Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,115

sisters; lend your voice to their song. By joining the circle, the weak are made strong.

Had there been voices singing that outside her temple, just a moment ago?

Halisstra glared at Eilistraee. “Lolth did claim me for a time, but no more. I’m not hers—and I’m not yours. You abandoned me in the Demonweb Pits. You stood and watched as Lolth degraded me, consumed me. You watched and did nothing!” She was surprised at the vehemence that boiled out of her. She hadn’t thought it would still sting. She gripped the Crescent Blade tightly, reminding herself that her mortal life was over. Done. She was Lolth’s plaything no longer. She’d never have to look upon that gloating, Danifae-faced goddess again.

Until she killed her.

“Yes,” Eilistraee said, softly as a sigh. “Kill Lolth. That’s what the Crescent Blade was forged to do. That’s what you were destined to do. You faltered, the first time….”

Halisstra snarled. She didn’t like to be reminded of that.

“But I’m giving you a second chance,” Eilistraee continued. “A chance to redeem yourself. When Lolth transformed you, she bound you with webs of hatred and guilt. But any web can be broken, if only you are strong enough. Take your revenge on the Spider Queen. Use the disguise she has unwittingly given you. Lolth will never credit you with the strength you truly have.”

“Strength?” Halisstra shrieked. She rubbed a throbbing temple with a callused hand.

“Yes, strength. Your penance has tempered you, made you strong as darkfire-forged adamantine. But now that penance is at an end.”

“My… penance?” Halisstra echoed hollowly. Her thoughts felt thick, snarled in web. How could Eilistraee possibly “end” anything? Lolth had been the one to twist her body, to break her spirit, to name her the Lady Penitent.

“Your penance began before that,” Eilistraee said softly. “The moment you broke my sacred sword, it began. But now it can end. Rejoin me.”

Could it? Halisstra wavered. Would Eilistraee truly take her back, after all she had done? Halisstra could feel the power of the goddess who stood before her. It radiated from Eilistraee, filling the chamber. Cleansing it. Turning a place of darkness and death into a place of moonlight and song.

The tiny spark that had been nickering, flear extinguished, deep inside Halisstra, longed to be fanned back to life. When that happened, her torment could end. She would be forgiven. Redeemed.

Eilistraee held out her hand. “Come,” she sang. “Take my hand. Accept my mercy. Rejoin the dance.”

Halisstra leaned close. She lowered the Crescent Blade. Extended her free hand …

She’s lying.

The whisper was thin, metallic. It came to Halisstra’s ears like the hum of a tuning fork, as the sword in her hand vibrated.

That’s not Eilistraee.

Halisstra gasped. A trick! She saw it. The voice was right: that wasn’t Eilistraee who stood before her. That wasn’t a hand reaching for her, but a spider. Only one goddess could have bored a hole in her chest that would not heal: Lolth. The Spider Queen had tricked her!

Screaming her rage, she slashed with the Crescent Blade.

The eyes above the mask widened. “Halisstra!” Eilistraee cried. “N—”

Steel met flesh and bit deep. The goddess’s neck parted. Her head tumbled from her shoulders and landed with a dull thump. Her body slowly twisted, then suddenly collapsed. Silver blood poured onto the floor from the severed stump of a neck. It covered the stone floor in a glittering silver wave, throwing dancing shadows across the walls, then faded to black.

Halisstra, panting, stared down at the headless corpse, her spider jaws twitching furiously. “I’m your Lady Penitent no more!” she screamed.

She felt a tickle on her chest. She glanced down, and saw that a spider had spun a web across the wound in her chest. It completed its web and yanked, drawing the edges shut. The ache that had resided there faded—as did the fainter sting in her knee. She turned her leg, inspecting it. The tiny, crescent-shaped scar was gone.

She heard a sharp crack. The Crescent Blade suddenly felt lighter in her hand. Its blade struck the floor with a clang that echoed like the tolling of a bell. A wisp of black seeped from the broken hilt, then whispered away.

Realization at last shoved its way into Halisstra’s web-shrouded mind. It wasn’t Lolth she’d just killed, but Eilistraee. And now that the Crescent Blade was broken—she stared at the hilt in her hand—she never would kill Lolth.

This had been what the Spider Queen had wanted, all along.

Halisstra sank to the floor, too stricken to speak.

Laughter echoed