Sacrifice of the Widow: The Lady Penitent, Book I Read Online Free PDF Page A

labyrinth known as Undermountain, a Darksong Knight and a novice priestess of Eilistraee patrolled a dark cavern that wound its way past several natural columns of stone. Nearly a thousand years ago, the cavern had been one arm of a sprawling Underdark city. The drow who built that city were long gone—consumed by the slimes and oozes they had venerated—but traces of what they built could be seen still. The columns and walls, for example, were carved with notches that had once served as handholds and footholds. Holes in the cavern ceiling were the entrances to buildings that had been hollowed by magic out of native stone. Still more holes, arranged in intricate, lacelike patterns, had served as windows in the floors of these buildings. Some of the clearstone in these windowswas still intact, but centuries of accumulated bat guano had obliterated any view inside.
    The Darksong Knight pointed out those details as they walked along. “We only recently claimed this area. We hope to incorporate it into the Promenade, one day,” Cavatina told the novice. “For now, though, it’s home only to dire bats, cloakers, crawlers—and the occasional adventurer who blunders in and manages not to get eaten by the first three.”
    The novice obliged Cavatina by smiling. Her posture, however, was tense. Her eyes kept straying to the dark holes in the cavern ceiling above. Understandable, Cavatina thought. It was Thaleste’s first patrol south of the Sargauth River. The novice had trained for two years but had yet to blood her sword. She’d spent all that time within the safe confines of the Promenade—the name Eilistraee’s faithful had given the temple that lay on the other side of the river. Cavatina could hear the low gurgle of the Sargauth still, but the comforting sounds of the Cavern of Song lay far behind.
    She pointed to a spot on the floor. “You see this smooth patch?” she asked.
    The novice nodded.
    “A slime passed this way, long ago, but it, along with the rest of the minions of the god of oozes and slimes, was driven into the Pit of Ghaunadaur. Which is …?” she prompted.
    The novice spoke solemnly. “The pit in which the Ancient One was imprisoned by Eilistraee’s Chosen, Qilué, First Lady of the Dance. She built Eilistraee’s Mound to mark the spot where Ghaunadaur was defeated.”
    “Where his
avatar
was defeated, Thaleste,” Cavatina corrected. “Ghaunadaur himself still lurks in his domain. That is why we patrol these dark halls—why we have built our temple here. We must ensure that his avatar never rises again.”
    Thaleste nodded nervously.
    Cavatina smiled. “It’s been a long time since anything oozed through these halls,” she reassured the novice. “About six hundred years.”
    Another nervous nod.
    Cavatina sighed to herself. Novices were not, as a rule, allowed to venture into truly dangerous areas, even with a seasoned Darksong Knight accompanying them. There was little there for Thaleste to fret about. The purpose of the patrol was simply to check the defensive glyphs and symbols that had recently been set there and report any that needed to be restored.
    They continued on through the cavern, a novice in simple leather armor, and a warrior-priestess in a mithral chain mail shirt, her steel breastplate embossed with her goddess’s symbols. Each female had a sword sheathed at her hip, next to a dagger. The Darksong Knight carried a hunting horn as well, slung from a strap that crossed one shoulder. Both priestesses were drow, their ebon skin blending with the darkness, their white hair and eyebrows standing out in stark contrast.
    Cavatina, despite her vastly higher station, was still in her first century of life. Barely adult, by drow standards. The daughter of a Sword Dancer, she had her mother’s lean, wiry build. She was tall, even for a drow female. Most of the other priestesses came only to her shoulder. Only Qilué herself was taller. During Cavatina’s youth, there had been