Karas, she sent, where are you?
Far side of the bridge.
There's bad news. The portal is still in place, but the enchantment glyph has been dispelled. You're going to have to talk your fanatics into entering the trap-but not quite yet. The doors of the room are still sealed. I need a few moments more before I can unlock them. You'll have to stall, once you're across the bridge. Can you manage that?
I'll try.
Qilue nodded. It was all she could ask of anyone. She sent a mental command to the rest of her spies. Nightshadows-the plan is postponed. Remain in position, and do not bring the cultists through until I contact you.
She broke contact, not bothering to wait for their acknowledgements. It was time to do something she should have done, long ago: destroy the Crescent Blade.
She started to draw the sword under the water, ignoring Wendonai's screams of protest, his wild promises, his shouts that he wouldn't die, that he'd have his vengeance-that even if he couldn't personally revenge himself, then Lolth certainly would, since her powers were equal to-
Qilue abruptly halted, the blade only halfway submerged.
There was a way to purge Wendonai's taint from the drow, she realized. She didn't have to be the one who called down silver fire-it could be directed into her body from without. Any of her sisters could provide the lethal blast that would incinerate the demon's taint.
Assuming, of course, one of them could be persuaded to do it.
Laeral, she decided. She'd already guessed something was wrong with the Crescent Blade and would take less convincing.
Qilue steeled herself. Was she really ready to bid farewell to the Promenade, her Protectors, her priestesses-everything she had worked for centuries to build? She had to. It would be the salvation of the drow. All of the drow. The dawn of a glorious new day. Out of the darkness, and into the light.
Qilue, however, wouldn't survive to see it.
Tears blended with the water. Eilistraee, she silently sang. Is this your will?
The answer came not in words, but in a sign. A beam of braided moonlight and shadow lanced down into the water, directly in front of Qilue. She had only to touch it to be transported to the place she had just thought of-the place where the deed would be done.
Qilue nodded. Very well then.
Myroune, she sang.
Use of the truename would ensure that Wendonai wouldn't know whom she was contacting. It would also ensure a prompt reply.
Her sister answered at once. Wasting no time, Qilue told Laeral where to meet her and what needed to be done-in carefully couched language that used references only Laeral would understand. All the while, she could feel Wendonai's seething anger as the sword vibrated in her hand.
Laeral agreed to do as she asked, but with great reluctance. Do you truly wish this, Sister?
Eilistraee wishes it, Qilue replied. For the sake of the drow, it must be done.
I will meet you there. Laeral's voice faded from her mind.
Now there was one last thing that needed to be done.
Qilue touched the mind of her Darksong Knight. Cavatina, she sent. Your suspicions were correct: Wendonai corrupted me. I am removing myself from the Promenade. I may not return. If I do not, you are to lead the ritual that will choose the next high priestess. You must also assist Q'arlynd with the casting he is preparing. May Eilistraee bless you, and guide your steps. Take up her sword and sing.
That said, Qilue unlocked the doors to the room with a flick of her hand. Then she reached out of the water to grasp the moonbeam, and teleported away.
CHAPTER 7
T'lar watched from above as Guldor strode into his private sanctum and closed the door behind him. The wizard pulled a pinch of glittering dust from a pocket and flicked it at the door while muttering a spell. He tested the handle and nodded.
T'lar, perched like a spider on a ceiling beam above, tensed as he began a second incantation, this one directed at the center of the room. She held her dagger by its point. If the wizard lifted his head even slightly, she'd embed it between his eyes.
Guldor's second spell, however, had no visible effect. Nor did he glance in T'lar's direction. He unfastened his cloak and flung it to the side. The garment halted in midair and was neatly folded by an invisible conjured servitor. Guldor, meanwhile, flopped face down onto a divan and gestured at his boots. They tugged off, revealing narrow feet. Dimples appeared in the grayish soles as the servitor massaged them. Guldor, however, remained stiff and unrelaxed. It looked as though the tension of the recent Conclave meeting had not yet dissipated.
As the invisible servitor continued to massage the wizard, T'lar spotted movement within a full-length mirror that was mounted in an ornate gold frame on the wall. The reflection of the room wavered and was replaced. It was as if a door had opened onto another chamber. A figure stepped into view within the mirror: that of Streea'Valsharess Zauviir, high priestess of Lolth. Imperious in her spider-silk robes and silver web-crown, the priestess stared into the wizard's private sanctum.
Guldor glanced up at the mirror. He didn't look pleased to see his aunt.
The high priestess scowled out of the mirror. "I heard what happened today."
"Bad news travels quickly."
"How could you have overlooked the fact that his sister was a bae'qeshel singer? I thought you were more thorough than that!"
"You were the one who wanted to move quickly," Guldor snapped back. "I was the one who advised patience."
"Patience!" the high priestess spat. "Don't you lecture me on patience. We've been waiting years to secure a second position on the Conclave, only to miss our chance! If we'd moved even a cycle sooner, this newly minted master wouldn't have been there."
"You were the one who chose this cycle, not me. What's more, you promised a distraction that would prevent him from appearing before the Conclave-a promise you failed to keep!"
"My decisions were based on information you provided! You said the other masters would be looking for a way to counter Seldszar's latest alliances. That was your recommendation, boy!"
"You'd do well to remember, Priestess, that this 'boy' is one of those who rule this city," Guldor retorted, "while you merely sit in the shadows and spin."
"Pah!" The priestess tossed her head, causing the tiny obsidian spiders hanging from her crown to tinkle. "Your lack of diligence has made our position even worse than it was. This new 'master' is one of Eilistraee's."
"Perhaps." Guldor made a wry face. "Or perhaps not. My accusation was a spear thrust in the dark. We'll have to delve deeper before we can be certain."
"Perhaps it's time someone a little more certain headed up your College."
Guldor's head jerked up. "Is that a threat?"
T'lar listened as the pair continued to argue. The politics of this city mattered little to her. She merely carried out the Lady Penitent's commands.
When Streea'Valsharess Zauviir had invited the Temple of the Black Mother to invest a shrine in Sshamath, T'lar had expected the Lady Penitent to reject the offer out of hand. The priestesses of Sshamath were weak; they'd been responsible for one of Lolth's greatest defeats. The Lady Penitent, however, had decided to accept. T'lar remembered her words: "Where better to spin my web, than in the void where Lolth's was torn asunder?" And so T'lar had been sent north.
Streea'Valsharess Zauviir had promised great things, describing Sshamath as an egg sac seething with discontent and ready to burst. She'd promised to deliver the entire city into the Lady Penitent's hands. She'd lied-T'lar could see that. The Conclave held this city in an adamantine grip. Instead of fighting the masters, the high priestess hoped to join them.