Condemnation
"Now this I did not expect," remarked Pharaun.
The wizard sighed and sat down on a rock, allowing his pack to drop to the moss-covered ground. The company stood in the mouth of a low cavern looking up at a daylit forest, somewhere on the surface. The Jaelre portal lay a few hundred yards behind them in a damp, winding cavern that led to a large, steep-sided sinkhole with lichen-covered boulders and trickling rills of cold water splashing down from the hillside above.
The day was heavily overcast - in fact, a light rain was falling - and the clouds, coupled with the gloom of the forest, helped to ameliorate the insufferable brightness of the sun. It was not so harshly brilliant a day as they had seen in the cloudless desert of Anauroch a tenday past, but to eyes long accustomed to the utter lightlessness of the Underdark, the diffuse sunlight still seemed as harsh as the glare of a lightning stroke.
"Should we keep moving?" Ryld asked. He'd returned Splitter to its sheath, angled across his broad back, but he held a crossbow at the ready and squinted into the towering green trees. "It won't take the minotaurs long to figure out where we went."
"It doesn't matter if they do," Pharaun said. "The portal was keyed to function for drow alone. It's nothing more than a wall of blank stone to our friends in the Labyrinth - a sensible precaution on the part of the Jaelre, I suppose, though had I been in their shoes I believe I would not have ruled out the possibility of attackers of my own race."
"You're certain of that?" Quenthel asked.
The wizard nodded and replied, "I was careful to examine the portal before we stepped through. Leaping blindly through portals is a bad habit, and should be reserved only for the gravest of situations, such as escaping imminent death in the destruction of a city. And, before anyone asks, we can still retrace our steps if we wish. The portal functions in both directions."
"I am not in a hurry to return to the Labyrinth. Better the sun-blasted surface than that," Halisstra murmured.
She picked her way across the floor of the sinkhole, studying the forest overhead. The air was cool, and she noted that the trees nearby were mostly needleleafs of some kind, trees that did not lose their foliage in the wintertime, if she remembered correctly. A number of barren trees of a different sort stood in and among the evergreens, trees with slender white trunks and only a handful of ragged red and brown leaves clinging in an odd clump near the crown. Dead? she wondered. Or merely bare of leaves for the winter months? She'd read many accounts of the World Above, its peoples, its green plants and animals, its changing seasons, but there was a great difference between reading about something and expe-riencing it firsthand.
"Where on the surface are we?" Quenthel asked.
Valas stared hard at the trees for a long time, and craned his head up to squint at the dimly glowing patch of clouds that hid the sun. He turned in a slow circle to examine the hillside nearby. Finally he knelt and ran his fingers over the soft green mat of mosses clinging to the boulders in the cavern mouth.
"Northern Faerun," he said. "It's early winter, as it should be. You can't see the sun too well to judge its position in the sky, but I can certainly feel it, as I suspect we all do. We're in the same general latitude as the lands above Menzoberranzan - not more than a few hundred miles either north or south, I think."
"Somewhere in the High Forest, then?" Danifae asked.
"Possibly. I'm not sure the trees look right. I've traveled the surface lands near our city, and the foliage looks different from what I remember of the High Forest. We might be some ways distant from Menzoberranzan."
"Excellent," muttered Pharaun. "We trek through the Underdark to Ched Nasad, are forced through a portal to the surface hundreds of miles from home, then we trek back down into the Underdark through shadow and peril, only to pass through another portal that takes us back to the sur-face, perhaps even farther from home. One wonders if we might have simply marched here from Hlaungadath without our pleasant detour through the Plane of Shadow, the delightful hospitality of Gracklstugh, and our lovely little tour of the minotaur-infested Labyrinth."
"Your spirits must be rebounding, Pharaun," Ryld observed. "You've found your sarcasm again."
"A sharper weapon than your sword, my friend, and just as devastat-ing when properly employed," the wizard said. He ran his hands over his torso and winced. "I feel half dead. Every time I turned around, some hulking bull-headed brute was trying to cleave me in two with an axe or pin me to the floor with a spear. Might I trouble you for one of your heal-ing songs, dear lady?" he asked Halisstra.
"Do not repair his injuries," Quenthel snapped. She still stood with one hand clamped around her torso, blood trickling between her fingers. "No one is mortally injured. Conserve your magic."
"Now, that is precisely - " Pharaun began again, glaring at Quentheland climbing to his feet.
"Stop it!" Halisstra snapped. "I have exhausted my songs of power, so it does not matter. When I have recovered my magical strength I will heal all who need it, because it is foolish to press on in our state. Until then, we will have to rely on mundane methods to address your injuries. Danifae, help me dress these wounds."
The battle captive turned to Jeggred, who stood near, and motioned for him to sit down, shrugging her pack from her shoulders to search for bandages and ointments. The draegloth did not protest, a sign of how ex-hausted he was.
Halisstra glanced over the others and decided that the wizard was most in need of attention. After pushing him back down onto the boul-der, she took out her own supply of bandages. She studied Pharaun's upper arm, where Jeggred's talons had scored the flesh, and she began to apply an ointment from among the supplies they'd purchased in Gracklstugh.
"This will sting," she said pleasantly.
Pharaun mouthed an awful curse and jumped as if he had been stabbed, yelping in pain.
"You did that on purpose!" he said.
"Of course," Halisstra replied.
While she and Danifae worked on the others, Valas scrambled up a narrow path hidden along the wall of the sinkhole. He studied the ground carefully, and paused to stare thoughtfully into the forest nearby.
Halisstra looked up at him and asked, "Did you find something of in-terest, Master Hune?"
"There is a path here that climbs up out of the cave mouth," the Bregan D'aerthe answered, "but I couldn't say where the Jaelre went. Sev-eral game trails converge here, but none seem to have been used by any number of folk."
"In the Jaelre palace in the Labyrinth you said you'd found clear signs that they had used the portal. How could there be no signs on this side?" Quenthel demanded.
"Dust and grit in the Underdark can hold signs of passage for many years, Mistress. On the surface, it is not so easy. It rains, it snows, the small plants quickly grow over disused paths. Had the Jaelre passed this way in great numbers within the last tenday or two, I would probably see the signs, but if they came this way five or ten years ago, I would be left with nothing to read."
"They would not have marched far across the surface," Quenthel mused. "They can't be far away."
"You're probably correct, Mistress," Valas replied. "The Jaelre would doubtless have preferred to move by night, staying under the cover of the trees during the day. If this is a very large forest - the High Forest, or per-haps Cormanthor - they might be hundreds of miles away."
"There's a cheerful thought," Pharaun muttered. "What in the world brought the Jaelre up here, anyway? Didn't they consider the possibility that the surface dwellers would slaughter them as eagerly as the mino-taurs did?"
"When I knew them years ago, Tzirik and his fellows spoke from time to time of returning to the surface," Valas said. He turned away from the forest and lightly dropped back down into the cave mouth. "Reclaiming the World Above is part of the doctrine of the Masked Lord, and the cap-tains and rulers of House Jaelre wondered if the so-called Retreat of our light-blinded surface kin might not be an invitation to claim the lands the surface elves were abandoning."
"Did it not occur to you back in Ched Nasad that your heretical friends might have decided to act upon their wishful thinking and aban-don that black, fiend-ravaged warren they called home?" Quenthel asked. "Did it not occur to you that you might have been leading us into a dead end in the Labyrinth?"
The Bregan D'aerthe scout shifted nervously under Quenthel's gaze, and said, "I didn't see any better alternatives, Mistress. Not if we truly want to get to the bottom of things."
"You were so eager to solve the mystery of the Spider Queen's silence that you chose to gamble that your friend Tzirik was still in the Labyrinth, even though you knew his House had been planning to flee the place for years?" Ryld asked. "We endured a great deal of peril in the city of the duer-gar and the domain of the minotaurs to satisfy your curiosity."
"Perhaps we were not meant to find this Tzirik at all," said Quenthel. "Perhaps Master Hune has led us far away from our true mission over the last few tendays, and perhaps it was no accident that he did so."
"When we considered the question of whether we should return to Menzoberranzan," Jeggred said, "it was the Bregan D'aerthe who urged us to set off in search of this priest Tzirik - a heretic priest none of us have even heard of, except for Valas." His eyes narrowed, and the draegloth climbed to his feet, his four clawed hands balling into fists as he shouldered Dani-fae aside. "Things become clear, now. Our guide is a Vhaeraunite heretic, and he has served the Masked Lord well by leading us through useless perils for days on end."
"This is ludicrous," Valas protested. "I would hardly have led the Bregan D'aerthe to the defense of Menzoberranzan if I was an enemy of the city."
"Ah, but it is the classic ruse," Danifae purred. "Introduce your vic-tims to the agent you have chosen for their destruction by giving them reason to trust her. In your case, the job seems to have been expertly done indeed."
"Even if that was the case," Valas said, "why did I not betray you to the duergar in Gracklstugh? Or leave you to the minotaurs in the Labyrinth? I could have arranged your deaths, not a mere delay. If I was your enemy, you can be certain that is what I would have done."
"Perhaps you would have placed yourself in peril by betraying us in either Gracklstugh or the Labyrinth," Pharaun observed. "Still, you raise a cogent point in your own defense."
"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.
"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 lost a fully laden pack lizard - and five soldiers unlucky enough to be close to the beast - to a flight of hungry yrthaks, raking the high trail with their sonic blasts.
No tremendous loss, Nimor reflected, but every day brought its own mishap or accident, and so the army's attrition began. In all truthfulness, the Jaezred Chaulssin assassin had not really grasped the enormous effort required to move a large, well-equipped army a hundred miles through the Underdark. He was quite familiar with journeying the dark ways by himself or in the company of a small band of merchants or scouts, trav-eling light, making use of the secret byways and known refuges that lay hidden along the main routes of travel. Having marched several days alongside an army, with ample opportunity to observe minor setbacks, difficulties, and challenges he hadn't even imagined, Nimor appreciated the scope of the expedition. The duergar were anxious indeed to strike a mortal blow at a neighbor in distress, if they were willing to tolerate the vast expense in beasts, soldiers, and materiel required to put an army in the field.
The assassin rounded a precarious bend, and came upon the crown prince's diligence: a floating hull of iron, perhaps thirty feet long and tenwide, ensorcelled not only to levitate itself above the ground but also to move as directed by the gray dwarves controlling the thing. Its ugly black form bristled with spikes to repel attackers and armored slits through which the occupants could fire missiles or work deadly spells on anyone outside. The diligence was pierced with several large, shuttered windows that were propped open, and through these Nimor glimpsed the quiet and orderly bustle of the duergar leaders and their chief assistants. The whole construct functioned as command post, throne, and bedchamber for the crown prince while in the field with his army. It was the perfect embodiment of the dwarf approach to things, Nimor reflected, a device displaying skillful craftsmanship and powerful magic, but no grace or beauty.
With a light bound he hopped up onto the running board of the dili-gence and ducked through a thick iron door. Inside, dim lights gleamed from blue globes, illuminating a great table that held a representation of the tunnels and caverns between Gracklstugh and Menzoberranzan. There the lords and captains of the gray dwarves studied their army's march and planned for the battles to come. The assassin took in the various officers and servants with one quick glance then turned to the elevated center por-tion of the diligence. The lord of the City of Blades sat at a high table with his most important advisors and watched over the planning below.
"Good news, my lord prince," Nimor said, sweeping into the circle of captains and guards surrounding Horgar Steelshadow. "I have been ad-vised that the Archmage of Menzoberranzan, old Gromph Baenre himself, has been removed from thesavaboard of our little game. The matron mothers do not yet suspect our advance into their territory."
"If you say so," the duergar lord replied gruffly. "In dealing with the dark elves I have found it prudent not to rule out the presence of an arch-mage until I see him dead under my own hammer."
The assembled gray dwarves around Horgar nodded, and glared at Nimor with undisguised suspicion. A drow turncoat might have been a useful ally in a war against Menzoberranzan, but that did not mean they considered Nimor a reliable partner.
Nimor spied a gold pitcher standing by the high table and poured himself a great goblet of dark wine.
"Gromph Baenre is not the only skilled wizard in Menzoberranzan," growled Borwald Firehand. Short and stocky even for a gray dwarf, the marshal gripped the table with his huge, powerful hands and leaned for-ward to glare at the assassin. "That cursed wizard school of theirs is full of talented mages. Your allies played their hand too quickly, drow. We're still fifteen days from Menzoberranzan, and Gromph's death will pro-voke alarm."
"A sensible notion, but not entirely correct," Nimor said. He drained off a large gulp from his goblet, savoring the moment. "Gromph will be missed soon, I'm sure, but instead of casting their arcane gaze out into the Underdark to search for approaching foes, every Master of Sor-cere will be searching fruitlessly for the archmage and scheming against his colleagues. While the crown prince's army approaches, the most pow-erful wizards in the city will have their eyes firmly fixed on each other, and more than a few will seek to murder their colleagues to win the archmage's vacant seat."
"The Masters of Sorcere will surely set aside their ambitions once they come to realize their peril," the crown prince said. He cut off Nimor with a curt gesture and added, "Yes, I know you say they may not, but we would be wise to plan on meeting an organized and well-directed magical defense of the city. Still, that was a well-struck blow, well-struck indeed."
He rose, and shouldered his way past the clan lairds and guards to approach the map table, beckoning Nimor to follow. The assassin circled to the other side of the table to attend the duergar ruler's words. Horgar traced their route with one thick finger.
"If the wizards of Menzoberranzan do not note our approach," Horgar said, "then the question becomes, at what point will they per-ceive their danger?"
The clan laird Borwald thrust his way to the tableside and indicated a cavern intersection.
"Presuming we don't encounter any drow patrols, the first place we'll meet the enemy is here, at the cavern called Rhazzt's Dilemma. The Men-zoberranyr have long maintained a small outpost there to watch this road, as it's one of the few large enough for an army to use. Our vanguard should reach it in five days' time. After that, our path forks and we must make our first hard decision. We can choose to go north, through the Pillars of Woe, or circle around to the west, which adds at least six days to our march. The Pillars are likely to be held against us, and so could delay us indefinitely."
"The Pillars of Woe ..." Horgar said. The prince tugged at his iron-gray beard as he studied the map. "When the drow learn we're coming, they'll certainly move troops there and hold the pass against us. That way is no good, then. We'll want to follow the other branch to the west, and circle around to approach the city from that side. The time it adds to our march cannot be helped."
"On the contrary, I mean for you to take the straighter path," Nimor said. "Passing through the Pillars of Woe will save you six days, and once you're on the other side, you will be on Menzoberranzan's doorstep. If you go through the western passes, you'll find the terrain there much less favorable."
The duergar lord snorted and said, "Perhaps you have not traveled this way before, Nimor. It is a difficult road you've chosen, if you plan to force the Pillars of Woe. The canyon becomes narrow there and climbs steeply. Two mighty columns bar the upper end, with only a narrow way between them. Even a small force of drow can hold it indefinitely."
"You can beat the Menzoberranyr to the Pillars, Crown Prince," the assassin said. "I will deliver the outpost of Rhazzt's Dilemma to you. We shall allow the defenders of the post to report a duergar force on the march, but even as the message speeds back to the matron mothers, your forces will race ahead to lay a deadly trap at the Pillars of Woe. There, you will destroy the army the rulers of the city send to hold the gap."
"If you can give us the outpost, drow, why allow the soldiers there to send any warning at all?" growled Borwald. "Better to cling to our secrecy as long as possible."
"The pinnacle of deceit," said Nimor, "lies not in depriving your foe of information, but in showing your foe the thing that he expects to see. Even with the stroke we have engineered against the city's wizards, they cannot help but note our approach soon. Best for us to control the cir-cumstances under which the crown prince's army is reported to Men-zoberranzan's rulers, and perhaps anticipate their response."
"This intrigues me. Go on," Horgar said.
"The soldiers of Menzoberranzan expect that an army approaching along this road must be delayed by the effort to take Rhazzt's Dilemma, giving the city time to man the choke point at the Pillars of Woe in suffi-cient strength to defeat any further attack. I suggest you allow the outpost to make its report and alert the rulers of Menzoberranzan to the presence of your army. Before the matron mothers can muster an army to face you, we will take Rhazzt's Dilemma by storm. We will be waiting to intercept the drow march at the Pillars of Woe."
"Your plan has two fundamental flaws," said Borwald, sneering in contempt. "First, you presume that the outpost can be taken whenever we wish. Second, you seem to think that the matron mothers will choose to send out their army instead of standing fast to await a siege. I would give much to know how you intend to engineer these two feats."
"Easily done," the assassin replied. "The outpost will fall because much of its garrison has been withdrawn to keep order in the city. Of those sol-diers that remain, many are Agrach Dyrr. That is why I urged you to choose this road for your attack. The outpost will be betrayed into your hands when the time is right."
"You knew this before we set out," Horgar said. "In the future, you will share such information in a more timely manner. What would we have done if you'd met some accident of the march? We must know exactly what kind of help you will lend us, and when you will be able to do so."
Nimor laughed coldly and said, "It would be good for our continued friendship, Prince Horgar, if you find yourself wondering from time to time exactly how helpful I might turn out to be."
Halisstra roused herself from her Reverie to find that she was cold and wet. During the night, a light dusting of wretched stuff that she guessed must be snow had fallen over the forest, bedecking every branch with a thin coating of brilliant white. The novelty of the experience had worn off quickly for her, particularly after she realized that it had soaked her cloth-ing andpiwafwi with frigid water. The reality of snow on the surface was far less appealing than any account of the phenomenon she'd read in the comfort of her House library.
Overhead, the sky was sullen and gray again, but brighter than the pre-vious day - bright enough to cause no little discomfort to the drow travel-ers. Since Quenthel didn't choose to drive them out into the sunlight after Pharaun had rested and studied his spells, they passed most of the day's bright hours sheltering deep in the cavern away from the light. The com-pany didn't prepare to break camp until late in the day, when the sun was already beginning to sink into the west.
"Remind me to conduct some research into methods by which that infernal orb might be extinguished," remarked Pharaun, squinting up into the snow-laden sky. "It's still up there behind all those blessed clouds, burning my eyes."
"You're not the first of our kind to find its light painful," Quenthel replied. "In fact, the more you complain about it, the more it troubles me, so keep your whimpering to yourself and get about the business of casting your spell."
"Of course, most impressive Mistress," Pharaun said in an acerbic voice.
He turned away and hurried off across the snow-covered rocks and boulders before Quenthel could make a proper retort. The Baenre mut-tered a black curse under her breath and turned away as well, busying her-self with watching Danifae as the battle captive stuffed Quenthel's bedroll and blankets into her pack. The rest of the company kept to a studious silence and pretended not to notice the interplay, either between Quenthel and Pharaun, or Quenthel and Danifae. They gathered up their own be-longings and broke camp.
Halisstra picked up her own pack and followed Pharaun across the floor of the sinkhole, scrambling up after him along the hidden path that as-cended to the forest floor. Standing in the clearing surrounding the sunken spot where the cavern mouth had undermined the hillside, she found that the forest was very dense and pressed in close on all sides. Everywhere she looked, the wall of trees and brush was the same, a verdant barrier with no landmarks at all, no distant mountains by which she could orient herself, not even an orderly plan of sand-covered streets to follow. Even in the most twisted caverns of the Underdark, one usually was offered only a handful of choices at a time - forward or back, left or right, up or down. In the forest, she might simply walk off in any direction she liked and eventually arrive somewhere. It was an unsettling and unfamiliar feeling.
She finished her careful examination of the forested hillside, and faced Pharaun again. The rest of the company watched him as well, variously standing or squatting on their heels and shading their faces with their hands as they awaited the wizard's guidance.
"If I say anything," said Pharaun, staring into the trees and speaking over his shoulder, "anything at all, mark it carefully. I may or may not un-derstand exactly what it is I see."
He extended his arms wide and closed his eyes, whispering harsh syl-lables of arcane power over and over again as he turned in a slow circle.
The eldritch sensation of magic at work tugged at Halisstra, a feeling that was almost palpable, yet maddeningly distant. A strange, cold breeze arose, sighing in the treetops as it bent them first one way, then another, grow-ing stronger moment by moment. Boughfuls of snow shifted and fell as the weird wind increased to a wild, shrieking gale. Halisstra raised a hand to shield her eyes from flying dust and grit. Through it all, she heard Pharaun's voice growing deeper, more powerful, as the spell took on a life of its own and seemed to drag itself from his throat. She lost her footing and slid awkwardly to one knee, her hair whipping around her head like something alive.
The magic of Pharaun's divination bore him aloft. Arms still out-stretched, he revolved in the air as the winds circled with him. His eyes were blank and silver, cast upward to the heavens. A nimbus of green energy began to coalesce around the wizard's body, and he gave out a great howl of anguish. Bolts of emerald fire exploded from his halo to scour and blast at the boulders nearby. Each green ray sliced into rock like a rapier into soft flesh, causing the stones to split and flake with deafening cracks. Where each green bolt played, a black rune or pattern formed in the dam-aged stone, appearing as if etched by acid in the exposed rock. The designs made Halisstra's eyes ache to look at them, and from the air in the center of the clearing, Pharaun began to mutter in a horrible voice that somehow carried through the wind and thunder.
"Five days west lies a small river," the wizard intoned. "Turn south and follow its dark swift waters upstream another day, to the gates of Minauth-keep. The Masked Lord's servant dwells there. He will aid you and betray you, though neither in the manner you expect. Each of you save one will commit betrayal before your quest is done."
The spell concluded. The wind died away, the green energy dissipated, and Pharaun came slumping down from his lofty perch as if he'd been dropped from a rooftop. The wizard struck the hard earth awkwardly and crumpled, huddling with his face in the cold slush covering the ground. As the reverberations of the spell's violence fell away in the snowy wood, the black-etched runes carved into rocks and boulders faded as well, flaking away in tiny bits of ebon dust that evaporated within the space of moments.
The rest of the company straightened and exchanged dark looks.
"I can see why he's slow to cast that spell," Ryld remarked.
He moved forward and caught Pharaun by one feebly waving arm, turning him over and checking for any obvious signs of injury. Pharaun looked up and managed a weak grin.
"Good news and bad, I suppose," he said. "Tzirik seems to be alive and well, at least."
"The directions are clear," Valas said with care. "I think I cankeep us heading west easily enough."
"What did you mean by that last bit?" Jeggred said to Pharaun, ig-noring Valas. "About the betrayal?"
The draegloth tightened his fists.
"About each of us betraying someone? Why, I couldn't begin to guess," the wizard said. He coughed and sat upright, waving away Ryld's help. "It's the nature of the magic to offer cryptic predictions like that, threatening little riddles that you have little hope of solving until it suddenly becomes obvious that the event you feared has come to pass." He offered a wry chuckle. "If only one of us doesn't have some shocking act of treachery to pull off in the near future, I must say I'd like to know who's sleeping on the job. He'll tarnish our reputation if he's not careful."
Halisstra studied the rest of the company, noting the impassive faces, the thoughtful eyes. Danifae met her gaze with a slight smile and the merest flicker of her gray eyes toward Quenthel, a gesture so small and secret that no one save Halisstra could note it.
Despite the wizard's easy dismissal of the exact wordsof the divina-tion, she wasn't pleased to learn that every one of her companions would at some point in the future commit some kind of treacherous act or an-other.Or, more likely, all but one of her companions. Just because Halisstra planned no immediate act of betrayal didn't mean she might not choose to take advantage of an opportunity arising later.She had not held her rank as First Daughter of House Melarn without developing a certain ruthless instinct for such things. If ruin had not come to Ched Nasad, Halisstra didn't doubt that at some point in the fullness of time she would have se-riously plotted against her own mother to claim leadership of the house. Matron Melarn had unseated Halisstra's grandmother in the same manner and for the same reasons many hundreds of years past. It was no more or less than the Spider Queen's way.
"Well," Pharaun said as he pushed himself to his feet, still shivering. The wizard accepted his pack from Ryld, moving gingerly. "It seems I have provided a destination. So which way is west, Master Hune?"
Valas nodded toward the near side of the clearing and said, "There are a couple of game trails leading more or less toward the setting sun."
"Come," said Quenthel. "The sooner we set out, the sooner we arrive. I have no wish to spend one hour more than we must in this light-seared land. Master Hune, you will take your customary place as our guide. Master Argith, you will accompany him. Halisstra, you will bring up the rear and keep an eye behind us."
Halisstra frowned and shifted uncomfortably. That struck her as a job suitable for a male. In their travels over the past few days Jeggred had customarily brought up the rear. It didn't escape Halisstra that changing the order of the march kept Jeggred close by Quenthel, where the drae-gloth could protect the Baenre priestess from any attack. She likewise noted that Quenthel had referred to both Valas and Ryld as "master," while calling her only Halisstra.
There was no point in protesting, of course, so she only waited as the rest of the company filed off into the woods, following Valas's path. She unslung her crossbow and made sure the weapon was ready for quick use. After allowing the rest of the company a lead of about fifty yards, Halis-stra set off after them.