"House Melarn will aid me yet."

Qilue sighed her relief. All was not lost. Not yet. If Eilistraee had indeed heard Qilue's prayer and revived Halisstra, there was still a chance that the Melarn priestess would slay Lolth.

"And House Melarn will betray me."

The glow that was the goddess flickered and grew dim.

Qilue started. Her awareness was back in her body again. She stood in the forest beside the font, the connection with her goddess at an end. The priestesses who had aided in her scrying were seated on the ground, clothed. Snow dusted their hair and shoulders. More snow fell and the sun was rising, a blood-red smudge against the clouds to the east. Much time had passed since Qilue had slipped into communion with Eilistraee, and the hand that gripped the edge of the font was covered in snow. She shook it off and shivered.

Something was wrong. She could feel it in the sick hollow that had opened in her stomach. Turning to the font, she cast a second scrying. Far easier than the first had been, its target was on Toril, at least, not in some deep hollow of the Abyss. The target was the matron mother of one of the noble Houses of Menzoberranzan-a priestess of Lolth. Qilue leaned closer and saw that the drow was wielding magic.

Sensing Qilue scrying her, Lolth's priestess stared a challenge at her observer. Wild laughter, joyous and cruel, bubbled from the font as she began a magical attack.

Qilue had seen enough. She ended the scrying.

One of the priestesses of Eilistraee who had waited with Qilue rose to her feet. "Lady Qilue?" she asked. She sounded nervous, uncertain. "Is something wrong?"

The other priestesses also rose, some whispering tense prayers, others silent with dread anticipation.

Qilue closed her eyes. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Halisstra has failed," she told them. "Lolth lives. Her Silence is broken."