I'm not sure now, the Mistress of the Academy admitted.
You were sent back for this, Yngoth said. Of course you were. You were sent back to become Mistress of Arach-Tinilith so that you would be the one they sent to find Lolth when the goddess chose to turn away. You were meant to be the savior of Menzoberranzan and perhaps even the savior of Lolth herself.
Quenthel sagged a little further at that.
How can you be sure? she asked.
I'm not sure, replied Yngoth, but it seems reasonable.
Quenthel sighed.
It was Lolth's plan all along that I go back there, Quenthel asked, to find her? How will I do that?
Get to the Abyss first, replied Hsiv. The last of her vipers was never shy when it came to offering his mistress advice. Go there first and you will be guided to Lolth by Lolth. You will know what to do.
How do you know? Quenthel asked.
I don't, Hsiv replied, but do you have any choice?
Quenthel shook her head. She hadn't had any choice in a very long time.
Valas looked around at the ragged drow who made up the expedition to the Abyss. They didn't look very good. Aside from Danifae, who had more energy than Valas had ever seen, who seemed transformed by their trip to Sschindylryn, they were tired, ragged, temperamental, and unfocused.
"May I ask a practical question?"
Only Danifae looked at him. Quenthel was in a world of her own, deep in her own obviously troubled thoughts. The draegloth was pacing, almost pouting if such a thing could be possible from a creature that was half drow, half demon. The wizard was nowhere to be found.
"Where has the wizard gone?" the scour asked.
Danifae pointed upward, and Valas followed her finger to see Pharaun slowly descending from the darkness above.
"Never fear, scout," the wizard said as he finally settled on the deck, "I wouldn't dream of abandoning this great expedition to rescue our mighty civilization from the brink of annihilation. We are nearly ready to begin, though there are a few more things I need to do."
Valas stopped himself from sighing. The never-ending string of delays was wearing on them all—especially when they came with little or no explanation.
"You're keeping us here," the draegloth said, giving voice to what Valas was thinking—and what the others were likely thinking as well. "You don't want to go."
The Master of Sorcere turned on the draegloth and lifted an eyebrow.
"Indeed?" said Pharaun. "Well, in that case perhaps you can attune the third resonant of the Blood Helm to the planar frequency of the Shadow Fringe."
There was a silence while the draegloth looked at him with narrowed eyes.
"No?" Pharaun went on. "I didn't think so. That means you're going to have to let me finish what I need to finish."
The wizard looked around at the rest of them, and Valas shrugged, casually meeting his eyes.
"This is not some mushroom-stem raft," Pharaun said to them all, "splashing about on Donigarten Lake. This vessel, if you haven't noticed, is alive. It is a being of pure chaos. It has a certain intelligence. It has the innate ability to shift between the planar walls from one reality to another. You don't simply paddle something like this. You have to make it a part of you and in turn make yourself a part of it."
He paused for effect then continued, "I am willing to do that—for the good of the expedition and for the pure curiosity of it. It's a unique opportunity to explore some fabulously outre magic. What you must all remember is that if I don't get it right, we could never make it out of this lake. Worse yet, we could find ourselves scuttled in the Shadow Deep or lost forever in the endless Abyss."
The Master of Sorcere looked around as if he was waiting for an argument. None came—even from Jeggred, but he went on anyway, "This time it will be different—the Abyss, the journey there, everything. Last time we were projected across the Astral. We were ghosts there. This time we'll actually be there. If we die in the Abyss, we don't snap back into our bodies. There will be no silver cord. We will be real there, and if we die. ."
Valas wondered why the wizard stopped. Perhaps Pharaun didn't know what would happen if they died there. If you die in your own afterlife, is there an after-afterlife? Thinking about it gave Valas the beginnings of a nagging headache.
"Have any of you ever been to the Abyss before?" Pharaun asked. "Really been there, physically? Even you, Jeggred?"
The draegloth didn't answer, but his smoldering look was enough. None of them had been there, none of them knew—
"I've been there," Quenthel said. The sudden sound of her voice almost startled Valas. "I have been there as a ghost, as a visitor, and as a …
Danifae took a few steps toward Quenthel then sank to her knees on the deck half a dozen paces away from her.
"What as, Mistress?" the battle-captive asked.
"I was killed," the high priestess said, her voice sounding as if it were coming from a great distance. Her vipers grew increasingly agitated as she went on. "My soul went to Lolth. I served the goddess herself for a decade, then she sent me back."
Valas's flesh ran cold, and he found himself stepping slowly away from the high priestess.
"Why?" Pharaun asked, a skeptical look on his face.
The Mistress of Arach-Tinilith turned and gave him a dark, cold stare.
"I think he means," Danifae continued for Pharaun, " why were you sent back?"
"I've never heard anything about this," the Master of Sorcere added.
"It was kept secret," said Quenthel, "for a number of reasons. There were circumstances concerning my death and the one who killed me that might have embarrassed my House. It's not a simple thing, attaining a position like the one I hold. Indeed there is no position like the one I hold … in Menzoberranzan, at least. It was not a position House Baenre was prepared to concede to any other House. For ten years I was simply 'away pursuing studies' or some other excuse alternating between ludicrous and clever. Eventually I returned, then things happened and I was elevated to Mistress of the Academy."
"And now you're on your way back," Danifae said in hushed, heavy tones.
"It's as if someone has a plan for you," said Pharaun.
No one said anything more. Valas walked back to the bags and finished sorting the supplies.
Danifae stood up slowly. Quenthel wasn't looking at her, but it was clear from her body language that the high priestess had finished speaking.
Danifae thought through the revelation quickly but thoroughly.
It didn't matter. It didn't change anything.
She turned, scanning the deck as she did so. The others had gone back to what they were doing. Each of them was undoubtedly going over in his own mind what Quenthel had said. She turned her back to them and stared at Jeggred. When the draegloth finally looked at her, she signaled him in sign language, careful to keep her hands close to her so the others wouldn't see.
It is time, she told him.
The draegloth nodded and glanced meaningfully at the tattered sails of human skin that sagged listlessly in the still air. Danifae nodded and began to ease her way across the deck.
It took them both several minutes to maneuver themselves behind the sail without making it obvious they were hiding.
When they were safely out of sight, Jeggred signed, Where are we going, Mistress?
Danifae smiled and replied, Hunting.
The draegloth's lips twisted into a fierce smile. The half-demon looked hungry.
Danifae stepped closer to him. She could see him stiffen, stand straight—almost at attention. The former battle-captive stepped closer still and wrapped one arm around the half-demon's huge waist. Jeggred's gray fur was warm to the touch and a little bit oily. He was surprisingly soft.