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It was a whisper at first, a dark insinuating voice in her mind. Soft and seductive, the voice grew in power as it gave to Shakti spells of thought concealment. Gave them. Shakti knew beyond doubt she could cast the new spells at will, without rest or study.

These spells are but the first of my gifts. With them you can swear to Lloth, insisted the voice, yet maintain first loyalty to me.

The voice continued, giving promises of power, claiming immortality was his to give, even hinting he had not yet found a worthy drow consort.

Shakti had never prayed to Vhaeraun, but with awe she recognized the voice of the Masked Lord. The drow god was not only real, but he was also powerful enough to speak hidden words in Lloth's inner sanctum! And she listened, tempted, without incurring the Spider Queen's wrath. The mind shields of Vhaeraun were clearly more powerful than any that Shakti knew, for the snake heads, which would have turned at once upon a faithless priestess, continued to writhe companionably at her side. Spells such as these could mean the difference between life and death in Menzoberranzan, where every high priestess could read the thoughts of another.

Two deities, marveled Shakti, vying for her allegiance! This put her in an impossibly dangerous position, but it also offered her power beyond her darkest dreams. She might not survive, but she would not refuse.

Nisstyre's interview with Shakti Hunzrin did not go at all as he'd expected. She'd come at his summons readily enough, but she swaggered into his place of power with the whip of a high priestess on her hip.

The wizard carefully masked his fear. For centuries, Lloth's clergy had made a holy task of seeking out and destroying the followers of Vhaeraun. Shakti had no proof against him, but now that she was a high priestess a single word of accusation would be enough to have him flayed alive and hung in pieces from the various comers of Arach-Tinilith.

Well, accusations could be spoken both ways; she had offered to turn traitor-priestess.

"If you are sincere about your commitment to Vhaeraun, that thing will hardly endear you to the Masked Lord," the male said dryly, pointed at the writhing snake-headed weapon.

Shakti gave him a smile of supreme confidence. "Vhaeraun is with me," she said stoutly, and then she spoke a word of power that Nisstyre—himself a mighty wizard—had never heard. A dark shadow appeared, flitting around the room and then settling upon Shakti's face, taking the form of a half-mask of blackest velvet. The wizard recognized the manifestation of Vhaeraun, the Masked Lord.

As Nisstyre watched in stunned silence, the double priestess held out her hand, palm up. Cradled within it was a gem, a sparkling ruby about the size and shape of a draw's eye.

This is but one of the Masked Lord's gifts to me," Shakti said with dark pleasure. "In turn, I give it to you."

Her velvet mask dissolved, reforming into the black shadow. The darkness flowed like smoke to engulf the wizard. Nisstyre's astonishment turned to terror when he realized he could neither speak nor move.

Shakti advanced upon him, the ruby in her outstretched hand. She pressed it to Nisstyre's forehead. With a searing hiss, the gem burned into his flesh and sank deep into his skull. The pain surpassed anything he had ever known or imagined. Only the steadying arms of his unseen, treacherous god kept him from falling to the floor.

At last the ordeal ended, and the white-hot pain in Nisstyre's brain dulled to a burning throb. Shakti smiled and ran her fingers over the part of the gem still exposed. "A third eye," she explained. The ruby is attuned to a scrying bowl that will enable me to see whatever you see, even in the Night Above."

It was that term, more than anything, that convinced Nisstyre the drow god was truly with Shakti. Only the followers of Vhaeraun referred to the surface lands as the Night Above. The god had spoken with this priestess and had made her his own despite the weapons of Lloth she wielded. Which deity claimed Shakti's deepest allegiance, Nisstyre could not know. That uncertainty made the priestess dangerous beyond reckoning.

"Wherever you go, my eyes will be upon you," Shakti continued. "Through the power of the gem I can speak into your mind at will, and I can inflict terrible pain. If you try to betray me, you will die," she announced with the newfbund calm and confidence of the truly powerful.

She settled into Nisstyre's own chair, pointed to a lesser chair, and bade him take a seat. He did so, without any act of will on hie own part. "You have received the gift of Vhaeraun. Now it is Lloth's turn."

The wizard received this announcement with silent dread. If his own god had made him a virtual slave to this female, what might the Spider Queen do? Then came the second surprise: Lloth's gift was information.

Shakti told him all she knew about Liriel Baenre's amulet, even gave him copies of the notes the girl had written. The particulars of the young wizard's experiments were not spelled out, but this much was clear: Liriel's amulet was indeed the one Nisstyre had stolen from the human warrior, and it gave her the power to take both her innate drow magic and dark-elven wizardry into the Night Above.

Nigstyre received this news with an excitement that transcended his pain and humiliation. This was the key he sought, the thing that might lure the proud drow from their subterranean homeland! And if this device could be duplicated, what wonders might he accomplish! He envisioned an army of drow, a silent and invisible force sweeping the surface lands. With such a thing, Vhaeraun's kingdom—and his own reign—was virtually ensured.

The wizard looked into Shakti's glowing crimson eyes and saw there a lust for power to equal his own. "The interests of Vhaeraun and Lloth need not conflict," he ventured. When Shakti did not interrupt, he continued with more confidence. "You know what this amulet could mean. If it falls into the hands of the matriarchy, it will only increase their power, fuel the endless chaos. The city will continue much as it has for centuries. But with such magic in my hands, I could entice an army of drow to the Night Above. You are young; before you end your second century of life this army could return and march to your command. You could come to rule Menzoberranzan."

"And from Menzoberranzan, the Underdark," Shakti added confidently. The First Directive of Lloth has been ignored for too long. Most drow will welcome the chance to conquer the Lands Below."

"I have many alliances on the surface world," the male continued. "Supplies, slaves, information—you will need all these things to accomplish your goals. The more power I have, the more assistance I can offer you."

The priestess nodded. "Your kingdom above, mine below."

Despite everything, it was a most satisfactory arrangement. Nisstyre smiled, and the sharp pain in the center of his forehead fled as they spoke the words that bound their pact.

Shakti hurried to her private chamber in the Hunzrin compound. She rapped sharply on the wall, and in response to her summons, the dark naga slithered up through its tunnels and into her room.

"What have you found for me?" she demanded.

The naga promptly coughed up a map of the surface world. When Shakti smoothed the scroll flat, the creature flicked out its long blue tongue, marking a spot near a large forest.

"Here be many caverns," hissed the snakelike mage. "Ssasser been there, born there. Close to surface, no radiation magic. Many time Ssasser see drow come through gates there. If drow female be wizard, then this way she might have gone. Ssasser take quaggoth fighters, travel through magic gate." The dark naga paused for a thunderous belch. He spat out a set of combs, beautiful, costly things made of the shells of giant Underdark turtles and studded with gems. "These Ssasser take from drow female's house. The quaggoth fighters get from them the female's scent, track her down."

It was a logical plan, but Shakti's nearsighted eyes narrowed in suspicion. The naga had received most of its magical training in House Hunzrin, and priestesses seldom used spells of teleportation. Through the power of Lloth they plane-walked, moving to the lower planes and back with ease, but they seldom had the wizardly skill needed to com- mand the gates that took them from one place to another on the material plane.

"And where would you have gotten such a spell?" She did not wait for an answer. A simple mind-reading enchantment took the image of a spellbook from the naga's thoughts, and she ordered the creature to turn it over. Sheepishly, the naga hacked again and yielded up the stolen book. Shakti did not open it, for she knew better than to read unlearned spells.

"Let's see what you can do with it," she told the naga.

The creature nosed open the book and began to read the arcane symbols. But the needed gate spell was beyond its power; the dark naga whimpered with pain and curled into a writhing mass of looping coils.

Shakti sighed and yielded to the inevitable: she would once again have to hire the expensive wizard. She hated parting with more gold, and she simply could not afford to involve an outsider in her current plans. But what else could she do?

The naga, once he recovered from his spell-inflicted agony, was only too glad to go off to summon the draw mage. In the meantime, Shakti sent a servant to bring around a pair of mated quaggoths.

House Hunzrin kept and bred the bearlike creatures for use as guards and shock troops. Quaggoths were ideal for both. Seven feet tall, heavily muscled and protected by tough hide covered with thick white fur, the quaggoths were fearsome in appearance and were strong, fierce fighters. They also had an unpleasant surprise in store for anyone who managed to wound or anger them.

Shakti gave the creatures the combs Ssasser bad pilfered from Liriel's home. The quaggoths had keen noses and were excellent trackers, provided she was able to set them in the right direction. It was time to test the power of Nisstyre's ruby.

The priestess took a small scrying bowl, as red and as black as dried blood, and placed it upon the map the naga had stolen. She cast the spell that would enable her to locate Nisstyre. Saasser's map glowed, marking the spot where the drow wizard now stood. The naga had done his research well, for the glowing spot was in the caverns the snake-creature had named. Apparently Nisstyre held similar opinions concerning Liriel's destination.

When Ssasser returned with the wizard, Shakti handed the drow the spellbook and told him to open a gate near the spot marked on the map. Intrigued, the male leafed through the book until he found the proper spell. After a period of study, the wizard cast the enchantment. A shimmering oval appeared in Shakti's chamber.

"Will the gate close of its own accord, or does that require another spell?" she demanded.

"It will last only a few moments, then dissipate," the wizard assured her.

Shakti nodded approvingly, and the snake heads at her belt began to writhe in anticipation. The new high priestess seized her weapon, enjoying the feel of the cool adamantine handle in her hand, and she lashed out at the hired wizard.

The five snake heads dove in to fasten their fangs in his flesh. Numbing, burning pain coursed through the drow male. Unable to move, unable to ?ftst a spell in his defense, he slumped to the ground. The sight drove Shakti into a frenzy of vicious delight, and she lashed at the defenseless wizard again and again.

When it was clear he was dead, Shakti tucked the weapon away. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly—more from excitement than from the effort of killing the male—but a rare expression of calm suffused her face. She felt sated by the wizard's death, utterly content for now but also eager to kill again.

"Take the male through the gate with you," she instructed Ssasser. When the naga hesitated, puzzled, she added, "You and the quaggoths might enjoy a snack before starting your hunt. Leave no trace of him for anyone to find."

The naga grinned fiercely and sank his blue fangs deep into the dead drow. Lifting his burden, Ssasser struggled to the gate and slithered through eagerly. But the quaggoths hung back, obviously leery of the unfamiliar magic.

Shakti seized her pitchfork and stabbed one of the reluctant creatures—the male, of course—in the backside. The quaggoth let out a roar of pain and plunged into the shining oval. His mate glanced at the glowering drow, then stepped through the gate without further hesitation.

Finally alone, the traitor-priestess placed her new weapons in a row, along with the magic pitchfork that had hitherto been her only claim to power. She admired them—the pitchfork, the snake-headed whip, the ruby scrying bowl of Vhaeraun—and debated which among them was her favorite.

It was pleasant exercise, for in truth she really did not have to pick, although the day might come when she would have to make such a choice. Until that day, Shakti intended to enjoy all her weapons, all her power, to the fullest extent.

Chapter Eighteen

THE MGHT ABOVE

After his interview with Shakti, Nisstyre wasted little time in leaving Menzoberranzan. First he sent his merchants out of the city, not wanting any of them sacrificed to the double ambitions of the traitor-priestess, then took a relay of gates that led to his surface stronghold.

When Nisstyre emerged into the Night Above, the bunding intensity of a spring twilight was muffled by the leafy layers of a deep woodland canopy. Here the drow followers of Vhaeraun had built a settlement, above ground, that in small scale began to approach the glory the drow had known before they were forced Below. Among the trees were twisted, spiraled fortresses crafted of stone and magic, as wondrous as the homes in any elven city. The drow had little fear of discovery, for the High Forest held a thousand other secrets.

As darkness approached, the drow began to emerge from their homes to go about the night's business. Most of the settlement's inhabitants were males: restless young nobles unhappy with their subservient role in traditional drow society, renegades from destroyed noble houses, ambitious warriors both noble and common who wondered why the drow did not yet rule all of the Underdark. They were all dark-clad in common garments, and as followers of Vhaeraun they practiced and celebrated the arts of stealth and thievery. Yet not one drow among them wore a piwafwi, and the changing of guards at the watchtowers was accomplished by ladders rather than levitation, for they had lost their heritage of natural magic. The drow were not what they once had been, but they were still to be feared.