Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,21

where it might have gone. Into the Crescent Blade. That would explain how a dretch had wound up inside the High House. Wendonai could have summoned it—right under Qilué’s nose—from within the Crescent Blade, just before the high priestess departed on her inspection tour.

It also explained the holy water Meryl had been carrying. Qilué herself must have suspected something was wrong with the weapon. She was trying to banish the demon—without, Cavatina suspected, much success.

Carefully, never once mentioning Qilué by name, Cavatina outlined her fears. She concluded with a recap of the conversaŹtion she’d had with the halfling, just before the dretch made its appearance.

Rylla’s lips tightened. “What can we do?”

“If it’s only the sword that’s possessed, we can banish the demon back to the Abyss. If the possession has gone further …” Cavatina took a deep breath.

Rylla’s eyes widened. “Eilistraee grant it’s not as bad as that!”

“An exorcism is something best dealt with here, where Eilistraee’s presence is strongest,” Cavatina said. “But it will need sufficient preparation. How long will it be before the high priestess returns?”

“A tenday, at least.”

Cavatina nodded. “All arrangements will have to be made in secret. If a demon has taken control of the high priestess, we won’t want to tip our hand.”

Rylla’s face was gray with strain. “This shouldn’t go beyond the walls of this room. It could cause a crisis of faith. One that could cost us dearly.”

“Agreed,” Cavatina said. She stared grimly at the font. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. Why would Eilistraee have permitted something evil to fall into the hands of her Chosen?”

“She wouldn’t have,” Rylla said firmly. “Unless…” She turned away—but not before Cavatina saw the pained look in her eyes.

“What? Say what you’re thinking!”

“There are whispers. About what happened when the realms of Eilistraee and Vhaeraun were joined. If they’re true, it might not have been Eilistraee who guided the Crescent Blade into the high priestess’s hands.”

Cavatina shivered. Her mouth felt as dry as chalk. To hear such blasphemy—and from the Promenade’s battle-mistress! It was unthinkable.

Rylla gave a chuckle that sounded forced. “Those rumors are nonsense, of course. The Dark Maiden simply shifted the tempo of her dance. She had to, in order to bring the Nightshadows into the fold. Eilistraee still rules, by song and sword. Vhaeraun is dead.”

“By song and sword,” Cavatina echoed, touching the hilt of her weapon. The sword let out a low, soothing hum from deep within its scabbard.

It didn’t help. Cavatina still felt as off balance as a dancer with one leg. If her guess was right—if the demon Wendonai now inhabited the Crescent Blade, and he in turn was corŹrupting Qilué—the Promenade was in grave danger. She held out her hands. “Sing with me.”

Rylla clasped Cavatina’s arms. Like partners in a frozen dance, they bowed their heads.

Together, they prayed.

Horaldin stopped in front of a door and glanced up and down the corridor. Though singing wafted from elsewhere in the Promenade, this corridor was empty for the moment. He opened the door, stepped through swiftly, and motioned for Cavatina to follow.

He shut the door behind them. This corridor was short, no more than a dozen paces long. It ended in a little-used door of solid black obsidian. The druid grasped the adamantine deadbolt at the side of the door and tugged, but the deadbolt didn’t move. He nodded, as if he’d been expecting this.

Cavatina glanced over his shoulder. There was no lock visible. If the door was locked, it was held shut by magic.

Horaldin touched his fingertips to the door’s glassy surface, closed his eyes, and whispered.

Cavatina tapped one foot impatiently. She’d sought out Horaldin, intending to get him to repeat, word for word, his argument with Qilué, in order to see if the high priestess had said anything telling. Instead of answering her quesŹtions directly, Horaldin had insisted on going somewhere “private” where they could talk. Now they were creeping about the Promenade like rogues with looted valuables in their pockets. Cavatina was starting to suspect it wasn’t merely a quest for privacy that had caused Horaldin to lead her this way.

“Horaldin, please. Can’t you just tell me what prompted your argument with—”

Horaldin’s eyes sprang open. “Shh! Don’t say her name! She’ll hear you!”

Cavatina took a deep breath. “I wasn’t about to do that. I was the one who reminded you not to speak her name aloud, remember?”

“I just hope she’s not scrying us,” Horaldin said.

That, Cavatina could agree with. Even though Qilué wouldn’t return to the Promenade for several