nk and brown slices of rothe steak steeped in a tawny marinade； their aroma peting with ArachTinilith's omnipresent scent of incense。 Other trays and bowls held raw mushroom pieces with a creamy dipping sauce and a salad of black； white； and red diced fungus； while the pitchers presumably contained wine； watered as per her mand。 Quenthel hoped the alcohol would hearten those residents whom Lolth's absence and the incursions of the past two nights had terrified； but she didn't want any of the temple's defenders sloppy drunk and incapacitated。
Some of Quenthel's minions fell to as if they expected this to be their last meal。 Others； likely as certain of their fate； seemed too tense to do more than pick at the viands。
The mistress of the Academy supposed that； though she intended to survive the night； in a sense； she belonged to the latter party。 Her stomach was somewhat queasy； and the long hours of edgy anticipation had killed her appetite。
e on； demon； she thought； let's get this over with。 。 。 。
The entity failed to respond to her silent plea。
She decided her throat was a little parched； caught Jyslin's eye； and said； 〃Pour me a cup。〃
〃Yes； Mistress。〃
The secondyear novice performed the service with mendable alacrity。 She filled the silver goblet too high for gentility's sake； but Quenthel expected no better from a moner。 The Baenre accepted the cup with a nod and raised it to her lips。
Her whip of fangs hung from her wrist by the wyvernhide loop that pierced its handle。 She felt a thrill of alarm surge across the psionic link she shared with the vipers。 At the same instant； the snakes reared and dashed the goblet from her grasp。 She stared at them in amazement。
〃Poison；〃 Yngoth said； his slitpupiled eyes glinting in their scaly sockets。 〃We smelled it。〃
Quenthel looked around。 Her followers had heard the serpent's declaration and were gawking at her and the reptiles in consternation。 They appeared to be in perfectly good health； but she trusted the vipers and knew it wouldn't last。
〃Purge yourselves；〃 she said。 〃Now〃
They never got the chance。 Almost as one； they succumbed to the toxin； swaying； staggering； and collapsing。 Some retched involuntarily as the sickness hit them； but it didn't help。 They passed out like the rest。
Quenthel shifted the whip back to her hand； peered in all directions； and bade the vipers do the same。 She'd realized her demonic assailants were supposed to suggest the several dominions of the goddess； and therefore an 〃assassin〃 of some sort would turn up sooner or later。 Still； she foolishly assumed that being would attack in some obvious way just as the 〃spider〃 and 〃darkness〃 had。 She hadn't expected it to employ stealth and attempt to poison her； though in retrospect； that tactic made perfect sense。
The question was； had the demon done all it planned to do； or； since its first ploy had failed； would it strike at her in some other way？
Off to the west； someone screamed； the sound echoing down the stone halls。 Quenthel had her answer； and it was the one she'd expected。
Her heart beat faster； her mouth felt drier still； and she realized she wasn't eager to confront this new intruder； certainly not without the support of her personal guards。 Yet she was mistress in these halls； and it was unthinkable to turn tail and let an invader make free with her domain。
Besides； if she fled； the cursed thing would probably track her anyway。
Leaving her fallen patrol with their useless magical treasures strewn about them on the floor； she strode toward the noise。 She shouted for other underlings to attend her； but no one responded。
In a minute or so； she entered a long gallery； where wall carvings told the history of Lolth as it had occurred and as it was prophesied： her seduction of Corellon Larethian； chief deity of the contemptible elves of the World Above； their union and her first attempt to overthrow him； her discovery of her spider form and her descent into the Abyss； her conquest of the Demonweb and her adoption of the drow as her chosen people； and her future triumph over all other gods and ascendancy over all creation。
A silhouette appeared in the arched entry at the far end of the hall。 It changed color and shape—humanoid； quadruped； blob； worm； cluster of spikes—from one instant to the next。 Somehow perceiving Quenthel； it let out a cry。 Its voice sounded like a wavering； cacophonous jumble of every noise she'd ever heard and some she hadn't。 Within the first discordant howl she caught the shrill note of a flute； the grunt of a rothe； a baby crying； water splashing； and fire crackling。
Quenthel recognized the demon for the profound threat it was； but for a moment； she was less concerned for her safety or fired with a fighter's rage than she was surprised。 Poison surely suggested an assassin； yet the demon before her was plainly an embodiment of chaos。
The spirit started down the gallery； and the walls bulged； flowed； and changed color around it。 Quenthel reached into the leather bag hanging from her belt and brought out a scroll； then something hit her hard in the back of the neck。
* * *
Ryld peered about the room。 Judging from the sunken arena in the center of the floor； the ruinous place had； in another era； served as a drinking pit—one of those rude establishments where dark elves of every station went to fet about caste and grace for a few hours； guzzle raw spirit； and watch undercreatures slaughter one another in contests that were often set up in such a way as to give them a ical aspect。
In other words； it would have been a crude sort of place by the standards of elegant Menzoberranzan； but it had grown cruder since the goblinoids had taken it over。 Scores if not hundreds of them packed into the space； and the mingled stink of their unwashed bodies； each race malodorous in its own particular fashion； was sickening。 The loud gabbling in their various harsh and guttural languages was nearly as unpleasant。 It all but drowned out the rhythmic thuds that filtered through the ceiling； but of course the shaggy gnoll drummer on the roof wasn't playing for the folk already inside but to guide others still in transit。
To Ryld's surprise； a fair number of the creatures assembling there hailed from outside the Braeryn。 He observed plain but relatively clean and intact garments suggestive of Eastmyr； and even liveries； steel collars； shackles； whip marks； and brands—the stigmata of thralls who'd sneaked away from their mistresses' affluent households。 Obviously； those who'd e from beyond the district couldn't have heard the drum through the magical buffers。 Some runner must have carried word to them。
Still magically disguised as ores； though not the same ones who'd tricked the two bugbears； the masters of Tier Breche had squeezed into a corner to watch whatever would transpire。
Certain no one would hear him over the ambient din； Ryld leaned his head close to Pharaun's and said； 〃I think it's just a party。〃
〃Do you see them celebrating？〃 Pharaun replied。 His new porcine face had a broken nose and tusk。 〃No； not as such。 They'd be considerably more boisterous。 They're waiting for something； and eagerly； too。 Observe those female goblins chattering and passing their bottle back and forth。〃 Pharaun nodded toward a trio of filthy； bandylegged creatures with flat faces and sloping brows。 〃They're aquiver with anticipation。 If they're still as giddy after the gathering breaks up； we may want to seek solace for our frustrations in their hairy； misshapen arms。〃
Certain his friend was joking； Ryld snorted 。 。 。 then realized he wasn't quite sure after all。
〃You'd have relations with a goblin〃
〃A true scholar always seeks new experiences。 Besides； what's the point of being a dark elf； a lord of the Underdark； if you don't exploit the slave races to the utmost？〃
〃Hmm。 I admit they might be no worse than one of those priestesses who demand you grovel and do exactly as you're—〃
〃Hush〃
The drum had stopped。
〃Something's happening；〃 Pharaun added。
Ryld saw that his friend was correct。 A stir ran through the crowd and they started to shout； 〃Prophet Prophet〃
The master of MeleeMagthere didn't know what he expected to see next； but it certainly wasn't the figure in the nondescript cloak and hood whose upper body appeared above the heads of the crowd。 Perhaps he'd climbed up on a bench or table； or maybe he'd simply levitated； for this 〃Prophet；〃 plainly beloved of the lower orders； appeared to be a handsome drow male。
The Prophet let his followers chant and shout for a minute or so； then he raised his slender hands and gradually they subsided。 Pharaun leaned close to Ryld again。
〃It's possible the fellow's not really one of us；〃 the wizard said。 〃He's wrapped in a glamour somewhat like ours； but his spell makes every observer perceive him in a favorable light。 I imagine the goblins see him as a goblin； the gnolls； as one of their own； and so forth。〃
〃What's inside the illusion？〃
〃I don't know。 The enchantment is peculiar。 I've never encountered anything quite like it。 I can't see through it； but I suspect we're about to learn his intentions。〃
〃My brothers and sisters；〃 the Prophet said。
His voice sparked another round of cheering； and he waited for it to run its course。
〃My brothers and sisters；〃 he repeated。 〃Since the founding of this city； the Menzoberranyr have held our peoples in bondage or in conditions equally degraded。 They work us until we die of exhaustion。 They torture and kill us on a whim。 They condemn us to starve； sicken； and live in squalor。〃
The audience growled its agreement。
〃You witness our misery everywhere you look；〃 the hooded orator continued。 〃Yesterday； I walked through Manyfolk。 I saw a hobgoblin girlchild； surely no older than five or six； trying to pick up a scrap of mushroom from the street。 With her teeth Her hands wouldn't serve。 Some drow had magically fused them together behind her back so she would live and die a cripple and a freak。〃
The crowd snarled in outrage； even though their races monly engaged in tortures equally cruel； albeit far less varied and imaginative。
〃I walked through Narbondellyn；〃 the Prophet said。 〃I saw an ore； paralyzed in some manner； lying on the ground。 A dark elf slit his chest； spread the flaps of skin； cut some ribs with a