealing a single gold tooth. From between gritted teeth he gasped out a blasphemous prayer, begging the Masked Lord to heal him, to banish poison from his body.

Cavatina reached out and pinched his lips shut before he could complete his prayer. The man inside the cocoon thrashed wildly, but the only effect was a slight swaying of the bundle of sticky silk.

"There will be no prayers to Vhaeraun today," she said, "not while a priestess of Eilistraee holds your lips shut."

A muffled scream of rage came from the pinched lips. Cavatina held them so the corners of the upper lip could lift slightly. The man panted through these tiny holes like a horse that had just galloped a league.

"You're going to die in a few moments," Cavatina told him. "Your lips are already starting to turn gray. You'll be with your god soon enough, but I wonder if you realize that all you've been taught is a lie. Vhaeraun may claim to be working for the overthrow of Lolth, but the truth is that he exists only at her sufferance. The independence that he claims is a lie."

The head of the man inside the cocoon twitched slightly. Back and forth, a shake of the head. He refused to listen, to believe.

"Ellaniath is not a place of refuge, but a prison," Cavatina continued. "Why else would it lie within Colothys, fourth layer of the plane of exile? You who strive to join the god there are as much slaves of the Spider Queen as Vhaeraun is. Of all the Dark Seldarine-Vhaeraun, Kiaransalee, and Selvetarm-only Eilistraee offers any hope of escape from the evil that Lolth spins, or any hope of true reward."

She paused to let him consider that then added, "You don't need to die. Eilistraee can banish the poison from your body, if only you will accept her. Renounce Vhaeraun, and embrace the only god who truly loves the drow race. You have already taken the first step in Eilistraee's dance by climbing up to the surface realms. It's not too late for redemption. If you answer is a truthful yes, I will know it." She loosened his lips, just a little. "Will you embrace Eilistraee?"

His response was a sharp puff of air that sent a dribble of spittle down his chin-the best spit he could manage, under the circumstances.

Cavatina snorted. The answer was exactly what she expected. She'd been going through the motions, giving him the chance that was required by decree. Her obligation to him was at an end. She pinched his lips shut again, watching as they slowly paled. Sweat beaded on his lips, making them slippery, and his struggles became weaker and weaker.

When they at last ceased, Cavatina released the lips.

She stared at the dead man as he twisted slowly inside his cocoon. Her mother would have commented that his was one more soul that might have been redeemed, but that was lost instead. Her mother, however, was dead. And that kind of thinking had killed her.

Cavatina reached down for the mask carefully, not really wanting to touch it. She'd heard rumors of such abominations. Vhaeraun's faithful called the practice soultheft. Someone's soul was trapped in that square of black cloth.

She laid the mask across the blade of her sword and sang a prayer of dispelling. The faint wailing that had been coming from the mask stilled. The scrap of cloth smoothed then hung limp. Cavatina let it slide from her sword then slashed as it fluttered to the ground, slicing the holy symbol neatly in two.

She walked away without looking back at either the scraps of cloth or the corpse in the slowly twisting cocoon.

She continued her hunt.

Long after the Darksong Knight had departed, Halisstra returned to the hollow tree. It was dark by then, but the moon had not yet risen. When it did, the Darksong Knight would be back on Halisstra's trail again. The chase-me game would begin anew.

For the moment, however, there were other things Halisstra had to attend to, as commanded by her mistress. Capricious as always, Lolth had changed her mind. Vhaeraun's clerics were not to be killed, especially not the one Halisstra had just dispatched.

Halisstra could see from the footprints on the ground that Eilistraee's warrior-priestess had found the cocooned cleric. A hole had been cut in the cocoon over the dead man's mouth. That hardly surprised Halisstra. Mercy was one of the greatest weaknesses of Eilistraee's faithful. It hadn't done Vhaeraun's cleric any good, however. He was dead.

Then she spotted his holy symbol. It lay on the ground nearby, slashed in two. Halisstra nodded. Perhaps that was why Eilistraee's priestess had cut a hole in the cocoon, to retrieve the holy symbol and destroy it. The priestess might not be so merciful, after all.

The thought made Halisstra smile.

She clawed at the cocoon, shredding it. Her claws raked sharp lines across the dead cleric's scalp, torso, arms, and thighs as she ripped the strands of webbing from his body. Blood seeped sluggishly from these wounds. Eventually, the corpse tumbled out onto the ground. Halisstra bent over it, the fangs in her cheeks at first spreading wide then retracting back into the bulges in her jowls that housed them. She would give the cleric another sort of kiss.

His lips were cold and stiff. She pressed hers to them and whispered Lolth's name, forcing a prayer-breath into the dead man's lungs. Then she reared back, watching.

The cleric's eyes fluttered open and he exhaled a ragged breath, one that stank of spiders. For a moment, he stared blankly up at the cloud-dark sky, his pupils slowly dilating. Then he stared at the creature sitting on his chest.

And screamed.

Halisstra sprang off him, laughing, and vanished into the night.