Read Windwalker for Free Online Page A

figure stepped from the gray shadows like a dream taking on substance.
    The newcomer was quite simply the most beautiful drow male she had ever beheld. Except for the glittering piwafwi draping his shoulders, he was as naked as a newborn rothé calf. His eyes held none of the disdain that high-born males usually turned upon Shakti, nor any of the veiled resignation she was accustomed to seeing on the faces of those males under her power.
    “You are weary,” he crooned. “Too weary to find your way out of this place. There is a way, you know. You can find it, if only you rest a while, clear your mind, and ease your body.”
    A courtesan, Shakti reasoned, wasting his afterlife the only way he knew how. She reached into her empty coin bag and turned it inside out. “You’re wasting your time,” she said shortly. “I can’t pay.”
    He looked genuinely shocked. “Anything between us would be a gift given two ways! You are most beautiful, and I have been too long alone.”
    Beautiful? Shaki’s lip curled in disdain. All her life she had been plump and graceless, as close to homely as it was possible for a drow to be. Moreover, she had lived her life in the dangerous shadow of a physical defect: weak, nearsighted eyes. Terrified that squinting might betray this imperfection, she had compensated by holding her eyes wide open, which caused her to blink rather too frequently and lent her a pop-eyed, frantic appearance. This habit had persisted long after the two deities she served granted her perfect vision.
    “You don’t believe me,” the stranger said in wondering tones. “Here—look for yourself.”
    He gestured to the mists, which parted to reveal a shallow, stagnant pool. The surface silvered, and in it Shakti saw reflected a perfect image of the handsome male. Before she could think better of it, she took a step forward and gazed at her own reflection.
    “Lolth’s eight legs,” she swore softly.
    The face and form reflected back to her were familiar, yet different enough to cause her to wonder, briefly, if the male had magically altered her reflection.
    As Shakti gazed at her image, she saw the truth. The Abyss had hardened her, burning away the dross and leaving behind only the drow essence. Her black face was not just thinner but reshaped. The rounded, sullen countenance now boasted a sharply angular form, a dramatic slash from wide cheekbones to narrow, pointed chin. Determination had focused her crimson eyes, changed her wild expression into one of imperious dignity. Her mist-sodden robes clung to her, revealing a newly lithe form.
    “You see?” the male said. “So very beautiful.” He took two gliding steps forward, one hand reaching out to her.
    Shakti’s first response was irritation. Before she could crudely suggest that the male attempt to procreate without benefit of partner, her robes shifted and parted as if in anticipation—a telltale bit of magic she had experienced once before.
    Terror and loathing swept through Shakti in chilling waves. She seized her treacherous garment and tugged it back into place, crossing her arms over her chest so that one hand was hidden beneath the folds. A quick glance at the reflecting pool assured her that her expression of lofty disdain had not faltered.
    “Be gone,” she said coldly. Her hidden hand began to shape the warding that repelled unwanted advances of seductive demons.
    The crimson eyes of the drow-shaped incubus tracked the subtle gesture and filled with rage. An inhuman roar exploded from the creature’s throat as it leaped, changing form in midair. A hideous winged demon hit Shakti full force and bore her to the ground. They hit the silver puddle together, shattering the mir-rorlike surface into a thousand watery shards.
    “I can save you,” the creature gloated in a voice that was like a chorus of the damned. “You were a high priestess once. Shall we enact the ritual anew?”
    Shakti writhed and kicked, raking the now-scaly skin with her