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〃I understand your sentiments； Mistress； but they're all we have； and I'm sure that if we've trained them properly； we have a chance。〃 He coughed。 〃Against the thralls； anyway。〃
〃Your meaning？〃
〃The greatest danger of all is this pall of smoke。 I think Syrzan； for all its cunning； miscalculated。 If the mages we left upstairs don't extinguish the flames； we'll all suffocate； female and male； elf and ore alike； leaving the alhoon a necropolis to rule。 Still； I suppose we must concentrate on our task and not fret about the rest。〃
〃What alhoon？〃 she demanded。
He hesitated。 〃It really is a long story； Mistress； and not crucial at this moment。〃
〃I will decide what is crucial； mage；〃 she said。 〃Speak。〃
Before Pharaun could begin she saw the First Sword approaching； presumably to inform her that the pany was ready to set forth。
As they started to march； she listened to the mage's tale of the undead mind flayer and its designs for Menzoberranzan。 There was more； she was sure； that he was holding back； but she could always torture it out of him later。
Along the way； the teachers and students found their way littered with mangled dark elf corpses； some headless； some partially devoured； firelight gilding their sightless eyes。 The rich smell of blood peted with the acrid foulness of the smoke。
Or course； no drow objected to the spectacle of violent death； but the ubiquity of the ravaged shapes； bined with the glare of the flames and the uncanny sight of burning stone； made it seem as if Menzoberranzan itself had bee a sort of hell； and that was； for Quenthel at least； unsettling。
The Mistress of ArachTinilith thought that were she a weaker person； she might have felt as if she were moving through a nightmare； or interpreted the carnage as proof positive that Lolth had turned her back on Menzoberranzan for good and all。 She consoled herself with the thought that at least this time she was marching against an enemy she could see and smite。
Periodically the scholars saw small groups of undercreatures looting； slaughtering hapless moners； or even flinging stones and arrows at the column。 The younger students sought to attack the thralls； and the teachers bellowed at them to desist。 The Academy had to act as a unit and stick to a plan if it hoped to win the day。
Malaggar raised his hand； signaling a stop。
We're close； I think； he reported in the silent drow sign language。
They stood in place until a flying scout； a brother of the pyramid possessed of a cloak that converted into batlike wings； swooped down and gave his report。
Mistress； Malaggar signed； may I suggest that ten squads keep on straight； and the rest of us circle around that block of houses。 We'll take the ores from two sides。
Very well； Quenthel replied as she surveyed her army。 All of you from the head of the column to the mouth of that alley； follow me。 The rest of you； go with Master Faen Tlabbar。 Everyone； quietly as you can。
Hands lifted at intervals down the column to relay the orders to those who couldn't see her。
The pany divided； then Quenthel's troops crept on； toward a clamoring mob that quite possibly outnumbered them。 Fortunately； the slaves hadn't noticed the Academy's arrival； and she meant to take full advantage of their ignorance。 She quickly arranged her troops in a ragged but serviceable formation； then bade them attack as one。
Power howled and flashed； burning； blasting； and devouring masses of goblins。 Darts leaped through the air to pierce ores and bugbears。 Undercreatures fell by the score。
Yet after that first volley； scores remained； and they flung themselves at the scholars in a yammering frenzy。 The drow hastily abandoned their crossbows for swords and spears。 Hidden behind lines of warriors； mages and priestesses peered； trying to see what was going on in the midst of the savage melee so they could target their spells without harming their own rades。
Quenthel could have cowered behind her own rank of protectors—perhaps； as high priestess and leader； she should have—but she thought it might stiffen the spines of the first and secondyear students if she led from the front； and in any case； she wanted to kill up close and see the pain and fear in her victims' faces。 Her vipers rearing and hissing； she shoved her way to the front。
She slew several goblinoids； and dazzling yellow light flashed and crackled around her。 The fire magic did her no harm—her mystical defenses held—but several of the folk around her； drow and undercreature alike； shrieked and fell。
For a moment； everyone； every survivor in the immediate vicinity； was stunned。 Then ores scrambled forward at the gaps the blaze had created in the drow line； and scholars darted forward to fill them。 No one paid any heed to the burned rades beneath their feet； save to curse them if she tripped。
Quenthel stepped back； letting a student warrior from House Despana take her place； then cast about； seeking the source of the burst of flame。 She had a vague sense that the magic had plunged down from above； so she looked there first； at the upper stories of the buildings to either side。
She blinked in surprise。 Like true arachnids； driders were scutding about the walls and rooflines。 Many such debased creatures retained their spellcasting abilities； and one of them must have conjured the fire。
Quenthel had no idea how the thralls and outcasts could have conspired together； nor did she have time to stop and ponder the question。 She had to stop the driders before they destroyed her pany from above。 She levitated upward through the smoky air； meanwhile looking about for the mage who'd created the flame。
Barbed arrows and bolts of light streaked at her from all directions。 She shielded her face with a fold of her piwafwi； and the missiles rebounded or dissolved when they encountered her layers of enchanted protection。 The impacts stung but did no serious damage。
When she'd ascended to their level； she recognized certain snarling faces even with the fangs； driders whom she herself had helped to make。 Perhaps it explained why they'd throw magic at her despite the inevitable damage to the mob of ores。
She quickly unrolled another scroll and read the trigger phrase therein。 Blades appeared； floating among the driders in front of her； then began to revolve around a central point。 The razorsharp slivers of metal sped along so fast they were invisible； and their orbits curved through the bodies of their foes。 The blades sliced and pierced the halfspiders without even slowing down； reducing the brutes to scraps of meat and splashes of blood。
Quenthel laughed and started to twist around to face the driders atop the stalagmite buildings on the opposite side of the street。 A length of something sticky lashed her and looped tightly about her torso； binding her free hand to her chest。
It was webbing。 She knew that some driders could spin the stuff。 As they sought to reel her in； she levitated once more； resisting the pull like a fish on a line。 Meanwhile； she struggled to reach another scroll despite the constriction of her arm。 The vipers bit and chewed at the cable。
Pharaun levitated into view； and sizzling white lightning leaped from his fingertips。 It stabbed one drider； then leaped to the ne