Cavatina took it. She held it to her chest and whispered a heartfelt prayer of thanks. "I'm surprised that…" She stopped herself just in time. She'd been about to question why he hadn't just skulked away from the Acropolis and saved himself-that would have been more in keeping for a Nightshadow, after all-then realized there was no point in stirring up old arguments.

He guessed her intent, despite her silence. "The Masked Lady commands, I obey."

Cavatina nodded her approval. He had a sense of duty. Perhaps she'd been wrong about the Nightshadows, after all. She'd learned a lot, in recent days.

"What do you suggest we do now?"

Karas seemed surprised she'd asked his advice. His eyes narrowed, as though he expected a trick. Then he shrugged. "We're outnumbered, probably a hundred to one. And that's just counting the Crones, all of whom will rise as revenants shortly after we kill them, if we don't take the time to permanently lay them to rest."

Cavatina tightened her grip on her holy symbol. "Then we'll make sure we do just that."

Karas shook his head. "There isn't time. The Crones are doing something with a voidstone. Something terrible."

From somewhere outside the room came a series of sharp cracks, followed by the sound of falling rubble. The ground trembled under Cavatina's feet. She heard a hail of thuds on the roof. White dust drifted down from the rafters, gritty as powdered bone.

Cavatina shook it from her hair. "Have you contacted Qilue?"

"She's not answering."

If it were true, it didn't bode well. Cavatina concentrated on the high priestess's face and said in an urgent voice, "Qilue?"

No reply came.

Karas gave her a flat, I-told-you-so stare.

"All right, then," Cavatina pushed that worry aside. It helped that she'd had a taste of what lay ahead. She wasn't afraid to die. Not anymore. "We'll carry the battle forward on our own. Do what we can to stop… whatever it is the Crones are up to."

She wound the chain of her holy symbol around her wrist and secured it. Then she glanced down at Karas. "Before we begin, I'll need you to disguise me." She smiled grimly. "Let's just hope I do as good a job of impersonating a Crone as you did at feigning paralysis, that time the revenant attacked us."

The corners of Karas's eyes slowly crinkled. He touched fingers to his mask and cast his spell.

As a gray robe cloaked her body and silver rings appeared on her fingers, Cavatina shuddered. She could feel her holy symbol against her wrist but couldn't see it. "Masked Lady," she whispered. "Forgive me this blasphemy."

She sensed Eilistraee's approval. Or, at least, her recognition that this was necessary.

Karas, also disguised as a Crone, eased open the door. Together, they crept outside.

The main part of the temple lay just around the corner. As soon as they rounded it, Cavatina's hopes sank. The flat space ahead was packed with Crones. They stood, side by side, chanting and waving ring-bedecked hands. In front of them was what remained of Kiaransalee's chief temple, reduced to rubble. Hovering above was a sphere of utter darkness: the voidstone Karas had spoken of earlier. Drifting above it, leading the Crones in prayer, was the spirit Cavatina thought she had slain.

Cavatina was shocked. It should have taken days for the ghost to rejuvenate. The voidstone must have accelerated the process.

Even as Cavatina and Karas watched, the sphere of blackness expanded. Within the voidstone, Cavatina saw shapes: a vast army of undead, jostling one another and prodding at the sphere from within. At the front of their ranks stood an enormous, undead minotaur, eyes blazing with unholy fire.

Fire that matched the Faerzress pulsing through the stone below.

Cavatina glanced at Karas. His illusionary face betrayed the grimness he felt. Cavatina could see the lack of hope in his eyes.

She feigned an optimism she didn't feel. "The spirit," she breathed. "We need to destroy her. What could permanently lay Cabrath to rest?"

"Only one thing," Karas whispered back.

Hope sparked to life in Cavatina. "What's that?"

"Killing Kiaransalee."

Cavatina laughed bitterly. With the Crescent Blade in hand, she might have been able to do just that. But that weapon was back at the Promenade, in Qilue's keeping. Cavatina was unarmed.

"Let's do what we can."

Karas nodded.

Side by side, they shouldered their way into the chanting throng.

Q'arlynd handed a kiira to each of his apprentices. Baltak, eyes glittering greedily, clenched his fist around the stone. Alexa peered into the depths of her gemstone as if trying to assess its worth-or perhaps its mineral content. Zarifar closed his eyes and rolled his back and forth between his palms in a series of short jerks, turning the hexagonal crystal one facet at a time, his lips silently counting.

Eldrinn stared warily at the kiira he'd been handed. "Is it going to feeblemind me?"

"It might," Q'arlynd answered truthfully. The boy was only a half-drow, after all.

Alexa and Baltak glanced up sharply.

Q'arlynd raised a hand. "This isn't a time for lies. Too much is at stake. None of you belong to a House that matches what you hold. Yet the lorestones have agreed to impart the ability to work arselu'tel'quess. When our casting is done, they'll erase all knowledge of the spell from your minds. That might feeblemind you-or it might not. But even if it does," he said as he touched the kiira on his own forehead, "I've mastered this lorestone. I'll still have my wits about me, and will see to it that yours are restored."

Baltak stared a challenge at him. "I can see what Eldrinn gets out of it, saving his college from ruin, but what about the rest of us?"

Q'arlynd raised an eyebrow. "Casting high magic doesn't appeal to you?"

"Not if I can't remember how to do it afterward," Baltak snorted. His eyes strayed to Piri's corpse. "How do we know you won't kill us, too, once we're feebleminded?"

Alexa snorted. "Don't be stupid, Baltak. If he'd wanted to do that, he would have blasted us while we were still held by his spell."

The transmogrifist continued to stare at Q'arlynd. "No, he wouldn't. If he had, we wouldn't have been around to cast his spell for him."

"Enough!" Q'arlynd snapped. "Can't you see what's happening?" He waved a hand at the walls. The Faerzress that infused them had brightened noticeably even in the short time it had taken to explain to his apprentices what he'd planned. It glowed with a steady, blue-green light.

"The Faerzress is increasing in power by leaps and bounds. We have no idea what other ill effects that may cause. Divination and teleportation may only be the first of several strains of magic to be denied the drow. I know it's difficult, but you've got to trust in the kiira-and in me. And in the school we're going to build together. You've come with me this far. Trusted me. Why stop now?"

He strode over to the dead wizard and touched a lorestone to Piri's forehead. It instantly adhered. As Q'arlynd's kiira had promised, Piri was restored to life. The demon-skinned apprentice sat up slowly, his eyes staring straight ahead.

Q'arlynd turned to the others, rubbing his left arm. It still tingled from the poison. "It was a struggle, convincing my ancestors that we needed Piri, but they saw the wisdom in letting him participate. For our spell, we need a sixth caster."

"A sixth body, you mean," Baltak grumbled. "Look at him; he's no better than a walking corpse. The kiira's in control."

"Piri will be restored to full awareness once we're done," Q'arlynd said. He bent down and returned the ring to Piri's finger. "The kiira promised it."

"What if it's lying?" Baltak countered. "What if you're lying?"