Halisstra and Ryld played two games, using a small traveling board the weapons master kept in a pouch at his belt. Ryld Argith won both games, though Halisstra pressed him hard in both. She'd always had a knack forsava, though she could tell early on that she was playing a master. Long, silent hours passed in the darkness, with no sign that the lamias had dis-covered their hiding place.

Ican't believe they haven't followed us,Halisstra remarked at the end of the second game.

We slew many of their favorite thralls, I guess. The lamias were careless of the lives of their slaves, and perhaps do not have enough left to do a proper job of searching the city for us. Ryld smiled coldly. For that matter, we slew a few lamias, too. Perhaps they're not very anxious to find us.

As long as they leave us be, Halisstra replied.

With thesava game no longer holding her interest, she realized that she was dreadfully hungry. They'd eaten a thin breakfast before sunrise from the few supplies they'd brought from Ched Nasad, but Halisstra was certain that the day was drawing down. Drow could stand privation better than most, but hard combat followed by hours of vigilance had left her physically exhausted.

I'm starving, she flashed at Ryld. Things seem quiet. I'mgoing to slip back to the camp and break out some stores. Stay alert.

The weapons master nodded, and whispered, "Hurry back."

Halisstra rose and wrapped herpiwafwi close around her. The hall was still and dark, as it had been for hours. She stole quietly back to the cham-ber where the others waited for Pharaun to ready his spells, using all the stealth she could muster. She could hear softvoices ahead, Quenthel and Danifae conversing quietly in the ruined gallery.

A dark shadow flitted across Halisstra's heart. When she thought about it, there were few things she wished Danifae and Quenthel to speak about.

I should not have left them alone, she chided herself. I let Quenthel order me about like a male!

Deliberately, she crept closer, a silent shadow in the darkness. She could see Pharaun sitting wrapped in a blanket, deep in Reverie as he leaned against the wall, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. Quenthel and Danifae sat close together, turned a little away from the wizard, which brought them close to the passage in which Halisstra stood.

"What do you think you will do when we return to Menzoberranzan, girl? Do you think some high station awaits your mistress there?" Quen-thel said, her whispers scornful and acidic.

"I do not know, Mistress," Danifae said after a long time. "I have not thought that far ahead."

"Orcswill. You have been thinking hard from the moment I laid eyes on you in the audience hall of House Melarn. In fact, I'll even hazard a guess as to what must occupy your thoughts. You are wondering how you can bring about your return to House Yauntyrr in Eryndlyn, with Halis-stra Melarn as your battle captive."

"I dare not entertain such a thought - "

Quenthel laughed cruelly and said, "Save your innocent protests for someone more gullible, girl. You still have not answered my question. Why should I take you and your mistress back to Menzoberranzan?"

"It would be my hope," Danifae said in a faltering voice, "that I might have an opportunity to demonstrate my usefulness to you, so that you might choose to give me the opportunity to serve."

"I see you do not presume to answer for your mistress this time," Quenthel snorted. "So I should reward your faithless insolence by shield-ing you in House Baenre, when I know that you are nothing more than an opportunistic viper who will abandon her mistress as soon as the mood strikes her?"

"You misjudge me," Danifae said. "The tradition of adopting the best and most useful nobles of a defeated house is a way of life among our people. My mistress and I - "

The vipers of Quenthel's whip hissed and cracked close by Danifae's face, silencing her.

"I think," said Quenthel, "that I misjudge nothing at all. You are a simpering fawn of a girl who lacked the strength to keep herself from being taken as another's slave. You are nothing more than a useless or-nament to me - or you are a very patient and very clever little sycophant, in which case bringing you into my home is not very useful, either." She sat back, sneering at Danifae. "Perhaps I should simply advise Halisstra of this conversation. I doubt your mistress would be pleased to know how much you presume in her behalf. It is most unbecoming in a hand-maiden, after all."

"It is your prerogative, Mistress," Danifae said, bowing her head. "You may do as you please with me. I can only place myself at your con-venience." She looked up again from her submissive pose, and licked her lips. "In captivity I have come to understand something of the nature of power, what it means to hold absolute power over someone else. If I am not to wield that kind of power myself, then all that re-mains is to place myself into the care of a female who understands these things, too. Halisstra Melarn is my mistress, but only at your pleasure. When the time comes that you choose to consider the matter, I pray you will allow me to demonstrate my more useful qualities and earn the chance to live as your slave. You, more so than my mistress, understand the exercise of power."

"Cease your meaningless flattery, girl," Quenthel said. She stood smoothly and stepped close, looming menacingly above the kneeling girl with a smile on her lips. "I told you once that I can see past your pretty face. Besides, an appreciation for the uses of silence is only one of the virtues I find endearing in those I take under my gentle guidance."

"I beg you, Mistress," Danifae murmured. She leaned forward to nuzzle her face against Quenthel's thighs, eyes closed, entwining her arms around the Baenre's knees. "I would do anything to earn your favor. I beg you."

Quenthel's snake-headed scourge curled and teased Danifae's silver hair. The Mistress of the Academy stood in silence, the same cold smile on her face. When she reached down and gently raised Danifae's chin with one hand, she bent down to look closely into her eyes.

"Understand this," Quenthel said in a low voice. "I know exactly what you're doing, and you will not win this game. The women of House Baenre are made of sterner stuff than the weaklings of House Melarn. Savor every heartbeat, foolish girl, because in the instant you no longer amuse me, your life ends."

Quenthel disentangled herself and walked away, resuming her restless pacing across the dusty chamber. Danifae rose and moved to the same spot in which Halisstra had left her, kneeling gracefully and composing herself to wait.

Halisstra exhaled quietly in the shadowed passageway,forcing her knotted limbs to relax. She had not realized how tense she had become.

Now, what shall I make of that? she thought.

More than once in the girl's long years as her servant she had used Danifae's beauty to secure favors. If she called Danifae to account for pre-suming to address Quenthel in Halisstra's absence, she was certain that she knew how the girl would respond. Danifae would claim that she was simply exploring Quenthel's regard for Halisstra by feigning the attenuation of her loyalty to House Melarn, a plausible excuse to approach Quen-thel under the circumstances. Under such a scenario, Danifae could claim that she was simply telling Quenthel what she wanted to hear, in order to measure whether there was a place for her and her mistress in the powerful priestess's House. She would most likely finish with submissive apologies, and ask Halisstra to take her life if her actions had somehow displeased her noble mistress.

On the other hand, did it not seem equally likely that Danifae's ap-proach to Quenthel was unfeigned? If the maidservant found a way to escape the magical binding that held her captive, she would need Quen-thel's approval, or else her freedom might come at the cost of her life. It was quite possible that nothing more than the deadly capriciousness of a highbornpriestess prevented Danifae from seeking release from her bondage. After all, if Danifae claimed her freedom and looked to Quenthel to guarantee it, the Baenre might choose to destroy the girl for her presumption. Any drow would delight in encouraging the dreams of a slave, only to dash them to pieces for nothing more than an instant's dark pleasure.

Only a day before, Halisstra would have described Danifae as one of her most prized possessions. She was not only held to an unbreakable loyalty, but she served also as a confidante, perhaps even something of a friend - even if her faithfulness was magically compelled. They had shared many diversions and plotted many intrigues together. Danifae had been eager to follow her into her self-imposed exile, volunteering to share her trials and continue her servitude. Of course she would have paid a terrible price had she remained in House Melarn after Halisstra's flight, but had she been too eager, perhaps?

"Here I stand, afraid to confront or discipline my own handmaid," Halisstra breathed. "Lolth has cast me low, indeed."

With her coldness locked away in her heart, Halisstra carefully retraced her steps. She wasn't hungry anymore, but it was necessary to allay suspicions. She turned around, and advanced more openly toward the party's hiding place, allowing a slight scuff of her boot soles against the sand-covered stones to whisper through the dead, still air of the chamber. She would let Quenthel and Danifae believe she had heard nothing, but she would watch both of them closely from that point forward.

Nimor Imphraezl made his way among the grand palaces and jagged stalagmites of the Qu'ellarz'orl, draped in a hoodedpiwafwi. He wore a merchant's insignia, posing as a well-to-do commoner with busi-ness on the high plateau of Menzoberranzan's haughtiest noble Houses. It was a thin disguise, as anyone taking note of his confident step and rakish manner would not mistake him for anything other than a noble drow himself. The costume was not uncommon among highborn males who wished to move about incognito. Certain spells at his command might have sufficed to offer him almost any appearance he could think of, but Nimor had discovered long ago that the simplest disguises were often the best. Most drow houses were guarded by defenders who would note the approach of someone veiled in webs of illusion, but spotting a common disguise required a mundane vigilance that some dark elves had forgotten.

He passed a pair of Baenre armsmen, walking in the opposite direc-tion. The noble lads eyed him with open curiosity and not a little suspi-cion. Nimor bowed deeply and offered an empty pleasantry. The young rakes glanced back over their shoulders at him once or twice, but contin-ued on their business. Baenre boys had become hesitant to start trouble unless they were certain of themselves. Nimor took an extra turn or two on his way to his destination anyway, just to make sure they hadn't taken it into their heads to follow him. With one last double-back to clear his trail, he turned to a high walled palace near the center of the plateau and approached the fortresslike gate.

House Agrach Dyrr, the Fifth House of Menzoberranzan, clambered in and around nine needle-like towers of rock within the bounds of a great dry moat. Each fang of rock had been joined to its neighbor by a grace-ful wall of adamantine-reinforced stone, impossibly slender and strong. Flying buttresses, bladelike and beautiful, linked the natural towers to those wrought by drow, a narrow cluster of minarets and spires in the center of the compound that rose hundreds of feet above the plateau floor. A railless bridge spanned in a single elegant arch the sheer chasm sur-rounding the structure.

Nimor climbed the bridge and approached openly. Near the far end he was challenged by several swordsmen and a pair of competent-looking wizards.

"Hold," called the gate captain. "Who are you, and what is your busi-ness with Agrach Dyrr?"

The assassin halted with a smile. He could sense the myriad instru-ments of death trained upon him, as if he might suddenly take it into his head to utter some truly inappropriate answer.

"I am Reethk Vaszune, a purveyor of magical ingredients and reagents," he said, bowing and spreading his arms. "I have been sum-moned by the Old Dyrr to discuss the sale of my goods."

The gate captain relaxed and said, "The master told us to expect you, Reethk Vaszune. Come this way."

Nimor followed the captain through several grand reception halls and high, echoing chambers in the great heart of the Agrach Dyrr castle. The captain showed him to a small sitting room, elaborately furnished in exotic corals and limestone rendered in the motifs of the kuo-toa, the fish creatures who dwelled in some of the Underdark's subterranean seas. Exotic enough to bespeak the House's wealth and taste, the room radi-ated arrogance.

"I am informed that Master Dyrr will join us shortly," the guard cap-tain said.

A moment later, a hidden door in the opposite wall slid smoothly open, and Old Dyrr appeared. The ancient wizard was decrepit indeed, a rare sight for any elf, let alone a drow. He leaned on a great staff of black wood, and his ebon skin seemed as thin and delicate as parchment. A bright, cold spark burned in the old wizard's eye, hinting at reserves of am-bition and vitality that had not yet been tapped completely despite his great age.

"We are delighted to see you again so soon, Master Reethk," the an-cient drow said with a dry, crackling voice. "Have you perchance obtained the things we discussed?"

"I believe you will be satisfied, Lord Dyrr," Nimor said.

He glanced at the guard captain, wholooked to the old wizard to make sure that he was dismissed. Dyrr sent him along with a small wave of his hand, then the old wizard made another gesture and spoke an arcane word, encapsulating the chamber in a sphere of crawling blackness that hissed and moaned softly like a thing alive.

"I hope you'll forgive me, young one, if I take steps to ensure that our conversation remains private," the ancient drow wheezed. "Eavesdropping seems to be a way of life among our kind."

He shuffled to an ornately carved chair and lowered himself into the seat, seemingly careless of the fact that he bared the nape of his wattled neck to Nimor in so doing.

"A sensible precaution," Nimor said.

The old one reckons me no threat, the assassin noted. Either he is very trusting - unlikely - or very confident. If he has such confidence inisolating himself with me, then either he does not have the measure of my strength, or I do not have the measure of his.

"Itis confidence, young one," the old wizard said, "and you do not have the measure of me, for we are both of us more than we appear." Dyrr laughed again, a wet and rasping sound. "Yes, your thoughts are known to me. I did not reach my advanced age through carelessness. Now, take a seat. We will dispense with this foolishness and discuss our business."

Nimor spread his hands in a gesture of acquiescence and took the chair opposite the old wizard. With some care he organized his thoughts, locking away his darker secrets in a place he would not examine while Dyrr sat by reading his thoughts. Instead he concentrated solely on the matter at hand.

"You have no doubt heard of the unfortunate demise of the Matron Mother of House Faen Tlabbar?" the assassin said. "And her daughter Sil'zet, as well?"

"It did not escape my notice. Count on the Tlabbars to go crying murder to the ruling council. What possible action did they hope to exhort from the other matron mothers, I wonder?"

"Perhaps they were overcome with grief," Nimor replied.

He reached slowly into a pouch at his side, allowing the wizard to note the deliberate nature of his motion. From the pouch he withdrew a plat-inum brooch, worked in the barred double-curve symbol of Faen Tlabbar and crowned by a dark ruby. Nimor placed it on the table.

"The matron mother's own House brooch, which I managed to pocket as a keepsake for you. I hope your scrying shield is good, Lord Dyrr. No doubt the Tlabbar wizards will be seeking that emblem with all the magic at their disposal."

"Half-witted children fumbling in thedark," Dyrr muttered. "Five hundred years ago I'd forgotten more about the Art than that whole house full of wizards had collectively deciphered in all their years of training."

He reached out one near-skeletal hand for the brooch and weighed it in his hand.

"I am sure you have a means to confirm the authenticity of the brooch," said Nimor.

"Oh, I believe you, assassin. I do not think you have cheated me, but I will examine the issue later, just to be certain."

The wizard left the brooch sitting on the table and leaned back into his chair. Nimor waited patiently while Dyrr settled back, tapping one long, thin finger on his staff, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Well," the old wizard said finally, "in our previous meeting I required that you demonstrate to me the reach and skill of your brotherhood by re-moving an enemy of my House, and I suppose that you have done exactly that. You have won my ear. So what is it that the Jaezred Chaulssin want of House Agrach Dyrr?"

Nimor shifted and shot a sharp glance at the wizard. Dyrr was very well informed indeed, to know of that name. Very few outside of Chaulssin did. In fact, Nimor had studiously avoided bringing it up when he had first ap-proached the ancient lord. He wondered what clues he had left for the wizard to decipher, and whether Dyrr could be permitted that knowledge.

"Do not be hasty, boy," Dyrr cautioned him. "You gave away nothing that I did not already know. I have been aware of the House of Shadows for quite a long time."

"I am impressed," Nimor said.

"On the contrary, you believe that I am making empty boasts." Dyrr pointed at his own templeand smiled coldly. "I am not given to bluffing or making wild guesses. Long ago I discerned a pattern of activity that spanned a number of the great cities of our race and inferred the existence of a secret league between seemingly weak minor Houses, each renowned for the skill of its assassins, each reputed to be governed by its males, each a secret ally of the others. These families that otherwise would have been devoured by their ambitious matriarchal rivals instead survived through the convenient and violent deaths of any emergent enemies. Though I find it ironic that any particular House of the Jaezred Chaulssin must, by definition,be considered the blackest sort of traitors to the city unfortunate enough to host them. Placing loyalty to your House above loyalty to your city is not a particularly egregious sin, of course, but to acknowledge a tie of loyalty to a House in another city all together, that is something entirely different, is it not?"

Nimor kept his mind carefully empty and said, "You seem to know all our secrets."

He studied the wizard carefully, trying not to let the calculations he performed in his mind show.

"Not entirely true," Dyrr replied. "I would give much to know how your brotherhood orders its Houses, where your true strength is held, and who rules your society. You name yourselves after the city of Chaulssin, which fell into shadow many hundreds of years ago. I wonder about the significance of that appellation."

He knows more than we can permit, Nimor thought.

He glanced up sharply at the old wizard, realizing that Dyrr would have noted that thought. The ancient mage simply studied him with his weak gaze and inclined his head. The assassin regained the mastery of his thoughts and decided to change the subject.

"For the sake of our friendship, I respectfully submit that it would be best for all involved if you did not do anything with your knowledge that would draw it to anyone else's attention. We feel quite strongly that our secrets are best left that way."

"I will do as I wish. However, I do not wish to incur your enmity. I think it would be inconvenient to have the Jaezred Chaulssin as my enemy."

"It is not merely inconvenient, Lord Dyrr; it is invariably fatal."

"Perhaps. In any event, I will keep your secrets."

The old drow laughed softly, clutching his staff with his withered hands.

"Now, let's get to our business, young one. You and your fellows demonstrated no small amount of ability in the murder of Matron Mother Tlabbar, the enemy of my House. Very well, I am suitably impressed. What is it you want of Agrach Dyrr?"

"I need an ally in Menzoberranzan, Lord Dyrr, and I have a strong suspicion that you might be that ally." Nimor leaned forward, offering a sly grin. "Events now proceed in this city that will lead to the downfall of the Houses ahead of yours. If you choose to be a part of those events, you will find that House Agrach Dyrr is possessed of a great opportunity to order the city largely as you like. We believe you can help us to steer Men-zoberranzan through the difficult times ahead."

"And if we refuse, we die?"

Nimor shrugged.

"Given the uncertainty of matters as they stand," said Dyrr, "I am hes-itant to embrace a cause I know little about."

"Understandable. I will, of course, elaborate, but I hope you will recognize the wisdom, in these uncertain times, of taking aggressive and resolute steps to create the certainty you wish to see. Impose your vision on events, instead of allowing events to limit your imagination."

"Easy words to speak, young one, but more difficult to render into action," Dyrr said.

The ancient wizard fell silent for a long time, regarding the rakish as-sassin with a baleful, unblinking gaze. Nimor met his eyes without flinch-ing, but he found himself wondering again what hidden strength the Agrach high mage must hold. Dyrr smiled again, doubtless reading Nimor's thoughts, and shifted in his seat.

"Very well, then, Prince of Chaulssin. You have awakened my curios-ity. Explain exactly what you mean, and what you plan, and I will say if House Agrach Dyrr can stand by your bold actions or not."

"Gather closely, dear friends," Pharaun said with a flourish, "and I will explain a few things it would be wise to remember while we walk within the shadows."

The wizard stood confidently in the center of the chamber, arms folded, showing no hint of the exhaustion or despair of the day's des-perate flight. Stirring from his Reverie shortlybefore sunset, he had spent almost an hour preparing dozens of spells from his collection of traveling tomes.

While no one bothered to draw closer to the wizard, all focused their attention on him. Pharaun grinned in delight, pleased as ever by the at-tention. He knotted his fists behind his back as iflecturing to novices at Sorcere, and began.

"When we are ready, I will lead us along a path that skirts the Fringe - the borders of the Plane of Shadow. We will travel quite swiftly, and minor inconveniences such as icy mountains, hungry monsters, and thick-headed humans won't trouble us in the least. I expect a walk of ten to twelve hours to reach Mantol-Derith, provided that I do not become lost and lead you all into some grisly demise in an uncivilized plane far from Faerun."

"You fail to reassure me, Pharaun," Ryld sighed.

"Oh, I haven't ever gotten myself lost in the Shadow Deep, nor do I know of a wizard who has. Of course, one would simply never hear from such an unfortunate fellow again, so perhaps a mishap in shadow walking might explain the disappearance of a young mage I knew - "

"Get to the point," Quenthel snapped.

"Oh, fine. There are two important things to remember, then, for those of you challenged by the effort. First, while we need fear no diffi-culties in this world while we walk, we gain no special protection from the hazards of the Plane of Shadow. There are things in that place that will object to our passage if they happen upon us - I encountered one such creature the last time I traveled this way, and it was very nearly the last of my marvelous adventures.

"Second, and most importantly, donotlose sight of me. Stay close by and follow me diligently. If you lose contact with me while we traverse the Plane of Shadow, you will likelywander its gloomybarrens for all eternity - or until something terrible devours you, which will probably happen rather soon. My attention must remain on maintaining the spell and navigating the Fringe, so don't make it easy for me to misplace you, unless of course I don't like you, in which case please feel free to amble the Shadow Deep at will."

"Will the lamias be able to follow us?" Ryld asked, his eye still on the passage leading back to the ruins above.

"No, not unless they have a wizard as learned and charming as I, and he knows a spell that permits one to track shadow walkers, which I do not." Pharaun smiled. "You will be able to shake the dust of the surface from your boots, friend Ryld. Concern yourself no more with the perils of this place, and save your worry for what we might meet on the Fringe." The wizard glanced around, and nodded to himself. "All right, then. Take each other's hands - there's a good fellow, Jeggred, you can get everybody at once, can't you? - and be still while I cast the spell."

Pharaun raised his hands and muttered a series of arcane syllables, working his spell.

Halisstra stood between Danifae and Valas, their hands linked. The great subterranean gallery grew somehowdarker, if such a thing could be possible in an unlit room underground. Drow could see quite well even in the darkest places, but it seemed to Halisstra as if some kind of murk hung in the air. At first glance, it seemed that Pharaun had succeeded in little more than conjuring a gloom around the party, but as she studied her surroundings more closely, she realized that she was indeed no longer upon Faerun. A preternatural chill gnawed at her exposed skin, radiating from the cold dust beneath her feet. The high, rune-carved columns that lined the space were twisted caricatures that loomed bizarrely out over the chamber's open floor.

"Strange," she murmured. "I expected something . . . different."

"This is the way of the shadow, dear lady," Pharaun said. His voice seemed flat and distant, despite the fact he stood no more than six feet from her. "This plane has no substance of its own. It is made up of echoes from our own world, and other, stranger places. We stand in the shadow of the ruins above, but they are not the same ruins we recently traversed. The lamias and their minions do not exist here. Now, remember, stay close, and do not lose sight of me."

The wizard set off along the passage leading back to the surface. Halis-stra blinked in surprise. He took only one small step as he turned away from the party, but he was suddenly across the room, and a second step carried him perilously far down the corridor outside. She hurried to keep him in sight, only to find that a single step caused the chamber to blur into darkness. She stood so close to Pharaun that she had to restrain an impulse to back up a step, lest she throw herself even farther away.

The wizard smirked at her discomfiture and said, "I am flattered by your attention, dear lady, but you need not stay quite so close." He laughed softly. "Just step when I step, and you will pace me more easily."

He took several slow, measured strides, holding back a bit as the rest of the party caught the trick of it, and in a moment they all marched to-gether along the dusty streets of Hlaungadath beneath a cold and starless sky. Each step seemed to catapult Halisstra forty, perhaps fifty feet across the dim terrain. The black shapes of ruined buildings leered and leaned from all sides, huddling down close over the streets as if to hem in the trav-elers, only to fade into dark blurs with each careful stride.

Outside the ruined walls, Pharaun paused a moment to check on the party. He nodded toward the desert stretching to cold mountains in the west, and he began to march quickly, setting a rapid pace that belied his effete mannerisms and aversion to the toils of travel. Finally able to stretch out her legs, Halisstra began to gain a sense of just how quickly they were moving. In five minutes of walking they left the site of the Netherese city a league behind them, a dark blot on the dim breast of the sands. In thirty minutes the mountains, nothing more than a dis-tant fence of snowcapped peaks from Hlaungadath's streets, towered up over them like a rampart of night. The shadow walk also made light of the most difficult terrain in their path. Without hesitation Pharaun stepped out over a sheer ravine as if it simply did not exist. The magic of his spell and the strange plane they traversed brought his foot down securely on the far side of the obstacle. Climbing the long, rugged slopes leading up into the mountains was no more work than stepping from stone to stone across a stream.

"Tell me, Pharaun," Quenthel said after a time, "why did we crawl through miles of dangerous Underdark passages to reach Ched Nasad, when you might have used this spell to shorten our journey?"

Halisstra could sense the ire hidden in the Baenre's voice, even through the murk and gloom of the Shadow Fringe.

"Three reasons, fair Quenthel," Pharaun replied, not taking his eyes from the unseen path he followed. "First, you did not ask me to do any such thing. Second, the wizards of Ched Nasad arranged certain defenses against intrusions of this sort. Finally, as I said before, the Fringe is a dan-gerous place. I only suggested this after we all agreed that marching for months across the sun-blasted surface world presented an even less ap-pealing prospect."

Quenthel seemed to consider the wizard's words, while mountains reeled and gnarled black trees began to appear around them.

"In the future," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said, "I shall expect you to volunteer useful information or suggestions in a timely manner. Your reticence in advancing ideas may cost us all our lives. Is that worth the meager pleasure you derive from knowing something we may not?"

The Master of Sorcere's teeth gleamed in his dark face, and he con-tinued without making a reply. For some time he devoted his attention to navigating the Fringe. As Pharaun was under normal circumstances the most garrulous of the company, the effort of concentrating on his spell left the small party of dark elves unusually silent. They fell into a watchful march, winding quietly along in single file behind the wizard, as the immeasurable journey through the darkness stretched out into what might have been hours or even days. Halisstra found herself beginning to con-sider the very curious notion that this was the real world, the true substance of things, and the bland mundane rigidity of her own world was the illusion. She found that she did not care for that thought at all.

After a long time, Pharaun raised his hand and called a halt. They stood on a small gray stone bridge, arching over a deep gully through which trickled a dark, bubbling stream. Nearby the black ramparts of an abandoned city jutted into the lightless sky, a place that seemed more like a fortress than a town, its thick walls pierced by turret-guarded gates.

"We're about halfway to our destination," Pharaun said. "I suggest half an hour's rest, and maybe a meal from what stores we have. We should be able to replenish our supplies when we reach Mantol-Derith."

Ryld gestured at the empty castle nearby and said, "What is that place?"

"That?" Pharaun glanced over his shoulder. "Who knows? Maybe it's the echo of a surface city in our world, or maybe it's a reflection of some other reality all together. The Shadow is like that."

The company huddled by the low stone wall of the bridge and made a dreary repast from their dwindling provisions. The ever present chill of the place leeched away the warmth of Halisstra's body, as if the stones be-neath her hungered for her very life. The gloom smothered their spirits, deadening any attempt at conversation, making it hard to even think with any degree of acuteness. When the time came to set off again, Halisstra was surprised by the sheer lethargy that had crept into her limbs. She had little desire to do anything except sink back down to the ground and lie still, wrapped in shadows. Only with a fierce and focused effort of will did she drive herself into motion again.

They set off into the unending night, and had gone on for some dis-tance from the vicinity of the old bridge when Halisstra became aware of the fact that they were being followed. She was not sure of it, at first. Whatever trailed them was stealthy, and the deadening effects of the Shadow made her unsure if she had really heard something or not. It seemed to whisper and titter in the darkness, a presence that announced itself in a stirring of the motionless air, the faint rush of wind behind them. She turned and studied the path, searching for their pursuer, but she saw nothing save the weary faces of her companions.

Valas brought up the rear of the march, and he looked up at her as he drew close.

You sense it too? he signed.

"What is it?" Halisstra wondered aloud. "What manner of things live in a place like this?"

The scout shrugged wearily and said, "Something that Pharaun has reason to fear, which alarms me." He reached out and turned her back toward the rest of the party. Halisstra was shocked to see how far they'd moved away in the few short moments she had stood watching. "Come, we do not want to be left behind. Perhaps what hunts us will be content to follow."

They hurried to catch up to the others - and at that moment, their pursuer attacked. Striding up out of the shadows behind them loomed a tremendous figure composed of pure darkness, a black, faceless giant tow-ering more than twenty feet in height. Despite its great size, the thing moved swiftly and silently toward them, strangely graceful. Two shining ovals of silver marked its eyes, and long, spidery talons reached for Halis-stra and Valas. Its sibilant whispers filled their minds with awful things, like fat pale worms crawling through rotten meat.

"Pharaun, wait!" Halisstra cried.

She fumbled for her mace as the dark giant approached. Beside her, Valas swore and swept out his curved blades, crouching in a fighting stance. A nauseating, tangible chill radiated from the creature, like the cold that seeped through the entire plane but far more concentrated and malevolent in the presence of the monster. The dark giant shimmered, acquiring an almost oily appearance, and it sprang forward in a sudden burst of motion.

Before Halisstra could cry out another warning, one blow of its mas-sive taloned fist knocked her sprawling to the ground. It turned to fix its pale and terrible gaze upon Valas. The Bregan D'aerthe scout screamed in terror and averted his eyes, dropping one kukri and allowing the second to droop limply from his hand.

Jeggred roared a challenge and bounded toward the monster, talons extended. The dark giant slammed the half-demon to the ground with one blow of its long black hand. The draegloth scrambled back to his feet and leaped up to rake deep, black furrows across the giant's thighs and abdomen, seeking to eviscerate the creature, but the wounds closed after the draegloth's claws passed through the thing's flesh. Jeggred howled in frustration and redoubled his futile assault.

"Stand back, you fool!" Pharaun cried from nearby. "It is a nightwalker. You need powerful magic to harm it."

The wizard chanted a dire spell, and a bright bolt of green lightning shot out to smite the creature high in its torso - but the pernicious energy just flowed away from the monster's featureless black hide, leav-ing it unharmed.

Your spells are useless, whispered a dark and terrible voice in Halisstra's mind. Your weapons are useless. You are mine, foolish drow.

"We will see about that," Halisstra snarled.

She picked herself up and dashed forward, raising her mace. The weapon was enchanted, and she hoped it would prove powerful enough to harm the creature. A long arm with deadly talons raked at her, but Halis-stra tumbled beneath the monster's grasp and hammered at the nightwalker's knee. With a sharp crack of sound and a flash of actinic light, the weapon detonated with the force of a thunderclap. The nightwalker made no sound, but its knee buckled, and it staggered.

Quenthel's whip hissed through the air, flaying at the creature's face. The vipers tore and snapped through dark flesh, leaving great gory wounds, but the monster seemed unaffected by the deadly venom coursing through the weapon. Apparently even the most virulent poison did not discomfit its shadowstuff.

Ryld, wheeling and spinning, slashed at the monster with his gleam-ing greatsword. The nightwalker reached out to wrest away his weapon, but the Master of Melee-Magthere danced back and sheared off half the creature's hand with one savage blow. The nightwalker screamed sound-lessly, its anguished cry stabbing through their very minds. Ignoring the others, the creature fastened its baleful gaze on Ryld, and conjured up from the black soil underfoot a dreadful, dark vapor that blotted out all sight.

Halisstra groped her way into the black mist, seeking the monster. The vapor seared her nose like vitriol and ate at her eyes, burning like fire. She persevered, and felt the giant looming over her. She raised her mace and struck again, hammering at the creature's legs. From beside her she heard the hiss of Quenthel's whip, tearing into dark flesh. Great black talons raked through the vapor, ripping at Halisstra's shield, driving her to the ground.

"It's here!" she called, hoping to lead someone else to the battle, but the acidic mists burned like fire in her throat.

She narrowed her eyes to nothing more than bare slits, and flailed back at the monster. The nightwalker's venomous will settled over her like a blanket of madness, seeking to rend away her reason, but she endured the new assault, lashing out again and again.

Ryld's sword lanced through the murk like a white razor, opening dreadful wounds in the shadow creature's body. Black fluid splattered like droplets of poison, and the mind-whispers of the nightwalker rose into a hellish mental shriek that dragged Halisstra to the very edge of madness - and there was silence.

She felt the thing abruptly discorporate around her, its body explod-ing into black, stinking mist that dissipated into the shadows.

Still gagging on the poisonous black vapors the creature had raised, Halisstra stumbled out of the dark cloud and fell to all fours, gasping for breath. Her chest burned as if she'd drunk molten sulfur. When at last she could open her eyes and take notice of her surroundings again, she found that most of the rest of the party had fared little better than she.

Ryld slumped against a stone, his greatsword point down before him. He was leaning on the blade, exhausted. Quenthel stood close by, her hands on her knees, coughing wretchedly.

When at last she could draw breath, the high priestess looked up at Pharaun and said, "That is what you encountered before?"

The wizard nodded and said, "Nightwalkers. They roam the Fringe. Creatures of undead darkness, evil personified. As you saw, they can be . . . formidable."

The Mistress of the Academy drew herself up and returned her whip to her belt.

"I think I understand why you hesitated to volunteer this method of travel until now," she said.

Despite his exhaustion, the wizard preened.

"Careful, Quenthel," he said in a mocking voice, "you almost ac-knowledged my usefulness."

The high priestess's eyes narrowed, and she straightened proudly. She obviously didn't care to be the subject of the wizard's humor. Seemingly ignorant of the smoldering glare Quenthel fixed on him, Pharaun made a grand gesture indicating the formless dark ahead of them.

"Our path leads now into the shadow of our own Underdark," he said. "I suggest we redouble our efforts and finish our march quickly, as there may be more nightwalkers about."

"That's a damned cheerful thought," grumbled Ryld. "How much far-ther now?"

"Not more than an hour, perhaps two," Pharaun answered.

The wizard waited while the dark elves stood and fell in behind him again. Ryld and Valas, the two who had borne the virulence of the nightwalker's dread gaze, seemed gray with weariness, hardly able to keep their feet.

"Come," said Pharaun. "Mantol-Derith is no Menzoberranzan, but it will be the most civilized place we've seen in days, and no one is likely to want to kill us.

"Not right away, at least."

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