"Abyss take me!" Qilue swore-an oath she hadn't used since her childhood.
The demon chuckled. Perhaps it will.
Qilue stalked on through the cavern. She could have sheathed the sword if she'd tried harder, but she needed Wendonai to think he was in control-and that she feared the weapon would fall apart, were he not within it. That wouldn't happen, of course. Eilistraee's blessings would sustain it, just as they always had.
Her statue was just ahead, tucked into an alcove in the Cavern of Song. Carved from black marble, it showed a youthful Qilue with singing sword held high, exulting in the defeat of Ghaunadaur's avatar. The statue looked heavy and immovable-a false impression. In fact, it concealed the winding staircase that led down to the sealed Pit.
Qilue strode up to the halfling Protector who guarded it and stared down at her. "Is Battle-mistress Rylla below?"
Brindell shook her head.
"Has she passed this way recently?"
"No, Lady. Not since I took up station here."
"Where is she?" Silver fire crackled through Qilue's hair as her irritation flared.
Brindell took a step back. "Lady Qilue. What's wrong? Is the Promenade under attack?"
"What are you talking about?" Qilue spat. She'd never realized, until just this moment, how ridiculous the halfling looked, with her ink-stained face and mop of copper-colored hair.
Brindell pointed a pudgy finger at the Crescent Blade. "There's blood on your sword, Lady Qilue."
"There is?" Qilue lifted the weapon. A thin line of red trickled down the blade. The cut on her wrist must have been bleeding; the bracer that served as sheath for her silver dagger must have rubbed it open again. "It's nothing. Just a scratch." She glared down at Brindell. "Hold your post. Contact me-immediately-if you see Rylla."
Brindell gulped. "Yes, Lady."
Qilue strode away. She realized she'd been sharp with Brindell, but it was all part of the act. And it was drawing Wendonai in. She could feel it.
In recent months, she'd stepped up the tempo. Sometimes she "forgot," until it was almost too late, to drink the holy water that held Wendonai at bay. This gave the balor the illusion he was gradually wearing down her defenses, one cloven-hoofed step at a time. Two steps forward, one back. One step forward, two back. All part of the dance that would lead him exactly where she wanted him.
A dangerous gamble-one that might cost her the Promenade. But a necessary one, if the dhaerrow were to be led back into the light.
The Crescent Blade would be the key.
Ironically, Wendonai had given her the idea, when he'd derided her crusade as "futile." For each drow redeemed and brought up into Eilistraee's light, he'd gloated, a dozen were born with his taint. For every step Qilue led the drow forward, Wendonai yanked them twelve steps back.
The balor's taint ran constant and deep in the drow, in every one with even a drop of Ilythiiri blood in their veins. The only way they could be led out of this dark pall was through redemption-and redemption was something that took courage and strength. The very taint they needed to struggle against and overcome was what seduced most drow into choosing a less morally challenging, more "rewarding" path. They wound up, like flies, caught in Lolth's vast web. Even if they somehow managed to escape or avoid this, more often than not it was only through seeking out alliances with other, even more loathsome deities, like Ghaunadaur.
Qilue had experienced this taint, herself. After her failure to attune the Crescent Blade and drive the evil from it, the cut on her wrist had allowed the demon to slowly worm its way into her. She had been on the verge of purging his taint-a simple matter of releasing Mystra's silver fire within her body, rather than without-when she'd realized something. If she could somehow draw all of Wendonai's taint into herself she would, in the process, remove it from every drow on Toril. Then she could burn herself clean in one blinding flash of silver fire. She could set the drow free to choose a better path-to be led into Eilistraee's dance.
Qilue herself would likely be consumed in the process, her very soul reduced to ash by the incineration of so much evil, so much guilt, so much hatred. But the Crescent Blade would remain. Someone else-Cavatina, most likely-would carry on Eilistraee's work. Be named high priestess in Qilue's stead, take up the Crescent Blade, and kill Lolth.
Qilue sighed. She had the lancet she needed for the blooding that was to come: the Crescent Blade. She even knew the one place, on all of Toril, where it could be done; Eilistraee had revealed its location to her. But she wasn't quite ready, yet, to set her plan in motion. There always seemed to be something else that needed doing first. Q'arlynd, for example, was on the verge of attempting his casting, and would soon require her assistance. And within the Promenade itself, there were a dozen other things to tend to.
Like finding Rylla, and silencing her.
Perhaps, Qilue decided, she could flush the battle-mistress out. An "attack" by Ghaunadaur's cultists should do just that.
She sang the word that would make her symbol visible. A second song dispelled the locks she'd placed on the doors of the chamber that held the glyph-inscribed portal. Then she sent out a silent message to her spies. It is time to begin the dance. Are you ready?
Their answers came like a spatter of rain, the words overlapping each other. Some of the Nightshadows sounded eager, others tense. Two didn't answer at all. Perhaps they were dead. She prayed their souls had found their way to the Masked Lady's domain. Karas assured her he would be able to bring his group through. Qilue smiled. That should bring Rylla running.
Begin, then, she replied. And may Eilistraee guide your steps.
That done, Qilue turned down the corridor that would take her to the river-the corridor that wound past the Moonspring Portal. The Protector guarding the magical pool saluted as she passed.
"Have you seen Rylla?" Qilue asked.
"No, Lady."
She's lying.
Qilue whirled. "Liar! She used the portal, didn't she?"
The Protector's face paled to gray. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
Qilue felt the blood drain from her own face. She hadn't meant to say that aloud. "My apologies, priestess. I was answering a sending from someone else."
It wasn't much of an excuse, but it seemed to satisfy the Protector, who nodded and stiffly resumed her post.
Qilue kneeled and sang a scrying, passing her hand over the pool. She smiled as it revealed Rylla. Qilue's smile vanished abruptly as she recognized the chamber Rylla was standing in. The battle-mistress hadn't used the Moonspring Portal, after all. She was still within the Promenade-in the last place Qilue had expected to find her: the chamber that contained the trap for Ghaunadaur's cultists!
Even as Qilue watched, the battle-mistress dispelled the symbol Horaldin had inscribed. Now she began a prayer-one that would seal the portal Qilue had so painstakingly created!
"No!" Qilue cried. She couldn't let that happen. Not now, with the first wave of Ghaunadaur's minions about to come through.
She sang a hymn that instantly conveyed her to the chamber along a beam of moonlight. Her boots slipped as she landed; the floor was ankle-deep in water. Rylla whirled, her prayer interrupted. "Qilue!" Is it you? she sent.
It would have been a clever ploy-had Wendonai not been able to listen in on Qilue's private conversations.
She thinks I'm controlling you.
You're not.
Not yet.
Be silent! Qilue shook her head. Rylla. She needed to concentrate on the battle-mistress. "Of course it's me. What are you doing?" Rylla hadn't tried to banish Wendonai yet. Perhaps she didn't know.
"Making sure everything's sealed up tight-as you ordered. There's a portal in this room that shouldn't be here." She began her prayer anew.