Suddenly, his body was his own again.
"We're even, now." Flinderspeld said. He tugged the master ring off and held it out to Q'arlynd. "And I don't want your ring. Controlling someone else's body was… interesting, but I didn't like the place it led me to. It felt…" He paused, searching for the word. "Wrong."
Q'arlynd yanked off the slave ring. "You won't help me, then."
Flinderspeld lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't say that."
Q'arlynd squatted down to Flinderspeld's level, not quite believing what he had heard. "You'll lead me to the Fountains of Memory?" he asked eagerly.
"Not only that. I'll let you remember it afterward."
Q'arlynd's eyebrows rose.
Flinderspeld smiled. "Your ancestors have promised me they'll erase your memory of the pools, if you try to tell anyone where they are. I'm not sure if I believe them, but I'm willing to gamble that you'll keep your mouth shut, once the spell you hope to cast at the ruined temple is complete."
"My ancestors told you… what I'm planning?"
Flinderspeld's smile widened to a grin. "You'll have to trust me to keep quiet about that."
Q'arlynd nodded to himself. Flinderspeld was better at striking a bargain than he'd thought. No wonder he was prospering. "Well played."
"For anyone else, the answer would have been no. But you weren't all that bad, as drow go. You did set me free, regardless of what your motive was at the time. I owe you one, for that."
Q'arlynd smiled-a genuine smile of friendship, not the false one he'd practiced in the mirror before coming here. He clasped Flinderspeld's arms and said a word he never thought he'd utter, except in jest. "Friends?"
Flinderspeld returned the arm clasp and spoke in Low Drow. "Allies."
Q'arlynd's eyebrows lifted.
Flinderspeld burst into laugher. "Friends."
T'lar rolled a spike-spider back and forth between her palms, savoring the harsh pricks as its needles drove into her flesh. The metal throwing ball wasn't loaded, and its needles held no poison. She did it for the sensation alone. Each jab, each welling of blood was a penance for letting her target slip away. She'd learned that he'd departed for the World Above, but hadn't been able to find out where, or why.
In another moment, however, that little problem would be rectified.
She stood, together with the new high priestess, next to a black iron barrel hoop that hung from a chain by the ceiling. Inside the hoop, a spider descended on a thread of silk. The high priestess coaxed it in the direction she wanted with a morsel of raw meat, her free hand slowly guiding the hoop. The metal grated softly against the chain as it turned. She caught the spider and deftly moved it to the side, adhering the strand to the hoop. The final strand in place, she transferred the spider to her shoulder, and inspected its handiwork. Within the hoop was a five-pointed star, made entirely from web.
"We can begin."
T'lar nodded. She slipped the spike-spider into her belt pouch and wiped her bloody palms against the thighs of her skin-tight tunic. "Summon him."
The high priestess flicked the iron hoop, setting it spinning. Then she picked up a candle. She held it a moment near her face and invoked Lolth's name. As she did so, the flickering light illuminated her elaborately coiffed hair, obsidian blood-drop earrings, and silver crown. Only a short time ago, that crown had graced the head of Laele Zauviir, but the Spider Queen's temple in Sshamath had a new high priestess, now. Streea'Valsharess Zolond was much stronger than Zauviir had been-ready to grasp power in her own two hands, instead of licking up the crumbs the Conclave offered.
Streea'Valsharess Zolond touched the candle to the web inside the hoop. The strands of spider silk ignited. Sustained by magic, they continued to burn. "Lords of the Abyss, hear my command," she intoned. "In Lolth's name, send forth the demon Glizn."
A puff of yellow smoke erupted out of the center of the spinning hoop, filling the chamber with an acrid stench. Smoke drifted toward the spider carvings adorning the ceiling. A stationary figure appeared within the hoop, held by the burning web while the hoop spun around it: a tiny demon, barely twice the length of T'lar's hand, with batlike wings. It looked like a quasit, except that its skin was black and dry, instead of oily green. Instead of the usual horns, it had stiff white tufts of hair growing from its scalp. The demon's red eyes were too large for its face, and their expression was one T'lar was used to seeing on the faces of her targets. Fear. Deep inside those eyes, someone screamed.
The high priestess laughed. "What lovely irony! Whatever happened, quasit, to flip things inside out?"
T'lar glanced sideways at the high priestess.
Streea'Valsharess Zolond gestured at the demon, and chuckled. "Until recently, one of Q'arlynd Melarn's apprentices wore this demon."
"And now the quasit wears him?"
"So it would seem." She chuckled. "I'd been wondering why we hadn't heard from Glizn. I assumed it was because 'Piri' had been found out by his master, and slunk away."
The demon tugged, but failed to free its wings from the burning web. It shifted into centipede form, then into a squat toad, but still wasn't able to escape. At last it let out a thin squeak. "Why have you summoned me?"
"Where is Q'arlynd Melarn?" the high priestess said.
"I don't know!" the quasit squeaked. Fear oozed from it like a bad smell. "I haven't seen him since my lord called me back to the Abyss. So you might as well unbind me, and send me back, since I can't help you to-"
The demon's voice suddenly deepened. Words jerked from the tiny mouth. "I… can… find…"
The quasit snapped its jaw shut, biting its own tongue.
The high priestess studied the bound demon, her head cocked to one side. "Piri? Was that you who answered just now?"
The demon's face contorted from one emotion to the next: fear, anger, determination. A hiss escaped its lips. It might have been a yes.
"How can you find him?" T'lar demanded. "Tell me."
The demon's jaws creaked open. Shut. Open again. "Scry-" the deeper voice said. Then the mouth snapped shut. One hand jerked. A finger twitched.
The high priestess pointed at a tiny copper band on the quasit's finger. "How will you scry him? With that ring?"
The quasit's head jerked sharply: a nod.
The high priestess reached for it.
"No! Only… I… can…"
The high priestess scoffed. Her fingers closed around the ring.
T'lar caught her arm. "Leave it."
The high priestess glared at her.
T'lar pointed out the obvious. "If it were possible for either of us to use the ring, the apprentice wouldn't have told us about it." She stepped closer and pinched the demon's tiny chin. The quasit tried to bite her, but she held it fast. "Stop that!" she ordered. "Let Piri speak."
The demon winced.
T'lar curled her lip. Quasits were such pitiful excuses for demons. She drew her dagger-the one with the spider pommel that she'd taken as a trophy of Nafay's kill-and held it where the demon could see it. "What would you like in return for telling us, Piri? Release?"
Tears welled in the overlarge red eyes.
"Then fight the demon. Scry your master. Tell me where he is. If I believe what you tell me, I'll skin you free and send your soul to Lolth."
The demon's expression suddenly changed. The quasit spoke in its own shrill-pitched voice. "Oh no!" it squeaked. "That will hurt!"