Three shadowy forms lowned before him. The smoke swirled and parted. Zak halted, gazing up at the hideous creatures. Half drow, half spider. Murder and madness glinted in their red eyes. Driders.

The newly created monstrosities advanced, wielding weapons in drow hands, reaching out with barbed legs. Now Zak was on the defensive. He lashed out, and a severed spider leg fell writhing to floor. Again he struck, and another leg fell. But the driders kept advancing. In their bloodlust they seemed to feel no pain. They bore down on him until his back came up against rough stone. His breath grew short in his lungs. His arms ached. He could not keep the driders at bay much longer. The abominations grinned, green spittle running down their chins, as they sensed their imminent victory.

Zak looked around in desperation, searching for a way out. There was none. Then his eyes locked on something above. It was a long shot, but it was his only chance. Taking aim, he hurled a dagger with all his might at a clump of stalactites hanging from the cavern ceiling. The dagger bounced off the stone without effect. Zak dodged a spider leg, weighed his one remaining dagger, and threw. This one broke as it struck the stone. The blade burst apart in a spray of violent purple magic as its enchantment was released. The force of the explosion knocked loose several stalactites. The heavy stone spikes plunged downward. As one the driders shrieked in agony.

Zak edged away from the dying creatures. Each of the driders had been pierced through its bloated abdomen by one of the stalactites. Foul ichor bubbled from the wounds. Even as he watched, the driders fell over, their spider legs curling up. The crimson light flickered in their eyes and went dark. Zak shook his head. He had done them a favor. Better to die than to live for centuries as monsters.

Zak gazed down at his blood-spattered clothes. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Ah, but are you not already a monster, Zaknafein?"

Distant shouts echoed off cold stone, approaching. The two surviving priestesses had gone for help. Soldiers would arrive soon. More than Zak could fight. Glancing around, his preternatural eyes detected the empty opening of a side passage. Levitating, so as not to leave any telltale warm footprints, he passed through the opening and plunged into the winding ways of the Dark Dominion.

Minutes later, Zak sank back to the stone floor of the tunnel, his powers of levitation exhausted for the moment. He listened with pointed ears but heard no sounds of pursuit. Weary, he leaned against a rough wall, and only then realized he was trembling. He had escaped spending the rest of his life as a drider. Yet now what would he do? He was an outcast, a pariah. He could never return to Menzoberranzan. And all that awaited a lone elfin the Underdark was death. It was a fate preferable to becoming a drider, yes, but not by much.

Something wriggled inside the pocket of his black rothe-hide jerkin-his peculiar, diminutive savior. He pulled out the clay golem. The crude figurine turned its head to stare at him with dull pebble eyes. Zak set the golem down and squatted beside it. He scratched his chin. Who had sent the golem? he wondered. To whom did he owe his escape?

Without warning, the golem started to shamble down the tunnel. The figurine made a jerky motion with its clay arm. Zak gaped in surprise. It beckoned him to follow. But to where? Perhaps to the answer to his question. Zak stalked after the golem. Though its legs were short and stiff, it moved with surprising speed, leading the weapons master through a tangled labyrinth of tunnels, caverns, and natural passageways. He was beginning to think the golem was in truth leading him nowhere, but then it came to a sudden halt.

The golem stood on the edge of a circle of smooth white stone. The white disk stood in sharp contrast to the rough rock all around. Clearly, it was not a natural formation, but had been placed here in this dead-end tunnel. The golem continued to stand motionless. Zak supposed there was only one thing to do. He stepped onto the pale stone disk.

His surroundings blurred, then snapped back into focus.

"I see my little servant was successful," spoke a sibilant voice.

Zak swayed, clutching his stomach. For a moment, he thought he would vomit from the terrible sensation of wrenching he had experienced.

"My apologies," the voice went on. "Traveling by means of the disk can be disconcerting. But the feeling should fade in a moment."

Even as the other spoke these words, Zak found his dizziness receding and lifted his head. He stood on another circle of white stone, in the center of an octagonal chamber littered with parchment scrolls, glass vials, nameless metal instruments, and bits of mummified animals. Before him stood a figure swathed all in black robes, face hidden behind a shapeless gray mask.

Zak tensed, ready to defend himself. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Muffled laughter emanated from the mask, mocking but not altogether cruel. "One who could have destroyed you a dozen times over in the last few seconds, despite all your prowess, weapons master. But be at ease, I beg you. I did not go to all the trouble of saving you from the foul priestesses of Lloth only to snuff you out with a fireball."

Zak eyed the other, still wary. "I am safe here then?"

Again the eerie, whispering laughter. "No, Zaknafein. You are anything but safe. But if you are referring to physical harm, none will come to you. It is your soul that is imperiled by being here."

These words intrigued Zak. Despite himself, he lowered his guard, stepping off the white disk. "You still haven't answered my question. Who are you?"

"I am Jalynfein," the other replied, "though few know me by that name. To most I am simply the Spider Mage."

Zak stared in renewed shock. This confirmed his hunch that he stood now in a wizard's chamber, somewhere within the towers of Sorcere, the academy of magic in Tier Breche. But this was not simply any master of sorcery. The Spider Mage was one of the most infamous and mysterious wizards in all of Menzoberranzan. It was said his power was exceeded only by his zeal to serve Lloth, and that in turn only by his madness. Yet the wizard before Zak seemed neither insane nor-by his actions and words-a lover of Lloth.

Zak's interest and confusion were apparent to the Spider Mage. "Come," said the wizard, gesturing to a pair of chairs beside a table. "I will explain what I can. But we do not have much time. Her eye has turned away for the moment, gazing elsewhere, but it will turn back before long. She is always watching."

A shiver coursed up Zak's spine. He did not need to ask who she was.

Moments later they sat at the table, sipping pale wine, as the Spider Mage spoke on. "There is something I must show you, Zaknafein. You will not wish to see it, but you must in order to understand what I am going to tell you."

Without further words, the wizard reached up and removed his gray mask. Beneath was… not a face. Instead, it was a mass of writhing spider legs. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Zak gagged, turning away. When at last he dared to turn back, the mask was in place once more.

"How…?" Zak croaked. It was all he could manage. "I will spare you the details," the wizard said in crisp tones. "Suffice it to say that a yochlol did this to me, one of the Spider Queen's servants. Now you will believe me when I tell you that I despise Lloth utterly." In the following fevered minutes, Zak listened in rapt attention as the Spider Mage spoke of his hatred for the Spider Queen. Jalynfein loathed Lloth not just for what she had done to him, but for what she had done to all the drow-for the wicked, hateful, heartless creatures she made them with her evil manipulations. The dark elves had been noble creatures once, beings of enlightenment and compassion. That was before they were driven into the Underdark and became tangled in Lloth's web of deceit, depravity, and lust. To the Spider Queen, twisting the drow was simply a cruel and capricious game, and one at which she excelled.