"You're Eilistraee's," she hissed. "Forswear her, and live. Embrace the Lady Penitent. Embrace Lolth."

Q'arlynd felt sweat break out on his forehead. Not so long ago, it would have been easy to renounce Eilistraee. That was no longer possible. His ancestors whispered fiercely at him from within the lorestone. Fight her, they urged. Die proudly, with Eilistraee's song on your lips! Q'arlynd found himself swept up in their strident chorus, unable to speak the words T'lar had ordered him to. Nor did he want to, he suddenly realized. He took comfort in the fact that it was Eilistraee, rather than Lolth, who would claim his soul after death. He finally understood what Leliana had tried to explain to him, back when they'd first met: that to have tried, even if failure was the result, was more worthy than to surrender and survive. He remembered her words still: "To Eilistraee, struggle is honored equally with success."

Of course, to pretend to surrender wouldn't hurt.

"Will you do penance?" T'lar asked. She stared at him intently, her lithe body silhouetted by the light of the burning scroll shelf.

Q'arlynd managed the slightest of nods.

She removed her dagger from his mouth and reversed it. The point pricked his neck. He didn't dare swallow, lest it's the razor-sharp steel slice open the bulge in his throat.

T'lar smiled. "Pledge yourself to Lolth, then, and be redeemed. Refuse, and I'll open your throat. You'll be dead before your magic can save you."

Q'arlynd opened his bloody lips, drew breath, and prepared to speak the only spell that might save him. It required no gestures, no components. Just a single word.

Whether it would work given that Sshamath was surrounded by Faerzress, was an open question. He decided to aim for somewhere close at hand.

"Da'bauth!" he spat.

Magic wrenched him sideways through space. He landed hard on his back in the hallway outside his study, cracking his head on the floor. He shook off the pain and sprang to his feet. With a wave, he unlocked the door. Wrenching it open, he hurled a spell into the room. Yellowish green vapor poured from his palm, filling his study with a deadly, swirling cloud. He slammed the door shut and locked it again.

He waited, using the beats of his pounding heart to mark the time. After twice the amount of time required, he cast a protective spell on himself and opened the door. His study was a shambles. Burning scrolls littered the floor. Everything was dusted with the residue of the poisonous fog he'd conjured. He scanned the room for footprints, but saw none. Nor did he see T'lar, even when he peered through his gem.

She had vanished as mysteriously as she'd arrived.

He stood, holding the wound in his side, wondering if she would be back. He doubted she'd make the same mistake twice: the next time they met, she'd kill him, rather than trying to convert him.

The more he thought about it, the odder the encounter seemed. "Redemption" was something Eilistraee offered. Lolth's priestesses never gave those who had strayed from the web a second chance. Blasphemy was always cause for retribution-the only variation was whether the blasphemer's death was swift or lingering.

And just who was the Lady Penitent? Was that another of the new titles Lolth had assumed since ending her Silence?

As he stood, pondering the mystery, he heard footsteps approaching along the hallway. He whirled, and lightning crackled from his fingertips. He stopped short of casting it when he saw Alexa gaping at him. He still held his trueseeing gem and raised it to his eyes to confirm that this was, indeed, his apprentice, before he allowed the lightning to dissipate.

"Master-you're wounded! Permit me to assist you." She rushed forward, lifting a gold chain from around her neck. Q'arlynd twisted away. "It's just a scratch," he said harshly, anger rising in him as he realized how close he-a master of his own College-had just come to getting killed. "No need for that."

He waved the healing periapt away. The blood red gem was carved with a stylized spider: symbol of the faith that had created it. Q'arlynd didn't want anything of Lolth's touching him, ever again. "I'll use a healing potion, instead."

Alexa bowed her head. "As you wish, Master Q'arlynd." Though straight-cut bangs shaded her eyes, Q'arlynd could see her gaze slide sideways, to take in his ruined study, as she replaced the periapt around her neck.

She lingered, when she should have taken the hint and left.

"What is it, apprentice?" Q'arlynd snapped.

"The gorgondy wine has arrived."

That, at least, was good news.

Alexa waited, a gleam in her eyes. There was something else she wanted to tell him.

"And?" Q'arlynd prompted.

"Master Guldor's dead. Streea'Valsharess Zauviir killed him."

Q'arlynd cracked a smile. More good news.

"She slit his throat," Alexa continued. "They sent for a diviner, and he saw the whole thing. She did it with a ceremonial dagger. It was a sacrifice to Lolth."

Q'arlynd's eyes narrowed as he remembered T'lar's dagger. "Did she offer him a chance to repent, first?"

Alexa looked puzzled.

"Never mind." Q'arlynd waved a hand-and winced. "Tell the slaves to fetch me some clean clothes. Something formal. I've got an important meeting to attend."

Q'arlynd nodded to the three seated masters and set the decanter on the low table, next to the goblet that already stood there. The decanter's cut-glass contours sparkled, reflecting the glimmer of the blue-white faerie fire that danced across the ceiling of Master Seldszar's scrying room. The wine the decanter held was a rich ruby red. Even with the crystal stopper in place, Q'arlynd could smell its heady bouquet. The fragrance tugged at his mind, causing his thoughts to wander to…

He shook his head and stepped back from the ankle-high table. "Gorgondy wine," he announced.

Master Urlryn leaned forward on his cushion to examine the decanter. The golden goblet hanging against his chest swung forward slightly on its mithral chain. He caught it before it could strike the decanter. "I wonder…-If my goblet samples a little, might I be able to alter the vessel's enchantment so that it produces gorgondy wine upon command?"

Master Seldszar interrupted the study of the spheres orbiting his head just long enough to give Urlryn a cautionary look. "There's only one draught. We'll need it. All of it."

Urlryn settled back on his cushion, which flattened under his weight. A smile briefly played across his face, causing his jowls to twitch. "A pity. Gorgondy is worth its weight in mithral."

As the two masters bantered, Q'arlynd circled to the only available cushion. He stepped cautiously to avoid bumping Urlryn's phantasmal guard dog with his foot. He knew where it sat: a sheen of drool marked the pale green chrysolite tiles on the floor. He seated himself across the table from the third master and placed his hands flat against his bent knees, where the others could easily see his fingers. Masters only trusted each other so far. Keeping one's hands visible and unmoving was a sign of good faith.

The master on the opposite side of the table-Master Masoj-was as lean and wiry as Urlryn was corpulent. Masoj kept the front half of his scalp shaved. The bone white hair capping the back of his head hung in a single braid that touched the floor behind his cushion. Glittering dust covered his face, neck, and hands-and, presumably, the rest of his body under his clothes and boots-a protective abjuration capable of deflecting even the most powerful spells. Q'arlynd imagined it must feel gritty and uncomfortable, especially in the armpits and groin. But perhaps the Master of Abjuration had a spell that would negate that.