Q'arlynd locked his eyes on it and continued to read, his voice in perfect cadence with the two Nightshadows.

"The bridge between realms is Woven," he intoned. "The crossing is complete."

As they completed the conjuration, the gate, fully formed, opened. Their masks flew from their faces and fluttered into it. A figure sprang through in their wake and vanished into the woods of Eilistraee's domain: Vhaeraun, swords in hand, eyes gleaming gold above his black mask.

Hungry for Eilistraee's blood.

Qilue landed in the cavern that was all that remained of the former temple of Ghaunadaur and looked around. The cavern was empty. The floor was a jagged field of rubble that had tumbled from the walls and ceiling to seal the deep pit into which Ghaunadaur's avatar had been driven. Smaller fragments of stone hung above the floor, suspended by magic to form a mosaic-like statue of Eilistraee-the seal that capped the pit. The statue was posed as if dancing, balanced with the toes of one foot touching the floor and the other leg extended, arms sweeping up and out. Almost imperceptibly, the mosaic-statue's pose was changing as the magic that animated the chips of stone went through a cycle that began anew with each full moon.

With a thought, Qilue shifted her awareness, enabling herself to see magic. The statue's aura was a pure, sweet silver. The seal was untouched.

An instant later, Iljrene materialized beside her. The tiny battle-mistress was fully armored, a singing sword in her hand. Her doll-like face was set in a frown of determination as she took up a position beside Qilue. She held a hand to one delicately pointed ear and listened. "Here they come."

Qilue, intent upon her prayer, merely nodded. She pointed a finger at the cavern's only intact entrance, the foot of the staircase that twisted down from above. The sound of running footsteps echoed down it.

Jasmir, Qilue sent. Have any of our priestesses entered the staircase that leads to the Pit?

None, came the confident reply.

Qilue smiled. Silver fire danced in her hair and on her skin. Focusing it within her hand, she let it build to a ravening white flame. The silver fire roared, filling the cavern with a sudden, brilliant light. As the first of the Selvetargtlin burst into the room, Qilue hurled it at him. A streak of silver shot toward the base of the stairs, rippling the rubble floor below it as it went. It smashed into Selvetarm's cleric, burning away his scarlet robe and turning the chain link lining below it red-hot. Qilue expected him to collapse, incinerated, but the Selvetarm kept coming, his flesh burning from his bones even as he ran. He charged the two priestesses, screaming his god's name and hurling a spell. Three of the stones that made up the floor between Qilue and Iljrene grew in the blink of an eye, becoming monstrous spiders that loomed over the two priestesses.

Spiders of stone.

He collapsed, dead.

Iljrene was busy with a prayer of her own as a second Selvetargtlin burst into the cavern, also screaming his deity's name. Singing loudly, her magical sword whistling over her head in whirling counterpoint, Iljrene flicked her hand in his direction then squeezed. The second cleric's eyes widened, and he took a staggering step, another-and his body collapsed into a bloody ball of mangled flesh pierced by protruding splinters of bone. Carried forward by the aborted charge, what remained of the cleric fell to the ground, a wet, bloody ball inside a suddenly loose robe.

It had been a brutal spell, but there was no time for Qilue to mourn yet another drow soul forever beyond redemption. The stone spiders were on them, even as four more Selvetargtlin came running into the room screaming their god's name. The second of the four held a black rod in his hand-the rod capable of breaking the seal on the Pit.

The judicator who had been leading them was nowhere to be seen.

The stone spiders were quite large-their backs level with Qilue's head-but they were a distraction only. The one closest to Qilue clamped its fangs onto her shoulder, piercing her flesh and driving in venom, but Mystra's silver fire instantly purged the poison from Qilue's body and sealed the wound. With a flick of her fingers-never once taking her eyes off the clerics who were charging toward her-Qilue touched the creature and spoke an arcane word, instantly slaying it. She stepped out from beneath the spider as it toppled over, letting it crash to the floor behind her. A snap of her fingers summoned her singing sword to her hand. She swept it over her head and listened to its gleeful song.

Iljrene, meanwhile, had dealt equally swiftly with the other two spiders. Her song of prayer caused them to soften then sag. They melted away into mud that seeped into the rubble on the floor. The battle-mistress stepped forward beside Qilue, braced as her superior was to meet the four clerics who rushed toward them.

One of the Selvetargtlin chanted a prayer that caused his body to sprout dozens of blades, turning him into a living weapon as he ran. Another shouted a garbled prayer at Iljrene, but the battle-mistress whirled her sword around her head, and the magical confusion was dispelled.

Yet another of the Selvetargtlin shouted a prayer that caused a cloud of utter darkness, shot through with crackling white spiderwebs, to envelop Qilue. Flames raced along them as the web ignited. Qilue felt a brief flash of heat on her skin-heat that was absorbed by the scepter that hung from her belt. Silver fire flared around her and exploded, snuffing out the fire storm.

Then the clerics were on them, and they were fighting hand to hand. Iljrene squared off with the cleric whose body was studded with blades. Qilue fought two of the others, swiftly dispatching one with a thrust that caught him in the throat and trading a flurry of blows with the other. All the while, she kept an eye on the cleric who held the rod-the only one who had not yet closed in battle. When he drew back his arm, she realized he was going to hurl it at the statue in an attempt to disrupt the seal-an act of desperation, surely, since the throw was a long one and might miss. Parrying the cleric who slashed savagely at her with his sword while screaming Selvetarm's name, Qilue waited for the throw. When the rod passed above her, Qilue would release Mystra's silver fire in yet another form-one that would temporarily disrupt the Weave, preventing the rod from functioning. The cleric whipped his hand over his head, threw…

Before Qilue could release Mystra's fire, the rod had passed her-so quickly that Qilue could not even bring her head up to watch the black streak that it became. The cleric who threw the rod also moved in a streak, across the room to a spot beside Iljrene. His sword somehow wound up in her stomach, its bloody point protruding from her back. The battle-mistress gasped, stricken with surprise and shock.

Qilue realized what had just happened. The Selvetargtlin had temporarily halted time.

The metal rod should have landed with a clatter behind Qilue, but she'd heard nothing. She whirled and saw a fifth Selvetargtlin-the missing judicator-standing next to the statue. The rod was in his right hand, which was still raised from catching it. His head was shaved except for a braid at the back of his head that whipped around as he whirled to smash the rod against the statue.

"No!" Qilue cried.

Silver fire flashed throughout the cavern, momentarily blinding even her. She heard a smash as the metal rod struck the statue then a pattering sound: chips of stone, flying away. As her vision cleared, she saw, to her relief, that the magic of the seal held. Though a gaping hole had been smashed in the middle of the statue, nearly cutting it in two, it refused to collapse. The void-black ball at the head of the mace had vanished, temporarily snuffed out by Qilue's silver fire.