She had to run nearly doubled over to avoid the strands of ooze hanging from the ceiling. Acid splattered her back, dribbled in between the links in her mail, and burned its way to her skin. Other drops struck the back of her head. Naxil slipped on the acid-slick floor, nearly falling. Leliana grabbed his arm and dragged him into the tunnel.

A few paces in, the acid dribbles stopped. Though the stone here was also cracked, the gray ooze didn't seem to like the dry heat. The farther up the tunnel they ran, the drier the floor got. At last Leliana called a halt. She gritted her teeth at the hot flares of pain in her back, shoulders, scalp, and hands. It was as if a dozen wasps were stinging her all at once. And those had just been drips. Once that ooze forced its way fully through the cracks in the cavern ceiling, there would be no going back.

Naxil's free hand strayed to his shoulder, fingers gingerly touching an acid burn in his leather armor. He winced.

"Have you been taught the healer's prayer?" Leliana asked softly.

Naxil nodded. "A lesser version of it."

"Use it."

Together they sang their prayers-softly, their voices mere whispers in the darkness. When they were done, Naxil sighed deeply and flexed his shoulder, stretching the healed skin. "What are the battle-mistress's orders?"

"Rylla didn't answer my sending. Looks like we're on our own."

Naxil glanced back the way they'd come. "I think I know where we are."

"Oh?"

"Does the name Trobriand mean anything to you?"

Leliana shook her head.

"He was an apprentice of Halaster-the wizard who used magic to carve out much of Undermountain."

"Him, I've heard of," Leliana said in a wry voice.