At nightfall, Seyll, accompanied by a young drow woman and apale elf maiden, came for Halisstra. The priestess of Eilistraee was armed and ar-mored beneath her green cloak, a long sword at her hip. She wore high leather boots, and carried a bundle under one arm.

"It's raining," she said as she entered the cell, "but our senior priest-esses say it will be clear later on, when the moon rises. Tonight we will go to honor our goddess."

Halisstra shifted in her chains and rose.

"I will not honor Eilistraee," she said.

"You need not participate. I am simply offering you the opportunity to observe and draw your own conclusions. You challenged me to demonstrate that my goddess is not a cruel or jealous one. I stand ready to offer proof."

"Doubtlessyou think to ensnare me with some beguiling enchant-ments," Halisstra said. "Do not think I will be duped so easily."

"No one will attempt to work any magic on you," Seyll replied. She set down her bundle and unwrapped it. Inside was a large leather case, boots, and a cloak not unlike her own. "I have brought your lyre, in the hopes that you might honor us with a song if you feel so inclined."

"I doubt you will take much pleasure in thebae'qeshel songs," Halis-stra said.

"We will see," the priestess said. "You've been manacled here for three days, and I'm offering you a chance to get out of your cell."

"Only to be returned here when you're done hectoring me about your goddess."

"As we discussed before, you need only offer Lord Dessaer an ac-counting of yourself to be free," Seyll said. She produced a set of keys and dangled them in front of Halisstra. "Xarra and Feliane are here to help me escort you safely to and from the spot of our ceremony tonight, and I'm afraid I must insist on keeping your hands bound."

Halisstra glanced at the other two women. They wore chain mail be-neath their cloaks, too, and also carried swords at their hips. She had little wish to watch some meaningless drivel in Eilistraee's name, but Seyll of-fered her a chance to get out of her cell. At the very worst, Seyll's vigilance would not lapse, and no opportunities for escape would arise, leaving Halisstra no worse for wear. At best, Seyll and her fellow clerics might make a mistake that Halisstra could capitalize on.

In either case, she would at least have an opportunity to spy out some of the town and the surrounding forest, which might come in useful if a chance to escape came up later - and there was always the chance of that.

"Very well," she said.

Seyll unlocked Halisstra's manacles, and helped the Melarn priestess to don the winter clothing and cloak she'd brought. She knotted a strong silver cord around Halisstra's hands, and the small party left the palace dungeons and ascended into a cold, rain-spattered night.

Elventree was not really a town, nor an outpost, nor an encampment, but something in between. Ruined walls of white stone crisscrossed the place, hinting at the old ramparts and broad squares of a good-sized sur-face town, but most were crumbling with age. Many of the original buildings were nothing more than empty shells, but a number of them seemed to have been appropriated by the town's current residents, who had covered the old buildings with wooden latticework or permanent tents in order to turn the proud old structures into humble, semi-permanent woodsmen's homes. Great gnarled trees rose from the cracked pavement of ancient courtyards, and many structures actually stood well off the ground in their mighty branches, linked by swaying catwalks of silver rope and white planks. A handful of the town's original buildings still stood more or less intact.

Halisstra saw that she had been imprisoned beneath an old watch-tower. Across the square an elegant palace rose through the trees, illumi-nated by hundreds of soft lanterns. Lord Dessaer's palace, she surmised. The sound of distant song and laughter drifted through the air.

The priestesses of Eilistraee led Halisstra along an old boulevard that quickly carried them out of the town and into the dark, rainy forest. They marched for quite some time, the silence of the night broken only by soft footfalls on the forest floor and the constant pattering of the rain - which did indeed slacken noticeably as they went on, giving way to a partial over-cast through which stars on occasion appeared.

Halisstra had had about all of the World Above that she cared to endure, but she occupied herself by quietly working at the knots of the rope binding her hands while keeping an eye on her captors, hoping they would relax their vigilance. Xarra, the drow, walked in front, while Feliane marched at the rear. Seyll stayed close by Halisstra at all times, either a little before her or a little behind.

"Where are you taking me?" Halisstra asked as the walk dragged on.

"A place we call the Dancing Stone," Seyll answered. "It is sacred to Eilistraee."

"The forest looks all alike to me," said Halisstra. "How can you tell one part of it from another?"

"We know this trail well," Seyll replied. "In fact, we're not all that far from where we first encountered you and your companions. They aban-doned you, and haven't been seen since that night."

Halisstra took a sip from her own flask to hide the smile that flitted across her features. The apostate priestess had made a mistake, and she didn't even realize it. If they weren't far from where she'd been captured, it stood to reason that she could follow the directions of Pharaun's vision from there and have a reasonable chance of locating the Jaelre drow. Regardless of what else she accomplished that night, it had already been worth her while.

They came to a loud, rushing creek, its bed strewn with large boul-ders. Xarra crossed first, leaping lightly from rock to rock and continuing into the woods on the far side, keeping watch for any danger. Seyll fol-lowed, a few steps ahead of Halisstra, her eyes on the uncertain footing beneath her. Halisstra started to follow. The rushing water was loud, even though the creek was shallow and not at all wide. The moon slipped behind the clouds, momentarily darkening the forest floor.

Halisstra scented opportunity.

She quickly hopped two rocks into the stream and halted, as if study-ing her next step. Instead she pitched her voice low and began abae'qeshel song, the sound covered by the noisy creek. Seyll continued to pick her way ahead, and behind Halisstra the surface elf Feliane stopped, waiting for her to cross.

It was difficult with her hands bound, even as loosely as they were, but the power of the enchantment was in Halisstra's voice, not her hands. Even as Feliane lost patience and hopped forward to aid her, Halisstra turned around and fixed her red eyes on the pale girl's face.

"Angardh xorr feleal,"she hissed. "Dear Feliane, would you draw your sword and free me of these troublesome bonds? I am afraid I will fall."

The charm ensnared the young priestess easily. With a blank expres-sion, she drew her blade.

"Of course," the elf murmured vacantly.

She drew the razor edge carefully through the cords on Halisstra's wrists. Halisstra glanced over her shoulder at Seyll and carefully moved to shield Feliane's work with her body.

"What's wrong?" Seyll called.

"Don't answer," Halisstra whispered to the girl. She kept her hands to-gether and turned carefully to face the priestess. "A moment!" she called. "I'm not certain of this step with my hands bound. The next rock seems slippery.

Seyll glanced at the creek, then retraced her steps, leaping one rock to the next as she came back toward Halisstra and Feliane. Halisstra twisted to look back at Feliane, standing behind her with her sword drawn.

"Dear Feliane," she said sweetly, "may I borrow your sword for a moment?"

The girl frowned slightly, perhaps aware somewhere in the depths of her enchantment-fogged mind that something was not right, but she extended the sword's hilt to Halisstra. Again concealing the movement with her body, Halisstra took the blade in her hand.

"Here," said Seyll. The Eilistraee priestess reached the next boulder and set her feet carefully, extending a hand. "Take my arm, and I will steady you."

Halisstra spun with the quickness of a cat and buried Feliane's sword beneath Seyll's outstretched arm. The priestess gasped in cold shock and crumpled at once, slipping from her perch to fall awkwardly in the icy stream. She slumped down the moss-covered boulder and came to rest leaning against the stone, sitting waist deep in the rushing water.

Halisstra withdrew the sword and turned back to Feliane, who stared at her with dumb amazement.

"Seyll's been hurt, girl," Halisstra snapped. "Quick, run back to Elven-tree and fetch help! Go!"

The pale elf maiden managed only one jerky nod before she whirled and raced off. Halisstra leaped over Seyll's rock and dashed quickly over the path. Xarra, the younger drow priestess, emerged suddenly from the wooded banks ahead of her, returning to find out what had delayed the others. To her credit, Xarra took in the situation with a single glance. She raised her crossbow and took quick aim.

Halisstra threw herself aside, twisting in midair as she sprang. Xarra's quarrel hissed by her torso so closely she felt it tug at her coat as it flew past.

"You missed your shot, girl," Halisstra snarled.

Xarra dropped her crossbow and reached for her sword. She died before the blade had cleared her scabbard, spitted through the throat. Halisstra straightened and looked down at the body, her heart pounding. The stream sang loudly beside her, and the air smelled of rain and wet leaves.

What next? she wondered.

Her prized mail, mace, and crossbow were in Lord Dessaer's keeping in Elventree, and as much as she wanted to recover her possessions, it didn't seem likely that she would be able to without the assistance of the Menzoberranyr. Her best move would be to arm herself as well as she could, take what provisions she could from Seyll and Xarra, and strike out in search of the Jaelre. With luck she would find them before Dessaer's rangers found her.

Halisstra thrust the sword through her belt and ventured back out into the stream to see if Seyll was carrying anything of use. She splashed down into the cold stream beside the Eilistraee priestess, gathered her up beneath the arms, and hoisted her back onto the stone slab in order to get a better look at her gear. The armor was clearly magical, as was the shield slung over Seyll's shoulder and the sword at her belt. Halisstra began un-fastening the mail,intending to strip it from Seyll's body.

Seyll's eyes fluttered, and she groaned, "Halisstra. ..."

Halisstra recoiled, startled above all else, and somewhat repulsed to find that she was stripping the corpse of someone who was not quite dead yet. She glanced down at the stone and studied a coursing rivulet of blood streaming from Seyll's side to the foaming water of the creek. The priest-ess's breath sounded wet and shallow, and bright flecks of blood stained her lips.

"I hope you will forgive me, Seyll, but I have need of your arms and armor, and you will be dead in a very short time," Halisstra remarked. "I have decided to decline your gracious invitation to join your observances tonight, as I have pressing business elsewhere in the forest."

"The . . . others?" Seyll gasped.

"Xarra had the decency to die swiftly and without awkward conversa-tion. The surface girl I charmed and sent running off into the forest."

Halisstra unbuckled Seyll's sword belt and dragged it loose, setting it well out of the dying drow's reach. She set to work on the armor fastenings.

"While I admire your determination to save me from myself, Seyll, I can't believe you didn't see this as a likely outcome of your attempt to convert me."

"A risk ... we are all ... prepared to take," Seyll managed. "No one is beyond redemption."

She mumbled something more and reached up to interfere with Halis-stra's work, but the Melarn priestess simply batted her hands away.

"A foolish risk, then. Lolth has punished your faithlessness through my hand, apostate," Halisstra said. She pulled off Seyll's boots and undid the leggings of her mail. "Tell me, was it worth it, to follow the path that led you to a cold and pointless death here in this miserable forest?"

To Halisstra's surprise, Seyll smiled, finding some last reservoir of strength.

"Worth it? Upon . . . my soul, yes." She laid her head back and gazed up into Halisstra's face. "I... have hope for you still," she whispered. "Do not. . . concern yourself. . . with me. I ... have been . . . redeemed."

Her eyes closed for the final time, and the wet sound of her breath-ing halted.

Halisstra paused in her work. She had expected anger, resentment, perhaps even fear or scorn, but forgiveness? What power did the Dark Maiden hold over her worshipers that they could die with a blessing for their enemies on their lips?

Seyll turned away from the Spider Queen, she told herself, and through me the Spider Queen exacted her vengeance. Yet Seyll died with calm assurance, as if she had escaped Lolth finally and completely with the ending of her life.

"The Spider Queen take your soul," she said to the dead priestess, but somehow she doubted that Lolth would.

"A swift march is our surest path to victory," Andzrel Baenre said, ad-dressing the assembled priestesses.

Nimor stood to one side and watched the Baenre weapons master, one of only a handful of males invited to take counsel with the assembled females. All of the great Houses, and no less than sixteen of the minor ones, were represented in the hastily mustered Army of the Black Spider, named for the banners under which they marched. Nearly thirty high priestesses - at least one from almost every House, and in some cases, several high priestesses from the same House - filled the great command pavilion provided by the Baenre contingent, watching Andzrel like predatory cats while reclining, sitting, or standing as rank and opportu-nity dictated. Nimor and the other few males stood, of course. No mere male would be seated while a high priestess remained standing.

"We lead some four thousand drow soldiers and twenty-five hundred slave soldiers into battle. By all reports it would seem that we are evenly matched with the duergar army that marches up from the south, but we do not intend to meet the duergar in a fair fight, of course." The word "fair" sent a wave of chuckles echoing through the tent. Andzrel used a slender baton to direct their attention to a large map inked on rothe-vellum. "We can stop a force significantly stronger than our own by picking the right ground to fight for. The place we will halt the duergar advance is here, at the Pillars of Woe."

"If I decide that your plan has merit, you mean," drawled Mez'Barris Armgo of House Barrison Del'Armgo. "Triel Baenre may trust in your judgment, but I intend to think for myself, boy."

A tall, powerful female, the matron mother of the Second House was the ranking priestess present and nominally in command of the entire ex-pedition. Each of the Houses had contributed some number of its priest-esses to command their contingents in battle, ranging from unblooded acolytes to first daughters and matron mothers. Weapons masters such as Andzrel and males - including Nimor in his role as Zhayemd Dyrr - commanded warbands, companies, and cavalry squadrons, attending to the endless details of organizing the army of Menzoberranzan.

"My cousin presents House Baenre's views, Matron Mez'Barris," Zal'therra Baenre rasped. "Matron Triel endorses the weapons master's battle plan."

Foremost of Triel Baenre's cousins, Zal'therra looked nothing like the petite Matron Mother of House Baenre. She was tall and broadly built in the shoulders, a strapping female with a remarkable amount of physical fortitude and a coarse, intimidating manner. She and Mez'Barris were two of a kind in physique, yet the Matron Mother of House Del'Armgo possessed a brilliant, vicious cunning that was nothing more than a sullen streak in the Baenre priestess. Mez'Barris fixed her red eyes on the younger woman, but did not respond.

Andzrel knew better than to speak while the two females sparred. He waited through a moment of silence before he continued the briefing.

"Here is Rhazzt's Dilemma," he said, "where Captain Zhayemd of Agrach Dyrr reported the duergar vanguard yesterday morning. It lies about twenty-five miles south of the Pillars of Woe, at the lower end of the canyon. Assuming the worst, we can expect the duergar to storm the outpost and force the entrance by sometime late today, perhaps tomorrow if we're lucky. Duergar are hearty soldiers and can march all day long, but they're slow, and their army will be burdened with a long supply train and heavy siege engines. Ascending the gorge will be difficult going. It seems that, in the worst case again, they should reach the Pillars in five days - more likely seven or eight."

"How do you know the gray dwarves haven't overrun the outpost al-ready?" a priestess of Tuin'Tarl asked.

"We do not, Mistress Tuin'Tarl. The duergar wizards and clerics are preventing our efforts to scry the surroundings, a common tactic in war-fare of this sort." Andzrel nodded to Nimor and added, "That is why it is essential to deploy a screen of capable scouts, to find out through mundane means what our wizards cannot see. Zhayemd of Agrach Dyrr is charged with the command of our reconnaissance."

Andzrel waited a moment to see if the priestess had any more questions, then went on, "In any event, our armies travel faster than the gray dwarves, and we have a much easier route. I would expect our vanguard to reach the Pillars of Woe three to four days from now. If we hold the upper exit from the gorge, the duergar will never break our defenses. As you can see, it is something of a race, and therefore we should make all possible speed."

"What plan do you have for battle, Zal'therra?" asked another priest-ess, the mistress of the House Xorlarrin contingent.

Nimor smiled at the remark. Zal'therra had certainly been instructed by Triel to rely on her House weapons master's advice in planning the battle, but the high priestesses naturally talked past Andzrel as if he wasn't even there.

"Andzrel will present it," the Baenre priestess replied, as if she'd just finished explaining it all to him and choose to allow him to show off her genius.

If the weapons master took note of the slight, he did not show it.

"We will build a strong, well-anchored line across the mouth of the gorge. A few hundred troops should suffice for this, but we will commit a thousand. The remainder of our soldiers will be held in reserve and secure various small passageways and flanking caverns in the vicinity." Andzrel set down hisbaton and faced the assembled priestesses, his face expressionless except for the keen glitter of determination in his eyes. "I mean to allow the duergar to come to us, and break them between the Pillars of Woe. When they have hurled their strength on us in vain, we will pursue them back down the gorge and slaughter them and their minions in heaps."

"And what if the duergar choose not to force the Pillars?" Mez'Barris asked, addressing Andzrel directly.

"The duergar are invading our lands, Matron Mother, so the burden of action is on them. If they decide not to try the Pillars, we will wait them out - our supply lines are much shorter than theirs. In a matter of days they will have to choose between going forward and going back."

Mez'Barris gazed at the map, considering Andzrel's answer.

"Very well," she said. "I want to see just how quickly we can reach the spot you have in mind. Extend the march by two hours a day. If we reach the Pillars of Woe in three days, we should have time to rest before battle is joined. I want our fastest forces to make a dash for the Pillars, just in case. There is no reason we couldn't have a couple of hundred scouts at the top of that gorge in a day and a half. Now, if you will excuse us, I wish to discuss with my sister priestesses the best use of our talents in the upcom-ing conflict."

Andzrel offered a shallow bow, and withdrew from the room. Nimor fell in beside the Baenre weapons master as they left the black pavilion, flanked by a handful of other officers. The tent stood in a large, round tunnel crowded with soldiers and pack lizards, banner after banner of var-ious Houses stretching out of sight up and down the passage.

"Zhayemd," said Andzrel, "I want you to assume command of our vanguard, as Matron Mother Del'Armgo suggests. Take your Agrach Dyrr cavalry and make speed tomorrow and the next day. Our lack of informa-tion about the duergar army makes me nervous. I'll have some of the other riders join you, so that you'll have a strong company to hold the pass if worse comes to worst."

"I must consult with our high priestess," Nimor said, though he had no intention of doing any such thing. The weapons master, still under Nimor's powerful and lasting enchantment, would trust him anyway. "I believe she will support the suggestion, though."

"Good," Andzrel said as they reached the Baenre camp. He clapped Nimor on the shoulder. "If you find the duergar somewhere they're not supposed to be, report back at once. I want no foolishness out of you.You are the eyes of our army."

Nimor smiled and said, "Do not worry, Master Andzrel. I intend to leave nothing to chance."

Jezz the Lame crouched awkwardly in the shadow of a ruined wall, gazing across a small square at a large, round tower a stone's throw away.

"There," he said. "Thebeholder's tower. There's a flight of stairs lead-ing up to the door, which we have previously found to be unlocked but guarded by deadly magical traps. You'll see several small windows in the upper levels, perhaps large enough for a small drow to slip through. We haven't tried those, though."

Ryld, who crouched just behind the Jaelre, leaned out to take a look for himself. The tower was much as Jezz had described it, surrounded by the sprawling ruins of Myth Drannor. After using Pharaun's magic to speed their travel to the old elven capital and resting a few hours to pre-pare, the company had spent most of the night fighting their way through the ruins.

Myth Drannor was little more thana great wreckage of white stone overgrown with trees and vines, but once it had been something more. The old surface elf city might not have been as large as Menzoberranzan or as infernally grand as Ched Nasad, but it possessed an elegance and beauty that equaled, if not exceeded, the best examples of drow architecture.

Ryld cast a careful glance to the rooftops.

"No sign of devils," he said. "Perhaps we've slain enough that they've decided not to troubleus anymore."

"Unlikely," Jezz said with a snort. "They've drawn back to organize another attack, and await the arrival of more powerful fiends before trying us again."

"In that event, we should take advantage of the respite to do what we came to do," Quenthel said. She too moved up to study the tower. I see nothing that encourages me to change our plan. Pharaun, cast your spell."

"As you wish, dear Quenthel," the wizard began, "though I must say that I do not entirely agree with the stratagem of - "

Angry glares from every other member of the company silenced Pha-raun before he finished his protest. He sighed and fluttered his hand.

"Oh, very well."

The wizard straightened and carefully spoke the words of his spell, the potent syllables ringing with magical power. An intangible wave seemed to roll over Ryld and the others. In its wake, Ryld felt strength and quickness drain from his limbs, and Splitter seemed to grow heavier in his hand, its gleaming blade suddenly dulled. Ryld was no wizard, but like any accom-plished drow he had over the years armed himself with various magical devices and enchantments to increase his speed, his strength, the toughness of his armor, the deadliness of his weapons. Pharaun's spell temporarily abol-ished all magic in the vicinity, leaving Ryld without the benefit of a single enchantment, and the other drow were similarly affected. The strangest effect of all was the sudden inertness of Quenthel's fearsome whip. One moment the snakes hissedand writhed of their own accord, alert and vicious, and in the next they dangled like dead things from the weapons haft.

"Stay close to me, if you wish to stay within the spell's effect," Pha-raun said.

He licked his lips nervously. Within the zone of antimagic he'd just created, he could cast no spells, and his own formidable array of enchanted devices and protections were inert, too. The wizard readied his hand cross-bow, and loosened his dagger in its sheath.

"I feel like I'm going up against a dragon with a dinner knife," he muttered.

Ryld clapped him on the shoulder and stood. He sheathed Splitter and drew his own crossbow.

"Yes, but your spell pulls the dragon's fangs," he said.

"Get moving," Quenthel said.

She looked more than a little uncomfortable herself. Evidently she didn't care for theunmoving silence of her weapon. Without waiting, she loped across the courtyard and bounded up the steps leading to the tower's door. The others followed, blinking in the light of the approaching dawn. Ryld made a point of keeping watch on the ruined streets and walls behind the party, watching for the return of any of Myth Drannor's monstrous denizens. The last thing they needed was a band of blood-maddened devils to de-scend on them while they'd suppressed their own magic.

At the door of the tower, Quenthel stepped aside for Jeggred. The hulk-ing draegloth moved up and wrenched the door open, bounding inside. Masonry cracked and clattered to the stone steps. Quenthel followed hard on his heels, then Danifae and Valas. Ryld looked around one last time, and noticed Jezz hanging back.

"You're not coming?" he asked the Jaelre.

"I intend to observe only," Jezz replied. "Defeating the beholder is your task, not mine. If you survive, I'll join you in a few minutes."

Ryld scowled, but ducked inside. They were in a foyer of some kind, illuminated by slanting rays of dim light from holes in the ancient ma-sonry. At the far end of the room, a second door stood. Once the foyer might have been a grand and impressive hall, but the tiles of the floor were cracked and split by deep green mold, and the proud banners and arrases that hung on the walls were little more than tattered rags. Pharaun stood close by, examining an intricate symbol clearly etched on one block of the floor. The whole emblem was a little larger than his hand, with a great complexity of curving lines and characters.

"A symbol of discord," the wizard observed. "If we were not protected by the antimagic field, it would have caused us to fall on each other with murderous fury . . . but we hardly need a symbol for that, do we?"

"The next room?" Ryld asked.

Jeggred was already by the door. The draegloth opened it and quickly bounded through, followed by the others, into a round chamber not unlike the bottom of a well. Several of the floors above had long since collapsed, burying the ground floor in rubble and wreckage, with great wooden beams protruding from the mess. Heaps of masonry taller than a drow impeded movement.

Ryld stared into the empty space above, searching for any sign of the monster that was supposed to lurk there. The others did as well, but all was still.

"I see no beholder," Jeggred said.

Ryld was about to reply when something above them responded in a horrible, croaking voice, "Of course not, fools. I do not wish to be seen!"

An instant later the creature lashed out at them. From somewhere nigh overhead, near the top of the ruined tower, several brilliant rays of mag-ical energy - the deadly beams each of the monster's eyes could fire in order to wound, paralyze, charm, or even disintegrate its foes - lanced downward at the drow, followed by a great blue bolt of lightning conjured by the unseen monster. Ryld could not see the magic's source.

The rays and crackling bolt of electricity abruptly winked out just over the drow's heads, negated by Pharaun's zone of null magic. The creature tried again, bringing different rays to bear and incanting some horrible spell in its deep, droning voice, but those were no more successful.

Ryld aimed his crossbow up the shaft and guessed at the spot from which the rays had stabbed down at them, loosing his bolt with practiced skill. A squeal of pain overhead told him that he'd guessed his target well. Valas, Danifae, and Pharaun fired too, while Jeggred snatched up a good-sized brick in one fighting claw and hurled it up into the darkness with surprising swiftness. Not all of their barrage struck home, of course. Even if it had been visible, a beholder's thick chitinous hide could deflect many attacks, and scoring a square hit on the creature when it was garbed in invisibility was more than a little difficult. Still, a couple of quarrels struck home.

The beholder mage obviously comprehended the nature of the com-pany's defense very quickly on its own. Instead of striking directly at the dark elves, it turned its deadly gaze on the wreckage of the upper floors. With one eye ray it burned through the base of a heavy wooden beam pro-jecting from the tower's stone wall, and with another it seized the timber in a telekinetic grip and flung it down at Valas, who was plying his short-bow to great effect. The scout threw himself aside just in time to avoid being crushed beneath the massive timber, but lost his balance and fell amid the rubble. Dust and the cracking of stone filled the air. The beholder instantly went to work on another wooden beam. In the meantime the creature changed its droning incantation and began another spell.

"We need to climb higher," Quenthel said. "The creature is above Pharaun's spell."

"Do you propose that I should jump?" Pharaun asked. He ducked a head-sized chunk of masonry clattering down from above, and took aim with his crossbow again. "The antimagic that protects us also prevents us from flying or levitating up to get at - "

"For Lolth's sake," Ryld exclaimed.Sign!

Valas slipped and scrambled over to one side, seeking a better van-tage. The scout drew his shortbow carefully, and loosed another arrow. The beholder above let out a horrible screech. The eye rays winked out, and debris stopped falling from overhead.

The beholder retreated back above the next intact floor, Valas signed. We'll have to go up and get it.

Ryld studied the interior walls of the ruined towers carefully. Perhaps four of the lower floors were missing, leaving at least two or three intact above the ceiling of the highest floor they could see. At a guess, it was at least a sixty-foot climb, and the masonry was old and damaged. A skilled climber could make good use of the wreckage of the beams that formerly supported the lower floors, but it was nothing he cared to try.

I don't like the climb, he replied.

Nor do I, Danifae added. The creature knows we're protected by anti-magic. Will it expect us to abandon the spell in order to get to it?

"Possibly," said Pharaun. At a sharp look from Ryld he signed, One wonders if perhaps we should have studied this situation at greater length before agreeing to the task the Jaelre set us.

Pharaun, like the others, moved carefully across the floor of the cham-ber, peering upward.

The wizard craned back his head and called, "Ho! Beholder! As we are at something of an impasse, will you consent to parlay?"

Quenthel fumed.

"You speak for us, wizard?" she growled.

From the heights of the tower overhead the deep, rasping voice came again.

"Parlay? On what account? You have invaded my home, impudent fools."

"Pharaun - " Quenthel started.

"You have a book we want," the wizard replied, ignoringthe high priestess. "I guess it's called the Geildirion of Cimbar. Give it to us, and We'll trouble you no more."

The beholder fell silent, evidently considering the offer. Quenthel stared daggers at the wizard, but like the others, she listened for the be-holder's reply.

"The book is extremely valuable," the creature replied finally. "I will not yield it up because some whelp of a dark elf demands it of me. Retreat, and I will consent to spare your lives."

Quenthel snorted and said, "As if we expected anything different." She made a small wave of her hand to call the others' attention to her, and signed,On the count of three, Pharaun will dismiss his spell. Danifae and Ryld - you will follow me up the shaft. Pharaun, when we reach the halfway point, you will then teleport yourself and Jeggred to the floor above and take the monster unawares while it focuses its attention on defending the shaft. Valas, you remain here and cover our ascent with your bow. Come up as quickly as you can once we reach the top.The Baenre did not wait to entertain any refinements to her plan, beginning her countdown at once.

One, two. . . three!

Pharaun made a curt gesture and dismissed his spell of antimagic. Ryld felt the arcane power of his belt, his gauntlets, and his sword flood back into his limbs. He drew Splitter and ascended into the shaft, using the levitation charm with which his Melee-Magthere insignia was imbued. With luck, the sword's ability to disrupt enchantments would shield him from the worst of what the beholder mage could send their way.

Quenthel and Danifae rose alongside him, three black, graceful forms sliding smoothly up into the darkness. Pharaun moved up beside Jeggred and watched their progress, one hand on the draegloth's white-furred shoulder.

The ceiling of the shaft featured a circular opening at one side, clut-tered somewhat by the remnants of the old stairwell that once climbed the tower. Ryld peered at the opening, expecting incandescent death at any moment.

The beholder mage did not disappoint him.

A brilliant green ray flashed into existence, lancing toward Ryld. He parried it with Splitter, and felt a tingle in the hilt as the greatsword de-stroyed the insidious ray. Beside him, Danifae yelped and swerved aside from another tremendous bolt of lightning that arced out to sear all three dark elves, leaving the odor of charred wood and ozone in the air.

Arrows hissed up from underneath, whistling past the weapons master as Valas fired at the unseen foe. Ryld snarled in defiance and willed him-self upward with more haste. Another spell struck Quenthel  - some kind of dispelling magic that snuffed out her levitation. She flailed her arms and plummeted to the floor below. Ryld reached out to catch her, but the Baenre was simply not close enough. She struck the floor at the bottom of the shaft after a fall of close to forty feet. Quenthel crashed into the rubble like a falling meteor, and vanished in dust and wreckage.

"Keep going!" shouted Danifae. "We're almost at the top!"

The beholder mage must have reached the same conclusion. A moment later, a barrier of solid ice appeared, walling off the top of the shaft and trap-ping the drow beneath it.

"Damn!" swore Ryld.

Danifae glowered at the barrier and said, "Maybe we can - "

At that moment, Jezz the Lame appeared on the floor of the chamber. He wheeled and hurled a spell back through the doorway, then slammed the door shut.

"Whatever it is you're doing, finish it," the Jaelre called. "The devils have returned in force!"

Ryld looked up at the sheet of ice covering the top of the shaft, then down again at the rubble-strewn floor. Quenthel lay half-buried in the shattered masonry, unmoving. Spells rumbled above the ice, sure signs that Pharaun and Jeggred had found their foe, but the creature's barrier had ef-fectively cut the company in half. Abandoning the effort to get at the be-holder mage might give the monster the chance to destroy the company in detail, but Quenthel was dead or injuredbelow.

"Up," Ryld decided. "Going back is no good. Valas, Jezz, aid Quenthel!"

He came up beneath the gleaming white ceiling and struck at the icy wall with Splitter, using the sword's ability to rend enchantments. Razor-sharp shards of ice flew from the spot he struck, but the sword failed to undo the beholder's magic. Ryld cursed and tried again, with no more success.

Below them, the door to the tower boomed with a heavy blow. Valas quickly shouldered his bow and scuttled over the heaps of masonry and rubble filling the bottom of the shaft, heading toward the spot where Quenthel had fallen.

Jezz the Lame growled something and worked a spell, clogging the tower's foyer with a mass of sticky webbing. He mouthed the words of an-other spell and arrowed up into the air, leaving Valas and Quenthel on the floor of the shaft.

"Forget the priestess," he called to Valas. "Come, if you want to live!"

The scout grimaced in frustration.

"I can't climb and carry her!" he snapped as a second blow at the door splintered wood and bent iron.

The ancient door would not withstand another blow. Valas glanced up the shaft and down at Quenthel, and reached down and unfastened her House Baenre brooch from her shoulder. Her snake-headed whip stirred in agitation, and Yngoth actually struck at the scout, but Valas scrambled back and fixed the brooch to his tunic.

"I'm trying to save your mistress," he barked at the whip.

The scout moved close and grasped Quenthel under the arms, using the power of her own brooch to levitate away from the floor.

Meanwhile, Ryld measured the icy barrier in front of him.

"All right, then," he muttered.

He backed up, set his feet as best he could against the shaft's wall, and drew Splitter back for the mightiest blow he could muster. With a cry of rage, he struck the wall a tremendous blow, Splitter's blade shearing through the magical ice even as waves of excruciating cold washed over him. He ig-nored the pain and swung again, and again - and the sheet of ice cracked into a dozen pieces and fell away to the floor below. Without waiting for the others, Ryld hurled himself up into the beholder's lair.