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can find nothing of value here," the wizard said, waving his hand impatiently over the piles of discarded books. "Find the girl's servants and see what you can learn from them about her whereabouts."

The golem bowed and strode from the room, its feet clicking with every step. Ssasser shrunk back beyond the reach of those stone boots, then slithered forward eagerly to see what the archmage might do next. Seldom did the naga have the chance to observe such a powerful wizard, and the creature hoped Gromph might demonstrate another spell.

But the drow wizard did not oblige. He ran his hands through his long white hair in a gesture of supreme frustration; then he sat in silence, deep in his own thoughts. At length he took a small book from a pocket of his glittering cloak and, after flipping through a few pages, he tossed it onto the table.

"I cannot do this alone," he murmured to himself; "not even with a copy of the spellbook I gave her. Using these gates, Liriel could be nearly anywhere. I cannot leave the city myself. And yet, can I trust such spells to another wizard?"

Gromph rose and began to pace the room. "No," he concluded at length. "If I cannot find the girl before she learns of her danger and flees the Underdark, she is lost to me, and her magic with her."

A clatter arose from the floor below. The scream of a halfling slave came to them clearly, a wail of pain that quickly faded into an earnest babble of words. The wizard smiled and strode from the room to see what information his stone servant had extracted from Uriel's maidservant.

The invisible naga slithered with frantic haste toward the table. His fanged maw opened wide and he lunged for the precious book. He swallowed it, gulping several times to speed its way down his gullet toward the safety of an internal organ that housed, at the moment, two spell scrolls, several vials of poisons and potions, a small mithril axe, a rather nice dagger, and the crossbow dart he'd recently swallowed. Ssasser could regurgitate any one of these items at will. For good measure, the naga swallowed a large map of the surface world. With this, he would convince his Hunzrin slavemistress he had the knowledge needed to track down the renegade female.

The spellbook he would keep as his reward, and his secret.

Far from the tumultuous drow city, Liriel skipped lightly through the dark passages of the Underdark. She was tired but supremely happy. Now that the Windwalker amulet was in her hands, enspelled to hold the unique magic of the

Underdark, she would return to Arach-Tinilith to hone her powers in preparation for her journey into the Lands of Light. The years of training ahead did not seem so long now, or the burden of her clerical studies quite so heavy. She wished, fleet-ingly, that there was someone with whom she could share her success. But that was not the way of the drow, and Liriel's spirits were too high for her to entertain regrets over something that could never be. The young drow conjured the gate that would take her back to Spelltower Xorlarrin and, with a sigh of satisfaction, she stepped into the portal.

Kharza-kzad was there to greet her, but he did not seem his normal fussy self. The wizard stood tense and still. His sparse hair, which usually stood in wild disarray, had been neatly combed, and even the wrinkles in his face seemed less pronounced. He seemed strangely determined, oddly composed.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?" he said in a tight, mournful voice.

Liriel froze, momentarily stunned by the realization that Kharza had somehow found her out. But of course she could get around the wizard; she had charmed him into her way of thinking many times before. "Of course I know what I've done! It's quite marvelous, actually. I've found a way—"

"You've signed your death warrant, that's what you've done!" he interrupted. "Are you so naive you think the rulers of Menzoberranzan would allow you to wield such power? What drow would not kill to possess this ability for herself?"

The girl bunked in puzzlement. Few of Menzoberranzan's drow ventured into the Underdark, other than the patrols ordered to keep the surrounding tunnels clear of enemies. Few dark elves shared her curious nature, her love of adventure and exploration for its own sake. And certainly no one wanted to travel the Lands of Light on a quest for knowledge, in search of a rune of power. For that matter, what drow of Menzoberranzan knew of rune magic? It was by purest happenstance that she herself had pieced together the story of the Windwalker. No one could know what the amulet meant to her, or what it could do.

Understanding came to her quickly. Of course they could not know! The drow no doubt believed the amulet was like most magical items in the city, that the mere possession of it by a wizard or priestess of sufficient power would be enough to unleash its apells! No wonder Kharza said many would kill for it!

"But the amulet would do them little good! Its magic is not like anything we know," she said earnestly. "Let me explain—"

"Don't," Kharza said bluntly, abruptly raising both hands in a silencing gesture. "The less I know about this amulet, the better my own chances of survival." land's eyes dropped to the battle wand hi her tutor's right hand, then lifted slowly to his resolute face. The truth struck her: Kharza meant to kill her.

The wizard took a step closer, his empty hand stretched out toward her and his wand held back and low, like a ready sword. "The amulet must go to the Sorcere for study. Give it to me now."

Her hand closed around the tiny golden sheath that hung over her heart. She tried to speak and found she could not, so dry was her throat and so tight the pain in her chest. Liriel had suffered many betrayals in her young life, but none had come upon her more unexpectedly than this. She knew that Kharza, in his own way, cared about her, perhaps more than anyone ever had before. She had come to rely on this, and something approaching trust had developed between them. But among drow, trust invariably brought betrayal. Liriel recognized the depth of her folly and accepted her punishment.

With the courage and defiance expected of a dark-elven noble, the girl lifted her chin to meet death. Her fingers tightened around the amulet, and with her free hand she formed her final words in the silent language of the drow.

Strike now. The amulet will survive. You can pick it out of the ash.

Kharza-kzad lifted the wand and pointed it at her. They stood facing each other in tense, aching silence for many long moments.

Then, unexpectedly, the wizard swore a ripe oath and flung the magical weapon aside. "I cannot," he mourned.

Liriel watched in disbelief as her tutor's hands flashed through the gestures of a spell. A gate, a glittering diamond-shaped portal, appeared in the center of the room.

"You must leave Menzoberranzan," the wizard insisted, pushing her toward the shining door. "It isn't safe for you to remain here. Take your new magic to the surface and live there as best you can."

"But—"

"There's no time to argue. Go now."

Stunned into obedience, Liriel stepped toward the gate.

"Wait!" shrieked Kharza, lunging forward to drag her back. He mumbled to himself for a moment, busily ticking off the numbers to nine on his fingers.

"Just as I thought," he muttered. He seized a bellpull hanging on the wall and tugged at it urgently.

A male servant came in prompt answer to the summons. Kharza seized the drow and thrust him into the glittering gate. There was a flash of light, and the acrid smell of burned flesh filled the room as the unfortunate servant disappeared.

"Every ninth person through that gate is incinerated," Kharza-kzad explained absently. "As I have told you before, no magical portal is without protection and without danger."

The familiar, pedantic tone of her teacher's voice broke through Liriel's trancelike state of shock. She threw herself into the wizard's arms, and they stood together in a brief, desperate embrace. Neither was moved to speak, for there were no words in the drow language for such moments.

Kharza-kzad put her gently away. "Go now," he said again.

The young drow nodded and stepped toward the gate. She lifted a hand in farewell and disappeared into the shining magic.

The wizard's thin shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. He turned away, his movements slowed by the unfamiliar weight of sadness and loss, leaving the gate to fade in its own time. As he did a stray bit of metal caught his eye. Ever tidy, the old drow bent to pick it up. It was a brass wristband, embossed with the symbol of House Xorlarrin, and it was all that remained of the drow servant.

The wizard slid the bracelet onto his own wrist. It was too large for him, but he regarded the trophy with pride.

"How delightful," he murmured, turning his arm this way and that so the polished brass sparkled in the candlelight. "I managed to kill someone, after all."

Chapter 17

WEAPONS

I'm so delighted to have found you still here. I rather thought you'd have run to the safety of the Sorcere by now."

Startled, Kharza-kzad whirled to face his unwelcome visitor. As his eyes settled upon the copper-haired drow—who was sprawled with insolent ease in Kharza's own chair—the wizard bitterly cursed the day he'd started trading with the merchant. Once again Nisstyre had slipped into Spelltower Xorlarrin, using the gate they had established many years ago for that purpose, without invitation or permission. It had become a frequent, disturbing practice.

"What do you want?" Kharza-kzad demanded. The merchant smiled and propped his feet up on the study table, paying no heed to the pile of scrolls dented by his boots. "No more than any other drow in the city. I want Liriel Baenre's amulet."

The wizard willed himself not to let his eyes slide to the faint, nearly faded outline of the gate that had taken Liriel to safety.

"I've no idea how rabble like you heard such news, but it will do you little good," he said with a godd deal more bravado than he felt. Even flushed with the excitement of his first kill, Kharza-kzad had no real wish to raise his battle wands against another wizard. He knew success in battle involved more than might of arms and magic; it required instincts he himself had never tested, much less developed. His best chance of avoiding such a conflict, he believed, would be to utterly discourage the merchant wizard.

"By the word of the Ruling Council, the amulet was taken to the Sorcere for study," Kharza said, deliberately invoking all the powers of Menzoberranzan. "Unless you plan to apply as a student there, it's well beyond your reach."

"I think not," Nisstyre said calmly, ignoring the older drow's insults. "Somehow I doubt the amulet has made its way to the Sorcere. You are here, after all. And, if I am not mistaken, awaiting a visit from your student."

"Such a visit would be welcomed, but it is unlikely. Liriel is at Arach-Tmilith," lied Kharza-kzad.

"Not so, I'm afraid. My sources at Arach-Tinilith assure me Liriel is hiding somewhere in the city, or in the Underdark nearby. Or perhaps," the merchant said slowly, "she has already escaped into the Night Above."

Nisstyre rose to his feet and bore down upon the wizard. "Tell me what you know," he hissed.

In response, the Xorlarrin wizard snatched a wand from his belt. If ever he'd had any compunction over killing, it did not show now in his hard, narrowed gaze. Blue fire sizzled down the length of the weapon and hurtled in a ball of light and power toward the copper-haired merchant.

To Kharza's astonishment, the fireball passed right through

Nisstyre's body and struck the far wall of the chamber. It exploded silently, showering the carpet with bright sparks. The fire caught, and flames licked upward at the walls. A priceless tapestry hanging there began to smolder and smoke.

Kharza realized the Nisstyre standing before him was no more than a magical projection. The younger wizard's true body was elsewhere, perhaps far from Menzoberranzan, more likely in this very room. Kharza whirled, looking frantically for his enemy, but there was no other sign of the red-haired drow.

"Do you have the courage to join me in the open?" mocked Nisstyre's image. "Or shall the two of us raze Spelltower Xorlarrin to its foundation?"

So it had come to this: he had no choice but to fight. Strangely enough, Kharza-kzad felt none of the fear he'd expected. A surging elation swept through his ancient frame, and he glared steadfastly at the projected image of his nemesis.

"I am ready," he said simply. "You have only to choose the site."

"It is chosen, and I await you." The magical projection extended one slender, apparently solid hand. "Give me a personal item, a ring or some such, so I might attune the portal to you."

Kharza-kzad did not consider this demand unreasonable, for he knew magic gates had an endless variety of requirements. Some demanded an offering of gold or gems, others granted transport only at certain times, still others required spells or rituals. He had not heard of a need for attunement, but it was not inconceivable. So he stripped a gold and onyx ring from his finger and dropped it into the outstretched hand.

At once the Xorlarrin wizard felt the magical swirl of a teleportation spell surround him, carrying him off with a rush of power and movement such as he had never experienced. Kharza had seen little need for magical portals in his long life. He could summon a mere five or six, and on only one occasion had he used one himself: the brief trip from Uriel's room at Arach-Tinilith to Spelltower Xorlarrin. Of course, he knew enough about general magical principles to help Liriel practice the gate spells in her new book, but he had not bothered to copy any of the spells or learn them himself. He regretted that now, for this new experience was exhilarating beyond words.

Suddenly he felt solid stone beneath his feet, and he found himself in a vast, uninhabited cavern. As he looked around in awe, the wizard realized this was his first time out of Menzoberranzan. Under less dire circumstances, he would have been fascinated by the wild stone landscape, untouched by magic or artifice, and by the seething pool of melted rock that bubbled and spat far below him.

Kharza-kzad shot a glance upward. His eyes were not accustomed to such distances, nor was his mind equipped to register them. But he perceived high overhead a distant light, a brilliant snatch of blue that could only be the sky of the Lands Above. Nisstyre, it seemed, had chosen the heart of a live volcano for their confrontation. So be it, thought Kharza, and he steeled himself for the fight to come.