“West, then,” she said to herself.
She walked for a couple of hours, trying to keep the moon left of her, even though she felt it rather than saw it. The night was cold, and high thin clouds scudded by overhead, driven by a fierce blast of wind that didn’t reach down to the shelter of the trees. The woods were cold and still, probably pitch black by a surface dweller’s standards, but Halisstra found that the diffuse moonlight flooded the forest like a sea of gleaming silver shadow. She paused to study the sky, trying to gauge whether she was allowing the moon’s passage to affect her course too much, when she heard the faint sound of rushing water.
Carefully she stole forward, trotting softly through the night, and she emerged at the bank of a wide, shallow brook that splashed over a pebbly bed. It was wider than any she’d seen yet, easily thirty to forty feet, and it ran from her left to her right.
“Is this it?” she breathed.
It seemed large enough, and it was about where she’d expected to find it—a march and a half from the place where she’d been captured. Halisstra crouched and studied the swift water, thinking. If she made the wrong decision, she might follow the stream into some desolate and unpopulated portion of the woods and die a lonely death of hunger and cold. Then again, her prospects weren’t very bright no matter what she did. Halisstra snorted to herself, and followed the stream to her left. What did she have to lose?
She managed another mile or so before the night’s walk and the cold air made her hunger too great to be borne any longer, and she resolved to stop and make a midnight meal of whatever supplies she had left. Halisstra shook her pack off her shoulder and started to look around when an odd whirring sound fluttered through the air. Without even thinking about it, Halisstra threw herself flat on the ground—she knew the sound too well.
Two small quarrels flew past her, one sinking into a nearby tree trunk, the other glancing from her armored sleeve. Halisstra rolled behind the tree and quickly sang a spell of invisibility, hoping to throw off her assailants’ aim, when she happened to glance again at the bolt. It was small and black, with red fletching; the bolt of a drow hand crossbow.
Several stealthy attackers moved closer through the wood, their presence indicated only by the occasional rustle of leaves on the ground or a low signaling whistle. Halisstra carefully stood, still hiding behind the tree. In a low voice she called, “Hold your fire. I killed the Eilistraeen priestess who carried these arms. I serve the Spider Queen.”
Her voice carried the hint of a bae’qeshel song that gave her words an undeniable sincerity.
Several drow stalked closer, their feet rustling softly in the underbrush. Halisstra caught sight of them, furtive males in green and black who prowled through the moonlit forest like panthers. They peered into the darkness, searching for her, but her spell concealed her well enough.
She set her hand to the hilt of Seyll’s sword and shifted slightly to ready her shield in case they found a way to defeat her invisibility.
One of the drow in front of her paused a moment and replied, “We’ve been looking for you.”
“Looking for me?” Halisstra said. “I seek an audience with Tzirik. Can you take me to him?”
The Jaelre warriors halted. Their fingers flashed quickly, signing to each other. After a moment, the warrior who had spoken straightened and lowered his crossbow.
“Your company of spider-kissers came to Minauthkeep three days ago,” he said.
“You were separated from them?”
Hoping that Quenthel and the others had done nothing to make enemies of the Jaelre, Halisstra decided to answer honestly.
“Yes,” she said.
“Very well, then,” the stranger replied. “High Priest Tzirik ordered us to find you, so we’ll take you back. Why, and what becomes of you there, is up to him.”
Halisstra allowed her invisibility to fade, and nodded. The Jaelre drow fell in around her and set off at a quick pace toward the south, following the stream. She might have had no idea where she was, but the Jaelre seemed to know the woods well enough. In less than an hour, they came to a ruined keep, its white walls gleaming in the moonlight. The stream passed a stone’s throw from the fortress.
I had the right stream, Halisstra noted with some surprise.
She’d kept her course for two nights and veered only a couple of miles too far to her right, it seemed. She thought about what would have happened if she’d crossed the stream and continued. The thought made her shiver.
The Jaelre scouts led Halisstra into the ruined keep, past watchful guards who crouched in hidden places and kept an eye on the forest all around. She discovered that the place was in much better repair than it seemed from outside. Her guards escorted her to a modest hall whose only furnishings were a large fire and an array of hunting trophies, mostly surface creatures Halisstra did not recognize. She waited for a long time, growing hungrier and thirstier, but eventually a short, solidly built male of middle years appeared, his face covered in a ceremonial black veil.
“Lucky me,” he said in a rich voice. “Twice in three days servants of the Spider Queen have called upon my home and asked for me by name. I begin to wonder if Lolth wishes me to reconsider my devotion to the Masked Lord.”
“You are Tzirik?” Halisstra asked.
“I am he,” the priest said, folding his arms and studying her. “And you must be Halisstra.”
“I am Halisstra Melarn, First Daughter of House Melarn, Second House of Ched Nasad. I understand that my companions are here.”
“Indeed they are,” Tzirik said. He offered a cold smile. “One thing at a time, though. I see you wear the arms of a priestess of Eilistraee. How did you come by them?”
“As I told your warriors, my company was attacked by surface elves some distance away from here five days ago. My companions escaped the attack, but I was captured and taken to a place called Elventree. There, a female who called herself Seyll Auzkovyn called on me in my cell, and sought to indoctrinate me in the ways of Eilistraee.”
“A rather simpleminded notion,” Tzirik observed. “Continue, please.”
“I allowed her to believe I might be swayed,” Halisstra said. “She offered to take me to a rite they were to hold two nights ago out in the forest. I found an opportunity to escape as we traveled to their ceremony.”
She glanced down at the mail and weapons she wore. The naïveté of the female still surprised Halisstra. Seyll had not seemed like a stupid drow, not by any stretch of the imagination, and yet she had fatally misjudged Halisstra.
“In any event,” she finished, “I took the liberty of borrowing some things Seyll had no more use for, since the good people of Elventree confiscated my own weapons and armor.”
“And now you would like to be reunited with your comrades?”
“Provided they’re not dead or imprisoned, yes,” she replied.
“Nothing like that,” said the priest. “They asked me to provide an unusual service for them, so I thought of something they could do for me by way of compensation for my time and trouble. If they succeed, they should return in a day or two. The question is, will you be here to greet them?”
Halisstra narrowed her eyes and remained silent. The high priest paced over by the fire and took a poker from a stand by the hearth. He prodded at the crackling logs.