It also explained the holy water Meryl had been carrying. Qilue herself must have suspected something was wrong with the weapon. She was trying to banish the demon-without, Cavatina suspected, much success.

Carefully, never once mentioning Qilue by name, Cavatina outlined her fears. She concluded with a recap of the conversation she'd had with the halfling, just before the dretch made its appearance.

Rylla's lips tightened. "What can we do?"

"If it's only the sword that's possessed, we can banish the demon back to the Abyss. If the possession has gone further…" Cavatina took a deep breath.

Rylla's eyes widened. "Eilistraee grant it's not as bad as that!"

"An exorcism is something best dealt with here, where Eilistraee's presence is strongest," Cavatina said. "But it will need sufficient preparation. How long will it be before the high priestess returns?"

"A tenday, at least."

Cavatina nodded. "All arrangements will have to be made in secret. If a demon has taken control of the high priestess, we won't want to tip our hand."

Rylla's face was gray with strain. "This shouldn't go beyond the walls of this room. It could cause a crisis of faith. One that could cost us dearly."

"Agreed," Cavatina said. She stared grimly at the font. "There's one thing I don't understand. Why would Eilistraee have permitted something evil to fall into the hands of her Chosen?"

"She wouldn't have," Rylla said firmly. "Unless…" She turned away-but not before Cavatina saw the pained look in her eyes.

"What? Say what you're thinking!"

"There are whispers. About what happened when the realms of Eilistraee and Vhaeraun were joined. If they're true, it might not have been Eilistraee who guided the Crescent Blade into the high priestess's hands."

Cavatina shivered. Her mouth felt as dry as chalk. To hear such blasphemy-and from the Promenade's battle-mistress! It was unthinkable.

Rylla gave a chuckle that sounded forced. "Those rumors are nonsense, of course. The Dark Maiden simply shifted the tempo of her dance. She had to, in order to bring the Nightshadows into the fold. Eilistraee still rules, by song and sword. Vhaeraun is dead."

"By song and sword," Cavatina echoed, touching the hilt of her weapon. The sword let out a low, soothing hum from deep within its scabbard.

It didn't help. Cavatina still felt as off balance as a dancer with one leg. If her guess was right-if the demon Wendonai now inhabited the Crescent Blade, and he in turn was corrupting Qilue-the Promenade was in grave danger. She held out her hands. "Sing with me."

Rylla clasped Cavatina's arms. Like partners in a frozen dance, they bowed their heads.

Together, they prayed.

Horaldin stopped in front of a door and glanced up and down the corridor. Though singing wafted from elsewhere in the Promenade, this corridor was empty for the moment. He opened the door, stepped through swiftly, and motioned for Cavatina to follow.

He shut the door behind them. This corridor was short, no more than a dozen paces long. It ended in a little-used door of solid black obsidian. The druid grasped the adamantine deadbolt at the side of the door and tugged, but the deadbolt didn't move. He nodded, as if he'd been expecting this.

Cavatina glanced over his shoulder. There was no lock visible. If the door was locked, it was held shut by magic.

Horaldin touched his fingertips to the door's glassy surface, closed his eyes, and whispered.

Cavatina tapped one foot impatiently. She'd sought out Horaldin, intending to get him to repeat, word for word, his argument with Qilue, in order to see if the high priestess had said anything telling. Instead of answering her questions directly, Horaldin had insisted on going somewhere "private" where they could talk. Now they were creeping about the Promenade like rogues with looted valuables in their pockets. Cavatina was starting to suspect it wasn't merely a quest for privacy that had caused Horaldin to lead her this way.

"Horaldin, please. Can't you just tell me what prompted your argument with-"

Horaldin's eyes sprang open. "Shh! Don't say her name! She'll hear you!"

Cavatina took a deep breath. "I wasn't about to do that. I was the one who reminded you not to speak her name aloud, remember?"

"I just hope she's not scrying us," Horaldin said.

That, Cavatina could agree with. Even though Qilue wouldn't return to the Promenade for several days, after her inspection tour of the outlying shrines was complete, it wouldn't hurt to be careful. No matter where Qilue went, she kept a scrying font close at hand.

The thought was even more disturbing when Cavatina admitted to herself that the high priestess was carrying around a sword that could contain a hidden demon.

Horaldin had closed his eyes again, and resumed his divination. Sweat beaded his temples. A wash of Faerzress played briefly on the wall beside him, giving an eerie bluish tint to his already sallow skin. The druid was a moon elf, and thus immune to the Faerzress, else his divination might have been interrupted. His wavy black hair hung in a rootlike tangle to his waist, and his fingers were as slender as spider legs. Not a pleasant combination, when you came right down to it. But the druid was utterly loyal to the temple, despite his continued reverence for the Leaflord. As Horaldin so eloquently put it, Eilistraee was the fruit of Arvandor, and Rillifane the guardian of the tree from which she had fallen. Eilistraee planted seeds of hope in the Underdark, and by the Leaflord's decree, Horaldin's destiny was to help nurture them.

"The door's been magically sealed," he told Cavatina. "By… her."

"Why would she do that?"

"To prevent me from showing you what's on the other side of it."

Cavatina's skin prickled with anticipation. She rested a hand on her sword hilt. "Can you open the door?"

"Not by normal means. Only the most powerful spellcaster could undo her magic. But there is another way.'" Horaldin held his hands in front of him, pressing them together back to back. He whispered a moment, and forced his hands apart. A hole appeared in the middle of the door and gradually widened, as if the obsidian had become as soft as clay and invisible hands were parting it. When the gap was wide enough, Horaldin eased a leg through the hole, ducked, and stepped through the door.

Cavatina followed.

The room beyond was oddly shaped: square, but with one corner that had been cut off diagonally by a wall similar, in its zigzag shape, to a folding screen. In the center of the zigzag wall was another obsidian door-the room's second exit. This odd configuration gave the room eight "walls"-a significant number. The drow who had inhabited the caverns on the far side of the Sargauth nearly a thousand years ago had once maintained a temple to the Spider Queen here. The temple had been obliterated when Ghaunadaur's cultists summoned the Ancient One's minions to the city-an act that had been the city's downfall.

Centuries of visitations by oozes and slimes had worn down the altar and statue that once stood here. Qilue and her companions had finished the job, smashing what remained to dust and scouring the murals from the walls with holy water. Now all that remained was an empty room.

The former temple could have been a convenient shortcut from the western end of the bridge-located just a few paces beyond the second door-but the priestesses who patrolled the Promenade avoided this place. Cavatina could see why. Even though the room was bare and empty, being in it set her on edge. Now that she lingered in it, she realized the reason why: in all of the Promenade, this was the one spot where silence ruled. Everywhere else, the hymn that constantly flowed out of the Cavern of Song could be heard, if only as a murmur. But in this tainted place, Cavatina couldn't even hear the rush of water from the nearby river.