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This barbed response brought a chorus of mocking laughter and some scattered applause from the assembled drow. Even some of the priestesses who had frowned when Shakti first rose to speak sent approving nods and long, measuring glances her way. The young female was not yet a high priestess, nor her mother's heir to House Hunzrin. In Menzoberranzan, power was not given, but seized. Any female willing and able to do so was worthy of serious consideration.

The discussion went on for some time. Triel listened as each priestess spoke, but no answer came to her. Even if her own house had not been involved, this discovery had more depth of possibility, more layers of danger and implication, than even a drow could fathom so quickly.

At last she turned to Zeerith Q*Xorlarrin. The regal female was renowned for her diplomatic skills and was often called upon to mediate in disputes between houses. Even now Zeerith sat serene amid the controversy. This situation would surely test even her fabled judgment.

"What do you say on this matter, Matron Zeerith?" Triel demanded. She was confident the matron's judgment, although seemingly impartial, would honor the long-term alliance between houses Xorlarrin and Baenre. "Speak, and we will accept your counsel as if it came from the mouth of Lloth."

The matron rose. "Clearly, we need to know more about this human artifact. Since it is an instrument of magic, I suggest it be entrusted to the collective masters of the Sorcere. Only the mage school has the resources needed to study and reproduce such an item. They will do so, of course, under the close supervision of the Ruling Council. Until a decision is made, we must keep this knowledge from the common folk. I say any priestess who speaks of this amulet outside of this room, except to the master wizards of the Sorcere, will be punished by the Ruling Council and suffer loss of rank and honor, with the threat of worse to follow when Lloth's peace is revoked."

Most of the drow nodded, silently accepting Matron Zeerith's decree.

"Now, as to the young novice who started all of this," con-turned Zeerith unexpectedly. "By the decree of Lloth, no priestess can slay another. It seems to me that Liriel Baenre has not yet reached that status, and she is therefore not protected by the Spider Queen's decree. Furthermore, Liriel Baenre has shown herself to be a wizard of considerable power, yet she has not submitted to the mind-search tests required to determine her loyalty to Lloth. For both these offenses, I call for her death. That is my decision, and, by the word of Matron Triel, it is the will of Lloth."

This decree, so unexpectedly harsh from the subtle, conciliatory Xorlarrin matron, sent a ripple of dark murmurs through the room.

"No."

The single word shocked them all into silence. SoslJmptu Baenre, the usually reticent keeper of the Baenre chapel, walked to the center of the room. She stood before the altar and faced them all, her slender form rigid with certitude. "No," she repeated. "This is not the will of Uoth."

Triel rose from her throne, shaking with wrath. She was not happy with Zeerith's sentence, but she had pledged before all the powers of Menzoberranzan to follow'the Xorlarrin matron's advice. Her authority had already been sadly undermined by this whole affair, and the unexpected defiance of loyal Sos'Umptu was more than the beleaguered young matron could bear.

"You defy me?" she raged, bearing down upon her younger sister. "How is it that the Queen of Spiders speaks to you, against the wisdom of your own matron mother?"

"Lloth speaks to us all," Sos'Umptu said stoutly. The priestess turned and pointed to the magical image of Lloth, the shapeshifting spider that hovered over the altar. The priestess waited until the illusion shifted to the form of a draw female. "Look at her face."

For the first time Triel noticed the illusion's striking resemblance to her errant niece. There was no way she could miss it now, for the eyes of the drow female were no longer the glowing crimson typical of dark elves. They were a strange, very distinctive shade of amber. And the lips of the magical image were curved in a smile of dark amusement.

All those who had seen Liriel Baenre recognized the significance of the transformation, and whispers spread the meaning of this manifestation to all present.

"We serve the Lady of Chaos," Sos'Umptu said softly, pointing to the golden-eyed image before them. "For good or ill, Liriel Baenre has found the favor of Lloth. Remember the words of Matron Hesken-Faj: those who find other ways to extend Lloth's reign will be rewarded. Perhaps Liriel has found such a way. What this new magic will bring us, we cannot yet know. But see before you the will of Lloth, and go your way in peace."

The meeting ended soon after SosTTmptu's pronouncement, and the priestesses of Menzoberranzan slipped away into the darkness.

Zeerith Q'Xorlarrin, the matron mother of House Xorlarrin, was one of the first to leave the Baenre compound. She pulled the curtains of her slave-carried litter shut and settled back against the cushions. Only then did she give vent to her emotions, hissing curses against House Baenre and its three generations of female fools.

She had gone to war at old Matron Baenre's side, and she was still seething over what had occurred in the tunnels beneath Mithril Hall. Auro'pol, the matron of the powerful House Agrach Dyrr, had been killed by a creature of the Abyss at the command of the former Baenre matron. The war itself had been disastrous, but it was the death of Auro'pol—which was most assuredly not sanctioned by Lloth—that convinced Zeerith Q'Xorlarrin the first house no longer deserved its position. Triel Baenre was due for trouble when Lloth tired of peace, of that Zeerith was certain.

In the meantime, there were certain things Zeerith could do. She had risked much with her harsh pronouncement: her informal and unspoken alliance with House Baenre, her reputation as a fair and impartial diplomat. She had been publicly rebuked in a most dramatic fashion, and that did not sit well with the proud matron. Yet she had not lost entirely. The new magic would be entrusted to the Sorcere, where seven Xorlarrin wizards served as masters. No house in Menzoberranzan possessed more wizardly might than Xorlarrin, and whatever secrets the wizards uncovered would be whispered in the ears of Matron Zeerith before they were revealed to the Ruling Council.

The opportunity for revenge against House Baenre was not entirely lost either. Perhaps no priestess of Lloth could move directly against young Liriel, but more drow died from poisoned daggers and wizardly spells than from the high priestesses' snake-headed whips.

Comforted by these pleasant thoughts, Matron Zeerith smiled and relaxed against the litter's silken cushions. She had a task in mind for her dear brother Kharza-kzad. By all reports, the old fool was unduly fond of his beautiful young student.

And why, thought Zeerith, should females alone bear the burden of sacrificing those nearest their hearts?

Prom the window of his dark study, Gromph Baenre watched the city stir to life. While most of Menzoberranzan slept, he often passed the hours this way, alone in his Narbondellyn mansion. He did not sleep—he had never been able to sleep—and now he relied upon the magic that kept him youthful to sustain his life without benefit of rest. During his first few centuries of life, Gromph had found ease and restoration in the deep, wakeful reverie that was his elven heritage. For many decades now, despite the formidable discipline of his magical training, the ability to enter this waking trance had eluded him. The archmage of Menzoberranzan had forgotten how to dream.

So he sat alone, filled with sullen wrath and seething with the endless frustration that defined his existence. His mood did not improve when the magical alarm on his Baenre house insignia began to pulse with a silent, insistent summons. It seemed his dear sister Triel finally required the pleasure of his company.

For a long moment, Gromph toyed with the idea of defying the summons. Yet he dared not. Triel reigned in House Baenre, and his life would be worth nothing if he incurred her wrath.

Not that his life was worth so very much now, Gromph concluded bitterly. For once not bothering to don the robes and cape that proclaimed his powerful office, the archmage spoke the words that would take him to House Baenre.

He found Triel pacing about the family chapel. She leaped at him, her eyes wild, and seized him by the forearms,

"Where is she?" the matron demanded. "Where have you hidden her?"

Gromph understood at once, for over his sister's head loomed the magical image of Lloth, crafted by his might and magic. The beautiful illusion smiled down at him with sardonic amusement in its golden eyes. His eyes, and those of his unexpectedly resourceful daughter.

The wizard pointedly disengaged the matron's grasping hands. "You might be more specific," he requested coolly. There is no shortage of females in Menzoberranzan."

"You know who I mean," spat out Triel. "Liriel is not at Arach-Tinilith. You gave her permission to depart, and left me to look the fool. Tell me why she left, tell me where she is, tell me everything she has done!"

Gromph shrugged. "Liriel said only that she had personal matters to attend. It is not my custom to question the actions of a Baenre female."

"Enough!" shrieked the priestess. "There is no time for such games. Where is Liriel, and where is the artifact?"

There was a moment of stunned silence. "Liriel said nothing of an artifact," Gromph said slowly.

Triel believed him. The familiar, covetous expression on the wizard's face convinced her beyond doubt. Artifacts were rare, even in magic-rich Menzoberranzan, and it was unlikely Gromph would permit his daughter to possess such an item if he knew of its existence, and its dangerous power.

"Then you don't know Liriel has found a way to take drow magic to the Lands of Light," she stated.

Gromph shook his head slowly, more in wonder than in denial. "I did not know what she had, what she planned to do. Of course I would have taken it from her."

"And so you must," insisted Triel. "If you do not, the artifact will end up in the Sorcere, its secrets open to all. Find it and bring it here. You and I alone will share its power, to our personal benefit and to the glory of House Baenre."

"And what of Liriel?"

Triel shrugged. "Half of Menzoberranzan is seeking her. With or without your involvement, the girl is not likely to live out the day. No one will know whose hand dealt the blow, and it is better her efforts strengthen House Baenre."

"But what of that?" Gromph asked, gesturing toward the golden-eyed image of Lloth that loomed over the altar. "Seldom does Lloth speak so clearly Surely it would be folly to ignore such a sign."

"Look again," Triel said dryly.

Even as she spoke, the image shifted and the eyes took on their usual crimson gleam. An instant later, they were amber once again.

Gromph understood at once. The Lady of Chaos delighted in pitting her followers against each other, not only for her own pleasure but in the belief that the strongest drow emerged from the struggle. Liriel might have found Lloth's favor, but that was no guarantee of a long, happy life.

The archmage did not hesitate. It will be done," he agreed.

"What, no regrets?" Triel mocked him.

"Only that I did not act sooner, and alone," he said bluntly.

The matron smiled, recognizing the truth of his words. "That time is past, dear brother," she purred. "We have an alliance now, you and I."

She tucked her arm companionably into his and drew him out of the chapel. "We have much to discuss, for it has been an eventful night. Lloth has decreed the city be at peace so we might rebuild our strength. For now, House Baenre retains its rightful place, but we must shore up our defenses against the day this peace will end."

Gromph allowed his sister to lead him away. He knew Triel was manipulating him, appealing to his desire for power and influence. Yet as he strolled from the chapel, arm in arm with the deadly female, he knew the alliance would be a true one for as long as it benefited them both.

News of the meeting and its events spread fast, traveling from the great houses even into the humble homes and businesses of the Manyfolk district. Before the great tune-clock Narbondel marked the beginning of the new day, nearly everyone in Menzoberranzan knew Lloth had declared a time of truce. No one knew exactly what to make of this, and throughout the city speculations and rumors were served up along with the morning meal.

In his tower chambers overlooking the Bazaar, Nisstyre pondered these new developments. On the one hand, the break in the constant, striving warfare promised better trade, and that was certainly good news for the Dragon's Hoard. But the merchant's real purpose, his life quest, would not be served if Lloth regained her full strength in Menzoberranzan.

He was not pleased when his lieutenant came to the door with news that a Hunzrin priestess demanded audience. Nisstyre had no desire to see any member of the Spider Queen's clergy. But before he could give the order to have the female sent away, she pushed past the lieutenant and strode into the room.

The priestess stood stiffly before his desk, her arms full of books. Nisstyre leaned back in his chair and took in the unpromising details: the purple-trimmed black vestments of a student priestess, the symbol of a minor house, and the fanatic expression on her pinched face.

"Yes?" he inquired. The single word managed to convey a staggering lack of interest or encouragement.

"I am Shakti of House Hunzrin. And you," hissed the priestess, you do not worship Lloth!"

Nisstyre's coppery brows rose. "I take it the art of conversation is not among the subjects taught at Arach-Tinilith."

"You are also a wizard," Shakti continued, inexorable in her purpose. "A powerful wizard, yet you have not taken the test of loyalty to Lloth required by all who practice magic in this city. You stir up discontent among Lloth's faithful, and turn them to Vhaeraun, that so-called god of thievery. For any one of those offenses, you could be dipped in melted cheese and staked out for the scurry rats to devour!"

"Hmm," Nisstyre murmured appreciatively. He considered this scenario for a moment, no doubt tucking it away for future use, before he turned his attention fully upon his visitor.