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Quenthel quieted the vipers with a thought； fixed Drisinil with her steeliest stare； and said； 〃Think。〃
〃I have thought；〃 Drisinil retorted。 〃I've thought； why should we spend ten years of our lives cooped up on Tier Breche when there's nothing for us here？〃
〃There is everything for you here；〃 said Quenthel； maintaining the pressure of her gaze。 〃This is where you learn to be all that a lady of Menzoberranzan must be。〃
〃What？ What am I learning？〃
〃At the moment； patience and submission。〃
〃That's not what I came for。〃
〃Evidently not。 Consider this； then。 All the priestesses of Menzoberranzan are currently playing a game； and the object of the game is to convince others that nothing is amiss。 If a student leaves ArachTinilith prematurely； as none has ever done since the founding of the city； that will seem peculiar； a hint that all is not as it ought to be。〃
〃Perhaps I don't care about the game。〃
〃Your mother does。 She plays as diligently as the rest of us。 Do you think she will wele you home if you jeopardize her efforts？〃
Drisinil's emerald eyes blinked； the first sign that Quenthel's stare was unsettling her。 〃I 。。。 yes； certainly she would〃
〃You； a traitor to your House； your city； your sex； and the goddess herself？〃
〃The goddess—〃
〃Don't say it〃 Quenthel snapped。 〃Or your life ends； and your soul is bound to torment forevermore。 I speak not only as Mistress of ArachTinilith； but as a Baenre。 You remember Baenre； Barrison Del'Armgo？ We are the First House； and you； merely the Second。 Even if you should succeed in departing ArachTinilith； even if your gross and uncouth dam should be so unwise as to accept you back into that hovel you Del'Armgo call a home； you will not survive the month。 My sister Triel； Matron Mother Baenre； will personally attend to your destruction。〃
It was no less than the truth。 There was no love lost between the two Baenre sisters； but when it came to maintaining the supremacy of their House； they supported one another absolutely。
Drisinil swallowed and lowered her eyes a hair。 〃Mistress； I mean no disrespect。 I just don't want to mutilate myself。〃
〃But you will； novice； and without any further delay。 You really have no other option 。 。 。 and isn't it convenient； you already have a knife in your grasp。〃
Drisinil swallowed again； and； her dagger hand shaking a little； brought the blade into position to saw at her little finger。 Quenthel thought the procedure might go easier if the novice walked a few steps and braced her pinkie atop the nearby table； but apparently she was taking 〃without any further delay〃 quite literally； and that was fine with the high priestess。 In her imagination； she was already savoring the first slice when a blare like a sour note blasted from a hundred glaur horns split the air。
For an instant； Quenthel faltered； not frightened but disoriented。 She had been told what this ugly noise was but had expected never to actually hear it。 To the best of her knowledge； no one ever had。
The priestesses of Menzoberranzan enjoyed a plex relationship with the inhabitants of the Abyss。 Some infernal entities were the knights or handmaidens of Lolth； and during worship were venerated as such； but on other occasions the clerics did not scruple to snare spirits with their summoning spells and pel them to do their bidding。 Sometimes the creatures stalked the physical plane of their own volition； slaughtering any mortal who crossed their path； not excepting the drow； who were by some accounts their kindred。
The founders of the Academy had shielded Tier Breche in general and ArachTinilith in particular with enchantments devised to keep out any spirit save those the occupants saw fit to wele。 Countless generations of priestesses had deemed those wards impregnable； but if the earsplitting alarm told true； the barriers were falling one by one。
The blare seemed to be ing from the south。 The pleasures of chastisement fotten； Quenthel ran in that direction past countless chapels； altars； and icons of Lolth in both her dark elf and spider forms； past the classrooms where the faculty gave instruction in dogma； ritual； divine magic； torture； sacrifice； and all the other arts the novices needed to learn。 Their books； chalkboards； and whimpering； halfdissected slave victims fotten； some of the teachers and students appeared on the brink of venturing out to investigate the alarm； while others still looked startled and confused。
The blaring stopped。 Either the demon had given up attempting to force its way in； or else it had breached every single ward。 Quenthel suspected the latter was the case； and when the screaming started； she knew she was right。
〃Do you know what's breaking through？〃 she panted。
〃No；〃 hissed Yngoth； perhaps the wisest of the whip vipers。 〃The intruder has shielded itself from the Sight。〃
〃Wonderful。〃
The echoing cries led Quenthel into a spacious candlelit hall filled with towering black marble sculptures of spiders； set there to make the temple's entryway as impressive as possible。 The battered valves of the great adamantine double door in the curved south wall gaped crookedly； half off their hinges； affording a glimpse of the plateau outside。 Several priestesses lay battered and insensible on the floor。 For a moment； Quenthel couldn't make out what had caused the mess； then the culprit scuttled across her field of vision toward another hapless servant of Lolth。
The intruder was a gigantic spider bearing a close resemblance to the gleaming black effigies around it； and upon seeing it； Quenthel scowled at an unfamiliar and unwele pang of doubt。
On the one hand； the demon； if that was what it truly was； was attacking her pupils and staff； but on the other； it was a kind of spider； sacred to Lolth。 Perhaps it was even her emissary； sent to punish the weak and heretical。 Maybe Quenthel should simply step aside and permit it to continue its rampage。
It sensed her somehow； turned； and rushed toward her as if it had been looking for her all along。 Though many spiders possessed several eyes； this one； she observed； was exceptional beyond the point of deformity。 The head behind the jagged mandibles was virtually nothing but a mass of bulging eyes； and a scatter of others opened here and there about the creature's shiny black bulb of a body。
Its peculiarities notwithstanding； the spider's manifest hostile intent resolved Quenthel's uncertainty in an instant。 She would kill the freakish thing。
The question was； how？ She did not feel weak—she never had and never would—but she knew it was scarcely the optimal time for her to fight such a battle。 On top of any other disadvantages； she wasn't even wearing her mail tunic or piwafwi。 She rarely did within the walls of ArachTinilith。 For the most part； her minions feared her too much to attempt an assassination； and she had always been confident that she wouldn't need armor to disappoint any who did not。
As she backed away from the charging spider； her slim； gleaming obsidian hands opened the pouch at her belt； extracted a roll of vellum； and unrolled it for her scrutiny； all with practiced ease and likewise with a certain annoyance； for the magical scroll was a treasure； and she was about to use it up。 But it was necessary； an