Once the Promenade was theirs, converts would be drawn from across Faerun to a reinvigorated faith. And those of Eilistraee's priestesses who managed to survive would reap the bitter fruit of their misplaced trust. The females would be the ones given a choice, this time around: to don Vhaeraun's mask, and worship in silence and shadow, or to die by Vhaeraun's sword.

That had been the plan-within-a-plan. And it had been a good one, needing only subterfuge and determination to see it through-until oozes and slimes had come boiling up out of the lake. Surely Vhaeraun didn't intend to fill the Promenade with such filth! It would take an army to scour the temple clean, after that.

Masked… Lord, Karas silently prayed, the honorific feeling out of place after nearly four years of praying to the Masked Lady. Your servant seeks counsel. Is it your will we continue?

No answer came.

Karas stood, sweating. The future of his faith hung upon what happened next. Upon what he decided next.

As he hesitated near the doorway, listening to the shouts of excitement echoing through the keep, a voice sang into his mind. Qilue's voice! Clear as a tolling bell, the high priestess called to her spies. It is time to begin the dance. Are you ready?

The timing of the message couldn't be mere coincidence. The Masked Lord had to know what was happening, down here in Llurth Dreir. He obviously had confidence in Karas-confidence enough to allow Qilue to set everything in motion, spawning or no.

Karas squared his shoulders. The Masked Lord was depending upon him.

I stand ready, Lady Qilue, he thought back. Expect the first group in moments.

Begin, then. And may Eilistraee guide your steps. Her voice faded from his mind.

Karas pulled the lump of amber from his pocket and walked to the nearest column, his feet slipping in the green sludge coating the floor. He had to force his body to move in that direction; the closer he got to the altar, the more difficult it became. He could feel the Ancient One's presence, terrible and grim, evil beyond words. Forcing himself against it bent him almost double.

He lifted the amber to the column and waited. Ready.

He heard shouts, drawing nearer: Shi'drin's voice, urging the others back to the altar room. Overlaying them was a sound that sent shivers down his spine-the sound of oozes sliding over stone.

Karas pressed the amber to the column. A hole opened. "Quickly, brethren!" he cried. "Come and see! One of the columns has opened. It will lead us to the Pit of Ghaunadaur!"

Qilue strode through the Cavern of Song, past the faithful who gave voice to Eilistraee's eternal hymn. Those in her way took a quick step back as she passed, giving her room to pass by. One faltered in her hymn. Qilue strode on, not bothering to admonish her.

Qilue fumed. How had this happened? She'd been so careful! Yet somehow, Cavatina had figured out that a demon was inside the Crescent Blade-not only that, but which one. She should have expected that, from the Darksong Knight. She'd been foolish to think she could keep Wendonai hidden, especially from the one who had "killed" him.

She wished she could tell her priestesses that her strange behavior was just a charade, but she couldn't-not without also telling Wendonai, since he could see and hear everything within range of the Crescent Blade, including her otherwise silent mental communications. Fortunately, by Mystra's grace, he wasn't privy to her thoughts.

Qilue! Wendonai bellowed. He'd learned, early on, that calling her name forced her to pay attention to him. The Darksong Knight knows. You should have slain her.

I make the decisions, demon. Not you.

Poor decisions. She'll tell the others-if she hasn't already.

No point in killing her, then, is there?

They'll banish me-destroy the Crescent Blade.

Qilue almost wished someone would banish Wendonai. The cut on her wrist burned. The Crescent Blade felt heavy in her hand. She longed to have someone relieve her of this burden, yet she had to see this dance through to the end. The fate of hundreds of thousands of souls hung in the balance.

You might as well have killed those two priestesses, the demon continued. Sealed inside the shrine, they'll die of thirst-a slow, lingering death, rather than a quick one. He paused, and she could imagine his sly grin. How very dhaerrow of you-something your ancestors would have appreciated.

Qilue made no comment. The two priestesses wouldn't starve. Eilistraee would answer their prayers for sustenance.

What mattered was to contain the problem before it spread. Horaldin had been easy enough to silence, but Rylla would be more difficult. The battle-mistress either knew about Wendonai or suspected, judging by the way she'd been acting. It was unlikely she'd told anyone yet-she would have realized this would start a panic. More likely, she'd be preparing a banishment spell of her own.

If she succeeded, it would ruin everything.

Where was Rylla? Qilue had to find her. She realized that she should have kept the battle-mistress near her, instead of sending her away. She should have trusted her instincts.

Are you sure you didn't already bear my taint? Wendonai asked mockingly, continuing their previous conversation. You certainly think like an Ilythiiri.

Watch your tongue, demon, or I'll banish you myself.

And destroy the weapon that will kill Lolth? Without my essence sustaining it, the Crescent Blade will crumble to dust.

Be silent! She grasped her sheath and tried to shove the Crescent Blade into it, but felt the familiar resistance, like two lodestones pushing each other apart. She struggled against it, but the sword proved stronger. It sprang out of the sheath.

"Abyss take me!" Qilue swore-an oath she hadn't used since her childhood.

The demon chuckled. Perhaps it will.

Qilue stalked on through the cavern. She could have sheathed the sword if she'd tried harder, but she needed Wendonai to think he was in control-and that she feared the weapon would fall apart, were he not within it. That wouldn't happen, of course. Eilistraee's blessings would sustain it, just as they always had.

Her statue was just ahead, tucked into an alcove in the Cavern of Song. Carved from black marble, it showed a youthful Qilue with singing sword held high, exulting in the defeat of Ghaunadaur's avatar. The statue looked heavy and immovable-a false impression. In fact, it concealed the winding staircase that led down to the sealed Pit.

Qilue strode up to the halfling Protector who guarded it and stared down at her. "Is Battle-mistress Rylla below?"

Brindell shook her head.

"Has she passed this way recently?"

"No, Lady. Not since I took up station here."

"Where is she?" Silver fire crackled through Qilue's hair as her irritation flared.

Brindell took a step back. "Lady Qilue. What's wrong? Is the Promenade under attack?"

"What are you talking about?" Qilue spat. She'd never realized, until just this moment, how ridiculous the halfling looked, with her ink-stained face and mop of copper-colored hair.

Brindell pointed a pudgy finger at the Crescent Blade. "There's blood on your sword, Lady Qilue."

"There is?" Qilue lifted the weapon. A thin line of red trickled down the blade. The cut on her wrist must have been bleeding; the bracer that served as sheath for her silver dagger must have rubbed it open again. "It's nothing. Just a scratch." She glared down at Brindell. "Hold your post. Contact me-immediately-if you see Rylla."

Brindell gulped. "Yes, Lady."

Qilue strode away. She realized she'd been sharp with Brindell, but it was all part of the act. And it was drawing Wendonai in. She could feel it.