Jaelre, leaned out to take a look for himself. The tower was much as Jezz had described it, surrounded by the sprawling ruins of Myth Drannor. After using Pharaun's magic to speed their travel to the old elven capital and resting a few hours to pre-pare, the company had spent most of the night fighting their way through the ruins.
Myth Drannor was little more thana great wreckage of white stone overgrown with trees and vines, but once it had been something more. The old surface elf city might not have been as large as Menzoberranzan or as infernally grand as Ched Nasad, but it possessed an elegance and beauty that equaled, if not exceeded, the best examples of drow architecture.
Ryld cast a careful glance to the rooftops.
"No sign of devils," he said. "Perhaps we've slain enough that they've decided not to troubleus anymore."
"Unlikely," Jezz said with a snort. "They've drawn back to organize another attack, and await the arrival of more powerful fiends before trying us again."
"In that event, we should take advantage of the respite to do what we came to do," Quenthel said. She too moved up to study the tower. I see nothing that encourages me to change our plan. Pharaun, cast your spell."
"As you wish, dear Quenthel," the wizard began, "though I must say that I do not entirely agree with the stratagem of - "
Angry glares from every other member of the company silenced Pha-raun before he finished his protest. He sighed and fluttered his hand.
"Oh, very well."
The wizard straightened and carefully spoke the words of his spell, the potent syllables ringing with magical power. An intangible wave seemed to roll over Ryld and the others. In its wake, Ryld felt strength and quickness drain from his limbs, and Splitter seemed to grow heavier in his hand, its gleaming blade suddenly dulled. Ryld was no wizard, but like any accom-plished drow he had over the years armed himself with various magical devices and enchantments to increase his speed, his strength, the toughness of his armor, the deadliness of his weapons. Pharaun's spell temporarily abol-ished all magic in the vicinity, leaving Ryld without the benefit of a single enchantment, and the other drow were similarly affected. The strangest effect of all was the sudden inertness of Quenthel's fearsome whip. One moment the snakes hissedand writhed of their own accord, alert and vicious, and in the next they dangled like dead things from the weapons haft.
"Stay close to me, if you wish to stay within the spell's effect," Pha-raun said.
He licked his lips nervously. Within the zone of antimagic he'd just created, he could cast no spells, and his own formidable array of enchanted devices and protections were inert, too. The wizard readied his hand cross-bow, and loosened his dagger in its sheath.
"I feel like I'm going up against a dragon with a dinner knife," he muttered.
Ryld clapped him on the shoulder and stood. He sheathed Splitter and drew his own crossbow.
"Yes, but your spell pulls the dragon's fangs," he said.
"Get moving," Quenthel said.
She looked more than a little uncomfortable herself. Evidently she didn't care for theunmoving silence of her weapon. Without waiting, she loped across the courtyard and bounded up the steps leading to the tower's door. The others followed, blinking in the light of the approaching dawn. Ryld made a point of keeping watch on the ruined streets and walls behind the party, watching for the return of any of Myth Drannor's monstrous denizens. The last thing they needed was a band of blood-maddened devils to de-scend on them while they'd suppressed their own magic.
At the door of the tower, Quenthel stepped aside for Jeggred. The hulk-ing draegloth moved up and wrenched the door open, bounding inside. Masonry cracked and clattered to the stone steps. Quenthel followed hard on his heels, then Danifae and Valas. Ryld looked around one last time, and noticed Jezz hanging back.
"You're not coming?" he asked the Jaelre.
"I intend to observe only," Jezz replied. "Defeating the beholder is your task, not mine. If you survive, I'll join you in a few minutes."
Ryld scowled, but ducked inside. They were in a foyer of some kind, illuminated by slanting rays of dim light from holes in the ancient ma-sonry. At the far end of the room, a second door stood. Once the foyer might have been a grand and impressive hall, but the tiles of the floor were cracked and split by deep green mold, and the proud banners and arrases that hung