"One moment," Ryld said. "What about Mistress Melarn? She's back there somewhere."
"Most likely dead already," Valas said with a shrug. "Or a prisoner."
"Shouldn't we make sure of that before we leave her?" the weapons master replied. "Her healing songs are the only magic of that sort we have left to us. Common sense dictates - "
"Common sense dictates that we don't waste time and blood on a corpse," Quenthel interrupted. "No one came after me when - "
She stopped herself, then stood and walked over to help Danifae cinch her bandage.
"Our mission lies ahead of us, not behind," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said. "The quest is more important than any one drow."
Ryld rubbed his hand over his face and glanced around the company. Valas looked away, busying himself with some unimportant fastening of his armor. Pharaun stared at Quenthel with an expression that made it clear the wizard noted the priestess's hypocrisy, if nothing else. She had, after all, spent more time in Ched Nasad hoping to empty Baenre store-houses of their goods than seeking the renewed attention of Lolth.
Danifae stared off into the woods behind them, her brow furrowed with concern, but obviously unwilling to argue the point on behalf of her mistress.
Finally Quenthel turned to Pharaun and said, "Perhaps our skilled wizard has some magic that might help us discourage these cursed day-walkers from following too closely?"
Pharaun stroked his chin, and thought.
"Our chief difficulty in these circumstances," the Master of Sorcere said at length, "lies in the fact that our antagonists are able to use this ter-rain to their advantage, and ourdis advantage. Should a forest fire suddenly arise, the smoke and flames would - "
Valas laughed and interrupted, "I'm afraid you know little of sur-face forests, Master Mizzrym. These trees are far too wet to oblige you with a forest fire now. Try again in a few months, after summer has dried them out."
"Oh," the wizard replied, "I can see that's true formundane fire."
"You won't be able to prevent fire from sweeping back on us," Ryld said, the idea giving him some anxiety.
"Well, I can't be certain they won't, but my fires will burn in the manner I choose," Pharaun said. "As Master Hune observed, the forest is damp enough that the trees won't catch unless directly affected by my spell. We will, of course, have the advantage of knowing how and when the fires begin."
Quenthel thought for a moment, then said, "Very well, you may proceed."
Ryld felt his throat tighten and he stepped away from the group, quickly regaining control of himself.
The Master of Sorcere stood and reached into a pouch at his belt to withdraw a tiny silk purse. He emptied it into his hand. Red dust glittered in the moonlight. Pharaun studied the forest, turned to sense the wind, and spoke his spell quickly, casting the powder into the air. Bright crim-son sparks appeared amid the falling dust, growing brighter and more nu-merous moment by moment. With another gesture, Pharaun scattered the burning motes across a great, wide arc of the forest before him.
As each tiny mote settled to the ground, it flared into life, growing into a spiderlike shape fully as large as a man's head. Wreathed in crimson flame, the fire spiders scuttled across the ground, moving deeper into the trees. Whatever they touched smoldered at first, then burst into flame. The wood was indeed wet, and the flames were smoky and slow to spread - but Pharaun had conjured hundreds of the spider creatures. The living motes of fire seemed to set upon the moss-grown trunks with a peculiarly savage ferocity, almost as if the presence of so much timber had provoked them into a frenzy of fiery destruction.
"Good, good," Pharaun murmured. "They like trees . .. they truly do."
"The fire's too slow to burn our pursuers," Quenthel observed.
"I've never heard of a surface elf who'd allow a fire such as this to burn unchecked in his precious forest," Pharaun said with a smile. "They'll be busy chasing down my spiders and extinguishing the flames for some time."
Quenthel watched the blaze a moment longer, and smiled.
"It may serve, then," she said. "Master Hune, take the lead. I mean to reach House Jaelre before we're troubled by the surface dwellers again."
Kaanyr Vhok folded his well-muscled arms and frowned.
"How many this time?" he asked.
Kaanyr surveyed the aftermath of a battle between the tanarukks of his vanguard and a titanic purple worm, a carnivorous giant over a hundred feet in