"They are right here!" the creature bellowed in a voice like a roaring forge. "Destroy the dark elves!"

The pit fiend started to call up another infernal blast, but Jeggredstill veiled in his devilish guisehurled into the mighty fiend's flank, clawing and tearing with abandon. The great devil roared in rage, staggering under the draegloth's a.s.sault.

"Lolth's sweet chaos," Ryld muttered.

Which was more dangerous, the beholder mage or the pit fiend? The beholder still blasted any devil it saw, veiled drow or not, and most of the pit fiend's minions had fallen already. The pit fiend hammered and slashed at Jeggred, who stood toe-to-toe with the infernal lord, giving as good as he got.

The weapons master glanced between the two enemies, hesitated only a moment, and decided. Silently as an arrow whispering through the dark, Ryld scrambled up and leaped forward, aiming a tremendous cut at the beholder's round body. The beholder mage spotted him at once and blasted a bolt of lightning in his direction, but he tumbled aside and kept coming. Another eye fixed on him, and the beholder's drone took on a peculiarly horrid and deadly sound. Rather than wait to find out what spell the monster could cast with that eye, Ryld altered his path and bounded into the air, reaching out to sever the tentacle cleanly with Splitter's gleaming blade.

The beholder's drone broke in a piercing shriek of pain. The monster whirled to face Ryld with its jaws gaping, but the weapons master took careful aim and severed another waving eye before ducking down and scrambling beneath the bloated sphere of the hovering creature's body. None of the beholder's eyes could see directly beneath its own bulk.

Dropping to one knee, Ryld shortened his grip on Splitter, and thrust the greatsword up into the chitinous underside of the monster. Black thick gore streamed down the blade, and the huge monster shuddered and shrieked again.

"Well done!" Jezz cried.

The Jaelre renegade commenced to bark out arcane words, his hands weaving in mystical patterns. He conjured up a seething missile of mystic acid that burned another eyestalk from the beholder's body as the monster rolled and twisted in agony.

Ryld yanked out his sword and rolled aside even as the beholder tried to crush him beneath its bulk, its jaws snapping at him. He found himself looking directly at the front of its body, where its great central eye had once gazed out from an armored carapace. The central eye was nothing but an empty socket. An old lesson came to the weapons master's mind: a beholder that wished to learn magic had to blind itself in order to do so.

The lesser eyes flailed and twisted on their tentacles, trying to focus on Ryld. The weapons master saw his opportunity and his target at the same moment. With one swift bound he drove Splitter like a lance straight through the empty central socket and deep into the creature's alien brain. With grim determination he sawed the greatsword in and out, side to side, while dark gore spurted and streamed from the awful wound.

The beholder gave one great shudder, its jaws snapped shut, and its waving eyestalksthose that remainedwent limp. It sank slowly toward the floor.

Ryld glanced up and saw another devil closing on him, apparently having discerned his true form through the illusion, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed out his short sword to gut the fiend as it threw itself on him. The devil knocked him to the floor, its foul blood pouring out all over him. Ryld gagged in revulsion and shouldered the jerking corpse aside, wrenching his sword out of the creature's midsection with his right hand while he dragged Splitter clear of the beholder mage's eye with the left. He shook his head to clear his eyes of the blood of his foes.

By the chamber's entrance, Jeggred sprawled to the ground beneath another terrible spell from the pit fiend, a roaring column of fire that blackened the draegloth's fur and might have incinerated him outright if not for the half-demon's native resistance to fire.

Jeggred screeched and rolled across the floor, trying to smother the burning embers, but as the pit fiend followed to strike at him again, Danifae appeared in front of it and dealt the monster a mighty blow that cracked its kneecap. The devil staggered and flared its wings for balanceand Valas buried three arrows in its back, sinking each shaft feather-deep between the fiend's shoulder blades.

Ryld started forward cautiously, preparing to engage the devil lord in his own turn, but Pharaun, blistered and smoking, rose from the spot where the devil's fireball had blasted him, and lashed out with a brilliant spray of iridescent colors that caught the pit fiend as it turned to confront the archer. A green ray carved a deep, black, boiling wound in the center of the pit fiend's torso, while a virulent yellow ray exploded with crackling arcs of electricity as it grazed the devil's hip. The monster staggered back two steps, and toppled, a smoking corpse. The chamber fell silent as the echoes of its thunderous fall died away.

Pharaun picked himself up gingerly, cradling one arm close to his body. One hand and part of his face were mottled and pink, abraded horribly by the fleeting touch of the beholder's disintegration ray, while his robes smoked with the fading effects of the dark fireball the pit fiend had conjured. The other dark elves slowly relaxed their guard, glancing around in some surprise to find no more foes on the field, and no life-threatening injuries among their number. Quenthel fumbled at her belt and produced Halisstra's healing wand, which she began to use to repair her own injuries, murmuring quiet prayers as she wielded the device.

"That," said Pharaun, "was not easy. We should have demanded something more from the Jaelre for our services."

"You came to us, spider-kisser," Jezz said.

He limped up to study the beholder's corpse where it sprawled on the steps of the ancient dais. Valas and Danifae followed, both keeping an eye on the stairwell behind them.

"Spread out and search for the book," said the Jaelre. "We must locate the Geildirion and withdraw before all the devils in Myth Drannor descend upon us."

Jezz followed his own advice at once, ransacking a set of dusty workbenches and cluttered scroll racks along the far side of the beholder's room.

Ryld sat down on a step and started to sc.r.a.pe the blood from Splitter's blade. He was exhausted. Jeggred, on the other hand, threw himself into the search, hurling heavy pieces of disused furniture aside and pulling down bookshelves. It occurred to Ryld that the draegloth was unlikely to find that the beholder had stashed a valuable book underneath the wreckage of a dusty old couch, but it seemed to keep the half-demon occupied. Ryld settled for staying out of the draegloth's way.

"Hold still, all of you!" Pharaun said sharply.

The wizard spoke a spell and commenced to turn slowly in a circle, studying the whole room intently. The rest of the company, including Jezz, halted their hurried ransacking and watched him impatiently. Pharaun continued past Jeggred, past Valas, and halted as he faced a blank wall. He smiled in a predatory fashion, evidently pleased with himself.

"I have defeated the defenses of our deceased adversary," he said. "That wall is an illusion covering an antechamber."

He gestured again, and part of the wall not far from Ryld abruptly vanished, revealing a large alcove or niche filled with ramshackle bookshelves cluttered with various old tomes and scrolls. Jezz hopped awkwardly to the bookshelf and started rifling through the t.i.tles, shoving each into a satchel at his hip.

"Ryld, Jeggred, keep watch," said Quenthel. She stood straighter, and the dazed look in her eyes was gone, but she frowned as she replaced the healing wand in her pack. "Valas, tidy up the beholder's gold and jewels. There's no point in leaving the loot here, and one never knows when it might be helpful." She looked over at the Jaelre sorcerer, who stood holding a great tome covered in green scales. "Well, Master Jezz, is that the book you wished to recover?"

Jezz blew dust from the cover and ran his slim fingers over the rough leather. He smiled, his handsome face twisting with glee.

"The Geildirion," he breathed. "Yes, this is the tome. I have what we came for."

"Good," said Quenthel. "Let's get out of here while we can. I think I've had all I can stand of this place."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Halisstra sat in a window bench, alone in the apartment set aside for her, and plucked idly at the strings of her dragonbone lyre. She'd been confined to the room for two days, and she found herself growing more than a little weary of incarceration.

Whatever I manage to find in this whole venture, she promised herself, I will not be locked up again.

She had expected torture, magical compulsion, or worse during her interrogation, but Tzirik seemed to have taken her at her word. More than a few drow would have indulged themselves in the opportunity to torture a prisoner regardless of whether she was being truthful or not, leading Halisstra to wonder if Tzirik was waiting for word of Quenthel and the others before doing something that might anger them. Halisstra didn't think the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith and her comrades had managed to cow the entire House, but it was entirely possible that their competence had persuaded Tzirik not to look for trouble without good cause.

She looked out the narrow, barred window. Dawn was fast approaching. The sky was already growing painfully bright in the east, though the sun had not yet risen. Halisstra could make out the endless green forest of Cormanthor, rolling away from her for mile after mile.

A knock at the door startled her, followed by the jingling of keys in the lock. She looked around and stood as Tzirik entered the room, dressed in a resplendent high-collared coat of red and black.

"Mistress Melarn," he said, offering an indulgent bow, "your comrades have returned. If you'll come with me, we shall see whether they had some good reason for abandoning you in the wilds of the World Above."

Halisstra set down her lyre and asked, "Were they successful?"

"In fact, they were, which is why I intend to set you at your liberty now. Had they failed, I'd planned to use you as a hostage to compel them to try again."

She snorted in amus.e.m.e.nt, and the priest escorted her from the room. He led her through the elegant pale halls and corridors of Minauthkeep. A pair of Jaelre warriors trailed them, dressed in cuira.s.ses dyed a mottled green and brown, short swords at their hips. They came to a small chapel, decorated in the colors of Vhaeraun, and there they found Quenthel, Danifae, and the rest of the company waiting.

"I see you have survived the rigors of Myth Drannor and returned to tell the tale," Tzirik said by way of a greeting. "As you see, it seems I have found something of yours, just as you have found something of mine."

Halisstra studied the faces of her former companions as she appeared. Most showed some degree or another of surprisea raised eyebrow, an exchange of glances. Ryld offered her a warm smile before dropping his gaze and shifting his feet nervously, while Danifae actually came forward to clasp her hand.

"Mistress Melarn," she said. "We thought you lost."

"I was," Halisstra replied.

She was surprised to find how relieved she was to be back among her former companionsthough they were interlopers from a rival cityand her scheming battle captive. Danifae might not have been Halisstra's ornament anymore, but the binding spell was still there, making her the only ally Halisstra had left in the world.

"Where have you been?" Quenthel asked.

"I was subjected to several days worth of effort to convert me to the worship of Eilistraee, if you can believe such a thing," Halisstra answered. "Lolth granted me an opportunity to slay two of the Eilistraeen clerics and escape."

Though her heart glowed with dark pride at her accomplishment, Halisstra found herself feeling a bit disappointed by the results of her treachery. She was no stranger to the traitor's dark art, but it seemed as if she had only managed to do what was expected of her.

"Undoubtedly the surface folk set you free to see what you were up to," Quenthel said. "It's an old trick."

"So we thought, too," Tzirik said. "However, we investigated Mistress Melarn's story and found it to be true. It's almost comical, the naivete of our sisters in Eilistraee's worship." He paused and rubbed his hands together. "Be that as it may, Jezz informs me that you helped him recover the tome we needed."

"We helped him?" Jeggred growled.

"His task was to bring back the book," Tzirik replied, "not to battle the denizens of Myth Drannor."

"You have your book," Quenthel said. Ignoring Jeggred's snarl, she folded her arms and fixed her eyes on Tzirik. "Are you ready to fulfill your end of the bargain?"

"I have already done so," the priest replied. He glanced up at the bronze image high on the wall, and made a small genuflection. "Whether or not you returned alive, I intended to consult with the Masked Lord and find out for myself what takes Lolth from you. Your story made me quite curious."

Quenthel virtually ground her teeth in frustration.

"What did you learn, then?" she managed.

Tzirik savored his knowledge, responding with a deliberate smirk as he paced away from the company and took a seat on a small dais that stood to one side of the chapel.

He steepled his fingers together and said, "In all essentials your story is true. Lolth does not grant her priestesses spells, nor does she reply to any entreaties."

"We already knew as much," Pharaun observed.

"But I did not," the priest answered. "In any event, it seems that Lolth has, in some manner, barricaded herself within her infernal domain. She denies contact not only to her priestesses, but all other beings both mortal and divine, which would explain why the demons you conjured up to question about the Spider Queen's doings were unable to a.s.sist you."

The Menzoberranyr stood silent, considering Tzirik's answer. Halisstra was puzzled, as well.

"Why would the G.o.ddess do this?" she wondered aloud.

"In the spirit of candor, I will admit that Vhaeraun either does not know or does not wish for me to know," Tzirik said. He fixed his cold gaze on Halisstra. "For the moment, divine capriciousness seems as good an explanation as any."

"Is she . . . alive?" Ryld asked quietly. Quenthel and the other priestesses turned angry glares on the weapons master, but he ignored them and went on. "What I mean to say is, would we know if she had been slain by another G.o.d, or sickened, or imprisoned against her will?"

"If only we were so lucky," Tzirik said, laughing. "No, Lolth still lives, however you might define that for a G.o.ddess. As to whether she has sealed herself into the Demonweb Pits, or been sealed in by another power, Vhaeraun did not say."

"When will this condition end?" Halisstra asked.

"Again, Vhaeraun either does not know or does not wish for me to know," Tzirik said. "The better question might be, will it end? The answer to that is yes, it will end in time, but before you take too much comfort in that I must remind you that a G.o.ddess may have a very different sense of what we would consider to be a reasonable wait. The Masked Lord might have been referring to something that would happen tomorrow, next month, next year, or perhaps a hundred years from now."

"We can't wait that long," Quenthel murmured. Her expression was distant, fixed on events in faraway Menzoberranzan. "A resolution must be reached soon."

"Take up the worship of a more caring deity, then," Tzirik replied. "If you're interested, I would be happy to discourse at length on the virtues of the Masked Lord."

Quenthel bristled, but held her tonguea feat of remarkable self-control for the Baenre priestess.

"I decline," she said. "Does the Masked Lord have any other advice for us, priest?"

"In fact, he does," Tzirik replied. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward to convey his point to Quenthel. "These were the exact words he spoke to me, so take note of them. 'The children of the Spider Queen should seek her for answers.' "

"But we have," Halisstra cried. "All of us, but she does not hear us."

"I don't think that's what he meant," Danifae said. "I think Vhaeraun is suggesting that we won't learn anything more unless we go to the Demonweb Pits ourselves, and beseech the G.o.ddess in person."

Tzirik remained silent and watched the Menzoberranyr. Quenthel paced in a small circle, considering the idea.

"The Spider Queen requires a certain amount of initiative and self-reliance in her priestesses," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said, "but she also demands obedience. To go before her in her divine abode in the expectation of answers . . . Lolth does not smile on such effrontery."

Halisstra fell silent, thinking furiously over what Tzirik suggested. Ventures into other planes of existence were not unknown, of course. Pharaun's spell had carried the company across the Plane of Shadow, after all, and there were many more universes that mortals armed with the right magic could reach, a mult.i.tude of heavens and h.e.l.ls, wonders and terrors beyond the confines of the physical world, but the notion of attempting such a journey without Lolth's explicit invitation terrified Halisstra.

"The penalties for failing to understand the G.o.ddess's will in this matter would be severe indeed," Halisstra said.

"Have we not just heard the G.o.ddess's will?" Danifae asked. "She led us to this place and this question through her silence, just as surely as if she had placed the commands directly in our hearts. She might be angered if we fail to do this."

Halisstra was accustomed to a feeling of certainty when it came to interpreting the Spider Queen's wishes. Before the divine silence had fallen over the priestesses of Lolth, she'd known the rare touch of the G.o.ddess's whispers in her mind. It didn't happen often, of courseshe was only one priestess, and Lolth was served by uncounted thousandsbut she knew what it felt like to understand to the depths of her soul what the Spider Queen wished, and how she could accomplish it. Halisstra felt nothing. Lolth's will, evidently, was that she should figure it out for herself.

Halisstra glanced up, where the bronze mask of Vhaeraun hung over a black altar. The foreignness of the place seemed palpable, a tangible expression of everything she had lost. Instead of standing before the ancient altar in the proud temple of House Melarn, Lolth's divine cert.i.tude thrumming in her very soul as she performed the rites of sacrifice and abas.e.m.e.nt the Spider Queen demanded, she stood alone, lost, an interloper in the temple of a pretender G.o.d, groping blindly for a hint of Lolth's intentions for her.

She imagined standing before Lolth, her soul naked to her G.o.ddess, her eyes blasted by the sight of Lolth's dark glory, her ears scoured by the sound of the Spider Queen's sibilant voice. Perhaps it was effrontery to think that Lolth would erase her doubts, supply answers for her questions and a balm for her wounded heart, but Halisstra discovered that she did not care. If Lolth chose to discard her, to punish her, then she would, but then why had she destroyed Ched Nasad and House Melarn if not to bring Halisstra before her and receive her plea?

"I agree with Danifae," she said at last. "I cannot see what the point of this has been, other than to summon us before the G.o.ddess's throne. We will find our answers in her presence."

Quenthel nodded slowly and said, "I read her will in the same way, sisters. We must go to the Demonweb Pits."

Ryld and Valas exchanged worried looks.

"A sojourn to the sixty-sixth layer of the Abyss," Pharaun observed. "Well, I have dreamed of the place. It would be interesting to see if the reality matches my dream from years ago, though I have to say, I do not relish the thought of meeting Lolth in person. She minced my soul to pieces when I had that vision. It took me months to recover."

"Perhaps we should return to Menzoberranzan and report what we have learned before we consider anything rash?" Ryld asked, clearly alarmed by the prospect of descending into the infernal realms.

"Now that I understand the G.o.ddess's will, I do not wish to delay in obeying it," Quenthel said. "Pharaun can use his sending spell to apprise Gromph of our intentions."

"More to the point," Valas said, "how exactly does one get to the Demonweb Pits?"

"Worship Lolth all your life," Quenthel replied, a dark look clouding her eyes, "then die."

Halisstra glanced at the high priestess, then looked at the scout and said, "Were the G.o.ddess granting us our spells, we could do it easily enough. Without them, it is not so easy. Pharaun?"

The wizard wrung his hands.

"I will learn the proper spells at the first opportunity," he said. "I suppose I will have to locate a wizard of some accomplishment who happens to know the right spells, and persuade him to share one with me."

"That will not be necessary, Master Pharaun," Tzirik said. He stood up from his seat and descended the dais, powerful and confident. "As it so happens, my G.o.d has not seen fit to deprive me of my spells. I have an interest in seeing for myself what transpires in Lolth's domain. We can leave as soon as tonight, if you like."

Company by company, the Army of the Black Spider marched proudly into the open cavern behind the Pillars of Woe. It was nothing compared to the vast cavern of Menzoberranzan, or the incomprehensible gulf of the Darklake, but the plain at the head of the gorge was still impressive, an asymmetrical s.p.a.ce perhaps half a mile across, its ceiling rising a couple of hundred feet overhead. Innumerable columns supported its roof, and shelflike side caverns twisted away on all sides like highways beckoning in the dark.