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.
As the priestess drew her sword, Flinderspeld edged behind his master. He watched warily as she handed the weapon to Q'arlynd, wondering what his own part was to be.
His master "swore on his sword," cutting a nick in his palm as he spoke. Prompted by the priestess, Q'arlynd vowed that he did, indeed, want to honor Eilistraee above all other deities, by joining her faith as a lay worshiper. He promised to use his magic to aid the weak and to battle Eilistraee's enemies, and to obey her priestesses-something that would probably come naturally to Q'arlynd after a lifetime spent in subservience to the women of Ched Nasad. The final oath was a vow to work selflessly to "bring other drow into the light" and treat everyone he met with kindness, until they should prove themselves unworthy of receiving it.
Flinderspeld would believe that when he saw it.
Q'arlynd completed his oath and handed the sword back to the priestess. She bent and offered the blade to Flinderspeld. It took him a moment to realize that he was being asked to join her faith. He glanced, sidelong, at his master. What do you want me to do?
Q'arlynd waved a hand dismissively. "That's up to you."
Then, surprisingly, Q'arlynd withdrew from his mind.
It was a test of some sort, but Flinderspeld had no idea how to pass it. Did his master expect him to swear allegiance to the drow goddess? Or to refuse, and make Q'arlynd's "conversion" all the more significant?
The priestess stared down at him. Waiting.
At last, Flinderspeld summoned up the courage to shake his head. Firmly. He had his own patron deity. He wanted no part of any drow religion. "I cannot join your faith," he told the priestess. "I am sworn to Callarduran Smoothhands."
"Very well." The priestess seemed unconcerned by his refusal. She slid the sword back into its sheath and turned to Q'arlynd. "It is done. Welcome to the light, Q'arlynd Melarn. May you serve Eilistraee well."
Q'arlynd bowed. "Would you excuse us, Lady?" His hand gripped Flinderspeld's shoulder. "My friend here is leaving. I'd like a few moments to say good-bye to him."
Flinderspeld's heart beat rapidly as the priestess left the shrine. What did his master not want her to see? It was pointless to call out to the priestess, for Q'arlynd would only clamp down with his mental hold. Instead Flinderspeld obeyed the wizard's mental command, following him into the woods. They walked in silence for several hundred paces before Q'arlynd halted and slid a hand into a pocket of his piwafwi-the pocket where he kept his spell components. Flinderspeld's eyes widened.