and coiled into a ring once more. He started the gesture that would lower the barrier, then paused as he saw Jeggred tense.
"I should remind you, Quenthel, that I could kill this demon spawn with a single word," Pharaun cautioned.
"Jeggred knows that," Quenthel said, indifference turningher beau-tiful face into an expressionless mask. "He makes his own choices."
Jeggred growled - whether at Quenthel or Pharaun, it wasn't clear - and spat against the magical dome. Rising to his feet, he stalked back into the forest.
Pharaun let the barrier fall.
"Now then," he said, straightening his elegant but travel-worn clothes and smoothing back an errant lock of white hair from his high forehead. "I apologize for stepping on one of Lolth's children, but I assure you it was entirely an accident. The sooner we leave the Lands of Light, the better. Not only did we just stir up all of Minau-thkeep by killing thehigh priest of House Jaelre - "
"Your decision, not mine," Quenthel spat. Then, after a moment, she smiled. "Though Tzirik did deserve to die."
The serpents in her whip hissed their assent.
Pharaun nodded, glad that she was in agreement that the death had been necessary. Tzirik's magic had allowed their group to travel through the Astral Plane to the Demonweb Pits, domain of the god-dess Quenthel served - a goddess who had fallen alarmingly silent, of late. There, they had discovered why Lolth's priestesses could no lon-ger draw upon her magic: the goddess had disappeared. Her temple appeared to have been abandoned, its door sealed with an enormous black stone carved in the likeness of her face.
There had been no time, however, to learn whether that was a situation of Lolth's own choosing. As Pharaun had expected, Tzirik betrayed them, using his magic to gate in the god he served. Vhae-raun had attacked the stone face and nearly succeeded in breach-ing it when Lolth's champion - the god Selvetarm - appeared to defend it.
Realizing that Tzirik had no intention of letting them return, Pharaun had ordered Jeggred to kill Tzirik - telling the draegloth the order came from Quenthel. The priest's death had ejected Quenthel's group out of the Demonweb Pits, leaving only the gods behind. For all Pharaun knew, Selvetarm and Vhaeraun were battling there still.
If Vhaeraun won and succeeded in destroying Lolth, it would be the beginning of a new era for the drow. The Masked Lord favored males opposed to the matriarchy; his victory would no doubt spur the disenchanted males of Menzoberranzan to an even greater insurrection than the one that city had recently seen. But if Selvetarm suc-ceeded in defending the Spider Queen, Lolth might one day return and restore her web of magic, lending power to her priestesses' spells once more. Whatever happened, Pharaun wanted to be on the win-ning side - or appear to be serving its interests, anyway.
"As I was saying,"Pharaun continued, "not only is House Jaelre seeking us, but this forest is infested with wood elves. The sooner we get below ground, the better."
He paused to glance at the forest, squinting against the sun-light that bounced harshly off the white, slushy snow that cov-ered trees and ground alike. The wizard regretted his decision to teleport the group there. His spell had allowed them to escape House Jaelre's keep, but the portal he'd hoped to use to put even more distance between them only functioned in one direction. They were trapped on the surface at the mouth of a shallow, dead-end cave.
"I wonder if any of the others have found a way down yet," Pharaun muttered.
As if in answer, Valas Hune appeared from out of the forest, emerging from a tangled clump of underbrush with a silence that was only in part due to the enchanted chain mail the scout wore. A pair of magical, curved kukri daggers hung at his hip, and to his vest was pinned a miscellany of enchanted talismans fashioned by more than one Underdark race. The mercenary, his amber eyes watering slightly as he squinted against the sunlight, had a squared-off jaw that seemed permanently clenched. He habitually held him-self tensed and ready, as if he expected to take a punch. His ebony skin was crisscrossed with dozens of faint gray lines, fading legacies of two centuries' worth of battles.
Valas jerked his head in the direction from which he'd just come and said, "There's a ruined temple a short distance away. It's built around a cave."
Quenthel's eyes glittered, and the serpents in her whip froze in rapt