The Darksong Knight had concluded her report and was standing in silence, waiting for Qilue's response.

"Walk with me," Qilue told her.

They had just returned from an inspection of the caverns where the aranea's attack took place, and stood on the southern bank of the underground river that flowed past the Promenade at a spot where a recently constructed bridge arched high above the river. The original bridge had fallen into the river more than a century ago, but Qilue could still remember how it had looked when she fought her way across it with the companions who had helped her defeat Ghaunadaur's avatar. The oozes and slimes had reduced its stone steps to rounded humps, making the footing treacherous. Ch'arla, one of Qilue's childhood companions, had died, songsword in hand, at the very spot Qilue and Cavatina approached. The death had been a terrible blow, but Ch'arla's soul danced with Eilistraee. All pain was behind her.

Pride welled in Qilue as she walked across the rebuilt bridge and considered the fruits that two decades of labor had produced. The Promenade was a place of beauty and tranquility, hewn from the depths of the Underdark. A place that had once held nothing but madness and despair had been made sacred and filled with folk made whole through Eilistraee's grace. Every time she visited the Promenade, it brought a fierce ache to her heart and the sting of tears to the corners of her eyes. The sacrifices of so many centuries ago had been worth it, every last one of them.

Below the bridge, the temple's lay worshipers worked the river, hauling in fine-meshed nets filled with white, wriggling blindfish no longer than a finger. Others, baskets slung at their hips, collected lizard eggs and ripplebark fungus from the fissures that lined the cavern walls. Most were drow, converts from cities scattered throughout the Underdark, but there were also many who had been rescued from Skullport's slave ships: surface elves, dwarves, humans-even the occasional halfling-who had turned to the goddess as a result. One of them, a stocky half-drow with bristly hair and protruding fangs that betrayed his orc father's parentage, paused in his labors and made the sign of Eilistraee as Qilue and Cavatina passed him, touching forefinger to forefinger and thumb to thumb to form a circle representing the full moon.

Qilue acknowledged Jub with a nod and murmured blessing. His eyes lingered on her, a fawning expression on his face. Qilue secretly smiled. Even the most unlikely of worshipers were welcome there.

The Promenade comprised five main caverns that had once been part of the Sargauth Enclave, an outpost of fallen Netheril. The ancient buildings within the caverns had been reclaimed and put to use. One of the caverns housed the priestesses, another was home to the Promenade's lay worshipers, and a third contained storehouses and the barracks of the Protectors of the Song-the soldiers who guarded the Promenade. The fourth cavern, once a temple to a foul god, had been turned into the Hall of Healing.

The fifth cavern was the holiest of all: the Cavern of Song. Even over the rush of the river behind them, Qilue could hear the sound of singing-Eilistraee's priestesses continuing the psalm that had not faltered since the temple had been established twenty years past in the Year of the Harp.

As they made their way along one of the winding corridors that led to the Cavern of Song, Qilue spoke to the Darksong Knight. "Cavatina, you're familiar with the Velarswood, are you not?"

Cavatina nodded. "My mother was bom there. I've visited it frequently."

"I would like you to go there now."

Cavatina's nostrils flared. "Lady Qilue, if this is about the aranea-"

"It is not."

"I realize that I should have been more vigilant. If I had, perhaps I might have spotted the Selvetargtlin on my first pass through the cavern."

"What is done is done. You danced well. The battle was won. It's just unfortunate that…"

Qilue didn't complete the sentence. She wasn't there to chastise the Darksong Knight. Cavatina had been trained to kill, and the thought of capturing an enemy alive would never have entered her head.

"You enjoy the hunt," Qilue said.

Cavatina halted. "I guard the Promenade as diligently as any other priestess."

"I'm sure you do."

"I do not, as some believe, think myself above indoctrinating a novice."

"I suggested nothing of the sort."

"I followed the procedures Iljrene laid down. When Thaleste spotted a movement above us, I-"

Qilue silenced Cavatina with a stern look. She could see that nearly losing the novice had pricked the warrior-priestess's pride. Darksong Knights didn't bear mistakes easily-in themselves or in others.

When Cavatina was at last ready to listen, Qilue continued. "A strange creature has been sighted in the Velarswood in recent months. It has the general appearance of a drow female, yet it is far larger and stronger. It appears to be preying upon the drow of House Jaelre. Last night, a survivor of one of its attacks staggered into our shrine, begging for healing. He described the creature as having skin hard as obsidian-no blade can pierce it-and eight tiny legs that emerge from the torso, below the arms, like protruding ribs."

Cavatina's head came up like a hound on the scent. "Some new form of drider?" she guessed. "Or… demon?"

"Nobody knows. What we do know is that the survivor drew the creature's attention to our shrine. It followed him there last night then scuttled away before the priestesses could assemble for a hunt. I'm worried it's going to attack one of our people next. That's why I'm sending you to the Velarswood. I want you to remove the threat."

Cavatina nodded, her eyes gleaming. "Do you see Lolth's hand in this?"

Qilue paused. "It's hard to say, but the creature-whatever it is-has a venomous bite and is capable of spinning 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."