"What is it you wanted to show me?" she asked.

Horaldin moved to the corner where the two longest walls met. "This." He pointed at a glyph that had been painted on the walls, straddling the corner. "The high priestess ordered me to paint it here."

"Ordered? Was that what your argument was about?"

Horaldin folded his arms across his chest and nodded.

Large as a shield, the glyph was one she didn't recognize. It looked a little like the protective enchantments elsewhere in the Promenade, but those were silvery red in color and dusted with powdered diamond and opal, while this one had been painted on the walls in shimmering streaks of powdered pearl, held in place by a clear glue that smelled faintly of honey.

"What is it?" she asked.

"An enchantment. Designed to attract those who worship Ghaunadaur. The high priestess said it was a trap that would lure any cultists who venture upriver from Skullport into a room where they might easily be slain."

Cavatina nodded. That seemed logical enough-and it had a precedent. Ten years ago, Ghaunadaur's cultists had laid siege to the Promenade for three long months. The attack had come from upriver, from the caverns to the northeast, closer to the Hall of Healing. The oozes the cultists commanded had been held at bay; not a single room or corridor of the temple had been overrun. Yet this likely wouldn't deter them from trying again. If they were preparing for another attack on the Promenade, it made sense to set a trap for any spies they might send. Those attempting to infiltrate the temple would likely make their approach via the river that connected the Promenade to the other parts of Under mountain.

But why place the enchantment here? It would make more sense to position it either at the northernmost cavern that opened onto the river, or the southernmost. Or both. Not midway between the two, close to vulnerable areas of the Promenade.

And why, having ordered the enchantment to be put in place, seal the room off so no one could reach it?

Cavatina walked to the second door and tested its deadbolt. Like the first, it was immoveable. Sealed by magic.

"You disagreed with the glyph's placement," Cavatina said.

Horaldin nodded. "That too."

Cavatina turned. "What else?"

"The high priestess ordered me to say nothing of what I'd inscribed here. To tell no one: neither the lay worshipers, nor the priestesses, nor the Protectors, nor even Battle-mistress Rylla."

"The very people who would need to be aware of something that might draw Ghaunadaur's cultists to this area, in order that they could be captured or eliminated."

"Exactly."

Cavatina frowned. "How did she explain the need for secrecy?"

"She didn't. It seemed to me she couldn't-and that this frustrated her. When I pressed her, it turned into an argument."

"Do you have any idea why she chose this spot?"

"Cast a divination. Search for magic."

Cavatina did. To her magically enhanced vision, the stone wall became as insubstantial as mist. Her body started to tingle. It felt as if something were trying to draw her into the wall-or rather, beyond the wall. Startled, she stepped back. "What is it? An illusory wall?"

"You can't inscribe a glyph on an illusion. The walls are real enough." He rapped his knuckles against the spot she'd just been viewing, hard enough to make a knocking sound.

"At least, to me they are. But there's a portal here-one that can only be used by drow."

"How did you figure that out?"

"Some time after the high priestess dismissed me-when I was certain she'd be gone-I returned and communed with the walls. They described a 'hole' that would take drow 'elsewhere.' That was clue enough."

Cavatina frowned. "I've patrolled every cavern, hallway, and chamber of the Promenade. Including this one. There wasn't a portal here before."

"No. The high priestess must have opened it."

"I wonder why."

Horaldin shook his head. "I have no idea. I was hoping you might know. And that you'd tell me…" He hesitated, a pained look in his eyes. "Tell me what it all means."

Cavatina hesitated, trying to decide how much she should say. Horaldin was worthy of her trust. He'd gone against the direct orders of the high priestess by showing her this. He deserved a partial answer, at least.

"Something's… clouding the high priestess's judgment. That's why the battle-mistress summoned me to the Promenade. We think…" She swallowed hard. Should she be saying this? The answer to that question was clearly no, but Cavatina was inclined to listen to her gut. She might be drow, but she'd been born and raised in the World Above. She hadn't been weaned on secrecy and subterfuge, but on blunt honesty.

"We think it may be demonic-and that powerful magic will be needed to remedy the situation. When the time comes to act, we may need your help."

Horaldin nodded. "I see. Thank you. It's the Crescent Blade, isn't it?"

Cavatina nodded. If it was obvious even to the druid, it wasn't going to stay a secret very long. "Say nothing of this. We don't want to start any rumors. It would-"

"Yes. I see that too." He glanced at the hole he'd made in the middle of the obsidian door. "We should be getting back, before anyone notices what we've done. I need to smooth the door over and hide any trace we've come this way."

"You go," Cavatina said. She nodded at the wall. "I need to see where this portal leads."

"Wouldn't you rather I wait for you?"

"No. Go to Rylla and tell her about this. Tell her where I've gone-and that I'll report back the moment I discover anything."

"If I seal the door, how will you escape this room?"

Cavatina smiled. "Eilistraee's blessings will see me safely home."

Horaldin nodded at last. "May she guide your steps," he intoned. He hurried across the room and squeezed through the hole in the door. Cavatina heard him repeat his spell, and the door sealed itself shut.

Cavatina prayed. "Eilistraee," she sang softly. "Is this the path you wish me to follow?"

A moment later, the goddess's reply came. Not in words, but in a gentle yet firm tug on Cavatina's hand-like a partner, inviting her to dance.

Cavatina drew her singing sword, took a deep breath, and stepped through the portal.

Q'arlynd adjusted the hang of his piwafwi and gave himself a final inspection. Directing the palm-sized mirror in its orbit with one finger, he checked to make sure his shoulder-length hair was tucked into the clip at the back of his neck and that the hood of his piwafwi draped neatly over his shoulders.

The piwafwi, made from the blue-black fur of a displacer beast, shimmered slightly, hinting at the magic it contained. Atop it, hanging by a silver chain, was a pendant made from a clear crystal.

A flick of his hand brought the mirror up to eye level. He peered into it as he inserted an earring into his pierced lobe. Carved from the egg tooth of an unhatched spider, the earring was insurance against assassination attempts. Not that anyone was likely to try poisoning him in the middle of a formal meeting, but it never hurt to be prepared.

In the mirror, his forehead appeared unadorned. Yet the selu'kiira he'd wrested from Kraanfhaor's Door was there. Its constant pressure was similar to the pressing of a cool thumb against his skin. As a precaution, he kept the lorestone invisible. None but a Melarn could utilize its magic-anyone else who tried to wear it would wind up a feeblewit-but there might always be someone foolish or desperate enough to try.

Much had changed in the seven years since the fall of Ched Nasad. He'd come a long way indeed from his days of grubbing in the ruins of that fallen city, little better than the slave of a rival House.