Q'arlynd climbed to his feet. Through the rings, he could sense Flinderspeld's dawning understanding. His master wanted Prellyn to see the silver pendant. The deep gnome also wondered why she was so afraid of it.
Q'arlynd feigned ignorance. 'What's wrong?' he asked Prellyn. He moved toward Flinderspeld and bent for a closer look at the pendant, pretending to be observing it for the first time. 'Interesting emblem on the blade,' he said, reaching out to touch it. 'A circle and sword. If I'm not mistaken, those are the symbols of-'
The hiss of steel-a weapon being drawn from a scabbard-was his only warning. He jerked his hand back just as Prellyn's sword cut through the chain Flinderspeld was holding. Had Q'arlynd not moved, the blade might have sliced open his hand. The pendant clattered to the ground.
Flinderspeld still held the tiny sword. Q'arlynd made the deep gnome place it on a flat chunk of rock then released his mental hold on Flinderspeld, letting him ease away. He didn't want the deep gnome to wind up on the receiving end of Prellyn's wrath. If he did, Q'arlynd would be without a slave, and without a coin to his name, he couldn't buy another.
'That pendant is Eilistraee's holy symbol,' Prellyn spat, her mouth twisting as if at a foul taste. 'Be thankful I was here to keep you from touching it.'
'I am,' Q'arlynd said smoothly. He pointed. 'And that tiny sword? Is it connected with Eilistraee's worship, too?'
Prellyn used the tip of her sword to flick the tiny blade into a deep crevice in the rubble. 'That's not something you want to touch, either.'
'I won't,' Q'arlynd said, 'but what is a holy symbol of Eilistraee doing here, in Ched Nasad?'
'It must have been carried here by one of her priestesses before the city's fall. They do that sometimes-come below to try to subvert Lolth's children and seduce them up to the surface realms.'
'Where the simpletons who fall for it are immediately killed, no doubt.'
Prellyn laughed. 'How little you know, male. Eilistraee's followers actually welcome strangers into their midst.'
'Any stranger?' Q'arlynd asked, thinking of his sister. 'Even one of Lolth's faithful?'
Prellyn gave him a sharp look. For a moment, Q'arlynd thought she might not answer. 'If the drow professes a willingness to turn to Eilistraee's worship, yes.'
'But…' Q'arlynd furrowed his brow, pretending to work the thought out aloud. 'How do they know who is lying and who is a genuine petitioner?'
'They rely on… trust,' she said, switching to a word in the language of the surface elves. There was no true equivalent in either Drowic or High Drow. 'They hand those tiny swords out to whoever asks for them. It is their greatest weakness, and it shows how low they have fallen. Trust among drow is like a shard of ice in lava, except that ice lasts longer.'
Q'arlynd dutifully laughed at her joke, though he knew full well that no drow would ever be as stupid as Prellyn had just made Eilistraee's priestesses out to be. Assuming Prellyn was right, he'd just learned what those tiny swords were for.
'Those who are duped into turning away from Lolth are fools, of course,' Prellyn continued. 'Not only do they face the Spider Queen's wrath but the ravages of the surface realms as well. The sunlight blinds them, and they fall victim to strange diseases. Their armor and weapons crumble to dust, leaving them defenseless. Drow aren't meant to live on the surface. We're creatures of the Underdark-Lolth's children.'
Q'arlynd nodded dutifully. Prellyn was merely repeating what the priestesses at the temple taught. His instructors at the Conservatory had provided other even more dire warnings, back when Q'arlynd had been a novice wizard, teaching that all magical items crafted by the drow lost their powers when removed from the energies of the Underdark and exposed to the light of the sun. Though that as no longer the case, they continued to admonish against journeys to the World Above.
Q'arlynd, however, didn't believe the stories of sickness and misery. He knew exaggeration when he heard it. He'd once met a drow who lived on the surface and survived there quite nicely, thank you very much, but that had been long ago.
He wondered whether Eilistraee's worship was prevalent in whatever surface realm the portal led to and whether Halisstra, if she had survived, had embraced that heretical faith. If so, it would explain why she'd never returned to Ched Nasad. Halisstra's professed worship of Lolth had always seemed, to Q'arlynd, a touch insincere.
He stroked his chin, pretending to stare thoughtfully at the rubble. 'This ruin bears the glyphs of House Ysh'nil,' he said, naming the minor House whose surviving members were currently a thorn in House Teh'Kinrellz's side. 'Do you suppose someone in that House secretly worshiped Eilistraee?' He dropped his voice to a whisper. 'That wouldn't bode well for the survivors, especially if the Jaezred Chaulssin knew of it.'
Prellyn, taller than Q'arlynd by a head, stared down at him. 'You're entirely too smart for a male.' She touched the end of his nose almost affectionately. 'This is female business. Keep your nose out of it.'
Q'arlynd met her eye briefly. 'I will,' he promised.
Prellyn's hand fell away. She speared the point of her sword into the soft metal of the pendant then lifted it like a trophy head. 'And keep your hands off the rubble. Any salvage belongs to House Teh'Kinrellz. Find some other way to get up to mischief.'
Q'arlynd bowed. 'As you command, Mistress.'
Prellyn snapped her fingers, summoning her driftdisc. She mounted it and whispered away, presumably to report House Ysh'nil's ancient blasphemy. So hurried was her departure, she'd forgotten to punish Q'arlynd. He was almost disappointed.
Flinderspeld peeked out from behind a slab of stone. He glanced at the departing Prellyn then at Q'arlynd, who fished the tiny sword out of the crevice that Prellyn had flicked it into and pocketed it.
Are you planning a trip to the surface, Master? he asked in the silent hand-speech of the drow.
Q'arlynd frowned. You're entirely too smart for a svirfneblin.
Qilue listened as the Darksong Knight made her report. Cavatina's battle with the Selvetargtlin and spellgaunt had occurred three days ago, but a breach of this nature warranted hearing the report firsthand. Thankfully, there had been no other incidents since then. Iljrene had reported that every room in the ceilings of the caverns south of the Sargauth had been inspected and found empty, save for the usual vermin, which the patrols swiftly dispatched. The magical wards in the Promenade itself had also been checked, found intact, and the seals on the Pit had not been disturbed.
The aranea's robes and equipment had been recovered, and in them was the answer to how she had broached the magical defenses. It was a ring, a gold band with three empty spaces where gems should have been. When the ring had been examined and found to be non-magical, it was very nearly dismissed as nothing noteworthy, but to Qilue's trained eye, it spoke volumes. The 'trinket' had once been one of the most powerful magical items of all: a ring of wishes, with the faintest hint of an aura clinging to the setting where the third gem had been.
The aranea had been able to teleport into a heavily warded area using the ring's third and final wish. Once inside, the Selvetargtlin had used her clerical magic to render herself undetectable by the alarms. She'd brought the spellgaunt along to consume the magical energy of any symbols as they were triggered. That was why Cavatina's spell had the effect that it did. The spellgaunt was already gorged when the Darksong Knight discovered it. Consuming the magical blades conjured by Cavatina's spell had caused it to rupture, its body torn to pieces from within by the strains it had placed on the Weave.
There was no way of knowing how long the aranea had been within the area claimed by the Promenade before Cavatina discovered her. Had the symbols in the southern caverns not been permanent ones, the path the Selvetargtlin had followed might have been traced, but being permanent, they refreshed themselves soon after they were triggered.
Thus the Selvetargtlin's goal in penetrating the area remained a mystery. An inventory of the temple had found nothing missing. Nothing had been desecrated, and nothing was disturbed, yet the aranea's mission had been of great import, judging by her final words and the way she chose to die. She had deliberately destroyed her body, leaving nothing behind that could be questioned by a necromancer.
The spellgaunt's carcass was intact, but questioning it would do little good. Spellgaunts couldn't tell the
