"Mystra!" Qilue cried, desperately calling forth spellfire.
The judicator's sword swept down, even as moon-white fire blazed through the cavern.
Selvetarm loomed above Cavatina. Another dollop of acid dripped from his mace and landed with a bubbling hiss on the stone next to her, splattering and burning her skin. The god's mouth was enormous-wide as a doorway. Hot, foul-smelling breath washed over her as his fangs clamped hold of her torso. She gasped as she was lifted from the ground, the spiderwebs that had accumulated on her body hanging from her like limp hair. Dangling upside down from Selvetarm's fangs-which had yet to puncture her breastplate and deliver a final, poisoned bite-she saw the blur that was the traitor Halisstra sway through her field of view.
Halisstra waved one of her twisted, elongated arms. Behind her, a black dot that was the iron fortress of Lolth thundered toward them on its eight metal legs, its feet clashing like gongs against the ground.
Halisstra shouted something. Garbled words, to Cavatina's ears, which still rang from the unholy word Selvetarm had used to fell her. Cavatina could see more clearly. That flash of silver was the Crescent Blade, being waved overhead by a triumphant Halisstra, a creature that had only pretended to be seeking redemption, a demonic thing of Lolth.
Halisstra shouted something. It sounded like the word "slay."
Cavatina nearly laughed. Selvetarm needed no urging. In another moment his fangs would clamp down on her, and poison would be driven into her paralyzed body.
Selvetarm's fangs continued to squeeze Cavatina's chest, preventing her from drawing breath. Strangely, they had yet to pierce her armor. A miracle, that-but not exactly the one she'd pleaded with her goddess for. Even magically enhanced armor would only hold back the fangs of a demigod for so long.
Halisstra waved the sword over her head, still shouting-but at the same time looking nervously over her shoulder at the approaching fortress.
"Slay it!"
Selvetarm shifted his grip, still trying to bear down on Cavatina with his fangs. He'd yet to raise his head fully; Cavatina swung back and forth, just over Halisstra's head.
Cavatina realized what Halisstra was shouting. Not "slay," but "take." She held the sword by its point, blood dripping from her hand where she gripped the blade, offering the hilt to Cavatina.
Realizing that, Cavatina nearly cried. With an effort that took every bit of her will, she forced a numb arm to move. Leaden fingers spread. As she swung past Halisstra, she seized the hilt of the sword.
Selvetarm straightened, and Cavatina nearly dropped the sword. Slowly, with intense concentration, she forced her other hand to also close around the hilt. She closed her eyes, whispering a prayer with numbed lips…
And she could move again.
Selvetarm's eyes widened.
Now! the sword howled.
Twisting in Selvetarm's grip, she bent the upper half of her body forward, toward the god's head. At the same time, she swung the Crescent Blade.
"Eilistraee!" she screamed. "Do not fail me!"
The Crescent Blade flashed toward Selvetarm's neck, glinting red in the eerie light of the eight stars clustered above.
Selvetarm's eyes widened.
The breeze that blew incessantly across the Demonweb Pits stilled.
Spiders halted in mid-scurry as the blade bit into flesh-and cut clean through it, in a spray of dark blood.
The neck was severed.
The head fell, at last releasing Cavatina.
"Eilistraee be praised!" Cavatina cried, exultant. "Selvetarm is dead!"
She twisted in mid-air, halting her fall with her magical boots. The demigod's head slammed into the ground and shattered into bloody pieces, his body belatedly crumpling to a heap beside it. Cavatina threw back her head and laughed, tears streaming from her eyes. She'd done it! Slain Selvetarm.
Killed a demigod.
It felt incredible-a greater thrill than any she'd ever experienced. She raised the Crescent Blade above her head, triumph surging through her. For just an instant, her body flared with the moon-bright white of Eilistraee's holy moonfire. On the ground below, spiders scurried away in terror, seeking shadows.
This, Cavatina exulted wildly, must be what Qilue feels each time she calls on Mystra's silver fire.
It was incredible. Indescribable. Glorious.
Yes, the sword whispered. This is what it feels like to be a god.
The words startled Cavatina, brought her back to the here and now, reminding her that she was in the Demonweb Pits. Lolth's domain. She saw the Spider Queen's fortress hurtling toward her at an impossible speed, hastened to fury by the flare of moonlight that was Eilistraee's sign.
Cavatina gripped the Crescent Blade firmly then decided against testing her luck a second time. Killing one deity had taken a miracle. Trying to kill a second would be demanding too much, especially if that god was Lolth, fully cognizant of what had just happened and protected within her fortress of iron.
Cavatina looked around. Halisstra was nowhere to be seen. Had she already escaped through the portal? Cavatina hoped so. She realized now that she'd been wrong about Halisstra. Even someone twisted into an evil caricature of her former self could, it seemed, be redeemed.
"Halisstra!" Cavatina shouted. The wind was rising, and spiderwebs snagged at the edges of her open mouth.
There was no reply.
Lolth's fortress drew nearer. Halisstra or no, Cavatina had to leave.
Shaking her head at the sheer wonder of what she'd just done, she sprinted for the portal and leaped into it.
Dhairn cried out in triumph as he brought his blade down in a killing blow. The light pouring from the priestess was blinding him, but he would cleave her in two, even with his eyes closed.
"Selvetarm!" he shouted.
Victory was his! The Promenade was his!
The blade struck the priestess's forehead-and crumbled in his hands. Instead of solid steel, Dhairn held nothing but a blade-thin line of spiders. The creatures scattered as though they'd burst from an egg sac when they met the priestess's forehead and showered like black soot onto her shoulders. Dhairn gaped at them then flexed a right hand that was empty for the first time in more than a century. He raised it, staring at it in disbelief. His sword? Gone?
"Selvetarm?" he whispered.
He felt nothing. Only… emptiness.
The priestess bent, scooping up her weapon with her off hand. Dhairn ducked instinctively as silver flashed within a hair's breadth of his face. He danced backward, weaving to avoid her sword. Something had happened to his weapon, something inexplicable, but he still had his spells. He raised a hand to cast one-and blinked in surprise at his skin, which had turned a clear, solid black.
The white lines-Selvetarm's holy web-were gone.
The priestess's sword flashed down. Too late, he jerked his hand back. The blade bit into it midway between the fingers, splitting the hand lengthwise. He howled in anguish-then turned the howl into a shout. "Selvetarm!" he cried, trying to summon up the battle fury that would carry him past the pain, but the cry rang hollow in his ears.
He would not faint from the pain. He could not. Forcing his body into a spin, he whirled, whipping the priestess's face with his braid. At the same time he furiously whispered a prayer. He thrust his wounded hand out, reaching for Selvetarm, but no healing came.
Worried, he tried another spell-one that would cover his body in venomous blades, turning it into a living weapon. Ducking and weaving all the while to avoid the priestess's furious but not quite coordinated slashes, he cried his deity's name.
"Selvetarm!" he shouted. "Make me your weapon!"
Nothing happened. The demigod refused to answer.
Nervous sweat prickled Dhairn's skin. Something had happened. Something terrible. Had Selvetarm turned his back on Dhairn and his followers-abandoned those who sought to worship Selvetarm as a deity unto himself? Had Lolth ordered her Champion to do it?