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〃I　said　you　were　an　intelligent　lad；　Captain　Filifar；　but　I　don't　believe　you're　a　prosperous　one。　You　wear　no　jewelry；　and　your　clothing　is　made　of　mon　stuff。〃
〃You're　right；　milady。　Fortune　hasn't　favored　me。〃
It　can。
Faeryl　brought　out　one　ornament　after　another；　the　jewels　her　retainers　had　stolen　from　the　Ousstyls　and　her　own　legitimate　treasure　as　well。　She　filled　her　lap　with　them　and　laid　the　surplus　on　the　pale；　luminous　rim　of　the　driftdisc。
〃Here's　enough　wealth　to　improve　your　luck　and　that　of　your　minions　as　well。〃
Filifar　hesitated　before　saying；　〃My　lady；　I　was　told　that　Matron　Triel　herself　wishes　you　detained。　It's　no　light　matter　to　cross　the　Baenre。〃
〃Just　say　the　Zauvirr　didn't　pass　through　this　gate；　or　if　they　did；　you　didn't　recognize　them。　No　one　will　know　any　different。〃
He　jerked　his　head　in　a　nod。　〃Right。　Why　not；　curse　it？〃
He　removed　his　piwafwi　to　use　as　a　makeshift　bag　and　swept　the　jewelry　in。　Some　of　the　soldiers　noticed　what　their　captain　was　doing　and　scurried　over　to　investigate。
Once　the　gate　was　well　behind　her；　Faeryl　abandoned　the　driftdisc。　The　stately　conveyance　was　just　too　slow。　She　and　her　part）〃　quickmarched　on　through　the　mostly　unimproved　passages　at　the　fringe　of　Menzoberranyr　territory；　past　hunters'　outposts　and　adamantine　mines；　making　for　the　genuine　wilderness　beyond。
Faeryl　realized　she　was　grinning。　It　was　absurd；　really。　She'd　just　surrendered　a　queen's　ransom　in　gems；　Triel　would　send　troops　after　her；　and　she　was　all　but　certain　some　dire　peril　lay　ahead；　but　somehow；　for　the　moment；　none　of　it　mattered。　Faeryl　had　outwitted　her　foes　and　finally；　after　fourteen　years；　she　was　going　home。
The　fugitives　rounded　a　bend；　and　dark　figures　seemed　to　flow　from　the　tunnel　walls　just　ahead。　The　Zauvirr　turned　to　run。　Somehow；　the　shadows　were　behind　them　as　well。
On　the　fringe　of　Menzoberranyr　territory；　Valas　Hune　could　sense　the　genuine　wilderness　beyond。　He　could　feel　its　vast　and　labyrinthine　spaces　and　hear　its　pregnant　silences。　He　could　smell　and　taste　its　variations　of　rock　and　imagined　himself　simply　slipping　away　into　that　limitless　world。
As　fancies　went；　his　wasn't　entirely　absurd。　Most　dark　elves　feared　to　travel　the　Underdark　except　in　armed　convoys；　and　with　good　reason。　They；　however；　lacked　the　abilities　he'd　spent　decades　developing；　survival　skills　that　made　him　one　of　the　finest　scouts　in　Menzoberranzan。
Indeed；　the　small；　wiry　male　in　the　rugged　outdoorsman's　garb　liked　traversing　the　subterranean　world　alone。　He　relished　the　wonders；　the　quiet；　and　the　freedom。　Sometimes；　when　he'd　idled　in　camp　too　long；　he　felt　he　preferred　it　to　the　striving；　conniving　existence　of　his　fellow　drow；　the　luxuries　of　Menzoberranzan　notwithstanding。　He　yearned　for　an　errand　that　would　take　him　out　into　the　wilderness；　and　played　with　the　notion　of　simply　running　away。
He　heard　the　Zauvirr　ing　and　put　the　dream　aside。　Like　it　or　not；　his　mission　this　day　wasn't　to　explore　the　wild。　It　was　to　direct　his　pany；　fellow　mercenaries　of　Bregan　D'aerthe；　in　the　taking　of　Faeryl　Zauvirr　and　her　retainers。
That　was　the　theory；　anyway。　In　point　of　fact；　he　didn't　have　to　give　any　more　orders。　No　doubt　the　warriors　of　Ched　Nasad　were　petent　fighters　in　their　own　right；　but　when　the　sell　swords　swarmed　out　of　hiding；　they　caught　them　entirely　by　surprise；　then　proceeded　to　cut　them　down　with　murderous　efficiency。
Once　Valas　was　certain　his　band　would　be　victorious；　he　started　searching　for　Faeryl　herself。　His　smallness　and　natural　agility　enabled　him　to　thread　his　way　through　the　fury　of　battle　without　harm。
He　found　the　princess　at　the　center　of　the　carnage。　She'd　just　finished　killing　one　of　his　mand。　The　dead　male's　brains　and　bloody　hair　adhered　to　one　end　of　her　basaltheaded　war　hammer。
〃Ambassador；〃　Valas　called。　〃I　have　orders　to　take　you　alive；　if　possible。〃
She　answered　with　a　curse。　He　didn't　blame　her　for　that。　In　her　place；　he　wouldn't　want　to　be　delivered　alive　to　Matron　Baenre；　either。
He　hefted　one　of　his　matched　pair　of　kukris—vicious　curved　daggers—　and　fingered　a　little　brass　ovoid；　one　of　many　trinkets　adorning　his　tunic　and　cloak。
He'd　collected　the　amulets　and　brooches　from　races　and　civilizations　across　the　Underdark。　Fashioned　according　to　alien　aesthetics；　most　of　the　ornaments　were　ugly　and　uncouth　to　dark　elf　eyes；　but　he　hadn't　acquired　them　for　their　appearance；　nor　were　they　merely　souvenirs。　Each　contained　a　different　enchantment。
Three　images；　exact　facsimiles　of　himself；　flickered　into　existence　around　him。　He　edged　toward　Faeryl；　and　the　phantoms　came　with　him。
She　stared　fiercely；　obviously　trying　to　pick　out　the　real　Valas　from　the　false。　It　didn't　help。　When　she　swung；　she　struck　at　the　image　on　his　left。
The　illusion　vanished　on　contact；　and　at　the　same　instant；　he　sprang。　She　couldn't　e　back　on　guard　in　time　to　fend　him　off。　He　hooked　a　leg　behind　her　and　threw　her　to　the　ground；　then　kicked　her　repeatedly　in　the　head　until　she　went　limp。
　
Chapter
S　　I　　X　　T　　E　　E　　N
Laughter　echoed　through　the　candlelit　corridors　of　ArachTinilith。　Quenthel　frowned。　She'd　been　expecting　something　to　happen；　eagerly　anticipating　it；　in　fact。　What　she　wasn't　expecting　was　an　explosion　of　mirth；　and　she　couldn't　guess　what　it　meant。
She　strode　forward；　and　her　patrol　followed　behind。　They　seemed　edgy；　but　not　quite　as　reluctant　as　they　had　the　night　before。　The　fate　of　Drisinil；　Molvayas；　and　the　rest　of　the　plotters　had　convinced　the　survivors　that　Quenthel　still　enjoyed　the　favor　of　Lolth；　at　least　to　the　same　dubious　extent　as　the　rest　of　the　stricken　clergy。
The　laughter　rang　on　and　on　until　at　last　the　searchers　found　the　source。　Hunched　over；　her　shoulders　shaking；　a　novice　knelt　before　one　of　the　smaller　altars　of　the　goddess。　Steady　despite　the　paroxysms　of　glee；　her　index　finger　painted　lines　of　graceful　calligraphy　on　the　floor。　Quenthel　couldn't　make　out　what　the　girl　was　using　for　pigment　until　she　lifted　her　hand　to　her　face　like　an　artist　dipping　a　brush　in　a　paint　pot。　She'd　gouged　her　eyes　out；　another　seeming　handicap　that　didn't　impair　her　writing。
The　mistress　stepped　close　enough　to　inspect　the　lines　of　blood。　For　all　her　erudition；　she　couldn't　read　the　characters；　but　she　could　feel　the　power　in　them。　They　pulled　at　her　and　repelled　her　at　the　same　time；　as　if　they　might　yank　her　spirit；　or　a　piece　of　it；　out　of　her　body。
She　wrenched　her　eyes　away　from　the　symbols　and　swung　her　whip。　The　vipers　cracked　into　the　eyeless　female's　back；　their　venomous　fangs　tore　into　her；　and　she　collapsed；　dead　or　merely　insensible。　Quenthel　didn't　particularly　care　which。
〃What　was　she　writing；　Mistress？〃　Jyslin　asked。
〃I　don't　know；〃　Quenthel　admitted；　smearing　the　glyphs　with　her　toe；　〃something　in　one　of　the　secret　tongues　of　the　Abyss。　Scribing　it　may　have　been　a　way　of　casting　a　spell；　so　I　made　sure　she　wouldn't　finish。〃
〃What　was　wrong　with　her？〃　Minolin　asked。
Quenthel　was　still　surprised　that　the　FeyBranche　had　not；　as　expected；　turned　out　to　be　one　of　the　traitors。
〃I　don't　know　that；　either；〃　said　the　Mistress　of　ArachTinilith。　She　actually　did　have　an　idea；　but　wasn't　sure　of　it　yet。　〃Let's　move　on。〃
Fifteen　minutes　later；　a　runner；　dispatched　from　a　squad　stationed　in　the　third　leg　of　the　spider；　found　Quenthel　to　report　that　one　of　her　rades　had　gone　mad。　Quenthel　went　to　see　for　herself；　half　expecting　more　gouged　eyes　and　bloody　writing。
But　the　new　dementia　took　a　somewhat　different　form。　The　victim　had　taken　shelter；　if　that　was　the　right　word　for　it；　in　a　small　library　devoted；　for　the　most　part；　to　musty　treatises　on　warfare　in　all　its　aspects。　She　sat　on　the　floor　in　the　corner　defined　by　two　tall　sandstone　bookshelves；　rocking　and　whimpering　to　herself。
Quenthel　stooped；　jammed　her　fist　under　the　girl's　chin　and　forced　up　her　head。
〃Rilrae　Zolond　What　ails　you？　What　happened？〃
Rilrae's　face　was　blank　and　seemingly　devoid　of　prehension。　Tears　flowed　down　her　cheeks。　She　smelled　of　mucus；　and　the　breath　snuffled　in　her　nose。　She　didn't　answer　Quenthel's　question；　just　made　a　feeble；　ineffectual　effort　to　turn　her　face　away。
The　mistress　sighed　and　let　her　go。　She'd　seen　cases　like　Rilrae　before；　generally　i