Halisstra snarled. There was no room in her temple for a second Lady Penitent. Halisstra wasn't going to share her fawning 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 female had to be under some sort of magical protection.
Lolth's?
Behind Halisstra, the night twist continued its mournful song. Wendonai, it wailed. A hot, salty wind coursed through its branches, twisting them against one another. Black bark creaked, and the song shifted. It wasn't the balor's name the night twist was singing, but something else entirely: a message, stabbing at Halisstra's heart.
We… don't… die…
"Yes, we do," Halisstra snarled. She understood, now, why the priestess had come here: to kill her. She must be a demon hunter, a Darksong Knight like Cavatina. Maybe this was Cavatina. Halisstra's laugh skittered at the edge of sanity. "You're not going to use the Crescent Blade on me!" She grabbed the female's hands and tried to unbend her fingers. She would have the Crescent Blade-she must! Yet the fingers didn't move. Nor could they be clawed away; Halisstra's nails skidded harmlessly off them. She placed a foot on the female's wrists, grabbed the sword's crossguard, and tried to lever the Crescent Blade out of the fallen priestess's hands. She strained until her muscles ached and sweat ran down her temples.
"Let… go… of… it!"
The priestess refused.
"Abyss take you!" Halisstra snarled as she let go.
A movement in the jungle caught her eye. She whirled, the spider jaws in her cheeks gnashing. The priestess who'd led her here! Halisstra had forgotten her. The spying, sneaking wretch had seen it alclass="underline" Halisstra's humiliation, her anger… her fear.
Halisstra leaped to the spot where the priestess crouched, swept her up, and spun her around. Webs flew from Halisstra's hands.
The priestess didn't resist. "Queen of Spiders, I commend unto you my soul," she droned. "May I prove as worthy in death as I did in life."
"Have you learned nothing?" Halisstra screamed, outraged. "It isn't Lolth you serve, but the Lady Penitent!"
The priestess's voice grew muffled under the layers of web. "May I sing Lolth's praises through all eternity. May I dance upon her webs like a spider. May my soul return to her-"
"Stop it!" Halisstra shrieked. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" She flipped the web-bound priestess and caught her by the feet. Then she swung her through the air like a club. Flesh met steel with a dull thwack. The priestess's head sailed away, parted from her body by the Crescent Blade.
There. That shut her up.
Halisstra hurled the body into the jungle. The night twist's vines eagerly caught it and drew it to the trunk. Halisstra sneered. Plenty more, where that priestess came from. "Return to Lolth," she taunted. "If you still can."
She turned back to the priestess who held the Crescent Blade-a little too quickly, still blinded by her rage. The female's body rocked slightly, then toppled to one side.
Halisstra started. She leaped on the fallen priestess and grabbed the Crescent Blade. But tug as she might, the priestess still clung to it.
No matter. Halisstra picked up the demonic looking priestess and tucked her under one arm. There were songs Halisstra could sing, later, that would remove the sword from those hands. And then she would use the sword to kill the interloper.
From there, who knew what might be possible? Perhaps Halisstra would finish what she'd started, so many years ago. Kill Lolth-and maybe Eilistraee too, while she was at it. Anything was within her grasp, now that the Crescent Blade had been returned to her.
Shrieking with laughter, she hurried back to her temple.
CHAPTER 11
Naxil struggled to rise. He wasn't held by ropes or chains-something he might have escaped-but by magic. The fanatics had bound him with words. "Follow," they'd said, and he had. "Kneel," they'd ordered, and he had. Now, "Drink."
He tried to wrench his head aside, but couldn't. Compelled by magic, he gulped down the licorice-flavored drug the green-robed fanatic tipped into his mouth. As the drug took hold, the world slanted dizzily this way and that. Though his body hadn't physically altered, it now felt like a puddle of molten wax, soft and compliant. A numbness settled on his mind, quieting the screaming voice within. He smiled. Drool trickled down his chin.
Part of him knew there was nothing to smile about-and everything to scream about. He'd only joined the Masked Lady's faith a year ago, but he'd lived in the Promenade long enough to appreciate the terrible stillness that had settled upon the Cavern of Song. The chorus of voices that had filled it with sacred music and moonlight since its founding had been extinguished, and it was no longer a holy place. Now it was blasphemed by oozes and slimes, and by the presence of Ghaunadaur's fanatics. One of them-a stunted male in purple robes whose tentacle rod clung to his body like a leech-stared at the captives from a hovering driftdisc. He smiled gleefully as he savored their humiliation.
Naxil would have choked the life from him, were it not for the magic that held him fast and the drug that sent the world spinning. He consoled himself with the knowledge he'd fought well, with dagger and spellsong. After shaking off the charm the green-eyed male had cast on him, he'd personally killed three of Ghaunadaur's cultists. He'd danced from shadow to shadow, attacking from behind, avoiding the oozes and targeting their masters. He'd kept fighting long after realizing the battle was already lost. He'd prayed, then, that death would find him-that he'd make his way to the Masked Lady's side and sit in her cool, calming shadow.
In the end, despite those fervent prayers, despite his valiant struggles, he'd been captured, not killed. He bowed his head and said a silent prayer. Eilistraee grant that whatever happened next, it happened quickly.
Dozens of other captives kneeled or lay nearby-most of them lay worshipers routed from the Hall of the Faithful after the bubbling ooze had bored through the songwalls. Naxil spotted Jub, the half-orc, and several others he knew by name. Those too badly wounded to walk had been left to die The remainder were forced, like Naxil, to drink. There was even a Protector in their ranks, her chain mail hanging in tatters and her singing sword gone. It wasn't Leliana-Naxil had searched anxiously for her among the captives, but failed to spot her. He prayed she'd gone to Eilistraee's grace via a quick death.
Oozes slithered back and forth across the Cavern of Song, reducing the bodies of the fallen to puddles of sizzling flesh. The fanatic on the driftdisc, meanwhile, ordered the captives to their feet. "Follow," he commanded.
Together with the others, Naxil shuffled after the driftdisc. A second fanatic walked beside the line of captives lashing out with his whiplike rod at those who lagged. The amber-colored tentacles struck the moon elf next to Naxil, and she screamed as her skin burst into flame. Naxil tried to catch her, but the drug he'd been forced to drink made him stagger, and the words to his healing spell tangled together in his mind. The moon elf fell to the ground, her pale skin charred black. The reek of cooking meat filled the air.
The fanatic raised his rod to lash Naxil. As his arm whipped forward, another fanatic caught it and said something to him. The first one's aim was thrown off and just one tentacle struck Naxil's shoulder. He gasped as its heat seared into his flesh. The intense pain gave him a moment of clarity, and he whispered a song. Flesh knitted together. His mind cleared fully as Eilistraee's healing grace pushed the drug from his body. Yet the magical compulsion remained. Obedient as a soldier, he marched behind the driftdisc. He passed the fallen statue of Qilue-its face now reduced to a rounded blob by the slithering oozes-and descended into the spiral staircase the statue had once hidden.