Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,117

An enormous, demonic figure with spider legs protruding from its chest—Halisstra—stood next to a throne that looked like a spider with crumpled legs, holding the Crescent Blade in one misshapen hand. A headless body in priestess’s chain mail and breastplate that had to be Cavatina lay on the floor at Halisstra’s feet. Yet this wasn’t what had made Leliana stop and stare. These two lesser figures were eclipsed by a third: a drow female who stood at the center of the room. The female had the features and build of Qilué, but was suffused with a power greater even than the high priestess’s silver fire. Qilué, transformed, was radiant with moonlight, graceful as song, strong as the Weave itself. Her body, her voice, her every gesture had a beauty that made Leliana’s breath catch in her throat.

“Eilistraee,” Leliana breathed. She took a step forward, but a note sounded in her mind. Wait, it commanded.

Leliana halted. She listened as the goddess offered redempŹtion to the fallen priestess. Leliana had glimpsed Halisstra once before, briefly, atop the Acropolis, but it was still hard to believe a priestess could have been brought so low. Halisstra was raving, clearly maddened by the tortures Lolth had inflicted. Yet she leaned ever so slightly toward Eilistraee, like a self-conscious dancer about to take a first, hesitant step. She ached for the redemption Eilistraee was offering with outstretched hands.

“Let her lead you,” Leliana breathed. She lifted her own hand, yearning to touch that of the goddess. Tears of pure joy poured down her cheeks. “Dance. Sing. Take her hand.”

Suddenly, Halisstra’s posture changed. She cocked an ear, then howled in rage. The Crescent Blade flashed as it sliced through the moonlit air. It thudded into Eilistraee’s neck—a sound that struck Leliana like a physical blow. In one terrible, frozen moment that would sear itself into her memory forever, Leliana saw the goddess’ head tumble from her shoulders. The head landed with a thud, the goddess’ body crumpled, and the moonlight went out.

Leliana fainted.

Laeral blasted apart the final golem with her wand and shouted to those priestesses and Nightshadows who still remained on their feet. “Hurry! Leliana needs our help!”

She spun to enter the mound—finally, the way was clear—but halted as she heard several of Eilistraee’s faithful cry out at once. They stood, staring up at the sky, stricken expressions on their faces. One of them pointed with a shaking hand. “The moon!”

Laeral glanced up. The moon was gone. How? She shudŹdered, then pulled herself together. Qilué needed her. Too many precious moments had already been consumed by the battle with the golems.

She leaped over the fallen golem, into the mound. She spoke Qilué’s truename under her breath. Perhaps, even in stasis, Qilué might hear it. “Ilindyl! I’m coming, sister!”

Too dark; she couldn’t see. With a thought, she bathed her body in a sheen of silver light. As she passed through the second chamber, a demonic voice roared in triumph, up ahead. “I’m your Lady Penitent no more!”

Laeral plunged into the tunnel leading to the third corriŹdor. Just ahead, she saw Leliana, crumpled on the floor. The priestess’s magical sword lay on the ground beside her body. From the chamber beyond came the sharp clank of metal on stone: another blade, being dropped to the floor?

Laeral readied the components of a spell as she ran. “Stay strong, sister. I’m nearly there!”

A demonic figure leaped to its feet as Laeral burst into the room: Halisstra. Snarling, squinting against the glare of Laeral’s silver fire, Halisstra hurled a broken sword hilt at Laeral, then leaped at her and spat out a deadly word. One clawed hand raked Laeral’s hip, tearing it open. Laeral felt the power of the magic word bore through her. A less powerful wizard would have instantly withered and died, but she was sustained by Mystra’s magic. The wound in her hip instantly healed. She slapped Halisstra with a hand, and shouted a transmutation. Halisstra ceased moving, her face frozen in an anguished snarl.

Laeral hurried past her. She fell to her knees beside two corpses, each missing its head. One was Cavatina, the other, Qilué, her body no longer demonic. The amulet Laeral had given Qilué lay in a puddle of blood, next to her head. Laeral touched her fallen sister’s corpse. Already, the body was growŹing cool. “Oh, sister,” she mourned. “What have I done?”

From behind her came a groan, and the scrape of metal on stone. Laeral whirled—but it was only Leliana, picking up her sword