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〃Matron　Mother；　if　trade　with　Ched　Nasad　does　not　resume；　the　people　of　Menzoberranzan　will　find　themselves　bereft　of　countless　amenities。　Some　of　your　craftsmen　will　lack　the　raw　materials　they　need　for　their　work。　Your　own　merchant　clans　will　endeavor　to　send　caravans　to　my　city；　and　those　expeditions　will　probably　not　return。〃
〃I　imagine　some　clever　male　will　import　the　same　goods　via　a　different　route　if　he　can　reap　a　profit　thereby。〃
Faeryl　was　beginning　to　feel　as　if　she　were　mired　in　some　lunatic　dream。
〃Matron；　you　can't　be　serious。　Ched　Nasad　is　the　single　greatest　source　of　wealth　your　people　possess。〃
Demons　of　the　Web；　it　was　in　fact　half　again　as　populous　as　Menzoberranzan　itself。　The　two　realms　had　long　been　equals；　and　it　was　only　a　paratively　recent　happenstance　that　had　reduced　the　once　independent　City　of　Shimmering　Webs　to　vassalage。
Triel　spread　her　dainty；　obsidian　hands　in　a　gesture　of　helpless　resignation　and　said；　〃Wealth　that　is　as　much　ours　when　stored　in　our　trading　costers　in　Ched　Nasad　as　in　our　own　vaults　here。〃
Faeryl　didn't　know　what　else　to　say。　No　argument；　however　cogent；　seemed　capable　of　piercing　Triel's　shield　of　bland；　almost　mocking　placency。
〃Very　well；〃　the　ambassador　said　through　gritted　teeth；　struggling　to　keep　a　grip　on　her　temper。　〃If　I　must；　I'll　manage　without　your　help。　It　will　exhaust　my　purse；　but　perhaps　I　can　hire　some　of　the　sell　swords　of　Bregan　D'aerthe。〃
Triel　smiled。　〃No；　my　dear；　that　won't　be　necessary。〃
〃I　don't　understand。〃
〃I　cannot　give　you　leave　to　depart　so　precipitously。　Who　then　would　speak　on　behalf　of　your　people？　Even　more　importantly；　I　believe　you　may　be　right。　Some　new　peril　may　be　lurking　in　the　Underdark　and　massacring　drow　left　and　right。　I　don't　want　it　to　kill　you　as　well。　I　hold　you　in　too　high　an　esteem；　and　I　certainly　wouldn't　want　the　other　nobles　of　Ched　Nasad　to　think　that　I　blithely　sent　you　to　your　doom。　They　might　infer　that　I　have　little　regard　for　even　the　most　exalted　officers　of　your　splendid　city；　when　of　course；　nothing　could　be　farther　from　the　truth。〃
〃You　honor　me。　Yet　considering　what's　at　stake—〃
〃Nothing　is　more　important　than　your　safety。　Anything　could　happen　if　you　attempt　to　traverse　the　tunnels　at　this　unsettled　time。　You　might　not　even　make　it　out　of　Bauthwaf。　Why；　one　of　Menzoberranzan's　own　patrols；　weary　from　too　much　duty；　imagining　a　dwarf　crouched　behind　every　stalagmite；　might　mistake　your　band　for　a　hostile　force　and　loose　a　volley　of　poison　darts　at　you。　You　might　die　an　agonizing　death　at　the　hands　of　your　own　friends；　in　which　case　I　would　never　five　myself。〃
A　chill　crept　up　Faeryl's　spine；　because　she　understood　what　Triel　had　really　said。　The　matron　mother　had　just　forbidden　her　to　leave　the　city；　on　pain　of　death。
But　why？　What　accounted　for　Matron　Baenre's　sudden　hostility？　Faeryl　had　no　idea　until　she　happened　to　glance　up　at　the　draegloth's　face。　Somehow　the　halffiend's　leer　suggested　an　explanation。
Triel　had　decided　Faeryl　was　less　diplomat　than　spy；　an　agent　for　some　power　inimical　to　Menzoberranzan；　who'd　concocted　this　business　of　missing　traders　to　provide　herself　with　a　good　excuse　to　leave　the　city　and　report　to　her　superiors。
Matron　Baenre　couldn't　allow　it；　couldn't　permit　a　spy　to　pass　along　the　tale　of　Menzoberranzan's　newfound　weakness。　She　didn't　dare；　because　it　was　entirely　possible　that　not　all　dark　elf　enclaves　had　suffered　the　same　calamity；　and　even　if　they　had；　perhaps　the　dwarves；　duergar；　deep　gnomes；　and　illithids　had　not。
What　remained　unclear　was　why　Triel　believed　as　she　did。　Who　had　put　the　idea　in　her　head；　and　what　did　that　person　have　to　gain　by　holding　Faeryl　in　the　city？
Jaw　tight；　the　emissary　stifled　the　impulse　to　confront　Triel　about　the　latter's　true　concerns。　She　knew　she　wouldn't　be　able　to　draw　the　Baenre　into　an　genuine　consideration　of　the　allegations　against　her。　Taking　a　malicious　pleasure　in　the　playacting；　Triel　would　simply　feign　shock　that　Faeryl　doubted　her　trust　and　good　will。
Indeed；　if　Faeryl　wanted　to　avoid　further　humiliation；　all　she　could　do　was　go　along　with　the　pretense。
She　smiled　and　said；　〃As　I　said　before；　Matron　Mother；　your　concern　honors　me；　and　I　will　of　course　obey　you。　I'll　remain　in　the　City　of　Spiders　and　savor　its　many　delights。〃
〃Good；〃　said　Triel；　and　Faeryl　imagined　the　words　that　remained　unspoken：　We'll　know　where　to　find　you　when　it's　time　for　your　arrest。
〃May　I　have　your　permission　to　withdraw？　I　see　there　are　many　others　seeking　the　benefit　of　your　wisdom。〃
〃Go；　with　my　blessing。〃
Faeryl　offered　her　obeisance；　exited　the　hall；　and　walked　through　the　great　mound　that　was　the　Baenre　citadel　until　she　found　herself　alone　and　unobserved　in　a　short　connecting　passageway。　She　took　the　rolled　maps　of　the　Underdark；　the　charts　she　had　imagined　that　she　and　Triel　might　consult　together；　from　beneath　her　arm。　Teeth　bared　in　a　snarl；　she　smashed　them　repeatedly　against　the　wall　until　the　stiff　parchment　cylinder　flopped　limp　and　battered　in　her　hands。
Gromph　and　Quenthel　strolled　about　the　plateau　watching　the　apprentices　and　masters　of　Sorcere　perform　the　rituals。　The　sound　of　chanting　and　the　pungent　scent　of　incense　filled　the　air；　along　with　various　conjured　phenomena：　flashes　of　light；　dancing　shadows；　demonic　faces　appearing　and　disappearing；　moaning　and　crackling。　All　to　lay　a　new　set　of　wards　about　Tier　Breche。
Gromph　was　mildly　impressed。　By　and　large；　his　minions　were　doing　a　good　job　of　it；　though　they　weren't　laying　any　enchantments　he　couldn't　pierce。　In　fact；　since　he　was　supervising　them　at　their　labors；　getting　past　the　wards　would　be　easy。
〃I　wonder　if　all　this　will　actually　protect　us；〃　said　Quenthel；　scowling；　her　long　skirt　rippling　in　the　stray　breeze　kicked　up　by　someone's　incantation。
Gromph　was　surprised　that　even　after　Beradax's　attack；　she　hadn't　donned　a　suit　of　mail。　Perhaps　she　thought　her　frightened　novices　and　priestesses　required　a　show　of　confidence。
〃It　didn't　protect　us　before；〃　hissed　one　of　the　annoyingly　vocal　snakes　prising　the　whip　on　her　belt。
Four　of　them　were　twisting　this　way　and　that；　watching　for　danger。　The　fifth　kept　its　cold　eyes　staring　at　Gromph；　not；　the　Archmage　was　convinced；　because　his　sister　suspected　him　of　trying　to　murder　her。　Or　rather　she　did；　but　not　specifically。　She　simply　had　too　many　viable　suspects。　There　were　subordinates　who　aspired　to　be　Mistress　of　ArachTinilith；　and　the　myriad　foes　of　House　Baenre。　Perhaps　it　was　even　Triel　seeking　to　forestall　the　all　but　inevitable　day　when　Quenthel　would　challenge　her　for　preeminence。
〃Enchantments　can　attenuate　with　time；〃　said　Gromph；　honestly　enough。
〃The　new　ones　will　be　stronger。　Strong　enough；　I　trust；　to　keep　you　safe　in　ArachTinilith。〃
〃It　isn't　just　the　temple　at　risk；〃　Quenthel　snapped。　〃Next　time；　a　demon　could　attack　Sorcere　or　MeleeMagthere。〃
Don't　count　on　it；　Gromph　thought；　but　he　said；　〃I　understand。〃
〃I've　seen　enough　for　now；〃　said　the　mistress；　her　scowl　deepening。　〃Don't　let　your　males　slack　off。　I　want　the　defenses　plete　before　you　leave　to　cast　your　spell　into　Narbondel。〃
〃Consider　it　done。〃
Quenthel　turned　and　walked　back　toward　ArachTinilith。　The　primary　entrance　to　the　imposing　spidershaped　temple　had　bee　merely　an　oddlooking　hole。　The　artisans　hadn't　yet　finished　repairing　the　crumpled　adamantine　leaves　of　the　gate。　Gromph　smiled　to　think　how　that　must　annoy　his　sister。　Knowing　her　as　he　did；　he　was　fairly　certain　the　unfortunate　metalworkers　had　already　felt　the　weight　of　her　displeasure。
Well；　perhaps　they　wouldn't　have　to　bear　it　for　much　longer。　He　fingered　a　small　ornament；　a　black　stone　clasped　in　a　silver　claw　dangling　over　his　heart。
Quenthel　hadn't　asked　about　the　trinket；　nor　had　Gromph　expected　her　to。　He　always　wore　his　amulet　of　eternal　youth　and　the　brooch　that　helped　him　imbue　Narbondel　with　radiant　warmth。　Beyond　those　two　staples；　he　tended　to　adorn　the　Robes　of　the　Archmage　with　a　constantly　changing　array　of　charms　and　talismans；　depending　on　his　whim　and　the　particular　magical　tasks　he　expected　to　perform　that　day。　His　sister　had　had　no　reason　to　suspect　that　this　particular　trinket　was　of　any　particular　significance；　certainly　not　to　herself。
If　s