Storm of the Dead

CHAPTER 8

Halisstra picked at the callus on her palm as she squatted on a ridge above the opening in the forest. At the center of the clearing, the dark waters of a pool reflected the stars above. Soon these pinpricks of light would be joined by the reflection of the rising moon. Then Halisstra would strike.

Two priestesses stood watch over the Shilmista Forest pool. Each wore chainmail and a mithral breastplate embossed with Eilistraee's moon and sword and had a hunting horn slung at her hip. One walked back and forth at the far side of the pool, her sword blade lightly resting on her shoulder. The other stood in a more formal guard position a few steps deeper into the forest, her two-handed sword held point-up in front of her as if ready for inspection. Both were drow, capable of seeing equally well in moonlight and shadow.

Though both watched the surrounding forest carefully, Halisstra observed something interesting. Neither paid much attention to the ridge where she hid. A quick bae'qeshel song revealed why: a third guard stood directly below Halisstra on the near side of the pool, cloaked in invisibility. He was clad all in black and wore Vhaeraun's mask. A brace of throwing daggers was strapped to his chest, and a hand crossbow was on one wrist.

Halisstra was twice the size of any one of the drow below and more powerful than the three of them combined. She could easily rend them with her claws or dispatch them with venomous bites. But she could not take down three at once, even with magic. One would certainly sound the alarm before they all died. To use the portal pool, Halisstra needed time to puzzle out its mysteries. She needed to kill all three guards swiftly and silently. But how?

She picked at her hand. The callus constantly burned, the pain secondary only to the throb of the punctures that Lolth's handmaidens had inflicted-punctures that would never heal. These were constant reminders of Halisstra's servitude to the goddess Lolth-and to Lolth's demonic minion.

"Wendonai," Halisstra breathed. Her lips twisted with the word. She hated the demon almost as much as she hated herself. She needed to deliver Cavatina to him. To free herself, and even more importantly, to prove herself to Lolth. The priestesses and cleric, below, were boulders that blocked that tunnel.

A warm breeze shivered through the leaves next to her, carrying with it a strange scent. None of the three below reacted to it, yet Halisstra's heightened senses detected it at once. A strange combination of sweetness and putridity, it smelled like perfume sprinkled on rotten meat. She'd smelled it once before, while roaming the Demonweb Pits.

She sniffed again to be sure.

Dread blossoms? Here, on Toril?

The breeze stilled.

"Wendonai," Halisstra whispered again-with a smile.

She crept away from the ridge and sprang into the tree-tops. Scuttling through them like a spider, leaving a trail of webs in her wake, she headed in the direction the scent had come from. It took her a while to locate its source, but eventually she spotted a dead moose. The massive creature lay on its side, legs thrust out stiffly. Lodged in its flesh were half a dozen dread blossoms. Their stalks pulsed as they extracted the last of the animal's blood. Gold and black pollen drifted out of the cup-shaped crimson flowers, dusting both the dead animal and the forest floor on which it lay.

Halisstra clambered down from the tree branch and squatted a few paces away from the carcass. The dread blossoms yanked their stems out of the dead animal. Chunks of flesh clung like dirt to the tendrils surrounding the lance-sharp point of each stalk. Swift as hummingbirds, the flowers twisted in mid-air, petals fluttering. Then they zipped to the spot where Halisstra waited.

They circled above her like swarming bees, loosing their pollen. It drifted down onto Halisstra's head, shoulders, and arms, fouling her web-sticky hair and clogging her nostrils. She breathed deep, savoring the nausea produced by the sickly sweet odor. The pollen tingled, and numbed her skin, but failed to paralyze her.

She threw her arms wide and froze, inviting attack. A dread blossom hummed away from the rest then reversed itself. It slammed into her stomach point-first with the force of a thrown lance. But instead of penetrating, the stalk splintered on her stone-hard skin. The dread blossom fell to the ground, limp.

Halisstra pouted. She'd hoped it would at least sting.

She loped away through the forest, the five remaining dread blossoms humming in her wake. They were mindless things, drawn by body heat and motion; the destruction of the first dread blossom was not something they had registered. They would keep trying to paralyze her until they ran out of pollen-or until they sensed another, easier target.

Halisstra led them back the way she had come. As she neared the ridge, she slowed to a walk. She stopped at the edge of the ridge and rendered herself invisible.

She smiled as first one dread blossom zipped away over the edge, then another. When the last of them vanished, she crept forward and peered down.

The dread blossoms circled just above the pool, dusting its surface with their pollen. The two priestesses stood below, already rendered motionless by the dread blossoms. One of them was pointing up, head thrown back and mouth open. The other was frozen in her on-guard position; she'd neither seen nor heard the dread blossoms coming. The Nightshadow, however, was nowhere to be seen. Halisstra repeated the bae'qeshel melody that had revealed him the first time, but saw no trace of him.

The dread blossoms plunged down in attack. One of them sank its tendril directly into the throat of the priestess whose head was upturned, and another slammed into the thigh of the second priestess. Halisstra watched the remaining three dread blossoms carefully. None of them veered from their course. All three sank into one or another of the priestesses and began feeding.

Halisstra sprang from the ridge, drifted down on a strand of spider silk, and landed beside the pool. She expected the Nightshadow to return at any moment, but no attack came. As she watched, first one of the priestesses toppled, then the other. The first landed with a splash in the pool. Blood trickled from the point in her throat where the dread blossom had attached itself, and a murky red stain rippled across the pool. Reflected pinpricks of light-the Tears of Selune-danced in its wake.

Still no attack from the Nightshadow.

Satisfied he had fled, Halisstra bit her tongue and spat a gob of blood and spittle into the pond. She stirred it with her finger and sang softly. Webs trailed through the water from her fingers as she worked her magic.

"Cavatina," she breathed. "Show me Cavatina."

The water remained unchanged. The only thing Halisstra's fingers stirred up was mud.

Halisstra swore and yanked her fingers from the water. She had gambled that Cavatina would have journeyed on from the Promenade through its portal, which in turn was linked to this one. Halisstra's scrying should have shown the next link: Cavatina's destination. Yet nothing had been revealed.

Halisstra stared at the spreading ripples. Perhaps Cavatina had warded herself against magical intrusions. Or perhaps she held too much of Eilistraee's grace. Halisstra's hand ached after its immersion in the water, the callus on her palm was throbbing like-

Something slammed into the back of her neck, rocking her forward. Snarling, Halisstra clawed at her hair, yanking a shattered wristbow bolt from it. A second bolt plunged into her back, just below her left shoulder.

She whirled. The Nightshadow stood just a few paces away, next to one of the fallen priestesses. The dead female's hunting horn was in his hand. His eyes bulged as he saw Halisstra turn, the shattered wristbow bolt in her hand.

"Masked Lady, aid me!" he cried. "Slay the fiend!"

He thrust his free hand forward. A bolt of intertwined shadow and moonlight shot from his palm and struck Halisstra in the face. A blaze of white light filled one eye, a pall of darkness the other. Pain flared in her temples. Then Lolth's restorative magic asserted itself, and Halisstra could see again.

The Nightshadow was gone. A blare of noise came from close by in the woods: the hunting horn. A moment later, answering blares came from the direction of Eilistraee's shrine.

Halisstra snarled. She yearned to race through the woods after that Nightshadow and rip out his heart and squeeze it to bloody mush before it even stopped beating, but that would do little good. The damage was already done. A host of priestesses would be there in mere moments, intent on their hunt.

She smashed a fist into a nearby tree, splintering its bark. The tree groaned and fell across the pool, sending up a spray of water. Halisstra ground her teeth in frustration. She'd hoped the pool would lead her to Cavatina. A stupid idea. Now all she could do was flee or fight.

Pain pulsed through her palm-the demon's claw, shifting like a maggot under her skin. A word hissed into her ear like a trickle of hot sand. Wait.

Halisstra blinked in surprise. "Wendonai?"

A crack sounded nearby-a sharp sound, like rock splitting in a fire. A hot wind stirred the branches next to Halisstra. Grit tickled her skin and blew into her eyes.

"Wendonai," she said. With certainty, this time.

She tensed as something stepped out of the forest. It looked like a mummified drow, with skin that glinted in the moonlight as though it had been dusted with rock salt. Its eyes were an outgrowth of salt-crystal, their orbs replaced with jagged prisms. The thing clawed its way toward the pool, tearing at the vegetation that impeded it. Leaves withered and died on the branches it touched.

With jerking steps, the salt mummy moved past Halisstra and stumbled into the pool. When it was barely as deep as its ankles, its feet and lower limbs started to dissolve. Moaning, it collapsed to its knees and thrashed about in the water. Holes opened in its skin where the water splashed it, and pieces of its salt-impregnated flesh fell away.

The blare of horns drew nearer as the hunters closed in. The pool shrank as the salt mummy thrashed about in it. A crust of salt ringed the pool and the smell of brine filled the air. The plants that rimmed the pool withered.

Halisstra touched a hand to what remained of the water. This time, the callus in her palm didn't burn. Instead it drew in the water, lapping it up with the eagerness of a thirst-crazed dog.

Laughing, Halisstra stepped into the pool. The salt mummy was gone save for a rapidly dissolving lump that had been its head. Its jaw was still working; the callus in Halisstra's palm pulsed in time with its words. Follow…

She waded to the center of the pool. Near her feet, she spotted a faint sparkle of pale blue light that looked like faerie fire. She touched it with a foot and felt an emptiness, a hollow, waiting to swallow her. As the first of the priestesses of Eilistraee burst out of the woods, singing a spell that sent her sword dancing through the air, Halisstra sneered. A flick of her hand cast a web that tangled the sword in mid-flight.

Then she plunged headfirst into the reeking water, and into the portal that opened beneath her.

Q'arlynd stood in the tunnel as the rest of the group departed. No one had spared him so much as a backward glance-not even Eldrinn, though Q'arlynd could tell by the set of the boy's shoulders that he didn't like leaving his mentor behind.

When the last footfall faded, Q'arlynd waited for a thousand-count, then tried to follow. He managed no more than half a dozen steps before his body refused to move farther. Straining against the compulsion only made his stomach cramp. He doubled over and vomited on the floor. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth clean.

He attempted to dispel the magic that compelled him to remain there, but without success. That was as he'd expected, but at least he'd tried.

"Abyss take those priestesses and their geas spells," he muttered.

He fumed at being forced to stay behind. He was the only one with a vested interest in keeping Eldrinn alive. If the boy was killed…

No. That didn't bear thinking about.

Q'arlynd wondered what his other apprentices were doing-how much progress, if any, they'd made in unlocking the door's secrets. He eyed the glowing wall beside him. Scrying was supposedly impossible in this place, but he wouldn't know that for certain until he tried. If the destination being scried was far enough from the source of the problem, the scrying just might work.

As a precaution-just in case any more of those enormous, undead heads came slithering along-he rendered himself invisible. He briefly considered which of his students to scry, then decided upon Baltak. The transmogrifist had been the most keen on the puzzle of Kraanfhaor's Door; likely he was still there, studying it. Or, knowing Baltak, trying to bash it down with brute magical force.

Q'arlynd concentrated on Baltak and activated his ring. The result was like staring full on into the sun. A flash of violet light filled his vision, sending him reeling. Blinking, blinded, he groped at the wall beside him for support. Slowly-too slowly-the tunnel around him came back into view again. The pale blue light that suffused its walls pulsed in time with the ache that filled his head.

"Mother's blood," he swore, rubbing his temples. "That hurt."

He stared ruefully at the faintly glowing rock beside him. At least he'd learned one thing. It didn't matter where the subject was. If the caster was in the Deep Wastes, scrying was impossible. Even with a magical ring.

As long as the caster was drow, of course. Daffir hadn't had any problems with his divinations.

As Q'arlynd blinked away the residual spots from his eyes, he heard a faint sound, down by the Moondeep. He immediately flattened against the wall and checked to make sure his invisibility held. It did.

The noise came again: a faint scrabbling. Something climbed up the rockfall, toward the tunnel. Q'arlynd reached inside a pocket of his piwafwi for a tiny glass orb, then stopped himself. Blinding himself by casting a distant-seeing spell was the last thing he needed just then. Instead he readied a scrap of fur pierced by a shard of glass-components for a spell that would hurl lightning-then he steeled himself to confront whatever hideous undead monstrosity appeared next.

He nearly laughed when he saw the creature that had unnerved him so: a small black rat, its fur glistening wetly. It scurried into the tunnel where Q'arlynd hid, then jerked to a halt, whiskers twitching.

"What's there? What is it? Where is it?" the rat squeaked.

Q'arlynd's eyebrows rose in surprise. The rat was speaking High Drowic. Moving quietly, Q'arlynd pulled his quartz out of a pocket and peered through it, but the crystal clouded with violet faerie fire. Hoping that the creature in front of him was just as it seemed-a wet black rat-he lowered his crystal.

Just as Q'arlynd was debating whether to speak to it, the rat spoke again. "Karas? Is it you?"

The rat moved closer to Q'arlynd, sniffed the ground beside his still-invisible feet, and gave a startled squeak. "Not him!" it said. "Not him! Not him!" It ran away down the tunnel, in the direction Eldrinn and the others had gone.

Interesting.

After the rat was gone, Q'arlynd listened for a time. The Moondeep lay in silence, its waters still against its shores. The only sounds were the occasional drip of water from the handful of stalactites that clung to the cavern's wide ceiling and a faint, crackling hiss, nearly imperceptible, from the Faerzress that infused the rock next to him.

He moved to the mouth of the tunnel and stared across the vast cavern that held the Moondeep Sea. The moon had set some time ago, its reflection vanishing from the dark surface of the water. Only a handful of the Tears of Selune remained. One by one, those too vanished.

Q'arlynd was well and truly alone.

He stroked his chin. Cavatina had told him to wait there until moonrise. It had been couched as a suggestion, but her hand had brushed against her holy symbol as she spoke; that must have been when the geas was cast. If he was stuck there until the next moonrise, he might as well use the time wisely. A second experiment was in order. Qilue had, very pointedly, mentioned his skill at teleportation. Perhaps she hoped that he'd still be able to manage it, even there. That was certainly worth finding out.

He drew a deep breath-preparing himself, as he would for a freefall from one of Ched Nasad's ruined streets. He chose a spot just a few paces away, in the center of the tunnel. Concentrating on it, he spoke the words of his spell.

He slammed into a wall face-first. Pain flared in his nose-it felt like he'd broken it a second time-and warm blood slid from his nostrils. Bruised, embarrassed, he pushed himself roughly away from the wall. The Faerzress was, he noted, glowing more brightly than it had a moment before. A faint violet smudge had appeared on the pale blue, in the spot where his body had struck the wall. It looked, he thought wryly, like the dent his body would have made had it struck a soft patch of ground from a great height. He could even see the imprint of one outflung hand.

He watched as the violet glow slowly faded. A moment later, the Faerzress was back to its usual, pale-blue color.

Q'arlynd wiped his nose gingerly. That was enough experimentation for one night, he decided. He'd been lucky. His nose had indeed been re-broken, but at least the rest of his body was in one piece. He could have wound up a frayed, bloody mess after the teleportation mishap.

He sighed. It would be a long, tiresome wait for moonrise, but with the first glint of moonlight on the underground sea, he'd be out of there.

He unfastened his belt and settled into a crosslegged position on the floor. He laid the belt across his knees and passed a hand over it, dispelling the magic that concealed the writing on the broad band of leather. His spells were written in a script so tiny it was almost impossible to read-he normally relied upon the crystal to magnify them-but the words were still crisp. The dunking in water hadn't blurred them.

Q'arlynd read, refreshing his spells. The night dragged on to its end. In the World Above, the sun rose, made its slow passage through the heavens, then set. The first of the evening stars sparkled against a purpling sky.

In the Underdark, in the tunnel where Q'arlynd waited, all was silent and dark-save for the Faerzress that shimmered across the rock next to him. Fortunately, no more undead came creeping or slithering along. The wait, though long, had been uneventful. Q'arlynd straightened as a thin wedge of light glinted on the water: one horn of the crescent moon, rising in the surface realms above.

"Come on," he said impatiently. "Come on." He paced back and forth to warm himself. The long wait had left a chill in his bones. "A little further. Just a little more…"

As Selune shimmered fully into view on the Moondeep's surface, Q'arlynd heard a splash. A head broke the surface of the water some distance from shore-a head with sky-black skin and white hair. Probably the priestess who had returned to the temple with the body.

She twisted about, looking disoriented.

Q'arlynd stepped to the edge of the tumbled rock and waved. "Chizra!" he shouted. "I'm over…"

The words died in his throat as the swimmer turned toward him. That wasn't the priestess, or even a drow. It was too big, with strangely articulated arms and things protruding from its chest that churned the water like writhing snakes.

Q'arlynd stepped back into the corridor, rendering himself invisible the moment he was out of the creature's sight. Then he changed direction and ran forward. As the monster swam toward the tunnel with powerful strokes, he sprang from the lip of the rockfall into the air and activated his House insignia. His gamble paid off; the creature didn't look up. It didn't notice him levitating above.

Q'arlynd shielded himself and pulled out the components for a lightning bolt but held back on casting it. The thing in the water looked demonic, and he didn't want to draw its attention if he didn't have to.

Below him, the creature reached the shore and clambered up the rockfall toward the tunnel. Water streamed from its massive body as it paused at the tunnel mouth to look around and sniff the air. Now that the creature was out of the water, Q'arlynd could see it was female. She was twice the height of a drow, with matted white hair that hung in a tangle to her shoulders and back. The things protruding from her chest weren't snakes but spider legs.

Q'arlynd decided the creature must be a half-demon of some sort-perhaps some new form of draegloth. He was even more convinced when he got a good look at her face. It was the face of a drow female, yet twisted, like a clay sculpture that had been stretched and flattened while the clay was still wet. A hairy bulge protruded from each cheek, just under the eye. Fangs sprouted from these, scissoring together in front of an oversize mouth.

Q'arlynd frowned. The face looked familiar, somehow. As if he'd seen the creature somewhere before. He didn't mess around with demons-that was Piri's thing, not his-and yet…

The creature started to look up. Hurriedly, Q'arlynd cast a cantrip that caused a rock some distance down the tunnel to shift. At the faint noise, the she-demon whipped around, turning her attention to the tunnel. A malicious laugh gurgled from her throat. She stepped into the tunnel, turned back to face the cavern again, and flung out both hands. Webs burst from her fingertips. Weaving her hands back and forth, she sealed the tunnel's entrance. Then she loped away into the abandoned mine.

Q'arlynd let out a long, slow breath. When he was certain the demon-thing was out of earshot, he drifted down to the rockfall. He studied the web a moment: it was haphazard and asymmetrical, something Lolth herself might have created. He pulled a pinch of brimstone-impregnated tallow from a pocket and tossed it at the ground. A quick evocation caused the marble-sized ball of tallow to expand into a fist-sized ball of flame as it rolled toward the base of the web. The magical fire consumed a corner of the web, leaving a space big enough for a drow to pass through.

Q'arlynd was just about to crawl through this when he heard a splash. Not out on the lake, this time, but at the base of the rockfall. He whirled and saw two figures emerging from the water. He sighed in relief as he recognized them as priestesses of Eilistraee.

One was Chizra, the priestess who had taken the dead Protector back to the Promenade. The other was even more familiar to Q'arlynd. It had been nearly two years since he'd seen her last, but he remembered every detail of her lean, muscular body and ice-white hair.

"Leliana," Q'arlynd said as she approached. Belatedly, he remembered to bow. "I hadn't expected to see you-"

"Chizra, watch the lake," Leliana ordered.

Only after the other priestess had turned in that direction, sword in hand, did Leliana acknowledge Q'arlynd. Rather than greet him, she asked a brisk question. "Any sign of the svirfneblin?"

"None at all."

Leliana strode past him to inspect the web. Over her shoulder, she asked, "What kind of spider spun this?"

So it was going to be like that, was it? Q'arlynd opened his mouth to protest to Leliana that he'd done everything he could to protect her daughter's soul. Then he remembered Leliana's skill with truth-compelling prayers. He answered her question, instead.

"It wasn't a spider that spun it, but something demonic. It looked a little like a female draegloth. She came out of the Moondeep and disappeared down the tunnel."

Leliana turned. "Describe her."

Q'arlynd did. When he was done, Leliana looked as though she wanted to spit. She glanced back at the other priestess, who was still keeping an eye on the Moondeep. "That explains the delay in opening the portal. And the water's brackish taste."

Chizra called up from below. "I thought it tasted tainted."

Q'arlynd glanced at the web. "Was it one of Lolth's minions who…"

He didn't bother finishing his question; Leliana wasn't listening. She stared into the distance and spoke Qilue's name. A moment later, she cocked her head, as if listening, then repeated, swiftly and in an urgent tone, what Q'arlynd had just told her, describing the demon-thing.

That done, Leliana listened again. She blinked rapidly, as if surprised by what she heard.

"What is it?" Q'arlynd asked. "Bad news?"

Leliana gave him the strangest look, an odd mix of reluctance and pity. There was something she wanted to tell him-something important. Had the demon-thing somehow marked or tainted him? He resisted the urge to inspect his body, to see if there were visible signs of corruption. "What? Tell me."

Leliana pressed her lips together. "I can't," she said at last. "Qilue's orders. She said it's better if you don't know."

Q'arlynd's eyes narrowed. "It's my body, my soul. If either has been corrupted, then I have a right to-"

"It's nothing like that," Leliana said. "It's something that happened long ago, to someone else. But that's enough said. Let's just leave it at that."

Q'arlynd stared at her. Leliana was trying to tell him something, in an oblique way. He wondered what it might be.

Whatever it was, no hints were forthcoming. Leliana, obviously the senior priestess there, turned to Chizra. "Wait here. Conceal yourself well, and warn me if anything else comes through the portal. The wizard and I will try to catch up with the others."

Q'arlynd took a deep breath. "The wizard" was he? Well so be it. "As you command, Lady," he said, giving Leliana an exaggerated bow. Then he followed her into the tunnel.

"What's wrong, Qilue?"

Laeral touched her sister's arm. A moment ago, they had been conversing together on the balcony of the tower. Then Qilue had abruptly broken off in mid-sentence with a faraway look in her eye-a look Laeral knew well. Her sister had been called by someone. An urgent summons, judging by the crease of Qilue's brow.

Qilue didn't answer. Her lips pursed together as she composed a mental reply. She spoke a name aloud: "Cavatina." More silent communication followed.

The summons must have been urgent, indeed.

Laeral waited patiently for her sister to finish. As she waited, she stared at the buildings below. The City of Hope had been raised nearly three years ago by the same high magic that had scoured away ancient Miyeritar. The walled city was laid out like a wheel within a circular wall. Nine roads led from its central plaza to sentinel towers that stood watch over the High Moor. The tower on whose balcony they stood-an exact replica of Blackstaff Tower in Waterdeep-was one of several wizard's towers that had been raised on the night the city was forged. It was one of the most distinctive. Utterly black, forbiddingly stark, it had neither window nor door. Those who knew the passwords could slip through its walls like ghosts; all others were barred by its powerful wards.

Qilue had come to speak to Laeral about something that was troubling her: some fell magic that was originating from the area of Kiaransalee's chief temple. Laeral was no expert in the Dark Seldarine. She was only part-elf, "sister" to Qilue through the grace of Mystra alone, whereas Qilue was wholly drow. They were as different, each from the other, as day and night, Laeral with fair skin and emerald-green eyes, clad in an elegant gown, Qilue head and shoulders taller, with ankle-length white hair and skin the color of midnight, protected by a warrior-priestess's armor. Yet both were Chosen of Mystra, bound from their birth to serve the goddess of magic.

At last, Qilue turned. "One of our priestesses, missing these past two years, has been found."

Laeral smiled brightly. "Certainly that's good news?"

"I'm not sure," Qilue answered slowly. "I thought that coin had landed, but it seems it has been tossed in the air a second time and is spinning still. Whether it will be aid or betrayal this time is unclear."

Laeral frowned. Qilue could be annoyingly cryptic at times. "I'm not sure I follow you, sister."

"The priestess I spoke of was reclaimed by Lolth. Made unclean. The Spider Queen's webs cling to Halisstra still, causing her to stumble. There were deaths in the Shilmista-deaths that may have been by her hand."

"By 'her,' do you mean Lolth… or this priestess?"

Qilue sighed. "Both. Or perhaps neither-it is too soon to tell. Eilistraee permitted Halisstra to use one of the Moonspring's portals, after all. In any case, Cavatina has been warned."

"I see," Laeral said, even though she didn't. She steered the conversation back to its original course. "You said you wanted my help with that problem of yours-something to do with the Faerzress?"

Qilue nodded. "Faerzress are being augmented throughout the Underdark. Each day, the effect spreads farther and grows stronger. Just this morning, we saw the first glimmerings of it in the Promenade. Eilistraee willing, my priestesses will confirm the cause of it soon-and by sword and song, eliminate it. But should they fail, there will be dire consequences for the drow."

"How so?"

"The drow-alone of all of Toril's many races-will be prevented from casting divinations. Nor will they be able to utilize any spell or prayer to magically convey themselves from place to place. For now, this is impossible only in the Dark Wastes, and simply more difficult the farther afield one ventures from the effect's point of origin. But if the augmentation of Faerzress continues, such magic will be impossible for drow throughout the Underdark."

"Surely that bodes well for your crusade. Won't it be one more reason for your people to come up to the surface?"

"It would-except for one thing," Qilue said, a grim look in her eye. "Hand in hand with the augmentation of the Faerzress comes a second, unforeseen effect. We've noticed it at our settlements on the surface. In recent days, the drow who came up into the light have begun retreating from the World Above, finding excuses to make their way back to the Underdark. I've felt it myself-a subtle, lingering longing that makes me loath to leave the Promenade. These past few days I visited our shrines that lie closer to the source of the effect. The call I felt there to go below was strong. Curious to know more, I allowed it to guide my footsteps and followed it down into the Underdark. I found myself drawn to a cavern filled with Faerzress. Once there, I pressed myself against its walls, heedless of danger. I was a moth, drawn to a Faerzress flame."

Qilue shivered, despite the sunlight that warmed the tower's dark stone. "If this isn't stopped, we'll all be drawn below. Everything I've worked a lifetime for will be undone."

"Oh, sister," Laeral sighed. "That's terrible. But you said you've sent scouts to snoop around Kiaransalee's temple-the best warriors the Promenade has. Surely they'll put an end to this before it's…" She stopped, not wanting to say the words.

Qilue finished the sentence for her. "Too late?" Her jaw clenched. "Sister, that is my most fervent prayer."

"Tell me how I can help," Laeral said. "What would you have me do? Just name it, and it shall be done."

"I wish I knew," Qilue said. She stared out across the city-not at the city itself, but at the horizon. The High Moor was still flat and featureless, but some color had returned. Here and there were splotches of green and fall-red: young trees that had grown these past three years. That's what she loved about the surface. Its beauty was ever-changing, not frozen like the cold stone of the Underdark.

"I asked Eilistraee the same question myself," Qilue continued. "What would she have me do? The goddess's answer, however, puzzled me. 'It will end where it began,' Eilistraee replied. 'The High Moor.'" She turned to Laeral. "What that prophecy means, I cannot say. I thought you might have some idea, sister."

Laeral stood for several moments, lost in thought. Endings. Beginnings. "The City of Hope is an obvious 'beginning,' " she said. "As for an 'ending,' Faertlemiir, Miyeritar's City of High Magic, once stood here millennia ago, until it was laid waste by the killing storm. But that's surely something you've already thought of."

Qilue nodded.

"I'm sorry, sister. I have no answer for you. But I will think long and hard on it. I'll contact you at once if anything occurs to me."

"Thank you."

"In the meantime," Laeral said, "I'm curious. Is that the Crescent Blade at your hip? Did it really slay a demigod, as the ballads say?"

Instead of smiling, as Laeral had hoped, Qilue's expression grew closed and hard. Her right hand strayed to the hilt. She turned slightly away from Laeral, as if protective of the weapon. As if she half-expected Laeral to take the sword from her.

Then, like clouds rolling away from the sun, Qilue's expression cleared. "It is, indeed." She drew the sword and laid the flat of the blade across her palm, offering it up for Laeral to see.

Laeral noted the break in the blade. "It's been broken. And… mended."

"Yes, praise Eilistraee." Qilue's eyes glittered. "In Lolth's domain, no less. One day, it will slay the Spider Queen."

Laeral nodded. As Qilue' slid the sword back into its scabbard, she noticed something. "Your wrist: there's a cut there."

Once again, the guarded look returned to Qilue's eye. "A scratch, sister. Nothing more."

"Why didn't it heal?" Irritation flared in Qilue's eyes. "It's just a scratch."

Had it been anyone else, Laeral wouldn't have worried. But this was Qilue. Such a tiny wound should have healed in less than the blink of an eye.

But it might not be the best time to pursue the question, she thought.

Qilue was proud-perhaps the proudest of the Seven Sisters-and had chosen a difficult path. And it looked as though the work of bringing the drow 'up into the light' was going to increase in difficulty by a thousandfold, perhaps even become impossible. She had every right to be on edge, to grow irritated when "trivial" matters like the scratch on her wrist were pointed out to her.

Except that a wound that Mystra's silver fire couldn't heal was anything but trivial.

"I'll keep an eye on the High Moor for you, sister," Laeral promised. "Let you know if anything unusual happens here. Any more 'endings' or 'beginnings.' I'll consult my scrying fonts. If I learn anything, I'll let you know immediately." She slipped a hand into the crook of Qilue's arm. "In the meantime, can I offer you food? Or wine?"

"No, thank you, sister. I must return to the Promenade as soon as possible."

Laeral gave her sister's arm a comforting squeeze. "The Faerzress?"

Qilue nodded. "The Faerzress." She plucked Laeral's hand from her arm. "Farewell." Then she teleported away.

Laeral stared for several moments at the spot Qilue had just occupied. Like all drow, Qilue was reluctant to show her emotions. Laeral could tell, however, that her sister was deeply troubled-and not just by the undoing of a lifetime's work. There was more going on; Laeral was certain of it.

But until Qilue confided in her, Laeral could do little to help.