The demon smiled, revealing jagged teeth. "Perfect."
He removed his claw from under her chin. He straightened, grabbed the claw with his other hand, and yanked. The claw came free in a burst of dark, tarry blood. Taking Halisstra's left hand, he pressed the claw against her palm. It stung like hot wax as it was forced into her flesh. When it was done, only a dark, rough callus remained.
"When you find Cavatina, touch her with this hand, and call my name," the demon instructed. "Do you understand?"
Halisstra rubbed her palm, already regretting what she'd just promised. The spot on her palm ached with a fierce heat. "I understand."
The demon swept Halisstra up as if her body were as light as a web and stared into her eyes. "Go. Find Cavatina." Then he raised her above his head and hurled her into the air.
The sky split open in a flaming crack, and a shrieking wind carried Halisstra away.
Cavatina ran through the woods, heedless of the scratches the branches left on her bare skin. Off to her left she could hear the beaters crashing swords against shields, moving steadily through the forest. Most of the priestesses would be ahead of them, swords poised to skewer whatever monsters the lay worshipers flushed out, but Cavatina preferred to hunt alone.
She'd stripped off even her boots for the High Hunt; she wore only her holy symbol. The dull-bladed ceremonial silver dagger bounced against her chest as she ran. She'd also left most of her magical items behind, trusting to the goddess's blessings to protect her. She carried only her magical hunting horn, slung over her shoulder on a strap, and her sword.
The sword sang as Cavatina ran, its silvered blade vibrating in the warm night air like the reed of a woodwind instrument. Gripping the hilt tightly in her right hand, Cavatina felt the weapon's anticipation. It was one of twenty-four sacred weapons identical to Lady Qilue's own blade-forged, according to the sacred hymns, by Eilistraee herself from a solidified moonbeam. The pommel was set with a translucent white moonstone that glowed faintly with a tinge of blue whenever the moon struck it. Half of the moonstone, however, had turned black-dark as the half of the moon that lay in shadow on this night of the autumn equinox.
Dark as a Nightshadow's heart.
Cavatina didn't want to think about that. Running alone through the moonlit woods, it was easy to pretend that the changes that began in the winter of that fateful Year of Risen Elfkin hadn't happened. That Eilistraee's worship was as it had always been. That the goddess herself was unchanged, more than a year and a half after assuming Vhaeraun's worshipers as her own.
Cavatina leaped across a fallen log as gracefully as a deer. She was tall, with a body narrow as a sword blade, her muscles honed by a lifetime of dancing and fighting. Her skin, black as a moonless night, contrasted with her long, ivory-colored hair. Normally, she wore her hair bound in a braid or bun so it wouldn't fall across her face and distract her while she fought, but tonight she'd left it loose. Tonight she let herself run wild, open to whatever the Shilmista Forest threw at her. She prayed whatever monster Eilistraee caused to cross her path would be a challenging one. Something worthy of the singing sword, and the Darksong Knight who held it.
She heard the blare of a hunting horn. Another of the priestesses had spotted something. A voice sang out through the night, calling for the others to join her. The cacophony of banging shields fell away; the beaters had done their work and were no longer needed.
Cavatina ignored the exhortations to join in the kill. She ran until the voices and horns faded in the distance. She plunged down a slope and found a shallow stream that sparkled with reflected moonlight. On impulse she followed it, her bare feet dancing lightly from stone to stone. At first, the stream wound through verdant forest, but as Cavatina followed it downhill, the vegetation on either side grew increasingly sparse. She clambered over a dead tree that had fallen across the stream-a tree whose trunk had been eaten away on one side. Other trees on both sides of the stream showed similar gouges. Their bark hung in tattered strips. Some had been stripped of their branches, leaving only skeletal trunks that were dark against the moonlit sky.
Something had been feeding on the vegetation there. Something big.
Cavatina slowed, her senses alert. She was panting heavily from her run, but the singing sword was steady in her hand. It, too, fell silent as if listening. The only sound came from the stream that flowed past Cavatina's ankles, chilling her bare feet.
A faint splash came from the bank to her left. A tiny head broke the surface a moment later: a small black creature with a pointed muzzle and rounded ears, its bare pink tail lashing behind it as it swam. A rat.
Swift as a striking hawk, Cavatina jabbed her sword down, skewering it. The creature squeaked as the sword point thrust it under water, a peculiar noise that almost sounded like a cry. When Cavatina lifted her sword again, the rat was dead. She flicked it from her blade, into the dead foliage at the side of the stream.
Something else moved on her right-a second rat. It emerged from the stream and scurried uphill through the shadows that had given the forest its Elvish name. Cavatina saw the disturbance it made through the scatter of dead sticks and leaves as it climbed the bank, but made no move to follow it. She was already sorry she'd sullied a singing sword with the blood of vermin.
She held the tip of the blade in the stream, letting the water wash it clean, and asked, "Is that the best you can send me, Eilistraee? A rat?"
This hunt was already a disappointment.
She walked on, following the stream. After several dozen paces, she noted movement to her left. The hillside shifted. She whirled to face it just as a tree toppled across the stream with a splash.
A creature erupted from the earth: an enormous beetle the size of a cabin, with mandibles as big as stag antlers and a curved claw at the end of each of its six legs. Chunks of soil slid off its gleaming black carapace as it reared up; it must have been hiding just below the surface. It stared at Cavatina, its dimpled red eyes gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
She smiled and raised her sword. Ready.
The beetle sprang.
Cavatina thrust her sword at its thorax. The blade sliced through chitin and cut deep into flesh. The sword sang a joyous peal as bright orange blood rushed from the wound. Then the mandibles scissored shut, their jagged points gouging into Cavatina's sides. The beetle reared up to bring its front two legs into play, yanking her into the air.
Shuddering with pain, blood flowing down her sides, Cavatina gasped out a prayer. A circle of blinding white appeared on her palm, and streaked from it to strike the beetle's head. Suddenly weakened, it sagged backward and let Cavatina fall to the ground.
Cavatina lurched to her feet, the singing sword still in her hand. It sang a soothing melody as she slapped her free hand to her blood-slippery side and prayed. Eilistraee's moonlight sparkled brightly against Cavatina's skin as healing energy flowed into her, closing her wounds.
The beetle struggled to rise on trembling legs. Before it could recover, Cavatina danced in close and slashed. With a blow like an axe striking a heavy tree limb, she severed one of the mandibles. The beetle stabbed a leg down at her but Cavatina twisted aside just in time. The claw thudded into the fallen tree instead. The beetle yanked free, tossing the trunk aside like a stick. The log tumbled down the bank toward the stream, branches snapping from it.
Though weakened, the beetle was still very much alive. Cavatina might hack at it all night and still not kill it-the beetle was that large. The hunting horn that hung from her shoulder was capable of taking the beetle down, but its blare would be heard throughout the forest. It would draw the other priestesses like moths. Cavatina wanted to make this kill on her own, with sword and spell, as was proper for the High Hunt.