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ncocted this business of missing traders to provide herself with a good excuse to leave the city and report to her superiors。
Matron Baenre couldn't allow it； couldn't permit a spy to pass along the tale of Menzoberranzan's newfound weakness。 She didn't dare； because it was entirely possible that not all dark elf enclaves had suffered the same calamity； and even if they had； perhaps the dwarves； duergar； deep gnomes； and illithids had not。
What remained unclear was why Triel believed as she did。 Who had put the idea in her head； and what did that person have to gain by holding Faeryl in the city？
Jaw tight； the emissary stifled the impulse to confront Triel about the latter's true concerns。 She knew she wouldn't be able to draw the Baenre into an genuine consideration of the allegations against her。 Taking a malicious pleasure in the playacting； Triel would simply feign shock that Faeryl doubted her trust and good will。
Indeed； if Faeryl wanted to avoid further humiliation； all she could do was go along with the pretense。
She smiled and said； 〃As I said before； Matron Mother； your concern honors me； and I will of course obey you。 I'll remain in the City of Spiders and savor its many delights。〃
〃Good；〃 said Triel； and Faeryl imagined the words that remained unspoken： We'll know where to find you when it's time for your arrest。
〃May I have your permission to withdraw？ I see there are many others seeking the benefit of your wisdom。〃
〃Go； with my blessing。〃
Faeryl offered her obeisance； exited the hall； and walked through the great mound that was the Baenre citadel until she found herself alone and unobserved in a short connecting passageway。 She took the rolled maps of the Underdark； the charts she had imagined that she and Triel might consult together； from beneath her arm。 Teeth bared in a snarl； she smashed them repeatedly against the wall until the stiff parchment cylinder flopped limp and battered in her hands。
Gromph and Quenthel strolled about the plateau watching the apprentices and masters of Sorcere perform the rituals。 The sound of chanting and the pungent scent of incense filled the air； along with various conjured phenomena： flashes of light； dancing shadows； demonic faces appearing and disappearing； moaning and crackling。 All to lay a new set of wards about Tier Breche。
Gromph was mildly impressed。 By and large； his minions were doing a good job of it； though they weren't laying any enchantments he couldn't pierce。 In fact； since he was supervising them at their labors； getting past the wards would be easy。
〃I wonder if all this will actually protect us；〃 said Quenthel； scowling； her long skirt rippling in the stray breeze kicked up by someone's incantation。
Gromph was surprised that even after Beradax's attack； she hadn't donned a suit of mail。 Perhaps she thought her frightened novices and priestesses required a show of confidence。
〃It didn't protect us before；〃 hissed one of the annoyingly vocal snakes prising the whip on her belt。
Four of them were twisting this way and that； watching for danger。 The fifth kept its cold eyes staring at Gromph； not； the Archmage was convinced； because his sister suspected him of trying to murder her。 Or rather she did； but not specifically。 She simply had too many viable suspects。 There were subordinates who aspired to be Mistress of ArachTinilith； and the myriad foes of House Baenre。 Perhaps it was even Triel seeking to forestall the all but inevitable day when Quenthel would challenge her for preeminence。
〃Enchantments can attenuate with time；〃 said Gromph； honestly enough。
〃The new ones will be stronger。 Strong enough； I trust； to keep you safe in ArachTinilith。〃
〃It isn't just the temple at risk；〃 Quenthel snapped。 〃Next time； a demon could attack Sorcere or MeleeMagthere。〃
Don't count on it； Gromph thought； but he said； 〃I understand。〃
〃I've seen enough for now；〃 said the mistress； her scowl deepening。 〃Don't let your males slack off。 I want the defenses plete before you leave to cast your spell into Narbondel。〃
〃Consider it done。〃
Quenthel turned and walked back toward ArachTinilith。 The primary entrance to the imposing spidershaped temple had bee merely an oddlooking hole。 The artisans hadn't yet finished repairing the crumpled adamantine leaves of the gate。 Gromph smiled to think how that must annoy his sister。 Knowing her as he did； he was fairly certain the unfortunate metalworkers had already felt the weight of her displeasure。
Well； perhaps they wouldn't have to bear it for much longer。 He fingered a small ornament； a black stone clasped in a silver claw dangling over his heart。
Quenthel hadn't asked about the trinket； nor had Gromph expected her to。 He always wore his amulet of eternal youth and the brooch that helped him imbue Narbondel with radiant warmth。 Beyond those two staples； he tended to adorn the Robes of the Archmage with a constantly changing array of charms and talismans； depending on his whim and the particular magical tasks he expected to perform that day。 His sister had had no reason to suspect that this particular trinket was of any particular significance； certainly not to herself。
If she had noticed it at all； she probably assumed the stone was onyx； ebony； or jet。 In actuality； it was polished ivory cut from a unicorn's horn after Gromph slew the magical equine—sacred to the despicable elves of the World Above—in a necromantic rite。 The orb was only black because of the entity he had placed inside it only two hours before。
〃That was her；〃 he murmured； too softly for any of the spell casters bustling about him to overhear。 〃Did you take her scent？〃
Yes； the demon answered； its silent voice like a nail scratching the inside of Gromph's head。 Though it was unnecessary。 I may not possess the power of sight； but that has never hindered me as I sought my prey。
〃I was just making sure。 Now； can you succeed where Beradax failed？〃
Of course。 No one of your world has ever escaped me。 Afterward； I will feast on Quenthel's soul； one tiny morsel at a time。
Most likely the netherspirit would do exactly that； and if it failed； Gromph had six more waiting in line to pick up where it left off。 Perhaps it wouldn't even e to that。 He had； after all； manipulated events in such a way as to inspire more mundane assassins。
A thirdyear student came scurrying up with a stubby chalcedony wand in his hand。 Recalled to more immediate concerns； Gromph sighed and prepared to teach the youth how the device worked。
Pretending to take an interest in an itinerant vendor's rack of cheaply fed and poorly balanced daggers； Ryld turned and surreptitiously surveyed the intersection。
A fellow with what the weapons master suspected were selfinflicted sores on his legs chanted for alms and shook a ceramic bowl。 Since it was a rare if not demented dark elf who ever felt the tug of pity； the beggar sat near the entrance to a shabby boarding house catering to nondrow。
A female hurried by with a hooked and pointed pole—virtually a pike； when one really looked at it—on her shoulder and a giant weasel on a leash。 She was plainly an exterminator headed out to rid a household of some substantial infestation。
A snarling noble from House Hunzrin drew his rapier an