Read Online Sacrifice of the Widow: The Lady Penitent, Book I by Lisa Smedman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Smedman
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Qilué acknowledged Jub with a nod and murmured blessing. His eyes lingered on her, a fawning expression on his face. Qilué secretly smiled. Even the most unlikely of worshipers were welcome there.
The Promenade comprised five main caverns that had once been part of the Sargauth Enclave, an outpost of fallen Netheril. The ancient buildings within the caverns had been reclaimed and put to use. One of the caverns housed the priestesses, another was home to the Promenade’s lay worshipers, and a third containedstorehouses and the barracks of the Protectors of the Song—the soldiers who guarded the Promenade. The fourth cavern, once a temple to a foul god, had been turned into the Hall of Healing.
The fifth cavern was the holiest of all: the Cavern of Song. Even over the rush of the river behind them, Qilué could hear the sound of singing—Eilistraee’s priestesses continuing the psalm that had not faltered since the temple had been established twenty years past in the Year of the Harp.
As they made their way along one of the winding corridors that led to the Cavern of Song, Qilué spoke to the Darksong Knight. “Cavatina, you’re familiar with the Velarswood, are you not?”
Cavatina nodded. “My mother was born there. I’ve visited it frequently.”
“I would like you to go there now.”
Cavatina’s nostrils flared. “Lady Qilué, if this is about the aranea—”
“It is not.”
“I realize that I should have been more vigilant. If I had, perhaps I might have spotted the Selvetargtlin on my first pass through the cavern.”
“What is done is done. You danced well. The battle was won. It’s just unfortunate that …”
Qilué didn’t complete the sentence. She wasn’t there to chastise the Darksong Knight. Cavatina had been trained to kill, and the thought of capturing an enemy alive would never have entered her head.
“You enjoy the hunt,” Qilué said.
Cavatina halted. “I guard the Promenade as diligently as any other priestess.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I do not, as some believe, think myself above indoctrinating a novice.”
“I suggested nothing of the sort.”
“I followed the procedures Iljrene laid down. When Thaleste spotted a movement above us, I—”
Qilué silenced Cavatina with a stern look. She could see that nearly losing the novice had pricked the warrior-priestess’s pride. Darksong Knights didn’t bear mistakes easily—in themselves or in others.
When Cavatina was at last ready to listen, Qilué continued. “A strange creature has been sighted in the Velarswood in recent months. It has the general appearance of a drow female, yet it is far larger and stronger. It appears to be preying upon the drow of House Jaelre. Last night, a survivor of one of its attacks staggered into our shrine, begging for healing. He described the creature as having skin hard as obsidian—no blade can pierce it—and eight tiny legs that emerge from the torso, below the arms, like protruding ribs.”
Cavatina’s head came up like a hound on the scent. “Some new form of drider?” she guessed. “Or … demon?”
“Nobody knows. What we do know is that the survivor drew the creature’s attention to our shrine. It followed him there last night then scuttled away before the priestesses could assemble for a hunt. I’m worried it’s going to attack one of our people next. That’s why I’m sending you to the Velarswood. I want you to remove the threat.”
Cavatina nodded, her eyes gleaming. “Do you see Lolth’s hand in this?”
Qilué paused. “It’s hard to say, but the creature—whatever it is—has a venomous bite and is capable of spinning webs. The survivor said that those it took were found dangling from tree branches, inside cocoons. Dead.” Her expression hardened. “Innocents who might have been brought into Eilistraee’s light, but now their souls are lost to us.”
“May those souls find mercy,”
Qilué acknowledged Jub with a nod and murmured blessing. His eyes lingered on her, a fawning expression on his face. Qilué secretly smiled. Even the most unlikely of worshipers were welcome there.
The Promenade comprised five main caverns that had once been part of the Sargauth Enclave, an outpost of fallen Netheril. The ancient buildings within the caverns had been reclaimed and put to use. One of the caverns housed the priestesses, another was home to the Promenade’s lay worshipers, and a third containedstorehouses and the barracks of the Protectors of the Song—the soldiers who guarded the Promenade. The fourth cavern, once a temple to a foul god, had been turned into the Hall of Healing.
The fifth cavern was the holiest of all: the Cavern of Song. Even over the rush of the river behind them, Qilué could hear the sound of singing—Eilistraee’s priestesses continuing the psalm that had not faltered since the temple had been established twenty years past in the Year of the Harp.
As they made their way along one of the winding corridors that led to the Cavern of Song, Qilué spoke to the Darksong Knight. “Cavatina, you’re familiar with the Velarswood, are you not?”
Cavatina nodded. “My mother was born there. I’ve visited it frequently.”
“I would like you to go there now.”
Cavatina’s nostrils flared. “Lady Qilué, if this is about the aranea—”
“It is not.”
“I realize that I should have been more vigilant. If I had, perhaps I might have spotted the Selvetargtlin on my first pass through the cavern.”
“What is done is done. You danced well. The battle was won. It’s just unfortunate that …”
Qilué didn’t complete the sentence. She wasn’t there to chastise the Darksong Knight. Cavatina had been trained to kill, and the thought of capturing an enemy alive would never have entered her head.
“You enjoy the hunt,” Qilué said.
Cavatina halted. “I guard the Promenade as diligently as any other priestess.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I do not, as some believe, think myself above indoctrinating a novice.”
“I suggested nothing of the sort.”
“I followed the procedures Iljrene laid down. When Thaleste spotted a movement above us, I—”
Qilué silenced Cavatina with a stern look. She could see that nearly losing the novice had pricked the warrior-priestess’s pride. Darksong Knights didn’t bear mistakes easily—in themselves or in others.
When Cavatina was at last ready to listen, Qilué continued. “A strange creature has been sighted in the Velarswood in recent months. It has the general appearance of a drow female, yet it is far larger and stronger. It appears to be preying upon the drow of House Jaelre. Last night, a survivor of one of its attacks staggered into our shrine, begging for healing. He described the creature as having skin hard as obsidian—no blade can pierce it—and eight tiny legs that emerge from the torso, below the arms, like protruding ribs.”
Cavatina’s head came up like a hound on the scent. “Some new form of drider?” she guessed. “Or … demon?”
“Nobody knows. What we do know is that the survivor drew the creature’s attention to our shrine. It followed him there last night then scuttled away before the priestesses could assemble for a hunt. I’m worried it’s going to attack one of our people next. That’s why I’m sending you to the Velarswood. I want you to remove the threat.”
Cavatina nodded, her eyes gleaming. “Do you see Lolth’s hand in this?”
Qilué paused. “It’s hard to say, but the creature—whatever it is—has a venomous bite and is capable of spinning webs. The survivor said that those it took were found dangling from tree branches, inside cocoons. Dead.” Her expression hardened. “Innocents who might have been brought into Eilistraee’s light, but now their souls are lost to us.”
“May those souls find mercy,”
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