Piri's surprise at seeing Q'arlynd still on his feet gave Q'arlynd the instant he needed. He scrabbled at his pocket, found the fur-wrapped sliver of glass. He thrust it at Piri and shouted an evocation. Lightning burst from his hand, striking the other wizard in the chest.

Piri reeled back, clutching at the spot where his demon skin had been blasted away to expose raw red flesh. He raised his hand to cast a spell, but Q'arlynd's second lightning bolt slammed into him before he could complete it. Piri crashed into the wall, then slumped at the feet of the other apprentices, dead. Still frozen by the enchantment, they stared past him at the spot where Q'arlynd stood.

Q'arlynd glared at them, silently daring the rest of them to attempt what Piri just had. The poison had spread to his left arm; the fingers of that hand felt thick and unresponsive. But the poison had halted its spread after numbing that one arm. It wasn't strong enough to kill him.

The remaining four apprentices could see and hear him, even if they couldn't move or respond. Q'arlynd glanced down at Piri. Wisps of smoke rose from Piri's chest, filling the air with a burned-meat smell. Q'arlynd patted down the apprentice's pockets and found his ring.

"What he just did," he told the others in a flat voice as he tucked Piri's ring into a pocket, "was stupid." With his good hand, he lifted the kiira up where they could see it. "I promised to share the secrets of this lorestone with you. I'll keep that promise, but only if I can trust you. Your actions, when the enchantment I just cast on you wears off, will determine whether I keep that promise. In the meantime, please reflect on the fact that I'm the master of this school, and you four who remain are mere apprentices. Conduct yourselves accordingly."

Q'arlynd stared into the depths of the kiira and took a deep breath. Did he dare touch it to his forehead? Would the lorestone feeblemind him or rip all memory of what had just transpired from his mind?

He could feel an awareness pressing against his. Eldrinn's. The boy's mind was filled with anger and outrage. A single thought forced its way through: I tried to warn you about Piri. I saw him remove his ring.

Q'arlynd's eyebrow rose. "Did you?" He'd been wrong about the boy; Eldrinn hadn't been about to cast a spell. He stood, stroking his chin, debating whether to release Eldrinn. The enchantment that rooted his apprentices to the spot would keep them out of mischief, but if anything went wrong in the meantime, the boy just might be able to help.

Q'arlynd touched Eldrinn's forehead, releasing him. "Stand over there," he instructed. "Keep silent and observe."

Eldrinn nodded. He did exactly as he was told.

Q'arlynd took a deep breath. Then he touched the kiira to his forehead.

A presence exploded into his mind, filling it. His own awareness became a small, slippery thing. A tiny minnow, swimming blindly up the vast current of time. The other awareness swept toward him: an enormous entity, swollen with knowledge. Powerful and ancient. Thousands upon thousands of memories, twined into a single sentience. Q'arlynd's intellect-the acquired knowledge of a century-was but a dim candle compared to the fierce red blaze of its combined wisdom. It blinded him, shrank his own paltry thoughts to insignificant shadows.

But at the same time, it welcomed him and made him warm.

Q'arlynd Melarn?

Q'arlynd's lips formed the required word of their own accord. "Yes."

Welcome, grandson.

The second word reverberated with deeper meaning. "Grandson" was inadequate to the task. Whoever was speaking through the kiira was much farther removed from Q'arlynd's time than that. Not mere centuries, but millennia.

Yes.

Q'arlynd no longer saw the corridor he stood in, the door in front of him, or his apprentices. All faded to distant shadows. His mind's eye filled instead with the figure the kiira shaped for it. A female with long white hair and a face that reminded Q'arlynd of his mother-but without the harsh lines and pinched, suspicious eyes. Instead, this female's expression conveyed both serenity and sorrow. On her forehead was a kiira. He was startled to see how dark it was against her skin. Her face wasn't an ebon hue, but something several shades lighter. A faded brown.

Understanding filled him. "You're a dark elf," he said. "Not a drow."

I am what we were.

The figure suddenly changed. A male stood where she'd been a moment ago, his skin as black as Q'arlynd's own. And I am what we became.

"I am honored to meet you, ancestors," Q'arlynd said, bowing low. Excitement surged through him. At last! Dark elves, from the time of the Descent! He couldn't even begin to guess what secrets their minds might hold.

High magic?

Q'arlynd nodded carefully. He'd have to keep a tighter rein on his thoughts. The kiira was able to hear his every word, even those that remained unspoken. "Yes. If you'll teach it to me."

The male ancestor's eyes blazed. High magic is what condemned us! We were uncorrupted, still clean. Not like them. Q'arlynd's head wrenched to the side, directed by a mind that was not his own. It forced him to look at the dim shadows that were his apprentices. And yet we were condemned to share the same fate as these Ilythiiri.

The sentience released Q'arlynd. Relief flooded him. Losing control of his body, even for a moment, had felt uncomfortably close to the time he'd been forced to wear his slave ring.

It wasn't enough for Aryvandaar to wipe Miyeritar from the face of Faerun with their killing storm, the presence continued. They could have left those few who survived to eke out their lives, but even that small mercy was beyond them. They and their allies had to alter our very bodies and drive us from the surface with their dominating magic, forever imprisoning us in the Dark Realms Below, together with those whose alliance we never sought.

Q'arlynd drew in a sharp breath at what his ancestor had just said. Those two words. Z'ress-to hold dominance or to remain in force. And faer-magic. Q'arlynd had heard these words for a lifetime, but always the other way around. As Faerzress: "magic that remained." Faerzress, he'd been taught during his days as a novice at the Arcane Conservatory, was native to the Underdark. A form of raw magic that was similar to a volcano, or a rushing river, in its ability to build or carve away stone. Something that had always been around, from the moment of the world's creation.

With the words reversed, the resulting term took on an entirely different layer of meaning. "Dominating magic." Magic that compelled.

"You mean to tell me that Faerzress was a creation of high magic?" Q'arlynd asked. "That it was linked to the Descent?"

It created much of the Dark Realms Below. It lured us into that prison and locked us inside. The male frowned. Did it never occur to you to question why the drow chose to found their cities in regions that were permeated with Faerzress?

Q'arlynd understood. "Because we were drawn to it? That would make sense. It would ensure we couldn't teleport out. Or use divination to view the World Above."

Thus we were "contained." That was the word the mages of Aryvandaar coined for our imprisonment. We could, through manual effort, return to the surface-climb up through those few tunnels the Faerzress had created that touched upon the World Above-but each time we emerged, the warriors of Aryvandaar beat us down again. The male shook his head sadly. And now we learn, through your thoughts, that it has become possible for us to escape this prison and reclaim the daylit sky-but that this freedom may once again be denied us. That the Faerzress ebbed, but is rising again.

"I played my part. I teleported the Protectors to the Acropolis. Whatever the Crones are creating with the voidstone will be destroyed."