Tension stiffened Qilue's body. If she did not find a way to intervene, all would be lost. Scrying magic was normally passive. It would channel simple detections or messages, but only imperfectly. She was one of the Chosen of Mystra, though, and the silver fire was hers to command. She let it build within her until it sparked from her hair and crackled the chill air around her, then she directed it downward with a finger. It streaked into the water, hissing toward its target. The hemisphere of ice enclosing Halisstra sparkled briefly, as if each crystal was a glinting mote.

Halisstra's next sword blow shattered it.

Halisstra burst from the collapsing ice, already running. She passed the body of a drow female whose throat had been slit. It was the priestess Uluyara. Dead.

Qilue fought down the lump in her throat. Uluyara's part was done. She was with Eilistraee.

Halisstra ran, shouting, toward a drow female who held a dripping adamantine knife in her right hand and a whip with five writhing serpent heads in her left. That would be Quenthel, leader of the expedition from Menzoberranzan, a high priestess of Lolth. She had turned her back on Halisstra and was walking disdainfully away. A male drow walked beside Quenthel, his once elegant clothes torn and travel-stained. He must be, Qilue decided, the wizard Pharaun.

Halisstra had described for Uluyara each of the members of the expedition that had gone to Ched Nasad, and Uluyara had passed those descriptions on to Qilue. Quenthel and Pharaun had been mere names when Uluyara had come to the Promenade to discuss with Qilue what must be done, but they had become a threat that seemed very close at hand, despite the vast distance that lay between them and Qilue.

"Stop, Baenre!" Halisstra shouted at their backs. "Face us and let's see which goddess is the stronger."