Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,93

animated by the night twist’s mournful song, twined around her legs, but Halisstra was too strong for them. She continued to the clearing, tearŹing them like fragile spider webs.

The clearing looked empty. Yet the glint beckoned. Halisstra sang a melody that would reveal the invisible: nothing happened. She edged closer to the glint, alert for any sign of the demon. Wendonai could kill with the flick of a finger. Her memories of him crushing the life from her were still vivid. That time, Lolth’s magic had restored her. But Halisstra was no longer the Spider Queen’s pet plaything. If Wendonai broke her body a second time, Halisstra might die. Her soul would flutter back to Lolth, and the torment would begin anew.

No, she told herself sternly. That wouldn’t happen. She was a demigod now. A mortal who had been raised to godhood by the worship of her faithful. Just like Sheverash, she’d been tempered by pain and suffering, and her soul had been hamŹmered to the hardness of steel. She’d been reborn. She was free of Lolth, and the Spider Queen could no longer claim her.

Even so, she moved cautiously.

The glint hovered above a block of weathered stone. A faint odor wafted from it: the smell of diseased flesh. As Halisstra leaned closer, one of the spider legs protruding from her chest brushed against something. There was an invisible creature here!

She sprang back from the block of stone, her spider legs drumming nervously against her chest. Then she rememŹbered her priestess was watching. She moved forward again, and patted the invisible creature with her hands. It was more or less drow-shaped, and unmoving—frozen in a crouch and covered in a gritty dust that transferred onto Halisstra’s hands and sparkled in the moonlight. She patted the air above the invisible creature, where the gleam was, and hissed as something sharp sliced her hand. A more careful probing revealed a cool, flat surface: a curved sword blade, grooved with an inscription. Halfway down the blade, she felt a seam where the blade had been repaired.

Halisstra’s lips parted in silent surprise. No! It couldn’t be!

“Show me,” she hissed. “I command it!”

She felt something twist, deep within her mind. By force of will, she clawed away the magical blinders that covered her eyes. The illusion of emptiness fell away, and the invisŹible creature was revealed. That was the Crescent Blade she’d felt—in the hands of a demon, no less!

Or … was it a demon?

The female had black skin and white hair long enough to reach the block of stone she squatted on. Her face, like Halisstra’s, looked vaguely drow. Her body was as loathsome as Halisstra’s own: hunchbacked, spotted with fungus-sized boils, and with grossly elongated limbs. The fingers gripŹping the Crescent Blade ended in clawlike nails, and her eyes were solid white. She was unmoving, utterly unresponsive to Halisstra’s touch; When Halisstra tried scoring her flesh with a claw, nothing happened. She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Just kept staring at something silver that lay on the stone in front of her.

When she realized what it was, Halisstra gasped aloud. One of Eilistraee’s holy symbols! The other half of the holy symbol lay on the ground, a pace or two away. The blade had snapped in two—in exactly the same spot as the Crescent Blade had broken, all those years ago, when Halisstra had repudiated Eilistraee.

A shiver coursed through her. She stared at the demonlike female. Was this another priestess who had renounced her faith? Another of those who had tried to return to Lolth’s sticky embrace, only to be forced into an agonizing penance?

If so, what was she doing here, so close to Halisstra’s temple? What did it mean? Had Lolth placed this fallen priestŹess here? Had Wendonai?

Halisstra snarled. There was no room in her temple for a second Lady Penitent. Halisstra wasn’t going to share her fawnŹing faithful with anyone. She wrapped her spider legs around the demon-drow and tried to yank her from the block of stone, but the female didn’t budge. It was as if her feet were glued in place. No matter. Halisstra leaned in close and bit. Instead of sinking into yielding flesh, however, her fangs scritched away. The surface of the demon-drow’s neck was hard and as slippery as ice. No matter how hard Halisstra bit down, she couldn’t sink her teeth into that flesh. She sang a dispelling and tried again, but the ensorcelment proved too strong to break.

She sat back on her haunches, thinking. The

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