Halisstra had not only claimed the armor from Seyll after her own armor was stolen, but also Seyll's shield and weapons?including a slender long sword with a hollow hilt that had holes running the length of it?a hilt that could be raised to the lips and played like a flute. A beautiful weapon, but it hadn't helped Seyll any?she'd died before getting a chance to draw it. Lulled by Halisstra's feigned interest in her goddess, Seyll had been utterly surprised by Halisstra's sudden attack. And despite Halisstra's treachery, Seyll had told her, "I have hope for you still." She'd said it with such certainty, as if, even in her final, dying moments, she expected Halisstra to save her.

She'd been a fool. Yet Halisstra could no more get the priestess's dying words out of her mind than she could get the smell of blood out or the armor she'd claimed.

Was this what guilt felt like: a lingering stench that wouldn't go away?

Angered by her own weakness, Halisstra shook the thought out of her head. Seyll had deserved to die. The priestess was stupid to have trusted a person who was not of her faith?even more foolish to trust a fellow drow.

Still, Halisstra thought, as she paused to let Ryld descend the stairs first, Seyll had been right about one thing. It would be nice not to always have to watch your back.

Ryld descended the stairs in silence, listening to the faint clink of Halisstra's chain mail and trying in vain to pull his mind away from the shapely legs he would see if he would just turn around. Where was his concentration? As a Master of Melee-Magthere, he ought to have more control, but Halisstra had ensnared him in a web of desire stronger than any Lolth's magic could spin.

At the bottom of the stairs, away from the chilling wind of the open bluff, Halisstra paused to finger a crescent shape that had been carved into the rock.

"This was a holy place, once," she said, looking over the scatter of broken columns that lay among the snow-shrouded trees.

Ryld scowled. In the World Above, vegetation covered everything like an enormous mold. He missed the clean rock walls of the caverns, empty of the smells of wet loam and leaf that choked his nose. He scuffed at the snow with his boot, uncovering a cracked marble floor.

"How can you tell?" he asked.

"The crescent moon?it's the symbol of Corellon Larethia. The elves who once lived in these woods must have worshiped here. Their priests probably climbed these stairs to work their magic under the moon."

Ryld squinted up at the ball of fire that hung in the sky.

"The moon's not as bright as the sun," he said, "at least."

"It casts a softer light," Halisstra replied. "I've heard that this is because the gods who claim it as their symbol are kinder to those who worship them?but I don't know if that's true."

Ryld stared for a while at the ruined masonry then said, "The gods of the surface elves can't be very strong. Corellon let this temple fall into disrepair, and Seyll's goddess was powerless to save her from you."

Halisstra nodded and replied, "That's true. Yet when Lolth tried to overthrow Corellon and establish a new coronal in his place all those millennia ago, she was defeated and forced to flee to the Abyss."

"The Academy teaches that the goddess left Arvandor willingly," Ryld said. Then he shrugged. "More of a strategic retreat."

"Perhaps," Halisstra mused. "Still, I can't help but think that what we saw in the Demonweb Pits?that black stone in the frozen image of Lolth's face?was a lock, a seal that made Lolth's own temple a prison. A prison fashioned by some other god's hand. Will Lolth eventually emerge from behind it?or will she remain trapped for eternity, her magic forever stilled?"

"That's what Quenthel means to discover," Ryld said.

"As do I," Halisstra answered. "But for different reasons. If Lolth is dead, or trapped in eternal Reverie, what point is there in following Quenthel's orders?"

"What point?" Ryld exclaimed. He was beginning to see the dangerous fork in the road down which Halisstra's musings had taken her. "Only this: spells or no spells, Quenthel Baenre is both Mistress of Arach-Tinilith and First Sister to the Matron Mother of House Baenre. Were I to defy Quenthel, I'd lose my position as Master of Melee-Magthere. The moment Menzoberranzan learned of my treachery, everyone in the Academy would have their daggers out and be thirsting for my blood."

Halisstra sighed and said, "That's true. But perhaps in another city?"

"I have no desire to beg for scraps at someone else's table," Ryld said bluntly. "And the only city in which I might have made a home for myself?with the sponsorship of your House?has been destroyed. With Ched Nasad gone, you have no home to return to. All the more reason to get in Quenthel's good favor, so that when we return to the Underdark you can find a new home in Menzoberranzan."

After a long moment of silence, Halisstra said, "What if I don't?"

"What?" Ryld said.

"What if I don't return to the Underdark?"

Ryld glanced at the forest that hemmed them in on every side. Unlike the solid, silent tunnels he was used to, the wall of trees and underbrush was porous, filled with rustling and creaking, and the quick, tiny movements of animals flitting from branch to branch. Ryld couldn't decide which was worse: the shrinking feeling he'd experienced under the empty expanse of the sky; or the feeling he had then?as though the woods were watching them.

"You're mad," he told Halisstra. "You'd never survive out here alone. Especially without spells to?"

As anger blazed in Halisstra's eyes, Ryld suddenly regretted his rash words. With all Halisstra's talk of surface gods, he'd forgotten, for a moment, that she was also a priestess of Lolth and a female of a noble House, He started to bow deeply and beg her pardon, but she surprised him by laying a hand on his arm.

Then she said something, in a low murmur he had to strain to hear: "Together we'd survive."

He stared at her, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him. All the while, he was overwhelmingly aware of her hand upon his arm. The touch of her fingers was light, but it seemed to burn his skin, flushing him with warmth.

"We might survive up here," he admitted, then wished he hadn't spoken when he saw the gleam in Halisstra's eyes.

The alliance he'd just unintentionally committed to would probably be no more solid than his friendship with Pharaun. Halisstra would maintain it as long as it furthered her goals, then would drop it the instant it became inconvenient. Just as Pharaun had abandoned Ryld, leaving him to face impossible odds, when the pair of them were trying to escape from Syrzan's stalactite fortress.

Ryld's meditative skills had saved his life then and allowed him to fight his way free. Later, when he'd met up with Pharaun again, the mage had clapped him on the back and pretended that he'd fully anticipated, all along, that Ryld would survive. Why else would he have abandoned his "dearest friend?"

Halisstra gave Ryld a smile that made her look both cunning and beautiful in one. "Here's what we'll do. ." she began.

Inwardly, Ryld winced at the word "we," but he kept his face neutral as he listened.

Danifae watched from behind a tree as Halisstra and Ryld stood in the ruined temple, talking. It was clear they were plotting something. Their voices were pitched too low for Danifae to hear, and they leaned in toward one another like conspirators. I was also clear, from the quick kiss Ryld gave Halisstra as the conversation ended, that they had become, or would soon become, lovers.

Watching them, Danifae felt a cold, still anger. Not jealousy?she cared nothing for either Ryld or Halisstra?but frustration born of the fact that she had not seduced Ryld first.