Q'arlynd, however, didn't believe the stories of sickness and misery. He knew exaggeration when he heard it. He'd once met a drow who lived on the surface and survived there quite nicely, thank you very much, but that had been long ago.

He wondered whether Eilistraee's worship was prevalent in whatever surface realm the portal led to and whether Halisstra, if she had survived, had embraced that heretical faith. If so, it would explain why she'd never returned to Ched Nasad. Halisstra's professed worship of Lolth had always seemed, to Q'arlynd, a touch insincere.

He stroked his chin, pretending to stare thoughtfully at the rubble. "This ruin bears the glyphs of House Ysh'nil," he said, naming the minor House whose surviving members were currently a thorn in House Teh'Kinrellz's side. "Do you suppose someone in that House secretly worshiped Eilistraee?" He dropped his voice to a whisper. "That wouldn't bode well for the survivors, especially if the Jaezred Chaulssin knew of it."

Prellyn, taller than Q'arlynd by a head, stared down at him. "You're entirely too smart for a male." She touched the end of his nose almost affectionately. "This is female business. Keep your nose out of it."

Q'arlynd met her eye briefly. "I will," he promised.

Prellyn's hand fell away. She speared the point of her sword into the soft metal of the pendant then lifted it like a trophy head. "And keep your hands off the rubble. Any salvage belongs to House Teh'Kinrellz. Find some other way to get up to mischief."

Q'arlynd bowed. "As you command, Mistress."

Prellyn snapped her fingers, summoning her driftdisc. She mounted it and whispered away, presumably to report House Ysh'nil's ancient blasphemy. So hurried was her departure, she'd forgotten to punish Q'arlynd. He was almost disappointed.

Flinderspeld peeked out from behind a slab of stone. He glanced at the departing Prellyn then at Q'arlynd, who fished the tiny sword out of the crevice that Prellyn had flicked it into and pocketed it.

Are you planning a trip to the surface, Master? he asked in the silent hand-speech of the drow.

Q'arlynd frowned. You're entirely too smart for a svirfneblin.

Qilue listened as the Darksong Knight made her report. Cavatina's battle with the Selvetargtlin and spellgaunt had occurred three days ago, but a breach of this nature warranted hearing the report firsthand. Thankfully, there had been no other incidents since then. Iljrene had reported that every room in the ceilings of the caverns south of the Sargauth had been inspected and found empty, save for the usual vermin, which the patrols swiftly dispatched. The magical wards in the Promenade itself had also been checked, found intact, and the seals on the Pit had not been disturbed.

The aranea's robes and equipment had been recovered, and in them was the answer to how she had broached the magical defenses. It was a ring, a gold band with three empty spaces where gems should have been. When the ring had been examined and found to be non-magical, it was very nearly dismissed as nothing noteworthy, but to Qilue's trained eye, it spoke volumes. The "trinket" had once been one of the most powerful magical items of all: a ring of wishes, with the faintest hint of an aura clinging to the setting where the third gem had been.

The aranea had been able to teleport into a heavily warded area using the ring's third and final wish. Once inside, the Selvetargtlin had used her clerical magic to render herself undetectable by the alarms. She'd brought the spellgaunt along to consume the magical energy of any symbols as they were triggered. That was why Cavatina's spell had the effect that it did. The spellgaunt was already gorged when the Darksong Knight discovered it. Consuming the magical blades conjured by Cavatina's spell had caused it to rupture, its body torn to pieces from within by the strains it had placed on the Weave.

There was no way of knowing how long the aranea had been within the area claimed by the Promenade before Cavatina discovered her. Had the symbols in the southern caverns not been permanent ones, the path the Selvetargtlin had followed might have been traced, but being permanent, they refreshed themselves soon after they were triggered.

Thus the Selvetargtlin's goal in penetrating the area remained a mystery. An inventory of the temple had found nothing missing. Nothing had been desecrated, and nothing was disturbed, yet the aranea's mission had been of great import, judging by her final words and the way she chose to die. She had deliberately destroyed her body, leaving nothing behind that could be questioned by a necromancer.

The spellgaunt's carcass was intact, but questioning it would do little good. Spellgaunts couldn't tell the difference between a lowly light pellet and an artifact. Magical items were all the same to them-raw energy, waiting to be consumed.

Qilue had hoped to find clues in the reports of either the Darksong Knight or the novice Thaleste, but none had presented themselves in either priestess's account.

The whole episode was deeply troubling, and it wasn't the only bad news Qilue had received lately. Another of Eilistraee's enemies, it seemed, had also become active.

Four nights ago, one of Vhaeraun's assassins had infiltrated the shrine at Lake Sember. One priestess and two lay worshipers had been killed before the assassin had been driven off. This came at a time when the drow Houses of Cormanthor should have been fully engaged in their war against the levees of the newly reclaimed Myth Drannor. Why, in the midst of their battle with a powerful adversary, would the Masked Lord's priests have turned their attention to Eilistraee's shrine? Hopefully, Iljrene's spy would be able to turn up some answers, but for the moment, Qilue was baffled.

There were other murmurs of trouble. In the north, an evil that had been laid to rest three years ago had seemingly resurfaced. In the Year of Wild Magic, when Kiaransalee's followers had taken over Maerimydra, they'd torn a terrible hole in the Weave. The corruption had spread from that city to the surface realms before they had been defeated. Pockets of corrupted magic still dotted the Dales. Though the priestess responsible for it had been defeated, there were indications that at least one of the high-ranking Crones who served her might have survived. The handful of Eilistraee's priestesses who ministered to the drow of the distant north had heard tales from the survivors of undead rallying around a ghostly Crone whose wailing keen was capable of slaying scores of drow at one go. Once slain they were added to her ghastly ranks. The tales were obviously an exaggeration, but the region would have to be watched carefully. If further disruptions in the Weave arose, Qilue would be forced to respond.

Finally, from far to the south came troubling news that the cult of Ghaunadaur in Lurth Drier was becoming increasingly active. No longer content to prey upon each other, the drow of that Underdark city had burst onto the surface like an ugly boil, not far from Eilistraee's temples in the Shaar and the Chondalwood. Something had caused them to set aside their relentless feuding and act as a cohesive force. Qilue prayed that an avatar of Ghaunadaur had not arisen there. If so, she would be forced to lead a contingent of priestesses south to drive it back below-a crusade that would seriously deplete the resources of the Promenade.

The only one of Eilistraee's enemies not currently active, it seemed, was Lolth. Indeed, the Spider Queen's worshipers had not shown themselves in some time. That in itself was suspicious. Lolth, still and silent, was probably waiting patiently for the best moment to strike, while others did the work of tangling Eilistraee's faithful in a web of conflict.