was as regular as a clockwork. Halisstra watched it happen time and again, and each time the newly arrived soul fell into the never-ending line of spirits floating toward their dark goddess, their eternal fate.
It would go on that way until the multiverse ended. Unless Lolth died.
She watched the souls moving methodically toward their
doom and wondered if Danifae was among them. With the Binding between them severed, Halisstra would not have sensed Danifae’s death. She fervently hoped that her former battle-captive still lived.
Thinking of Danifae sent a surge of hope and fear through Halisstra. Danifae had told her once, as they stood together in some ruins in the World Above, that she had felt Eilistraee’s call. The battle-captive had spoken those words when she had come to warn Halisstra that Quenthel had sent Jeggred to kill Ryld.
Danifae had warned her.
There was a kinship between them, Halisstra knew, something born in the Binding that once had joined them as master and slave. She knew that Danifae could be redeemed. And since Halisstra had given herself fully to the Lady of the Dance, she would be able to help Danifae along the path of redemption—as long as she wasn’t already dead.
An overwhelming sense of regret tightened Halisstra’s chest, regret for a life ill-spent inflicting pain and engaging in petty tyrannies. She had wasted centuries on hate. Tears threatened, but she fought them back with a stubborn shake of her head.
The wind gusted, sliced through her prayer, cut through the songspider webs, and called out for the Yor’thae.
The word no longer held any magic for Halisstra. She felt no pull.
She looked up at the eight stars that seemed so much like the eyes of Lolth and vowed, “No one will answer your call.”
Halisstra didn’t know what Lolth intended for her Yor’thae, and she didn’t care. She guessed that killing the Yor’thae would hurt Lolth, possibly weaken her. And she knew that Lolth’s Chosen could be only one person: Quenthel Baenre.
“I’ll kill your Chosen, then I will kill you,” she whispered.
The wind died down again, as though quieted by her promise. Halisstra looked out over the blasted landscape of Lolth’s realm, over the piles of torn spider parts and carcasses. She wondered where Quenthel was at that moment. She suspected that the Baenre priestess was already in the Demonweb Pits, making her way to Lolth, just another of the damned drawn to the Spider Queen.
“I’m right behind you, Baenre,” she whispered.
She sat for a time in silence, alone with her goddess, staring up at the infinite stream of spirits floating to Lolth. After a while, she took out Seyll’s songsword, put its flute-hilt to her lips, and played a soft dirge, an honorarium for the lost souls above her. The notes carried over the barren landscape, beautiful to her ears.
If the souls heard her, they made no sign.
The wind rose, as though to overwhelm her song, but Halisstra played on. Though she knew it was not possible, she hoped that somewhere, somehow, Seyll heard her song and understood.
When she finished, she sheathed Seyll’s blade and stood. Looking into the sky, she held forth her hand, palm up, and curled her fingers—making the symbol of a dead spider, blasphemous to Lolth.
She could not help but smile.
“This is for you too,” she said.
On impulse, she shed her armor and shield, drew the Crescent Blade, and danced. High atop a ruined tor on Lolth’s blasted plane, Halisstra Melarn whirled, spun, stabbed, and leaped. Except for the wail of the wind, there was no sound to which she could move, so she danced to a rhythm that pounded only in her head. Joy filled her, more and more with each step, with each turn. She became one with the weapon, one with Eilistraee. She was sweating Lolth from her skin, shedding her own past with each gasping, joyous breath.
Her hair whipped behind and around her. She could not stop grinning. The Crescent Blade felt no heavier in her grasp than a blade of grass, the tiny green plant that covered much of the World Above. The weapon whistled through the air, creating its own tune, playing its own song.
Halisstra danced until sweat soaked her and her breath came hard. When she finally finished, exhausted and elated, she collapsed, the ground on her back. Grace filled her. She felt she’d been purified, worthy at last to wield the Crescent Blade.
Thank you, Lady, she thought to Eilistraee and smiled when a cloud temporarily blotted out Lolth’s eight stars.
She lay there for a time, doing nothing more than reveling in her freedom.
Sometime later she rose, walked back near the edge of the tor, and re-donned her armor. As she was strapping Seyll’s blade to her back, a hand closed on her shoulder, momentarily giving her a start.
“Feliane,” she said, turning to face the kind, almond eyes of the surface elf.
Feliane smiled warmly. “You did not wake me for a watch. I slept through the day. How late into the night is it?”
“The night is several hours old,” Halisstra said, securing Seyll’s blade in its scabbard. “We should awaken Uluyara.”
Feliane nodded. She said, “It was your laughter that awakened me.”
“I’m sorry,” Halisstra replied. She was not aware that she had been laughing aloud.
“Don’t be,” Feliane replied. “It allowed me to watch you dance.”
To her surprise, Halisstra felt no embarrassment.
“It was beautiful,” Feliane said with a smile. “I saw the Lady in it, as clearly as I’ve ever seen her in anything.”
Halisstra didn’t know how to reply, so she dropped her eyes and said only, “Thank you.”
“You have come far in only a short while,” Feliane said, stepping past her to look down on the tor.
Halisstra nodded. She had indeed.
“May I ask you something?” Feliane asked.
“Of course,” Halisstra said, and something in Feliane’s tone caused Halisstra’s heart to race.
Feliane asked, “What drew you to the worship of Lolth in the first place? The faith is . . . hateful, ugly. But I can see that you are none of those things.”
Halisstra’s heart thumped in her chest. She wasn’t sure why the question affected her so. A tiny seed in the center of her being stirred, but no immediate answer came to her.
She thought for a moment and finally answered, “You give me too much credit, Feliane. I was hateful. And ugly. Nothing drew me to Lolth. Nothing had to. I was raised to worship her, and I enjoyed the benefits associated with my station. I was petty and small, so awash in spite that it never occurred to me that there might be another way. Until I met you and Uluyara and saw the sun. I owe you both much for that. I owe the Lady much for that.”
Feliane nodded, took her hand, and squeezed it. The elf said, “May I ask something else?”
Halisstra nodded. She would hold nothing back from her sister in faith.
Feliane took a breath before asking, “Did you ever think that what you did in her name was . . . evil?”
Halisstra consciously decided not to hear an accusation in the question. Feliane’s face held no judgment, merely curiosity. Halisstra struggled to articulate a response.
“No,” she answered at last. “I’m ashamed now to say it, but no. Faith in the Spider Queen brought power, Feliane. In Ched Nasad, power was the difference between those who ruled and those who served, those who lived and those who died. It’s not an excuse,” she said, seeing Feliane’s expression grow clouded, “just an explanation. What I did then, what I was, it shames me now.”
Staring thoughtfully into the darkness, Feliane nodded. The silence stretched.
Finally, the elf said, “Thank you for sharing yourself with me, Halisstra. And do not be ashamed of what you were. We are made anew each moment. It is never too late to change.”
Halisstra smiled. “I like that very much, Feliane. It gives me hope that someone else I know might be redeemed.”
Feliane smiled back.
They stood quietly for a moment, listening to th
e wind.
“We should awaken Uluyara and start moving,” Halisstra said.
Feliane nodded but did not turn to go. Instead, she said, “I’m afraid.”
The words surprised Halisstra. She had never before heard such an admission from another female.
After a moment, she put her arm around Feliane, drew her close, and said, “I am too. But we’ll find strength in our fear. All right?”
“All right,” Feliane replied.
Halisstra turned to her, held her at arms length, and said, “The Lady is with us. And I have a plan.”
Feliane raised her thin eyebrows. “A plan?”
“Let’s awaken Uluyara,” Halisstra said.
Feliane nodded, and they walked back toward the temple. Before they reached it, Uluyara emerged.
“There you are,” said the high priestess. “Is everything well?”
“It is,” Feliane said with a smile. “Halisstra has a plan.”
Uluyara frowned. “A plan?”
Halisstra wasted no words. “I believe I know why Eilistraee put the Crescent Blade into my hands.”
Uluyara’s brow furrowed, and she said, “We already know why, Halisstra. You are to use the blade to kill the Queen of the Demonweb Pits.”
Halisstra nodded. “Yes, but we’ve been thinking that I would use the blade only against Lolth herself. But I think Lolth would be weakened if her Chosen never answered her call. I need to deny her her Yor’thae. I need to kill Quenthel Baenre.” Her sisters looked at her, confused.
Halisstra said, “Don’t you see? I was meant to meet Quenthel Baenre during the fall of Ched Nasad. I was meant to learn of her quest to awaken Lolth. Eilistraee’s hand is in all of this. I see it now. Quenthel Baenre is Lolth’s Yor’thae. If I kill her . . .”
Then maybe I can kill Lolth, she thought but did not say.
“Then Lolth will be vulnerable,” Uluyara said, nodding.
“Are we certain?” Feliane ventured. “The prophecy of the Crescent Blade did not speak of the Spider Queen’s Chosen.”
“I am as certain as I can be,” Halisstra replied, knowing that she was not certain at all.
Feliane did not hesitate. She said, “Then I am convinced.”
Uluyara looked from Feliane to Halisstra. After a moment she blew out a sigh, touched the holy symbol of Eilistraee she wore around her neck, and said, “Then I am also convinced. How will we find Quenthel Baenre?”
Halisstra wanted to hug the high priestess.
“She is here, somewhere in the Demonweb Pits,” Halisstra said, “trying to reach Lolth. I am certain of that too.”
“Then we must find her before she reaches the Spider Queen,” Feliane said. “But how? Follow the souls?” She indicated the damned souls streaming high above them.
“No,” Halisstra said. “We must locate her more precisely.”
Uluyara understood Halisstra’s meaning, and said, “The Baenre will be warded. A scrying spell will not work.”
“She will be warded,” Halisstra conceded, “but she bears an item that once was mine, a healing wand that she took from me after the fall of Ched Nasad. That will aid the spell.” She looked her sisters in the face. “It will work, and that it does will be a sign from the Maiden.”
“She may sense the scrying,” Uluyara said.
Halisstra nodded and replied, “She might. Let us trust in the Lady, High Priestess. Time is short.” Halisstra felt the moments slipping from her.
“I am with you, Halisstra Melarn,” Uluyara said with a smile. “But to scry, we must have a basin of holy water.”
Halisstra scanned the top of the tor, looking for any standing pool of water left over from the rain. Uluyara and Feliane spread out to help search.
“Here!” Feliane called after only a few moments.
Halisstra and Uluyara hurried over and found Feliane standing over a small puddle of foul water that had pooled in a declivity in the rock.
“That will do,” Halisstra said.
“I will hallow it,” Uluyara said, taking out her holy symbol.
She held the medallion over the water and offered a prayer of consecration to Eilistraee. As she chanted the imprecation, she took a small pearl from her cloak and dropped it into the water. The pearl dissolved as if it was salt, the rime of filth vanished, and the water cleared. Uluyara ended the prayer and stepped back from the puddle.
“It is ready,” she said.
Halisstra could not help but smile. Between the raising of the temple and the consecration of a holy water font, the three priestesses had carved off a little piece of Lolth’s plane in Eilistraee’s name. It felt good; it felt defiant. She wondered how long the temple and font would last before the evil of the Pits reclaimed them.
It will stand forever once Lolth is dead, she thought.
With renewed determination, she knelt before the font and saw her dim reflection in its clear waters. Lolth’s eight stars, though they hung directly above her, did not show in the reflection. Halisstra was pleased. Even on her own plane, the Spider Queen could not befoul Eilistraee’s font.
Touching her holy symbol, Halisstra sang the song of scrying.
As the magic took shape, she conjured an image of Quenthel Baenre in her mind—her tall stature, her angry eyes and harsh mouth, the long white hair, the whip of serpents, the wand she had stolen from Halisstra . . .
The clear water darkened. Halisstra felt her consciousness expand. She continued the musical prayer, her voice growing more confident. Though she was not an especially skilled diviner, the words of the scrying spell poured easily from her lips. She knew that Quenthel’s wards could protect the Baenre priestess, but she knew with a certainty born of her faith that they would not. Eilistraee’s will would be done; Halisstra would be the Dark Maiden’s instrument.
An image formed in the font, wavering at first but clearer with each note that Halisstra sang. There was no sound, but when the image came fully into view it was as clear as a portrait. Uluyara and Feliane crowded close to see.
The image showed Quenthel Baenre in the air, clutched to the chest of an enormous creature covered in muscle and short, coarse fur. The rest of the monster’s body was not visible. Halisstra’s spell conveyed an image of only Quenthel and her immediate surroundings. Anything beyond that appeared as an indistinguishable gray blur.
Quenthel looked forward, a tight smile on her face, her intense eyes burning. Her long hair streamed behind her in the wind. Her mouth moved as if she was shouting something to the creature that held her.
Uluyara said, “She rides in the grasp of a demon. Look at the size of it, the six fingered hands and claws . . . it is a nalfeshnee.”
Halisstra nodded. Quenthel must have summoned and bound the nalfeshnee to her will.
The demon suddenly wheeled higher—Halisstra caused the scrying sensor to follow—into the midst of a swarm of drow souls. The spirits wheeled all around the image, flitting in and out of the spell’s “eye.”
“The river of souls!” Feliane exclaimed and looked skyward to the shades flowing through the sky. “She is here in the Demonweb Pits, at least.”
Halisstra nodded but maintained her concentration, keeping the image focused on Quenthel. The high priestess of Lolth barked something at the demon and freed a hand to brandish her serpent-headed whip. The demon decreased its altitude, and the souls disappeared from the image.
“Where are her companions?” Uluyara said.
Halisstra shook her head. “Possibly just out of view,” she said, though she felt a stab of fear for Danifae.
Halisstra had no doubt that Quenthel would kill anyone or anything if it served her purposes. She bit her lip in frustration. Her spell was not revealing enough. They knew Quenthel was flying with a demon somewhere in the Demonweb Pits but nothing more.
“Uluyara,” she said through her concentration. “You must help me. We need more information.”
Uluyara nodded. “Now that I have seen Quenthel Baenre, there is a spell I
can use to aid us. It will take some time to cast. Hold the image another moment. Let me fix the Baenre’s appearance in my mind.”
The high priestess studied the image for a time then rose.
“Enough,” she said. “Release it, Halisstra, before she senses the scrying. There is nothing more to see. Other divinations will serve us now.”
With a gasp, Halisstra let the spell dissipate. The image vanished, and the water once more grew clear. She stood, but her knees trembled.
Uluyara touched Halisstra’s shoulder with affection and said, “Well done, priestess. You have started us on the path. My own spell can learn how far the Baenre priestess is from here but little else. We will need that and more. While I discern her location, you two shall commune with the Lady and ask her for guidance.”
Words failed Halisstra. Her heart raced. Commune with the Lady! When she had been a priestess of Lolth, she sometimes had communed with the Spider Queen as part of her temple’s bloody rites, but the experience had never been pleasant. A mortal mind was easily overwhelmed by the divine. She found the thought of communing with Eilistraee both terrifying and exhilarating.
She shared a look with Feliane and saw acceptance in the elf ’s fair-skinned face. Both nodded at Uluyara.
“Good,” said the high priestess. “Let us hurry. As you said, Halisstra, time is short.”
“Not here. In the temple,” Halisstra offered.
Uluyara nodded and smiled. “Yes. In the temple. Very good.”
Under Lolth’s sky, the three priestesses hurried back to the hallowed ground of their makeshift temple. There, they cast their spells.
Uluyara sat cross-legged on the floor, her holy symbol cradled in her lap. She closed her eyes, steadied herself, and slipped quickly into a meditative trance. Whispered prayers slipped from her lips, snippets of songs in a language both beautiful and alien to Halisstra.
Halisstra and Feliane sat away from Uluyara, facing each other and holding hands to form a circle. Halisstra’s larger hands engulfed those of the elf priestess. Both of their palms were clammy. Feliane placed her holy symbol medallion on the floor between them.
“Ready?” Feliane asked and retook Halisstra’s hands.
R. A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Extinction, Annihilation, Resurrection Page 86
