Among the drow, Halaster was a name often followed by an oath. Centuries ago-long before Qilue had founded the Promenade-the "mad mage" and his followers had waged war upon the drow of Undermountain, slaughtering hundreds, if not thousands. Halaster had harassed the drow with his spells through the long centuries since. When the mad mage had died four years ago, Qilue had led the priestesses of the Promenade in a song of rejoicing.

"I've been thinking about the construct we followed here," Naxil continued. "Trobriand was known as the 'metal mage.' He was famous for his constructs. The portal may have deposited us in one of his sanctums. That would explain why the crab made for it."

"How do you know so much about ancient wizards?"

Naxil's eyes crinkled. "My father was a sorcerer. An alchemist. I was training as his apprentice, before I joined the Masked Lady's dance."

Leliana's eyebrows rose. Naxil was a boy of hidden talents. "Do you know any spells?"

"Only a couple of cantrips-and not terribly useful ones. I can inscribe objects with an indelible House glyph, and"-his fingers twitched, and his voice suddenly shifted to a point behind her-"I can shift sounds."

"Not bad," Leliana said. "So why did you give up wizardry?"

His expression flattened. "I got tired of the beatings."

A silent understanding passed between them. Leliana had been raised in Menzoberranzan, the daughter of a noble House. She too had learned early on that prestige and punishment walked hand in hand. Her back was clear now, but for years she'd worn the scars of her mother's lash. When she'd borne a daughter of her own, Leliana vowed to give her a better life.

She wrenched her mind back to the present. "Expensive, to build constructs out of gold," she commented.

"Practical," Naxil countered. "Gold resists acid-that's one of the ways you can distinguish it from the coarser metals. The only thing that will dissolve it is aqua regia. Trobriand obviously intended that the crab survive the oozes, once it had used the portal."