"Quarthz'ress!" Cavatina shouted.

The iron flask began to glow. Bright silver light lanced across the magical darkness, striking the creature, but instead of impaling it and drawing it into the flask, the magical beam ricocheted off its glossy black skin like a ray of light glancing off a mirror.

That was it then. The creature was definitely not demonic. The flask would have trapped it if it was, or-and this a more disturbing thought-it was some form of demon that was immune to the flask's magic.

The creature landed on a tree trunk at the edge of the clearing. It sprang back at Cavatina, arms held wide as if inviting attack. Cavatina summoned a curtain of whirling blades around herself, but the creature paid them no heed. It sailed through them, laughing maniacally as they struck its body. Most glanced off with sounds like metal hitting stone, but a few slashed deep furrows in the creature's flesh. Then the creature was through the barrier, dripping blood-still very much alive.

It caught Cavatina by the leg and shouted something in harsh, grating words that she didn't recognize, spinning itself past her like a partner in a macabre dance. Cavatina felt a wrench, deep inside her body, as if an invisible hand had reached inside and squeezed her vitals. Intense pain nearly made her black out. Then red light flashed under her chain mail shirt, and the sensation was gone. She felt something as gritty as coarse crumbs of salt against her chest-the red periapt, crumbling, its magic overwhelmed.

She felt a tug on her foot-the creature, yanking off one of her boots. Then the creature sailed out through the barrier of blades, which once again slashed brutally into its body.

Cavatina fell.

The murky water did little to cushion her landing. She crashed down onto the submerged stone platform, scraping the skin of her knees and arms. She scrambled upright, the singing sword still in hand, and braced herself as best she could on the slippery stone. It felt as though she were standing on a thick layer of slime.

The creature crashed into a tree. Dropping Cavatina's boot, it clung to the branches and stared malevolently down at her. The blade barrier had wounded it, carving deep gouges in its stone-hard hide. Blood flowed down its body and dripped from its bare feet into the swamp below.

"Had enough?" Cavatina taunted, her sword held ready.

The creature held out a hand that had been sliced by the blades. Two fingers dangled from it by flaps of skin, dribbling blood. "Why do you hurt me?" it asked in a mournful voice. "I am one of you."

"You're no drow," Cavatina shot back, "and if you once were, you aren't any longer."

Out of the corner of her eye, Cavatina saw a mound of rotting vegetation begin to rise from the swamp: another of the monstrosities she'd spotted earlier. Invoking Eilistraee's name, she hurled a blast of bitter cold at the spot where it lurked, instantly freezing the water around it and holding it in place. A second blast she directed at the plant-creature itself. The water inside its body, frozen, expanding with a force sufficient to split it apart.

All the while, a portion of Cavatina's attention remained focused on the creature she'd been hunting. Its wounds were regenerating even as she watched. This would be a tough fight.

"I was drow," the creature continued, flexing its newly repaired fingers. "Now I am the Lady Penitent."

The title meant nothing to Cavatina. "What is it you do penance for?" she asked.

The creature watched as its fingers healed. When they were whole again, it flexed them then lowered its hand. "Everything," it said, "but most of all, my weakness."

"What weakness is that?"

The creature said nothing.

"Come down from the branches," Cavatina suggested. "Let's finish this."

The creature shook its head.

Cavatina knew what the creature was doing: stalling.

Already, Cavatina could feel the effects of the glowing platform. Her legs had started to tremble, and her very bones felt wobbly. The glowing stone's fell magic was affecting her. Even looking at the platform out of the corner of her eye made her feel slightly nauseous. Stepping off it, however, would mean floundering about in deep water that probably concealed more of those rot-creatures. She might be able to drive the monster who gloated down at her away with a spell, giving her time to recover her boot, but Qilue had ordered her to learn as much as she could about it, and a Darksong Knight followed orders. Cavatina whispered a restorative spell. Divine magic flooded into her, negating the effects of the glow.

The creature must have caught the quick look Cavatina had given the glowing green stone and heard her whispered prayer.

"That's right," it taunted. "It's made of sickstone. Appropriate, don't you think, for a temple to Moander?"

Cavatina knew the name well, despite the god's relative obscurity. Moander had been a deity of corruption and decay, a god who had been slain, not very many years ago, by a mere mortal-a bard named Finder. For whatever perverse reasons, Lolth had adopted Moander's name as one of her aliases, possibly to claim his human worshipers.

"Is that why you led me here?" Cavatina asked. "Is this spot now sacred to your goddess?"

"Which goddess is that?" the creature asked. It flicked a hand, sending a spray of tiny spiders into the air. "The Dark Mother, or…" she touched forefinger to forefinger and thumb to thumb to form a circle, "her daughter?" Webs flowed from her fingers like pulled taffy as she pulled her hands apart, laughing.

Cavatina's anger rose inside her like a banked fire. "You dare," she whispered.

She hurled her sword, snapping out a prayer as it flew through the air. Her aim was true. Guided by the goddess's magic, the singing sword plunged into the creature's chest, burying itself nearly hilt-deep. The creature let out a shriek and flailed its spider legs as Cavatina moved her hand through the air, yanking out the sword and preparing for a second thrust.

The creature glared down at Cavatina. "You can't kill me!" it raged. "Nothing can kill me. She keeps…" It coughed, doubling over, "sending…" another cough, one with bloody spittle, "me back."

That said, it sprang from its treetop perch with a leap that sent the dead tree crashing over backward. Cavatina tried to send her sword after it, but the creature was too fast. It scrambled away through the treetops and disappeared from sight.

Cavatina called her sword back into her hand and cast a second restorative spell upon herself. The sickstone on which she stood had once again sapped her strength. Then she waded to the spot where her boot floated. The water rose to her chest before she reached it, and she had an awkward moment of balancing on one foot in the muck while trying to pull the boot on. Foul-smelling water soaked her clothes and slimed her skin. When she at last levitated out of it, the stench clung to her clothing and armor. She cocked each leg, letting the water drain from her boots. Then she set off in pursuit of the creature.

She wouldn't make the same mistake twice-she'd make sure she kept her feet well away from its grasping hands.

The creature was easy to follow. Once again there was a clear trail of broken branches. That trail, however, led in a big circle, back to the ruined temple.

Cavatina kept well out of range of the sickly green glow. To her surprise, the creature did not. It stood on the submerged platform, still hunched over from the wound the singing sword had dealt it-a wound that should have been mortal, but which had already sealed itself shut, leaving only a faint gray scar behind. The creature moved about, as if restless. As Cavatina drew closer, she saw that its movements had a pattern.

"By all that's holy," Cavatina whispered. "It's dancing."

The creature spun and splashed, arms raised above its head, spider legs drumming against its chest in time with the dance. Once again, it blasphemed Eilistraee. Its drow hands formed the goddess's sacred circle above its head. Its eyes were closed, and it seemed oblivious to Cavatina's presence. A harsh song came from its lips. Several words were missing, others were roughly abbreviated, as if choked off in mid-syllable. The melody was subtly wrong, like a chord with one note a half-tone off, but even so, Cavatina recognized it.