Qilue watched, concerned that Halisstra was no longer paying attention to Danifae, despite the fact that the battle-captive was easing behind her. The spiked ball of Danifae's morningstar swung slightly as she lifted it.

"Halisstra!" Qilue shouted, but the priestess didn't turn.

Ordinary mortals could employ only two senses through a scrying, those of sight and hearing, but Qilue was no ordinary mortal. Gripping the edges of the font with both hands, she sank her awareness deep into its holy water then into the mind of Halisstra herself. It was a desperate gamble-so linked, Qilue might suffer whatever wounds Halisstra took-but the priestess had to be warned of the impending treachery. Somehow.

Qilue gasped as her awareness blossomed inside Halisstra's body. All of Halisstra's senses were hers. Qilue could smell the harsh, hot wind that howled through the chasm behind her, could feel the aching chill of the souls that streamed past overhead, and she could smell the foul breath of the draegloth as it sneered down at her.

"My mistress has not abandoned me, heretic," the draegloth spat.

From inside Halisstra's awareness, Qilue could see that the priestess was not alone. Some distance behind the draegloth stood a moon elf with pale skin and dark brown hair: Feliane, the other priestess who had accompanied Halisstra on her quest. Feliane panted, as if she'd just been in battle, but the thin-bladed sword in her hand was unbloodied. She moved toward the draegloth with faltering steps, hugging her ribs with her free arm, and wincing with each inhalation of breath.

Danifae was fully behind Halisstra, and the priestess could no longer see her. Qilue fought to turn Halisstra's head in that direction, but Halisstra's attention remained wholly fixed on the draegloth. She trusted the woman-saw her not as a battle-captive seething with a thirst for revenge, but as an ally. A friend.