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
