Leliana blinked. "Kill you? What makes you think-"
A low groan interrupted her. The priestess who had just cast the restorative spell sat back and whispered a prayer of thanks to her goddess.
Rowaan was alive again.
Leliana fell to her knees and embraced her. She touched the ring on Rowaan's finger. "That was bravely done, Rowaan."
Rowaan gave a weak shrug. "No need for thanks." She nodded at the woman who had raised her from death. "I knew Chezzara would be along eventually."
"Even so," Leliana said. "Death weakened you. Your magic will never be as strong."
"You would do the same for me, Mother. I know you would."
Q'arlynd's eyes widened slightly at that. He gave a mental nod. He'd already noted the resemblance between the two priestesses, yet he was surprised to hear that they were mother and daughter. Normally, among the drow, that counted for little. "Blood," as the old expression went, "was only a dagger-thrust deep." Mothers, more often than not, outlived their daughters-the slightest hint of treachery was met with brutal retaliation. But Leliana and Rowaan seemed to share something more than a mere House name: one of those rare bonds of genuine affection.
Elsewhere in the woods, swords clashed and a woman cried Eilistraee's name, reminding them that the battle still raged.
"I'm needed," the priestess who had raised Rowaan said. She pointed at Q'arlynd. "And so is he. Whoever he is, he's a formidable fighter, and it's not just driders we're facing. There's a judicator fighting alongside them."
Both Leliana and Rowaan startled.
The healer, that dire pronouncement made, turned and hurried away into the woods.
Leliana helped Rowaan sit up then turned to Q'arlynd. She stared at him a long moment then inclined her head. "Thank you."
Q'arlynd bowed. "My pleasure, but before we rejoin the battle, I have one question. What's a judicator?"
"One of Selvetarm's champions," Leliana answered.
"One of his clerics?" Q'arlynd asked. He shuddered at the memory of spider-pupiled eyes.
"More." Leliana's expression grim. "Much more." Judging by the abrupt way the scream had cut off, another priestess had just found that out.
As the sun rose the next morning, Flinderspeld wandered through the forest, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun. Drider corpses were everywhere-draped over tree branches and splayed on the ground in a litter of shattered legs, blood, and smashed chitin. Strangely, he hadn't seen any dead priestesses, though there was evidence that several had died. Three times, he found a breastplate sliced entirely in two, atop a crumpled pile of chain mail and boots and with a sword lying nearby. It was as if the women who had died wearing the armor had suddenly vanished, leaving their weapons and equipment behind.
Flinderspeld was very, very glad that he hadn't met up with whatever had done that.
He spotted a living priestess a short distance ahead and hurried toward her. Torn links dangled from a slash in her chain mail, and her breastplate was drenched with blood. She stood, sword blade resting on her shoulder, staring down at another pile of empty armor.
"Ah, excuse me," Flinderspeld asked. "I'm looking for the priestess Vlashiri. Leliana told me to seek her out."
The woman looked at him with hollow, exhausted eyes. "You found her."
Flinderspeld couldn't believe his luck. He held up the finger that bore the slave ring. "Leliana said you could remove the curse from this slave ring."
"That's no longer possible."
Flinderspeld blinked. "But Leliana promised. She-"
"Too late for promises," the priestess said. "Vlashiri's… gone. There isn't anything left of her to resurrect."
"Oh." Flinderspeld looked down at the empty armor, suddenly realizing that the priestess he was speaking to wasn't Vlashiri, after all. "Is there anyone else who could…?"
The look in the woman's eye silenced him. "Not any more. Not at this shrine, at least." Then she sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just that… Try the Promenade, near Waterdeep. That's our main temple. Several of the priestesses there are familiar with curses. Perhaps one of them could help you."
Flinderspeld nodded politely, though he had never heard of the place. Even if this "Waterdeep" was only a league away, he was unlikely to reach it. He'd managed to avoid his master during the frenzy of the past night's drider attack, but with the battle over, sooner or later Q'arlynd would-
As if on cue, he felt his master's awareness slide into his mind, like a dagger into a well-oiled sheath. Flinderspeld turned and saw the wizard walking toward him.
"Ah, Flinderspeld. There you are. I was worried you might have vanished."
Not a good choice of words, Master, Flinderspeld thought back, pointedly nodding at the empty armor.
Q'arlynd paled. Flinderspeld wondered why Vlashiri's empty armor unnerved his master so.
"Vlashiri's dead?" Q'arlynd asked, repeating aloud the information he had just plucked from Flinderspeld's mind. The wizard glanced at the ring on Flinderspeld's hand. "I suppose you'll have to find someone else to remove that ring then, won't you?"
If that's meant to be a joke, it isn't funny.
Q'arlynd wagged a finger at him. "Don't be so bitter, Flinderspeld. This isn't the time for it. I'm about to accept Eilistraee as my patron deity. You're going to be my witness. Come."
Dutifully, Flinderspeld trudged after his master. He had no choice. If he disobeyed, Q'arlynd would take over his body and march him along like a puppet. Flinderspeld had borne that stoically, back in Ched Nasad-as a slave in a drow city, his only chance at survival had been to obey his master, and Q'arlynd, for all his bluster, had never harmed him. After what Flinderspeld had seen the past night, he was starting to question his master's decency. Flinderspeld, invisible, had followed Q'arlynd. He'd seen his master stand idly by while the driders killed Leliana. He'd also noted the flicker of magical energy around Q'arlynd's hands as he stared down at her near-fatal wounds-a flicker that always preceded a deadly magical bolt. Until that moment, Flinderspeld had thought that his master joined the battle to prove himself to the priestesses, but he soon understood that Q'arlynd must have intended to kill Leliana and Rowaan all along.
It was something Flinderspeld should have anticipated. He'd been stupid to think that his master was different from other dark elves.
Q'arlynd led him to a section of the forest that was littered with broken chunks of stone, the ruins of buildings that had fallen long ago. Eventually, they came to an odd-looking structure that must have been a shrine to the drow sword goddess. It consisted of a dozen sword-shaped columns of black obsidian, set point-first into a circular platform of white stone. The hilts of the column-swords were flattened, and supported a circular roof, also of white stone, that had a hole at its center. The shrine looked ancient, its moon-shaped roof weathered until its edges were softly rounded.
Flinderspeld admired the columns as they approached the shrine through the ground-hugging mist. Obsidian was a difficult stone to work with, its brittle edges constantly flaking and splitting. Whoever had carved the rounded contours of those sword hilts was a master, and they'd also known how to use magic. Even after centuries of exposure to the elements, the edges of those swords still looked sharp. There was dried blood on one of them-blood shed, presumably, by driders.
A priestess, still in blood-splattered chain mail and with the fresh scars of magically healed wounds visible against her black skin, waited at the center of the shrine. As Q'arlynd and Flinderspeld approached, she beckoned them to join her. Q'arlynd stepped into the shrine without hesitation. Flinderspeld was more wary. He could sense the haze of magic that surrounded the shrine. It was accompanied by a sound like the high-pitched voices of women distantly singing. Flinderspeld tested the space between two of the sword-columns with a finger, half expecting to encounter some sort of magical barrier. Then, cautiously, he stepped into the shrine.