Extinction

Well? Halisstra asked in sign. What is my fate to be? The song?or the sword?

"The song," Feliane answered.

Halisstra nodded grimly and stood. She wanted to meet death on her feet.

I'm ready, she signed, fingers moving in tense, sharp jerks.

Feliane's round face broke into a grin. On a drow, it would have been a gloat of triumph, but so i

Feliane began to sing in High Drow. From behind her, Halisstra could hear a chorus of women's voices, though Feliane's was the strongest.

"Climb out of the darkness, rise into the light.

"Turn your face to the sky, your elf birthright.

"Dance in the forest, sing with the breeze;

"Claim your place in the moonlight among flowers and trees.

"Lend your strength to the needy; battle evil with steel.

"Join in the hunt; to no other gods kneel.

"Purge the monster within and the monster without;

"Their blood washes you clean, of this have no doubt.

"Trust in your sisters; lend your voice to their song.

"By joining the circle, the weak are made strong."

Feliane extended her hand down into the hole, as if inviting Halisstra to take it. Her pale skin had taken on a moonlit glow.

It took Halisstra a moment to realize the import of the song and gesture. It wasn't an execution but an invitation. And not just to life, bur to join the circle. To join the priestesses of Eilistraee.

Halisstra's eyes narrowed. It had to be a trick of some kind.

"Trust?" she said?out loud, surprised to find that her ability to speak had returned.

She didn't need to let the scorn she felt creep into her voice; the word already held a negative co

"Trust," she muttered again.

Behind Feliane, she could see the priestess who had slain the troll. The woman looked down, smiled, then stepped back out of sight.

Ideas flashed through Halisstra's mind, quick as lightning strikes. She could use bae'qeshel magic to charm Feliane into lowering her a rope then stun the rest of Eilistraee's priestesses with a painful burst of sound and escape. But each flash of inspiration left behind it a rumble of doubt, disturbing as the distant thunder.

Was escape really what Halisstra wanted?or had there been a faint echo of truth in the oath she'd sworn earlier? She'd been drawn to the World Above, though she hadn't been able to articulate the reason, either to Ryld or to herself. But now she was starting to understand. She'd always thought treachery and selfishness to be indelible hallmarks of the drow, but she was begi

The drow who lived on the surface not only trusted one another, they were also willing to extend that trust to her. Even knowing that she had killed one of their priestesses?that she might do the same to any of them. Their faith in her capacity for redemption was strong, even though there was only the word of a dying priestess to base it on.

Or was there?

From somewhere above came the sound of a flute, playing a few soft, tentative notes. It reminded Halisstra of the sounds Seyll's sword had made when she was fighting the stirges. And of that single, piercing note that had at last knocked them from the sky. Had that been Eilistraee's magic at work? Had Halisstra already been accepted by the goddess, even then?

Feliane waited patiently, hand still extended, as Halisstra wrestled with her doubts. The elf priestess's entire body was glowing silver. Her hair seemed alive with sparkling stars, her smile was as bright as a crescent moon. The goddess had filled her, transformed her. She stared down at Halisstra with a mother's love, urging her to accept it.

Trembling, Halisstra raised her hands above her head, just like the figures painted on the cave walls.

"I accept, Eilistraee," Halisstra said. "I will serve you."

She felt a tear streaking down her cheek, and angrily told herself it was just a drip from the ferns above?then she realized it didn't matter.

Feliane, too, was weeping.

The elf priestess began to chant, and Halisstra felt her body grow lighter. The stone floor dropped away from her feet as she floated upward, drawn by Feliane's spell. The fringe of ferns made the hole in the ceiling look too narrow to fit through, so Halisstra crossed her arms tightly against her chest, making herself smaller. As she rose through the opening, wet ferns brushed against her face, forcing her to close her eyes. Her body squeezed through them, slipping out of the cave, and she felt dozens of hands touching her, guiding her. The priestesses were all around the opening, lifting her from the cave, hugging her, singing.

"Climb out of the darkness, rise into the light…"

Opening her eyes, Halisstra looked up and saw the full moon through a break in the clouds. The goddess's face smiled down at her, weeping raindrops of joy.

"Eilistraee!" Halisstra cried. "I am yours!"

"The goddess welcomes you into her embrace," Feliane whispered in her ear. "Now you must prepare yourself for the trial she has set you."

Ryld frowned, puzzled, as he examined the footprints in the slush. He was still on the animal's trail?he was certain of that?but its footprints had suddenly changed. In one spot where the beast had paused, the track became more like the print a bare drow foot would make, but with deep gouges at the front of each toe that must have been claw marks. They reminded Ryld, at least a little, of the footprints of an orc but the stride, when the animal had continued from that spot, was all wrong. The beast had risen to walk on two feet, not four. The pattern of its footprints, however, was still more like the lope of a quadruped.

Short sword in hand, Ryld continued following the tracks. The animal-thing had tried to conceal its trail by walking along rocks or logs and wading up a stream, but Ryld had no difficulty following it. He was used to tracking opponents across the bare stone of caverns and tu

Eventually he spotted a small structure deep in the forest. Made from rough-hewn logs, the one-room building had a slumped appearance, as if it was about to collapse at any moment. Its door hung at an angle, attached to the frame by a single rusted hinge, and the roof was thick with moss and larger, leafy surface plants sprouted from it in spots. Firewood that had once been stacked against one wall lay tumbled across the ground, dotted with a sprouting of fungus, and a hole in the building's roof marked where a chimney had once stood. Surrounded by a litter of broken bottles and rusted pots that had obviously been dragged out by scavengers long before, the shelter looked utterly abandoned.

But something was moving inside it.

Ryld drew his piwafwi around himself and crept closer through the trees. He felt something soft under his boot, and the stink of fresh excrement rose to his nostrils. His lip curled. Even in the warrens of Menzoberranzan, people didn't defecate so close to their homes. Whoever was living in the little shelter was no better than an animal, the weapons master thought, angrily scraping his boot.