by Lisa Smedman
Cavatina had no air left in her lungs. The ooze forced its way down into her throat. Gagging, she hacked at the thinnest section of its body—the side opposite the spot where Leliana and the male crouched. Cavatina’s knees scrabbled on the acid-slick floor. Had it not been for her spell, her clothing and armor would have dissolved by now, and her flesh with them. Behind her, she could hear the male’s muffled shouting.
The ooze squeezed harder. Spots of bright light crackled in Cavatina’s vision. She felt a rib crack. She thrust again with the sword and felt its point break through the outer skin of the ooze, into the air beyond.
Suddenly, the ooze was gone, vanished back into the Ethereal Plane.
Cavatina sucked in a shuddering breath, exhaled through her nostrils, and blew out the sludge the ooze had left behind. She sang her thanks to the goddess—but couldn’t hear anything. Movement behind her caught her eye: Leliana scrambling to her in utter silence, sword in hand, an astonished look on her face. The Protector halted at the edge of the acid slick the ooze had left behind and shouted something—but her words were lost in the magical silence. She switched to silent speech instead.
Where did you come from? Where did the ooze go?
The second question was the important one. It’s ethereal, Cavatina signed back. Be careful. It might materialize again.
Behind Leliana, the male touched his fingers to the floor. He waved, hoping to catch their attention, then signed. Keep still. When the spell wears off, it will be able to feel us moving.
Cavatina glanced at Leliana. He cast the silence?
Leliana nodded. He’s a Nightshadow.
Smart. But where’s his mask?
Later.
The Nightshadow, his ruined eyes staring sightlessly, maintained his vigil, his fingers lightly touching the floor. The three waited—long enough for the acid that was everywhere to dry to a crust. Cavatina would have to renew her protection when she eventually washed it off. But that was the least of her worries. What mattered now was whether the ethereal ooze rematerialized.
It didn’t.
Cavatina realized she could hear herself breathing.
“That was close,” Leliana whispered.
The Nightshadow cocked his head. Nodded. Too close, he signed.
Cavatina was impressed. The male’s senses were sharp. “I think we’re safe now,” she said, speaking aloud for his benefit. “If the ooze were going to attack again, it would be on us already. Oozes aren’t intelligent enough to lie in wait.” She crawled to the arch. Leliana followed.
“Where did you come from, Lady Cavatina?” Leliana repeated. “Did you find the portal?”
Cavatina was surprised. “You knew about it, too? How did you get into the room?”
“What room?”
Cavatina realized they must be talking about different portals. “Why don’t you start by telling me how you got here, Leliana. In detail.”
Leliana told a strange story of following a wizard’s construct into a cavern that wept gray ooze. “It must have escaped from the Pit,” she concluded. “It—”
“Yes. There’s a planar breach.”
“How did you know?”
“I saw it,” Cavatina said grimly. “Finish your report.”
Leliana bowed her head in acknowledgement of the order. She continued her report. It seemed that she and the male, whose name was Naxil, had done battle with a molten ooze—the one that had disfigured him. They’d journeyed to this spot along the route Cavatina had explored, past the now-solidified lava and up the staircase.
“How did you get around the barrier at the top of the stairs?” Cavatina asked.
Leliana held up her hand and nodded at the ring on her finger. “The same way I activated the portal. By touching gold to it—on purpose, this time.”
That explained the golden glow. Cavatina took a closer look at the ring. It looked like an ordinary band of gold. “Is it magic?”
“Its ensorcelments have nothing to do with it. I think that anything gold will activate the portals.” Leliana’s smile faded. She slapped her ringed hand against the blocked archway. “Except for this one.”
Cavatina nodded. Her thoughts were on the archway at the top of the stairs, and the ooze pressing against it. “Let’s just pray that the oozes haven’t fed on anyone wearing gold jewelry,” she said, thinking of the sacrifice she’d seen earlier. “Or the ones that aren’t ethereal will escape too.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Leliana said. Then she shook her head. “But oozes are mindless things. They don’t have enough intelligence to open the barrier on purpose, and the odds of any gold they carry inside them coming into contact with the barrier by random chance are small.”
The Nightshadow flicked a hand. Something’s happening.
“What is it?” Cavatina hissed. “The ethereal ooze?”
The Nightshadow shook his head. He slid his fingers along the intricate carving that formed the frame of the arch. “The stone feels warm,” he whispered back. “I think the portal may be activating.”
“Finally!” Leliana exclaimed. “Go on through, Naxil.”
The Nightshadow started to move toward the arch. Cavatina caught his shoulder. “One moment, Naxil.”
He halted. “Lady?”
“Once we’re back in the Promenade, say nothing of the planar breach until I’ve had a chance to report it to the battle-mistress. We don’t want to start a panic.” The real reason, of course, was that she didn’t want it known she’d seen the planar breach first-hand. If word of that reached Qilué’s ears, the high priestess would realize that Horaldin had not only recognized her portal for what it was, but had led Cavatina to it.
Naxil bobbed his head. “Of course, Dark Lady.”
“Off you go, then,” Cavatina said.
“Wait for me on the other side, Naxil,” Leliana added. “I’ll guide you to the Hall of Healing.”
“Someone else can take him there,” Cavatina said. “Battle-mistress Rylla will want to hear your observations, as well.”
“But it will only take a moment to—”
Cavatina held up a warning finger. “You’re coming with me. That’s an order, Protector.”
The Nightshadow crouched by the arch, waiting.
Leliana’s cheeks darkened, but she made no further protest. “Go on through, Naxil,” she said gently. “I’ll catch up to you once I’ve made my report.”
He nodded, crawled forward into seemingly solid stone, and disappeared.
As soon as he had gone, Leliana wheeled on Cavatina. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”
Cavatina sighed. Suddenly, she felt utterly exhausted. “Rylla will explain.”
“What about Lady Qilué? She’ll want to hear our report too. Has she been called back to the Promenade?”
Cavatina hid her wince at the use of the high priestess’s name. She resisted the urge to glance around. Was Qilué now listening in on their conversation? Was Wendonai? “She’ll be contacted, if Rylla deems it necessary.”
“‘Necessary?’” Leliana repeated, her voice incredulous. “Of course it’s necessary that Qilué—”
“Lady Leliana,” Cavatina said sternly. “This portal may only remain active for a short time, and we don’t want to be trapped down here. Step through it, please. Promptly.”
Visibly fuming, Leliana at last stepped into the portal. As the Protector disappeared, Cavatina briefly closed her eyes. If Qilué had been corrupted by a demon, the Promenade was in danger from two fronts: from without and within.
What was it that Qilué had said, when she’d ordered the attack on the Acropolis of the death goddess? The memory of that conversation returned like a chilling premonition. “Cut off the head, and the temple will fall.”
“Eilistraee protect us,” Cavatina whispered. “Grant that it not be so.”
She squared her shoulders and walked through the “stone” that filled the arch. A heartbeat later, she emerged on the other s
ide, within the Hall of Empty Arches. Leliana and Naxil stood there, together with Rylla, who must have been called to the hall the moment the portal reactivated.
Qilué was just behind them.
Cavatina exchanged glances with Rylla as they followed Qilué back to the Hall of the Priestesses. Leliana was with them, but Naxil had been led away to the Hall of Healing. Just as well—that was one less person who might let something slip in Qilué’s presence. Cavatina noticed Rylla toying with a strand of hair. The battle-mistress was keeping her hand close to her holy symbol.
Qilué walked at the front of the group, looking imperious in her silver robe. She never once looked back at her priestesses, expecting them to follow her without question or pause, as they always had done. The scabbard at her hip was empty, and Qilué held the Crescent Blade in her hand. Its blade rested lightly on her shoulder, just below her ear. Cavatina wondered if the sword were whispering to the high priestess, even now.
“Praise Eilistraee you’ve returned, Lady Qilué,” Cavatina said. Her fingers moved in a silent question at her side, where only Rylla would see them. When?
Just now, Rylla replied.
Cavatina silently groaned. The high priestess must have heard Leliana speak her name—and the snatch of conversation that had followed. Out loud, Cavatina continued, “We found a portal in one of the tunnels south of the river. It leads to caverns below the level of the old mine. We sighted oozes down there. I’m worried the Pit may have developed a breach.”
Leliana shot Cavatina a quick look, obviously noting Cavatina’s use of the words “may have.” Fortunately, the Protector was well behind Qilué, and the high priestess didn’t notice.
“Troubling news,” Qilué answered in a flat voice, without even breaking her stride. The high priestess’s shoulders had tensed, Cavatina noted, at the word “portal,” then relaxed again at the mention of it being south of the river—a location that was nowhere near the ancient temple.
Detection? Cavatina signed to Rylla.
No evil seen. You try.
Leliana had dropped back slightly, forcing Cavatina and Rylla to shift awkwardly to hide their silent conversation. The Protector obviously realized something serious was in the offing—even if she had no idea, yet, what it was. She watched them out of the corner of her eye.
Cavatina was forced to sign with Leliana watching. Report dretch, she suggested.
Rylla moved up beside Qilué. “Lady Qilué, there was an intrusion you should know about. A dretch was spotted …”
As Rylla sketched out the events that had followed the dretch’s discovery, Cavatina dropped back another pace and sang under her breath—softly, so Qilué wouldn’t hear her. Her prayer took hold, causing the holy symbol that hung against her chest to softly vibrate. She scanned the Crescent Blade, looking for the bruised purple aura that accompanied evil. To her surprise, the sword was clean.
Had she been wrong about Wendonai being inside the Crescent Blade?
Rylla glanced back briefly. Cavatina flicked a quick message at her. Nothing.
Illusion?
Doubtful. Cavatina had never heard of a balor capable of conjuring illusions.
Banished? Rylla signed without looking back.
An excellent question—one that Cavatina didn’t know the answer to.
“The oozes concern me more than one lone dretch does,” Qilué told her battle-mistress. “They’re the real threat to the Promenade. Are the seals on the Pit intact?”
“Yes, Lady,” Rylla answered. “I checked them myself, earlier today.”
Cavatina, still well back, whispered a second prayer. The silver aura that accompanied holiness sprang into view around the high priestess. But it was fainter than it should have been: a dull gleam, rather than a sheen so bright it caused the eyes to ache. The silver glow was faintest near the hand that gripped the Crescent Blade—the hand whose wrist was marked with a small, still-visible scar.
The Crescent Blade itself was devoid of an aura. For an item forged from moon metal and consecrated to Eilistraee, that was telling indeed.
Wendonai must have been inside it, Cavatina decided, even if he wasn’t there now. Perhaps, having done Lolth’s bidding by persuading Qilué to open a portal to the Pit, he’d departed. The Spider Queen could very well have restored his corpse to life, allowing him to return to the Abyss.
All well and good, but it left a gaping hole. With Wendonai departed, there was nothing to prevent Qilué’s priestesses from pointing out to the high priestess what she’d been tricked into doing—and then reversing it. Lolth might be insane, but she was cunning. She wouldn’t have overlooked this flaw in her plans.
The more likely possibility—vastly more terrifying—was that Wendonai had departed the Crescent Blade for a living host: Qilué.
Cavatina shifted her song a second time, and saw what she’d missed before: a faint purple glow, just above the scar. That was where Wendonai must be hiding.
She fought to hide the revulsion she felt. The situation was more grave than she’d dreamed. Was Qilué’s mind still her own? Was this a demon Cavatina was talking to?
No. Some part of Qilué remained. A significant part. Or her aura wouldn’t have shone silver at all.
Cavatina prayed that Wendonai wasn’t listening in on her thoughts. If he’d heard what had just passed through her mind—or was listening to whatever Rylla was currently thinking—he’d counter whatever they tried next. She prayed that redemption was an armor he couldn’t penetrate.
There was still time to arrange an exorcism—as long as nothing happened to tip their hand. No rash moves, she decided. Nothing that would force the demon to react before they were ready. She’d play along, make her report, and slip away as quickly as she could to make the necessary preparations.
Cavatina directed a sending at Leliana—a carefully worded one that wouldn’t send the Protector into a panic. This may be an imposter, not Qilué. I need to question her without alerting her. On my signal, sing a truth psalm. Do nothing more.
Leliana’s lips tightened. She nodded.
They approached the High House. Rylla reached for the door, but Qilué blocked her. “Thank you for your report, battle-mistress. Please return to the Mound, and re-inspect the seals on the Pit.”
“Surely someone else can tend to that, Lady.” Rylla nodded in the direction of Cavatina and Leliana. “It’s important that I hear what these two have to.”
“Do it,” Qilué said in a terse voice. “Now. A thorough check, this time, or I will hold you personally responsible for whatever follows. As will Eilistraee.”
Exorcism, Cavatina spelled while the high priestess’s back was turned. Prepare.
Rylla stiffened. Hopefully, the high priestess would think this a reaction to the insult she’d just handed her battle-mistress. Rylla bowed stiffly and hurried away.
Qilué watched her leave, then pulled the door open and motioned for Cavatina and Leliana to enter. Cavatina tensed. Was the demon taking them somewhere out of the public eye, somewhere it could attack?
Qilué directed them to the room at the very heart of the High House: the chamber that housed her private altar. A holy place, filled with Eilistraee’s blessings. Was the demon trying to prove something? That Eilistraee’s relics were of no consequence?
As Leliana paused before the door, she caught Cavatina’s eye and lifted one eyebrow slightly. Cavatina decided the time was not yet ripe. She would play this move out, and see what followed. “After you, Protector,” she said.
Qilué closed the heavy stone door behind them.
The circular room, shot through with hair-thin threads of moonlight, had walls painted with a mural of a forest. When the stone door was closed, the illusion was complete. Moss, sustained by magic, carpeted the floor, filling the shrine with a woodland smell. A pedestal plated in gold, its top even with Cavatina’s eyes, stood at the center of the room. Perched atop it was a rust red, deeply pitted rock the size of a loaf of bread: a fragment of the b
oulder that had parted from the moon and streaked through the sky on the night Ghaunadaur’s avatar had been defeated.
Qilué raised the Crescent Blade above her head and began to dance around the altar. As the high priestess passed behind the pillar, Cavatina caught Leliana’s eye and nodded before beginning her own dance. Leliana lifted her blackened singing sword and joined in, her lips moving in a whispered song. She spun her blade in a tight circle above her head—a gesture that looked as though it were part of her dance, but was actually part of her spellcasting.
In the same instant that Leliana unleashed her truth-compelling prayer, Qilué quickened her dance and spun behind Cavatina, out of the spell’s path. Cavatina felt the tingle of magic and realized, to her horror, that Qilué had maneuvered her into the path of the magic.
Qilué wheeled on her. “How did you know the Pit has a breach?” she demanded.
“I—” Cavatina tried to lie, but couldn’t. Words tumbled out of her mouth—not the carefully worded “report” she’d been rehearsing, but the truth about what had transpired. Horaldin showing her the portal; Cavatina slipping through it and becoming ethereal; seeing the planar breach, the ooze flowing out of it, the self-sacrifice of the green-eyed drow …
Qilué cut her off at that point with a curt, “That’s enough.”
Cavatina hid her relief. The high priestess hadn’t thought to ask why Horaldin had shown Cavatina the portal. Yet.
Leliana had listened, sword in hand. Now she glanced uncertainly back and forth between Cavatina and the high priestess—as though she’d like to silently ask what to do next, but didn’t dare. Her singing sword let out a low, worried hum.
“Sheathe that,” Qilué ordered.
“Why would you have me do that, Lady Qilué?”
“Because it’s annoying.”
Leliana shifted the weapon slightly. “It no longer fits in its scabbard, Lady Qilué.”
“Then find another way to silence it!” Qilué barked. “Lay it down.”
Leliana obediently placed her sword on the floor, ending its song.
Cavatina smiled to herself as she realized why Leliana had asked the question. Qilué’s blunt answer seemed to indicate the truth spell had taken hold of her, as well, despite her attempt to shield herself from it by stepping behind Cavatina. Before Qilué could gather her wits, Cavatina spat out a question of her own. “Why did you open a portal to the Pit, Lady Qilué?”
