webs. The survivor said that those it took were found dangling from tree branches, inside cocoons. Dead.' Her expression hardened. 'Innocents who might have been brought into Eilistraee's light, but now their souls are lost to us.'
'May those souls find mercy,' Cavatina intoned.
Both females stood in silence a moment. Then Cavatina spoke again. 'Lady, I lost my sword, Demonbane, to the spellgaunt.'
Qilue nodded. She glanced off into the distance and spoke in a low voice, as if to herself. 'Quartermaster, a sword if you please.' She held up a hand, and a moment later one of the temple's singing swords appeared out of thin air. Qilue caught it deftly by the hilt and passed it to Cavatina. 'You may use this.'
Cavatina's eyes widened. She stepped away from Qilue and swung the weapon back and forth in sweeping arcs, alternating between a one-handed and a two-handed grip. A note flowed from it, pure as holy water. The sword glowed faintly, tracing a line of moonfire through the darkness.
Qilue watched, admiring the other priestess's skill. 'Only twenty-five of these weapons remain. See to it that you use it well.'
Cavatina bowed and promised, 'I will keep it safe, Lady.'
'If it does turn out to be a demon you are hunting, the singing sword will render you immune to any attacks it might make against your mind. It can also be used to counter certain baleful songs and cries-those of harpies and shriekers, for example-and to entrance lesser creatures.'
'A most potent weapon,' Cavatina said. Then she looked up at Qilue. 'I thought the singing swords were never to leave the Promenade.'
Qilue's expression grew grim. 'The coming hunt, according to my divinations, will be of great consequence.' She nodded down at the weapon. 'It will be worthy of that blade.'
Cavatina bowed again. 'By Eilistraee's grace, may I also prove worthy of it.'
'I'm sure you shall,' Qilue said with a smile. 'Now that you're armed, let's get you on your way. Come.'
They entered the Cavern of Song. It had been cleared of its buildings and returned to its natural state two decades ago during the temple's construction. It was flooded with Eilistraee's moonfire, which illuminated a statue of Qilue that the Protectors had insisted on erecting over the hidden staircase that led to the Pit of Ghaunadaur. Shimmering waves of light danced across the ceiling in constantly changing hues: blue-white, pale green, moon- white and silver.
Three priestesses sang there, their voices blended in complex harmonies that waxed and waned. Two of the singers were drow, the third, a surface elf whose pale skin was bathed in shifting colors by the moonfire above. Each was naked, save for the holy symbol that hung from a mithral chain around her neck. Each singer sat on a different outcropping of stone, holding a sword above her head, its point directed at the moon. They pointed overhead, but the swords were slowly descending, their tips moving almost imperceptibly downward as the moon sank toward an unseen horizon. The priestesses would hold these positions until others came to join the song. Sometimes a single priestess sang there, but during Evensong, two dozen or more would lend their voices to the sacred hymn.
Qilue joined in the singing as they walked through the cavern. 'Climb out of the darkness, rise into the light…' It had always been one of her favorite lines.
Her own climb into the light had happened centuries ago. She barely remembered the tiny town in the Underdark where she had been born. It had been a long and difficult struggle to reawaken Eilistraee's worship among the drow, but a worthwhile one. The young Darksong Knight beside her was proof of that. Cavatina was a fourth-generation devotee of the Lady of the Dance, born on the surface. The drow were reclaiming their birthright.
Qilue and Cavatina turned in to a side cavern that led to a pool of water. One of the Protectors of the Song stood guard there whenever the moon was risen, even though it was unlikely that enemies would pass that way. She bowed as they approached.
'Is the portal active?' Qilue asked.
The priestess nodded. She pointed out a spot on the surface of the pool-a circle that shimmered like a reflection of the full moon.
'I'd like you to leave at once for the Velarswood via the Moonspring,' Qilue said. 'Take all the time you need to find out what's going on there. Be thorough, and use the resources that Eilistraee places in your hands. Do whatever you need to in order to protect our shrines in Cormanthor.'
Cavatina's eyes glittered with anticipation. She looked delighted to be off on the hunt again, and Qilue knew that the patrols of the temple had bored the Darksong Knight to tears. She saluted Qilue with the singing sword.
'They will be safe under my blade,' she promised. Then she paused. 'Any other instructions, Lady?'
'Only one,' Qilue said, hiding her smile. 'If you're carrying any scrolls or other equipment that can be damaged by water, I'd suggest you remove them.
Q'arlynd winced as the arcane eye he'd just conjured passed through the portal. He'd done a similar reconnaissance twice already, waiting for the fall of night in the surface world, but even under the light of that realm's lesser disc-the moon-everything was painfully bright. It took him several moments to make sense of what he was seeing: pale stone walls, a floor dusted with sand, and a black sky dotted with points of white-the stars. They reminded him, a little, of the magical, twinkling faerie fire that had covered Ched Nasad's buildings, but not nearly as beautiful.
The portal was affixed to a wall in a ruined building whose roof was open to the sky. A second arch, non- magical, opened onto a street paved with large slabs of stone. The building had probably been built by humans or surface elves, judging by the height of the arch. The frescoes on its walls might have given more clues, but they were faded to the point where only faint smudges of pigment could still be seen.
Q'arlynd sent the eye roving through the arch and out into the street. There didn't seem to be anyone around.
His view dissolved into static as the spell ended. He turned to Flinderspeld, who lay on his belly beside him in the gap in the rubble. His slave was fidgeting, tugging at the tight leather gloves Q'arlynd had ordered him to wear. Q'arlynd rapped him on the head with a knuckle.
'Gnomes first,' he said, gesturing at the arch with its glowing runes.
'Where does it lead to?' Flinderspeld asked.
Q'arlynd's ring gave him a glimpse into the deep gnome's thoughts. Flinderspeld was weighing the possibilities. If the portal led to another plane, he was thinking, he might at last be free of the ring's binding.
'Crawl through it and find out if you're right,' Q'arlynd suggested aloud. Inwardly, he chuckled.
Flinderspeld hesitated then realized that refusal to enter the portal would only cause his master to force him through. Muttering under his breath, he crawled forward, his head, shoulders, and chest gradually disappearing into the arch.
When the deep gnome was about halfway through, his legs and feet jerked forward abruptly, as if he'd been yanked the rest of the way. This gave Q'arlynd a moment's pause, then he realized that the floor level on the other side of the portal was well below the uppermost part of the arch-the only part of the portal not hidden by rubble. Flinderspeld had simply fallen. Q'arlynd concentrated, but he could no longer hear Flinderspeld's thoughts. That was to be expected, since the range of the rings was limited and the deep gnome was leagues away.
He conjured a second arcane eye and sent it through the gate. Flinderspeld stood next to the gate, rubbing one cheek and wincing. He must have scuffed it during his fall, but nothing was attacking him.
So far, so good, but before using the portal himself, Q'arlynd cast a spell that would encase him in a layer of force like magical armor. Then he eased his way through the arch feet first. He felt a brief, mildly disorienting lurch before landing on the floor beyond, next to Flinderspeld. The deep gnome shivered, even though he wore a warm cloak.
Q'arlynd was immediately aware of the dryness of the air. It was as cold here as it had been underground, but the air he drew into his lungs tasted of dust. His feet scuffed sand as he turned to survey the roofless room. After the constant trickle of water that had filled Ched Nasad, the World Above was eerily silent. He could even hear Flinderspeld breathing.
