"Nothing more than the glib lies of a traitor," Jeggred snarled. He glanced at Quenthel. "Command me, Mistress. Shall I rend him limb from limb for you?"
Valas lowered his hands to the hilts of his kukris, and licked his lips. He was gray with fear, but his eyes sparked with anger. Each of the others in the company turned their eyes to Quenthel, who still leaned against a boulder, her whips quiescent at her waist. She stayed silent, as rain splat-tered down in the forest and birds chirped and called in the distance.
"I withhold judgment for the moment," she said, looking at the scout. "If you are loyal, we shall need you to find Tzirik - if the Vhaeraunite priest exists, of course - but you would be well advised to produce the Jaelre and their high priest quickly, Master Hune."
"I have no idea where they might be," Valas said. "You might as well condemn me now, and prepare yourself for Bregan D'aerthe's response."
Quenthel exchanged a long look with Jeggred. The draegloth smiled, his needle-like fangs gleaming in his dark face.
Halisstra wasn't sure what to think, as she hadn't known the scout for more than a tenday, and couldn't say what might or might not have hap-pened in Menzoberranzan before the Menzoberranyr came to Ched Nasad. She was, however, certain that they would all regret it if Quenthel had Valas killed and it turned out that the guide's services were still re-quired, or that his powerful mercenary guild decided to seek vengeance for the death of their scout.
"What is the best means of locating the Jaelre from here?" Halisstra asked, hoping to deflect the conversation into a less dangerous course.
Valas hesitated, then said, "As Mistress Quenthel pointed out, they are unlikely to have moved far. We can search in an expanding spiral until we come across better information."
"A plan that sounds wearying and tedious," Pharaun commented. "Marching aimlessly through this blinding woodland does not appeal to me."
"Find a surface dweller and pry information from him," Ryld said. "Assuming, of course, that any are nearby, and that they know anything of the whereabouts of House Jaelre."
"Again, we would have to march off in order to locate a surface dweller, as none conveniently present themselves here," Pharaun observed. "Your plan differs in no significant respects from Master Hune's."
"Then what would you propose?" asked Quenthel, her voice icy.
"Allow me to rest and study my spellbooks. In the morning, I can pre-pare a spell that may reveal the location of our missing House of heretical outcasts." He raised his hand toforestall the Baenre's protests and added, "I know, I know, you would like to continue this very moment, but if I can successfully divine the goal of our search, it is likely to save us many hours of marching in the wrong direction. The delay will also give the lovely Lady Melarn a chance to regain her own magical strength, and per-haps heal us of the worst of our wounds."
"You may learn nothing from your spells," Quenthel said. "Magic of that sort is notoriously fickle."
Pharaun simply looked at her.
Quenthel looked up at the sky, blinking in the merciless gray light that permeated theclouds above. She sighed and looked back down at the others, her eyes lingering overlong on Danifae. The battle captive tilted her head down in a single, almost imperceptible nod that Halisstra wasn't even certain she saw.
"Very well," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said finally. "It would be wise for us to wait for the cover of darkness in any event, so we will set up camp in the cave below, where this accursed sunlight will not trouble us so much. Master Hune, you will stay close by me until we find this Tzirik of yours."
Nimor Imphraezl made his way swiftly along the wide ledge, passing a long line of marching duergar on his right hand while skirting the edge of a black abyss on his left. Moving an army of several thousand through the dark and lightless ways of the Underdark was a formidable challenge, and many of the smaller, more direct routes were simply impassable to a body of so many soldiers. That left only the most capacious caverns and tunnels, and those routes frequently passed through dangers that the stealthier ways avoided.
The road clung to the shoulder of a great subterranean canyon, wind-ing in a northerly direction forty miles from Gracklstugh. The day's march was not more than two hours old, and the gray dwarf army had already