Q'arlynd often permitted such questions from the deep gnome. Since the city's fall, there had been few others he could converse with. He enlightened his slave.

"It's a kingdom that existed at the time of the Crown Wars. Fourteen thousand years ago, during the Third Crown War, it was destroyed by Aryvandaar-a nation of surface elves-in a magical storm of unbelievable proportions. They say-" He broke off suddenly, aware that Leliana was staring at him.

He gave her a wistful shrug. "I'm a wizard. They taught us about Miyeritar at the Conservatory in Ched Nasad."

"But not about ordinary rain?" she scoffed. "It sounds like a strangely lopsided education."

Q'arlynd gave an embarrassed shrug.

"If you studied Miyeritar, then you know that we were all 'surface elves' once," she continued.

Flinderspeld turned to her. "Drow lived on the surface?"

"Dark elves," Leliana told him, "not yet dhaerrow. Not yet drow."

"Your point being?" Q'arlynd asked.

"That we came from the surface and must return to it. The drow are not naturally creatures of the Underdark."

Q'arlynd pointed at her eyes. "Then how do you explain darkvision?"

"Adaptation," Leliana. "Our race developed it slowly, over many generations, after being driven below."

"In Ched Nasad, we were taught that darkvision was a gift, bestowed upon us by Lolth during the Descent," Q'arlynd said, "that drow were meant to live in the Underdark."

Leliana folded her arms across her chest. Q'arlynd could tell that, like him, she enjoyed the debate. "Then why do our eyes adapt, over time, to the light of the surface realms?" she countered. "And if darkvision is a gift from Lolth, then why am I-and the other drow who worship Eilistraee, Lolth's chief rival-still capable of seeing in complete darkness?"

"Because Lolth-" Q'arlynd abruptly checked what he'd been about to say, not because he didn't have an argument to counter what Leliana had just said, but because he realized what she was doing. Drawing him out. Probing. Trying to get a sense of whether he truly desired to convert to Eilistraee's faith.

Of course, he had no intention of doing so, unless there was something in it for him.

Flinderspeld had moved closer during the debate. He stood beside Q'arlynd, head cocked. "Lots of races that don't worship Lolth have darkvision," he commented. He held up his gloved fingers and began counting them off. "Svirfneblin, duergar-"

Q'arlynd nearly laughed out loud. Flinderspeld had just provided the perfect distraction. Whirling, he, grabbed his slave by the cloak, feigning anger at the deep gnome having taken Leliana's side in the debate. "Keep silent, you!" he ordered, flicking a finger at the gnome.

A bolt of magical energy-a small one, painful rather than harmful-crackled out of his gloved fingertip. It barely touched the skin of Flinderspeld's wide forehead-Q'arlynd wasn't about to damage a valuable slave-but Flinderspeld gave a loud howl of pain. He'd feigned it so many times he was getting good at it. For a moment, Q'arlynd thought his slave had actually been stung by the bolt.

Their act deflected Leliana's attention, but not in the way Q'arlynd had planned. Steel hissed as her sword left its scabbard. Before Q'arlynd could blink, the point of the weapon was at his throat. Leliana's voice was hard as steel.

"Don't do that again. This gnome," she said, pointing down at Flinderspeld, "is under the goddess's protection."

Q'arlynd swallowed. Steel pricked the bulge in his throat as it moved. He gave Leliana his best mournful look, blinked long-lashed eyes, then glanced down at the sword-token that hung on a cord around his neck.

"As am I, surely?" he suggested sweetly.

Leliana removed the blade from his throat. "As are you," she agreed, sheathing her sword. "But remember this: whatever your previous relationship with the deep gnome was below, here under Eilistraee's bright moon, we are all equals. There are no slaves, no matron mothers… and no masters." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Or did Milass'ni neglect to tell you that?"

"Of course not," Q'arlynd said, instantly realizing that Leliana must be talking about the priestess the falling stone had killed. "The instructions she gave were quite clear. It's just that old habits are hard to break." He bowed deeply, holding the submissive posture for longer than was necessary.

When he rose, he saw two things he didn't like. A wary expression in Leliana's eye.

And Flinderspeld, staring thoughtfully at Leliana, his stubby thumb idly rubbing the bulge the slave ring made under his glove.

Thaleste shivered as she climbed the column. She needed both hands to grip the notches in the stone, which had meant sheathing her sword, not that she was very proficient with the weapon, of course. Lady Cavatina had been kind enough to pretend that Thaleste's feeble jab had made a difference during the battle with the aranea, but the novice knew otherwise. Even so, it would have made her feel slightly better to have a weapon in her hand.

She pulled herself through the hole at the top of the column, into the room above. A short passageway led from it to the chamber where Lady Cavatina had fought the spellgaunt. Drawing her sword-and wincing at the loud rasp the blade made as it left the sheath-Thaleste edged along that passage. It was dark and silent. Iljrene and the others had already made a sweep through the rooms and declared them clear. Even so, Thaleste's mouth was dry and her heart pounded. The caverns were never completely free of monsters, despite the constant patrols. Anything could have been lurking in the chamber ahead.

The room, however, turned out to be empty, aside from the purplish smears of blood the spellgaunt had left behind. Its body and web had been burned. All that remained was a charred spot on the floor next to the gaping hole that had been a window.

Thaleste stood, studying the pattern of soot on the walls. She could see that the smoke had billowed upward, then mushroomed out and down again, eventually forcing its way out through the side passages and the hole in the floor. It had also concentrated behind one of the pedestals close to the dais, leaving a faint spiral pattern.

Thaleste smiled. She'd just found what she'd been looking for. Now she was going to be able to prove to the others that being timid had its uses. She'd learned a thing or two, over the years, by creeping through the corridors of her manor. An audience chamber always had at least one secret door that a matron mother could slip away through in times of crisis. That was how the aranea and its spellgaunt had slipped past the priestess's defenses, through a back door that none of the priestesses knew existed. Thaleste had found it. No longer would she be pitied as the novice who flinched at shadows and flailed around with a sword. She'd just proven her worth, or rather, she was about to.

The pedestal had to be the key. The bust that stood on it had parted lips and a hollowed-out mouth. Peering into it, Thaleste spotted the mechanism inside. It would, no doubt, be protected by a needle trap. The poison had probably dried to dust long ago, but Thaleste wasn't about to take chances. If the aranea had gone that way, she might have refreshed the supply.

Thaleste drew her dagger and slid its blade into the statue's mouth, triggering the mechanism. The pedestal shifted, rotating on its base. She sheathed her dagger and spun the pedestal farther. A section of wall behind slid open with a loud grinding of stone on stone.

Thaleste silently cheered. She'd done it! She stared into the passage beyond the door, wondering if she should go any farther. She wished she knew the prayer that would have allowed her to report her discovery to Battle-mistress Iljrene immediately, but that spell was beyond her, and what if she was wrong, and the passage led nowhere? That would give the other priestesses even more reason to doubt Thaleste's capabilities. Even if the passage did lead somewhere, calling Iljrene in too soon would only mean that Thaleste's discovery would be overshadowed. Iljrene might not deliberately claim the honor that came from finding the answer to the mystery, but it would accrue to the battle-mistress just the same.